“On our extreme left the pointed summit of a hill, a thousand feet in elevation, rises toward the sky.  Beyond it, the country falls off into the mountain region that extends to the Potomac and across it into Virginia.  This hill is quite difficult of ascent, and formed a strong position, on which the left of our line rested.  The enemy assaulted this point with great fury, throwing his divisions, one after the other, against it.  Their efforts were of no avail.  Our men defended their ground against every attack.  It was like the dash of the French at Waterloo against the immovable columns of the English.  Stubborn resistance overcame the valor of the assailants.  Again and again they came to the assault, only to fall back as they had advanced.  Our left held its ground, though it lost heavily.

“On this portion of the line, about midway between the crests of the ridges, is a neat farm-house.  Around this dwelling the battle raged, as around Hougoumont at Waterloo.  At one time it was in the possession of the Rebels, and was fiercely attacked by our men.  The walls were pierced by shot and shell, many of the latter exploding within, and making a scene of devastation.  The glass was shattered by rifle bullets on every side, and the wood-work bears testimony to the struggle.  The sharp-shooters were in every room, and added to the disorder caused by the explosion of shells.  The soldiers destroyed what the missiles spared.  The Rebels were driven from the house, and the position was taken by our own men.  They, in turn, were dislodged, but finally secured a permanent footing in the place.

“Retracing my steps from the extreme left, I return to the center of our position on Cemetery Hill.  I do not follow the path by which I came, but take a route along the hollow, between the two ridges.  It was across this hollow that the Rebels made their assaults upon our position.  Much blood was poured out between these two swells of land.  Most of the dead were buried where they fell, or gathered in little clusters beneath some spreading tree or beside clumps of bushes.  Some of the Rebel dead are still unburied.  I find one of these as I descend a low bank to the side of a small spring.  The body is lying near the spring, as if the man had crawled there to obtain a draught of water.  Its hands are outspread upon the earth, and clutching at the little tufts of grass beneath them.  The soldier’s haversack and canteen are still remaining, and his hat is lying not far away.

“A few paces distant is another corpse, with its hands thrown upward in the position the soldier occupied when he received his fatal wound.  The clothing is not torn, no blood appears upon the garments, and the face, though swollen, bears no expression of anguish.  Twenty yards away are the remains of a body cut in two by a shell.  The grass is drenched in blood, that the rain of yesterday has not washed away.  As I move forward I find the body of a Rebel soldier, evidently slain while taking aim over a musket.  The hands are raised, the left extended beyond the right, and the fingers of the former partly bent, as if they had just been grasping the stock of a gun.  One foot is advanced, and the body is lying on its right side.  To appearances it did not move a muscle after receiving its death-wound.  Another body attracts my attention by its delicate white hands, and its face black as that of a negro.