The dead presented every possible appearance. Some of them looked calm and natural as if taking a quiet sleep; not a mark of any emotion; not a distorted line in their features. It did not seem possible that these men could have fallen in battle. Other countenances exhibited traces of rage; others of fear. One rebel lay dead holding a cartridge in his teeth. We noticed that the countenances of our own dead seemed much more natural than those of the enemy.
As to the appearance of the wounds which caused death, no general idea can be given. Some did not seem to be wounded at all, but only asleep. There were no traces of violence or injury upon them, except, perhaps, the hair in a particular place would be clotted with blood. Under it, a buckshot had perhaps penetrated the skull. Many were shot in the face, and showed a ball hole under the eye or on either cheek, and a pool of clotted blood under the head. Many were shot in the chest and abdomen. Their bodies were swelled enormously, and a watery liquid bubbled and gurgled from their wounds. Some of their eyes were closed. Others lay on their backs, staring an unearthly stare, as though the light of a strange world were breaking on them. Some bore evidences of having expired in great agony, and looked sickening in the extreme. Their eyes were grim, their faces yellow and their mouths filled with foam. Other bodies were torn to pieces, as if by the explosion of a percussion shell. Others were disembowelled by canister, and beheaded, unlimbed and cut in two with solid shot.
Less than a mile from the landing, five of the enemy's dead lay in a row behind a tree. They were evidently killed by the same missile. The skull of the first was torn open on one side; the second was struck in the neck, the third in the chest, and so on, as though a descending shell had struck them while standing behind the tree in a row. Near them were two other bodies which bore evidence of having been killed by an exploding shell.
After surveying the field and its multitude of dead, I returned, sickened, depressed, and disgusted with all things. Was it possible that such masses of corruption had been the dwelling places of immortal souls? Could spirits inhabit such foul tenements, and then fly to the stars? Such were the temples in which the images of God were appointed to dwell,—beautiful, it may be, when whole; but when broken, how monstrous! I hated myself because I was flesh and blood. I could have killed myself, had it not been for the thought of becoming like them. I was equally disgusted with war, with peace, with life. I hated peace; for looking back upon it, it seemed cowardly. I hated war; for it was a work of destruction. It was against life, that is to say, against God. I hated life; because it was a scene either of war or of peace. For a while it seemed to me as though men were made only to play a little, worthless game, and then sink into nothingness. To such an extent were my feelings depressed, while contemplating this sickening scene of horror.
After the battle came the sad duty of caring for the wounded and burying the dead. Late as Tuesday evening we saw ambulances bringing in the wounded; and Thursday night many of the dead were unburied. It must not be supposed that our army thus neglected its own dead. It was the first duty with the men of the Third Iowa to bury their dead comrades. It was done as well as circumstances would permit, and head-boards were placed at the graves with suitable inscriptions. How the wounded were cared for, they and their attendants best can tell. They were placed upon hospital boats, and sent as rapidly as possible to northern hospitals. Fatigue parties were detailed to bury the enemy's dead. After the first day after the battle, this duty was anything but agreeable. Immense pits were dug where the dead lay thickest, to which the bodies were dragged by means of horses and then thrown in and buried. Thus were the heroes rewarded with nameless graves. But as they had been comrades in peril, they were now comrades in their last resting-place. To some of these graves our soldiers had placed head-boards. I noticed one with an inscription like this:—
Fourteen Dead Rebels,
Killed April 6th and 7th,
1862.
On the cotton field where we had fought on Sunday, it was said that one hundred and thirty had been buried in one of these pits. Most of our regiments buried their dead by themselves, thus forming a little regimental cemetery, around which they built an enclosure. The tardiness and carelessness with which the enemy's dead were buried was a disgrace to our army. Wednesday afternoon, I saw putrid corpses lying upon an open field within ten rods of General Nelson's tent, and in plain view of it.
There were more men ready to engage in plundering the dead, than voluntarily to assist in burying them;—hyenas in uniform; vermin who creep over the field of battle by night and rifle the pockets of the slain,—who pull the boots from their feet, and cut off their fingers for the rings that are on them; birds of prey too despicable to be classed with buzzards,—who are too cowardly to pursue living game; but who skulk in the rear in battle, and when it is over, go forth and plunder alike friend and foe, whose arms can no longer strike, and whose voices can no longer rebuke them. Crawling over the field by night; skulking through the woods by day; when you meet them they tell you they are in search of dead or wounded comrades; they entertain you with tales of their own marvelous exploits in the battle. But if you watch them, it will not be many days before they will have "trophies" to exhibit,—swords, money, watches, jewelry. There is but one way to deal with such persons. To give them trial by court martial, is to insult discipline and to abuse the service. Mounted patrols should be detailed to scour the field after a battle, and should shoot without questioning whoever is caught plundering the dead. I do not mean to say that valuable property should be buried with dead men. But the dead should be collected and buried in the usual way, and their effects retained or disposed of by the proper officers for the benefit of the Government.
After a lapse of a few days, an army of civilians appeared on the field;—men who had come in search of missing friends, or to care for wounded ones,—agents of Sanitary Commissions sent to nurse the wounded, and having charge of stores for their benefit, who, according to report, lived upon the stores and spent their time rambling over the field in search of relics and gratifying curiosity. They permeated the woods like a host of locusts. It was the especial delight of the boys to impose upon them. A soldier would cut a small stick, shoot two or three holes in it from his revolver, and sell it to one of them for a dollar as a cane cut from the battle-field. A soldier found an old, rusty, musician's sword, and sold it to a civilian for ten dollars, stating that he had captured it from a rebel officer! Many such tricks were practiced both to our amusement and profit.
The battle changed materially the morale of the army. It had diminished our inclination to boast. If it had not taught us to respect ourselves less, it had taught us to respect our enemies more. It diminished our confidence in General Grant, and greatly increased it in General Hurlbut. From the former, a general without experience and an army equally so, it is true we could not reasonably expect more than tolerable management. But he had allowed an immense army to march upon him and surprise him, and that surprise had entailed upon us defeat, and, to a certain degree, dishonor. The conduct of the latter won our unbounded admiration. We had expected nothing of him; he had done everything for us. If the country did not know it, we nevertheless felt it—that the Fourth Division under his leadership had covered itself with glory.