A black cloud seemed to pass
before my eyes--the water, the trees, the sky, all vanished in a profound
darkness. I heard the roaring of a great cataract, felt the earth sinking
from beneath my feet. Then I heard and felt no more.
At the battle of Kennesaw Mountain in the previous June I had been badly
wounded in the head, and for three months was incapacitated for service.
In truth, I had done no actual duty since, being then, as for many years
afterward, subject to fits of fainting, sometimes without assignable
immediate cause, but mostly when suffering from exposure, excitement or
excessive fatigue. This combination of them all had broken me down--most
opportunely, it would seem.
When I regained my consciousness the sun was high. I was still giddy and
half blind. To have taken to the water would have been madness; I must
have a raft. Exploring my island, I found a pen of slender logs: an old
structure without roof or rafters, built for what purpose I do not know.
Several of these logs I managed with patient toil to detach and convey to
the water, where I floated them, lashing them together with vines. Just
before sunset my raft was complete and freighted with my outer clothing,
boots and pistol. Having shipped the last article, I returned into the
brake, seeking something from which to improvise a paddle. While peering
about I heard a sharp metallic click--the cocking of a rifle! I was a
prisoner.
The history of this great disaster to the Union arms is brief and simple.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218