His eyes were like saucers—and the dark rings about them were fearful to behold. The doctor had nothing more to say, and left me victor of the field. I saw the man in Washington after that, looking quite well, and what was better, he had his discharge papers in his pocket.
Some punishments occurred in camp which, perhaps, were deserved, although an unpleasant feeling always attached itself, in my mind, to the manner in which they were performed, so degrading to the culprit—attaching such a shameful thought to all association with his comrades in after-life.
I made a custard one morning for a ward of the sick, baking it in a four-quart basin, and giving it to a nurse to distribute. He gave them each a table-spoonful, ate some himself, and sold the remainder to the boys. Before it was known to me, I heard the fife and drum, and saw the culprit parading the camp with the board on his back, marked, "Thief."
I knew the offence should be punished, or such things would often occur, but I could not look with anything like complaisance on such a degrading display. I would rather the offender were put on bread and water alone, for a week, in solitary confinement; or that a fine should be exacted, reaching into the next pay. Anything but the return to barbarism, of which the "Rogue's March" was the first downward step.
One morning I went to my tent after some sauces for a patient, accompanied by one of the boys who was acting as nurse, and as we returned, found a letter
