...sing, --bridging the river of death, into the jaws of hell! Had we not a little later, a mile below, crowded over the hurriedly laid, still swaying, boat-bridge, raked and swept by the batteries on Marye's Heights , and rushed up the bloody, slippery slopes to the dead-line stone wall? And on the second midnight after, shall we forget that forlorn recrossing, in murk and rain, on the last pontoon bridge left,...