when I was six years old; I did not know that she had ever lived; her
name, even, was strange to me.

After a few days I was allowed to rise from bed, to which, in my own
opinion, there had never been necessity for keeping me. I was not,
however, permitted to go out of doors. The result of the doctors'
deliberations was a strict injunction upon my father to take me to the
South every winter, a decision due, perhaps, to the fact that my father
had landed interests in South Carolina. At any rate, my father soon took
me to Charleston, where I was again put to school. Doubtless I was thus
relieved of much annoyance, as my new schoolmates received me without
showing the curiosity which would have irritated me in my own village.

More than five months passed before my memory entirely returned to me.
The change was gradual. One day, at the morning recess, a group of boys
were talking about the Mexican War. The Palmetto regiment had
distinguished itself in battle. I heard a big boy say, "Yes, your Uncle
Pierce is all right, and his regiment is the best in the army." I felt a
glow of pride at this praise of my people--as I supposed it to be. More
talk followed, however, in which it became clear that the boys were not
speaking of Franklin Pierce and his New Hampshire men, and I was
greatly puzzled.

A few days afterward the city was in mourning; Colonel Pierce M. Butler,
the brave commander of the South Carolina regiment, had fallen on the
field of Churubusco.

Now, I cannot explain, even to myself, what relation had been disturbed
by this event, but I know that from this time I began to collect,
vaguely at first, the incidents of my whole former life; so that, when