On the morning in question, as I made my early rounds, there met me
everywhere ghastly reminders of the battle,--men shot and disfigured in
every conceivable manner. Many, fresh from the hands of the surgeons,
exhausted by suffering, looked as if already Death had claimed them for
his own. Attendants were constantly bearing into different wards fresh
victims from the operating-rooms, where the bloody work would still go
on for hours. These must have immediate attention,--must be closely
watched and strongly nourished. This was _my_ blessed privilege; and,
thanks to the humane and excellent policy adopted by General Johnston,
and continued by General Hood,--both of whom looked well to the _ways
of quartermasters_ and _commissaries_,--the means to provide for the
sick and wounded were always at hand,--at least, up to the time of
which I write.
Some of my favorite patients, whom, previous to this battle, I had
nursed into convalescence, were now thrown back upon beds of pain. In
one corner I found a boy whom I had nursed and fed through days and
nights of suffering from typhoid fever. His name was Willie Hutson,
and he belonged to the ---- Mississippi Regiment.
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