eing a veritable
instance of "leaving the dead to bury the dead." Horses in a rapid
state of decomposition literally covered the field. The air was so
impregnated with the foul stench arising from the plains where the
battle had raged fiercest, that the troops were forced to close their
nostrils while passing. Here and there lay a dead enemy overlooked in
the night of the general burial, stripped of his outer clothing,
his blackened features and glassy eyes staring upturned to the hot
September sun, while our soldiers hurried past, leaving them unburied
and unnoticed. Some lay in the beaten track of our wagon trains, and
had been run over ruthlessly by the teamsters, they not having
the time, if the inclination, to remove them. The hot sun made
decomposition rapid, and the dead that had fallen on the steep incline
their heads had left the body and rolled several paces away. All the
dead had become as black as Africans, the hot rays of the sun changing
the features quite prematurely. In the opening where the Washington
Battalion of Artillery from New Orleans had played such havoc on the
30th with the enemy's retreating columns, it resembled some great
railroad wreck--cannon and broken caissons piled in great heaps;
horses lying swollen and stiff, some harnessed, others not; broken
rammers, smashed wheels, dismounted pieces told of the desperate
struggle that had taken place. One of the strange features of a
battlefield is the absence of the carrion crow or buzzard--it matters
little as to the number of dead soldiers or horses, no vultures ever
venture near--it being a fact that a buzzard was never seen in that
part of Virginia during the war.

All was still, save the rumble of the wagon trains and the steady
tread of the soldiers. Across Bull Run and out towards Washington
McLaws followed with hasty step the track of Longstreet and Jackson.

On the 5th or 6th we rejoined at last, after a two months' separation
from the other portion of the army. Lee was now preparing to invade
Maryland and other States North, as the course of events dictated.
Pope's Army had joined that of McClellan, and the authorities at
Washington had to call on the latter to "save their Capital." When the
troops began the crossing of the now classic Potomac, a name on every
tongue since the commencement of hostilities, their enthusiasm knew
no bounds. Bands played "Maryland, My Maryland," men sang and cheered,
hats filled the air, flags waved, and