The General had brought its effective fighting force to a hundred and thirteen thousand. Lee's army confronted him on the other side of the Rappahannock with seventy-five thousand men. A great battle was impending2.
Burnside had reluctantly assumed command. He was a gallant4, genial5, cultured soldier, a gentleman of the highest type, a pure, unselfish patriot6 with not a trace of vulgar ambition or self-seeking. He saw the President hounded and badgered by his own party, assaulted and denounced in the bitterest terms by the opposition8, and he knew that the remedy could be found only in a fighting, victorious9 army. A single decisive victory would turn the tide of public opinion, unite the faction-ridden army and thrill the Nation with enthusiasm.
He determined10 to fight at once and risk his fate as a commander on the issue of victory or defeat. His council of war had voted against an attack on Lee's army in Fredericksburg. Burnside brushed their decision aside as part of the quarrel McClellan has left. Even the men in the ranks were fighting each other daily in these miserable11 bickerings and intrigues12. A victory was the remedy for their troubles, and he made up his mind to fight for it.
The General received Betty with the greatest courtesy:
"You're more than welcome at this moment, Miss Winter. The surgeons won't let you in some of their field hospitals. But there's work to be done preparing our corps13 for the battle we're going to fight. You'll have plenty to do."
"Thank you, General," she gravely answered.
Burnside read for the second time the gracious letter from the President which Betty presented.
"You're evidently pretty strong with this administration, Miss Betty," he remarked.
"Yes. The patience and wisdom of the President is a hobby of mine."
"Then I'll ask you to review the army with me. You can report to him."
Within an hour they were passing in serried14 lines before the Commander. Betty watched them march with a thrill of patriotic15 pride, a hundred and thirteen thousand men, their dark blue uniforms pouring past like the waters of a mighty16 river, the December sun gleaming on their polished bayonets as on so many icicles flashing on its surface.
Her heart suddenly stood still. There before her marched John Vaughan in the outer line of a regiment17, his eyes straight in front, looking neither to the right nor the left. He was a private in the ranks, clean and sober, his face rugged18, strong and sun-tanned.
For a moment there was a battle inside that tested her strength. He had not seen her and was oblivious19 of her existence apparently20. But she had noted21 the regiment under whose flag he marched. It would be easy to find him if she wished.
When the first moment of love-sickness and utter longing22 passed, she had no desire to see him. The dead could bury its dead. Her love was a thing of the past. The cruel thing in this man's nature she had seen the first day was there still. She saw it with a shudder23 in his red, half-drunken eyes the day they met in Washington, saw it so plainly, so glaringly, the memory of it could never fade. He was sober and in his right mind now, his cheeks bronzed with the new life of sunshine and open air the army had given. The thing was still there. It spoke24 in the brute25 strength of his powerful body as his marching feet struck the ground, in the iron look about his broad shoulders, the careless strength with which he carried his musket27 as if it were a feather, and above all in the hard cold glint from his shining eyes set straight in front.
She lay awake for hours on the little white cot at the headquarters of the ambulance corps reviewing her life and dropped to sleep at last with a deep sense of gratitude28 to God that she was free, and could give herself in unselfish devotion to her country. Her last waking thoughts were of Ned Vaughan and the sweet, foolish worship he had laid at her feet. She wondered vaguely30 if he were in those grey lines beyond the river. Ned Vaughan was there this time—back with his regiment.
Lee, Jackson and Longstreet had known for days that a battle was imminent31. Their scouts32 from over the river had brought positive information. The Confederate leaders had already planned the conflict. Their battle lines circled the hills beyond Fredericksburg, spread out in a crescent, five miles long. Nature had piled these five miles of hills around Fredericksburg as if to build an impregnable fortress33. On every crest34, concealed35 behind trees and bushes, the Confederate artillery36 was in place—its guns trained to sweep the wide plain with a double cross fire, besides sending a storm of shot and shell straight from the centre. Sixty thousand matchless grey infantry37 crouched38 among those bushes and lay beside stone walls, in sunken roadways or newly turned trenches39.
The great fan-shaped death-trap had been carefully planned and set by a master mind. Only a handful of sharpshooters and a few pieces of artillery had been left in Fredericksburg to dispute the passage of the river and deceive Burnside with a pretense40 of defending the town.
The Confederate soldier was ragged41 and his shoes were tied together with strings42. His uniform consisted of an old hat or cap usually without a brim, a shirt of striped bed-ticking so brown it seemed woven of the grass. The buttons were of discolored cow's horn. His coat was the color of Virginia dust and mud, and it was out at the elbow. His socks were home-made, knit by loving hands swift and tender in their endless work of love. The socks were the best things he had.
The one spotless thing about him was his musket and the bayonet he carried at his side. His spirits were high.
A barefooted soldier had managed to get home and secure a pair of boots. He started back to his regiment hurrying to be on time for the fight. The new boots hurt him so terribly he couldn't wear them. He passed Ned's regiment with his precious footgear hanging on his arm.
"Hello, Sonny, what command?" Ned cried.
"Company E, 12th Virginia, Mahone's brigade!" he proudly answered.
"Yes, damn you," a soldier drawled from the grass, "and you've pulled your boots off, holdin' 'em in yer hand, ready to run now!"
The laugh ran along the line and the boy hurried on to escape the chaff43.
A well-known chaplain rode along a narrow path on the hillside. He was mounted on an old horse whose hip29 bones protruded44 like two deadly fangs45. A footsore Confederate was hobbling as fast as he could in front of him, glancing back over his shoulder now and then uneasily.
"You needn't be afraid, my friend," the parson called, "I'm not going to run over you."
"I know you ain't," the soldier laughed, "but ef I wuz ter let you pass me, and that thing wuz ter wobble I'll be doggoned ef I wouldn't be gored46 ter death!"
The preacher reined47 his steed in with dignity and spoke with wounded pride:
"My friend, this is a better horse than our Lord rode into Jerusalem on!"
The soldier stepped up quickly, opened the animal's mouth and grinned:
"Parson, that's the very same horse!"
A shout rose from the hill in which the preacher joined.
"Dod bam it, did ye ever hear the beat o' that!" shouted a pious48 fellow who was inventing cuss words that would pass the charge of profanity.
A distinguished49 citizen of Fredericksburg passed along the lines wearing a tall new silk hat. He didn't get very far before he changed his line of march. A regular fusillade poured on him from the ranks.
"Say, man, is dat a hat er a bee gum?"
"Come down now!"
"Come down outen that hat an' help us with these Yanks!"
"Come down I say—I know you're up there for I can see your legs!"
When the silk hat vanished, a solemn country boy with slight knowledge of books began to discuss the great mysteries of eternity50.
Ned had won his unbounded faith and admiration51 by spelling at the first trial the name of his native village in the Valley of Virginia—McGaheysville. Tom held this fact to be a marvellous intellectual achievement.
"What I want to know, Ned, is this," he drawled, "who started sin in this world, anyhow? What makes a good thing good and what makes a bad thing bad, and who said so first?"
"That's what I'd like to know myself, Tom," Ned gravely answered.
"An' ye don't know?"
"I certainly do not."
"I don't see why any man that can spell like you don't know everything."
He paused, picked up a pebble52 and threw it at a comrade's foot and laughed to see him jump as from a Minie ball.
"You know, Ned," he went on slowly, "what I think is the prettiest piece of poetry?"
"No—what?"
"Hit's this:
"'The men of high condition
That rule affairs of State;
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate.'"
"Pretty good, Tom," was the quick reply, "but I think I can beat it with something more hopeful. I got it in Sunday School out in Missouri:
"'The sword and spear, of needless worth,
Shall prune53 the tree and plough the earth;
And Peace shall smile from shore to shore
And Nations learn to war no more.'"
The country boy's eyes gleamed with eager approval. He had fought for nearly two years and the glory of war was beginning to lose its glamour54.
"Say that again, Ned," he pleaded. "Say it again! That's the prettiest thing I ever heard in my life!"
He was silent a moment:
"Yes, I used to think it would be glorious to hear the thunder of guns and the shriek55 of shells. I've changed my mind. When I hear one of 'em comin' now, I begin to sing to myself the old-fashioned tune56 I used to hear in the revivals57:
"'Hark from the tomb a doleful sound!
'My thoughts in dreadful subjects roll damnation and the dead——'
"I've an idea we're going to sing some o' them old songs on this field pretty soon."
Again Ned thought of John and offered a silent prayer that he might not be in those blue lines that were going to charge into the jaws58 which Death had opened for them in the valley below.
John Vaughan in his tent beyond the Rappahannock was wasting no energy worrying about the coming battle. Death had ceased to be a matter of personal concern. He had seen so many dead and wounded men as he had ridden over battlefields he had come to take them as a matter of course. He was going into action now for the first time in the ranks as a private soldier and he would see things happen at closer range—that was all. He wished to see them that way. He had reached the point of utter indifference59 to personal danger and it brought a new consciousness of strength that was inspiring. He had stopped dreaming of the happiness of love after the exhibition he had made of himself before Betty Winter and the brutal60 insult with which he met her advances. Some girls might forgive it, but not this proud, sensitive, high strung daughter of the snows of New England and the sunlight of France. And so he had resolutely61 put the thought out of his heart.
Julius had proven himself a valuable servant. He was the best cook in the regiment, and what was still more important, he was the most skillful thief and the most plausible62 liar63 in the army. He could defend himself so nobly from the insinuations of the suspicious that they would apologize for the wrong unwittingly done his character. John had not lived so well since he could remember.
"Julius, you're a handy man in war!" he exclaimed after a hearty64 supper on fried chicken.
"Yassah—I manage ter git 'long, sah."
Julius took up his banjo and began to tune it for an accompaniment to his songs. He had a mellow65 rhythmical66 voice that always brought the crowd. He began with his favorite that never failed to please his master. The way he rolled his eyes and sang with his hands and feet and every muscle of his body was the source of unending interest to his Northern audience.
He ran his fingers lightly over the strings and the men threw down their dirty packs of cards and crowded around John's tent. Julius only sang one line at a time and picked his banjo between them to a low wailing67 sound of his own invention:
"O! far' you well, my Mary Ann;
Far' you well, my dear!
I've no one left to love me now
And little do I care——"
He paused between the stanzas69 and picked his banjo to a few prose interpolations of his own.
"Dat's what I'm a tellin' ye now, folks—little do I care!"
He knew his master had been crossed in love and he rolled his eyes and nodded his woolly head in triumphant71 approval. John smiled wanly72 as he drifted slowly into his next stanza70.
"An' ef I had a scoldin' wife
I'd whip her sho's yer born,
I'd take her down to New Orleans
An' trade her off fer corn——"
Julius stopped with a sudden snap and whispered to John:
"Lordy, sah, I clean fergit 'bout26 dat meetin' at de cullud folks' church, sah, dat dey start up. I promise de preacher ter fetch you, sah—An' ef we gwine ter march ter-morrow, dis here's de las' night sho——"
The concert was adjourned73 to the log house which an old colored preacher had converted into a church. It was filled to its capacity and John stood in the doorway74 and heard the most remarkable75 sermon to which he had ever listened.
The grey-haired old negro was tremendously in earnest. He could neither read nor write but he opened the Bible to comply with the formalities of the occasion and pretended to read his text. He had taken it from his master who was a clergyman. Ephraim invariably chose the same texts but gave his people his own interpretation76. It never failed in some element of originality77.
The text his master had evidently chosen last were the words:
"And he healeth them of divers78 diseases."
Old Ephraim's version was a free one. From the open Bible he solemnly read:
"An' he healed 'em of all sorts o' diseases an' even er dat wust o' complaints called de Divers!"
He plunged79 straight into a fervent80 exhortation81 to sinners to flee from the Divers.
"I'm gwine ter tell ye now, chillun," he exclaimed with uplifted arms, "ye don't know nuttin' 'bout no terrible diseases till dat wust er all called de Divers git ye! An' hit's a comin' I tell ye. Hit's gwine ter git ye, too. Ye can flee ter the mountain top, an' hit'll dive right up froo de air an' git ye dar. Ye kin7 go down inter1 de bowels82 er de yearth an' hit'll dive right down dar atter ye. Ye kin take de wings er de mornin' an' fly ter de ends er de yearth—an' de Divers is dar. Dey kin dive anywhar!
"An' what ye gwine ter do when dey git ye? I axe83 ye dat now? What ye gwine ter do when hit's forever an' eternally too late? Dese doctors roun' here kin cure ye o' de whoopin'-cough—mebbe—I hain't nebber seed 'em eben do dat—but I say, mebbe. Dey kin cure ye o' de measles84, mebbe. Er de plumbago or de typhoid er de yaller fever sometimes. But I warns ye now ter flee de wrath85 dat's ter come when dem Divers git ye! Dey ain't no doctor no good fer dat nowhar—exceptin' ye come ter de Lord. For He heal 'em er all sorts er diseases an' de wust er all de complaints called de Divers!
"Come, humble86 sinners, in whose breast er thousand thoughts revolve87!"
John Vaughan turned away with a smile and a tear.
"In God's name," he murmured thoughtfully, "what's to become of these four million black children of the tropic jungles if we win now and set them free! Their fathers and mothers were but yesterday eating human flesh in naked savagery89."
He walked slowly back to his tent through the solemn starlit night. The new moon, a silver thread, hung over the tree tops. He thought of that dusky grey-haired child of four thousand years of ignorance and helplessness and the tragic90 role he had played in the history of our people. And for the first time faced the question of the still more tragic role he might play in the future.
"I'm fighting to free him and the millions like him," he mused91. "What am I going to do with him?"
The longer he thought the blacker and more insoluble became this question, and yet he was going into battle to-morrow to fight his own brother to the death on this issue. True the problem of national existence was at stake, but this black problem of the possible degradation92 of our racial stock and our national character still lay back of it unsolved and possibly insoluble.
The red flash of a picket's gun on the shore of the river and the quick answer from the other side brought his dreaming to a sudden stop before the sterner fact of the swiftly approaching battle.
He snatched but a few hours sleep before his regiment was up and on the march to the water's edge. A dense93 grey fog hung over the river and obscured the town. The bridge builders swung their pontoons into the water and soon the sound of timbers falling into place could be heard with the splash of the anchors and the low quick commands of the officers.
The grey sharpshooters, concealed on the other shore, began to fire across the water through the fog. The sound was strangely magnified. The single crack of a musket seemed as loud as a cannon94.
The work went quickly. The bullets flew wide of the mark. The fog suddenly lifted and a steady fusillade from the men hidden in the hills of Fredericksburg began to pick off the bridge builders with cruel accuracy. At times every man was down. New men were rushed to take their places and they fell.
The signal was given to the artillery and a hundred and forty-seven great guns suddenly began to sweep the doomed95 town. Houses crumpled96 like egg-shells and fires began to blaze.
The sharpshooters fell back. The bridges were laid and the grand army of a hundred and thirteen thousand began to pour across. The caissons, with their huge black, rifled-barrel guns rumbling97 along the resounding98 boards in a continuous roar like distant thunder.
On the southern shore the deep mud cut hills put every team to the test of its strength and the utmost skill of their drivers. Hundreds of men were in the mud at the wheels and still they would stick.
And then the patient heavens above heard the voices of army teamsters in plain and ornamental99 swearing! Such profanity was probably never heard on this earth before and it may well be hoped will not be heard again.
The driver whose wheels had stuck, cracked his whip first and yelled. He yelled again and cracked his whip. And then he began to swear, loudly, and angrily at first and then in lower, steadier, more polite terms—but always in an unending nerve-racking torrent100.
He cursed his mules101 individually by name and the whole team collectively, and consigned103 it to the lowest depth of the deepest hell and then the devil for not providing a deeper one. Each trait of each mule102, good and bad, he named without fear or favor and damned each alike with equal emphasis. He named each part of each mule's anatomy104 and damned it individually and as a whole, with full bill of particulars.
He swore in every key in the whole gamut105 of sound and last of all he damned himself for his utter inability to express anything he really felt.
The last big gun up the hill and the infantry poured into the town of Fredericksburg, halting in regiments106 and brigades in its streets. Only a few shots had been exchanged with the men in grey. They had withdrawn107 to the heights a mile beyond. The assault had been a mere109 parade. Many of the inhabitants had fled in terror at the approach of the men in blue. Some of the lower types of soldiers in the Northern army broke into these deserted110 houses and began to rob and pillage111.
Julius "found" many delicacies112 lying about on lawns and in various unheard-of places. His master never pressed him with rude questions when his zeal113 bore such good results for their table.
Ned Vaughan had been very much amused at an old woman who had been driven from her home by marauders. She had piled such goods and chattels114 as she could handle into an ox cart and drove past the grey battle lines, hurrying as fast as she could Southward. Her wrinkled old face beamed with joy at the sight of their burnished115 muskets116 and her eyes flashed with the gleam of an Amazon as she shouted:
"Give it to the damned rascals117, boys! Give 'em one fer me—one fer me and don't you forget it!"
Far down the line she could be heard delivering her fierce exhortation. The men smiled and answered her good-naturedly. The day of wrath and death had dawned. It was too solemn an hour for boastful words.
For two days the grand army in blue poured across the river and spread out through the town of Fredericksburg. The fateful morning of the 13th of December, 1862, dawned in another heavy fog. Its grey mantle118 of mystery shrouded119 the town, clung wet and heavy to the ground in the silent valley before the crescent-shaped hills and veiled the face of their heights.
Under the cover of this fog the long waves of blue spread out in the edge of the valley and took their places in battle line. The grey men in the brown grass on the hills crouched behind their ditches and stone walls, gripped their guns and waited for the foe120 to walk into the trap their commanders had set.
An unseen hand slowly lifted the misty121 curtain and the sun burst on the scene. The valley lay like the smooth ground of some vast arena122 prepared for a pageant123 and back of it rose the silent hills, tier on tier like the seats of a mighty amphitheatre. But the men crouching124 on those seats were not spectators—they were the grimmest actors in the tragedy.
For a moment it was a spectacle merely—the grandest display of the pageantry of war ever made on a field of death.
Franklin's division suddenly wheeled into position for its united assault on the right.
Ned Vaughan, from his lair125 on the hill, could see the officers in their magnificent new uniforms, their swords flashing as they led their men. A hundred thousand bayonets were gleaming in the sparkling December sun. Magnificent horses in rich tasselled trappings were plunging126 and prancing127 with the excitement of marching hosts, some of them keeping time to the throb128 of regimental bands.
The bands were playing now, all of them, a band for every thousand men, the shrill129 scream of their bugles130 and the roar of their drums sending a mighty chorus into the heavens that echoed ominously131 against the silent hills.
And flags, flags, flags, were streaming in billowy waves of red, white and blue, as far as the eye could reach!
"Isn't that pretty, boys!" Ned sighed admiringly.
Tom lifted his solemn eyes from the grass.
"Lord, Lord, look at them new warm clothes, an' my elbows a-freezin' in this cold wind!"
"Ain't it a picture?"
"What a pity to spile it!"
A ripple132 of admiration ran along the crouching lines as fingers softly felt for the triggers of their guns.
A quick order from John Vaughan's Colonel sent their battery of artillery rattling133 and bounding into position. The cannoneers sprang to their mounts. A handsome young fellow missed his foothold and fell beneath the wheels. The big iron tire crushed his neck and the blood from his mouth splashed into John's face. The men on the guns didn't turn their heads to look back. Their eyes were searching the brown hills before them.
The long roll beat from a thousand drums, the call of the buglers rang over the valley—and then the strange, solemn silence that comes before the shock—the moment when cowards collapse135 and the brave falter136.
John Vaughan's soul rose in a fierce challenge to fate. If he died it was well; if he lived it was the same. He had ceased to care.
At exactly eight-thirty, General Meade hurled137 his division, supported by Doubleday and Gibbon, against Jackson's weakest point, the right of the Confederate lines. Their aim was to seize an opposing hill. The curving lines of grey were silent until the charging hosts were well advanced in deadly range and then the brown hills flamed and roared in front and on their flanks.
The blue lines were mowed138 down in swaths as though the giant figure of Death had suddenly swung his scythe139 from the fog banks in the sky.
Again and again came those awful volleys of musketry and artillery cross-firing on the rushing lines. The men staggered and recovered, reformed and charged again over the dead bodies of their comrades carrying the crest for a moment. They captured a flag and a handful of prisoners only to be driven back down the hill with losses more frightful140 in retreat than when they breasted the storm.
In the centre the tragedy was repeated with results even more terrible. As the charging lines fell back, staggering, bleeding and cut to pieces, fresh brigades threw down their knapsacks, fixed141 their bayonets and charged through their own melting ranks into the jaws of Death to fall back in their turn.
With a mighty shout the blue line swept across the railroad, took the ditches at the point of the bayonet and captured two hundred grey prisoners. But only for a moment. From the supporting line rang the rebel yell and they were hurled back, shattered and cut to pieces. These retreats were veritable shambles142 of slaughter143. The curved lines on the hills raking them with their deadly accurate cross-fire.
John Vaughan's regiment leaped to the support of the falling blue waves.
A wounded soldier had propped144 himself against a stone and smiled as the cheering men swept by. He could rest a while now.
A battery of artillery suddenly blazed from the hill-crest and his Colonel threw his command flat on their stomachs until the storm should slacken. John heard the shrill deadly swish of the big shots passing two feet above.
He lifted his eyes to the hill and a frightened pigeon suddenly swooped145 straight down toward his head. He ducked quickly, sure he had escaped a cannon ball until the laugh of the man at his side told of his mistake.
They rose to charge. The knapsack of the man who had laughed was struck by a ball and a deck of cards sent flying ten feet in the air.
"Deal me a winning hand!" John shouted.
A shot cut the sword belt of the first lieutenant146, left him uninjured, glanced and killed the captain. The lieutenant picked up his sword, took his captain's place and led the charge.
Men were falling on the right and left and John Vaughan loaded and fired with steady, dogged nerve without a scratch.
Four times the blue billows had dashed against the hills only to fall back in red confusion. The din3 and roar were indescribable. The color-bearer of the regiment confused by conflicting orders paused and asked for instructions. The Colonel, mistaking his act for retreat, tore the colors from his hand and gave them to another man. The boy burst into tears. The new color-bearer had scarcely lifted the flag above his head when he fell. The disgraced soldier snatched the tottering147 flagstaff and, lifting it on high, dashed up the hill ahead of his line of battle.
The men were ducking their heads low beneath the fierce hail of lead and staggering blindly.
John saw this boy waving his flag and shaking his fist back at the halting line. He was not a hundred feet from the Confederate trenches.
"Come on there!" he shouted. "Damn it, what's the matter with you?"
Ned Vaughan and his grey men behind the little mound148 of red dirt were watching this drama with flashing eyes. Beside him crouched a boy whose early piety149 had marked him for the ministry150. But he had wandered from the fold in the stress of army life. Ned heard his voice now in low, eager prayer:
"O Lord, drive 'em back! Drive 'em back, O Lord!"
He fired his musket down the hill and prayed harder:
"Lord, drive 'em back! I've sinned and come short, but drive 'em, O Lord!"
He paused and whispered to Ned as he reached for another cartridge151:
"Are they comin' or goin'?"
"Coming!"
Again he prayed with fervor152:
"Drive 'em back, Lord Goddermighty, we're weak and you're strong—help us now! Drive 'em—just this time, O Lord, and you can have me—I'll be good!"
He paused for breath and turned to Ned:
"Now look!—Comin' or goin'?"
"That follow with the flag cussin' the men has dropped——"
"Thank God!"
"Another's lifted it——"
"Lord, save us!"
"Why don't you lie down, ye damn fool," Tom shouted. "I'm huggin' the ground so close now I don't want a piece of paper under me, and if there's got to be a piece I don't want no writin' on it!"
"Now look, are they comin'?" the pious boy gasped153.
Ned made no answer. His wide set eyes were staring at the man who had caught that color-bearer in his arms and was carrying him to the rear.
It was John Vaughan!
His lips were moving now in silent prayer and his sword hung limp in his hands.
Through chattering154 teeth he cried:
"Don't shoot that fellow carrying his friend down the hill, boys!"
"They're runnin' now?" the pious one asked.
"It isn't war—it's a massacre155!" Ned sighed.
The man of prayer leaped on the ditch bank suddenly and shook his fist defiantly156.
"Come back here, you damned cowards!" he yelled. "Come back and we'll whip hell out o' you!"
Slowly the shattered regiment fell back down the bloody157 slope, stumbling over their dead and wounded. The dim smoke-bound valley was a slaughter pen. Where magnificent lines of blue had marched with flashing bayonets and streaming banners at eight o'clock, the dead lay in mangled158 heaps, and the wounded huddled159 among them slowly freezing to death.
John saw a magnificent gun a heap of junk with four dead horses and every cannoneer on the ground dead or freezing where they fell. A single shell had done the work. Riderless horses galloped160 wildly over the field, shying at the grim piles of dark blue bodies, sniffing161 the blood and neighing pitifully.
Twelve hundred men in his regiment had charged up that hill. But two hundred and fifty came down.
From the steeple of the Court House in Fredericksburg General Couch, in command of the Second Corps, stood with his glasses on this frightful scene. He whispered to Howard by his side:
"The whole plain is covered with our men fallen and falling—I've never seen anything like it!"
He paused, his lips quivering as he gasped:
"O my God! see them falling—poor fellows, falling—falling!"
He signalled Burnside for reinforcements.
General Sumner's division on the union right had charged into the deadliest trap of all.
Down the road toward the foot of Marye's Heights his magnificent army swept at double quick. The Confederate batteries had been specially162 trained to rake this road from three directions, right, and left flank and centre.
Steadily163, stoically the men in blue pressed into this narrow way in silence and met the flaming torrent from three directions. Rushing on over the bodies of their fallen comrades the thinning ranks reached the old stone wall at the foot of the hill. General Cobb lay concealed behind it with three thousand infantry. The low quick order ran along his line:
"Fire!"
Straight into the faces of the heroic union soldiers flashed a level blinding flame from three thousand muskets, slaying164, crushing, tearing to pieces the proud army of an hour ago. A thousand men in blue fell in five minutes. The ground was piled with their bodies until it was impossible to charge over them effectively.
For a moment a cloud of smoke pitifully drew a soft grey veil over the awful scene while the men who were left fell back in straggling broken groups.
Five times the union hosts had charged those terrible brown hills and five times they had been rolled back in red waves of blood.
Late in the day a fierce bitter wind was blowing from the north. There was yet time to turn defeat into victory. The desperate union Commander ordered the sixth charge.
The men in blue pulled their hats down low as if to shut out the pelting165 hail of lead and iron and without a murmur88 charged once more into the mouth of hell. The winds had frozen stiff the bodies of their dead. The advancing blue lines snatched these dead men from the ground, carried them in front, stacked them in long piles for bulwarks166, and fought behind them with the desperation of madmen. There was no escape. The keen eyes of the Confederate Commanders had planted their right and left flanking lines to pour death into these ranks no matter how high their corpses167 were piled. The crescent hill blazed and roared with unceasing fury. Only the darkness was kind at last.
And then the men in blue planted the frozen bodies of their comrades along the outer battle line as dummy168 sentinels, and under cover of the night began to slip back through Fredericksburg and across the silver mirror of the Rappahannock to their old camp, shattered, broken, crushed.
It was four o'clock in the morning before John Vaughan's regiment would give up the search for their desperately169 wounded. Only the strongest could endure that bitter cold. Through the long, desolate170 hours the pitiful cries of the wounded men rang through the black, freezing night, and few hands stirred to save them. A great army was fighting to save its flags and guns and reach the shelter beyond the river.
Amid the few flickering171 lanterns could be heard the greetings of friends in subdued172 tones as they clasped hands:
"Is that you, old boy?"
"God bless you—yes—I'm glad to see you!"
A dying man in blue was pitifully calling for water somewhere, in the darkness in front of Ned Vaughan's ditch. He took his canteen, got a lantern and went to find him. It might be John. If not, no matter, he was some other fellow's brother.
As the light fell on his drawn108 face Ned murmured:
"Thank God!"
He pressed the canteen to his lips and held his head in his lap. It was only too plain from the steel look out of the eyes that his minutes were numbered. He moved and turned his dying face up to Ned:
"Why is it you always whip us, Johnny?"
He paused for breath:
"I wonder—every battle I've been in we've been defeated—why—why—why, O God, why——"
His head drooped173 and he was still.
Ned wondered if some waiting loved one on the shores of eternity had given him the answer. He wrapped him tenderly in his blanket and left him at rest at last.
As he turned toward his lines the unmistakable wail68 of a baby came faintly through the darkness—a wee voice, the half smothered174 cry sounding as if it were nestling in a mother's arms. He followed the sound until his lantern flashed in the wild eyes of a young woman who had fled from her home in terror during the battle and was hugging her baby frantically175 in her arms.
Ned led her gently to an officer's quarters and made her comfortable.
The glory of war was fast fading from his imagination. A grim spectre was slowly taking its place.
John's shattered regiment lay down on the field with the rear guard at four o'clock to snatch an hour's sleep, their heads pillowed on the bodies of the dead. The cold moderated and a light mantle of snow fell softly just before day and covered the field, the living and the dead. When the reveille sounded at dawn, the bugler134 looked with awe176 at the thousands of white shrouded figures and wondered which would stir at his note. The living slowly rose as from the dead and shook their white shrouds177. Thousands lay still, cold and immovable to await the archangel's mightier178 call at the last.
Beyond the river, through the long night, Burnside, wild with anguish179, had paced the floor of his tent. Again and again he threw his arms in a gesture of despair toward the freezing blood-stained field:
"Oh, those men—those men over there! I'm thinking of them all the time——"
As the rear guard turned from the field at sunrise, John Vaughan looked back across the valley of Death and saw the ragged brown and grey figures shivering in the cold, as they swarmed180 down from the hills and began to shake the frost from the new, warm clothes they were stripping from the dead.
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1
inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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2
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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12
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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13
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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14
serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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18
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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19
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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20
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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23
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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24
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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25
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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28
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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29
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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30
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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31
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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32
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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33
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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34
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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35
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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36
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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37
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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38
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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40
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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41
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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42
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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43
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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44
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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46
gored
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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48
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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49
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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50
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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51
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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52
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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53
prune
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| n.酶干；vt.修剪，砍掉，削减；vi.删除 | |
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54
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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55
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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56
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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57
revivals
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| n.复活( revival的名词复数 )；再生；复兴；（老戏多年后）重新上演 | |
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58
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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59
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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60
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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61
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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62
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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63
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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64
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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65
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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66
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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67
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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68
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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69
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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70
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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71
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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72
wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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73
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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75
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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76
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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77
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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78
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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79
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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80
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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81
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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82
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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83
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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84
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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85
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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86
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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87
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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88
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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89
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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90
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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91
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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92
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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93
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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94
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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95
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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96
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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97
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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98
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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99
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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100
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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101
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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102
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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103
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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104
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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105
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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106
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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107
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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108
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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109
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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110
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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111
pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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112
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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113
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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114
chattels
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| n.动产，奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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115
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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116
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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117
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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118
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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119
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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120
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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121
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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122
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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123
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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124
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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125
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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126
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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127
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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128
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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129
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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130
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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131
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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132
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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133
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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134
bugler
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| 喇叭手； 号兵； 吹鼓手； 司号员 | |
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135
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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136
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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137
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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138
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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140
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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141
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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142
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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143
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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144
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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147
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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148
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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149
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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150
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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151
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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152
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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153
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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154
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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155
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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156
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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157
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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158
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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159
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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160
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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161
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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162
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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163
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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164
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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165
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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166
bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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167
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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168
dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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169
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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170
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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171
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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172
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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173
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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175
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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176
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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177
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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178
mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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179
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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180
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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