The living
soldier knows not at what moment he, too, may be called on to lay down
his life on the altar of his country. The dead are heroes, the living
are but men compelled to do the drudgery and suffer the privations
incident to the thing called "glorious war."
A NIGHT AMONG THE DEAD
We rested on our arms where the battle ceased. All around us everywhere
were the dead and wounded, lying scattered over the ground, and in many
places piled in heaps. Many a sad and heart-rending scene did I witness
upon this battlefield of Chickamauga. Our men died the death of heroes.
I sometimes think that surely our brave men have not died in vain.
It is true, our cause is lost, but a people who loved those brave and
noble heroes should ever cherish their memory as men who died for them.
I shed a tear over their memory. They gave their all to their country.
Abler pens than mine must write their epitaphs, and tell of their glories
and heroism. I am but a poor writer, at best, and only try to tell of
the events that I saw.
One scene I now remember, that I can imperfectly relate. While a detail
of us were passing over the field of death and blood, with a dim lantern,
looking for our wounded soldiers to carry to the hospital, we came
across a group of ladies, looking among the killed and wounded for their
relatives, when I heard one of the ladies say, "There they come with
their lanterns.
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