The wounded have been arriving since early this morning; new scenes of distress await us on the morrow. “As we look around, we see the work of death on every side. Rank after rank is falling on the battlefield of life, and the cold earth on which we tread is arched with graves.” _CHAPTER XIV._ WRETCHED CONDITION OF OUR HOSPITAL--A REBEL FAMILY--HOME DUTIES--ARRIVAL OF THE WOUNDED--SAD SCENES AND INCIDENTS--BATTLEFIELD OF DEC. 13TH, 1862--TENT HOSPITALS--MR. WATERS--PAPER MILL HOSPITAL--THE CITY EVACUATED--THE SLAUGHTER ESTATE--MRS. WASHINGTON’S MONUMENT--NINTH CORPS BURYING-GROUND--FAREWELL TO THE BLOODY CITY. _Monday, 16th._ Early this morning I started out, accompanied by one of the “boys” detailed to assist us, for an old four story factory, situated in the outskirts of the city, with beef-soup, crackers, and pillows. Another revolting scene, one from which the mind instinctively turns, was there witnessed. I found the wounded, as in other hospitals, lying upon the hard floor, some with but many without even a blanket. Everything in the shape of knapsacks, haversacks, canteens, and even boots, are used for pillows. For one to stand and look in upon them in all their destitution and suffering, and to hear the begging for pillows upon which to rest aching heads, wounded limbs, and broken bones, and to see the empty cups held up for a little soup--“just a little, please,”--would be a soul-sickening sight! A mere spectator could not live here; not if he had a heart to feel for others’ woes. There must be something to stimulate; and the hope of being able, though in a small degree, to alleviate the suffering seen on every hand nerves one for the work and enables him to labor on week after week composedly, it may be, amid scenes the most revolting, with ghastly death staring him in the face at every turn. This is no place for idlers or the faint-hearted. Strong nerves, brave hearts, and willing hands are needed. My next visit was to the hospitals on the Heights, where I found a large number who have, to-day, arrived from the battlefield. Many of these were wholly unprovided for; some were lying upon the ground, others sitting upon old boxes, benches, and even the wood-pile, while the hot sun was pouring his searching beams upon them. Among these seemingly neglected ones was a poor fellow who had lost part of his lower jaw; his swollen face was bound around with an old blood-stained bandage, and the bloody water was running from his mouth. He could not speak, but looked, oh, so imploringly for help! I resolved to do something for him. My first thought was to provide for him a bed; but where was the bedding to come from? It was suggested that I should go to a “Secesh” family, living about eighty rods from there, and try and beg some. I readily yielded to the suggestion; but, on making known my errand, the woman--I can not call her lady--of the