"I should say about three kilometers," said the lieutenant.
"Just to think of it," responded Alfred, "about two and a half miles distant, and see what happened here."
It would be merely a repetition of the same sights over and over to describe the scenes. Every sort of accoutrement, guns, swords, knapsacks, articles of food, clothing of every description, kitchen utensils, and at one place a poor dog, horribly mutilated, made up the scene and afforded a gruesome picture.
"What is this?" said Alfred, as he stopped and picked up an envelope. It was sealed, and had not, evidently, reached the one for whom it was intended.
"What shall I do with it?" asked Alfred.
"Turn it over to the searchers,—the ones who are now burying the dead," replied the lieutenant.
Alfred marched across the open and handed it to the officer. "I found this at the corner of the field," he explained.
The officer acknowledged the receipt with a bow, and held it up. "Lieutenant Johann Schroeder, 10th Infantry," the inscription read. "Have you the name there?" he asked, looking at the clerk.
The latter examined the index. "Yes; here it is; body in the tenth lateral, over to the left," so the letter was deposited in a huge sack carried by two assistants.