nt on an elevated knoll, I gazed on the strange scene that
spread out before me. From the right on the turnpike, a line, somewhat
curved, extended a distance of three or four miles to the left. On the
right the line was enveloped in woods, in which a terrific conflict was
going on. Sedgwick's corps was standing between the army and disaster.
In the center, on elevated ground, beyond some low woods, I could see a
rebel line of battle, while the sharp fire of skirmishers in front
showed that here the lines of blue and gray would soon smite together.
Further toward the left, a line of blue extended along the edge of a
narrow field, facing the woods just beyond, into which it poured
incessant volleys, while the smoke that rose up from the woods showed
that an active foe was there. Behind our line, flat on the ground, lay a
second one. A tragedy, grandly, awfully sublime, was enacting before me.
A hundred thousand men were grappling in deadly conflict. While I gazed
the line of battle slackened its fire; the second one rose from the
ground; then both swept forward across the field and into the woods
beyond, bearing the enemy before them. For a few moments there was
silence, and then the struggle was renewed as fiercely as ever. I
returned to the field-tents to go on with my work of mercy among the
suffering.

As night drew on the battle ceased, and the men lay down to sleep where
they had fought, ready to renew the strife at the return of light. In
the tents there, while the army beyond was resting, part of our nation's
heroes continued the contest through the solemn hours of night. They
fought with the giant Pain, and some of them went down into the dark
valley, and close by the chill waters they faced the King of Terrors.

I slept none that night. As morning approached, I went to the edge of
the little opening which had been cleared in the woods for the tents.
While I stood here looking off toward the scene of yesterday's battle,
the sound of a single rifle shot rang out on the air, then another and
another, and then a deafening roar of musketry burst forth and raged
along the whole line, continuing almost without interruption all day.

In the afternoon Lieutenant Boggs and David Steen were brought in
wounded, the former by a rifle ball in the thigh, the latter severely
bruised by a fragment of shell. He had been wounded at Gaines' Mill and
Fredericksburg. After his return this time, I heard him say that he had
come to h