Here is a case of a soldier I found among the crowded cots in the
Patent-office. He likes to have some one to talk to, and we will listen
to him. He got badly hit in his leg and side at Fredericksburgh that
eventful Saturday, 13th of December. He lay the succeeding two days and
nights helpless on the field, between the city and those grim terraces
of batteries; his company and regiment had been compell'd to leave him
to his fate. To make matters worse, it happen'd he lay with his head
slightly down hill, and could not help himself. At the end of some fifty
hours he was brought off, with other wounded, under a flag of truce. I
ask him how the rebels treated him as he lay during those two days and
nights within reach of them--whether they came to him--whether they
abused him? He answers that several of the rebels, soldiers and
others, came to him at one time and another. A couple of them, who
were together, spoke roughly and sarcastically, but nothing worse. One
middle-aged man, however, who seem'd to be moving around the field,
among the dead and wounded, for benevolent purposes, came to him in
a way he will never forget; treated our soldier kindly, bound up his
wounds, cheer'd him, gave him a couple of biscuits and a drink of
whiskey and water; asked him if he could eat some beef. This good
secesh, however, did not change our soldier's position, for it might
have caused the blood to burst from the wounds, clotted and stagnated.
Our soldier is from Pennsylvania; has had a pretty severe time; the
wounds proved to be bad ones. But he retains a good heart, and is at
present on the gain. (It is not uncommon for the men to remain on the
field this way, one, two, or even four or five days.)