came over the next day to see
Wallace and myself, and, at my urgent request, he arranged for me to be
sent to the regiment. As heretofore stated, I just loathed the idea of
being in a hospital. There were so many disagreeable and depressing
things occurring there every day, and which could not be helped, that
they inspired in me a sort of desperate determination to get right out
of such a place,--and stay out, if possible. Early next morning an
ambulance drove up, I was put in it, and taken to the camp of the old
regiment. Some of the boys carried me into a tent, and laid me down on
a cot, and I was once more in the society of men who were not groaning
with sickness, but were cheerful and happy. But it was my fate to lie
on that cot for more than a month, and unable even to turn over without
help. And I shall never forget the kindness of Frank Gates during that
time. He would come every day, when not on duty, and bathe and rub my
rheumatic part with a rag soaked in vinegar, almost scalding hot, which
seemed to give me temporary relief. There was an old doctor, of the
name of Thomas D. Washburn, an assistant surgeon of the 126th Illinois
Infantry, who, for some reason, had been detailed to serve temporarily
with our regiment, and he would sometimes drop in to see me. He was a
tall old man, something over six feet high, and gaunt in proportion. I
don't remember that he ever gave me any medicine, or treatment of any
kind, for the reason, doubtless, that will now be stated. One day I
said to him, "Doctor, is there nothing that can be done for me? Must I
just lie here and suffer indefinitely?" He looked down at me sort of
sympathetically, and slowly said: "I will answer your question by
telling you a little story. Once upon a time a young doctor asked an
old one substantially the same question you have just asked me, which
the old doctor answered by saying: 'Yes, there is just one remedy:--six
weeks'." And, patting me lightly on the shoulder, he further remarked,
"That's all;" and left. The sequel in my case confirmed Dr. Washburn's
story.

The spot where the regiment went into camp on the day of the capture of
Little Rock was opposite the town, on the east bank of the Arkansas,
not far from the river, and in a scattered grove of trees. The locality
was supposed to be a sort of suburb of the town, and was designated at
the time in army orders as "Huntersville." But the only house that I
now remember of being near our camp w