I, faintly.

A month later, to the amazement of every one, I was so well as to be
moved from the crowded hospital at Chattanooga to Nashville, where I
filled one of the ten thousand beds of that vast metropolis of
hospitals. Of the sufferings which then began I shall presently speak.
It will be best just now to detail the final misfortune which here fell
upon me. Hospital No. 2, in which I lay, was inconveniently crowded with
severely wounded officers. After my third week, an epidemic of hospital
gangrene broke out in my ward. In three days it attacked twenty persons.
Then an inspector came out, and we were transferred at once to the open
air, and placed in tents. Strangely enough, the wound in my remaining
arm, which still suppurated, was seized with gangrene. The usual remedy,
bromine, was used locally, but the main artery opened, was tied, bled
again and again, and at last, as a final resort, the remaining arm was
amputated at the shoulder-joint. Against all chances I recovered, to
find myself a useless torso, more like some strange larval creature than
anything of human shape. Of my anguish and horror of myself I dare not
speak. I have dictated these pages, not to shock my readers, but to
possess them with facts in regard to the relation of the mind to the
body; and I hasten, therefore, to such portions of my case as best
illustrate these views.

In January, 1864, I was forwarded to Philadelphia, in order to enter
what was then known as the Stump Hospital, South Street. This favor was
obtained through the influence of my father's friend, the late Governor
Anderson, who has always manifested an interest in my case, for which I
am deeply grateful. It was thought, at the time, that Mr. Palmer, the
leg-maker, might be able to adapt some form of arm to my left shoulder,
as on that side there remained five inches of the arm bone, which I
could move to a moderate extent. The hope proved illusory, as the stump
was always too tender to bear any pressure. The hospital referred to was
in charge of several surgeons while I was an inmate, and was at all
times a clean and pleasant home. It was filled with men who had lost one
arm or leg, or one of each, as happened now and then. I saw one man who
had lost both legs, and one who had parted with both arms; but none,
like myself, stripped of every limb. There were collected in this place
hundreds of these cases, which gave to it, with reason enough, the not
very pleasing title of