“Well, what is the matter?”
“I came to tell you that Mr. Thomas is raving mad. He imagines that a provost-guard is after him, and that he is to be shot as a deserter; and he is scampering about over the ward, like a rat in a hot stove. He talks strangely about cutting people’s hearts out; and he may hurt some of the boys.”
“O, is that it?” said the Doctor, now wide awake. “Well, I’ll attend to him!” And he hurriedly turned out and drew on his unmentionables.
Accompanied by the Doctor, a light, and a guard of two men armed with muskets, I soon returned to “Ward A,” and found Thomas raving like a “wild man of the woods.” He imagined himself already attacked by a company of soldiers, and he was hammering away at my empty bed with his big fists, and cursing and swearing like an officer of the Regular Army. All the boys of the “ward” were now wide awake, and more than scared. They were all cripples, and some of them still in a weak condition, and they really had much to fear in case of Thomas’s becoming generally pugnacious.
“What do you mean, Thomas?” demanded the Doctor, angrily. “Do you want to go into the guard-house right now? or will you lie down and take a night’s rest?”
“They’ve surrounded me!” vociferated Thomas, with a profane oath. “And I’ll not be taken! I’ll sell my life as dearly as possible! I will!”
“Confound you!” said the Doctor, vexatiously. “You’ll cheat the man that buys it, then!—seize him, boys, and put him in the cellar. Put on your pantaloons, Thomas; you must sleep in the cellar to-night. You shall not carry on in this way.”
Much to my surprise, Thomas at once cooled down, and became perfectly tractable. He offered no resistance, nor showed any signs of disobedience, but straightway drew on his trousaloons, put on his blouse, placed his cap on his head, with the visor shoved down over his eyes, and quietly accompanied the guard, and allowed himself to be locked up in a strong room in the basement. So, our peace and tranquillity were no more invaded till roll-call in the morning.
When one of the guards went to give Thomas his breakfast, he found him sitting with a grave air on a low stool near the door of his prison, with a large bloody pocket-knife in his hand. There was a pool of gore on the floor at his feet, and his neck and breast were terribly gashed.
“Why, Thomas!” exclaimed the horrified sentinel, “What have you done?”