A curious experience [antikvár]

A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE. This is the story which the Major told me, as nearly as I can recall it.: In the winter of 1862—3, I was commandant of Fort Trumbull, at New London, Conn.1 Maybe our life there was not so brisk 2 as life at "the front still it was brisk enough, in its way—one's brains didn't cake together3 there for lack of something to keep them stirring.4 For one thing, all the Northern atmosphere at that time was thick with mysterious rumours—rumours to the effect5 that rebel spies were flitting everywhere, and getting ready to blow up5 our Northern forts, burn our hotels, send infected clothing into our towns, and all that sort of thing. You remember it. All this had a tendency to keep us awake, and knock6 the traditional dulness out of garrison life. Besides, ours was a recruiting station7 — which is the same as saying we hadn't any time to waste in dozing, or dreaming, or fooling around.8 Why, with all our watchfulness, fifty per cent, of a day's recruits would leak out of our hands and give us the slip9 the same night. The bounties10 were so prodigious that a recruit could pay a sentinel11 three or four hundred dollars to let him escape, and still have enough of his bounty-money left to.