“When I consider our difference in years, and the different circumstances that surrounded each, I do not know of any incident that could have pleased me more than this stately courtesy of the old Colonel. An interesting conversation followed, in which I learnt that he was an Alabamian by birth. He spoke highly of the Texan character, which, he said, excelled in bravery and simplicity; but he warned me that the country could furnish few comforts, such, he said, as Northerners have at home. Then, when the boat was ready to start, he called up the officer of the guard, and said to him:
“Captain, your orders are strict, I know; but these gentlemen are invalids; they are too weak to escape, sir. You must construe your orders liberally, sir, in favor of the sick. Do not let the guard trouble these gentlemen, and make them as comfortable as you can.”
There was another Colonel who succeeded Colonel Bates, at Brashear; he was a citizen of a New England State, and had been an ice merchant in New Orleans. When the war came, he went, not “with his State” but with his property. All the indignities, ill-treatment, meanness and cruelty that we met with at Brashear and Franklin, came directly from him. While the real Southern officers were showing us unsought kindness and attention—while they were overlooking what they sincerely believed to be the needless ruin of their homes, and the wanton destruction of their property, this miserable Northern renegade was bullying Northern ladies—“bucking and gagging” unfortunate prisoners, and sending sick and wounded officers out of the hospital by orders as cowardly as they were cruel.
The Franklin Hospital had been the “Franklin House” before the war, and stood close beside the bayou. Lieutenant Stevenson was placed in the wounded ward, and the rest of us were assigned three pleasant rooms in a wing of the building. Our guard consisted of a corporal, named Ingram, and six men of Colonel Bates’ regiment. They bivouacked on the piazza, and completed our confusion as to what Wild Texans are. They did not drink; they did not swear; they did not gamble. They were watchful of us, but did everything kindly and with a willingness that greatly lessened our feeling of dependence.
The surgeon in charge of the hospital, Dr. Marten, was polite and kind. A stylish little French lieutenant of the 10th Louisiana, named Solomon, was assiduous in his attentions. He detailed a contraband as our especial servant; hourly sent us little presents, in the way of fruit and refreshments, and paid us those easy, chatty visits, that Frenchmen pay so much better than any other men. There was a sort of Dutch Major-Domo, one Schneider, who took us under his special protection, blowing up the cook and scolding the waiter, on our behalf, a dozen times a day. There was also a sergeant of the Crescent regiment—a soldier and disciplinarian, but easy and communicative toward us. Lastly, there was our contraband, bearing the name of Ben, and very sharp and shrewd was he, and never wanting in good humor or flourishing obeisances.
The ladies of Franklin flocked to the hospital, bringing fruit and flowers, and knick-knacks of their own preparing. They differed considerably with the doctors on questions of diet; and did about as much damage, in their pretty way, as patriotic young ladies have done in other than Confederate hospitals. They carefully avoided the cot of the solitary Yankee prisoner in the wounded ward; the well-bred passing it by as though the slight were casual, and the ill-bred, showing with studied care, that it was intentional. The Wild Texans who had captured us shared not in these patriotic manifestations. They, on the contrary, divided with Lieutenant Stevenson whatever they received, looked after him as though he were a brother soldier, and, once or twice, asked their fair visitors rather angrily, why they didn’t give this or that to that gentleman on the fourth cot. Yet it must not be supposed that this conduct of the Franklin fair proceeded entirely from their own wicked imaginings. The women, like the men of the South, are all slaves of public opinion. After awhile one lady, giving way to the natural kindness of her nature, stopped at the prisoner’s cot, and then the others followed the example. The presents flowed in with a free hand, and the sails once fairly round on this tack, the wind seemed to blow as strongly from the chivalric quarter as it had previously blown from the patriotic.
This narrative would not be truthful if I omitted therefrom a statement of the fare, during our fortnight in the Franklin hospital. It was so much better than I had expected; so much better than I had supposed it possible that prisoners could receive at rebel hands; so different from the fare which we knew was to follow, that I carefully noted down the bill on several days, and from these select a favorable specimen.
“Wednesday, July 15. At Sunrise.—French Coffee and Biscuits.
“Breakfast.—Beef Steak, Beef Stew, Cucumbers, Stewed Peaches, Melons, French Bread, Biscuits, Toast and Tea.
“Dinner.—Soup, Roast Beef, Beef a la mode, Cucumbers, Egg Plant, Lima Beans, French Bread, Biscuits, Tea.”