W.T.  Vaudry, also of Fenner’s Louisiana Battery, was by his own request sent to me.  His wound was as painful as any that can be imagined.  He had been struck full in the pit of the stomach by a spent ball, and was completely doubled up.  He had been left on the field for dead, and for some time it was feared that fatal internal injuries had been received.  From the nature of the wound, a full examination could not be made at first.  Speedy relief was quite impossible.  Even the loss of a limb or the most severe flesh-wound would have caused less intense agony.  Courage and endurance equally distinguish the true soldier:  the one distinction was his already, the other he now nobly won during days of exquisite torture.  I little thought as I bent over him day after day, bathing the fevered brow, meeting with sorrowful sympathy the eyes dim with anguish, that in this suffering boy I beheld one of the future deliverers of an outraged and oppressed people.  The officers’ ward was delightfully situated on the corner of the main street.  Its many windows commanded a pleasant view of a beautiful shaded square in the midst of which stood the brick court-house (now filled with sick, and pertaining to the Bragg Hospital).  The windows on the side street gave a view far up the street, becoming a post of observation for the gallant young officers within, who invariably arranged themselves here “for inspection,” at the usual hour for the ladies’ promenade, looking as became interesting invalids, returning with becoming languor the glances of bright eyes in which shone the pity which we are told is “akin to love.”  Later these knights being permitted to join in the promenade, made the very most of their helplessness, enjoying hugely the necessary ministrations so simply and kindly given.  Among these officers were two whose condition excited my most profound sympathy as well as required special care.  Both were exiles; both badly wounded.  One, indeed, bore a wound so terrible that even though I looked upon it every day, I could never behold it without a shudder.  From a little above the knee to the toes the mechanism of the leg was entirely exposed, except upon the heel, which always rested in a suspensory bandage lifted above the level of the bed upon which he rested.  Every particle of the flesh had sloughed off, and the leg began to heal not “by first intention” but by unhealthy granulations like excrescences.  These had constantly to be removed, either by the use of nitric acid (I believe) or by the knife.  As maybe imagined, it was horribly painful, and there was no chloroform.  Day after day I was sent for, and stood by, while this terrible thing was going on, wiping the sweat from the face that, though pale as death, never quivered.  Save an occasional groan, deep and suppressed, there was no “fuss.”