The watchers turned their field glasses anew to the Southern center and
left, where the battle raged with undiminished ferocity. Marye's Hill
was a formidable position and along its slope ran a heavy stone wall.
Behind it the Southern sharpshooters were packed in thousands, and every
battery was well placed.

Hancock, following Burnside's orders, led the attack upon the
ensanguined slopes. Forty thousand men, almost the flower of the Union
army, charged again and again up those awful slopes, and again and again
they were hurled back. The top of the hill was a leaping mass of flame
and the stone wall was always crested with living fire. No troops ever
showed greater courage as they returned after every repulse to the
hopeless charge.

At last they could go forward no longer. They had not made the
slightest impression upon Marye's Hill and the slopes were strewn with
many thousands of their dead and wounded, including officers of all
ranks, from generals down. The Union army was now divided into two
portions, each in the face of an insuperable task.

But Burnside, burning with chagrin, was unwilling to draw off his army.
The reserve troops, left on the other side of the river, were sent
across, and Fighting Joe Hooker was ordered to lead them to a new
attack. Hooker, talking with Hancock, saw that it merely meant another
slaughter, and sent such word to his commander-in-chief. But Burnside
would not be moved from his purpose. The attack must be made, and
Hooker--whose courage no one could question--still trying to prevent it,
crossed the river himself, went to Burnside and remonstrated.

Men who were present have told vivid stories of that scene at the