answering call, I raised my voice--"Willis! It is Jones, with help!" But
there was no response.

We found the sergeant fast asleep. It was more difficult to get him
awake than to get him into the ambulance. Reed and I picked him up
bodily and laid him down on a mattress in the bottom of the vehicle.

And now, with my load of personal duty gone, I also sank back and
slumbered through a troubled night, and when I fully awoke it was six in
the morning and we were crossing Long Bridge in the midst of a driving
rain. There were two seats in the ambulance, besides a double-deck, that
is to say, two floors for wounded to lie upon. I scrambled to the
rear seat.

We were making but slow progress. The bridge ahead of us was crowded.
There were frequent stoppages. Many civilians, on horseback or in
carriages, were before and behind us. Soldiers single and in groups
swelled the procession, some of them with their arms in slings; how they
had achieved the long night march I cannot yet comprehend.

Willis was yet lying on the mattress; his eyes were not open, but he was
awake, I thought, for his motions were restless.

Reed appeared to be exhausted; he said nothing and nodded sleepily,
although holding the lines. The Doctor, on the contrary, looked fresh
and vigorous; indeed, as I closely studied his face, I could almost have
believed that he had become younger than he had been when I parted with
him in Charleston, more than three years before. He knew that I was
observing him, for he said, without turning his face toward me, "You
have not slept well, Jones; but you did not know when we stopped at