ut too late; life had fled, leaving both hands clasping
the stick, his eyes glassy and fixed.

The next day was devoted to the burying of the dead and gathering
such rest as was possible. It was my misfortune to be wounded near
the close of the engagement, in a few feet of where lay the lamented
Colonel Nance. The regiment in some way became doubled up somewhat on
the center, perhaps in giving way for the Second to come in, and here
lay the dead in greater numbers than it was ever my fortune to see,
not even before the stone wall at Fredericksburg.

In rear of this the surgeons had stretched their great hospital
tents, over which the yellow flag floated. The surgeons and assistant
surgeons never get their meed of praise in summing up the "news of the
battle." The latter follow close upon the line of battle and give such
temporary relief to the bleeding soldiers as will enable them to
reach the field hospital. The yellow flag does not always protect the
surgeons and their assistants, as shells scream and burst overhead as
the tide of battle rolls backward and forward. Not a moment of rest or
sleep do these faithful servants of the army get until every wound is
dressed and the hundred of arms and legs amputated, with that skill
and caution for which the army surgeons are so proverbially noted.
With the same dispatch are those, who are able to be moved, bundled
off to some city hospital in the rear.

In a large fly-tent, near the roadside, lay dying the Northern
millionaire, General Wadsworth. The Confederates had been as careful
of his wants and respectful to his station as if he had been one of
their own Generals. I went in to look at the General who could command
more ready gold than the Confederate States had in its treasury.
His hat had been placed over his face, and as I raised it, his heavy
breathing, his eyes closed, his cold, clammy face showed that the end
was near. There lay dying the multi-millionaire in an enemy's country,
not a friend near to hear his last farewell or soothe his last moments
by a friendly touch on the pallid brow. Still he, like all soldiers on
either side, died for what he thought was right.

"He fails not, who stakes his all,
Upon the right, and dares to fall;
What, though the living bless or blame For him,
the long success of fame."

Hospital trains had been run up to the nearest railroad station in the
rear, bringing those ministering angels of mercy the "Citizens' R