“…Last night I slept on historic ground. The white bones of those who had been slain before gave forth a ghastly gleam when the soft moonlight shimmered down upon them through the heavy foliage. But a short distance from here can be seen the perfect skeleton of a large sized man. The bare skull, with its great, hollow, eyeless sockets, was there; the long finger bones and each particular rib was in its place. All was bare and white and ghastly. No; I forgot to mention that a well-preserved pair of boots still encase what were the soldier’s feet, but in whose friendly cover now rattled the shin bones of the deceased. The wayward winds played through the cavity of the chest, and sighed through the empty skull, which gave forth a long, melancholy wail – the only dirge that has there been played, save the requiem which the songbirds twitter from the neighboring trees. The bones of the horse bleached close by the side of the master…”
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