When the rallied Brigade came whooping back upon the enemy, ten minutes after, who should be in front tearing up the hill, leading the charge, but the gallant Captain, yelling like everything, and still waving that frying pan, to cheer on his men. More gallant charge was never led, with gleaming sword, than was this, led with that Texas frying pan.
At the time we were getting our guns around to fire upon the enemy inside the works, as the retiring Texans were falling back past us, Dr. Carter stepped quickly out, and in his courteous manner, called out to them, “Gentlemen, dear gentlemen, I hope that you are not running.” A passing infantryman, a gaunt, unwashed, ragged chap, replied, “Never you mind, old fellow! We are just dropping back to get to ’em.” “I beg your pardon,” retorted the Doctor, “but if you want to get to them, you ought to turn round; they are not the way you are going.” They passed on, and the fight took place. When it was over we noticed that the Doctor was very much vexed about something. We asked what was the matter? He said, “Never mind!” We insisted on his saying what disturbed him so. At last, he said “Well, I don’t see why, because men are in the army, they should not observe the amenities customary among gentlemen.” “Well,” we said, “that is all right; but why do you say it?” “Why!” he warmly said; “did you hear that dirty, ragged infantryman call me an old fellow? A most disrespectful way to address a gentleman!”
All the row of the fight had not put it out of the Doctor’s mind, and he brooded over it for some time. He never did get used to the lack of “amenities” and he always had an humble opinion of that unknown Texan, who did not observe the form of address customary among gentlemen. The Doctor himself always followed his own rule; he was as courteous in manner, and civil in speech, as “observant of the amenities” in the thick of a fight, as in his own parlor.
This was the first battle the Doctor was in, having lately joined us. As we ceased firing, one of us exclaimed, as we were apt to do, when a fight was over, “Well! that was a hot place.” The Doctor turned on him and eagerly said, “Did I understand you to say that was a hot place?” “I did, indeed, and it was.” The Doctor turned to another, and another, with the same eager question, “Did you think that was a hot place?” “Yes,” we all agreed, “it was about as hot a one as we ever saw, or cared to see.” “Well,” said the Doctor, in a very relieved tone, “I am very glad to hear you gentlemen, who have had experience, say so. I hesitated a long time about coming into the army, because I did not want to disgrace my family, and I was afraid I should run, at the first fire; but, if you call that a hot place I think I can stand it.” The Doctor’s distrust of himself was very funny to us; for he was so utterly fearless, and reckless of danger, that some of the men thought, and said, that he tried to get himself shot. And once, the Captain threatened to put him under arrest, and send him to the rear, if he did not stop wantonly exposing his life. He had very little cause to distrust his courage, or fear that he would “disgrace his family” in this, or any other way.
When the fight was over, we promptly went among the Federal wounded, who lay thickly strewn on the inside of our lines, to see what we could do for their comfort and relief. Curious how one could, one minute, shoot a man down, and the next minute go and minister to him like a brother; so it was! The moment an enemy was wounded he ceased to be thought of as an enemy, and was just a suffering fellow man.
We did what we could for these wounded men, giving water to some; disposing the bodies of some in a more comfortable position, cheering them all up with the promise of prompt aid from the surgeons.
Among many others, we came to one man, mortally wounded and dying. His life was fast ebbing way; he was perfectly aware of his condition. He earnestly entreated that some one of us would pray for him. The request was passed on to Robert Stiles, who was still at our guns.
He came at once! Taking the hand of the poor dying fellow tenderly in his own, Stiles knelt right down by him on that wet, bloody ground, and, in a fervent prayer commended his soul to God. Then, as a brother might, stayed by him, saying what he could to comfort the troubled soul, and fix his thoughts upon the Saviour of men, and have him ready to meet his God.
Some of us looked reverently on with hearts full of sympathy in the scene. It was a sight I wish the men of both armies could have looked upon. Right on the bloody battlefield, surrounded by the dead and dying, that Confederate soldier kneeling over that dying Federal soldier praying for him.
Well! the long weary day of battle was closing and the fighting was done, at last. This 10th of May was a day filled up with fun, and fasting, and furious fighting; simple description, but correct. Thirteen to sixteen lines of infantry we had broken, and repulsed, during that day; and what between infantry and artillery we were under fire all day from five A. M. to nine o’clock that night; had toiled all night long, the night before; not a morsel had passed our lips all day, but one small crustless corn cake, taken out of a wet bag that had lain for hours, in the rain. A tired lot, we lay down that night on the wet ground to sleep, and be ready for the morrow. We fell asleep with the artillery still roaring on the lines, and shells still screaming about in the dark, and slept a sound dreamless sleep all through the night.