into the thickest of the fight.

"G.T. BEAUREGARD,
General commanding."

The morning of Monday, April 7th, was dark and gloomy; the men were
weary and stiffened by the exertions of the previous day, and from
the chilling effects of the rain which fell during the night. The
dead of both armies lay strewed over the field by hundreds, and many
of the desperately wounded were still groaning out their lives in
fearful agony. At five A.M. I was in the saddle, though, scarcely
able to mount, from the pain in knee and side; and in making my way
to General Beauregard's staff, my head reeled and my heart grew sick
at the scenes through which I passed. I record but one. In crossing
a small ravine, my horse hesitated to step over the stream, and I
glanced down to detect the cause. The slight rain during the night
had washed the leaves out of a narrow channel down the gully some
six inches wide, leaving the hard clay exposed. Down this pathway
ran sluggishly a band of blood nearly an inch thick, filling the
channel. For a minute I looked and reflected, how many human lives
are flowing past me, and who shall account for such butchery!
Striking my rowels into the horse to escape from the horrible sight,
he plunged his foot into the stream of blood, and threw the already
thickening mass in ropy folds upon the dead leaves on the bank! The
only relief to my feelings was the reflection that I had not shed
one drop of that blood.

I took my position on General B.'s staff at six o'clock in the
morning, and remained near him most of the day. The Federal forces
had already commenced the attack, and the tide of battle soon