At the end of a fortnight my wound was beginning to heal a little, and in ten days more I began to hobble about the room on crutches.  On the first day of August I was surprised to see Joe Bellot enter the ward.  The brigade had marched into Richmond, and was about to take the cars for Gordonsville in order to join Jackson, who was making head against Pope.  It was only a few minutes that Bellot could stay with me; he had to hurry back to the command.

Then I became restless.  The surgeons told me that I could get a furlough; but what did I want with a furlough?  To go home?  My home was Company H.

I was limping about without crutches, and getting strong rapidly, when the papers told us of Jackson’s encounter with Banks at Cedar Run.  Then my feverish anxiety to see the one or two persons in the world whom I loved became intense.  I walked into the surgeon’s office, keeping myself straight, and asked an order remanding me to my company.  He flatly refused to give it.  Said he, “You would never reach your company; where is it, by the way?”

“Near Gordonsville, somewhere,” said I.

“I will find out to-day; come to me to-morrow morning.”

On the next day he said, “Your regiment is on the Rapidan.  You would have to walk at least twenty miles from Gordonsville; it would be insane.”

“Doctor,” said I, “I am confident that I can march.”

“Yes,” said he; “so am I; you can march just about a mile and a half by getting somebody to tote your gun and knapsack.  Come to me again in about a week.”

I came to him four days afterward, and worried him into giving me my papers, by means of winch I got transportation to Gordonsville, where I arrived, in company with many soldiers returning to their commands, on August 22d.  From Gordonsville I took the road north afoot.  There was no difficulty in knowing the way, for there was no lack of men and wagons going and returning.  I had filled a haversack with food before I left Richmond—­enough for two days.  My haversack, canteen, and a blanket were all my possessions.

At about two o’clock the next day, as I was plodding over a hot dusty road somewhere in Culpeper County, I met a wagon, which stopped as I approached.  The teamster beckoned to me to come to him.  He said:  “Don’t go up that hill yonder.  There is a crazy man in the road and he’s a-tryin’ to shoot everybody he sees.  Better go round him.”  I thanked the teamster, who drove on.  At the foot of the ascending hill I looked ahead to see whether there was a way to get round it, but the road seemed better than any other way.  Heavy clouds were rolling up from the south, with wind and thunder.  A farmhouse was on the hill at the left of the road; I wanted to get there if possible before the rain.  In the road I saw nobody.  I walked up the hill, thinking that, after all, my friend the wagoner was playing a practical joke upon me.  All at once, from the side of the road, a Confederate soldier showed himself.