Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, 1902-07-19
TRAGEDY of the Sunken Road
How Burnside's Mon Wers
Shot Down at Fredericksburs

he anticipated The left OF the army
has little trouble in crossing the river.
1t is at Fredericksburg itself, in the
street by the river, in the houses that
line the unambitious way, that the
Federals find terrible wall of hostile
fire confronting them. Gen. Barksdale
and his Mississippians are behind that
wall, and the Federals, trying to lay
their pontoon bridge. drop before the
Mississippi rifles hopelessly, as the
leaves on the Fredericksburg forests,
when October charges upon them.
There is a fire from the formidable
Union batteries, to force Barksdale
and his men out of their hiding place.
and they will stubbornly fall back, but
not yet. Meanwhile the 7th Michigan
and the 10th Massachusetts, rush for.
ward in their boats, polling from shore
to shore, though the bullets rain down
wounds and death. They land. They
press into the town. Many are doomed
to sacrifice.
In the street, there in the hottest
collision, is the Rev. Arthur B. Fuller
of WATERFOWL, Mass. He sought a
chaplaincy, resigning from his parish
to get it. He resigns his chaplaincy
this morning that he may get quick
access to an altar. His soul feels the
heat and sweep of a flame of devo-
ton consuming him. The chaplain'a
altar is In the very center of conflict
He seizes a gun. He goes into the
ranks as a private. He is one of the
first to volunteer to dare the passage
of the Rappahannock. He gains the
bloody street. His rifle is ready. The
crack of another rifle is heard, and
Arthur B. Fuller of Watertown falls in
the crfmsoned way. The altar-fiame
has done it's work.
The 18th of December comes. 1t is
to be the saddest day of slaughter.
On the left, in Franklin's corps, Gen.
Meade almost pierces the Confeder.
ate line. Unsupported, he is forced
to fall back.
The dead lie in far-stretching, silent
heaps. On the Federal right the light.
ming from the thunder of the Confed-
crate army is still more serious.
The 18th is foggy morning. There
is deep veil of mist between the
town of Fredericksburg with the north
ern army and that southern army on
Marye's hill, Willis hill, Lee hill and
kindred heights. The fog lifts, though,
in the forenoon, and the Federals
proudly advance in their march
against the bitterness OF death.
The lifting of the fog is only the
rising or the curtain on one of the
most serious, disheartening, cruel ira
gedies of the civil war. 1t should be
said that the project of this advance
has not been heartily welcomed among
the officers of the army. There has
been a strong blast from a wind called
public opinion roaring "On to Rich
mond,' and the army is obedient to
the controlling will at it's head, re-
sponsive in its turn to that unreason-
ing pressure of public sentiment. Let
us keep this distinctly in mind.
The northern regiments are now
marching out to martyrdom. In long,
clean, bright lines they come steadily
on. Their colors are proudly defiant.
Their attitude is challenge to the
grave.
There is a flash along the frowning
hills, there is a roar, and the southern
balls make deep burrows in those ad-
vancing ranks. They will not turn,
though They press on, when suddenly,
to their surprise, like specters spring
ing up through the last of the morning
mist, like gnomes wriggling out of the
ground, rises a long line of waiting
rifles in the "sunken road"
They hurl wave after wave of fire
and ball, to which there can be no
hopeful resistance. Broken, crippled,
the bluecoats fall back in utter re-
pulse. As their lines fill up, they come
again, only to be broken, crippled, de-
feated again. They keep coming, but
up out of the sunken road flash the
fires of the hidden rifles, and every
time the charge is in vain.
Finally in the sunken road are four
lines of troops. The front rank, de-
livering it's fire, falls back. The sec
ond fires and other ranks follow. No
matter how brave, what advance could
withstand those repeated deadly fires?
The sun has gone down on the Grim
son snow when the last charge is
made. 1t is only an assault that is an
invitation, and the answer is a sIaugh-
ter. The horrors of the battlefield that
night, the sufferings Of the wounded
amid the wintry cold, the discomfort
of troops bivouacked out under the
chilling heavens, cannot be described.
The Confederate losses reported
are: Killed. sos; wounded, Ais;
Union killed, LISA; wounded. $500.
The desire of Gen. Burnside to re-
trieve, the next day. his sad losses,
and to lead in person another charge,
finds fortunately no encouragement,
and the Fredericksburg chapter of the
war ia closed