king through roof and wall, and ripping up streets
and crossings; but the plucky riflemen hug the shore in stern
determination, and again the bridges are abandoned.

And so a cold and cheerless morning ebbs away; and at last, towards
noon, there comes relief. The sun bursts through the clouds, and licks
up the fog-bank. The mist-veil is withdrawn, and there stands
Fredericksburg, with shattered roof and spire, backed by a long line of
gun-bristling heights, and there are the unfinished bridges jutting
helplessly out two thirds across the water. A number of the heavy
pontoons are still moored close to shore, and while all along under the
bank the regiments are ranging into battle order, two or three of them
are tumbling into those clumsy arks, cramming them with armed men, and
then pushing off into the stream. Failing in working across a narrow
causeway, the "Yanks" are taking to their boats and sending over a
flotilla. It is a daring, desperate feat, but it tells. Despite the
fierce resistance, despite the heavy loss that befalls them, animated by
the cheers of their comrades, they push ahead, answering the fire as
well as they can, and at last, one after another, the boats are grounded
on the southern shore, and, though sadly diminished in numbers, the men
leap forth and go swarming up the bank, driving the gray pickets to
cover. Others hurry across and reinforce them; then more and more, until
they are strong enough to seize the nearest buildings and hold the
approaches, and then the working parties leap forward; the bridge is
finished with a will, and the comrades of their brigade come tramping
cheerily across. Three splendid regiments are they which made that
daring venture, mere companies in numbers as compared with their early
strength, and one of them is the--th Massachusetts, now led by a
captain. Colonel Putnam stands at his side at this moment of triumph and
partial rest. He commands the brigade that has done this brilliant work,
and now is receiving the thanks sent over from corps headquarters; and
the mounted officer, the first one across the bridge, who bears the
general's congratulations, is his young chief-of-staff, Major Abbot.

There has been fierce fighting through the streets, stubborn resistance
on part of the occupants of the town, and determined effort on part of
the thronging force of Union men who are constantly gaining accessions
as the brigades come marching over. Just at sunset, with the town