All of the different regiments, with the exception of the Third South Carolina, had good protection in the way of stone walls, this being the sole occasion that any of Kershaw’s troops had been protected by breastworks of any kind during the whole war.  The Second was in a sunken road leading to the city, walled on either side with granite, the earth on the outside being leveled up with the top.  The maneuvering into position had taken place while Hancock was making the first assault upon the wall defended by Cobb.  Howard was now preparing to make the doubtful attempt at taking the stronghold with the point of the bayonet, and without firing a gun.  But with such men as the Georgians, South Carolinians, and North Carolinians in their front, the task proved too Herculean.  Howard moved to the battle in beautiful style, their line almost solid and straight, their step in perfect unison with the long, moving columns, their guns carried at a trail, and the stars and stripes floating proudly above their heads.  The shot and shell plunging through their ranks from the hills above, the two siege guns on Lee’s Hill now in beautiful play, the brass pieces of the Washington Artillery firing with grape and shrapnel—­but all this made no break nor halt in that long line of blue.  The double column behind the stone wall and the Third South Carolina on the crest of the Hill met them in front with a cool and steady fire, while the Second South Carolina directed its attention to the flank.  But the boldest and stoutest hearts could not withstand this withering blast of bullets and shells without returning the fire.  The enemy opened upon us a terrific fire, both from the columns in front and from the sharpshooters in the housetops in the city.  After giving us battle as long as human endurance could bear the ordeal, they, like their companions before them, fled in confusion.

Before making the direct attack, Howard attempted a diversion by endeavoring to turn Cobb’s left.  Passing out into the plain above the city, he was met by some of Cooke’s North Carolinians, and there around the sacred tomb of Mary Washington was a hand to hand encounter between some New York and Massachusetts troops and those from the Pine Tree State.  Sons of the same ancestry, sons of sires who fought with the “Father of his Country” in the struggle for the nation’s independence, now fighting above the grave of the mother for its dissolution!  Thrice were the Confederates driven from the position, but as often retaken, and at last held at the point of the bayonet by the hardy sons of North Carolina.

The battle, grand and awful in its sublimity, raged from the morning’s opening till two o’clock, without the least abatement along the whole line.  From the extreme right to our left at Taylor’s Hill was a sea of fire.  But Mayree’s Hill was the center, around which all the other battles revolved.  It was the key to Lee’s position, and this had become the boon of contention.  It was in the taking of Mayree’s Hill and the defeat of the troops defending it that the North was pouring out its river of blood.  Both commanders were still preparing to stake their all upon this hazard of the die—­the discipline of the North against the valor of the South.