ing found a
man to transfer the saddle from poor Dick, who was now disposed to lie
down by loss of blood and exhaustion, to another horse, I hobbled on
among the hospitals in search of Gen. Gibbon.

The skulkers were about, and they were as loud as any in their
rejoicings at the victory, and I took a malicious pleasure as I went
along and met them, in taunting the _sneaks_ with their cowardice and
telling them--it was not true--that Gen. Meade had just given the order
to the Provost Guard to arrest and shoot all men they could find away
from their regiments who could not prove a good account of themselves.
To find the General was no easy matter. I inquired for both Generals
Hancock and Gibbon--I knew well enough that they would be together--and
for the hospitals of the 2d corps. My search was attended with many
incidents that were provokingly humorous. The stupidity of most men is
amazing. I would ask of a man I met, "Do you know, sir, where the 2d
corps hospitals are?" "The 12th corps hospital is there!" Then I would
ask sharply, "Did you understand me to ask for the 12th corps hospital?"
"No!" "Then why tell me what I do not ask or care to know?" Then
stupidity would stare or mutter about the ingratitude of some people for
kindness. Did I ask for the Generals I was looking for, they would
announce the interesting fact, in reply, that they had seen some other
generals. Some were sure that Gen. Hancock or Gibbon was dead. They had
seen his dead body. This was a falsehood, and they knew it. Then it was
Gen. Longstreet. This was also, as they knew, a falsehood.

Oh, sorrowful was the sight to see so many wounded! The whole
neighborhood in rear of the field became one vast hospital of miles in
extent. Some could walk to the hospitals; such as could not were taken
upon stretchers from the places where they fell to selected points and
thence the ambulance bore them, a miserable load, to their destination.
Many were brought to the building, along the Taneytown road, and too
badly wounded to be carried further, died and were buried there, Union
and Rebel soldiers together. At every house, and barn, and shed the
wounded were; by many a cooling brook, or many a shady slope or grassy
glade, the red flags beckoned them to their tented asylums, and there
they gathered, in numbers a great army, a mutilated, bruised mass of
humanity. Men with gray hair and furrowed cheeks and soft-lipped,
beardless boys were there, for these bullets