r seen in reality.

Who is it that has ever looked upon a battlefield and could forget the
sickening scene, or obliterate from his mind the memory of its dreaded
sight? It was recorded of the great Napoleon, by one of his most
intimate friends and historians, that after every great battle the
first thing he did the next day was to ride over the field, where lay
the dead and wounded, and when he would come to those points where the
battle had been desperate and the dead lay thickest, he would sit as
in a trance, and with silence and meditation never witnessed on other
occasions, view the ghastly corpses as they lay strewn over the field.
The field of carnage had a fascinating power over him he could not
resist, and on which his eyes delighted to feast. With a comrade
I went to visit the field of Manassas. Passing over the uneven and
partly wooded country, we witnessed all the effect of the enemy's
rifled guns. Trees were cut down, great holes dug in the ground where
shells had exploded, broken wagons, upset ambulances, wounded and dead
horses lining the whole way. The first real scene of carnage was on
the plateau of the Lewis house. Here the Virginians lying behind the
crest of the hill as the enemy emerged from the woods on the other
side, gave them such a volley as to cause a momentary repulse, but
only to renew their attack with renewed vigor. The battle here was
desperate. Major Wheat with his Louisianians fought around the Henry
house with a ferocity hardly equalled by any troops during the war.
Their peculiar uniform, large flowing trousers with blue and white
stripes coming only to the knees, colored stockings, and a loose
bodice, made quite a picturesque appearance and a good target for the
enemy. These lay around the house and in front in almost arm's length
of each other. This position had been taken and lost twice during the
day. Beyond the house and down the declivity on the other side, the
enemy's dead told how destructive and deadly had been the Confederate
fire. On the other plateau where Jackson had formed and where Bee and
Bartow fell, the scene was sickening. There lay friend and foe face
to face in the cold embrace of death. Only by the caps could one be
distinguished from the other, for the ghouls of the battlefield had
already been there to strip, rob, and plunder. Beyond the ravine to
the left is where Hampton and his Legion fought, as well as the troops
of Kirby Smith and Elzey, of Johnston's army