Having marshaled and prepared his forces for two days, Ambrose Burnside orders the Federal army to launch its attack at mid-morning. The main thrust centers initially on the southern end of the Confederate battle line five miles south of Fredericksburg. However, as initial success there gives way to an ultimate repulse, the attention of the Federal Army shifts to the Confederate defenses just outside the western edge of the city. Eight hundred yards of open ground lie between the edge of the city and the Confederate line. Prior to the battle E.P. Alexander had boasted to Commanding General Robert E. Lee that once his artillery opened on the open plain, even a chicken could not survive on that ground. Once the attacks begin, the truth of Alexander’s statement is instantly proven. The Confederate artillery and supporting infantry savagely mauls the attacking Federals. Casualties quickly climb into the thousands.
As the battle continues to rage on into the afternoon, wounded Federals are evacuated from the battlefield to makeshift field hospitals set up in public and private buildings throughout the city. The sanctuaries of Fredericksburg’s eight houses of worship are soon filled to capacity with the human carnage of war. The New York Times reports:
“The Baptist Church has been nearly riddled by shells, while all the pews have been torn out to make room for the sick, who were spread upon the pew cushions. The same condition of things was visible in the basement of the Episcopal Church.”
Even the hospitals prove to be hazardous. Francis Edwin Pierce of the 108th New York Volunteer Infantry recalls:
Co[mpanie]s A & F were standing between the [Baptist] church & Brick house [opposite the church on Princess Anne Street]. The [Confederate] battery at the head of the street [`s axis on Marye’s Heights] suddenly opened. The first shot just struck the corner of the house, knocked out a few bricks & exploded just as it struck the church. The 2nd shot passed entirely through the house & exploded just [as] it struck the church, 3rd shot[-]the same[,] only it exploded inside the church.
The regimental history of the Fifth New Hampshire Volunteer Regiment records a similar experience of William Child, the regiment’s surgeon:
“Following a street [Amelia] up a hill …he saw dead men along the way, and at the top of the rising …saw shot from the enemy come bounding down the street ….A farther advance in that direction not seeming discreet he turned to the left around the corner of a large [Baptist] church, used as a hospital, to whose director he reported for duty. Here he labored, dressing wounds until dark, the church floor being covered with Union wounded. Soon after dark candles were lighted, but after a brief quiet between sunset and dark, a solid shot came crashing through the church walls, knocking the plastering in a furious shower over patients and surgeons. Lights were ordered out; all surgery ceased and the surgeons labored in the dark to render the wounded comfortable.”
By 5:00pm the gathering darkness mercifully brings to an end the fruitless Federal attacks. The cacophony of booming artillery and rattling musketry gives way to the piteous cries of thousands of wounded soldiers lying in the temporary hospitals, in the streets, and on the bloody plain outside the city. Unsure of what tomorrow will bring, both armies prepare for another day of deadly warfare.
Sources: Francis Augustin O’Reilly, The Fredericksburg Campaign: Winter War on the Rappahannock, Louisiana State University Press, 2003; “Civil War Letters of Francis Edwin Pierce of the 108th New York Volunteer Infantry,” Rochester Historical Society Publications (1944), pp. 150-173; A History of the Fifth Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers, Bristol, NH: 1893 (link); New York Times, December 26, 1862, quoting from the Richmond Enquirer, December 13, 1862; illustration (link)
Article written by Dennis Sacrey, President of the Virginia Baptist Historical Society, and Church Administrator, Fredericksburg Baptist Church
