ever heard occurred
some time after pitch darkness had completely enveloped us. My supper
that night was a very plain one. A piece of corn bread, or hoe cake,
that I had abstracted from the haversack of a dead Southerner, and a
canteen of cold water constituted that simple meal. I really felt a
sense of gratitude toward the poor Confederate, who had undoubtedly
baked the corn bread that morning, little thinking that it was destined
to be eaten by a miserable Yankee drummer boy. But such is the fate of
war.

"It had been very hot during the day, but the night was bitterly cold.
There was a heavy frost that night, and under a thick blanket upon the
bare ground, I slept by fitful snatches. Let me tell you, friends, that
the most terrible place upon earth is a battlefield at night. The groans
of the wounded men and horses are awful beyond anything I ever heard.
All night I could hear their heartrending cries, but in the pitch
darkness could do nothing to help them. How many times I thought of my
far away northern home during that awful night. Should I live through
the morrow? for the battle would certainly be resumed with the return of
daylight. Should I ever see mother, brothers and sisters, home and
friends again?"

Here the Doctor sang softly and slowly part of the pathetic old war
song:

"Comrades brave around me lying,
Filled with thoughts of home and God;
For well they know that on the morrow
Some must sleep beneath the sod."

The little party were deeply impressed, for the Doctor was a good story
teller, and was himself much affected at this point.

"The much longed for, yet dreaded, daylight dawned at last. It was
Sunday morning. For some reason hostilities were not immediately
resumed. The sun rose in beauty and splendor, warming our chilled bones
and blood in a way that was exceedingly grateful to us. For a little
time all was so quiet and still that it only lacked the sweet tones of
church bells, calling us to the house of God, to have made us forget
that we were enemies, and have induced us to rest from our fearful,
uncanny works for this holy Sabbath at least. But no! soon the battle
was on again with greater vigor, if possible, than ever. Before noon our
flanks were completely routed; and, but for that magnificent man, the
peer of any soldier of any nation or age, General George H. Thomas, it
is doubtful whether I should be here now, telling my little story. While
Rosecranz, whipped and