I had hardly begun when some of the men declared they “heard guns.”  I could not then detect the sound, but soon it grew louder and more sustained, and then we knew a battle was in progress.  For hours the fight went on.  We awaited the result in painful suspense.  At last the ambulances came in, bringing some of the surgeons and some wounded men, returning immediately for others.  At the same time the hospital steward with his attendants and several of our nurses arrived, also the linen-master, the chief cook, and the baker.  With them came orders to prepare wards for a large number of wounded, both Confederate and Federal.  Presently a cloud of dust appeared up the road, and a detail of Confederate cavalry rode into town, bringing eight hundred Federal prisoners, who were consigned to a large cotton warehouse, situated almost midway between the hospital and the railroad depot.

My terrible anxiety, suspense, and heavy responsibility was now at an end, but days and nights of nursing lay before all who were connected with either the Buckner or Bragg Hospitals.  Additional buildings were at once seized and converted into wards for the reception of the wounded of both armies.  The hospital attendants, though weary, hungry, and some of them terribly dirty from the combined effect of perspiration, dust, and gunpowder, at once resumed their duties.  The quartermaster reopened his office, requisitions were made and filled, and the work of the different departments was once more put in regular operation.

I was busy in one of the wards, when a messenger drove up, and a note was handed me from Dr. McAllister,—­“Some of our men too badly wounded to be moved right away.  Come out at once.  Bring cordials and brandy,—­soup, if you have it,—­also fill the enclosed requisition at the drug-store.  Lose no time.”

The battle-field was not three miles away.  I was soon tearing along the road at breakneck speed.  At an improvised field-hospital I met the doctor, who vainly tried to prepare me for the horrid spectacle I was about to witness.

From the hospital-tent distressing groans and screams came forth.  The surgeons, both Confederate and Federal, were busy, with coats off, sleeves rolled up, shirt-fronts and hands bloody.  But our work lay not here.

Dr. McAllister silently handed me two canteens of water, which I threw over my shoulder, receiving also a bottle of peach brandy.  We then turned into a ploughed field, thickly strewn with men and horses, many stone dead, some struggling in the agonies of death.  The plaintive cries and awful struggles of the horses first impressed me.  They were shot in every conceivable manner, showing shattered heads, broken and bleeding limbs, and protruding entrails.  They would not yield quietly to death, but continually raised their heads or struggled half-way to their feet, uttering cries of pain, while their distorted eyes seemed to reveal their suffering and implore relief.  I saw a soldier shoot one of these poor animals, and felt truly glad to know that his agony was at an end.