“I went for the water as fast as I could, and wondered how I was to bring it, as I had but a single canteen. On the way I passed through the camp, and when I told a captain of the Third Illinois cavalry the object of my mission, he detailed four men to go with me, and told them to gather up a dozen canteens to carry water to the wounded men. Tired as the men and their horses were, the soldiers went eagerly on their errand of mercy, and it almost made me cry to see how tenderly they cared for the poor fellows who were so lately their enemies. Curious thing, this business of making war! Soldiers try their very best to kill each other, but when the fighting is over they do all they can to help the very men they shot down only a little while before.
“Before I got back to the hill where the wounded men were lying a rebel surgeon had arrived with a flag of truce, and was doing all he could for the sufferers. But several were so badly hurt that they could n't be saved, and one of them died within two minutes after swallowing a draught of water I gave him.
“A horrible thing happened here close to this hill. The bursting of shells, or some burning wads, had set fire to the dry leaves that covered the ground, and the woods were burning in every direction. We tried to remove the wounded before the fire reached them, and thought we had got them all away; afterward some were found in secluded spots, and though still alive, they had been terribly burned and blackened by the fire among the leaves and fallen brushwood. One poor fellow had crawled close to a dry log that was set on fire by the burning leaves, and was so badly burned that he died soon after being found. The doctors said his wounds were so severe that it is doubtful if he could have lived even if the fire had not reached him.
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“We had repeatedly heard that the rebels were very badly supplied with shoes, and there was proof of the truth of this statement in the way they stripped the shoes from the feet of dead and mortally-wounded men, no matter to which side they belonged. Not one corpse in twenty of all that I saw on the battlefield had shoes on its feet. In some cases pantaloons and coats were removed, but such instances were not numerous, the great need of the rebels seeming to be in the line of shoes. Of course, the clothing of our soldiers would hardly be desired by the rebels, as it would be dangerous for them to wear, and they have no ready means of changing its color.
“The general told me to look for him at Elkhorn Tavern as soon as I had carried out the order about taking water to the wounded rebels, and I did so. On the way I passed the spot where a captain of a rebel battery was killed near the close of the battle, his head having been carried away by one of our cannon-shot. They said his name was Churchill Clark, and that he was the son of a prominent politician well known in the state of Missouri. Young Clark was educated at the military academy at West Point, and was said to be a splendid officer. He turned against the government the advantages of the education he had received at its expense. He was carried away by the idea that the right of the state was paramount to the right of the nation, and this is the end of states-rights for him—killed in battle at Pea Ridge.
“But if the battlefield was horrible, the scene at Elkhorn was worse. Dead and wounded men were lying all about, the house was filled with wounded, and every few minutes a corpse was brought out to make room for a man whom the surgeons hoped to save. Blood was everywhere, and the sight was a sickening one. All the medical men were busy as they could be, and with the hardest work they were not able to give much attention to each individual case.