The field in the front at Cold Harbor where those deadly assaults had been made beggars description.  Men lay in places like hogs in a pen—­some side by side, across each other, some two deep, while others with their legs lying across the head and body of their dead comrades.  Calls all night long could be heard coming from the wounded and dying, and one could not sleep for the sickening sound “W—­a—­t—­e—­r” ever sounding and echoing in his ears.  Ever and anon a heart-rending wail as coming from some lost spirit disturbed the hushed stillness of the night.  There were always incentives for some of the bolder spirits, whose love of adventure or love of gain impelled them, to visit the battlefield before the burial detail had reached it, as many crisp five-dollar greenbacks or even hundred-dollar interest-bearing United States bonds could be found in the pockets of the fallen Federal either as a part of his wages or the proceeds of his bounty.  The Federal Government was very lavish in giving recruits this bounty as an inducement to fill the depleted ranks of “Grant the Butcher.”  Tom Paysinger, of the Third, who had been detailed as a scout to General Longstreet, was a master hand at foraging upon the battlefield.  Whether to gain information or to replenish his purse is not known, but be that as it may, the night after the battle he crept quietly through our lines and in the stillness and darkness he made his way among the dead and wounded, searching the pockets of those he found.  He came upon one who was lying face downward and whom he took to be beyond the pale of resistance, and proceeded to rifle his pockets.  After gathering a few trifles he began crawling on his hands and knees towards another victim.  When about ten steps distant the wounded Federal, for such it proved to be, raised himself on his elbow, grasped the gun that was lying beside him, but unknown to Paysinger, and called out, “You d——­n grave robber, take that,” and bang! went a shot at his retreating form.  He then quietly resumed his recumbent position.  The bullet struck Paysinger in the thigh and ranging upwards lodged in his hip, causing him to be a cripple for several long months.  It is needless to say Paysinger left the field.  He said afterwards he “would have turned and cut the rascal’s throat, but he was afraid he was only ‘possuming’ and might brain him with the butt of his gun.”

We remained in our position for several days and were greatly annoyed by the shells thrown by mortars or cannon mounted as such, which were continually bursting overhead or dropping in our works.  The sharpshooters with globe-sighted rifles would watch through the brush in front of their rifle pits and as soon as a head was thoughtlessly raised either from our pits, which were now not more than fifty yards apart, or our breastwork, “crack!” went a rifle, a dull thud, and one of our men lay dead.  It is astonishing how apt soldiers are in avoiding danger or warding it off, and what obstacles they can overcome, what work