"As I returned from the woods, where I had fled for safety, to the scene of slaughter, I found the sister who started with me lying in a pool of blood. She had fainted, but was only shot through the hand. Further on was Father McBride, an aged, white-haired revolutionary soldier; his murderer had literally cut him to pieces with an old corn-cutter. His hands had been split down when he raised them in supplication for mercy. Then one of the mob cleft open his head with the same weapon, and the veteran who had fought for the freedom of his country in the glorious days of the past, was numbered with the martyrs. My eldest son, Willard, took my wounded boy upon his back and bore him to our tent. The entire hip bone, joint and all were shot away. We laid little Alma upon our bed and examined the wound. I was among the dead and dying: I knew not what to do. I was there all that long dreadful night with my dead and my wounded, and none but God as physician and help. I knew not but at any moment the mob might return to complete their dreadful work. In the extremity of my agony I cried unto the Lord, 'O, Thou who hearest the prayers of the widow and fatherless, what shall I do? Thou knowest my inexperience, Thou seest my poor, wounded boy, what shall I do? Heavenly Father, direct me!' And I was directed as if by a voice speaking to me. Our fire was smouldering; we had been burning the shaggy bark of hickory logs. The voice told me to take those ashes and make a solution, then saturate a cloth with it and put it right into the wound. It was painful, but my little boy was too near dead to heed the pain much. Again and again I saturated the cloth and put it into the hole from which the hip joint had been plowed out, and each time mashed flesh and splinters of bone came away with the cloth, and the wound became white and clean. I had obeyed the voice that directed me, and having done this, prayed again to the Lord to be instructed further; and was answered as distinctly as though a physician had been standing by speaking to me. A slippery elm tree was near by, and I was told to make a poultice of the roots of the slippery elm and fill the wound with it. My boy Willard procured the slippery elm from the roots of the tree; I made the poultice and applied it. The wound was so large it took a quarter of a yard of linen to cover it. After I had properly dressed the wound, I found vent to my feelings in tears for the first time, and resigned myself to the anguish of the hour. All through the night I heard the groans of the sufferers, and once in the dark we groped our way over the heap of dead in the blacksmith shop, to try to soothe the wants of those who had been mortally wounded, and who lay so helpless among the slain.