About this time the actions of the convalescents began to appear mysterious:  they remained in their tents or absented themselves, as I supposed, upon foraging expeditions.  Frequently, I found them working upon cow-horns, making ornaments as I thought (at this business Confederate soldiers were very expert).  One day I caught sight of a large pile of horns and bones just brought in, but still thought nothing of it.  Shortly, however, a small deputation from the convalescent camp appeared at the door of my cabin just as I was eating my dinner:  all saluted; the spokesman then explained that the “b’ys” were prepared to give the obnoxious surgeon a “siranade” that same night.  They had been working for weeks to produce the instruments of torture which were then all ready.  “We don’t mane to scare ye, ma’am, and if it’ll be displazin’ to ye, sure we’ll give it up.”  I told them that I did not want to know about it, and was sorry they had told me, but I would not be frightened at any noise I might hear in the night.  “All right, ma’am,” said the spokesman, winking at the others to show that he comprehended.  The party then withdrew.  About midnight such a startling racket suddenly broke the stillness that in spite of my previous knowledge, I was frightened.  Horns of all grades of sound, from deep and hoarse to shrill, tin cups and pans clashed together or beaten with bones, yells, whistling, and in short every conceivable and inconceivable noise.

After the first blast, utter stillness; the startled officers, meanwhile, listening to discover the source of the unearthly noise, then, as if Bedlam had broken loose, the concert began once more.  It was concentrated around the cabin of the surgeon so disliked.  As the quarters of the officers were somewhat removed from the hospital proper, and very near my own, I got the full benefit of the noise.  I cannot now say why the racket was not put a stop to.  Perhaps because the serenaders numbered over one hundred and the surgeons despaired of restoring order.  At all events, during the whole night we were allowed to sink into slumber, to be aroused again and again by the same hideous burst of sound.  I only remember that the next day the horns, etc., were collected and carried away from camp, while the offenders were refused permission to leave their quarters for a while.

In the sick camp there lay over two hundred sick and wounded men, faithfully attended and prescribed for by the physicians, but lacking every comfort.  Dr. Beatty was worried about the sick, but under the circumstances what could he do?  Soon after occurred the terrible battle of Franklin, when our tents were again filled with wounded men.  These men were unlike any I have ever nursed.  Their shattered forms sufficiently attested courage and devotion to duty, but the enthusiasm and pride which had hitherto seemed to me so grand and noble when lighting up the tortured faces of wounded soldiers, appearing like