old Sixth corps.

Scarcely a man of the Union force was injured by this charge, but the
dead and wounded from the rebel ranks literally covered the ground.
There was no help for them. Our men were unable even to take care of
their own wounded which lay scattered through the woods in the rear. So
the rebel wounded lay between the two armies, making the night hideous
with their groans.

The battle of the 6th was now at an end, neither party having gained any
decided advantage.

At midnight the Sixth corps fell back upon the plank road to the
vicinity of the old gold mine mill, where our hospitals had been.
Intrenchments were thrown up and the position was held without much
annoyance from the rebels all the next day. The whole line of the army
remained quiet on the 7th, only a few skirmishes along different parts
of the line, relieving the monotony of the day.

The two days of fighting had told fearfully upon our ranks. Our
regiments which a few hours before were well filled, were now but
fragments of regiments; and our hearts were weighed down with heavy
grief when we thought of the many grand spirits who had left us forever
since we crossed the Rapidan.

We thought of the young colonel of the Forty-third, Wilson, beloved and
admired throughout the corps. His death was a heavy blow to us all. We
should miss his soldierly presence on the parade; his winning pleasantry
in our social circles; we were no longer to enjoy his beautiful example
of unswerving christian morality. His manly form was no longer to be our
pride, and his heroic valor would never again be manifest on the field
of battle.

Major Fryer had received his mortal hurt. Fryer was young and gallant;
his handsome form and brilliant eye were in fine harmony with those of
his friend and superior. "In their lives they were beautiful, and in
their death they were not divided."

Captain Hickmot, too, of the Forty-ninth was among the slain. Surely
death loves a shining mark, and with what terrible precision had he
chosen his victims. Hickmot's bright eye was glazed in death. His gayety
was hushed forever. We remembered now his hearty laugh, his friendly
words and his purity of character, and knew that they were ours only in
memory.

Wallace of the Forty-third and Terry of the Forty-ninth, too, were gone.
Colonel Ryerson, the gallant commander of the Tenth New Jersey, was
mortally wounded.

In the Seventy-seventh we had lost Craig; a youth of rare qualitie