ing sound of the long wagon trains, artillery, and cavalry
could be heard crossing the pontoon bridges above and below.

The next morning, the 12th, as the fog lifted, Stafford Heights and
the inclines above the river were one field of blue. Great lines
of infantry, with waving banners, their bright guns and bayonets
glittering in the sunlight, all slowly marching down the steep
inclines between the heights and the river on over the bridges, then
down the river side at a double-quick to join their comrades of the
night before. These long, swaying lines, surging in and out among
the jutting of the hillsides beyond, down to the river, over and down
among the trees and bushes near the water, resembled some monster
serpent dragging its "weary length along." Light batteries of
artillery came dashing at break-neck speed down the hillsides, their
horses rearing and plunging as if wishing to take the river at a
leap. Cavalry, too, with their heavy-bodied Norman horses, their spurs
digging the flanks, sabres bright and glistening and dangling at their
sides, came at a canter, all seeming anxious to get over and meet the
death and desolation awaiting them. Long trains of ordnance
wagons, with their black oilcloth covering, the supply trains and
quartermaster departments all following in the wake of their division
or corps headquarters, escorts, and trains. All spread out over the
hills and in the gorges lay men by the thousands, awaiting their turn
to move. Not a shot nor shell to mar or disturb "the even tenor of
their way." Bands of music enlivened the scene by their inspiring
strains, and when some national air, or specially martial piece,
would be struck up, shouts and yells rended the air for miles, to be
answered by counter yells from the throats of fifty thousand "Johnny
Rebs," as the Southern soldiers were called. The Confederate bands
were not idle, for as soon as a Federal band would cease playing, some
of the Southern bands would take up the refrain, and as the notes,
especially Dixie, would be wafted over the water and hills, the "blue
coats" would shout, sing, and dance--hats and caps went up, flags
waved in the breeze--so delighted were they at the sight and sound of
Dixie. The whole presented more the spectacle of a holiday procession,
or a gala day, rather than the prelude to the most sanguinary battle
of modern times.

The night following was cold, and a biting wind was blowing. Only a
few days before a heavy s