, as "observant of the amenities" in the
thick of a fight, as in his own parlor.

This was the first battle the Doctor was in, having lately joined us. As
we ceased firing, one of us exclaimed, as we were apt to do, when a
fight was over, "Well! that was a hot place." The Doctor turned on him
and eagerly said, "Did I understand you to say that was a hot place?" "I
did, indeed, and it was." The Doctor turned to another, and another,
with the same eager question, "Did _you_ think that was a hot place?"
"Yes," we all agreed, "it was about as hot a one as we ever saw, or
cared to see." "Well," said the Doctor, in a very relieved tone, "I am
very glad to hear you gentlemen, who have had experience, say so. I
hesitated a long time about coming into the army, because I did not want
to disgrace my family, and I was afraid I should run, at the first fire;
but, if you call _that_ a hot place I think I can stand it." The
Doctor's distrust of himself was very funny to us; for he was so utterly
fearless, and reckless of danger, that some of the men thought, and
said, that he tried to get himself shot. And once, the Captain
threatened to put him under arrest, and send him to the rear, if he did
not stop wantonly exposing his life. He had very little cause to
distrust his courage, or fear that he would "disgrace his family" in
_this_, or _any other way_.

When the fight was over, we promptly went among the Federal wounded, who
lay thickly strewn on the inside of our lines, to see what we could do
for their comfort and relief. Curious how one could, one minute, shoot a
man down, and the next minute go and minister to him like a brother; so
it was! The moment an enemy was wounded he ceased to be thought of as an
enemy, and was just a suffering fellow man.

We did what we could for these wounded men, giving water to some;
disposing the bodies of some in a more comfortable position, cheering
them all up with the promise of prompt aid from the surgeons.

Among many others, we came to one man, mortally wounded and dying. His
life was fast ebbing way; he was perfectly aware of his condition. He
earnestly entreated that some one of us would pray for him. The request
was passed on to Robert Stiles, who was still at our guns.

He came at once! Taking the hand of the poor dying fellow tenderly in
his own, Stiles knelt right down by him on that wet, bloody ground, and,
in a fervent prayer commended his soul to God. Then, as a brother might,