"All day the battle raged with terrible fury until long after the shades of night had fallen. Indeed, the heaviest musketry I ever heard occurred some time after pitch darkness had completely enveloped us. My supper that night was a very plain one. A piece of corn bread, or hoe cake, that I had abstracted from the haversack of a dead Southerner, and a canteen of cold water constituted that simple meal. I really felt a sense of gratitude toward the poor Confederate, who had undoubtedly baked the corn bread that morning, little thinking that it was destined to be eaten by a miserable Yankee drummer boy. But such is the fate of war.
"It had been very hot during the day, but the night was bitterly cold. There was a heavy frost that night, and under a thick blanket upon the bare ground, I slept by fitful snatches. Let me tell you, friends, that the most terrible place upon earth is a battlefield at night. The groans of the wounded men and horses are awful beyond anything I ever heard. All night I could hear their heartrending cries, but in the pitch darkness could do nothing to help them. How many times I thought of my far away northern home during that awful night. Should I live through the morrow? for the battle would certainly be resumed with the return of daylight. Should I ever see mother, brothers and sisters, home and friends again?"
Here the Doctor sang softly and slowly part of the pathetic old war song:
"Comrades brave around me lying, Filled with thoughts of home and God; For well they know that on the morrow Some must sleep beneath the sod."
The little party were deeply impressed, for the Doctor was a good story teller, and was himself much affected at this point.
"The much longed for, yet dreaded, daylight dawned at last. It was Sunday morning. For some reason hostilities were not immediately resumed. The sun rose in beauty and splendor, warming our chilled bones and blood in a way that was exceedingly grateful to us. For a little time all was so quiet and still that it only lacked the sweet tones of church bells, calling us to the house of God, to have made us forget that we were enemies, and have induced us to rest from our fearful, uncanny works for this holy Sabbath at least. But no! soon the battle was on again with greater vigor, if possible, than ever. Before noon our flanks were completely routed; and, but for that magnificent man, the peer of any soldier of any nation or age, General George H. Thomas, it is doubtful whether I should be here now, telling my little story. While Rosecranz, whipped and beaten, fled to Chattanooga and telegraphed to Washington that everything was lost, and the Cumberland army a thing of the past, General Thomas, with a few thousand men, checked and held at bay this great Southern army, flushed with victory though it was. How the mighty host rolled and surged against this single army corps, but could not break nor beat them back. While Crittenden's and McCook's corps were completely routed and disorganized, Thomas with his 14th corps thus stood the brunt of battle, and saved the Army of the Cumberland from total annihilation. Well may we call him the Rock of Chickamauga!