I did my duty mechanically, serving on camp guard and on picket regularly, but feeling interest in nothing beyond my own inner self.

At times the battle of Manassas and the spot in the forest would recur to me with great vividness and power.  Where and what was my original regiment?  I pondered over the puzzle, and I had much time in which to ponder.  I remembered that Dr. Frost had told me that if ever I got the smallest clew to my past, I must determine then and there to never let it go.

Sometimes instants of seeming recollection would flash by and be gone before I could define them.  They left no result but doubt—­sometimes fear.  Doubts of the righteousness of war beset me—­not of this war, but war.  I had a vague notion that in some hazy past I had listened to strong reasons against war.  Were they from the Captain?  No; he had been against war, but he had fought for the South with relish—­they did not come from him.  None the less—­perhaps I ought to say therefore—­did they more strongly impress me, for I indistinctly knew that they came from some one who not only gave precept but also lived example.

Who was he?  I might not hope to know.

Added to these doubts concerning war, there were in my mind at times strong desires for a better life—­a life more mental.  The men were good men—­serious, religious men.  Nothing could be said against them; but I felt that I was not entirely of them, that they had little thought beyond their personal duties, which they were willing always to do provided their officers clearly prescribed them, and their personal attachments, in which I could have no part.  Of course there were exceptions.

I felt in some way that though the men avoided me, they yet had a certain respect for me—­for my evident suffering, I supposed.  Yet an incident occurred which showed me that their respect was not mere pity.  The death of our Captain had left a vacancy in Company H. A lieutenant was to be elected by the men.  The natural candidate was our highest non-commissioned officer, who was favoured by the company’s commander.  The officer in command did not, however, use influence upon the men to secure votes.  My preference for the position was Louis Bellot, who had been dangerously wounded at Manassas, and who, we heard, would soon return to the company.  I took up his cause, and, without his knowledge, secured enough votes to elect him.

* * * * *

On the 8th of October we advanced to the river.  For me it was a miserable march.  My mind was in torture, and my strength was failing.  Doubts of the righteousness of war had changed to doubts of this war.  It was not reason that caused these doubts.  Reason told me that the invaders should be driven back.  The South had not been guilty of plunging the two countries into war; the South had tried to avert war.  The only serious question which my mind could raise upon the conduct of the South was:  Had we sufficiently tried to avert war?  Had we done all that we could?  I did not know, and I doubted.