A short distance--a third of a mile--below the bridge there is a ford. Rodman's division was ordered to cross at that point, while Crook and Sturgis were ordered to carry the bridge. The Eleventh Connecticut advanced, winding among the hills, deploying in the fields, firing from the fences, the trees, and stone walls. But from the woods, the quarry, the wall upon the crest of the hill, the road upon the western bank, they received a murderous fire. Crook's column, which had been sheltered by a ridge, marched down the road. The cannon upon the opposite bank threw shells with short fuses. The column halted and opened fire. Sturgis's division passed in their rear, and reached the bridge, under cover of the hot fire kept up by Crook. The Second Maryland and Sixth New Hampshire charged upon the bridge. Instantly the hillside blazed anew with musketry. There were broad sheets of flame from the wall upon the crest, where the cannon, double-shotted, poured streams of canister upon the narrow passage. The head of the column melted in an instant. Vain the effort. The troops fell back under cover of the ridge sheltering the road leading to Rohrbach's. General McClellan sent an aide to General Burnside with the message:-- "Assault the bridge and carry it at all hazards." It was nearly one o'clock before the dispositions were all made for another attempt. Ferrero's brigade, consisting of the Fifty-first New York, Fifty-first Pennsylvania, Thirty-fifth and Twenty-first Massachusetts, was selected to make the decisive attack. In Napoleon's campaigns, the bridge of Lodi and the causeway at Arcola, swept by artillery and infantry, were carried by the bravery and daring and enthusiasm of his troops; but the task assigned to Ferrero's brigade was not a whit easier than those historic efforts. The Thirty-fifth Massachusetts had been in the service less than a month. They were hardy mechanics and farmers; Napoleon's soldiers were such by profession, who had endured the trials, hardships, and discipline of successive campaigns; but these men, gathering in solid column at noon behind the ridge, on this September day, had left their plows and anvils and benches, not because they loved military life, or the excitement of battle, or the routine of camp life, but because they loved their country. The Twenty-first Massachusetts had been with Burnside in North Carolina. Their commander, Colonel Clark, at home, was a teacher of youth, accustomed to the lecture-room of Amherst; but he had left his crucibles and retorts, and the shaded walks of the college he loved, and the pleasant society of the beautiful town, to serve his country. He was wounded at South Mountain, and Major King commanded them now. The men from New York left their wheat-fields and mills, and the men from Pennsylvania their coal-mines and foundries, to be citizen soldiers. They have not learned the art of war.