Some, principally those seriously injured, have a vacant look, they seem not to understand what is said to them. They turn their staring eyes toward those who bring them help. Others, in a dangerous state of nervous shock, are shaking with convulsive tremblings. Still others, with uncovered wounds, where inflammation has already appeared, seem frenzied with pain; they beg that someone may end their sufferings, and, with drawn faces, writhe in the last torments of agony. Elsewhere, poor fellows are prostrated on the ground by bullets and bursting shells. Their arms and legs have been fractured by the cannon wheels that have passed over them. The shock of the cylindrical ball shatters the bones, so that the wound it causes is always very dangerous. The bursting of shells and the conical balls make extremely painful fractures, the internal injury being terrible. Every kind of pieces of bone, of earth, of lead, of clothing, of equipments, of shoes, aggravate and irritate the wounds of the patients and increase their sufferings. Those who cross this vast field of yesterday's battle meet at every step, in the midst of a confusion without parallel, inexpressible despair and suffering of every kind. Some of the battalions which had taken off their knapsacks during the battle, at last find them again, but they have been robbed of all their contents. During the night, vagabonds have stolen everything. A grave loss to the poor men whose linen and uniforms are stained and torn. Not only do they find themselves deprived of their clothing, but even their smallest savings, all their fortune as well as of the treasures dear to them; small family mementoes given by mothers, sisters and sweethearts. In several places the dead are stripped of their clothing by the thieves, who do not always spare the wounded who are still living. Besides these painful sights are others still more dramatic. Here the old, retired General Le Breton wanders, seeking his son-in-law, the wounded General Douay, who has left his daughter, Madame Douay, in the midst of the tumult of war, in a state of the most cruel uneasiness. There, Colonel de Maleville, shot at Casa Nova, expires. Here, it is Colonel de Genlis, whose dangerous wound causes a burning fever. There, Lieutenant de Selve of the artillery, only a few weeks out of Saint Cyr, has his right arm amputated on the battle-field, where he was wounded. I help care for a poor sergeant-major of the Vincennes Chasseurs, both of whose legs are pierced through with balls. I meet him again in the Brescia Hospital; but he will die crossing Mount Cenis.