"You will end by remembering your broken experience," he said, "but it
may take some time. Your case is more stubborn than I thought."
"How did I get hurt?" I asked.
"You were knocked down," said he.
"Who did it?" I asked.
"Don't precisely know," said he; "but it makes no difference which one
did it; we all know that you were in the right."
"There was a quarrel?" I asked.
"A big one," said he; "I think it best to relieve your curiosity at once
by telling you what has happened in the world. If I did not, you would
make yourself worse by fancying too much, and you would become more and
more bewildered. I can put you right. But can you make up your mind to
accept the situation as it is, and bear up in the hope that you will
come right in the end?"
I did not reply. I do not know what feeling was uppermost in my mind. It
was not anxiety, for my interest in others was pure blank. It was not
fear, for he had assured me that my physical condition was more
favourable.
"Yes," he continued; "it is best to tell you the truth, and the whole
truth, lest your fancy conjure up things that do not exist. After all,
there is nothing in it but what you might have reasonably expected when
you were in Aiken in eighteen fifty-nine."
"How long have I been in this condition?" I asked.
"This condition? Only since yesterday morning."
"Then why do you say eighteen fifty-nine?"
"Your present condition began yesterday; but it is also true--or at
least seems to be true--that you do not remember your experience from
October eighteen fifty-nine until yesterday."
"You mean for me to believe that eighteen fifty-nine has all gone?"
"Yes--all gone--in fact, this is summer weather."
I remembered the heat of the past day, and the thunder. Yet it was hard
for me to believe that I had been unconscious for six months--but, no;
he was not saying I had been unconscious for six months--nobody could
live through such a state--he was telling me that I could not remember
what I had known six months ago.
"What month is this?" I asked.
"June," said he; "June 4th."
"From October to June is a long time," I said.
"Yes, and many things have happened since October eighteen fifty-nine,"
said he.
"Doctor, are you serious?" I asked.
"On my honour," said he.
"And I have lost eight months of my life?"
"Oh, no; only the memory of the past, and that loss is but temporary.
You will get right after a while."
"And what have I been doing for the past eight months?"
"That is what I've been trying to find out," said he; "I am trying now
to find your regiment."
"There you go again about my regiment. Do you expect me to accept that?"
"You said you could trust me," he replied; "why should I deceive you?
Tell me why you think I may be deceiving you."
"Because--" said I.
"Because what?"
"I fear that you are hiding a worse thing in order to do me good."
"But I gave you my word of honour, and I give it again. These hills
around you are covered by an army."
"Where are we?" I asked, in wonder.
"We are near Richmond; within five miles of it."
"What Richmond?"
"In Virginia."
"And what brought _me_ here? Why should I be here?"
"You came here voluntarily, while you were in good health, no doubt, and
while your mind acted perfectly."
"But why should I have come?"
"Because your regiment was ordered to come."
"And why should there be an army?"
"Because your country was invaded. You volunteered to defend your
country, and your regiment was ordered here."
"Country invaded? Volunteered?"
"Yes."
"Then we are at war?"
"Yes."
"With England?"
"No; not with England, with the United States."