gullies, and in every conceivable place that seemed to offer shelter, lay the dead.  What a shudder thrills the whole frame when you stand and contemplate the gruesome faces of the battle’s dead.  In every posture and all positions, with every conceivable shade of countenance, the glaring, glassy eyes meet you.  Some lay as they fell, stretched full length on the ground; others show a desperate struggle for the last few remaining breaths.  There lay the beardless youth with a pleasant smile yet lingering on his face as though waiting for the maternal kiss; the cold stern features of the middle aged as he lay grasping his trusty rifle, some drawn up in a perfect knot of agony, others their faces prone upon the earth, all dead, dead.  Great pools of blood here and there had saturated the earth, the victim perhaps crawling to a nearby shelter or some little glen, hoping to gain a mouthful of water to cool his parched lips, or perhaps some friendly hand had carried him away to a hospital.  Few of our troops had been molested by the body snatchers of the battlefield, but the enemy had almost invariably been stripped of his outer clothing.  On the incline of the far side of a little hill spots were pointed out where the gallant South Carolinian, Bee, had fallen, while rallying his men for the final assault, and also the brave Georgian, Colonel Bartow, in a like endeavor.

We came to the Henry house, on the opposite plateau from the Lewis house, the former at this time almost as noted as the little log hut at Waterloo that stood half a century before as a landmark to the fall of Napoleon.  They were common, old fashioned frame houses, occupied by some poor people on this frightful day.  The battle came with such suddeness and unexpectancy, the unfortunate inmates could not get away, and there throughout the bloody day these three Henry women had endured all the dread, excitement, and dangers of a great battle, and forced to remain between the opposing armies.  The house was perfectly riddled with minnie balls, while great openings were torn in the side and roofs by the shells shattering through.  There was no escape or place of safety.  They stretched themselves at full length upon the floor, calmly awaiting death, while a perfect storm of shot and shell raged without and within.  As we went in the house two women sat around the few mouldering embers that had answered the purpose of cooking a hasty meal.  It was a single room house, with two beds, some cheap furniture, and a few cooking utensils.  These were torn into fragments.  In one corner lay the dead sister, who had been shot the day before, with a sheet thrown over to shield her from the gaze of the curious.  The two sisters were eating a morsel unconcernedly, unconscious of the surroundings, while the house was crowded during the day with sight seers and curious questioners.  On the other side of the room were some wounded soldiers, carried in to be shielded from the rays of the July sun, while all without lay in heaps the mangled dead.