When I awakened, I was lying under a tree somewhere at the rear. The ground was covered with wounded, and the doctors were busy at an operating-table, improvised from two barrels and a plank. At length two of them who were examining the wounded about me came up to where I lay. A hospital steward raised my head and poured down some brandy and water, while another cut loose my pantaloons. The doctors exchanged looks and walked away. I asked the steward where I was hit. “Both thighs,” said he; “the doctors won’t do nothing.” “No use?” said I. “Not much,” said he. “Not much means none at all,” I answered. When he had gone I set myself to thinking about a good many things I had better have thought of before, but which in no way concern the history of my case. A half-hour went by. I had no pain, and did not get weaker. At last, I cannot explain why, I began to look about me. At first things appeared a little hazy. I remember one thing which thrilled me a little, even then. A tall, blond-bearded major walked up to a doctor near me, saying, “When you’ve a little leisure, just take a look at my side.” “Do it now,” said the doctor. The officer exposed his wound. “Ball went in here, and out there.” The doctor looked up at him--half pity, half amazement. “If you’ve got any message, you’d best send it by me.” “Why, you don’t say it’s serious?” was the reply. “Serious! Why, you’re shot through the stomach. You won’t live over the day.” Then the man did what struck me as a very odd thing. He said, “Anybody got a pipe?” Some one gave him a pipe. He filled it deliberately, struck a light with a flint, and sat down against a tree near to me. Presently the doctor came to him again, and asked him what he could do for him. “Send me a drink of Bourbon.” “Anything else?” “No.” As the doctor left him, he called him back. “It’s a little rough, doc, isn’t it?” No more passed, and I saw this man no longer. Another set of doctors were handling my legs, for the first time causing pain. A moment after a steward put a towel over my mouth, and I smelled the familiar odor of chloroform, which I was glad enough to breathe. In a moment the trees began to move around from left to right, faster and faster; then a universal grayness came before me,--and I recall nothing further until I awoke to consciousness in a hospital-tent. I got hold of my own identity in a moment or two, and was suddenly aware of a sharp cramp in my left leg. I tried to get at it to rub it with my single arm, but, finding myself too weak, hailed an attendant. “Just rub my left calf,” said I, “if you please.” “Calf?” said he. “You ain’t none. It’s took off.” “I know better,” said I. “I have pain in both legs.” “Wall, I never!” said he. “You ain’t got nary leg.” As I did not believe him, he threw off the covers, and, to my horror, showed me that I had suffered amputation of both thighs, very high up. “That will do,” said I, faintly.