The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1897-09-17

are revived by the falling dew to plead
for life. Some call out in quavering
voices, like children when in the dark
ness. Some curse; some pray; some re-
vile. Here and there one, realizing that
he is wounded unto death and that help
will come too late, maintains silence.
With an effort whichstarts the red blood
afresh, he carries his hand to the pocket
in which lies a photograph of sweet
heart or last letter from the wife at
home, and the burial party finds his
dead fingers clutching the relic and his
glazed eyes fastened upon it-his last
glimpse of things mortal.
The full horror of battlefield is re-
allied only at night. While darkness
shuts out thousand horrible sights, it
yet adds to the horrors. Here and there
parties searching for some officer, dead
or wounded, move about with lantern
or torch to guide them. They step over
the dead. They tread upon hands and
arms outstretched. They slip and stag
ger on the spots of earth wet with blood.
the wounded hear and see them moving
about, and they call out with renewed
strength for succor. A wounded horse
who has been lying down in pool of
blood sees the light approaching, and
there is something human IN his whim-
perings. He pleads and coaxes. With
great effort he gains his feet and hob
bles along and utters his pleadings and
reproaches.
On this battlefield of Cold Harbor are
nine or ten thousand dead men. ten or
twelve thousand wounded. The living
and unhurt are exhausted with the days
struggle, and the wounded must lie
through the night. There are no search
ing parties abroad, no details to give
succor. From forest and thicket and
field the cries of the stricken continue
hour after hour. but they cry in va d. In
the swamp over which Hood charged
wounded men lap the water thick with
mud and slime. They struggle as they
sink slowly into the ooze, struggle and
shout and pray, but dig their own
graves, as it were, and some of their
blackened bones are there today. Here,
where the brigades of Hill moved over
the open ground to charge the troops of
Seymour and Reynolds, the dead lie
thicker than they will in the streets at
Fredericksburg or on the slopes at Get
tysburg. There are no wounded--at
least no voices cry out to us through the
darkness. Here the Federals had 80
pieces of artillery posted to command
the approach, and as the Confederates
advanced the slaughter was something
terrible. Sixteen hundred and eighty
dead men lie here in this open spot of
five acres. They were struck down by
round shot, by bursting shell and by
grape and canister. There are bodies
without heads, bodies without arms,
bodies which are but fragments. When
the burial party reaches this spot to.
morrow, they will name it 1.-The Butch
er Pen, and that name will cling to il
forevermore. Napoleon would have said
that no troops in the world could have
been advanced under that awful fire,
but from o'clock to sundown the Con-
federates charged again and again, leav-
ing their dead nearer earthwork and
breastwork each time.
Here, where Porter massed so guns
at Alezander's Bridge in the vain hope
VI Saving lLC SCuLC1s luO u0du CduuOG UO
gathered and buried for days. They are
not corpses, but fragments of corpses.
Arms and legs will be found amid the
branches of trees, and hands and feet and
pieces of flesh and bloody bones must
be raked up as if it were bayfield,.
Here, where General Cooke with his cav
airy charged one of Longstreet's divi-
sions and was broken and shattered and
routed within five minutes, 500 horses
cover two acres of ground. Among them
are 800 dead and wounded troopers. It
was gallant charge, but it was made
in vain. Even by monday no man can
pass over that field without staining his
boots with blood. If corn grows here
in after years when men shall be at
peace, it will grow rank and tall, and
the rustic of the stalks in the summer
wind will sound like chant in memory
of the dead.
1t is midnight. Mcclellan is moving
quietly to the rear, the Confederates
along his front watching, waiting.
sleeping. The wounded have almost
ceased to call out. The faces of the dead
have been made whittier and more ghast-
ly by the bath of dew. And now the