As I went back to the field hospital, I overtook another man walking
along. I do not know to what regiment he belonged, but I remember of
first noticing that his left arm was entirely gone. His face was as
white as a sheet. The breast and sleeve of his coat had been torn away,
and I could see the frazzled end of his shirt sleeve, which appeared to
be sucked into the wound. I looked at it pretty close, and I said "Great
God!" for I could see his heart throb, and the respiration of his lungs.
I was filled with wonder and horror at the sight. He was walking along,
when all at once he dropped down and died without a struggle or a groan.
I could tell of hundreds of such incidents of the battlefield, but tell
only this one, because I remember it so distinctly.
ROBBING A DEAD YANKEE
In passing over the battlefield, I came across a dead Yankee colonel.
He had on the finest clothes I ever saw, a red sash and fine sword.
I particularly noticed his boots. I needed them, and had made up my mind
to wear them out for him. But I could not bear the thought of wearing
dead men's shoes. I took hold of the foot and raised it up and made one
trial at the boot to get it off. I happened to look up, and the colonel
had his eyes wide open, and seemed to be looking at me.
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