I am very tired. I think I can hardly stand upon my feet another moment; and then some one wants me, and I find I am not yet entirely exhausted. I have been with the wounded all day, and a part of the night.
The streams still pour in, bloody and ghastly. Richmond is ours, and where, Oh where is our poor regiment? No one can tell me, and my heart beats wild with fear.
We have fourteen hundred men now in our hospital. I hear their groans all the night long, and my work is very heavy. So still the air seems without the constant roar of cannon, it whispers of the advent of peace.
We have lost a captain to-day, and two privates.
The transport has taken away some who were not badly wounded, but they keep the quota full as they come straggling in. My work is hard, but the little I can do seems so inefficient when there is so much to do. If we had a score of the good wives and mothers who so yearn to be with their dear ones now, we could do more.
We have twenty-five hundred wounded men in now, some with arms and legs off, and the most frightful mutilations. A captain and a corporal have died to-day. How our grave-yard fills up with the
