I asked leave for the squadron to attend the funeral, and the colonel said certainly, all who wished should go. At the appointed time we mounted and rode slowly to the hospital, accompanied by the chaplain of the regiment. We reached it soon, and the men were drawn up in line. Even in such scenes military discipline enables us to move more easily and rapidly than in ordinary life. A few commands in an unusually subdued voice were given. "Prepare to dismount." "Dismount!" "Ones and threes hold horses, twos and fours forward." Half of the squadron then passed by the coffin, and then relieved the others in holding the horses. All was done so quietly and quickly that it formed a contrast to a similar scene at an ordinary funeral. The ambulance came to the door. The ambulance carries the sick to the hospital, and the dead to the grave: it is the soldier's litter and his hearse.
About a mile from the hospital is the Wesleyan cemetery. I had ridden by it during the soft summer weather of the fall, and remarked how prettily it is situated upon the brow of a hill, with the city in view upon one side and the quiet country on the other, while large trees and mournful evergreens give an air of sadness and seclusion. It was a relief when the ambulance turned toward this peaceful resting place; though I wish that a soldiers' cemetery had been laid out where the numbers who die in St. Louis and the country around it, might rest together. We entered, and I quickly remarked a change since last I had passed that way. On one side, where had been a smooth, green lawn, there were straight rows and ranks of mounds, so regular and close that the ground looked as though it had been trenched by some thrifty gardener. These were the soldiers' graves. There were many—many of them. Two grave diggers were at work—constant work for them. A grave was always ready prepared, and one was ready for us. Our ceremonies were few and simple—the squadron drew up in line—the coffin was lifted out—the chaplain made a prayer—and we returned.
But in the same ambulance were two other coffins. No companion had been with them at the hospital, and no friends followed them to the grave. Unknown and, save by us chance strangers, unnoticed, they were laid to rest. This loneliness of their burial was very sad. We gave them all we could—a sigh, and paid them such respect as the circumstances allowed. We did not know them—who they were, or whence they came—only this, that they were American soldiers, fallen for their country.
I have heard it said that this war will make us a very warlike people. It is a mistake. Those who are engaged in it, while they will be ready again to rise in a just cause, will never wish for another war. I understand now why officers of real experience—be they ever so brave—always dread a war. There are too many such scenes as I have described. Yet do not think that any waver in their determination—and, while you pity, do not waver yourselves. We may blame mismanagement and neglect; and we must try to alleviate suffering and prevent needless disease and death, and only in the restoration of our Union hope for peace.
II. DONELSON.
Some letters from New York have said, "If you are ever in battle, do describe it." In this curiosity I have myself shared, and have always longed to know not only how the scene appeared, but how the spectator felt. I am able now to answer the question, and in so doing I will try and describe to you precisely how the attack appeared to me, without entering into an account of anything but what I saw, and how I felt.
It was by accident that I was at Fort Donelson, and with the attacking column. My regiment left me at St. Louis attending a court-martial. The court adjourned soon afterward, and then, with another member, an officer of the Fourteenth Iowa, I started for Fort Henry.
We descended the Mississippi to the narrow point where the Ohio joins it, and on which are the fortifications of Cairo. At Cairo there were no boats, save those of the government, conveying troops, and on one of these we went. It was the McGill, and on board was the regiment which was to lead the assault at Fort Donelson, the Second Iowa.