train arrived,--departed; shortly thereafter there poured through the
doors of that little church a train of human misery such as I never
saw before or afterward during the war, and pray God I may never see
again. Until that night the tale of the retreat from Moscow had seemed
to me overdrawn; ever since I can well believe "the half has not been
told." They came, each revealing some form of acute disease, some
tottering, but still on their feet, others borne on stretchers.
Exhausted by forced marches over interminable miles of frozen ground
or jagged rocks, destitute of rations, discouraged by failure, these
poor fellows had cast away one burden after another until they had not
clothes sufficient to shield them from the chilling blasts of winter.
Not one in twenty had saved even a haversack, many having discarded
coats and jackets. One man had gained possession of an india-rubber
overcoat, which, excepting his underclothing, was his only garment.
Barefooted,--their feet were swollen frightfully, and seamed with
fissures so large that one might lay a finger in them. These were
dreadfully inflamed, and bled at the slightest touch; others were
suppurating. The feet of some presented a shining, inflamed surface
which seemed ready to burst at any moment. Their hands were just as
bad, covered with chilblains and sores. Many were tortured with wounds
which had at first seemed slight, but by neglect and exposure had
become sources of exquisite torture. The gleaming eyes, matted hair
and beard hanging about their cadaverous faces, gave to these men a
wild, ghastly look utterly indescribable. As they came in, many sunk
exhausted upon the pallets, some falling at once into a deep sleep,
from which it was impossible to arouse them, others able only to
assume a sitting posture on account of the racking, rattling cough
which, when reclining, threatened to suffocate them. Few would stop to
be undressed: food and rest were all they craved. Those who crowded to
the stoves soon began to suffer from their frozen feet and hands, and