O'Reilly, Frank A. "Busted Up and Gone To Hell": The Assault of the Pennsylvania Reserves at Fredericksburg, Civil War Regiments: A Journal of the American Civil War. Volume Four, No. 4, pp 1-27.

Edward W. Steffen of the 121st Pennsylvania Volunteers wrote “I once had an idea that they were making good progress, but that idea has since faded away entirely." Speaking of the Federal government in the winter of 1862, he concluded, "They are now only slaughtering men for mere amusement it would seem. All those who participated in the Fredericksburg battle will testify to this.”[1] Steffen spoke with the bitterness of many of the Federal soldiers who survived the Battle of Fredericksburg, but particularly for the broken remnants of the once strong Pennsylvania Reserves. The division had courted victory and disaster in the killing fields of Fredericksburg; and they traced their demise back to the opening week of November 1862.

On November 7, Maj. Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside superseded the Army of the Potomac's charismatic leader, Major General George B. McClellan. When news spread, the men were devastated. Charles H. Veil of the 9th Reserves reminisced that "many shed tears." Evan M. Woodward, adjutant of the 2nd Reserves remembered the outpouring of emotion at McClellan's final review, writing, "His departure from the army was a scene never to be forgotten.” Another wrote, "We thought a great mistake had been made by the authorities.”[2]

Burnside never replaced McClellan in the affection of the army. One of the Pennsylvania Reserves admitted "This division generally has a good opinion of Burnside," but most longed for McClellan's return. Edward Steffen hoped "that the troops will fight as good under Burnside as they ever did under McClellan.[3]

The Pennsylvania Reserves more than made up for its uncertainty for Burnside with a strong confidence in its own fighting ability that transcended any change in command. The division had thirteen veteran regiments that tasted battle in the Shenandoah Valley, the Seven Days battles around Richmond, Second Manassas, and the Maryland Campaign. It had entered the ranks of the Army of the Potomac with 10,000 men and one year later it had less than 4,000 left. Two newly raised regiments, the 121st and 142nd Pennsylvania Volunteers, brought the division's strength up to nearly 4,500 men. They believed in their commanders. Major General John F. Reynolds had led the division and now commanded the Federal First Corps. The division's new head was the no-nonsense professional, Brigadier General George Gordon Meade. Meade was an ugly and dour man, with a notorious hair-trigger temper. A close friend of Meade's observed that the general had "a tremendous temper, a great idea of military duty, and is very particular. When he does get wrathy, he sets his teeth and lets go a torrent of adjectives that must rather astonish those not used to little outbursts." Yet he managed to balance the difficulty of being Reynolds' constant rival and closest friend. The officers and men of the division knew nothing but respect for Meade.[4]

General Burnside went to work quickly. He grouped the various army corps together into "Grand Divisions." The Pennsylvania Reserves found their First Corps coupled with the Sixth Corps to form the Left Grand Division under Major General William B. Franklin, a bland, unimaginative disciple of McClellan. On November 15, the van of Burnside's army slipped out of Warrenton and headed east toward Fredericksburg. The Pennsylvania Reserves broke camp the next day, marching through Fayetteville, Morrisville, Hartwood, to Stafford Court House. The troops hiked for two days across fields paralleling highways crammed with artillery and wagons. Arriving at Stafford Court House, the Pennsylvanians discovered Federal cavalry housed in the public buildings and county records strewn carelessly about the streets.[5]

Burnside's army massed along the Rappahannock River opposite Fredericksburg. With no means to cross the rising river and the Confederates daily growing stronger, the Union commander paused to think out his next move. Meade's division moved south to Brooks Station on the Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Potomac Railroad. Establishing a camp in a pine thicket on November 22, the soldiers passed the time building shelters and repairing roads. The weather turned cold and snowy and supplies became scarce.[6]

George G. Meade struggled to maintain discipline in his division when supplies failed to get through. Christening their camp "Starvation Hollow," the Reserves felt free to state their needs by any means at hand. Franklin Boyts related that the area was "not safe for chickens, hogs, or sheep to be about." Members of the 13th Pennsylvania Reserves waged a personal war to alleviate their hunger. Known as the Pennsylvania Bucktails, these adept hunters ravaged the country, carrying off everything from sheep to fence rails. Even when one captain tried to curb the Bucktails' ardor, the soldiers "broke loose before his very eyes" and stole every fence in the neighborhood. Meade tried vainly to stop their transgressions. The general personally broke up several marauding parties and even cornered an officer in the act of butchering a pig. At another time he closely pursued a party that was forced to abandoned its sheep and escape. The Bucktails' historian groused, "General Meade, indeed, seems to have had a faculty of appearing where he was not wanted." Patience collapsed when hungry soldiers disrupted the camp, shouting at Meade: "Crackers and Hardtack!" The general ordered the entire division under arms and made them stand in a freezing rain for two hours to coot them off. Eventually, food and clothing arrived, the troops received their back pay, "and the men appeared in most excellent spirits." George Meade's spirits also rose when he received news of his promotion to major general.[7]

The Reserves left Brooks Station on December 8 and moved closer to Fredericksburg. After an all-day ordeal over slippery roads and snow, the men had advanced all of eight miles to White Oak Church. All of the activity around them hinted that Burnside had cooked up a plan. On December 10, officers announced orders for the troops to prepare for battle. They furnished the men with sixty rounds of ammunitio n and later distributed an additional twenty for safe measure. Everyone assumed their position in the division. One soldier wrote, "every man capable of carrying a musket was ordered to be present in the ranks, even the musicians." Drawing four days' rations, the men cooked three and waited for the inevitable call to advance. Several of the regiments received additional instructions for a very special assignment.[8]

Ambrose Burnside planned to throw pontoon bridges across the Rappahannock on December 11, and strike the Confederates around Fredericksburg before they could concentrate their forces. To protect the engineers constructing these bridges, Burnside detached several regiments to cover the riverfront. Meade picked the 10th Reserves and the sure-shot Bucktails to guard one of the three crossing areas. The two regiments silently quit their camps at 11:30 p.m. and met a passel of pontoons and artillery near Falmouth. Spiriting its way downriver, the group arrived at its destination around 2:00 a.m. While the artillery set up on a bluff known as Stafford Heights, and the engineers prepared to launch their unwieldy pontoons into the icy river, the Reserves dispersed along the river banks. Stationed two miles south of Fredericksburg, the Reserves scanned the darkness for any signs of the Confederates. Convinced that all was safe, the engineers cast off and started lashing their bridges together.[9]

At dawn Confederate skirmishers started peppering the bridge-builders, but the Reserves scattered them easily with a well directed fire. Though driven off, the Southerners continued to hover near the river and the Pennsylvanians maintained a constant vigil against repeated small forays. General Meade reported his men dominated the river without suffering any loss, "although there was considerable firing between our sharpshooters and those of the enemy posted on the opposite bank." 'Me engineers finished their spans by 11:00 a.m. [10]

While the 10th Reserves and the Bucktails shivered along the Rappahannock, George Meade primed the rest of the division for action. The men answered roll call at 3:00 a.m. and started on the road within half an hour. The dark column looked somber as it snaked its way down deeply shadowed roads. "The moon was shining brightly, the air was still and frosty," recalled one Pennsylvanian, "The usual hilarity was lacking and the few words said were spoken in subdued tones." Another one of the Reserves remembered, "the steady tramp of men alone disturbed the death-like stillness of the morning." As the division drew close to the river the men halted in a heavy pine forest, loaded their weapons, and waited for news on the bridges. One soldier took the opportunity to write home, nervously closing: "God only knows where we shall be tonight." Good news of the completed bridges was overshadowed by the constant booming of artillery at the two upper pontoon sites. Burnside refused to let his troops cross below Fredericksburg until he secured the bridges into the city. Afternoon passed into twilight with the Reserves listening to the unabated struggle to finish the bridges upriver. Darkness ended the fighting and the Pennsylvania Reserves retraced its steps for a quarter of a mile to bivouac for the night. Lieutenant Robert Taggert pondered the curious day, noting in his diary, "This had been a noisy day one constant roar of cannon from early morning." Noting the stillness of the night, he concluded, "Strange contrast!"[11]

Burnside's army awoke on December 12 to start the advance anew. The troops crowded toward the river and filed across the pontoons, which bobbed gently under the constant tramp of soldiers. The engineers constructed a third bridge beside the two guarded by the 10th Reserves and the Bucktails. Meade's men shuffled to the crest of Stafford Heights by midmorning and the soldiers overlooked a scene of seeming pandemonium spreading across the river bottoms. Edwin R. Gearhart of the 142nd Pennsylvania wrote, "This large flat was covered with a moving mass of 'blue' flowing out over the bridge, constantly and slowly something like molasses out of a jug."[12] A member of the 121st Pennsylvania described the moment as: a magnificent sight, being filled with troops moving some in one direction, some in another, many resting, their arms stacked, awaiting their turns to fall in, officers hurrying to and fro, batteries of artillery and regiments of cavalry mingling with the infantry, all making up an immense mass of humanity that it would seem impossible to prevent being hopelessly mixed and blended together.[13]

The new soldiers marveled at the ease with which the different regiments neatly found order amid chaos and crossed the river with "no confusion whatever being apparent.[14]

The Pennsylvania Reserves swung across the bridges, making a point of marching out of step so as not to upset the pontoons. Arriving on the Confederate side of the Rappahannock, Meade drew his men into line. Once formed, the division climbed out of the bottoms onto a flat, open plain by the "Mannsfield" plantation, the home of Mr. Arthur H. Bernard. As Burnside's army took position on the plateau, Adjutant Woodward of the 2nd Reserves thought "It was one of the most magnificent sights the eyes of man ever rested upon." Maneuvering into the open field probably afforded the Army of the Potomac the first opportunity to see a majority of its forces arrayed for battle. The broken nature of previous battlefields had denied the army a look at itself in action.[15]

Meade's division marched south paralleling the river for a mile. Coming to a deep ravine with a creek, Meade halted and formed line of battle. Holding down the Army of the Potomac's left flank, Meade rested his own left on the Rappahannock and ran his front along the lip of a ravine. His right almost connected with the neighboring division of Brigadier General John Gibbon. Skirmishers dashed across the marshy gorge and approached "Smithfield," the elegant mansion of Dr. 71bomas Pratt. The owner had decided to flee from the menacing Federals but left his overseer to defend the property. When the 2nd Reserves discovered the doors barred, they entered through a window. Colonel William McCandless, commander of the 2nd Reserves, arrested the overseer and two other men in the house and sent them to the rear under guard. Some of the 2nd Reserves took advantage of the luxurious dwelling to keep watch in relative warmth that night. Meanwhile, the Bucktails advanced further to the front, sparring with some Confederate cavalry.[16]

At dusk, General Burnside rode down the line and was "received with enthusiasm by the troops." The Pennsylvania Reserves rent the air with hearty cheers as the army commander scanned the Confederate positions. Aware that the Southerners held a series of wooded ridges west and south of Fredericksburg, Burnside decided to launch his main attack against the southern terminus of these hills. As Meade's men bedded down in the winter's cold, they had no idea that Burnside had targeted their front as the point to achieve success on the morrow. "Everything is very quiet this evening," Luther C. Furst noted in his diary, "and no one would suppose for a moment that two large hostile armies were in such close proximity." Furst's only anxiety lay in the hope that "the infernal cannons will keep quiet" so he could "dream of onward to Richmond."[17]

Most of the division's soldiers were too preoccupied to dream of Richmond. Several of the men spent an unsettling night wrestling with premonitions of impending death. A young Quaker named Joseph L, Pratt confided to his friends that this battle would be his last. A Captain in the Ist Reserves offered to let Pratt stay behind but the soldier declined to leave the ranks. Lieutenant Reuben M. Long of the 9th Reserves spent the evening dwelling on his certain death. As friends attempted to change his mind he persisted. The lieutenant calmly maintained, "I feel sure this will be my last night with the boys," and parcelled out his valuables to be sent home. Both Pratt and Long would receive mortal wounds within the next twenty-four hours. Lieutenant Robert Taggert had earlier looked upon the darkened forms of the sleeping soldiers and mused, "I'm afraid that many of the poor fellows now ready to march will never return to camp or home." No one could say what the next day would hold for them. "All wise Providence does not permit us to took into the future," Taggert admitted to his diary, closing with an unconvincing belief, "It is well. All things are well."[18]

On a frozen December 13, George Meade's Pennsylvania Reserves were "up before day break." As the bivouac came to life a number of small encounters snapped the men to attention. An imprudent rabbit unfortunately crossed paths with the 121st Pennsylvania. A mob converged on the spry little creature, which precipitated a good deal of "scrambling and tumbling and hooting among the soldiers." For an instant, the men forgot "all serious thoughts of the coming conflict." A fox that had ventured between the lines drew the unwanted interest of both armies as skirmishers in blue and gray each took a shot at it before it fled. Soon the fire turned more serious. Dismounted Confederate cavalry attacked the Bucktails near the Smithfield house. The fighting grew heavy enough for the Bucktails to need help. Colonel McCandless detached two companies of the 2nd Reserves to bolster the skirmishers but, the action continued to escalate, causing McCandless to move up the balance of his regiment before the situation stabilized. As the Confederates disappeared back into the morning darkness, Meade joined General Reynolds at the Left Grand Division's headquarters.[19]

The generals gathering around William B. Franklin's headquarters at "Mannsfield" puzzled over the lack of orders from Burnside. Shortly after 7:30 a.m. the missing orders arrived. Franklin read Burnside's astonishingly vague and rambling directive which instructed him to "keep your whole command in position for a rapid movement down the old Richmond Road and ... send ... a division at least ... to seize, if possible, the height near Captain Hamilton's ... taking care to keep it well-supported and its line of retreat open." Burnside's orders lacked the aggressiveness and the clarity that Franklin had expected. He concluded that Burnside intended to land his main attack elsewhere and the left wing should launch a secondary assault to divert the Confederates' attention. Unaware that Burnside still intended Franklin's units to lead the primary effort, the Left Grand Division commander determined to follow Burnside's order to the letter of the law. Franklin ordered Reynolds to prepare one division, well supported, to advance. Reynolds gave the assignment to his most reliable veterans, telling Meade to ready his men. Meade quickly galloped back to his bivouac and the long roll summoned the men into line.[20]

George Meade and John Reynolds rode forward to look at the Confederateheld hills and plot out the attack. '17he landscape did not look promising. The Pennsylvania Reserves needed to cross a sweeping plain of close to a mile in width. Cutting across the open fields ran peculiar Virginia ditch fences or drainage ditches that were often topped with thick cedars, making it difficult to maintain an alignment. Skirting the far edge of the field ran the Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Potomac Railroad. Beyond the railroad heavy timber covered imposing hills and concealed the Confederates from the Federals' eyes.

The Confederates had busily fortified portions of the hills in front of Meade. Lieutenant General Thomas J."Stonewall" Jackson's Corps defended this sector, a narrow two-mile front with some 35,000 troops. Jackson had stacked his divisions in three successive lines. This powerful position was marred by one obvious (at least with hindsight) fault: Maj. Gen, A. P. Hill, one of Jackson's division commanders, had left undefended a 600-yard interval of the Confederate front line. This neglected sector consisted of a marshy stand of woods that jutted across the railroad tracks.

The two Northern generals fixed on that thin finger of woods that protruded into the field as the point to guide the attack. Union artillery would pummel the hills to soften up the position before Meade's Pennsylvanians swept forward. Meade had his doubts. He believed he could take the heights but confessed he could not hold them without support. Meade tried to get reinforcements up front but Franklin denied him, merely stating, "'That is General Burnside's order."[21]

Meade put his troops in motion "immediately on receiving orders." The head of his column crossed the Smithfield ravine, passed a burnt mill, and marched 800 yards downriver to the "Smithfield" manor. Wheeling right, the men drew into battle line facing west toward the Confederates. Standing in a corn stubble field, the men unslung their knapsacks and threw them in piles, A lucky few fell out of ranks to guard the division's belongings. George Meade placed Col. William Sinclair's First Brigade in front with Col. Albert L. Magilton's Second Brigade 300 yards behind it. Brigadier General Conrad Feger Jackson's Third Brigade remained in column to their left flank.[22]

William Sinclair had gained much of his military experience as an artillerist in the old Regular Army. With the war, he became an officer and led the 6th Reserves. He had assumed command of the First Brigade less than a month before but Meade showed every confidence in his ability. Sinclair deployed his troops with the Ist Reserves on the right, the 2nd on the left, and the untested 121st Pennsylvania in the center. Sinclair detailed his own 6th Reserves as skirmishers and gave the much used Bucktails of the 13th Reserves a rest. The Bucktails prepared to stand in support of the artillery. [23]

Colonel Albert L. Magilton had as much military experience as any general at Fredericksburg. He had graduated from West Point in the highly vaunted class of 1846 along with Stonewall Jackson. He had served in the artillery during the War with Mexico and in the Second Seminole War. He had helped keep peace in Bleeding Kansas and undertook the rigors of teaching in the Philadelphia public school system. Despite his credentials, Magilton had failed to rise with his peers and had led a brigade slightly longer than Sinclair. Magilton's line formed with the novice 142nd Pennsylvania holding the right, followed by the 8th, 4th, 3rd, and 7th Reserves.[24]

Brigadier General Conrad Feger Jackson sacrificed much to lead his troops onto the battlefield. As a member of the Society of Friends, a religious sect that abhorred all notions of violence, Jackson had directed his early life to peaceful pursuits, working in warehouses, railroads, and the revenue service, His first taste of the martial world came with delivering dispatches to the U.S. Army during the War with Mexico. Living in Virginia when the Civil War broke out, Jackson returned to Pennsylvania and helped raise the 9th Reserves despite the displeasure of his religious community. Wounded at Second Manassas, Jackson had earned a general's star and the command of the Third Brigade. His men remained in column in the likely order of the 11th Reserves in front, trailed by the 5th, 12th, and 10th Reserves. The 9th Reserves spread out as skirmishers to their left.[25]

Satisfied that everyone was in position, Meade ordered Sinclair forward to the old Richmond Road (also known as the Richmond Stage Road or Bowling Green Road) to clear off a heavy growth of cedars and bridge the ditches lining the road. The men advanced to the road and commenced tearing down the hedges. Meade reported that "some time was consumed in removing the hedge fences on this road, and bridging the drains on each side for the passage of artillery." Some of the Reserves thought that "considerable time was lost" making the path passable for the division and its guns.[26]

While his brigade struggled with the brush, Sinclair pushed his 6th Reserves beyond the road to drive off the Confederate skirmishers. Soon after, Meade looked up to see Sinclair's brigade had advanced across the road and 300 yards into the open fields. Meade became excited because Sinclair had ventured so far ahead without artillery support. Riding rapidly to the road, Meade cried, "Good God! How came that brigade out here? No artillery-no supports!" Staff officers hustled to rush the rest of the division and its cannon forward. Just as the last of the Reserves passed into the field a lone cannon boomed out close to the left.[27]

The first shot of the Battle of Fredericksburg echoed through the air at 10:00 a.m. A lazy shot arched across the sky from left to right and buried itself in the muddy field before the Reserves. Bates Alexander of the 7th Reserves recalled:

 

When thus standing in line a cannon boomed out on our left, at close range, seemingly on the Bowling Green road, a shot whizzed high in the air passing over our heads from left to right along the line. Naturally supposing, from the position, 'twas one of our own batteries. We thought our gunners had had too much 'commissary' this morning and so remarked.[28]

 

When the harmless round was followed by a steady stream of shots, the Reserves cut short their jokes of drunken cannoneers. Confederate Major John Pelham had placed a gun squarely on the Federal left flank and fired down the ranks of Meade's division. Officers yelled for the men to lay down in the mud for safety. General Reynolds ordered C. Feger Jackson's brigade to face left into line, staring directly at Pelham's position. Federal artillery raced to the front and dropped trails to deal with the Confederate menace. [29]

The Pennsylvanians laid in cold, clinging mud for close to an hour enduring the fire. The soldiers maintained "perfect silence" even though they "suffered terribly" in their exposed position. The destructive fire hurt a number of men. The 121st Pennsylvania suffered seven casualties to one shot. Another round cut a man in two. Company D of the 11th Reserves lost its last officer mortally wounded by one of Pelham's bolts. As Captain William Stewart's men carried him off the field, the officer begged them "to go into the impending struggle as bravely as if he were with them." At one point, a body of Confederate sharpshooters crept along the hedges of the old Richmond Road and "kept up a galling fire" on C. Feger Jackson's brigade. Jackson detached two companies to drive the Southerners away. By 11:00 a.m. the sharpshooters had melted back into the landscape and Pelham packed up his artillery. Meade readied his troops to begin the attack. Northern batteries reformed to face Prospect Hill while C. Feger Jackson's brigade wheeled right to come into line as an extension of Sinclair's First Brigade battle line.[30]

The Northern artillery turned its full might against the Confederate stronghold on the ridge. Cannon ranged back and forth, pounding "Stonewall" Jackson's Southerners. Meade's men continued to lie in the mud, listening to the ferocious bark of the guns. Some of the stiff infantrymen complained about their uncomfortable, waterlogged uniforms. "The men were dingy and muddy as turtles," Edwin Gearhart grumbled, consoling himself that even "the officers' uniforms had lost their shining qualities." Others made the best of the situation and caught up on some much needed sleep. Some of the troops worried about what the Confederates had waiting in store for them. An observant few noted that the Southerners "preserved an ominous silence" throughout the barrage. After an hour, the artillerists suspected it was time for the Pennsylvania Reserves to charge the hill.[31]

Officers ordered the men onto their feet. Lunging forward, the whole line hurried over the exposed flatland. As the line swept to within 800 yards of Prospect Hill, Confederate artillery opened a surprise plunging fire that wreaked havoc with the Pennsylvanians. Shells tore through the packed ranks and the attack began to falter. The Southerners fired so accurately that one of Meade's men assumed that stakes found in the field had been planted by the enemy as range markers. As momentum failed and the line began to collapse, Meade ordered the troops to lie down again. The Federal artillery lashed its guns to the front once more and reopened its bombardment. [32]

The artillery of both armies grappled in a deadly duel to gain control of the open fields south of Fredericksburg. The Pennsylvania Reserves huddled in the mud and the slop while angry shells shrieked and whistled across the landscape. "Now the dogs of war are being let loose," Luther Furst of the 10th Reserves fretted, "and the rebs are throwing their rotten shells all around us, much to our discomfort." The 2nd Reserves adjutant wrote that many of the deadly missiles "plowed up the earth in deep furrows, or went howling and bursting over our heads, filling the air with iron hail and sulphur." Some of the shots landing among the Reserves kicked up spigots of mud "higher than the tallest tree," while others bounded through the ranks like grotesque rubber balls. "This is the most trying position soldiers can be placed in," one veteran observed. A novice in the 121st Pennsylvania confessed, "There is certainly something very terrifying in such accompaniments that had not a great tendency to strengthen the nerves." The mental torture as well as the physical punishment unnerved a number of men. "To remain quiet under such a fire," a seasoned infantryman testified, "was more trying than active conflict with the foe." Several of the experienced men appeared even more frightened than they wished to let on. Captain Hugh McDonald of the Bucktail regiment feared the Confederates hurled everything under the sun at him, desponding, "The rebels fired grape, canister, shells, railroad iron, and parts of plow shares.[33]

John Reynolds and George Meade moved among the troops to raise the troops' morale. General Reynolds stayed close to the uninitiated men of the 142nd Pennsylvania to calm them through the trying ordeal. The First Corps commander must have wondered at the rookies who not only behaved well under fire but actually jumped up and cheered when their sickly Col. Robert Cummins hobbled onto the battlefield to resume command of his regiment. General Meade rode slowly from regiment to regiment, chatting pleasantly with the officers and men. Approaching Col. William McCandless of the 2nd Reserves, Meade pointed to his shoulder straps and volunteered, "A star this morning, William?" Just then a Confederate shell gutted the colonel's horse. McCandless answered gruffly, "More likely a wooden overcoat." Wherever Meade encountered the dead lying amid the living, he demanded that the body be immediately buried so the men did not linger on the loss.[34]

As Meade talked with his men he kept an eye on the Confederate bastion, looking for an opportunity to renew his attack. At 1:00 p.m. he knew the time had arrived. A couple of Federal artillery rounds hit two Southern ammunition chests and touched off a furious explosion. The Reserves leapt to their feet and cheered the impressive show of pyrotechnics. Meade seized the moment and shouted at the men to charge. Amid loud cheers, officers ordered the men to fix bayonets. Colonel William Sinclair led the First Brigade past the batteries and his men sprang forward into a run, beginning what one participant called, "the most gallant charge of the war."[35]

The Reserves surged across the field amid a torrent of Confederate shells. George W. McCracken of the 10th Reserves reported that the division pressed ahead "as though its ranks were not being plowed by shot and shell." Bates Alexander thought that the firestorm was worse than in the Miller cornfield at Antietam, and remarked, "Hell itself had broke loose again." The men inclined their heads as if breasting a driving rain and instinctively crowded toward the center of the line. Edward Steffen kept a constant pace, explaining, "Even if the man directly in front of you falls upon the ground, you do not notice him, you run right over him." The ranks became so compact that a flushed rabbit darted up and down the line before it could nudge its way to the rear. The wave of soldiers rolled across the open span when it suddenly plunged into a ditch "about five feet deep with nearly perpendicular sides, and water and ice at the bottom." Many of the soldiers tumbled in unexpectedly and crawled out the other side. Others jumped the ditch, then a second, and a third, as the sea of bluecoats closed in on the railroad.[36]

George Meade watched Sinclair's and Jackson's men race for the railroad. When he turned to check on Magilton's progress, he spied the unemployed Bucktails supporting the artillery. Riding up to their commander, Capt. Charles F. Taylor, Meade demanded that the regiment catch up with Sinclair's brigade. Taylor pointed his men toward the division's right when he saw a gap opening up near the left center. Several of the units in Jackson's brigade had started diverging but the Bucktails shifted left and neatly sealed the gap.[37]

 William Sinclair's soldiers struck the center of the belt of woods that jutted out from the railroad. As the men disappeared into the foliage they found themselves bogged down in a marshy wetland studded with thick oaks and dwarf pines. Hacking their way forward, momentum carried them to the railroad. Albert Magilton's men followed Sinclair's path and closed to within 100 yards of the First Brigade's rear. Meanwhile, C. Feger Jackson dashed ahead of the other two brigades, traversing cleared ground to the left of the marsh. Arriving at the railroad ahead of Sinclair's men, Jackson's troops met a devastating fire from Confederate infantry posted on the hilltop beyond the tracks. Jackson's men scampered into the ditches along the railroad and returned the fire, shooting over the embankment. The Confederate musketry threw the Federals into confusion. C. Feger Jackson's right inclined toward the cover of the marsh while the center held the railroad grade and the left regiment, the 9th Reserves, lay trapped behind a small stone fence 100 yards shy of the railroad. The general may not have known that the Bucktails plugged the gap between his right regiment, the 11th Reserves, and the center of his brigade. Jackson attempted to reorder his line, riding back and forth, exhorting the troops, "Rally men, rally right here." [38]

While Jackson tried to straighten out his line, Sinclair's men eased across the railroad without encountering any resistance. The Confederates had left a 600-yard space in their front unprotected, surmising that it was impassible for an organized force. Sinclair's brigade happened into the heart of that gap by luck. Swarming up the wooded hillside, the men could see only a few yards ahead so they proceeded cautiously.[39]

Magilton's brigade crowded toward Sinclair's rear, with regiments overlapping both of the First Brigade's flanks. Magilton could not see Sinclair ahead of him but assumed that the forward units covered his entire front. When the 142nd Pennsylvania, his new regiment on the right, encountered the Confederates north of the marsh, Colonel Magilton ordered it not to return fire. Certain that the 142nd would hurt their friends in front, Magilton left his right powerless under "a terrific and galling fire." Troops on their left had the benefit of the trees for cover but the 142nd lay "entirely at the mercy of the enemy. . .who took the best advantage of it." The regiment suffered the highest casualties of the division and lost both its major and adjutant to wounds. Major Silas M. Baily's 8th Reserves tried to help the rookies by turning the Confederate defenses along the railroad. Caught in a severe firefight Baily fell wounded and his adjutant was killed. The veterans reported, "Never before had it been subjected to so terrible an ordeal." Regardless of the intense fighting on the division's north flank, Magilton never bothered to ascertain why his right had stalled. At the same time, Magilton's left thronged into C. Feger Jackson's rear, adding to the confusion. Only Sinclair's men appeared to be making any headway.[40]

Sinclair's troops clawed their way through the dense thicket and brush. The uneven ground and undergrowth rapidly destroyed the brigade's alignment. Meade declared that the "regiments separated from brigades, and companies from regiments" as they struggled over the natural obstructions. Adding to the muddle was the lack of a strong directing hand. Colonel Sinclair never made it past the railroad. Receiving a painful wound in the left heel, the colonel had to be borne to the rear. Colonel William McCandless inherited the command, but he had advanced deep into the woods and was unaware of the change.[41]

Rising to the crest of the ridge, the Federals blundered into a Confederate brigade resting in reserve. Henry Flick wrote that the bluecoats closed in quietly which added to the surprise. The 1st and 6th Reserves fell upon the unsuspecting Southerner brigade "with wild yells" and began "scattering it like chaff" before the Confederates could reclaim their stacked weapons. The action was quick and decisive. General Maxcy Gregg's South Carolina brigade retreated pell-mell through the underbrush with the Reserves in hot pursuit. Following the broken Confederates, the 1st and 6th Reserves wheeled right and expanded the breakthrough northward.

These two regiments linked up with Magilton's 4th and 8th Reserves who had penetrated the woods but could not bypass the obstinate Confederate defenders north of the marsh. Together, these regiments still failed to drive away the Southerners who pinned the 142nd Pennsylvania on the railroad. At the same time, the rest of the First Brigade pressed deeper into the Confederate rear. The 2nd Reserves and 121st Pennsylvania lost contact with the rest of the brigade and pretty soon lost contact with each other.[42]

The wedge of troops pouring through the marsh relieved some of the pressure on C. Feger Jackson's troops. From a position behind Magilton's line, George Meade saw that Jackson needed to get his men under the cover of the woods. The division commander dispatched orders to Jackson and may have sent Colonel Magilton to mind his own brigade's left.[43]

General Jackson came to the same conclusion Meade had. Riding toward the center of his line Jackson encouraged the 5th Reserves to sidle to the left. Confederates fixed on the large general dashing behind the line on a beautiful white horse. A hail of bullets killed the horse and plunged the officer to the ground. Jackson drew his sword and jumped onto the railroad. Just then, Meade's aide, Lieutenant Arthur Dehon drew rein before the general. The staff officer immediately fell dead with a bullet through his chest. Jackson turned to point his men to the woods when another volley swept half his staff out of the saddle. At that moment, Conrad Feger Jackson fell dead with a bullet hole drilled through his head. The soldiers of the 5th Reserves surged instinctively for the cover of the trees while the 12th and 10th Reserves maintained their positions along the embankment. The far left 9th Reserves sat tight, unable to rejoin the brigade. Their leader, Lt. Colonel Robert Anderson should have assumed command of the brigade but he had no way of getting to the railroad and probably did not know of Jackson's death until later. [44]

Magilton's left overlapped Jackson's brigade and scurried toward the marsh with the jumbled mass in front of them. Heading for the left, Magilton's horse collapsed from a crippling wound and the brigade commander completely lost touch with his men. The 7th Reserves took its cue from a reckless soldier named James McCauley, who hopped onto the embankment and halloed, "Wide awake fellows, let's give 'em hell!" The regiment "rushed wildly for the wood" amid the frightening hum of canister. The 7th lost two color bearers before entering the trees. Bates Alexander confessed, "I could run at such times like a scared deer." The horde of soldiers fumbling through the woods and swamp moved in every direction "in a sort of helter-skelter way." Not one of Meade's brigade commanders had penetrated beyond the railroad to organize the advance. The men pushed ahead by impulse rather than direction.[45]

Parts of the Federal units splintering in the woods followed Adjutant Evan M. Woodward as he headed south along the ridge top. Woodward broke off from the rest of the 2nd Reserves and pushed toward the Southerners harassing Jackson's Third Brigade. Woodward picked up elements of the 11 th Reserves and smashed into the Confederate brigade of James J. Archer. Locking onto the Southerners' exposed left flank, Woodward's men fired down the length of the Confederate earthworks. Woodward's group closed across the rear of their enemy while portions of the 7th Reserves, 5th Reserves, and the Bucktails hammered the works from the slope of the hill in front. Evan Woodward realized that the Federals had crossed their fire and he started taking casualties from friendly bluecoats. Running ahead, Woodward dove into the Confederate trench. Surrounded by over a hundred Southerners, Woodward asked them if they cared to surrender. They answered, "We will surrender, if you will let us." Quieting the fire, Woodward removed his prisoners down the hill and secured the battleflag of the 19th Georgia-the only Confederate flag captured at Fredericksburg. Woodward refused to leave the front with his trophies so he detached Charles Upjohn to carry the flag to the rear. When Upjohn fell wounded, Jacob Cart of the 7th Reserves took the flag. The Congress rewarded Cart with the Medal of Honor. Thirty years later, a Medal of Honor was bestowed on Woodward as well. [46]

The Pennsylvania Reserves fragmented inside the gap, pressing in every direction and expanding the breach. Meade wrote "the attack was for a time perfectly successful." As the Federals pierced the Confederate defenses, they exploded the hole to twice its size. The impetus, however, was rapidly diminishing. Casualties escalated and much of the leadership had fallen. On the right, the 4th Reserves lost its commander when Lt. Col. Richard H. Woolworth was carried off wounded. On the left, Col. Henry C. Bolinger of the 7th Reserves hopped off Prospect Hill, nursing a wounded ankle. The Bucktails' leader, Capt. Charles R Taylor had one horse shot out from under him and soon fell with a bullet through his shoulder. His replacement, Capt. Edward A. Irvin also fell wounded. The 5th Reserves lost its entire leadership with Lt. Col. George Dare dropping wounded, Maj. Frank Zentmeyer mortally wounded and captured, and his brother, acting adjutant David Zentmeyer dying in the vortex of the battle. Only Evan Woodward and George Meade seemed to lead charmed lives. Woodward survived the day without a scratch, though Confederate bullets had perforated his uniform thirteen times. General Meade found himself surrounded by deadly missiles. A Southern ball ripped through the crown of the general's wide-brimmed hat while another passed through the neck of his horse. A new threat to Meade wore a blue uniform. The general spied a skulker bolting for the rear. As he rode down the soldier Meade saw the man level his rifle at him. Impulsively, the general throttled the bluecoat with the flat of his sword, breaking the blade down to the hilt. Meade sent the bewildered man back to the front with angry curses ringing in his ears.[47]

The Pennsylvania Reserves' attack had reached its zenith. Meade dispatched a staff officer to bring forward reinforcements to secure his gains. The aide sought help from the closest troops at hand. Appealing to Brigadier General David B. Birney, Meade's officer was astounded when Birney declined to help. Birney commanded a Third Corps division sent to cooperate with the First Corps. Birney accepted orders from the corps commander, John Reynolds, but he did not recognize requests from Reynolds' subordinates. When Meade heard this, he sent another staffer to demand Birney come forward at once. Birney refused again. George Meade's temper erupted. "Meade was almost wild with rage as he saw the golden opportunity slipping away," remembered one soldier. The general raced back to find Birney. Cornering the ignoble division officer, Meade savaged him with blistering curses that could "almost make the stones creep." The major general tartly pointed out that the brigadier needed to follow superior's orders and then snarled, "General, I assume the authority of ordering you up to the relief of my men." Birney gladly complied. Unfortunately, Birney's assistance was too little help and too late, because the Confederates also had sought supports and they had not run into obstinate roadblocks like Birney.[48]

Meade returned to the railroad only to see his success start to crumble. Confederate counterattacks pitched into his left and right flanks and his tenuous hold on the hill began to collapse. As the veteran Reserves bolted down the hillside and over the railroad, they shouted at the 142nd Pennsylvania to "Get out of this, the `Johnnies' are right behind us!" The entire horde dispersed from the tracks. One soldier recalled, "I remembered when I began to run back," but then caught himself, "retreat (I should say) I was making. . .a speed of at least ten miles per hour." Meanwhile the left started backpeddling under intense pressure. Lieutenant Daniel R. Coder of the 11th Reserves conceded, "Never did I look back for support with more anxiety than on that fatal day." With their ammunition exhausted and no help in sight, the Reserves broke under vicious assaults. "The next instant the gallant boys were almost flying. . .through the bushes," recalled Bates Alexander, who averred, "this was one of my good days for running." Many of the Southerners chased after the bluecoats while others closed in on the center.[49]

Wandering alone in the center, the 121st Pennsylvania lost touch with everyone. Suddenly, the Confederates struck the regiment from the front and the rear and the Northerners quit the hill and fell back to the railroad looking for help. The 3rd Reserves climbed the heights a short distance away and saw the 121st Pennsylvania retreat without the new men detecting the veterans. The 3rd Reserves continued forward and linked up with the 2nd Reserves when both units were assailed from opposite directions. The fighting degenerated into a "desperate hand-to-hand struggle." Colonel Horatio Sickels of the 3rd Reserves had a dozen holes in his coat and his binoculars smashed before it was over. The Federals appeared to be "at the mercy of their assailants" when Southern troops started encircling them. To the beleaguered Reserves it appeared "the foe was swarming on all sides." The 2nd and 3rd Reserves withdrew and slipped out of the closing trap.[50]

Meade attempted to collect his forces along the railroad bed. He seized the colors of the 121st Pennsylvania and the 2nd Reserves as the points for the men to rally. Before the division could reorganize, the Confederates sailed down the ridge and washed over the embankment. Another rare moment of close combat flared before the Reserves fell back across the field. The 9th Reserves covered the retreat from their stone wall stronghold.[51]

The Pennsylvania Reserves rolled back like a resistless tide. General Reynolds joined General Meade and both officers attempted to stem the retreat. Meade stormed back and forth trying to halt various knots of men only to watch them vanish moments later. The survivors of the 121st Pennsylvania noted that the general "seemed considerably vexed." The 4th Reserves found out the hard way. When Captain Enos L. Christman failed to stop his men, "Meade cursed him and told him he would have him shot" if he did not do better. A witness wrote darkly that "Meade is a rough customer when under fire." The remnants of the division pushed through the fastidious ranks of Bimey's division. "The men appeared sullen and disheartened," according to a Third Corps officer, "as if they had been badly treated and sacrificed." When an unsullied staff officer ordered the Reserves to rally around him, one dirty veteran flung his rifle in the air and sneered, "I've had enough of this sort of damned business." When another soldier was asked where his unit was, he replied sadly, "Busted up and gone to hell.”[52]

The broken pieces of the division gathered near the Smithfield ravine shortly after 2:30 p.m. Ragged soldiers rooted through piles looking for their knapsacks; wounded men writhed in pain outside makeshift hospitals and officers congregated to make sense of the attack. George Meade was incensed at the lack of support. "My God General Reynolds," he exploded, "did they think my division could whip Lee's entire army?" Meade calmed down somewhat by the time William Franklin talked to him. When the Left Grand Division commander acted surprised that the fighting was so desperate, Meade passively fingered the fresh holes in his hat and muttered, "I found it quite hot for me." The division entered the battle with nearly 4,500 troops. Several hours later it reported 1,823 casualties and the loss of two brigade commanders. The remaining 2,600 men saw no further action at Fredericksburg. The division regrouped during the night and stood in line on December 14. The battle lines North and South glared at each other through "a long, weary day of expectancy." December 15 saw more of the same. [53]

Soon after dark on December 15, as the first drops of rain washed the blood stained battlefield, officers ordered the men under arms. Details built camp fires while the men silently crept toward the pontoon crossings. "Not a word was spoke. The canteens, cups, and accouterments did not rattle and jingle as usually," remembered Luther C. Furst, "and all seemed to be conscious that on the silence depended their lives." The Reserves crossed on bridges covered in sod and brush to muffle the noise. The dejected shadow of the old Pennsylvania Reserves slipped over the Rappahannock River to safety and shuffled into its old camp around White Oak Church.[54] 

The division was little stronger than a small brigade and morale plummeted in the aftermath of Fredericksburg. Lieutenant Robert Taggert of the 9th Reserves voiced the opinion of many when he declared, "The expedition [was] a failure . . . .The undertaking seemed like madness." The Reserves took the loss harder than most. Evan Woodward lamented, "The battle of Fredericksburg was lost, the bright hopes of the Nation and the army are blasted, and the victory that was within our grasp was gone forever." John B. Tobias of the 8th Reserves agreed that this was a despicable trend, writing, "our victory was snatched away and defeat fell to our lot again." The soldiers of the Pennsylvania Reserves believed they had come close to accomplishing the impossible. One veteran summed up the action, stating, "General Meade had come within a hair's breadth of achieving a great success. [55]

Contrary to all the historical attention lavished on the December 13 action around Marye's Heights and the stone wall, these Confederate defenses did not determine the outcome of the Battle of Fredericksburg. The Federals suffered predictable losses against them without one soldier even reaching the Southern lines, much less penetrating them. The decisive factor of the battle focused on the fighting around Prospect Hill. George Gordon Meade's Pennsylvania Reserves fought the true Battle of Fredericksburg, as opposed to the dramatic and compelling slaughter of Federal troops that took place on the Federal right. A soldier in the 121 st Pennsylvania summarized the difference:

 

The dreadful slaughter in front of Marye's Hill at no time approached success, but, however brave, the efforts of the troops at that point were from the first utterly hopeless. Meade's were the only troops that broke through the enemy's lines, and saw victory, for a short time, perched upon their banners.[56]

 

General George Meade sadly noted that the difference for him "made me feel worse. . .than if we had been repulsed from the first."[57]