Harry saw houses crumbling in Fredericksburg, with flames leaping up from others.
The artillery of Longstreet immediately facing the Union batteries was too light and weak to reply, and the gunners remained quiet in their trenches while the storm rained its showers of steel upon the town.
Yet the Mississippians in the rifle pits held fast, their earthen shelters protecting them.

While the bombardment was at its very height workmen ran out on the bridge for the fourth time to complete it, and while the shells and solid shot were whistling over their heads, the rifles of the Mississippians once more swept it clean.

Harry groaned.

He could not help it at the sight of men so brave who were cut down like grass by the scythe.

Then his attention turned away from the bridge to the mighty cannonade which seemed to be growing in volume.
The wind took much of the smoke across the river and it floated in a great cloud over Fredericksburg, through which shot the flames of the burning buildings.
But the main army of the South, stretched along a front of six miles, remained silent.