Philanthropist to take a free passage with me.

We followed the road through the village for a space, then turned off to
the right, and wandered somewhat vaguely, for want of precise directions,
over the hills. Inquiring as we went, we forded a wide creek in which
soldiers were washing their clothes, the name of which we did not then
know, but which must have been the Antietam. At one point we met a
party, women among them, bringing off various trophies they had picked up
on the battlefield. Still wandering along, we were at last pointed to a
hill in the distance, a part of the summit of which was covered with
Indian corn. There, we were told, some of the fiercest fighting of the
day had been done. The fences were taken down so as to make a passage
across the fields, and the tracks worn within the last few days looked
like old roads. We passed a fresh grave under a tree near the road. A
board was nailed to the tree, bearing the name, as well as I could make
it out, of Gardiner, of a New Hampshire regiment.

On coming near the brow of the hill, we met a party carrying picks and
spades. "How many?" "Only one." The dead were nearly all buried, then,
in this region of the field of strife. We stopped the wagon, and,
getting out, began to look around us. Hard by was a large pile of
muskets, scores, if not hundreds, which had been picked up, and were
guarded for the Government. A long ridge of fresh gravel rose before us.
A board stuck up in front of it bore this inscription, the first part of
which was, I believe, not correct: "The Rebel General Anderson and 80
Rebels are buried in this hole." Other smaller ridges were marked with
the number of dead lying under them. The whole ground was strewed with
fragments of clothing, haversacks, canteens, cap-boxes, bullets,
cartridge-boxes, cartridges, scraps of paper, portions of bread and meat.
I saw two soldiers' caps that looked as though their owners had been shot