The roll of the drum and the stentorian voice of the gallant chief
calling to arms mingled together. Aroused to duty, and groping their
way through the darkness, the troops sallied forth in battle array.
In a rifle-pit, on the brow of a hill overlooking the river, near
Fredericksburg, were men who had exhausted their ammunition in the
vain attempt to check the advancing column of Hooker's finely equipped
and disciplined army, which was crossing the river. But owing to the
heavy mist which prevailed as the morning broke, little or no
execution had been done. To the relief of these few came the brigade
in double-quick time. But no sooner were they intrenched than the
firing on the opposite side of the river became terrific, and the
constant roaring of musketry and artillery became appalling.
Undismayed, however, stood the little band of veterans, pouring volley
after volley into the crossing column.
Soon many soldiers fell. Their agonizing cries, as they lay helpless
in the trenches, calling most piteously for water, caused many a tear
to steal down the cheeks of their comrades in arms, and stout hearts
shook in the performance of their duty.
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