By
Sharon M. Parnell Sholes
Cathy J. Parnell Vance
On the battle ground at
Chancellorville the winter rain washed open the shallow Union and Confederate
graves...It grew dark and we built a fire. The dead were all around us;
their eyeless skulls seemed to stare steadily at us...The tree swayed and sighed
gently in the soft wind. As we sat smoking...An infantry soldier who had
been prying [into the ground] with his bayonet suddenly rolled a skull on the
ground before us and said in a deep low voice: That is what you are all
coming to, and some of you will start it tomorrow
