I made an effort to begin at the end of my memory and go back.  I retraced our present march—­then back to the Valley—­then Falling Waters—­Hagerstown—­Gettysburg—­the march into Pennsylvania—­Chancellorsville—­illness—­the march to Fredericksburg—­Shepherdstown—­Sharpsburg—­Harper’s Ferry—­Manassas—­the SPOT, with a broken gun and with Willis—­Ah! a new thought, at which I stagger for an instant—­then my wound at Gaines’s Mill—­then Dr. Frost, and that is all.

But I have a new discovery:  Willis was the injured man at second Manassas.

But no; that could not be second Manassas—­it was first Manassas.

Distinctly Willis was shot at first Manassas; the Man helped Willis.  Why should he help Willis?

Another and puzzling thought:  How should I know Willis—­a Yankee soldier?

I know his face and I know his name.

I must hunt this thought down.

Is it that I have heard this story?  Not in my present time of experience.  Is it that Willis was made prisoner that day—­he and his companion, there in the woods?  It might have been so.

But did I not see the strange man break his gun and go away from the spot?  He was not captured.

Yet I may have been hidden in the woods near by, watching these two men.  I must try to remember whether I saw what became of them.

Then I imagine myself hidden behind a log.  I watch the strange man; he binds up Willis’s leg.  I see him help the sergeant—­there! again a thought—­Willis was a sergeant.  Why could I not see that before—­with the stripes on his arm?  Of course hidden near by I could see that Willis was a sergeant; but how could I know that his name was Willis?  Possibly I heard the strange man call him Jake—­So! again it comes.  I have the full name.

But I must follow them if I can.  The strange man helps Willis to rise, and puts his gun under the sergeant’s shoulder for a crutch, and helps him on the other side.  They begin to move, but Willis drops the gun, for it sinks into the soft ground, and is useless.  Then the strange man breaks his gun and the two go away.  I see them moving slowly through the woods—­but strange! they are no farther from me than before.  I must have really followed them that day.  They go on and get into the creek, and climb with difficulty the farther bank, and rest.  Again they start—­they reach a stubble field; I see some straw stacks; the strange man kneels by one of the stacks and works a hollow; he tells Willis to lie down; then he speaks to Willis again, and I can hear every word he says:  he tells Willis to go to sleep; that he will try to get help; that if he does not return by noon to-morrow, Willis must look out for himself—­maybe he’d better surrender.  And Willis says, “God bless you, Jones.”

And now I have the man’s name, Jones—­a name common enough.

I must hunt this Jones down—­where have I known a Jones?  But I must not now be diverted by him; I must stick to Willis.