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Introduction to Statistical Analysis of Laboratory Data
1st Edition Alfred Bartolucci Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Alfred Bartolucci, Karan P. Singh, Sejong Bae
ISBN(s): 9781118736869, 1118736869
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 1.53 MB
Year: 2015
Language: english
INTRODUCTION TO
STATISTICAL ANALYSIS
OF LABORATORY DATA
INTRODUCTION TO
STATISTICAL ANALYSIS
OF LABORATORY DATA

ALFRED A. BARTOLUCCI
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, Alabama, USA

KARAN P. SINGH
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, Alabama, USA

SEJONG BAE
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, Alabama, USA
Copyright © 2016 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. All rights reserved

Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Bartolucci, Alfred A., author.

Introduction to statistical analysis of laboratory data / Alfred A. Bartolucci, Karan P. Singh, Sejong Bae.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-118-73686-9 (cloth)
1. Diagnosis, Laboratory–Statistical methods. 2. Statistics. I. Singh, Karan P., author. II. Bae, Sejong,
author. III. Title.
RB38.3.B37 2016
616.07′ 50151–dc23
2015025700

Typeset in 10/12pt TimesLTStd by SPi Global, Chennai, India

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

1 2016
 k

To Lieve and Frank

k k

k
 k

k k

k
CONTENTS

Preface xi
Acknowledgments xv

1 DESCRIPTIVE STATISTICS 1
1.1 Measures of Central Tendency, 1
1.2 Measures of Variation, 4
1.3 Laboratory Example, 7
1.4 Putting it All Together, 8
1.5 Summary, 10
References, 10

2 DISTRIBUTIONS AND HYPOTHESIS TESTING IN FORMAL

STATISTICAL LABORATORY PROCEDURES 11
2.1 Introduction, 11
2.2 Confidence Intervals (CT), 19
2.2.1 Confidence Interval (CI) for the Population Mean – The
t-Distribution, 20
2.2.2 Confidence Interval for the Variance and Standard
Deviation, 21
2.3 Inferential Statistics – Hypothesis Testing, 23
2.3.1 t-Test for Means, 25
2.3.2 Test for Variation: Coefficient of Variation (CV), 28
2.3.3 Two-Sample Test of the Population Means, 29
viii CONTENTS

2.3.4 One-Way Analysis of Variance (ANOVA), 34

2.3.5 Nonparametric Tests for Skewed Data, 40
References, 41

3 METHOD VALIDATION 43
3.1 Introduction, 43
3.2 Accuracy, 45
3.2.1 Method 1, 45
3.2.2 Method 2, 56
3.3 Brief Introduction to Bioassay, 59
3.3.1 Direct Assay, 59
3.3.2 Indirect Assay, 61
3.4 Sensitivity, Specificity (Selectivity), 69
3.5 Method Validation and Method Agreement – Bland-Altman, 73
References, 76

4 METHODOLOGIES IN OUTLIER ANALYSIS 79

4.1 Introduction, 79
4.2 Some Outlier Determination Techniques, 80
4.2.1 Grubb Statistic, 82
4.2.2 Other Forms of the Grubb Statistic, 84
4.2.3 Studentized Range Statistic, 85
4.2.4 Sequential Test of Many Outliers, 86
4.2.5 Mahalanobis Distance Measure, 88
4.2.6 Dixon Q-Test for a Single Outlier, 91
4.2.7 The Box Plot, 94
4.2.8 Median Absolute Deviation, 95
4.3 Combined Method Comparison Outlier Analysis, 96
4.3.1 Further Outlier Considerations, 96
4.3.2 Combined Method Comparison Outlier Analysis – Refined
Method Comparisons Using Bland – Altman, 98
4.4 Some Consequences of Outlier Removal, 103
4.5 Considering Outlier Variance, 104
4.5.1 The Cochran C test, 104
4.5.2 Cochran G Test, 107
References, 110

5 STATISTICAL PROCESS CONTROL 113

5.1 Introduction, 113
5.2 Control Charts, 115
5.2.1 Means (X-bar) Control Charts, 117
5.2.2 Range Control Charts, 122
5.2.3 The S-Chart, 124
CONTENTS ix

5.2.4 The Median Chart, 126

5.2.5 Mean (X-bar) and S-Charts Based on the Median
Absolute Deviation (MAD), 128
5.3 Capability Analysis, 131
5.4 Capability Analysis – An Alternative Consideration, 137
References, 139

6 LIMITS OF CALIBRATION 141

6.1 Calibration: Limit Strategies for Laboratory Assay Data, 141
6.1.1 Definition – Calibration, 141
6.2 Limit Strategies, 142
6.2.1 Example – Estimation of LoB and LoD for Drug
Assay, 142
6.2.2 LoQ Results, 144
6.2.3 A Comparison of Empirical and Statistical Approaches
to the LoD and LoQ, 145
6.2.4 Example – LoD/LoQ, GC – MS Approach, 145
6.2.5 LoD/LoQ, GC – MS Approach, 146
6.2.6 Explanation of the Difficulty of the Statistical Methodology
for the LoD and LoQ, 147
6.2.7 Another LoQ Method, 151
6.3 Method Detection Limits (EPA), 151
6.3.1 Method Detection Limits, 151
6.3.2 Example – Atrazine by Gas Chromatography (GC), 152
6.3.3 LoD and LoQ Summary, 153
6.4 Data Near the Detection Limits, 154
6.4.1 Biased Estimators, 154
6.4.2 Computing Some Statistics with the LoD in the Data, 154
6.5 More on Statistical Management of Nondetects, 156
6.5.1 Model-Based Examples of Measuring Nondetects, 157
6.5.2 An Alternative Regression Approach with Improvements
(Refer to the Box Cox Transformation in Chapter 5), 160
6.5.3 Extension of the ROS Method for Multiple NDs in Various
Positions, 163
6.5.4 Cohen’s Adjustment, 165
6.6 The Kaplan – Meier Method (Nonparametric Approach) for
Analysis of Laboratory Data with Nondetects, 170
References, 174

7 CALIBRATION BIAS 177

7.1 Error, 177
7.1.1 Types of Error, 179
7.2 Uncertainty, 180
7.3 Sources of Uncertainty, 180
x CONTENTS

7.4 Estimation Methods of Uncertainty, 181

7.4.1 Statistical Estimation Methods of Type A Uncertainty, 181
7.4.2 Estimation Methods of Type B Uncertainty, 183
7.4.3 Estimation Methods of Combined and Expanded Uncertainties
(Normal Data), 187
7.4.4 Estimation Methods of Combined and Expanded Uncertainties
(Nonnormal Data), 190
7.4.5 Another Method of Estimating Uncertainties for Nonnormal
Data (Nonparametric), 192
7.5 Calibration Bias, 194
7.5.1 Gas Chromatographic/Mass Spectrometric (GC – MS)
Calibration Bias, 197
7.5.2 Discussion, 205
7.6 Multiple Instruments, 205
7.7 Crude Versus Precise Methodologies, 208
References, 210

8 ROBUSTNESS AND RUGGEDNESS 213

8.1 Introduction, 213
8.2 Robustness, 214
8.3 Ruggedness, 216
8.4 An Alternative Procedure for Ruggedness Determination, 224
8.5 Ruggedness and System Suitability Tests, 227
8.5.1 Determining the SST Limits from Replicated
Experimentation, 228
8.5.2 Determining the SST Limits from Statistical Prediction, 231
References, 233

Index 235
PREFACE

INTENDED AUDIENCE

The advantage of this book is that it provides a comprehensive knowledge of the

analytical tools for problem solving related to laboratory data analysis and quality
control. The content of the book is motivated by the topics that a laboratory statistics
course audience and others have requested over the years since 2003. As a result,
the book could also be used as a textbook in short courses on quantitative aspects of
laboratory experimentation and a reference guide to statistical techniques in the lab-
oratory and processing of pharmaceuticals. Output throughout the book is presented
in familiar software format such as EXCEL and JMP (SAS Institute, Cary, NC).
The audience for this book could be laboratory scientists and directors, process
chemists, medicinal chemists, analytical chemists, quality control scientists, quality
assurance scientists, CMC regulatory affairs staff and managers, government
regulators, microbiologists, drug safety scientists, pharmacists, pharmacokineticists,
pharmacologists, research and development technicians, safety specialists, medical
writers, clinical research directors and personnel, serologists, and stability coordina-
tors. The book would also be suitable for graduate students in biology, chemistry,
physical pharmacy, pharmaceutics, environmental health sciences and engineering,
and biopharmaceutics. These individuals usually have an advanced degree in chem-
istry, pharmaceutics, and formulation science and hold job titles such as scientist,
senior scientist, principal scientist, director, senior director, and vice president. The
above partial list of titles is from the full list of attendees that have participated in
the 2-day course titled “Introductory Statistics for Laboratory Data Analysis” given
through the Center for Professional Innovation and Education.
xii PREFACE

PROSPECTUS

There is an unmet need to have the necessary statistical tools in a comprehensive

package with a focus on laboratory experimentation. The study of the statistical han-
dling of laboratory data from the design, analysis, and graphical perspective is essen-
tial for understanding pharmaceutical research and development of results involving
practical quantitative interpretation and communication of the experimental process.
A basic understanding of statistical concepts is pertinent to those involved in the uti-
lization of the results of quantitation from laboratory experimentation and how these
relate to assuring the quality of drug products and decisions about bioavailability, pro-
cessing, dosing and stability, and biomarker development. A fundamental knowledge
of these concepts is critical as well for design, formulation, and manufacturing.
This book presents a detailed discussion of important basic statistical concepts
and methods of data presentation and analysis in aspects of biological experi-
mentation requiring a fundamental knowledge of probability and the foundations
of statistical inference, including basic statistical terminology such as simple
statistics (e.g., means, standard deviations, medians) and transformations needed
to effectively communicate and understand one’s data results. Statistical tests
(one-sided, two-sided, nonparametric) are presented as required to initiate a research
investigation (i.e., research questions in statistical terms). Topics include concepts of
accuracy and precision in measurement analysis to ensure appropriate conclusions
in experimental results including between- and within-laboratory variation. Further
topics include statistical techniques to compare experimental approaches with respect
to specificity, sensitivity, linearity, and validation and outlier analysis. Advanced
topics of the book go beyond the basics and cover more complex issues in laboratory
investigations with examples, including association studies such as correlation
and regression analysis with laboratory applications, including dose response and
nonlinear dose–response considerations. Model fit and parallelism are presented.
To account for controllable/uncontrollable laboratory conditions, the analysis of
robustness and ruggedness as well as suitability, including multivariate influences
on response, are introduced. Method comparison using more accurate alternatives to
correlation and regression analysis and pairwise comparisons including the Mandel
sensitivity are pursued. Outliers, limit of detection and limit of quantitation and
data handling of censored results (results below or above the limit of detection)
with imputation methodology are discussed. Statistical quality control for process
stability and capability is discussed and evaluated. Where relevant, the procedures
provided follow the CLSI (Clinical and Laboratory Standards Institute) guidelines
for data handling and presentation.
PREFACE xiii

The significance of this book includes the following:

• A comprehensive package of statistical tools (simple, cross-sectional, and lon-

gitudinal) required in laboratory experimentation
• A solid introduction to the terminology used in many applications such as
the interpretation of assay design and validation as well as “fit-for-purpose”
procedures
• A rigorous review of statistical quality control procedures in laboratory method-
ologies and influences on capabilities
• A thorough presentation of methodologies used in the areas such as method
comparison procedures, limit and bias detection, outlier analysis, and detecting
sources of variation.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The authors would like to thank Ms. Laura Gallitz for her thorough review of the
manuscript and excellent suggestions and edits that she provided throughout.
1
DESCRIPTIVE STATISTICS

1.1 MEASURES OF CENTRAL TENDENCY

One wishes to establish some basic understanding of statistical terms before we deal
in detail with the laboratory applications. We want to be sure to understand the mean-
ing of these concepts, since one often describes the data with which we are dealing
in summary statistics. We discuss what is commonly known as measures of central
tendency such as the mean, median, and mode plus other descriptive measures from
data. We also want to understand the difference between samples and populations.
Data come from the samples we take from a population. To be specific, a pop-
ulation is a collection of data whose properties are analyzed. The population is the
complete collection to be studied; it contains all possible data points of interest. A
sample is a part of the population of interest, a subcollection selected from a popula-
tion. For example, if one wanted to determine the preference of voters in the United
States for a political candidate, then all registered voters in the United States would
be the population. One would sample a subset, say, 5000, from that population and
then determine from the sample the preference for that candidate, perhaps noting the
percent of the sample that prefer that candidate over another. It would be impossible
logistically and costwise in statistics to canvass the entire population, so we take what
we believe to be a representative sample from the population. If the sampling is done
appropriately, then we can generalize our results to the whole population. Thus, in
statistics, we deal with the sample that we collect and make our decisions. Again, if

Introduction to Statistical Analysis of Laboratory Data, First Edition.

Alfred A. Bartolucci, Karan P. Singh, and Sejong Bae.
© 2016 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2016 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
2 DESCRIPTIVE STATISTICS

we want to test a certain vegetable or fruit for food allergens or contaminants, we take
a batch from the whole collection, send it to the laboratory and it is, thus, subjected
to chemical testing for the presence or degree of the allergen or contaminants. There
are certain safeguards taken when one samples. For example, we want the sample to
appropriately represent the whole population. Factors relevant in considering the rep-
resentativeness of a sample include the homogeneity of the food and the relative sizes
of the samples to be taken, among other considerations. Therefore, keep in mind that
when we do statistics, we always deal with the sample in the expectation that what
we conclude generalizes to the whole population.
Now let’s talk about what we mean when we say we have a distribution of the data.
The following is a sample of size 16 of white blood cell (WBC) counts ×1000 from
a diseased sample of laboratory animals:

5.13, 5.4, 5.4, 5.7, 5.7, 5.7, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.13, 6.13, 6.13, 6.4, 6.4, 6.8.

Note that this data is purposely presented in ascending order. That may not necessarily
be the order in which the data was collected. However, in order to get an idea of
the range of the observations and have it presented in some meaningful way, it is
presented as such. When we rank the data from the smallest to the largest, we call
this a distribution.
One can see the distribution of the WBC counts by examining Figure 1.1. We’ll
use this figure as well as the data points presented to demonstrate some of the statis-
tics that will be commonplace throughout the text. The height of the bars represents
the frequency of counts for each of the values 5.13–6.8, and the actual counts are
placed on top of the bars. Let us note some properties of this distribution. The mean
is easy. It is obviously the average of the counts from 5.13 to 6.8 or (5.13 + 5.4 +
· · · + 6.8)∕16 = 5.939. Algebraically, if we denote the elements of a sample of size

3 3

2 2

1 1

5.13 5.4 5.7 6 6.13 6.4 6.8

Figure 1.1 Frequency Distribution of White Cell Counts

Other documents randomly have
different content
his brake; the Pay-Master and I drop off behind, and seizing hold of
the car, succeed in stopping it. The train seems but a few yards
distant, crashing and thundering, and shaking the very ground we
stand on. The Pay-Master, who has been the most cautious of the
party, is now the most cool and decided. While two men push against
each other and the experienced man gives contradictory directions,
the Pay-Master seizes the car, capsizes it off the track, and hurls it
down the bank. The precious box and the stunned soldier are
dragged out of the way, and the train goes roaring past. When all is
over, we first berate the experienced man roundly, then haul the car
with much trouble up the bank and on to the track, and then feel our
way cautiously down to Tigerville. There we refresh ourselves with a
cold supper, tell over the tale of our escape, and abuse the engineer
to our heart’s content for not seeing our lantern, and stopping his
train. The Pay-Master announces his intention of writing the history
of the last twenty-four hours, and publishing it as the “Adventures of
a Pay-Master.” I am sorry to say he does not keep this promise.
 III.
THE WILD TEXANS.

Some weeks after the pay-day, I found myself stretched upon a

bed, in a little shanty, at Tigerville. I had some hazy recollections of
having moved my quarters to Tigerville—of having left my tent one
evening, after dress-parade, for a ride—of having ridden to the
hospital and dismounted, with a dizzy head and aching frame—of the
surgeon telling me, that I was very ill and must not go back—and
then of horrible fever-visions.
The long days travelled slowly, and the sultry nights wore away
wearily, but they rolled into weeks ere anything was gained. Then I
was carried to Brashear, and placed in a house which had been the
mansion of an old Louisiana family. In front was a strip of lawn
shaded by large oaks moss-hung and spreading. Beneath them the
view opened on the waters of the Atchafalaya, which here had
widened into Berwick Bay, and beyond, on the little village of
Berwick. Around were the remains of the finest garden of western
Louisiana. There still lingered thickets of the fig and orange, of
lemon and banana; and there still flowered oleanders, and catalpas,
and jasmin, with many other specimens of tropical fruits and
flowers. As I sat observing these remnants of other times, an old New
York friend and his wife came in. The lady looked around on the
grass-grown walks, broken and effaced; on the long rows of fruit
trees to which horses were picketed; on the rare flowerbeds trampled
out by droves of mules; on the smooth grass-plots covered with
heaps of rubbish.
“You have been here before,” I said, as I marked the careful looks
that travelled so closely over every part of the sad, disordered scene.
“I have passed the most of my life here,” she replied. “This is my
mother’s house.”
 It was the story of another divided family. All of her own relations
were in the Confederate lines, and she had remained with her
husband to await the coming of the Union army.
The enemy were gathering above us on the Teche. Those oath-
taking patriots, whose sons were in the enemy’s army and crops
within our lines; who, heretofore, had stood aloof and scowled
sullenly at us when we passed, now came into camp, and for once
were communicative. They asked us if we knew what was coming,
and hinted at Southern conscription, and the damage the Wild
Texans would do the growing crop. They feared the rough riders
from the prairies, and told many tales of their lawless cruelty. There
came in, too, refugees and contrabands, all speaking of the enemy’s
increasing strength; of boats collecting for some night attack, and of
the reckless fierceness of those Wild Texans. On the opposite side of
the river, the Wild Texans began to move in open day. They came
down in little scouting parties, hiding behind houses and bushes, but
constantly on the alert. We must have presented tempting marks for
a long-range Enfield, yet they never fired, but flitted silently about,
always observing us, yet never responding to our many shots.
I watched these indications of the gathering storm, with the
nervous irritability inseparable from convalescence. But every slight
exertion brought on a slight relapse, and I was soon forced, so far as I
could do so, to abstract myself from these excitements, and try to
gather back my strength in time to be of service in the coming
trouble. To this end, I took up the contents of some captured mails.
There were a few of the ridiculous letters, that once found their way
freely into our newspapers, with bad spelling, and false syntax, and
bombastic rhetoric, but the most of them were sad. More woeful
letters were never read than these Wild Texans wrote. There were
such mournful yearnings for home—for peace—for those they had
left behind, that, insensibly, the mind changed from exultation into
pity. There was a slight compunction, too, in running the eye over the
secrets of our enemies; a more than reluctance to look upon these
hidden words, which love and duty had written for loving eyes, and
coldly appropriate them as our own. There were tales of want and
tales of love—tidings of weddings and of deaths. Here was a letter
from a father in Port Hudson, to his “dear little daughters;” and here
one from a mother to her “own beloved son.” This is a family letter,
written by the parents and sisters, to their “two dear boys,” who now
are watching us from the other shore. And this one is the reverse, for
it is addressed to “father, mother, wife, and sisters.” The rebel soldier
has filled his “last sheet” with sad forebodings, with few hopes, much
love, and many prayers. A widow’s letter tells me, that her only child
fell at Iuka; and a father’s, that his eldest son died before Dalton.
“What wonder,” each letter asks, “that I wish to die and be at rest?”
Among so many, of course a love-letter can be found, breathing a
first avowal. It is written to some village beauty, and hints at rivals,
and her sometime smiles and sometime frowns. The village beauty is,
I judge, a slight coquette, who has led her lover along with little
encouragements and little rebuffs. His letter is written in a manly
strain, and tells her that he had hoped to gain an honorable name,
and come back to win her in an early peace. But the peace has not
come. He can bear this suspense no longer. He begs her to deal
frankly and truly with him, and, if she loves him, to answer this
letter. The letter will never be answered! I laid it away, and thought
that I would send it, by some flag of truce, to the unknown belle. But
my papers were captured, and this letter, on which so many hopes
hung, was lost.
The threatening trouble drew nearer. There were frequent alarms
—the cannon rung out their warnings often during the night—the
long rolls were beaten and the troops assembled and stood on their
arms. One night I awoke at the call of the cannon near my window,
and heard the men assembling and the ammunition wagons rolling
past. To one accustomed to act at such times, such forced inaction is
the severest of trials. I watched from habit, expecting the rattling
small arms of an attack, but the night wore away in unusual silence.
The next morning I was told that all our troops save the sick and a
few on guard, had gone. The sick men whispered each other that we
were defenceless, and it was well that we had the telegraph and
railroad, and could call our troops back in case of an attack from
across the river. A few hours passed and then the telegraph suddenly
ceased its ticking—the railroad was cut and the enemy was between
us and our forces at La Fourche.
No relief came, and after three days of suspense, Brashear was
carried by assault. Some of our sick men formed a line and behaved
well, but they were quickly overpowered. The red flag of our hospital
was not understood by the assaulting party, and for a little while it
looked as if no quarter would be given by the Wild Texans to our sick
and wounded. I had risen and mounted my horse after the attack
commenced, and I now dismounted at the hospital, and with Captain
Noblet of the 1st Indiana Artillery stood awaiting the result. The
Captain was full of wrath, and vowed that he would put the two or
three charges, still in his revolver, in places where two or three of the
murdering villains would feel them. A wild-looking squad, with
broad hats and jangling spurs, rushed, revolver in hand, upon the
building. In no very decided mood at the time, and acting chiefly
from the military habit of looking to some one in authority, I asked
sharply if there was an officer among them. They stopped, looked, a
trifle disconcerted, and one answered that he was a sergeant.
“This is a hospital,” I said, authoritatively. “Sergeant, put two men
on guard at the door, and don’t let any but the wounded pass in.”
“Well then, Bill,” said the sergeant, “you and John stand guard
here. And now see you don’t let nobody go in unless they be
wounded.”
This was the first and last order I ever gave to a Confederate
soldier, and it is due to the sergeant to say that he executed it
promptly and well.
About the same instant another squad rushed to a side window
and poked their rifles through the sash. Dr. Willets, the surgeon of
the 176th, at the moment was operating on a wounded soldier. With
professional coolness he turned to the window, and in the decided
manner that one would speak to a crowd of small boys, said—
“This is a hospital; you mustn’t come here. Go away from the
window and get out of my light.”
The rifles were withdrawn; the party looked at the window a
moment in a somewhat awe-struck manner, and then saying to each
other, “You mustn’t go there,” they withdrew.
The wounded of both sides were brought in, and our surgeons,
with scrupulous impartiality, treated all alike. From beside their
operating table I was moved to an upper room with Lieutenant
Stevenson of the 176th. A minnie ball had torn through the entire
length of his foot, leaving a frightful wound that threatened lockjaw
and amputation. On the next cot lay a wounded Confederate named
Lewis—a plain, simple-hearted man, who, for the next week, proved
a useful and trustworthy friend. As we thus lay there, my regimental
colors, by some strange chance, were brought into the room. Our
conversation stopped—the sick and wounded raised themselves from
their cots, and all eyes were fastened upon the inanimate flag as
though it were a being of intelligence and life. The Texan soldier first
broke the silence.
“That,” he said, in a dreamy way—half to himself and half to us
—“that has been the proudest flag that ever floated.”
“And is still, sir,” said my wounded lieutenant, proudly.
The Texan said nothing. I expected an outbreak, for there had been
no little defiance in the lieutenant’s reply, but none came. Some old
emotion had evidently touched his heart and carried him back to
earlier and better days.
As he turned away my color-sergeant whispered to me a plan for
destroying the colors, which, however, I did not approve. He pleaded
that he knew every thread of that flag, and that it would almost kill
him to see it borne away by rebel hands. “No, Sergeant,” I was
obliged to reply, “we must keep our colors by fighting for them, and
not by a dirty trick.” The answer satisfied neither the sergeant nor
my fellow officers. Yet before my own imprisonment was over, I had
the great happiness of learning that the undestroyed flag, honorably
recaptured, was restored to its regiment.
An officer soon appeared charged with the duty of paroling our
men. His quiet and courteous manner said plainly that he was a
gentleman, and he introduced himself as Captain Watt, of Gen.
Mouton’s staff. The Captain and I looked at each other as men do
who think they have met before. He then informed me that formerly
he had spent his summers at Saratoga and Newport, and that he
thought we must have known each other there. For this slight reason
—so slight that many men would have made it a good excuse for
dropping an acquaintance, if any had existed—Captain Watt called
on me repeatedly, procured an order for my being retained in the
Brashear hospital, and for several months carefully transmitted to
me such letters as found their way through the lines. His family had
been one of the wealthiest in New Orleans, and were now refugees in
Europe. He had entered the army under the belief that it was a duty
to his State, and on the capture of the city had beheld the ruin of all
who were dearest to him. Yet he made no ill-timed allusions to this,
and in our conversations always selected pleasant topics and spoke
kindly of the hours he had spent and the acquaintances he had made
in the North.
The chief Confederate surgeon (Dr. Hughes, of Victoria, Texas,)
next arrived, and assumed command at the hospital. It caused at first
but little change. Our own surgeons continued in charge of our
wounded—our steward continued to dispense the stores, and the
stores continued to be forthcoming. The Confederate surgeons were
polite and kind, doing all they could to make us comfortable, and
expressing thanks for the treatment previously bestowed on their
own wounded. Thus, in a few hours, our affairs had settled down in
their new channels; and we, with a strange, new feeling of restriction
upon us, set ourselves to wait for the bad news, and fresh reverses
likely to come. From our window we could see the Confederate forces
crossing the river. They waited not for tardy quarter-masters or
proper transportation, but, in flat boats and dug-outs, pressed
steadily across. A little steamer dropped out of one of the narrow
bayous, and worked ceaselessly, bringing over artillery. Ere sunset,
we estimated that five thousand men and four batteries had crossed,
and were moving forward to break our communications on the
Mississippi, and compel us to raise the siege of Port Hudson.
From this early day, there was a strong resolve in the minds of
most of us, to be cheerful before the enemy, and, whatever we felt,
not to let them see us down-cast. When the mind is really roused and
in motion, a little effort will turn it into almost any channel. We
made the effort, and succeeded. One individual who came in last, and
ventured to say, with solemn visage, that this calamity was awful,
was immediately frowned down, and warned that, if he talked such
nonsense here, he should be moved to some other ward. The effect
was magical, and in ten minutes he became rather a merry, careless
kind of fellow. This treatment, I believe, saved many lives; and I
found that my own convalescence, which had been slow and
changeful in the previous quiet, was now rapid and steady.
There were sorrows enough to see, if one chose to look toward
them. So many causes never united to depress, and never produced
so little effect. Neither the shameful loss of the post, nor the presence
of the sick and wounded filling every room, nor our unburied dead
who lay around the building, nor the prospect of a long captivity, nor
the helplessness of disease, nor the suffering of wounds, were
sufficient to make us appear sad. I marvelled then, and cannot
understand now, how the mind was able to throw off these troubles,
and how real this enforced cheerfulness became. A sense of duty
dictated it at the beginning, and redeemed it from heartlessness
afterward. Once, indeed, my spirits failed me, as I searched some
private letters to find an address. They were so light-hearted and
happy, and dwelt on the belief, as on a certainty, that he, to whom
they were written, would return crowned with honor. It was a happy
and brief illusion. An only sister had given her only brother to the
war—the orphan pair had made this great sacrifice of separation; and
now I had to write to the young girl, and say that he had been my
most trusted officer, and had fallen for the honor of his flag.[1]
There was a class of captives who saw the loss of Brashear with
heavier hearts than those who possessed the rights and hopes of
“prisoners of war.” The unhappy contrabands were agitated before
the blow fell, but met it with the tearless apathy of their race. “The
niggers don’t look as if they wanted to see us,” I heard one
Confederate soldier say to another.
“No,” said the other; “but you’ll see a herd of fat planters here to-
morrow after them. They don’t fight any, but they are always on
hand for their niggers.”
It was even so: for days, planter after planter appeared, and party
after party of men, women and children, laden with their beds and
baggage, tramped sorrowfully past our quarters. The hundreds that
remained went, I know not whither.
There was one woman, a quadroon, who had been an attendant in
our hospital. With her there were an old mother, darker than herself,
and a little daughter so fair, that no one ever suspected her of being
tainted with the blood of the hapless race. This woman, through all
the turmoil and trial of that time, never lost the little marks of
neatness and propriety that tell so plainly in woman of innate dignity
and refinement. The tasteful simplicity of her frequently changed
dress; the neat collar and snowy cuffs; the pretty work-box, and more
especially her quiet reserve, indicated rather the lady than the slave.
During the fight she had been calm and brave, and when a couple of
cowards had rushed into the hospital and begged for a place where
they could lie down and hide themselves, this woman, while volleys
were firing at the hospital, and men and women falling in the
passages, had shown these men to a room and closed the door on
them, and walked away so quietly that one might have thought her
beyond the reach of the danger that threatened them. An hour or two
later, as she passed through the ward where we lay, she stopped at
the window and looked out on the scene of the Confederates crossing
the river. Of all the persons to whom the capture of Brashear boded
grief and wrong, there probably was not one to whom it threatened
so much as to her. With her mother and her child, she had been
preparing to seek the surer refuge of the North, and this direful
calamity had come when the place of safety appeared almost within
her reach. Yet she shed no tears, and uttered no complainings. Her
large, sad eyes fastened on the river, she stood beside the window
and heard the shouts and yells that told of the Confederate triumph.
For half an hour she never moved; her face retained its soft
composure, and only once the muscles of the lip fluttered and
trembled, as though there might be a troubled sea within. Then she
turned and went back to her work, as calmly as if she alone had
suffered no change. She cheered those men who were struggling for
strength to go out on parole; she worked for those officers who were
to be sent forward into captivity. For herself, she never invited aid or
sympathy. We asked her if we might not send for her former master
to come and take her back to her old home. But this, for some untold
reason, she steadfastly refused. It was urged that she and her child
would be sent far into Texas or Arkansas; and that they might be
seized, as so much booty, by some of these half-savage strangers. She
answered quietly, that she had thought of this. Ere we parted, we
asked her what future help we could give, and what plan she would
pursue to regain her freedom, or secure some less dangerous home.
And she said briefly, that she did not know, and said no more.
1. Captain John S. Cutter.
The captured officers, able to march, were sent forward to
Shreveport, and the men were paroled and marched off to our lines.
Three officers of my regiment remained with me—two sick, and one
severely wounded. Two “citizen prisoners” were also added to our
number. One of these, whom I shall call Mr. Stratford, was held as
lessee of a confiscated plantation. His wife was permitted to remain
with him, and she now visited the hospital daily. The other civilian
was Mr. Dwight Parce, of Chenango County, New York, who had just
begun business in Brashear. He now witnessed the destruction of his
property with undiminished cheerfulness, and, although an invalid,
fated to fill a prisoner’s grave in Texas, met the discomforts that
awaited him with a serenity and hopefulness that nothing ever
disturbed.
We all effected some captures of baggage. Captain Watt sent me an
order for the delivery of mine if it could be found, and Dr. Hughes,
with ever ready kindness, advised me to take his ambulance and
search for it at the fort, where some captured property was stored.
The guard consisted of a young gentleman in his shirt-sleeves and no
shoes, who, when requested to go, whistled violently, and perched
himself on the rear of the ambulance, with his face toward the
hospital and his back toward me. I asked him, with some surprise, if
he was not going to take his rifle; at which he stopped whistling and
said, he reckoned not. After whistling a few minutes, he further
defined his position by saying, that if I ran away he reckoned he
could run after me; and then, that he reckoned the climate had been
a heap too much for me. After another whistle his stiffness wore
away a trifle, and he manifestly tried to put me at my ease by saying,
“Dog gone the Lousanny climate, and the bayous, and the beef, and
dog gone the Lousanyans: they’re the meanest set of people ever I
see. I’d just as soon shoot one of ’em as a Yank.” This put me quite at
my ease, and we then had a very interesting conversation. The
etymology of “dog gone” my guard was ignorant of; he suggested that
it meant pretty much what something else did, but wasn’t quite so
bad, in which opinion I coincided. Since then I have learnt that this
expressive phrase is derived from the threat of putting a dog on you,
and that it saves annually, in Texas, an immense amount of
swearing, and is found to answer just as well.
On the morning of the third of July, the Officer of the Day
appeared. He was a Captain in Colonel Bates’ Texan Battalion, and
he blandly begged that we would prepare to move in the afternoon;
the boat would be ready at five, and we would be sent to the hospital
at Franklin, where we would be much more comfortable. The boat
did not come, however, and we remained to celebrate the “Fourth” at
Brashear. We went round among our sick men who remained, to
cheer them with the certainty of their early release; we read the
Declaration, and we drank a bottle of wine, which Mrs. Stratford,
with patriotic devotion, smuggled in for us. Our friend, the ex-officer
of the day, re-appeared to apologize; the boat had been detained—he
knew he must have caused us much trouble—he had come to beg us
to forgive him—he deeply regretted that he had not known of the
delay in time to inform us. To-day he believed that there would be no
delay, and he had just requested the new Officer to order the boat up
to the hospital, so that we should not have the trouble of walking
down to where she lay. Nothing could have been more elegant,
chivalric, and delightful. If he were one of my own officers and I were
the Lieutenant-General, he could not have been more courteous and
respectful.
We started on our “Fourth of July excursion” in the afternoon.
While the boat was lying at the wharf, an officer, with long white hair
and of imposing appearance, came slowly down the saloon. As he
drew near I observed a Colonel’s insignia on his collar, and one of the
guard whispered me, that it was Colonel Bates, the commanding
officer at Brashear. The Colonel marched up to me, extended his
hand, and with grand solemnity, in keeping with his dignified
bearing, said:
“Colonel, I have come down now to apologize for not having
waited upon you before. I ought to have done so, sir—I ought to have
done so. But I have been over-occupied. I pray you to excuse me, sir.”
“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.”
This easy prison-life, however, received a jog, in the shape of an
officer of Speight’s Battalion of Texas Cavalry. He was introduced to
us as Lieutenant Geo. C. Duncan, and he bore orders to carry us to
Niblett’s Bluff, on the Sabine. It appeared therefrom that we were to
be moved to the southern side of Texas, and not to follow the officers
captured with us.
 The orders were, to carry all the prisoners at the hospital to
Niblett’s Bluff; but when the officer saw Lieutenant Stevenson, and
heard the surgeon’s statement, he sent down a special report from
the surgeon, and waited for further orders. In the meanwhile, our
polite French friend, Lieutenant Solomon, drove Mrs. Stratford to
New Iberia, and we awaited, with some anxiety, our departure, and
discussed the probabilities of marching through, or giving out by the
way.
 IV.
THE MARCH.

It was Sunday morning, about sunrise, when Lieutenant Duncan

appeared at the door, and informed us that we must start
immediately. There was an instantaneous springing up—a hurried
toilet—a rapid rolling of blankets, and a hastily-snatched breakfast of
bread and coffee. I remarked, with more unconcern in my manner
than I really felt, that I supposed Lieutenant Stevenson would
remain. The lieutenant’s countenance fell, and, looking another way,
he said, nervously, “Orders have come to move all immediately, and I
have no alternative.” It was my unpleasant task, therefore, to go
down and announce to the wounded officer that he must go. In
addition to his painful wound, he was suffering from an attack of
fever. His exhausted appearance frightened me, though I talked quite
boldly of the good effects of change of air, and the advantages of
continuing with us.
A clumsy plantation wagon rumbled to the door, and the new
guard, mounted on wild-looking Texan horses, drew up around it.
The old guard, like good fellows, helped us quite cordially in carrying
out our baggage; and they shook hands and bade us good bye, with a
warmth that savored much less of rebel enemies than of countrymen
and friends. Some newly arrived prisoners were brought from the
Court House, and we started. As we moved off, one of them seized
me by the hand with many expressions of surprise. At first I did not
recognize him, but, after a moment, discovered that he was Captain
Frederick Van Tine, of my former regiment, and learnt that he, with
two Massachusetts officers, was captured on the Mississippi, and, for
the last week, had been confined in the jail at Thiboudeau.
Up the main street of Franklin we marched two by two, the guard
strung along on each side, their rifles unslung and their eyes
watching us, as if they somewhat feared an immediate escape. The
loafers of Franklin of course turned out to stare at us, and made
remarks rarely complimentary; the women looked at us from the
door-steps as we passed, some triumphantly, and a few in pity. At the
head of this inglorious procession it was my place to walk; but the
new prisoners revealed the hitherto concealed news, and I felt proud
and happy over the long delayed result of Vicksburg and Port
Hudson.
Beside our own party, and the three officers from the Mississippi,
were a number of “citizen prisoners,” and an unfortunate deserter
whom they had caught at Brashear. Of these civilians, a dozen were
Irishmen and they immediately placed themselves at the head of the
column, and proceeded to walk and talk with a zeal that nobody
attempted to equal. A move is always animating, even when it is
toward captivity; but our excitement was short-lived. Hardly had we
passed from the shadow of the town, when the convalescents felt the
effect of the burning, fever-kindling sun. It was a serious business for
some of us. One hundred and eighty miles distant flowed the Sabine,
and we were to march there, over open prairies and in the middle of
the Southern summer.
Before a mile was travelled over, I could see the effect of the fearful
heat in others, and feel it on myself. Faces grew flushed; coats were
stripped off, and the perspiration poured in streams. Yet it was a
matter of honor not to give up. For my own part, I was smarting with
mortification at the disgrace of Brashear, and resolved, and re-
resolved, to walk till I fell dead, before one of these Southern soldiers
should say that a Yankee Colonel had given out.
At the head of the guard rode a good-looking young fellow, tall and
sinewy, and with the merriest face I have ever seen in a Southerner. I
had some doubts, at first, whether he was a private or a Captain, but
found that he was a corporal. He was mounted on a compact little
bay, called, in Texas, a pony; a long revolver was stuck in his belt; a
lariat rope loosely coiled hung on the saddle-bow; his bright
Springfield rifle was balanced across the pommel, and with his broad
hat and heavy, jangling Spanish spurs, he formed a brilliant picture
of a Wild Texan. As some little changes and arrangements were
wanting and the lieutenant was not in sight, I addressed myself to
the corporal, and asked if he would order a halt for a moment. “Why
to be sure I will,” was his very ready reply, followed up with the
order, “Now, halt here, men, and let these prisoners put their little
tricks on the wagon; there is no need of their packing them.”
“We took advantage of the halt to lash some sticks to the sides of
the wagon and to spread upon them our blankets, so as to form an
awning over Lieutenant Stevenson. But the sun beat down hotter and
hotter. At the next halt, one of us took a canteen from the end of the
wagon—the water was hot, so incredibly hot that the others were
called up to feel it, and all agreed that its heat was painful. My first
impression was, that this intense burning heat would blister us. But
the damp Louisiana atmosphere caused floods of perspiration,
pouring over the exposed face and hands, and soaking quickly
through every garment. Faces grew more and more flushed;
conversation flagged and soon ceased. Those who, at the beginning,
rattled away cheerfully, walked in moody silence near each other,
occasionally exchanging distressed looks, but rarely, if ever, speaking
a word.”
About mid-day the expected shower of the rainy season came
down on us furiously. We drew up under some trees, and stood close
against the leeward side of their trunks, until it blew over. The
different characteristics of the three parties who were gathered there
immediately developed. The Irishmen laughed, hullabaloed, pushed
each other out in the rain, and treated the affair as a capital joke. The
Northerners shifted their positions, and attempted improvements,
while the rain was at the worst—grumbled a great deal, and hurled
fierce denunciations at, what they called, their “luck.” The
Southerners silently unrolled their blankets, folded them around
their shoulders, looked upward at the storm with their usual sad
indifference of expression, made no attempts to better their
condition, and waited apathetically till it was over.
A prairie spread out for several miles immediately beyond our
sheltering trees, and the road curved around its outskirts. It was a
prairie, but a tame one; interspersed with fields; pastured by cattle;
surrounded by houses, and looking like any dull, uninteresting plain.
Its grass, however, was thick and wet, and its sticky black mud soon
loaded our boots and almost glued us fast. The coolness of the air
quickly vanished, and the sun, more burning than ever, re-appeared.
We dragged on wearily, very wearily, casting wistful glances at the
grove on the other side, which rose very slowly, and, for a long time,
seemed as distant as when we started. At last, however, we
manifestly drew nearer; the chimneys of a house could be
distinguished in the foliage, and the guard cheered us with the
assurance that it was the house at which we were to halt. Every one
made a last effort, and after half an hour’s exertion, we dragged
ourselves out of the muddy prairie and into a plantation yard,
bordering on the Teche.
We sat there waiting for the wagon, and watching a small drove of
hogs that had come down the bank of the bayou, and, half immersed,
were greedily eating the green scum that covered the water. The
lieutenant had bought provisions at the house, and hired the
contrabands to cook for us. The dinner finally appeared, consisting
of a large kettle of boiled beef, and a quantity of corn bread in the
shape of little rolls. It did not impress us favorably; but the guard
seemed to think it excellent—perhaps because boiled beef was a
rarity—perhaps because the corn bread was a superior article, (I was
not a judge of it then); and one, with charming simplicity, said, “If we
do as well as this, it will do!” To which rhapsody one of my disgusted
friends was obliged to respond, with a faint and sickly smile, “Yes,
yes; it is very nice.”
The place of bivouac that night was in the grass-covered yard, or
rather field, of one of the finest plantations on the Teche. The owner
soon appeared, accompanied by his son, his son-in-law, and a friend.
He was an old gentleman, dressed with the scrupulous taste and
neatness of a Frenchman, and treated us with as much politeness
and as little kindness as could very well be united. The son-in-law
regaled us with a description of the manner in which some of our
troops had plundered his house, and burnt his furniture; and the
friend sat himself down, and opened with the invariable remark, “We
consider this a most unnatural war, sir;” which he followed up with
the invariable question, “When do you think there will be peace, sir?”
To these I gave my invariable replies, that we also thought it a most
unnatural war, and that there would be peace whenever the Southern
soldiers chose to go home and take care of their own affairs. The
gentleman seemed very much disgusted at the idea of having peace
on such simple and easy terms, and said solemnly, that he couldn’t
allow himself to believe it.
 There was a large open shed beside us, but the ground was covered
with fleas, and we preferred the wet grass and heavy dew of a
Louisiana night, to these pests of a tropical climate. But few slept
well. For a long time I felt too tired to close my eyes, and awoke
repeatedly, aching in every part. When daylight dawned we rose so
stiff and sore that we could hardly move, and with renewed
apprehensions made ready for another day. Lieutenant Stevenson
showed such increased exhaustion that the Confederate officer took
me aside and said, that he would not be guilty of carrying him
beyond New Iberia.
We started, not at daylight, as was intended, but a long time after
the sun was up. With all such parties there are many petty causes of
delay, and it requires an iron-handed commander to bear them
down, and carry his party off at the appointed hour. Lieutenant
Duncan was too good-natured for this, and instead of coercing us, he,
on the contrary, told us to choose our own time, and not to start till
we were ready. The delay brought down the burning sun again upon
us, and the pain and weariness of this second day much exceeded
those of the first.
As we thus toiled along, the road, which was running between un-
inclosed fields, approached a tall rail fence. Three or four of us were
walking a few yards in advance of the guard, when we heard the
corporal shout from behind, “Take care of the bull! Take care of the
bull!” I looked ahead and saw nothing very alarming: a large red bull
was drawing himself up, and lashing his sides with his tail. After a
moment or two, however, he started toward us, shaking his head and
breaking into a low, deep bellow. He was a magnificent animal, with
long, low, spreading horns, and moved in a full, square trot that
many a horse might envy. There was a scramble at once for the fence
which stood very nearly midway between us and the bull. What the
result might have been I think somewhat doubtful, had not the
gallant corporal, on his bright little bay, rushed past us on a gallop.
The pony was a herding pony and understood his business. Like a
spirited dog, he flew straight at the bull until they nearly touched,
then wheeling he kept alongside, watching him closely and sheering
off whenever the long horns made a lunge toward himself. The pony
did this of his own accord, for, as he wheeled, his rider held the rifle
in his left hand and was drawing the long revolver with his right, and
these Texan horses are rarely taught to wheel from the pressure of
the leg. A finer picture of intelligent instinct than this pony presented
could hardly be painted: his ears erect, his eyes flashing, and his
whole soul in the chase. The corporal was not slower than his horse.
He brought the long revolver up; a shot flashed, and the poor beast
received a heavy wound. This diverted his attention from us, for,
with a loud bellow, he wheeled toward the corporal. But the pony’s
eye was on him, and, quicker than spur or rein could make him, he
also wheeled, and scoured off, across the plain faster than any bull
could go. The corporal brought up the rifle, and there was a second
flash—a second wound, for the bull staggered, and then walked
slowly and proudly away. Occasionally he stopped, turned defiantly
round, uttered deep bellowings, and shook at us his splendid horns.
The incident afforded us a little excitement, and led me into a
conversation with the corporal, who narrated anecdotes of the
wonderful intelligence of herding ponies. The heat, the dust, the
glaring sun, and increasing pain and weariness at length stopped
even a conversation on so interesting a topic as horses are and ever
will be, and I was fain to drag myself along without expending an
ounce of strength on any object beyond the dusty road. We entered
upon the last two miles, and saw Iberia in the distance. The road ran
between hedges twenty feet high—it was filled with a long column of
dust—not a breath of outer air disturbed it, and the sun shone
directly down from his noon-day height. I felt myself grow weaker
and weaker as we advanced through this green boiler. The
perspiration poured into my eyes and blinded me—my head whirled
round—my feet stumbled and dragged, so that every step seemed
almost the last. While in this critical state, a couple of pretty
Louisiana “young ladies” stopped their carriage, and greatly
refreshed me by expressing the hope that we should be hung at the
end of the lane, and the opinion that hanging was quite as good
treatment as nigger-thieves deserved. Such was the power of this
well-timed stimulus, that I kept on for more than a mile, and at last
found that I was in the midst of the little town of New Iberia.
We halted in the shade of some large trees. There seemed to be an
unusual number of vagabonds in New Iberia, who congregated
closely round us, and asked impudent questions (generally as to how
we liked the war now), until it occurred to our guards that this might
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