For the soldier recommencing the everyday life of the campaign, after the fatigue and emotions of a battle like that of Solferino, the memories of his family become more strong than ever. That mental state is vividly described by the following lines from an officer writing from Volta to his brother in France: "You cannot imagine how the soldiers are moved when they catch sight of the baggage-master who distributes the letters to the army; because he brings to us, understand, news from France, from our native land, from our parents, from our friends. Each one listens, watches, and stretches to him eager hands. The happy men, who receive a letter--open it hurriedly and devour it immediately; the rest, deprived of this happiness, depart with heavy heart and isolate themselves in order to think about those so far away. "Sometimes a name is called to which there is no response. The men glance at each other, they question among themselves, they wait. 'Dead,' murmurs a voice, and the baggage-master files the letter away and returns it unopened to the writer. They had rejoiced when they sent it, and had said to one another. 'He will be happy to receive it!' When they see it returned, their poor hearts will break." The streets of Castiglione are quieter; the deaths and the departures have left vacancies. In spite of the arrival of new wagons full of wounded, order, little by little, is established and regular attendance commences. The convoys from Castiglione to Brescia are more frequent. They consist principally of hospital wagons and heavy carts which, constantly carrying, to the French Commissary Department, gun supplies, and provisions, go back empty to Brescia. They are drawn by oxen, walking slowly under the fierce sun and through the thick dust in which the pedestrian sinks to his ankles. These uncomfortable wagons are covered with branches of trees which very imperfectly protect from the rays of the coming sun. The wounded, piled up, one may say, one upon another. It is difficult to imagine the torments of this long ride. In these wagons some groan, others call for their mother; there are the ravings and delirium of fever, sometimes curses and blasphemies. The least interest shown to these unhappy men, a kind salutation, gives them pleasure and they return it at once with expressions of gratitude. In all the villages along the road leading to Brescia, the women sitting before their doors, silently prepare lint. The Communal authorities have had prepared, drinks, bread and nourishment. When a convoy arrives the women of the village go to the wagons, wash the wounds, renew the lint compresses, which they moisten with fresh water. They pour spoonfuls of bouillon, wine or lemonade in the mouths of those who have not the strength to raise their heads or extend their arms.