Exploring Carnton Plantation

The apple does not fall far from the tree; and as I have discovered recently, it holds just as true in the past as it does today. It is not such an odd occurrence for we Southerners to find our kin sprinkled anywhere from Texas to Virginia, so I did not find myself perplexed when my recent trip to the historic town of Franklin, Tennessee gave me a history lesson about two courageous women from south Louisiana who became heroines of the War Between the States.

After reading Robert Hicks’ book Widow of the South last year and learning the spellbinding history of the Carnton Plantation and adjoining Confederate cemetery in Franklin, Tennessee, I knew that I just had to take a road trip to see them in person. As it turns out, Franklin is just a short distance away from my hometown in north Alabama. So with family members in tow, I curiously began my journey to this sleepy little town just south of Nashville, where unbeknownst to me, was where the bloodiest battle of the Civil War occurred.

Carnton Plantation is a modest Antebellum home that one might find in an array of towns across the Deep South. It is a white, two story house with just shy of a dozen squared columns reaching up from the foundations like outstretched fingers. The white picket fence now placed in the yard makes the property look clean and inviting to the plethora of tourists who currently visit due to the popularity of Hicks’ bestselling novel.

In 1847, Colonel John McGavock and his young wife Carrie Winder called Carnton Plantation home. Carrie, as it turns out, had grown up on what was the largest sugar plantation in Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana. She brought with her to Tennessee a personal servant by the name of Mariah, who became her friend and confidant for many years to come and no doubt a reminder of Ducros Plantation, the home that she had left behind.

When the Civil War showed up on the McGavock’s doorstep, Carrie, although reluctantly, allowed her home to be used as a make-shift hospital. Deep red blood stains can still be found in almost every room of the house. The dining room table was transformed into an operating table and the children’s wooden bedroom floor now bears the bloody outline of a surgeon’s weary feet. Carrie assisted the wounded in any way possible; turning linens and clothing into tourniquets, serving food and drink, and even holding frequent vigil at the bedside of the dying.

Once the troops had released their grip on Franklin, nothing was left but carnage. Unhappy with mass and unidentified burials, the McGavocks insisted on the creation of a Confederate cemetery on their own property, where Carrie spent the rest of her life cataloguing, contacting relatives, and even pulling weeds from the graves of almost 1,500 soldiers. A journal written in Carrie’s own hand, identifying as many as 1,000 soldiers, is on display for the public to see inside the main house.

On the day that I strolled the lengths of the Confederate Cemetery at Carnton, I walked through row after row of square, uniform markers and eventually found the section where 18 soldiers from Louisiana were interred. I then began to wonder about the history of Carrie’s family back in the Pelican State.

On La. Hwy 24, less than a mile from Schriever in Terrebonne Parish, sits Ducros Plantation, a box-like stately home that is, unfortunate for amateur historians, not open to the public. It was built long before the war to mimic Andrew Jackson’s “Hermitage” in Nashville, Tennessee. In its day, Colonel Van Winder used his 3,300 acre property for the production of sugar cane, which in turn, became the largest in Terrebonne Parish. Just as her daughter Carrie, Mrs. Martha Winder watched as her husband and sons marched off to war. She too opened up her home to Confederate occupation and aided the physicians as her home became a military hospital.

Legend has it that as the battle between the north and south came to a close, Mrs. Winder held a lavish picnic in the gardens surrounding her house to welcome home many of the men returning from battle. It was then that she found out about the death of her youngest son, yet continued to host the party as if she had not been suddenly filled with grief.

Although I have yet to see Ducros Plantation for myself, at least from outside the chain link fence surrounding the property, I have been fascinated to learn that the story told in The Widow of the South doesn’t just stop in Franklin, but continues as mother and daughter lead somewhat parallel lives, proving that no matter the distance, we are all somehow connected. This article written by Carey Weeks was originally published in Louisiana Road Trips magazine.