Though my head was dizzy, I thought I could detect a slight tinge of irony in this excessively polite speech.

“I think it must be,” I replied; “although I cannot remember any other dream.”

“Then, might not one say that the only dream you are conscious of is not a dream?”

“That contradicts itself,” said I.

“And you find yourself unable to accept the word of three men that you are not dreaming?”

“Not if they are men of my dream,” said I.

“A good retort, sir,” he said.  “Do me the kindness to tell me your notion of a dream.  Do you think it should be consistent throughout, or should there be strong intrinsic proof of its own unrealness?”

“Captain,” I said, “I cannot tell.  I know nothing.  I doubt my own existence.”

“Pardon me,” said he; “you know the test—­you think, therefore you exist.  Are you not sure that you think?”

“I think, or I dream that I think.”

“Well said, sir; an excellent reasoner while dreaming.  But suppose you dream on; what will be the result?”

“Dream and sleep till I awake,” said I.

“May I ask where you will awake?”

“In Aiken.”

“I know a little of Aiken,” said the Captain; “I was there not a year ago.”

Naturally the remark was of interest to me.

“When was it?” I asked.

“It was in August, of last year.  You remember, Frank, I was recruiting for the reorganized First.”

“August of what year?” I asked.

“August eighteen sixty-one, very naturally.”

“Gentlemen,” said I, “bear with me, I beg you.  I am not myself.  I am going through deep waters, I know nothing.”

“We know,” said the doctor; “and we are going to see you through.”  Then he added:  “Captain Haskell came from Abbeville.  He has men in his company from several of the districts; possibly some of them would know you, and you might know them.”

I did not want to know them.  I said nothing.  The doctor’s suggestion was not to my liking.  Why should I join these men?  What, to me, was this captain?  What was I to him?  So far as I know, I had no interest in this war.  So far as I could know myself, my tastes did not seem to set strongly in the direction of soldiering.  Those men could get along without my help.  Why could I not find a different occupation?  Anything would be better than getting killed in a cause I did not understand.  Then, too, I was threatened with the wretched condition of an object of common curiosity.  If I was going to be gazed at by this officer and his men,—­if I was to be regarded as a freak,—­my way certainly did not lie with theirs.

“Frank,” said the Captain’s brother, “would it hurt Jones to go out of the tent for a moment?”

“Not at all,” said the doctor; “a good suggestion.”

“Why should I go out?” I asked.

“Only to look about you,” he replied.