II
. The Crossings and Prelude to Battle
The elaborate grounds of Chatham stand along
the low ridge east of the Rappahannock River known
as “Stafford Heights.” Set on a plantation
dating to 1771, and owned by James Lacy in the 1860s,
this simple Georgian looks over the town across
the river and the low shore before it to the right
on which U.S. engineers would assemble, then lay
the “upper” pontoon crossings on December
11, 1863. One of three begun in the pre-dawn that
morning, the construction marked the end of a three-week
period of often contentious brooding among the Union
brass . . . Lee’s army held an established
defensive position. But the ornately whiskered Burnside
(“sideburns” originated as an irreverent
take on the general’s flowing facial hair)
hardened on the improbable success of putting the
Army of the Potomac across the river and
driving through the Confederate lines. Most of his
high command thought the plan reckless, even foolish.
When Burnside sought a sidling opinion, an aide
grimly stated, “it will be the greatest slaughter
of the war.”(2)
Spurned, and likely seeking the prideful solace
of a “yes-sir” man, Burnside turned
to Lt. Colonel Joseph Taylor, who could only elaborate:
“The carrying out of your plan will be murder,
not warfare.”(3)
Yet with pressure from Washington mounting, Burnside
felt compelled to act. The army would cross the
river and attack . . . The orders were issued and
word began to circulate amongst the rank and file.
A Capt. Wesley Brainerd penned a letter to his father,
lamenting, “Dear Father . . . Tonight the
grand tragedy comes off.”(4)
And so did the Battle of Fredericksburg proceed.
Chatham |
|
Fredericksburg steeple from Stafford Heights |
Dad & I arrived at Chatham first thing on the
morning of April 29th. There we met Park Ranger
Keith Alexander, who gave us a snap, detailed background
on the mansion’s history – and as he
quickly picked up our central interest: its role
in the battle . . . With the Himalayan tonnage of
literature that has and continues to be produced
on the war, and the regular tack of historical fact
superseding narrative style, I find it difficult
to turn up the few volumes that can do both. I make
it a point to seek out what NMP rangers –
the true experts – advise. This was my first
question. Keith’s advice: “as far as
Fredericksburg is concerned look no further than
Frank O’Reilly’s, The Fredericksburg
Campaign.” Receiving my copy a month later
– back-ordered, yet signed – I ran it
through. Incredible detail and good narrative combine
to make this a signal work. I would keep it close
while writing this journal . . . We grilled Keith
who was glad to answer on questions that ranged
from the alignment of cannon “in battery”
(14’ apart) to the procedure for laying a
Civil War-era pontoon bridge (Dad having served
in the Army Corps of Engineers in the early 1960s).
Keith pointed to O’Reilly’s details
of the U.S. engineers’ efforts (pp. 62-63).
We then made our way onto the grounds. Chatham is
located north-central of the many miles of Stafford
Heights. Along this ridge, Union artillery lined
up as infantry support. O’Reilly’s pre-battle
estimate was 147 guns, the number increasing to
over 180 once battle was joined. We did a quick
calculation of the standard 14’ between guns,
giving an additional 6’ for each gun. Figuring
most batteries were not on top of one another, the
Union artillery easily stretched many miles north
and south of where we stood. Today’s artillerist
might return a yawn. But in those days that was
formidable firepower. Regardless, its effect during
this battle was mixed – especially in support
of the upper and middle crossings . . . Our tour
of Chatham and the prelude to battle complete, we
crossed back over the river to the Confederate side
of things.
* * *
Crossing sites
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|
In
raw numbers, Fredericksburg would be the largest
battle fought during the Civil War. The Army
of the Potomac, as mentioned, brought with it
up to 118,000 men – the Army of Northern
Virginia over 78,000. Neither army would again
field so many soldiers; for a grinding attrition
would characterize this war. Fought on the cusp
of an emerging industrialized era where military
tactics had been outpaced by the “technology
of death” – the rifled musket the main
culprit – the war would tax the flesh and
blood that did the fighting and dying on both sides.
Manpower, and the inability of the Confederacy to
keep pace with the seemingly infinite waves of bluecoat
recruits, would eventually overwhelm its ability
to fight on. But aside from a stunning victory at
Chancellorsville – still five months off and
fairly titled “Lee’s masterpiece”
– this Southern army would never manufacture
more confidence or expectation of eventual victory
than here at Fredericksburg.
Robert E. Lee, a master at reading opponents, positioned
the brigade of Mississippi firebrand William Barksdale
in the town to contest crossings he knew were coming.
The creaking rumble of wagons ferrying the pontoons
to the riverbanks, the barking of orders and the
work of Union engineers could clearly be heard in
the first dim hours of December 11th. This would
be the day the Confederates, as confident in their
position – and their leaders – as the
Union army was disillusioned, had hoped for. The
Yanks were coming to them . . . The upper crossing
was two bridges that would land in front of Hawke
Street. The middle, a single bridge, would land
just south of the town proper at the city wharves,
now “City Dock,” a popular place for
anglers. The lower, three bridges, would span a
riverbend a few miles south of the wharves. Sumner’s
G.D. was chosen to cross the upper and middle bridges
first, with Hooker in support. Franklin would put
his men over the lower bridges, but would not encounter
the stiff resistance Barksdale was to train on the
U.S. engineers from within the haven of Fredericksburg’s
residential & business district . . . The grey
streaks of dawn soon lit the shadows of men moving
hastily in the fog as the bridges inched their way
across the river. Barksdale (on orders) ordered
his men not to fire until the engineers were fully
committed and daylight provided clear targets. The
engineers continued uncontested until the fog began
to lift. With the upper and middle bridges about
halfway across the river Barksdale’s riflemen
opened up, dropping the skilled – and irreplaceable
– engineers with deadly proficiency. The rest
sprinted for shore. Efforts to resume work under
fire was understandably pursued with little inspiration.
By 9 o’clock Union chiefs were forced to order
artillery to pound the town and force out the resourceful
Confederate marksmen firing from the cover of alleys,
upstairs windows and stonewalls. The bombardment
thundered across the valley and tore into the historic
town; but did little good. As soon as the U.S. guns
began to cool, the engineers ran back to work only
to drop dead and wounded into the river from the
resumed fire of Barksdale’s men. The artillery
repeatedly attempted to silence this single C.S.
brigade, by that time holding the core of Burnside’s
massive army at bay. Each time the results were
the same. A soldier in Zook’s brigade caustically
noted, “Thursday was spent in wasting ammunition
from about 100 guns.”(5)
By this point, Burnside was fuming. The U.S. brass
realized they would need an alternate method to
clearing out the sharpshooting Southrons . . . By
early afternoon the lower crossing, whose construction
began last, was across – the artillery in
its sector having cleared the bridgehead effectively.
But the failure of the Union artillery to clear
the town itself led to the first amphibious landing
under fire in American military history (as noted
by O’Reilly), and the first of very few instances
of urban warfare during the war. With the pre-winter
day wasting, Burnside reluctantly instructed four
regiments – two at each city crossing –
to make their way across the river in pontoon boats
and silence the riflemen then killing his engineers.
The Southerners would contest every inch.
* * *
Crossing back over the river via the beautiful old
stonebridge at Williams Street and navigating the
one-way streets of downtown, Dad & I pulled
up to the upper crossing marker at Sophia and Hawke.
From the shelter of houses along Sophia and Caroline,
running successively in parallel with the river,
the intrepid men of Barksdale’s brigade would
create a giant unforeseen headache and accomplish
their mission, as described in the Time-Life
volume, “superbly.” From there we looped
back down Princess Anne Street, west of Caroline,
and drove south through the thriving heart of Fredericksburg
to the middle crossing marker at the City Docks
. . . The town struck us as a key example of maintaining
a unique centre for business & culture in the
face of the lure to line avenues with pre-fab restaurants
and shopping complexes that provide no indication
of a locale’s unique character – and
worse, measure their economic health on national
/ international meters, to the detriment of local
ones. Our heritage has been rewarded tremendously
with the – continued – preservation
of this old river town. Its story is still vibrant
and alive.
Site of the Upper Crossings |
|
Site of the Middle Crossings |
Artillery
pummeled the hapless town in the moments before
the amphibious assaults were to be launched. The
venture proved risky, even uncertain at the upper
crossing site. The 7th Michigan and 19th Massachusetts,
with the 20th Massachusetts in support, were frantically
rowed across an 1/8 of a mile of open river. They
took a number of casualties while crossing and hit
the opposite bank running. A firefight erupted.
The Mississippians along Sophia Street punished
the exposed assault and went on the offensive, threatening
to hurl Northerners back into the river. The Union
men took heavy casualties, but held – clearing
the riverfront and establishing a bridgehead. The
engineers rushed to complete the crossing while
their infantry pushed back Barksdale’s stubborn
– often invisible – line street-by-bloody-street.
William Davis of the 13th Mississippi wrote, “We
killed lots of them in backyards.”(6)
The 20th Massachusetts would count 97 casualties
in a span of only 50 yards by day’s end. Capt.
Macy of the 20th wrote, “we could see no one
and were simply murdered”(7)
. . . Two New York regiments met only minor resistance
that quickly evaporated at the middle crossing site,
establishing a bridgehead with light difficulty
in comparison. The Union engineers at both sites
had been granted as much safety as they would have
in finishing the task. All three crossings were
complete by late-afternoon. An intense, often confusing,
back-and forth battle continued on into the night,
Caroline Street serving roughly as the front line.
Barksdale’s men continued to extend U.S. casualty
lists, threatening more than once to overrun their
haggard hold on the riverbank. But with four U.S.
corps in position to cross and having already fulfilled
their mission “superbly,” Barksdale’s
men slowly fell back towards the outskirts of town.
Aside from skirmishers, they vacated it completely
under nightfall – dispersing along the bristling
C.S. defense within the hills west of town. Burnside
had finally entered Fredericksburg. But Lee and
his lean hard soldiers from Mississippi had made
the U.S. chief pay for it in time and lives.
December 12th would pass equal parts active, inactive
and infamous. Starting in the early frigid hours,
Sumner’s men began to cross. By daybreak they
were packing into the town. Bridges and roads leading
to and from the town, it was said, resembled long
blue ribbons. With daylight, the city crossings
also provided Confederate artillery an opportunity
to test its ranges, a “scrimmage” before
the big show. The C.S. gunners lit into the crossing
troops with calculated and unnerving effect. Having
had over three weeks to prepare emplacements and
coordinate fields-of-fire, Col. Edward P. Alexander,
a youthful artillery commander in Longstreet’s
I C.S. Corps, would ease the mind of his chief prior
to the battle the following day, stating, “General,
we cover that ground now so well that we will comb
it as with a fine-tooth comb. A chicken could not
live on that field when we open on it.”(8)
Though their ranges proved more unpredictable on
the 12th, Alexander’s guns created considerable
havoc among the troops of Sumner and Hooker. A U.S.
soldier later wrote, “life was cheap that
day”(9)
. . . Once across, shelter within the town was easy
to find and the Union troops settled in for the
wait. Boredom mixed with the fuel of general resentment
as the day wore on, leading to what was noted in
the Time-Life volume as, “one of the
War’s more discreditable enterprises.”
Beginning in the afternoon, the idle occupying force
began to ransack homes. Starting as a hunt for provisions,
the search and seizure of “conquered Rebel
property” grew to encompass anything the soldiers
could carry off. Commanding officers turned their
backs as it grew to outright pillaging, many officers
participating themselves. Liquor threw fuel on the
fire. The whole scene took on a “bacchanal
atmosphere,”(10)
petty thievery turning into “an orgy of destruction.”(11)
Mirrors, furniture, doors and windows were smashed.
Portraits in parlors were stabbed and slashed with
swords as desks, chairs and sofas were moved into
the streets for more comfortable quarters. Resident
heirlooms would be stolen and sent back North as
whole libraries were torn from shelves and thrown
onto bonfires. Nearly all residents had vacated
the town once the two armies had showed, leaving
behind most everything. And on the 12th it was all
up for grabs. Soldiers paraded around in the residents’
finest clothes and hats. Many dressed up in women’s
“undergarments.” Nothing was spared
and few soldiers did not partake in this: the
first sacking of an American city since the nation’s
capitol in the War of 1812. Lt. Josiah Favill
of the 57th NY later wrote, “Some carried
pictures; one man had a fine stuffed alligator,
and most of them had something. It was curious to
observe these men upon the eve of a tremendous battle
rid themselves of all anxiety by plunging into this
boisterous sport.”(12)
The modern equivalent of the drunken “Animal
House” frat-party would not hold a candle
to the destructive mess that was made of Fredericksburg
by Sumner’s men. It seems this “sacking”
was an instinctual reaction, a final night of base
youthful carelessness before death came to do its
work – a notion squarely situated in their
immediate future. What tomorrow would bring was
sober enough. And the abysmal havoc continued into
the thin hours of December 13th, 1862.
Click for Part III . The
Fight to the South
