We came to the Henry house, on the opposite plateau from the Lewis
house, the former at this time almost as noted as the little log hut
at Waterloo that stood half a century before as a landmark to the fall
of Napoleon. They were common, old fashioned frame houses, occupied
by some poor people on this frightful day. The battle came with such
suddeness and unexpectancy, the unfortunate inmates could not get
away, and there throughout the bloody day these three Henry women had
endured all the dread, excitement, and dangers of a great battle, and
forced to remain between the opposing armies. The house was perfectly
riddled with minnie balls, while great openings were torn in the side
and roofs by the shells shattering through. There was no escape or
place of safety. They stretched themselves at full length upon the
floor, calmly awaiting death, while a perfect storm of shot and shell
raged without and within. As we went in the house two women sat around
the few mouldering embers that had answered the purpose of cooking
a hasty meal. It was a single room house, with two beds, some cheap
furniture, and a few cooking utensils. These were torn into fragments.
In one corner lay the dead sister, who had been shot the day before,
with a sheet thrown over to shield her from the gaze of the curious.
The two sisters were eating a morsel unconcernedly, unconscious of the
surroundings, while the house was crowded during the day with sight
seers and curious questioners. On the other side of the room were some
wounded soldiers, carried in to be shielded from the rays of the July
sun, while all without lay in heaps the mangled dead. The exceeding
tension of excitement, fright, untold fear, that had been drawn around
them during the continuous struggle of the day before, had rendered
those women callous and indifferent to all surrounding appearance;
but their haggard faces told but too plainly their mental anguish and
bodily suffering of yesterday. The eyes tire of the sickening scene,
and the mind turns from this revolting field of blood, and we return