ited the wounded, unless the angel of death kindly relieved them of the
ministrations of the surgeons. A space twenty yards in front of the White
House, near Overall's Creek, was covered with the mangled forms of men
awaiting their turn upon the operating tables. Inside were groups of
surgeons with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, their brawny arms red with
blood, one handling the saw, another the knife, another the probe, while
others bound up the bleeding stumps and turned the patient, henceforth the
Nation's ward, over to nurses, who bore them tenderly away. In a corner
lay a ghastly heap of arms and legs and hands and feet, useless
forevermore. The busy fingers which had indited the last fond message to
the anxious wife or mother would never caress them more. Does this
horrible recital grate upon the ear? It is as much a part of the history
of a battle as is the furious charge and repulse from which it resulted.
Forty years have passed since that awful scene was witnessed. The stalwart
young men left upon the firing line are old men now, and, in the judgment
of some chiefs of bureaus, too old to longer serve the Government.

The writer, returning from a ride along the lines, where he had been under
orders to see that all fires were extinguished, came upon a regular
battery, in the rear of which, at the bottom of a trench of glowing coals,
the artillerists were cooking supper. The savory smell of broiling steak
and steaming pots of coffee saluted his nostrils. Dismounting, he was at
once invited to partake of a soldier's hospitality. His tired horse was
fed, and in a moment he received at the hands of a grizzly veteran a cup
of coffee and a cake of hard bread, covered with juicy steak, tender and
succulent. His meal dispatched, he was about to remount and ride back to
headquarters, when he was asked if he knew where the steak came from. He
said he did not, but that it was the best he ever ate. "Come here, and I
will show you," said the sergeant. He led the way a few yards distant
where an artillery horse lay dead, killed by a cannon ball. His flank had
been stripped of the skin, and the tender, juicy steak that had
contributed to the enjoyment of the writer had been cut from the flesh.

At army headquarters a strange scene, revealing the characteristics of the
prominent commanding officers, was presented. With prudent regard for the
safety of his supplies, General Rosecrans had ordered the subsistence
train back to Na