appy at my escape, and it encouraged me
to make every effort to get well, so I could ride with the gang. The
rebel angel re-mained with me till almost night, and superintended my
eating. No person who has never had a fever, can appreciate the appetite
of a person when the fever "turns." I wanted everything that was ever
eaten, and roast beef or turkey was constantly in my mind. As anything
of that kind would have made use for Jim's coffin-handles, I had to put
up with soups and gruels. The doctor thought that this thin gruel was
good enough, but it didn't seem to hit the spot, and so the girl asked
the doctor if he thought nice gumbo soup and a weak milk punch wouldn't
be pretty good for me. He said it would, but nobody in the hospital
could make gumbo soup, or milk punch. She said she could, and she told
me not to eat a thing until she came back, and she would bring me a dish
fit for the gods. She said she knew an old colored woman in town, who
cooked for a lady friend of hers, who had some gumbo, and the lady had
a little brandy that was seventy years old, but she said the lady was a
rebel, and I must overlook that. I told her I didn't care, as I had got
considerably mashed on all the rebels I had met personally. She went out
with a smile that would have knocked a stronger man than I was silly,
and I turned over and took a nap, the first real sleep I had had in a
week. I woke up finally smelling something that was not gruel. O, I had
got so sick of gruel. The angel handed me a glass of milk punch,
and told me to drink a swallow and a half. I have drank a great many
beverages in my lifetime, but I never swallowed anything that was as
good as the milk punch that rebel girl made for me. It seemed to go
clear to my toes, and I felt strong. Then she gave me a small soup plate
and told me to taste of the gumbo. I had never tasted gumbo soup before,
but I had no difficulty in mastering it. No description can do gumbo
soup justice, or explain to a person who has never tasted it the rich
odor, and palatable taste. The little that I ate seemed to make a man of
me again, instead of the weak invalid. Since then I have been loyal
to southern gumbo soup, and have always eaten it wherever it could be
obtained, and I never put a spoonful of it to my lips without thinking
of the rebel girl in the hospital, who prepared that dish for me. If
I ever become a glutton, it will be on gumbo soup, and if I am ever a
drunkard, it will be a milk-