AUTY

A parole was made out for me to sign, but it was very difficult for me
to sign my name. I managed to keep on my feet for a few hours, and the
change and novelty seemed to give me strength. Early in the evening I
undressed and got into bed, and there I remained for six weeks. Surgeon
Thompson told me I had the "slow" typhoid fever, that I would have to be
very patient, and not to worry. Most of the time I was in a stupor, but
had a dim consciousness of what was passing around me. One of the
privates from the yard had the fever. He arrived a few days after
myself. Milk punch was given to him; within a week he died. My treatment
was different. The medicine tasted like turpentine and camphor. But no
milk punch was given me at any time. At last the fever broke and I
slowly recovered. Large bed-sores made their appearance on both hips. In
fact I was sore all over from lying in bed such a long time. At a
distance of twenty-five feet every object would quadruple to my vision.
If there was one man, I would see four. Any object hanging on the wall
especially strengthened the optical delusion.

When able to sit up on my bed I would talk to Peter Keefe. His cot was
just across the passage-way from my own. The amputation was skilfully
done, but it took a long time for the stump to heal up. He did not care
so much for the loss of the leg as he did for the failure of the plan to
escape.

Two "Cracker" girls swept the basement floor and brought us our food.
They may have been styled nurses on the pay-rolls for all I know.
However, I made a great mistake in not making love to both, comparing
them to angels, and trying to make them believe that they had saved me
from an early grave. Instead I would make critical remarks about their
lack of charms to Keefe, in their presence. The younger one was about
twenty years of age. She wore low calfskin shoes and white stockings
which needed a good washing. Many of my remarks referred to their soiled
condition. While manipulating the broom she displayed wonderful talent
for going to sleep. About every tenth movement she would stand still,
resting on the broom-handle, and take a short nap. Then would follow
another few strokes and more nap, the same routine continuing until the
job was finished.

The hospital steward was also of the "Cracker" type, and a most devout
Methodist. Somehow we were not bosom friends. He was very much afraid I
would say something to shock the "sweeping beauty."