THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
occupied by my division during that murderous conflict, around me the dead bodies of men who, but three days ago, had cheered me when I rode along their front, and whose greetings I had responded to with sincere affection, the features of some of whom I now succeeded in recognizing after a painful effort; some officers whom I had known well, with whom I had talked often, and who now lay here, struck down in the flower of their young manhood, now horrible to look at like the rest—and over yonder, only a few paces away, some Confederate dead, whom their comrades had left on the field, now looking just like our men, and having in all probability died with the same belief in the justice of their cause. Was it possible that any of them should have been sincerely convinced of the righteousness of the cause they fought for—the cause of slavery? I had to say to myself that it was possible, and in many cases even certain; for did I not know from history that in many religious wars men had cut one another's throats with the fierceness of fanatical conviction concerning differences of opinion on doctrinal points which to-day would call forth from any educated person only a smile of pity? I rode away from this horrible scene in a musing state of mind, finally composing myself with the reaffirmed faith that in our struggle against slavery we could not possibly be wrong; that there was an imperative, indisputable necessity of fighting for our cause; that the belief of the rebels in the righteousness of their cause might be ever so sincere, and that they might individually deserve ever so much credit for that sincerity, but that their error stood offensively in the way of justice, and that their challenge had to be met.
There were more harrowing experiences in store for me that day. To look after the wounded of my command, I visited the places where the surgeons were at work. At Bull Run, I
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