ere hungry. I met at sundry times, friends who had passed me,
hopeful and humorous the day before, now crawling wearily with a
shattered leg or dumb with a stiff and dripping jaw. To realize the
horror of the night, imagine a common clay road, in a quiet, rolling
country, packed with bleeding people,--the fences down, horsemen riding
through the fields, wagons blocking the way, reinforcements in dark
columns hurrying up, the shouting of the well to the ill, and the feeble
replies,--in a word, recall that elder time when the "earth was filled
with violence," and add to the idea that the time was in the night.

I assumed my old role of writing the names of the wounded, but when, at
nine o'clock, the 10th Maine regiment--a fragment of the proud column
which passed me in the morning--returned, I hailed Colonel Beale, and
reined with him into a clover-field, the files following wearily.
Tramping through the tall garbage, with few words, and those spoken in
low tones, we stopped at length in a sort of basin, with the ground
rising on every side of us. The men were placed in line, and the Company
Sergeants called the rolls. Some of the replies were thrilling, but all
were prosaic:--

"Smith!"

"Smith fell at the first fire, Sergeant. Bill, here, saw him go down."

"Sturgis!"

"Sam's in the ambulance, wi' his thigh broke. I don't believe he'll
live, Sergeant!"

"Thompson!"

"Dead."

"Vinton!"

"Yar! (feebly said) four fingers shot off!"

In this way, the long lists were read over, while the survivors chatted,
laughed, and disputed, talking of the incidents of the day. Most of the
men lay down in the clover, and some started off in couples to procure
water. The field-officers gave me some items relative to the conflict,
and as they were ordered to remain here, I resolved to pass the night
with them. Obtaining a great fence-rail, I lashed my horse to it by his
halter, and, removing his saddle and bridle, left him free to graze in
the vicinity. Then I unfolded my camp-bed, covered myself with a rubber
blanket, and continued to listen to the conversation. Of course,
accusations, bitter mutterings, moodiness, and melancholy, prevailed. I
heard these for some time, interspersed with sententious eulogies upon
particular persons, and references to isolated events. The evening was
one of the pleasantest of the year, in all that nature could contribute;
a fine starlight, a transparent atmosphere, a coolness, and a fragrance