"On they came," says an eye-witness, "in beautiful order, as
if on parade, their bayonets glistening in the bright sunlight; on
they came, waving their hundreds of regimental flags, which relieved
with warm bits of colouring the dull blue of the columns and the
russet tinge of the wintry landscape, while their artillery beyond
the river continued the cannonade with unabated fury over their
heads, and gave a background of white fleecy smoke, like midsummer
clouds, to the animated picture."
And yet that vast array, so formidable of aspect, lacked that moral
force without which physical power, even in its most terrible form,
is but an idle show. Not only were the strength of the Confederate
position, the want of energy in the preliminary movements, the
insecurity of their own situation, but too apparent to the
intelligence of the regimental officers and men, but they mistrusted
their commander. Northern writers have recorded that the Army of the
Potomac never went down to battle with less alacrity than on this day
at Fredericksburg.
Nor was the order of attack of such a character as to revive the
confidence of the troops. Burnside, deluded by the skill with which
Jackson had hidden his troops into the belief that the Second Army
Corps was still at Port Royal, had instructed Franklin to seize the
ridge with a single division, and Meade's 4,500 Pennsylvanians were
sent forward alone, while the remainder of the Grand Division, over
50,000 strong, stood halted on the plain, awaiting the result of this
hopeless manoeuvre.
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