What a luxury I found the cot with its mattress, clean sheets and a pillow--just think of it! After I had passed the critical point, hovering between life and death for several days, and began to mend, I took as deep an interest in my surroundings as was possible under the circumstances. Part of the time I was in a sort of semi-unconscious state, the quinine and other drugs causing my brain to be fired up so that the incidents from the campaign of the Wilderness to the crossing of the James were all jumbled together with recollections of home and the events of my boyhood. My cot was near the open fly of the tent, and one day, early in August, I was bolstered up so that I could get a view of the grounds sloping away toward the Appomattox. The tents were on a little knoll, and the ground fell away toward the river for a short distance, and then there was quite a stretch of open land sloping upward to a ridge, on the other side of which was the Appomattox. The intervening space, beginning at the foot of the slope and extending nearly to the rising ground toward the river, had been converted into a cemetery. Here were buried the troopers of Sheridan's command, whose bodies had been brought from the battlefields, and also those who had died in hospital. I soon tired of looking at the rows of head-boards, and asked to be laid back on my cot. Just as the attendant was removing the bolster which had supported me in a sitting posture, I fancied I saw the name “Taylor” on one of the slabs out there in the field. As the nurse laid me back on my cot I was so fatigued that I could not collect my thoughts for some time. Then I began to think about the regiment. Why had not Taylor been to the hospital to see me? Was the cavalry on the north bank of the James? Had there been another raid? Was Giles sick? I went to sleep, and my dreams were of the kind that causes one to wake with his mind more confused than when he goes to sleep. The real and the unreal were so linked together that it was difficult to separate them. The next day I was permitted to sit up in bed again. Then I began to search for that head-board that had made such an impression on me the day before. After a time I located the one which had “Taylor” on it. But I was so weak that my eyes gave out before I could make out the rest of the inscription. “Taylor?” said I to myself, “Taylor? Why, there are hundreds of Taylors in the army. This Taylor could be nothing to me. “But where is my Taylor? Why hasn't he been to see me? Of course if anything had happened to Giles the boys would have sent me word.” The ward master came along, and as he seemed to be a good-natured fellow, I said to him: “Will you do me a favor?” “Certainly, my boy, if I can. What is it?” “Tell me what the inscription is on that head-board out there--the one with 'Taylor' on it?”