headquarters, to learn his views touching the movement. He thinks we are in for a fight, and gives his opinion as to Hooker’s intentions. He is sanguine of success.—We have hardly closed our eyes in sleep, when some one calls out in a voice seemingly loud enough for the rebel pickets to hear, “Where is Colonel Blank?” “Here, sir,” responds that officer, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wanted?” “Gen. B. directs me to say that you are to march your regiment to the bank of the river, form in line of battle, and await further orders. You are to move expeditiously, with as little noise as possible, following the pontoons.” The order is obeyed; the regiment marching away in almost spectral silence. Debouching from the ravine, the darkness deepens, for a dense fog hangs over the valley of the Rappahannock like a pall. We file past the pontoon train, from which the engineer corps are detaching the boats, silently and with all the celerity possible—and stand upon the river’s brink. In our rear come other regiments, until our whole brigade is closed in line five regiments deep.—It was a critical time. I recall it well. The silence was almost oppressive; orders were given in low tones, and nothing but the rattle of accoutrements broke the silence. The fog resembled a mirage. Objects a little way off took on gigantic proportions. I remember that a pontoon boat, borne on stout shoulders to the river’s brink, resembled the immense hulk of a ship as it loomed into view, while at the distance of a few feet men took on colossal dimensions. Meantime we are tolled off in detachments to occupy the pontoons, along with the engineers who are to do the navigation, and our orders are to form instantly on reaching the other shore, dash forward and capture the enemy’s picket line, or whatever force may be there to oppose us. At length there are sounds of commotion on the other side. The Johnnies suspect something. Splash! goes a pontoon into the water, followed by a deep curse from the officer in charge, brave old Gen. Benham, who cannot restrain his rage over the carelessness of his men. Meanwhile the fog has been gradually rising, and the gray of dawn appears. More stir on the other side, a rattling of equipments, hurried commands—then a sharp challenge, (some of our scouts are nearly over), followed by a single musket discharge, then a volley, and the whistle of bullets. Instinctively we do them low obeisance; the lines waver for an instant, then firmness and silence. So heavy a fire was not anticipated. It told of a large reserve which must have been brought up in expectation of an attack. All hope of a surprise was over. “Will the pontoons never be launched?” Yes, Benham has done his duty, and into them we scramble and push off, each boat for itself. The stream is narrow at this point, but we are not swift enough to check another volley, which being better directed than the first, killed and wounded a number of our boys in the boats.