As soon as I learned that nothing had been said about my
pension, this same feeling came over me, and I became reckless. I had not
drawn my grog for months, and, indeed, had left off drinking entirely; but
I now determined to have my fill, at the first good opportunity. I meant
to make the officers sorry, by doing something that was very wrong, and
for which I should be sorry myself.
I kept the keys of the liquor of the hospital. The first thing was to find
a confederate, which I did in the person of a Baltimore chap, who entered
into my plan from pure love of liquor. I then got a stock of the wine, and
we went to work on it, in my room. The liquor was sherry, and it took nine
bottles of it to lay us both up. Even this did not make me beastly drunk,
but it made me desperate and impudent. I abused the doctor, and came very
near putting my foot into it, with Captain Latimer, who is an officer that
it will not do, always, to trifle with. Still, these gentlemen, with
Captain Bolton, had more consideration for me, than I had for myself, and
I escaped with only a good reprimand. It was owing to this frolic,
however, that I was invalided home--as they call it out there, no one
seeming to consider Pensacola as being in the United States.
When landed from the Levant, I was sent to the Navy Yard Hospital,
Brooklyn. After staying two or three days here, I determined to go to the
seat of government, and take a look at the great guns stationed there,
Uncle Sam and all.
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