Honm pohomcm. 187 



had for a timp overthrown the empire of his mind, would ultimately 

 settle into a quiet and rational calm. ' The accession of the un- 

 favourable symptoms had been too sudden to admit of my finding 

 any assistance amongst our acquaintance, and as for female nurses, 

 that was out of the question ; near neighbours we had none, in con- 

 sequence of the house on which my friend was billeted being situated 

 in a street consisting of detached houses, and leading to one of the 

 most important batteries, with a mine of gunpowder, interposed at short 

 distances, communicating with the same. The inhabitants, naturally 

 concluding that sooner or later their property so situated must suffer in 

 the impending conflicts, had removed to parts of the town they con- 

 sidered safer. As may be supposed, the comforts afforded by my friend's 

 situation were few, and rude in kind. His soft bed of down consisted 

 of straw spread upon the floor, and that constituted his whole stock of 

 furniture ; but his military hospital, the scene of his professional duties, 

 was near at hand, and if not a soldier, he possessed a soldier's idea of 

 comfort. Miserable as the situation may appear, its position was of 

 importance, and in consequence not entirely isolated, for armed sentinels 

 were placed on all sides, whose duty was comprised in reconnoitring and 

 putting in force a strict order from the commandant, prohibiting the 

 inhabitants in that vicinity from having a light of any kind in their 

 houses after a certain hour at night. The situation of my friend became 

 hourly more critical, for as the darkness advanced his delirium increased. 

 Towards midnight, however, as I sat by his wretched pallet, the misery 

 of my unpleasant dreary situation being only equalled by the gloom 

 of the hour, his voice became feebler, and the efforts of his convulsed 

 frame required less powerful restraint on my part, and gradually he 

 appeared as if nature's soft nurse, balmy sleep, was about to compose his 

 agitated frame. Excessively fatigued by watching and my previous 

 hospital duties, it required no sedative to wrap me in complete forgetful- 

 ness ere I had scarcely laid myself down at his side, taking, however, the 

 precaution to fold him gently in my arms. I was always a light sleeper, 

 and can form no idea of the space of time that might have elapsed, when 

 I was aroused from my slumbers by a noise in the room. The first 

 impulse led me to direct my hand over the pallet, of which I was now the 

 sole occupier. All around me was dark and silent, save the rattling of 

 our half-broken windows, and an occasional gleam of lightning. I had 

 now no doubt that the treacherous calm in the state of my friend had 

 only been the precursor of a more violent storm of delirium, and that 

 he had made his escape from the apartment into the street. The horror 

 of the idea banished in an instant from my recollection the commandant's 

 order, and with all the haste in my power, by means of a phosphorescent 

 match-box, I lighted a candle, but before I could accomplish my object 

 I unfortunately stumbled over an amputation case, the instruments of 

 which fell out, and lay scattered about the apartment. The object of my 

 search was not in the chamber, but I can never forget the countenance so 

 expressive of anguish, horror, fury, and madness, which presented itself 

 as I discovered him in a recess adjoining. His bloodshot fiery eye seemed 

 rivetted upon me like that of a hungry tiger upon his prey, and my 

 blood seemed to freeze in my appalled frame ; my very wig felt uneasy. 

 I was recalled to myself at last by an effort he made to force open the 

 window frame, and I mustered courage and strength sufficient to raise 

 him in my arms, and replace him on his bed of straw. I now determined, 

 if possible, to pinion his arms, and had taken off one of my garters for 

 that purpose, when my attention was arrested by the loud knocking of 

 the sentinel at the street door, who, perceiving the light in the window, 

 NO. III. 2 B 



