t enough, to swear by. Then the
doc would say, "You better come in about 10:30 tomorrow, as we bury
them all at that hour, and I guess he'll croak by that time." I tried to
speak and tell them that I was alive, and that I was going to get well,
but it, wasn't any use. I was tongue-tied. Again I would hear the sweet
rustle of a dress, and feel a warm hand on my head, and I knew that the
rebel angel had rode her mule to town to see me. Then I would try
hard to tell her that I was going to write a letter to the governor of
Wisconsin, and ask him to look out particularly for her brother, who was
a rebel prisoner at Madison, and take care of him if he was sick, but
I couldn't say a word, and after smoothing my hair a little while, she
would give my cheek three or four pats, just as a mother pats her child,
and she would go away.

One morning, a little after daylight, I woke up and looked around the
ward of the hospital. My eyes were weak, and I was hungry as a bear. I
had to try two or three times before I could raise my hand to my head,
and when I felt of my head it seemed awfully small. I could feel my
cheek bones stick out so that you could hang your hat on them. My cheeks
were sunken, and my fingers were like pipe-stems. I wondered how a man
could change so in one night. I saw two or three fellows over at the
other end of the room, and I thought I would get up and go over there
and have some fun with them. I wanted to know where my horse was, and
where I was. I tried to raise up and couldn't get any further than on my
elbow. From that position I looked around to see what was going on, and
tried to attract the attention of some attendant. Finally, I saw four
fellows bringing a stretcher along towards my cot. They had evidently
been told by the doctor that I would be dead in the morning, and having
confidence in the word of the professional man, had come to take me to
the dead house, before the other sick man was awake. As they came up to
the foot of my cot and sat the stretcher down, I thought I would play
a joke on them. I pulled the sheet over my face, and laid still. One of
the men said, "Two of us can lift it, as it is thinner than a lathe." To
be considered dead, when I was alive, was bad enough, but to be called
"it" was too much. I felt one of the men take hold of my feet, and then
I threw the sheet off my face and in a hoarse voice I said, "Say, Mr.
Body-snotcher, you can postpone the funeral and bring me a porter-