said of it: It shows what was
going on in thousands of families the land over--North and South--and it
is the kind of matter that does not get into books on war subjects. The
reality of war is largely obscured by descriptions that tell of
movements and maneuvers of armies, of the attack and repulse, of the
victory and defeat, and then pass on to new operations. All of this
leaves out of sight the fellows stretched out with holes through them,
or with legs and arms off.

At Baltimore my father had to turn back on account of acute illness.
From New York my father and Uncle were accompanied by my cousin Edward
Snyder. He was a grand man. He had tried several times to enter the
service, but was rejected. For years he had been in the employ of the
American Express Co. and knew how to push his way through a crowd. The
jam was so great to get to the battlefield, and the transportation so
inadequate, they might have been delayed several days, but for the
steering qualifications of Snyder. He elbowed and managed in such a way
that he and the doctor got onto an open flat bottomed car headed for
Gettysburg the same day. On their arrival it was no small job to find
me, but a half day's search and inquiry brought them to my tent, a large
hospital tent holding some sixteen men, everyone of whom had, I
believed, sustained an amputation. They had found the Chaplain of the
64th New York, a thoroughly good man, qualified for the office, as many
chaplains were not. This Chaplain had been of great service since the
battle; his work in behalf of the men was tireless. Earlier in the day
he had talked with me, trying to brace me up and make me hopeful. I
remember saying to him, "If I were where I could have the best of care,
I might pull through, but that is impossible." I knew that my chances
were few and scant. About noon he came to me and said, "Fuller, can you
stand some good news?" I said, "Yes, if ever I could I can now." He
said, "Some one has come to see you?" I asked, "Is it Dr. King?" He
said, "Yes." I looked to the other side of the tent, and there in the
doorway stood my uncle, and just behind him Edward Snyder. The doctor
was short and thick and Snyder was tall and thin, so I had a view of
both of their faces at once. It was a sight so photographed in my memory
that it is as fresh to-day as when it was taken. The doctor remained at
the field hospital for about ten days. During that time he took charge
of about a dozen amputated