“I hope you are not badly hurt,” and then again look out for the enemy.  Some of the men who received only slight wounds were anxious to remain in the fight, but their officers insisted that they should be taken to the rear, and attended to by the surgeons.  Upon couches made of boughs, and covered with blankets, the brave young fellows were placed; and many of them submitted to probings and painful management of wounds without making a murmur.  They seemed not to be concerned for themselves, but went on all the while enquiring as to how it was “going with the boys.”

General Middleton, himself a veteran soldier, expressed as I have already stated, his admiration for the bravery of all the men who were engaged.  There was no bolting, even in the face of heavy fire; no shrinking, although one man in every eight had been struck by the enemy’s shot or bullets.  Major Boulton had many narrow escapes, while he was standing for a moment, a hail of buckshot came whistling by his ear, burying itself into his horse, which was killed instantly.  The Scouts, known as Boulton’s Horse, under this brave officer, bore very gallantly their portion of the battle’s brunt.  Half-breads and Indians had orders from their leaders to shoot down horses as well as men; and Dumont frequently said, that the mounted men were the only ones of the force of the enemy for which he cared anything.  Several of the horses were shot, and many of the men were riddled with buck-shot, but they bravely stood their ground.  In the night, when the weary were sleeping after the hard day’s work, dusky forms could be seen by the light of the moon, creeping stealthily towards where slept the gallant Scouts.  The Guard heard a crackle, and turning, perceived three pairs of eyes gleaming with ferocity in the shadow of a clump of poplars.

“Qui vive?” he cried, and raised his rifle; but before he could take aim, three shots rang out through the still night, and he fell dead, pierced by as many bullets.  There was a general alarm through the camp, but no eye could detect the form of a Rebel.  They were safe among the shadows in the ravine.  In the few moments of silent horror that ensued after the commission of the murder, three diabolical yells sounded from the ravine, and far over the moon-lit prairies.  Then divers voices were heard in the bluffs, and down in the gorge.  These came from Dumont’s men, who jeered, and cried that they hoped the soldiers enjoyed the pastime of watching their dead.

On the following day, the bodies of the brave young fellows who had fallen, after being decently, and decorously disposed in death, were brought to the graves hollowed out in this far-away wilderness by the hands of old comrades.  It was a very sad spectacle indeed.  The death of brave soldiers is always mournful to contemplate; but war is the trade of regulars, and they expect death, and burials in distant sod.  But war is not the trade of our volunteer soldiers.