All the preparations having been completed, the night of the 31st of December, 1862, saw General Magruder and his little army marching silently along the road from the bridge to Galveston city. The distance was only five miles, and as the plan was to reach the city about 2 o'clock, A. M., the party had plenty of time to make their trip leisurely. Our forces consisted of several regiments of infantry, and about eighteen or twenty pieces of artillery. The principal attack from the land was to be made by the artillery, as there were only about three hundred of the enemy in the city, and they were behind a barricade at the outer end of one of the wharves. The night was a lovely one, as many will remember. The moon looked down upon our men as they stole along as peacefully as if there was no such horrid reality as war. Perhaps it was in deference to her known prejudices on the subject that Gen. Magruder postponed the attack until she had disappeared beneath the horizon, which occurred about 3 o'clock. Be that as it may, she would have witnessed a very pretty sight if she had deferred setting an hour or two longer. The suburbs of the city were reached about half past 3 o'clock in the morning. The streets were completely deserted; the few inhabitants who had remained in the city were sleeping soundly, and had not our men awakened and warned them of their danger, they would have slumbered on until the cannon's roar had startled them. The march through the city was as quiet a procession as could well be imagined. One might almost have fancied that the men were so many ghosts, following the old year to his burial, except that ghosts in the matter of dress have a great partiality for white as a color, while the costume of our soldiers was, as you may suppose, none of the fairest. But it is not surprising that the usually noisy Texan boys were quiet. The scene, the dead hour of night, and the fact that this was to be the first battle of many of them, all conspired to make them serious. Then, too, the great heavy waves came tumbling and roaring in from the Gulf, chanting out upon the still night air, as they dashed along, something that sounded amazingly like a funeral dirge. But onward our soldiers stole, through long, lonely streets, now around this corner, now turning that, until at length they reached the Strand. The moon was now down, and everything was enveloped in darkness. The guns were noiselessly placed in position and loaded, the men looking like so many shadows as they took their places in the gloom. There, within a few hundred yards, lay the Harriet Lane, the Owasco, the Clifton and the Sachem, with their broad-sides toward the city, and ready to open the moment the first gun from our side was fired. This was known, for the Yankees had been ashore the day before, and told the citizens that they knew we were coming, and had prepared a New Year's gift for the occasion. They were even so certain of victory that they allowed our artillery to place their guns in position without firing upon them. All being at length ready, General Magruder opened the attack by firing the first gun. In a few moments the bright flashes, the booming reports and whizzing shells told plainer than words that the action had begun in earnest. For the next hour the roar of cannon was incessant. The clear, keen crack of our little rifled guns, the duller chords of our 24-pounders, and the mighty, thundering bass of the Columbiads and Parrot guns on the gunboats, combined to form a piece of music that might well have been dedicated to the King of Pandemonium. There was a gun on one of the boats that really seemed to throw lamp-posts. Plunging through a brick house was nothing but fun for those big fellows. In they went at one side and out at the other, leaving a hole through which a Yankee peddler might almost have driven his horse and cart. As for bricks, window-blinds, pieces of plank, and such things, they flew around in the most reckless manner, evidently vieing with the shells and canister in making our boys below uncomfortable. This state of things continued for what seemed to some present about one lunar month, though the correspondents, very few of whom were there, however, assert that it was only two hours. The discrepancy probably occurred from the former measuring time by their feelings, and the latter by their watches.

Up to this hour, which was just about daylight, nothing had been heard from our boats, which were to have made the attack simultaneously with the land forces. The fight had raged furiously on both sides, and an attempt had been made by some of our infantry to storm the position of the 42d Massachusetts regiment on one of the wharves. The attempt, however, had failed. It was now becoming very evident that our land forces alone were no match for the Yankee boats with their great guns, vomiting half bushel of grape and canister at a fire. If they were the New Year presents prepared, our men, who were there, will doubtless admit that the Yankees distributed them in the most miscellaneous and lavish manner. And yet, though so much ammunition had been expended, very few casualties had occurred. This frequently happens, and is one of those positively inexplicable things. It may possibly be attributed to the fact that a special Providence has decreed that balls should be blind. If any other observer on the subject has another or better explanation to offer, let him hand it in. And yet, some gallant spirits fell on that day, precious offerings on the altar of their country. Let their memory be cherished and their names recorded, so that those who shall come after, when they read them, may pause with gratitude and reverence, as they remember that for them and their rights those brave hearts were sacrificed.

Daylight at length appeared, and every eye looked anxiously for our boats, which ought to have been up two hours before. As was afterwards learned, they had come down within sight at about 12 o'clock, and finding all quiet, retired five or six miles, under the impression that the land attack had been postponed. There they waited until the flashing guns announced that the attack had begun. The commander of our little fleet, upon discovering this, immediately ordered all steam to be put on, and started back. A little after daylight the old Bayou City and Neptune, followed in the distance by the John F. Carr and Lucy Guinn, hospital boats, were discovered bearing steadily down upon the Harriet Lane, then lying at the end of the wharf opposite the Cotton Press. The Harriet Lane, and the rest of the enemy's boats, continued to direct their fire at them, but fortunately without effect, until our little fleet was close upon them, when a shell struck the Neptune in front, killing and wounding a large number of the brave fellows aboard, and damaging the boat considerably. The Neptune still kept steadily on, however, and in a few moments ran into the Lane amidships. Our boys soon cleared the enemy's decks with buckshot from their double-barrel guns, and would have boarded her, but it was discovered that the Neptune was rapidly sinking, in consequence of the damages she had received. She was accordingly run into shoal water, about fifty yards from the Harriet Lane, where she sunk immediately. In the meantime the Yankee crew, seeing the predicament of the Neptune, came up on deck again, and were preparing to renew the action, when the Bayou City interfered seriously with their preparations by running into the Lane's wheel-house. Another volley from our boys again cleared her decks, making the Yankee tars dodge into their holes like rats. She was then boarded, when the vessel was surrendered, and down came the gridiron, and up went the stars and bars. It was found that the Captain and first Lieutenant of the boat were killed, and about twenty-five of her crew killed or wounded.

Too much cannot be said of the gallantry of the men, each and all, who manned our boats. The enterprise, though eminently successful, was one of the most hazardous and brilliant on record. Thus the day was won. The rest of the enemy's boats, seeing the condition of the Lane, and being still pelted with shells from our guns on shore, soon ran up white flags. They sent in a boat asking a truce of three hours, which all thought was to end in a surrender of the whole fleet. The truce was granted. The three companies of the 42d Massachusetts had also surrendered when they saw that the Harriet Lane had been captured. The rest of the Yankee fleet, viz: the Clifton, Sachem and Owasco, after waiting to within half an hour of the expiration of the flag of truce, ignominiously sneaked off with the white flag flying. They did this because they saw that the Bayou City was entangled in some way with the Lane's wheel-house. If she could have been gotten loose, the whole fleet would probably have been ours. Two of them, however, the Clifton and Sachem, afterwards met the fate they escaped there, having been captured in the gallant fight at Sabine Pass on the 8th of the subsequent September. The Westfield, a fine boat, and the flag-ship of the fleet, they were compelled to blow up, as she was fast aground. Two barques, ladened with coal and provisions, also fell into our hands.

Thus ended the battle of Galveston, fought on the birthday of 1863, a day that will long be remembered as that on which the last Yankee's foot pressed the soil of the Lone Star State, except as prisoners of war.