The dead lay around us on every side, singly and in groups and piles; men and horses, in some cases, apparently inextricably mingled.  Some lay as if peacefully sleeping; others, with open eyes, seemed to glare at any who bent above them.  Two men lay as they had died, the “Blue” and the “Gray,” clasped in a fierce embrace.  What had passed between them could never be known; but one was shot in the head, the throat of the other was partly torn away.  It was awful to feel the conviction that unquenched hatred had embittered the last moments of each.  They seemed mere youths, and I thought sadly of the mothers, whose hearts would throb with equal anguish in a Northern and a Southern home.  In a corner of the field, supported by a pile of broken fence-rails, a soldier sat apparently beckoning to us.  On approaching him we discovered that he was quite dead, although he sat upright, with open eyes and extended arm.

Several badly wounded men had been laid under the shade of some bushes a little farther on; our mission lay here.  The portion of the field we crossed to reach this spot was in many places slippery with blood.  The edge of my dress was red, my feet were wet with it.  As we drew near the suffering men, piteous glances met our own.  “Water! water!” was the cry.

Dr. McAllister had previously discovered in one of these the son of an old friend, and although he was apparently wounded unto death, he hoped, when the ambulances returned with the stretchers sent for, to move him into town to the hospital.  He now proceeded with the aid of the instruments, bandages, lint, etc., I had brought to prepare him for removal.  Meantime, taking from my pocket a small feeding-cup, which I always carried for use in the wards, I mixed some brandy and water, and, kneeling by one of the poor fellows who seemed worse than the others, tried to raise his head.  But he was already dying.  As soon as he was moved the blood ran in a little stream from his mouth.  Wiping it off, I put the cup to his lips, but he could not swallow, and reluctantly I left him to die.  He wore the blue uniform and stripes of a Federal sergeant of cavalry, and had a German face.  The next seemed anxious for water, and drank eagerly.  This one, a man of middle age, was later transferred to our wards, but died from blood-poisoning.  He was badly wounded in the side.  A third could only talk with his large, sad eyes, but made me clearly understand his desire for water.  As I passed my arm under his head the red blood saturated my sleeve and spread in a moment over a part of my dress.  So we went on, giving water, brandy, or soup; sometimes successful in reviving the patient, sometimes able only to whisper a few words of comfort to the dying.  There were many more left, and Dr. McAllister never for a moment intermitted his efforts to save them.  Later came more help, surgeons, and attendants with stretchers, etc.  Soon all were moved who could bear it.