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 dummy 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 desperately wounded. Only the strongest
could endure that bitter cold. Through the long, desolate 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 flickering lanterns could be heard the greetings of friends
in subdued 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 drawn face Ned murmured:
"Thank God!"
He pressed the canteen to his lips and held his head in his lap.
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