Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1862-10-15
The Realities of a Battle.

No pcrson can begin to comprehend,
from a description, the terrible realities
of battle; and even those who partci-
pate are competent to speak only OF their
own personal experience. Where friends
and foes are falling by scores, and every
species Of missile is flying through the
air, threatening each instant to send one
into eternity, little time is affo. ded for
more observation or reflection than is re-
quired for personal safety. The scene is
one of the most exciting and exhilerating
that can be conceived Imagine a regi-
ment passing you at "double quick"
the men cheering with enthusiasm, their
teeth set. their eyes flashing, and the
whole in frenzy of resolution. You
accompany them to the field. They halt.
An aid-de-camp passes to and from the
commanding general. The clear voice
of the officers ring along the lines in
tones of passionate eloquence; their words
short, thrilling, and elastic. The word is
given to march, and the body move into
action. For the first time in your life
you listen to the whizzing of iron hail.
Grape and canister fly into the ranks,
bombshells burst overhead, and the
fragments scattered all around you. A
friend falls, perhaps dozen or twenty
of your comrades lie wounded or dying ut
your feet, strange involuntary shrink
steals over you, which is impossible to
resist. You feel inclined Mother to adj
vance nor reccdo. but arc spell bound by
the contenIing emotions of the moral
aud physical man. Tie check blanches,
the lip quivers, and the eye almost hest
tates to look npon the scene. In this
attitude, you may, perhaps, be ordered
to stand an hour inactive, havoc mean
while marking its footsteps with blood
on every side. Finally the order to adj
vance is given, TO fire, or charge. And
now what metamorphosisl With your
first shot you become new man. Per-
sonal safety is your last concern. Fear
has no existence in your bosom. Hesita-
ton gives way to an uncomfortable de-
sire to be INTO the thickest of the fight.
The dead and dying around you, if they
receive n passing thought, only serve to
stimulate you to revenge. You become
cool and deliberate, and watch the Of
fects of bullets, the shower of bursting
shells, the passage of cannon balls as
they rake their murderous channels
through your ranks; the plunging of
wounded horse, the agonies of the dy-
ing and the clash of the contending arms
which follows the dashing charge with a
feeling SO calouscd by surrounding cir
cumstances thar your soul seems dead to
every sympathizing and selfish thought.
Such is the spirit which carries the SOL
der through the field of battle. But
when the excitement has passed, when
the roll of the musketry has ceased, the
noisy voices of the cannon arc stillod,
the dusky pail of sulpherous smoke has
risen from the field, and you stroll over
the theatre of carnage, hearing the
groans of the wounded discovering
here and there shattered almost beyond
recognition, the form of some dear friend,
who an hour before met You in the full
flush of life aud happiness-thero an
other, perforated by a bullet; third
with a limb shot away; fourth with
his face disfgured; fifth almost torn to
fragments; a sixth hcadless corpse;
the ground pIoughed up and stained with
blood; human brains splashed around;
limbs without bodies and bodies without
limbs scattered here and there, and the
same picture duplicated scores of times
then you begin TO realize the horrors of
war, and experience reaction of nature.
The heart opens its food gates, humanity
asserts itself again, and you begin to
feel. Friend and foe alike receive your
kindsst sympathy. A battlefield is en-
ineuty place that tries mems souls.