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, who had come upon the scene just in time to turn the tide of battle from defeat to victory.  On the right of Hampton was the Eighth and Second South Carolina under Kershaw.  From the Lewis house to the Stone Bridge the dead lay in every direction.  The enemy in their precipitate flight gave the Confederates ample opportunity to slay at will.  The effects of artillery here were dreadful.  Rickett’s Battery, the best in the North, had pushed their guns far in advance of the infantry, and swept the field with grape and canister.  Here was a caisson blown up by a shell from Kemper’s Battery, and the havoc was frightful.  Six beautiful horses, all well caparisoned and still attached to the caisson, all stretched as they had fallen, without so much as a struggle.  The drivers lay by the side of the horses, one poor fellow underneath and badly mutilated.  To one side and near by lay the officer in command and his horse, the noble animal lying as he had died in the beautiful poise he must have been in when the fatal shot struck him.  His hind legs straightened as if in the act of rearing, his forefeet in the air, one before the other, the whole looking more like a dismantled statue than the result of a battlefield.  Fragments of shells, broken guns, knapsacks, and baggage were scattered over the plains.  Details were busy gathering up the wounded and burying the dead.  But from the looks of the field the task seemed difficult.  In the little clusters of bushes, behind trees, in