"You will end by remembering your broken experience," he said, "but it
may take some time. Your case is more stubborn than I thought."

"How did I get hurt?" I asked.

"You were knocked down," said he.

"Who did it?" I asked.

"Don't precisely know," said he; "but it makes no difference which one
did it; we all know that you were in the right."

"There was a quarrel?" I asked.

"A big one," said he; "I think it best to relieve your curiosity at once
by telling you what has happened in the world. If I did not, you would
make yourself worse by fancying too much, and you would become more and
more bewildered. I can put you right. But can you make up your mind to
accept the situation as it is, and bear up in the hope that you will
come right in the end?"

I did not reply. I do not know what feeling was uppermost in my mind. It
was not anxiety, for my interest in others was pure blank. It was not
fear, for he had assured me that my physical condition was more
favourable.

"Yes," he continued; "it is best to tell you the truth, and the whole
truth, lest your fancy conjure up things that do not exist. After all,
there is nothing in it but what you might have reasonably expected when
you were in Aiken in eighteen fifty-nine."

"How long have I been in this condition?" I asked.

"This condition? Only since yesterday morning."

"Then why do you say eighteen fifty-nine?"

"Your present condition began yesterday; but it is also true--or at
least seems to be true--that you do not remember your experience from
October eighteen fifty-nine until yesterday."

"You mean for me to believe that eighteen fifty-nine has all gone?"

"Yes--all gone--in fact, this is summer weather."

I remembered the heat of the past day, and the thunder. Yet it was hard
for me to believe that I had been unconscious for six months--but, no;
he was not saying I had been unconscious for six months--nobody could
live through such a state--he was telling me that I could not remember
what I had known six months ago.

"What month is this?" I asked.

"June," said he; "June 4th."

"From October to June is a long time," I said.

"Yes, and many things have happened since October eighteen fifty-nine,"
said he.

"Doctor, are you serious?" I asked.

"On my honour," said he.

"And I have lost eight months of my life?"

"Oh, no; only the memory of the past, and that loss is but temporary.
You will get right after a while."

"And what have I been doing for the past eight months?"

"That is what I've been trying to find out," said he; "I am trying now
to find your regiment."

"There you go again about my regiment. Do you expect me to accept that?"

"You said you could trust me," he replied; "why should I deceive you?
Tell me why you think I may be deceiving you."

"Because--" said I.

"Because what?"

"I fear that you are hiding a worse thing in order to do me good."

"But I gave you my word of honour, and I give it again. These hills
around you are covered by an army."

"Where are we?" I asked, in wonder.

"We are near Richmond; within five miles of it."

"What Richmond?"

"In Virginia."

"And what brought _me_ here? Why should I be here?"

"You came here voluntarily, while you were in good health, no doubt, and
while your mind acted perfectly."

"But why should I have come?"

"Because your regiment was ordered to come."

"And why should there be an army?"

"Because your country was invaded. You volunteered to defend your
country, and your regiment was ordered here."

"Country invaded? Volunteered?"

"Yes."

"Then we are at war?"

"Yes."

"With England?"

"No; not with England, with the United States."

I laughed gayly, perhaps hysterically.

"Now I know that this is a dream," said I.

"Why?"

"The idea of the United States being at war with itself!" I laughed
again.

"Take this," said he, and he gave me another potion. He waited a few
minutes for the medicine to affect me. Then he said, "Can you remember
how many states compose the United States?"

"Thirty-three, I believe," said I.

"There were thirty-three, I suppose, in eighteen fifty-nine," said he;
"but now there are not so many. Eleven of the states--the most of the
Southern states--have seceded and have set up a government of their own.
We call ourselves the Confederate States of America. Our capital is
Richmond. The Northern states are at war with us, trying to force us
back into the Union, as they call it. War has been going on for more
than a year."

"What!"

"Yes," said he; "all these great events required more than eight
months."

"More than a year!" I exclaimed; "what year is this?"

"Here is my record," said he; "here is yesterday's record."

He opened it at a page opposite which was a blank page. The written page
was headed June 3,1862. Below the heading were written some eight or ten
names,--Private Such-a-one, of Company A or B, such a regiment;
Corporal Somebody of another regiment, and so on. Upon one line there
was nothing written except _B. Jones_.

Then the doctor brought me a newspaper, and showed me the date. The
paper was the Richmond _Examiner_; the date, Wednesday, June 4, 1862.

"This is to-day's paper," said the doctor.

I laughed.

He continued: "Yes, war has been going on for more than a year. The
great effort of the United States army is to take Richmond, and the
Confederates have an army here to defend Richmond. Here," he added, "I
will show you."

He went to the door of the tent and held back the canvas on both sides.

"Look!"

I looked with all my eyes. My vision was limited to a narrow latitude. I
could see tents, their numbers increasing as perspective broadened the
view. I could see many men passing to and fro.

"You see a little of it," said he; "the lines extend for miles."

I did not laugh. My hands for the first time went up to my face; I
wanted to hide my eyes from a mental flash too dazzling and too false;
at once my hands fell back.

I had found a beard on my face, where there had been none before.



XXI

ONE MORE CONFEDERATE

"Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide--
But whither?"--BYRON.

I awoke from an uneasy sleep, superinduced, I thought, by the surgeon's
repeated potions. My head was light and giddy, but the pain had almost
gone. My stomach was craving food.

It was night. Candles were burning on a low table in the middle of the
tent. The pallets, other than mine, had disappeared; my dream had
changed; the tent seemed larger.

The doctor and two strange men were sitting by the table. I had heard
them talking before I opened my eyes.

"I should like to have him, Frank."

Then the doctor's voice said: "I have made inquiry of every adjutant in
the brigade, and no such man seems to be missing. But he knows that he
is from South Carolina--in fact, his buttons are sufficient proof of
that. Then the diary found in his pocket shows the movements of no other
brigade than Gregg's. Take him into your company, Captain."

"Can I do that without some authority?"

"You can receive him temporarily; when he is known, he will be called
for, and you can return him to his company."

"What do you think of it, Aleck?"

"I think it would be irregular, or perhaps I should say exceptional,"
said another voice; "the regulations cannot provide for miraculous
contingencies."

"The whole thing's irregular," said the doctor; "it's impossible to
make it regular until his company is found. What else can you suggest?"

"I don't know. Can't we wait?"

"Wait for what?"

"Wait till we find his people."

"He'll be fit for duty in two days. What'll we do with, him then?--turn
him loose? He wouldn't know what to do with himself. I tell you we can't
find his regiment, or, at least, we haven't found it, and that he is fit
for duty, or will be in a few days; he is not a fit subject for the
general hospital, and I wouldn't risk sending him there; Powell would
wonder at me."

"Can't you keep him a while longer?"

"I can keep him a few days only; I tell you there is nothing the matter
with him. If I discharge him, what will he do? He ought to be
attached--he must be attached, else he cannot even get food. It will all
necessarily end in his being forced into the ranks of _some_ company,
and I want to see him placed right."

"I will not object to taking him if I can get him properly."

"Somebody'll get him. Besides, we can't let him leave us before he has a
place to go to. I think I have the right, in this miraculous
contingency, as Aleck calls it, to hand him over to you, at least
temporarily. Of course you can't keep him always. Sooner or later we'll
hear of some regiment that is seeking such a man. His memory will return
to him, so that he'll know where he belongs."

"Yes--I suppose so. I am willing to receive him. When. his company is
found, of course I shall be compelled to let him go."

"If provision is not made for him, he must suffer. I shall fear for him
unless we can settle him in some way such, as I propose. Am I not
right, Aleck?"

"Can't you keep him with you as some sort of help?"

"I would not propose such, a thing to him. There could be nothing here
for him except a servant's place. He is my man, and I'm going to treat
him better than that. By the way, I believe he is awake."

My eyes were wide open. The doctor turned to me and said, "How do you
feel now, Jones?"

"Am I here yet?" I muttered.

"Yes. Did you expect to be in two places at once?"

"Where are the others?"

"What others?"

"The five men."

"What five men?"

"The five men on the pallets."

"Oh!--been sent to the general hospital."

"Yes," said I, mournfully; "everything that comes goes again."

"Sound philosophy," said he; "you are getting strong and well. Don't
bother your head about what happened last century or last year."

He went to the door and called William.

The negro man came. "Some soup," said the doctor.

The soup was good. I felt better--almost strong. The doctor's friends
sat by, saying nothing. The doctor smiled to see me take the soup
somewhat greedily.

"Talk to him, Captain," said the doctor.

"My friend," said one of the men, "allow me to ask if you know where you
are."

"I know what I've been told," said I.

"You must be good enough to believe it," said he; "you believe it or you
doubt it. Do you still doubt it?"

"Yes," I said boldly.

"I can't blame you," said he. His voice was low and firm--a gentleman's
voice; a voice to inspire confidence; a voice which I thought, vaguely,
I had heard before.

"Yet," he continued, "to doubt it you must be making some theory of your
own; what is it, please?"

He spoke with a slight lisp. I noticed it, and felt pleased that I had
got to a stage in which, such a trifle was of any interest.

"The only possible theories are that I am dreaming and--"

"Be good enough to tell me another."

He had not interrupted me; I had hesitated.

"I know!" exclaimed the doctor; "he thinks I am concealing worse by
inventing a war with all its _et ceteras_. His supposition does me
credit in one way, but in another it does me great injury. Although I
have given him my word of honour that I am concealing nothing, he still
hangs to his notion that I am lying to him in order to keep from him a
truth that might be dangerous to his health. I shall be compelled to
call him out when he gets well. Will you act for me, Aleck?"

"With great pleasure," said the man addressed; "but perhaps your friend
will make the _amende_ when he knows the injustice of his suspicions."

"Have I told either of you what I have said to Jones about the war?"
asked the doctor.

"Certainly not; so far as I have the right to speak," said the Captain.
The other man shook his head.

"Then tell Jones the conditions here."

"Oh, Doctor, don't be so hard on me! I accept all you say, although it
is accepting impossibilities."

"Then, about your dream theory," said the Captain; "would you object to
my asking if you have ever had such a dream--so vivid and so long?"

"Not that I know of," said I.

"You think that Dr. Frost and my brother and I are mere creatures of
your fancy?"

The candles did not give a great light. I could not clearly see his
features. He came nearer, moving his stool to my side. My head was below
him, so that I was looking up at his face. He was a young man. His face
was almost a triangle, with its long jaw.

"I believe that dreams are not very well understood, even by the
wisest," he said. "Do me the kindness to confess that your present
experience, if a dream, is more wonderful than any other dream you
have had."

Though my head was dizzy, I thought I could detect a slight tinge of
irony in this excessively polite speech.

"I think it must be," I replied; "although I cannot remember any other
dream."

"Then, might not one say that the only dream you are conscious of is not
a dream?"

"That contradicts itself," said I.

"And you find yourself unable to accept the word of three men that you
are not dreaming?"

"Not if they are men of my dream," said I.

"A good retort, sir," he said. "Do me the kindness to tell me your
notion of a dream. Do you think it should be consistent throughout, or
should there be strong intrinsic proof of its own unrealness?"

"Captain," I said, "I cannot tell. I know nothing. I doubt my own
existence."

"Pardon me," said he; "you know the test--you think, therefore you
exist. Are you not sure that you think?"

"I think, or I dream that I think."

"Well said, sir; an excellent reasoner while dreaming. But suppose you
dream on; what will be the result?"

"Dream and sleep till I awake," said I.

"May I ask where you will awake?"

"In Aiken."

"I know a little of Aiken," said the Captain; "I was there not a year
ago."

Naturally the remark was of interest to me.

"When was it?" I asked.

"It was in August, of last year. You remember, Frank, I was recruiting
for the reorganized First."

"August of what year?" I asked.

"August eighteen sixty-one, very naturally."

"Gentlemen," said I, "bear with me, I beg you. I am not myself. I am
going through deep waters, I know nothing."

"We know," said the doctor; "and we are going to see you through." Then
he added: "Captain Haskell came from Abbeville. He has men in his
company from several of the districts; possibly some of them would know
you, and you might know them."

I did not want to know them. I said nothing. The doctor's suggestion was
not to my liking. Why should I join these men? What, to me, was this
captain? What was I to him? So far as I know, I had no interest in this
war. So far as I could know myself, my tastes did not seem to set
strongly in the direction of soldiering. Those men could get along
without my help. Why could I not find a different occupation? Anything
would be better than getting killed in a cause I did not understand.
Then, too, I was threatened with the wretched condition of an object of
common curiosity. If I was going to be gazed at by this officer and his
men,--if I was to be regarded as a freak,--my way certainly did not lie
with theirs.

"Frank," said the Captain's brother, "would it hurt Jones to go out of
the tent for a moment?"

"Not at all," said the doctor; "a good suggestion."

"Why should I go out?" I asked.

"Only to look about you," he replied.

The doctor helped me to my feet. I was surprised to find myself so
strong. Dr. Frost took my arm; all of us went out.

I looked around. Near us but little could be seen--only a few fires on
the ground. But far off--a mile or so, I don't know--the whole world was
shining with fires; long lines of them to the right and the left.

We returned into the tent. Not a word had been spoken.

Captain Haskell now said to me: "Pardon me for now leaving you. Command
me, if I can be of any help; I trust you will not think me too bold in
advising you to make no hasty decision which you might regret
afterward; good-by."

"Good-by, Captain," I replied; "I must trust the doctor."

The Captain's brother lingered. Dr. Frost was busy with him for a while,
over some writing; I inferred that the surgeon was making a report. When
this matter was ended the doctor said to me, "This officer also is a
Captain Haskell; he is assistant adjutant-general of Gregg's brigade,
and is a brother of Captain William Haskell."

The adjutant now came nearer and sat by me. "Yes," said he; "but I was
in my brother's company at first. We all shall be glad to help you if
we can."

"Captain," said I, "your goodness touches me keenly. I admire it the
more because I know that I am nothing to you gentlemen."

"Why," said he, "your case is a very interesting one, especially to Dr.
Frost, and we are all good friends; the doctor was in Company H
himself--was its first orderly sergeant. Frank called our attention to
your case in order that we might try to help you, and we should be
glad to help."

"Jones," said Dr. Frost, "it is this way: The army may move any day or
any hour. You cannot be sent to the general hospital, because you are
almost well. Something must be done with you. What would you have
us do?"

"I have no plans," said I; "it would be impossible for me to have any
plan. But I think it would be wrong for me to commit myself to something
I do not understand. You seem to suggest that I enlist as a soldier. I
feel no desire to go to war, or to serve as a soldier in any way.
Possibly I should think differently if I knew anything about the war and
its causes."

"You are already a Confederate soldier," said Dr. Frost. "I think,
Frank," said Adjutant Haskell, "that if the causes of the war were
explained to your friend, he would be better prepared to agree to your
wishes. Suppose you take time to-morrow and give him light; I know he
must be full of curiosity."

"Right!" said the doctor; "I'll do it. Let him know what is going on.
Then he'll see that we are right. He'd have it to do, though, in
the end."

"Yes; but let him understand fully; then he'll be more cheerful; at any
rate, it can do no harm."

"But why should I be compelled to serve?" I asked.

"Jones, my dear fellow, you seem determined not to believe that you are
already a soldier," said the doctor.

"If I am a soldier, I belong somewhere," said I.

"Of course you do," said Adjutant Haskell; "and all that we propose is
to give you a home until you find where you belong; and the place we
propose for you is undoubtedly the best place we know of. Company H is a
fine body of men; since I am no longer in it I may say that they are
picked men; the most of them are gentlemen. Let me mention some good old
Carolina names--you will remember them, I think. Did you never hear the
name of Barnwell?"

"Yes, of course," I said; "I've been to Barnwell Court-House. I believe
this place--I mean Aiken--is in Barnwell district."

"Well, John G. Barnwell is the first lieutenant in Company H. Do you
know of the Rhetts?"

"Yes, the name is familiar as that of a prominent family."

"Grimké Rhett is a lieutenant in Company H. Then there are the Seabrooks
and the Hutsons, and Mackay, and the Bellots[6], and Stewart, and Bee,
and Fraser Miller, and many more who represent good old families. You
would speedily feel at home."

[6] The Bellots were of a French Huguenot family, which settled in
Abbeville, S.C. (in 1765?). The name gradually came to be pronounced
_Bellotte_. [ED.]

"Gentlemen," said I, "how I ever became a soldier I do not know. I am a
soldier in a cause that I do not understand."

"And you have done many other things that you could not now understand
if you were told of them," said the doctor.

"But, Jones," said the adjutant, "a man who has already been wounded in
the service of his country ought to be proud of it!"

"What do you mean, Captain?" I asked.

"Hold on!" said Dr. Frost. "Well, I suppose there is no harm done. Tell
him how he was hurt, Aleck."

"How did you suppose you received your hurt?" asked the adjutant.

"I was told by Dr. Frost that somebody knocked me down," said I, with
nervous curiosity.

"Yes, that's so; somebody did knock you down," said the doctor.

"You were struck senseless by a bursting shell thrown by the enemy's
cannon," said the adjutant, "and yet you refuse to admit that you are
a soldier!"

To say that I was speechless would be weak. I stared back at the two
men.

"You have on the uniform; you are armed; you are in the ranks; you are
under fire from the enemy's batteries, where death may come, and does
come; you are wounded; you are brought to your hospital for treatment.
And yet you doubt that you are a soldier! You must be merely dreaming
that you doubt!"

While speaking Adjutant Haskell had risen, a sign that he was getting
angry, I feared; but no, he was going to leave. "Jones, good-by," he
said; "hold on to that strong will of yours, but don't let it fall into
obstinacy."

The doctor came nearer. "You are stronger than you thought," said he.

"Yes, I am. I was surprised."

"You remind me of horses I have seen fall between the shafts; they lie
there and seem to fancy that they have no strength at all. I suppose
they think that they are dreaming."

At this speech. I laughed aloud--why, I hardly know, unless it was that
my own mind recalled one such ludicrous incident; then, too, it was
pleasant to hear the doctor say that I was strong.

"Yes, Jones; all you need is a little more time. Two or three days will
set you up."