There is no 'pomp and circumstance of glorious war.' Men died screaming in agony, or dumb with fear.

They were covered with dirt, and when they were dead they merged into the landscape like inanimate things.

What vital difference is there between a living man and a dead man, that one stands out in a scene big and obtrusive, and the other begins to fade into the earth as soon as death touches the body?
The horror of death is upon me, and I cannot shake it off.

It is a fearful thing to see a human soul pass 'in any shape, in any mood.' And I have seen so many deaths--we lost one man out of every three--that I am all unnerved.

I saw General Lyon die--the only abolitionist in the regular army, they say.