"Among the victims was the poor lad whom I assisted. A second
bullet struck him in the heart. He uttered just one word,
'mother,' and fell. Poor boy, and poor mother! He seemed to have
a premonition of his approaching death, and requested me the day
previous to take charge of his effects, and send them with his
love and a lock of his hair to his mother if anything should
befall him. This request I shall at once comply with. I have
succeeded in getting the poor fellow's body brought to camp,
where it will be decently buried, and have cut from his head two
brown locks, one for his mother, and one for myself.
"At last we got back with ranks fearfully diminished. Many old
familiar faces were gone--the faces of those now lying stiff and
stark in death. More were groaning with anguish in the crowded
hospital. My own wound was too trifling to require much
attention. I shall have to wear a sling for a few days perhaps.
"There is little more to tell. Until Tuesday evening we
maintained our position in daily expectation of an attack.
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