During the battle, hospitals for the wounded established in nearby farmhouses, churches, monasteries, in the open air, under the shade of trees receive the wounded officers and non-commissioned officers, who are hastily given treatment. After these comes the turn of the soldiers, when that is possible. Those of the latter who are still able to walk find their way to the field hospitals. The others are carried on litters and stretchers, weakened as they are by loss of blood, by pain, by continued lack of food, and by the mental and moral shock they have experienced. During the battle a pennant fixed on an elevation marks the station for the wounded and the field hospitals of the fighting regiments. Unfortunately, only a few of the soldiers know the color of the hospital pennant or that of the hospital flag of the enemy, for the colors differ with the different nations. The bombs fall upon them, sparing neither physicians, nor wounded, nor wagons loaded with bread, wine, meat or lint. The heights which extend from Castiglione to Volta, sparkle with thousands of fires, which are fed by pieces of Austrian gun-wagons and by huge branches of trees, broken by the tempest or by cannon balls. The soldiers dry their dripping clothes; then, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, they fall asleep on the stones or on the ground. What terrible episodes! What touching scenes! What disillusionments! There are battalions without food, companies lacking almost every necessity, because of the loss of the knapsacks. Water also is lacking, but their thirst is so intense that officers and soldiers resort to slimy and even bloody pools. Everywhere the wounded are begging for water. Through the silence of the night are heard groans, stifled cries of anguish and pain, and heartrending voices calling for help. Who will ever be able to paint the agonies of this horrible night! The sun on the twenty-fifth of June, 1859, shines above one of the most frightful sights imaginable. The battle-field is everywhere covered with corpses of men and horses. They appear as if sown along the roads, in the hollows, the thickets and the fields, above all, near the village of Solferino. The fields ready for the harvest are ruined, the grain trodden down, the fences overturned, the orchards destroyed. Here and there one finds pools of blood. The villages are deserted. They bear traces of bullets, of bombs and shells and grenades. The houses whose walls have been pierced with bullets and are gaping widely, are shaken and ruined. The inhabitants, of whom the greater number have passed almost twenty hours in the refuge of their cellars, without light or food, are commencing to come out. The look of stupor of these poor peasants bears testimony to the long terror they have endured. The ground is covered with all kinds of debris, broken pieces of arms, articles of equipments and blood-stained clothing. The miserable wounded gathered up during the day are pale, livid and inert.