I wondered what the men at that time must have been thinking.
I thought about the mothers back home praying every day for good news, for safe return of their sons and husband and brothers.
The first shot was fired and the melee began.
No turning back now.
Smoke began to fill the battlefield and made the scene into a hazy image.
It all was so surreal.
Men fell, wounded or killed.
Cannons boomed, the repercussion so strong.
Smoke rings rose through the trees.Can you imagine being there?
Can you imagine aiming at another man and firing?
It must have been so emotional and difficult for the young men who had never even left their homes before.
Some gazed around in a daze.
Others bowed heads or knelt to attend to the wounded or dead.
The battle ended, the wounded tended, the dead gathered.
The wounded were not just those lying on the battlefield who had been shot, but all the men and boys who witnessed the death of another.
The mothers, daughters, sisters, relatives home waiting were also wounded.
All were wounded in their hearts, souls and minds.
Scars that would never heal.