My people, along with their wives and children, watched the great Lamanite army marching toward them, and waited to receive them with that awful fear of death that fills the hearts of the wicked.
As the Lamanites came, every one of us was terrified because of their great numbers. They attacked my people with their swords, bows and arrows, axes and all other types of weapons.
My 10,000 men were cut down, and I fell wounded among them, so the Lamanites passed over me and did not kill me.
The next morning, from the top of Cumorah Hill, my son Moroni and I, and 23 other survivors, saw my 10,000 soldiers that I had led into battle, all dead.
We also saw Moroni's 10,000 dead. We saw Gidgiddonah's 10,000 dead, and he had fallen among them. We saw Lamah, Gilgal, Limhah, Jeneum, Cumenihah, Moronihah, Antionum, Shiblom, Shem and Josh, who had each fallen with their 10,000.
There were ten more leaders who had fallen by the sword, each with their 10,000. In addition to these men (230,000 dead), all my people (probably more than a million, not including the dead of the Lamanites) had been killed, except for the 24 who were with me, a few who had escaped to the south, and a few who had deserted to the Lamanites.
Everywhere lay the flesh, bones and blood of the dead, who had been left by the Lamanites to decompose and return to their mother earth. My soul was torn with anguish over my people, and I cried,
