ood, I tell you. The eggs were a little over half done.
I soon demolished both, and it was only an appetizer. I invested a
couple of dollars more, and thought that maybe I could make out till
supper time. As I turned around, a smiling, one-legged man asked me if I
wouldn't like to have a drink. Now, if there was anything that I wanted
at that time, it was a drink.

"How do you sell it?" says I.

"A dollar a drink," said he.

"Pour me out a drink."

It was a tin cap-box. I thought that I knew the old fellow, and he kept
looking at me as if he knew me. Finally, he said to me:

"It seems that I ought to know you."

I told him that I reckon he did, as I had been there.

"Ain't your name Sam?" said he.

"That is what my mother called me."

Well, after shaking hands, it suddenly flashed upon me who the old
fellow was. I knew him well. He told me that he belonged to Captain
Ed. O'Neil's company, Second Tennessee Regiment, General William
B. Bate's corps, and that his leg had been shot off at the first battle
of Manassas, and at that time he was selling cheap whisky and tobacco for
a living at Montgomery, Alabama. I tossed off a cap-box full and paid
him a dollar. It staggered me, and I said:

"That is raw whisky."

"Yes," said he, "all my cooked whisky is out."

"If this is not quite cooked, it is as hot as fire anyhow, and burns like
red-hot lava, and the whole dose seems to have got lodged in my windpipe."

I might have tasted it, but don't think that I did. All I can remember
now, is a dim recollection of a nasty, greasy, burning something going
down my throat and chest, and smelling, as I remember at this day,
like a decoction of red-pepper tea, flavored with coal oil, turpentine
and tobacco juice.

THE HOSPITAL

I went to the hospital that evening, saw it, and was satisfied with
hospital life. I did not wish to be called a hospital rat. I had no
idea of taking stock and making my headquarters at this place.
Everything seemed clean and nice enough, but the smell! Ye gods!
I stayed there for supper. The bill of fare was a thin slice of light
bread and a plate of soup, already dished out and placed at every plate.
I ate it, but it only made me hungry. At nine o'clock I had to go to bed,
and all the lights were put out. Every man had a little bunk to himself.
I do not know whether I slept or not, but I have a dim recollection of
"sawing gourds," and jumping up several times to keep some p