it, I was sighing over a few episodes m my past history—and mentally saying, well, only for this intense love of adventure, such and such things "might have been," and I should now be rejoicing in the honorable title of —— ——, instead of "wasting my sweetness on the desert air," in the wilderness of the Peninsula.
Of all the sad words, of tongue or of pen,
The saddest are these—"it might have been."
The cannonading w^as only the result of a reconnoissance, and in a few hours ceased altogether. But not so my fever and chills; they were my constant companions for two days and two nights in succession. At the end of that time I was an object of pity. With no medicine, no food, and consequently little strength; I was nearly in a state of starvation. My pies and cakes were spoiled in the basket, in consequence of the drenching they had received in crossing the river, and now I had no means of procuring more. But something must be done; I could not bear the thought of thus starving to death in that inglorious manner; better die upon the scaffold at Richmond, or be shot by the rebel pickets; anything but this. So I thought and said, as I rallied all my remaining strength to arrange my toilette preparatory to emerging from my concealment in the swamp.
It was about nine o'clock in the morning of the third day after crossing the river, when I started,
