desperation under all circumstances, getting over the Rappahannock
only by the skin of its teeth, yet getting over. It lost many, many
brave men, yet it took vengeance, ample vengeance.

But it was the tug of Saturday evening, and through the night and
Sunday morning, I wanted to make a special note of. It was largely
in the woods, and quite a general engagement. The night was very
pleasant, at times the moon shining out full and clear, all Nature so
calm in itself, the early summer grass so rich, and foliage of the
trees--yet there the battle raging, and many good fellows lying
helpless, with new accessions to them, and every minute amid the
rattle of muskets and crash of cannon, (for there was an artillery
contest too,) the red life-blood oozing out from heads or trunks or
limbs upon that green and dew-cool grass. Patches of the woods take
fire, and several of the wounded, unable to move, are consumed--quite
large spaces are swept over, burning the dead also--some of the men
have their hair and beards singed--some, burns on their faces and
hands--others holes burnt in their clothing. The flashes of fire
from the cannon, the quick flaring flames and smoke, and the immense
roar--the musketry so general, the light nearly bright enough for
each side to see the other--the crashing, tramping of men--the
yelling--close quarters--we hear the secesh yells--our men cheer
loudly back, especially if Hooker is in sight--hand to hand conflicts,
each side stands up to it, brave, determin'd as demons, they often
charge upon us--a thousand deeds are done worth to write newer greater
poems on--and still the woods on fire--still many are not only
scorch'd--too many, unable to move, are burned to death.

Then the camps of the wounded--O heavens, what scene is this?--is
this indeed _humanity_--these butchers' shambles? There are