Imagine, if you can, two mighty armies--that for weeks had been grappling with each other in deadly contest, each doing its utmost to slay and destroy the other, laying aside their implements of war as the day draws to a close, and with the sun casting its last red glare over all, as out from the ranks on either side came the men of war on their errand of mercy; the blue and gray intermingling, looking for friends and comrades that had fallen; permitted to carry them back into their own ranks to live or die among those with whom they served. The picture will never be effaced from my memory, and all who witnessed that or a similar scene, will heartily endorse the saying of the late General Sherman that “War is hell.” REFUSED TO BE BURIED. The burial of the dead on the battlefield had to be done so hurriedly many times that more than one poor fellow who perhaps had been stunned and left on the field had a “close call” to being buried alive. A case in mind was that of one at Cold Harbor who had been picked up as dead, and as the men dropped their burden by the open trench the shock resuscitated the man and he faintly asked: “What’s going on, boys?” The response was, “We were going to bury you, Shorty.” “Not if I know myself,” he replied. “Get me a cup of coffee and I’ll be all right; I won’t be buried by that country clodhopper.” The “clodhopper” referred to was the sergeant in charge of the squad, who belonged to a company of our regiment that came from the central part of the state, while the man who had been so near the “dark valley” was a member of a New York City company. TO ARMS AGAIN. At 8 o’clock sharp the white flags were furled, and the buglers from either side sounded the “recall.” The men returned to their commands, the swords were unsheathed, the muskets reloaded, the cannon unmuzzled and hostilities were resumed--such is war. “Hark! the musketry roars, and the rifles reply: Oh, the fight will be close and the carnage be dread; To the ranks let us hie-- We have buried our dead.” CHAPTER XI. HANCOCK AND HIS MEN. General Hancock possessed to a remarkable degree the power of exciting to enthusiasm the men he so often led to victory. And even a drummer boy may be pardoned the pride he feels in the enduring fame of this intrepid commander. During the ’64 campaign he was compelled to ride in an ambulance on the long marches because of the breaking out afresh of his old Gettysburg wound. But he did not ask a leave of absence, and when there was any fighting he mounted his horse and was at the head of his troops. The personnel of his corps was probably the most unique of all the army. The most prominent organization and one deserving more than a passing notice was the famous “Irish brigade,” the representatives of that race which distinguished itself on the fields of Fontenoy.