Copyright 1903 by The Penn Publishing Company

Manufactured in the U. S. A.

A DAUGHTER OF THE UNION

5CHAPTER I
WHAT GIRLS CAN DO

“That finishes everything,” exclaimed
Jeanne Vance, placing a neatly folded handkerchief
in a basket. “And oh, girls, what a
little bit of a pile it makes!”

The five girls drew their chairs closer to the
basket and gazed ruefully at its contents.

“How many handkerchiefs are there,
Jeanne?” asked one.

“There are fifty handkerchiefs and five
pairs of socks. It seemed like a great many
when we took them to make, but what do
they amount to after all?”

“There isn’t much that girls can do anyway,”
spoke another. “If we were boys we
could go to the war, or, if we were women we
could be nurses. I don’t like being just a
girl!”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind it so much if there
6
was anything I could do,” remarked Jeanne
who seemed to be the leader. “But when
Dick is in the army, father in government
service, and mother at work all day in the
Relief Association, it is pretty hard not to be
able to do anything but hem handkerchiefs
and make socks.”

“A great many persons don’t even do
that,” said Nellie Drew, the youngest girl of
the party. “And they are grown-up people,
too.”

“Then the more shame to them,” cried
Jeanne indignantly. “In such a war as ours
every man, woman and child in the United
States ought to be interested. I don’t see how
any one can help being so. For my part, I
am going to do all that I can for the soldiers
if it is only to hem handkerchiefs.”

“What else could we do? We can’t help
being girls, and Miss Thornton was pleased
when we asked for more work. She said that
our last socks were done as well as women
could do them. I am sure that that is something.”

“That is true,” admitted Jeanne soberly.
“I have heard mother say that some of the
things were so poorly made that the ladies
7
were ashamed to send them to the front, but
that often the need was so urgent that they
were compelled to do it. I am willing to
knit socks and to hem handkerchiefs, but I
would like to do something else too. There
is so much to be done that I don’t feel as if I
were doing all that I might do.”

“We don’t either, Jeanne, and if you know
of anything we will gladly help to do it,”
cried the girls together.

“I don’t know of anything else, girls, but
maybe I can think of something,” said Jeanne,
looking at the earnest faces before her.

It was a bright May afternoon in the year
of 1862, and the great conflict between the
North and the South was waging fiercely.
The terrible battle of Shiloh of the month before
had dispelled some of the illusions of the
North and the people were awakening to the
fact that a few victories were not sufficient to
overthrow the Confederacy.

Aid societies under the United States Sanitary
Commission for the relief of the soldiers
were springing up all over the Union, and
patriotism glowed brightly inflaming the
hearts of rich and poor alike. This zeal was
not confined to the old but animated the
8
minds of the young as well. Numerous instances
are recorded of little girls who had not
yet attained their tenth year denying themselves
the luxuries and toys they had long
desired and toiling with a patience and perseverance
wholly foreign to childish nature, to
procure or to make something of value for
their country’s defenders.

Our group of girls was only one among
many banded together for the purpose of
doing whatever they could for the relief of
the boys in blue, and their young hearts were
overwhelmed with a sense of their impotence.
Jeanne Vance, a tall, slender, fair-haired girl
of sixteen, serious and thoughtful beyond her
years, was the leader in every patriotic enterprise
of her associates.

Her father since the beginning of the war
had devoted himself exclusively to furthering
the interests of the government; her mother
was a prominent worker in The Woman’s
Central Relief Association, giving her whole
time to collecting supplies and money to be
forwarded to the front and providing work
for the wives, mothers and daughters of the
soldiers. Her brother, Richard Vance, had
responded to the first call of President Lincoln
9
to arms: thus the girl was surrounded by influences
that filled her being to the utmost
with intense loyalty to the Union.

As she looked at the eagerly waiting girls
around her a sudden inspiration came to her.

“Let’s give a fair, girls. We could make
pretty things to sell and I am willing that all
my toys and games shall be sold too. Perhaps
we could get a great deal of money that way,
and I am sure that even a little would be
welcome.”

“But how about the socks and handkerchiefs?
Shall we give up making them?”

“No, indeed! We must keep right on
with those, but this fair will be all our own
effort. I believe that we will feel as if we
were really doing something worth while if
we can manage it. What do you say?”

“It is the very thing,” cried they. “When
shall we begin?”

“This afternoon,” said Jeanne energetically.
“There is no time like the present. This is
May. We ought to be ready by the last of
June. We can do a great deal in that time if
we work hard.”

“And we can get our mothers to help us
too,” suggested Nellie Drew.

10“We ought not to do that, Nellie,” replied
Jeanne seriously. “They are so busy themselves,
and it would not be truly ours if we
have the older ones to help. Don’t you think
we ought to do just the very best we can without
them?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” chorused the girls.

“I can make pretty pin cushions,” said a
girl about Jeanne’s age. “I will make as
many of them as I can.”

“I can do pen wipers very nicely, mamma
says,” spoke Nellie modestly.

“Mother always lets me help dress the
dolls for Christmas,” cried another.

“Where will we have it, Jeanne?”

Jeanne looked puzzled for a moment. “I’ll
tell you, girls. Let’s have it on our steps.
We’ll have a big card telling all about it
printed and put up. Then people will stop
and buy things when they know it is for the
soldiers.”

“On your steps,” cried Nellie. “Oh,
Jeanne, will your mother let you? It is
right on Fifth Avenue.”

“Why, mother won’t care!” answered
Jeanne, surprised at the question. “Fifth
Avenue is the best place in New York for
11
anything of the sort, because so many well-to-do
people pass, and they will be sure to be
generous for the soldiers’ sake.”

“Mercy, Jeanne, where did you learn so
much about things?” gasped Nellie in admiration.
“I wouldn’t have thought of
that.”

“Well,” said Jeanne, flushing at the praise,
“I hear mother and the ladies talking, you
know. They say that such things must
always be taken into consideration. If you
have anything to sell, or you want money,
you must go where there is money to be had.
I know the ladies do that in their fairs.”

“Then of course that is the way to do,”
remarked a tall girl decidedly. “Let’s take
our handkerchiefs and socks to the Relief
rooms and begin right away.”

The girls set to work joyfully, and labored
zealously for their fair. Their parents were
amused at their earnestness, but seeing them
happy and contented encouraged them in
their efforts. The days were busy ones, but
the knowledge that every boat and train was
bringing hundreds of wounded soldiers into
the hospitals from the disastrous Yorktown
campaign spurred them to greater exertion,
12
until at last they declared themselves ready to
open the sale.

Handkerchiefs, aprons, homemade candies,
dolls, with all the paraphernalia belonging to
them, pin cushions, pen wipers, and books,
presented a goodly appearance as they were
spread enticingly upon the steps of the mansion
in lower Fifth Avenue. A large card,
which Mr. Vance had had printed for them
with the inscription, “For the relief of our
wounded and sick soldiers. Please buy,”
reared its head imposingly over the articles,
and five little maids, neatly dressed, stood in
expectant attitude eagerly watching each
passer-by in the hope of a customer.

The placard caught the eyes of an elderly
man, and the little girls could scarcely conceal
their delight as he paused before them.

“Well, my little ladies, what have we
here?” he asked kindly. “For the soldiers,
eh? Who put you up to this?”

“No one, sir,” answered Jeanne as the
other girls shrank back abashed. “We are
doing it ourselves to help buy things for the
boys.”

“But who made the articles?” queried the
old gentleman. “I am a poor judge of such
13
things, but these handkerchiefs seem to be
very neatly done. They are not of your
making, I presume.”

“Indeed they are,” answered the girl
earnestly. “We have done all the sewing,
and made the candies. The toys were our
own, given to us by our parents, but we
would rather have the money to give to the
soldiers, so they are for sale too. We girls
have made everything but the toys and the
books.”

“But why,” persisted he good-naturedly.
“The government provides for its soldiers,
and there are women and men to do what the
government doesn’t do. Why should you interest
yourselves in such things? The war
doesn’t concern you!”

“Whatever concerns our country concerns
us,” answered Jeanne with dignity. “We are
only girls, sir, and cannot do much, but what
we can do to help those who are fighting for
us we will do.”

“Nobly said, my little maid. I was anxious
to see if this was a mere whim of the
moment, or if you really were actuated by
patriotic motives. You have taught me that
girls can feel for their country as well as
14
grown people. How much are those handkerchiefs?”

“A dollar a dozen, sir.”

“H’m’m!” mused the old gentleman drawing
forth a well filled pocketbook. “Too
cheap by far. Give me a couple of dozen.”

Jeanne obeyed with alacrity and carefully
wrapped the handkerchiefs in tissue paper.
“I can’t change this bill, sir,” she said as the
old gentleman gave her a twenty dollar note.

“I don’t want you to, my little girl,” returned
he kindly. “Take it for the cause.”

“Oh,” cried Jeanne her eyes filling with
glad tears. “How good you are! How good
you are!”

“Nonsense! It’s a pity if I cannot give a
little money when you girls have given so
much time and work. Good-day, my little
patriots. Success to you in your undertaking.
You may see me again.”

“Good-day, sir,” cried the girls together.
“And thank you ever so much.”

“Oh, girls,” gasped Jeanne delightedly.
“Isn’t it fine? Twenty dollars! I didn’t
think we’d make more than that altogether.”

“Here come more customers, Jeanne,” cried
15
Nellie excitedly. “Oh, but I believe that we
are going to have luck!”

It was but the beginning. There was little
leisure for the girls after that. Their evident
zeal and earnestness impressed the passers-by
whose hearts were already aglow with sympathy
for the soldiers, and bills and shinplasters
poured in upon the little merchants until
at dusk not an article remained upon the
steps. Then, tired but happy, they assembled
in Mrs. Vance’s parlor to count the proceeds.

“Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed Mr.
Vance as the girls announced the result in excited
tones. “Why, girls, this is wonderful!
The government would better turn over its
finances into your hands.”

“You blessed dears,” cried Mrs. Vance, “it
will do so much good! You don’t know how
much that will buy, but you shall go with the
committee and see for yourselves.”

“We have done well,” said Jeanne in congratulatory
tones.

“I don’t believe that grown people could do
any better,” and Nellie Drew gave her head
a proud toss.

“There’s a little lame boy asking to see
Miss Jeanne, ma’am,” announced a servant
16
entering at this moment. “Shall I show him
up?”

“Yes, Susan. Who is it, Jeanne?”

“It must be Eddie Farrell. He lives down
on Fourth Avenue. His mother washes for
Nellie’s mother, and they are awfully poor.
He came by while we were fixing our things
and we told him all about what we were doing
and why we were doing it. How do you
do, Eddie?” as the door opened to admit the
visitor.

A little fellow not over ten years old, with
great blue eyes that were just now alight with
eagerness, paused abruptly as he caught sight
of Mr. and Mrs. Vance. He made a pathetic
looking figure as he stood in the doorway.
He was deplorably lame and leaned on a pair
of rude crutches for support, balancing in
some way known only to himself, a long
bundle under his arm.

“Have a chair, my boy,” said Mr. Vance,
kindly noticing his embarrassment. “Did
you wish to see Jeanne?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy sat down and then
opened his bundle disclosing a pair of well
made crutches. “The girls told me what
they wuz doing fer the sogers and I’ve been
17
thinking ever since what I could do. I didn’t
have no money ner nuffin’ ter give ’cepting
these crutches. I thought mebbe they’d do
some pore feller some good what ’ud have his
leg cut off.”

“But where did you get them?” queried
Mr. Vance.

“They wuz mine, sir. Bill, a sailor man I
knows, he spliced on some pieces to make ’em
longer, and there they are, sir.”

“My lad,” and Mr. Vance laid his hand
softly on the boy’s head, “it is a great deal for
you to give. You need them yourself.”

“I’ll get along all right,” said the boy eagerly.
“’Deed I will, Mr. Vance. See, Bill he
rigged me up a pair that’ll do me all right, an’
I’d like ter help some pore feller.”

Mr. Vance gazed pityingly at the rude substitutes
which the boy held up, and then
looked at the crutches so deftly lengthened.
His voice was husky as he spoke:

“It is a great gift. More than you should
give.”

“It ain’t nuthin’,” answered the lad. “I
feel fer the feller that is born with two good
legs an’ then loses one of them.”

Mr. Vance nodded understandingly. Mrs.
18
Vance’s eyes were full to overflowing as she
stroked the boy’s hair gently.

“We’ll write a little note and tie on the
crutches,” she said. “Then whoever gets
them will know who gave them.”

“That will be fine,” cried the lad gleefully.
“I’m so glad you’ll take them. I wuz afraid
mebbe it wouldn’t be enough ter give.”

“It is more than we have done,” said
Jeanne as soon as she was able to speak.

“Then good-bye,” and Eddie arose. “I’ll
run back and tell mother.” He nodded to
them and left the room, his face aglow with
satisfaction.

“We haven’t done anything,” said Jeanne
emphatically. “We didn’t give a thing we
could not do without. Oh, I feel so mean!”

She looked at the girls tearfully, then drew
a slender chain from her throat, and detached
the gold piece which was suspended from it.
“There!” she said, putting it with the bills
on the table. “Uncle Joe gave me that before
he went to the army. After he was
killed at Shiloh I thought I would never part
with it, but I am going to let it go for the
soldiers too.”

“It is good for us,” said Nellie wiping her
19
eyes. “We were awfully puffed up over this
fair. I was beginning to think that we had
done something great.”

Mr. Vance laughed.

“You need not feel so bad, girls,” he said.
“If it had not been for you that poor little
fellow wouldn’t have thought of giving his
crutches.”

“I wish he had some though,” remarked
Jeanne wistfully.

“Make your mind easy on that score, my
dear, I’m going to look after that boy.”

“And meantime you girls can go with me
to the Association to carry the money and the
crutches, and we’ll tell the ladies all about
it,” said Mrs. Vance.

20CHAPTER II
A GREAT UNDERTAKING

For a time affairs went on in their usual
way, and the girls contented themselves with
hemming towels and handkerchiefs and making
socks. That is, all the girls save Jeanne
Vance. With her the desire was stronger
than ever to do something more than she had
done.

“What makes you so thoughtful, Jeanne?”
asked her father one evening looking up from
his paper. “You are as still as a mouse.
Come, and tell me all about it.”

“It’s the country,” said Jeanne settling herself
comfortably on his lap and laying her
head on his shoulder. “I was thinking about
our army and how much there was to be done
for it.”

“I am afraid that you think too much
about the war,” observed her father soberly.
“It is not good for you.”

“I can’t help it, father. Dick’s letters make
me, and the work that you and mother do
21
keeps it always before me. I am the only
one who doesn’t do much.”

“I am sure that you carried that fair
through admirably, and have made a number
of articles for the soldiers. Best of all you
are looking after yourself so well that your
mother and I can devote our whole time to
the cause. And that is a great deal, my little
girl.”

“But I should like to do something else,”
persisted Jeanne. “It doesn’t seem as if I
were helping one bit.”

“Very few of us can see the result of our
labors. If you were in the army it would be
the same way. A soldier often has to obey
orders for which he can see no reason, but his
disobedience might cause the loss of a battle.
We are all of us part of a great whole striving
for the same end. If each one does his
part all will be well. If every little girl in
the country would do as much as you are doing,
the amount of work accomplished would
be startling.”

“If I were a boy I could do more,” sighed
Jeanne. “It is very hard to be ‘only a girl,’
father.”

Mr. Vance laughed.

22“But since you are one, Jeanne, try to be
contented. I am very thankful for my
daughter if she is ‘only a girl.’”

“You are troubled too,” observed Jeanne
presently, noting a look of anxiety on her
father’s face.

“Yes, child; I am.”

“Could you tell me about it, father? Perhaps
it would help you. I feel ever so much
better since I have talked with you.”

“I am afraid that you cannot help me,
child. If only Dick were here,” and he
sighed.

“Could I if I were a boy?” asked the girl,
wistfully.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Vance unthinkingly.
“If you were a boy, Jeanne, with the same
amount of brightness and common sense that
you now have, I would be strongly tempted
to send you forth on some private business.”

“Oh, father!” Jeanne sat bolt upright.
“Send me anyway. I am sure that I could
do it just as well as a boy.”

“But this would necessitate a journey into
the enemy’s country. A bright boy could go
through all right if he would exercise his
23
wits, but a tender, delicate girl like you!
Why, I couldn’t think of it!”

“I could do just as well as a boy,” declared
Jeanne with conviction. “I am sure that I
could. Please let me try, father.”

“I am sorry that I spoke of it, child. I
will tell you just what the service is, and you
will see the impossibility of any girl undertaking
it. In the cities both North and
South there are men whose duty it is to look
after certain private matters for the government.
In our communications with each
other we must be very guarded. We do not
dare to risk even the mails, because in almost
every department of the service there are
traitors. In some mysterious manner the
enemy becomes aware of all our plans.
Therefore we have tried and trusted men who
are our go betweens. On some occasions we
have employed boys because they could pass
through the lines of the armies without being
suspected of carrying important information.
But as it is a hazardous business we use the
boys only when there is no one else to send.
Just at present our men are all out, and even
the few boys who are ordinarily available are
not on hand. That is why I spoke as I did.”

24“Where would the boy have to go?”
queried Jeanne, who had listened attentively.

“To New Orleans, dear. It is a long distance,
and would be a perilous journey. You
see, Jeanne, how I am trusting you. You
will be careful not to repeat anything I say.”

“I understand perfectly, father. You need
not fear when you tell me anything. You
could not be useful if others knew of your
affairs.”

“That is it precisely, my daughter.”

“Is the errand important, father?”

“Very.” Mr. Vance thought she saw the
impossibility of going and therefore spoke
more freely than he otherwise would have
done. “I ought to send a messenger not
later than day after to-morrow with the documents,
but I fear that I shall have to let the
matter rest until some of the men come in,
and then it may be too late.”

“Father, doesn’t Uncle Ben live in New
Orleans?”

“Yes, Jeanne; why?”

“Why couldn’t I go down to see him, and
carry these papers hidden about me? The
trains are still running, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said her father thoughtfully; “but
25
those in the Southern States are under Confederate
control, you know.”

“Well, suppose I were to take the train
from here to St. Louis,” mapping the route on
her lap, “then from there I could go down
the Mississippi on a steamboat. St. Louis is
for the Union, and New Orleans belongs to us
now too. I don’t see much danger in that,
father.”

“It sounds all right, little girl. The only
flaw lies in the fact that Vicksburg is not
ours. If it were then the matter could be
easily arranged.”

“Don’t you think that it will be ours soon,
father?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Mr. Vance with conviction.
“With Farragut and Porter on the
river and this new man Grant who is making
such a record in charge of the land forces it
will not be long before Vicksburg will share
the fate of Forts Henry and Donelson and
Island No. 10. Indeed,” added he, for Mr.
Vance in common with many others held the
view that the war could not be of long duration,
“I feel sure that McClellan will soon
enter Richmond and that will virtually close
the war. It is only a question of days now
26
before we shall see the end of this rebellion.
The administration is of the same opinion, because
it has ceased to enlist men for the
army.”

“Then, father, it seems to me that there
would be no risk in performing this service
for you. I feel sure that I could carry your
papers safely to New Orleans. It is not as if
the country all belonged to the rebels. There
would be only one place to pass that is theirs:
Vicksburg. I know that our men can easily
go by one place,” she added confidently.

“Your manner of taking hold of the matter
almost persuades me to let you try it, Jeanne,”
and Mr. Vance regarded his daughter with a
new light in his eyes.

“Do,” said Jeanne as calmly as she could,
realizing that if she would carry her point
she must be very matter-of-fact. “You see,
father, no one would suspect a girl of carrying
papers.”

“I don’t know but that you are right,
Jeanne. Still, I would not consider the thing
for an instant if my need were not so great.
Should the papers fall into the rebels’ hands,
not only would they secure important information
but they would also get the names of
27
men whose death would pay the penalty of
discovery.”

“I understand,” said the girl gravely.
“But the rebels shall never get them, father.
I will destroy them first. They must be concealed
about my clothing in such a manner
that even if I were searched they could not be
discovered. Not that I think that I shall
be,” she added hastily as a look of alarm
flitted over her father’s face, “but it is just as
well to be prepared for emergencies.”

“What are you two plotting?” asked Mrs.
Vance entering the room. “You have been
talking so earnestly that I thought that you
were settling the affairs of the nation.”

“We have been,” answered Jeanne gaily.
“I am going to New Orleans on business for
father.”

“Oh, Richard,” came from Mrs. Vance in a
wailing cry. “Not my girl too! I have
given my boy! Leave me my daughter.”

“Mother!” Jeanne sprang to her outstretched
arms where she was folded close to
the mother’s heart. “You don’t understand.
There is no danger. Who would harm a girl
like me?”

“She shall not go, Dora, if you do not consent,”
28
spoke Mr. Vance comfortingly. “My
need for a messenger was so urgent that I
spoke of it before Jeanne, and the little witch
has beguiled me into thinking that she is the
very one for the business.”

“Why of course I am,” cried Jeanne in decided
tones. “Let’s sit down and talk it over.”

“I don’t like it,” said Mrs. Vance after the
matter had been explained. “I am afraid
that something will happen to you.”

“But, mother, what could happen? Even
if I were to fall into the hands of the Confederates
what could they do to me? Men don’t
make war on girls.”

“I know that the Southern people are
counted chivalrous,” answered Mrs. Vance,
“but soldiers are usually rough fellows, and I
would not like you to be brought into contact
with them even though they were our own
boys.”

“Dick is a soldier, and he isn’t a bit rough.
They are all somebody’s sons, mother. I
thought that you liked soldiers.”

“I do,” assented Mrs. Vance wearily, “but
I don’t like the thought of sending you where
there is a chance of fighting. No one knows
what might happen.”

29“Dick has to take a great many chances,
and why should not I risk a little for my
country? Wouldn’t you be willing to give
your life for it, mother?”

“Yes; but––” began the mother.

“And I am your child,” cried Jeanne, kissing
her. “I can’t help it, mother. It’s in
the blood, and blood will tell, you know.
Haven’t I heard you and father many a time
relate what great things our ancestors did in
the Revolution? Well, you really can’t expect
anything else from their descendants.”

“I suppose not,” and Mrs. Vance stifled a
sigh. “If it really would help you, Richard.”

“It really would, Dora. If Jeanne can
carry these papers to New Orleans she is not
only worth her weight in gold but she will do
the government a great service. She is energetic,
resourceful and self-reliant. I believe
that she can get through without injury to
herself or I should not consider the thing a
moment. As she says, why should harm
come to a girl? She would not be suspected
where older people would be subjected to the
most searching scrutiny. The more that I
think of it, the more favorably does the idea
strike me.”

30“Then I must consent,” Mrs. Vance smiled
faintly though her face was very white. “My
country demands much of me, Richard.”

“It does, Dora. But please God when this
rebellion is put down we shall have such
peace as the country has never enjoyed. Let
us hope for the best, dear.”

“When do I start, father?” broke in
Jeanne.

“I think to-morrow night. The sooner the
better. I will see about your transportation
in the morning, and try to arrange to send
you straight through. Now, little girl, you
must say good-night because we must be up
bright and early. There is a great deal to be
done to-morrow.”

“Good-night,” said Jeanne obediently, and
kissing each tenderly she retired to her room.

31CHAPTER III
STARTING FOR DIXIE

The next day passed all too quickly for the
parents, but not for Jeanne. She went about
her preparations with an uplifted mien and a
solemnity of manner that at another time
would have been amusing, but which under
the circumstances went to her mother’s heart.

“In this petticoat, dear, I have quilted the
documents,” said Mrs. Vance as she dressed
her for her departure. “It may be a little
heavy, but you need not wear so many skirts
as you otherwise would, and perhaps it will
not be too warm. See how nicely it holds out
your dress. It almost answers the purpose of
a pair of hoops.”

“Am I not to wear my hoops, mother?”

“No, child. They are sometimes in the
way, and as you have not yet learned to manage
them well, it would be best not. Your
frock hangs out in quite the approved style as
it is.”

Jeanne glanced down at her attire complacently.

32“It does look stylish,” she admitted. “I
wonder if the rebel girls wear hoops.”

“I dare say they do,” answered the mother
rather absently. Then overcome by a rush of
emotion she caught the girl to her. “Oh,
Jeanne, I wonder if I am doing right to let
you go! What if some harm should come to
you?”

“Don’t worry, mother,” and Jeanne soothed
her gently. “I feel sure that I will get
through safely.”

“I shall not be easy until I hold you in my
arms again,” said Mrs. Vance mournfully.
“But I must not make it hard for you to go,
dear. You will be careful, Jeanne.”

“Yes, mother.”

“And, child, you are loyal, I know, but you
are very young. You are going into the
enemy’s country, where disloyalty to the
Union will be the common utterance. Are
you strong enough to bear all that you will
hear and still retain that fidelity unimpaired?”

“Mother!” Jeanne spoke reproachfully.

“Yes; I know that your heart is devoted
to your country, but older ones than you have
been drawn from their allegiance. I only
33
give this as a caution because you have always
been where nothing but the Union has been
talked. Now you are apt to hear just as much
on the other side, and there may be trials that
will test your strength severely. I cannot but
fear that all will not go so smoothly as your
father thinks. But, Jeanne, whatever comes,
bear yourself as a true American. Swerve
not from the allegiance due to your country.
Let come what will, even death itself, suffer it
rather than for one moment to be false to your
country. They are my last words to you, my
daughter. Be true to your country. Will
you remember?”

“Yes,” replied the girl solemnly. “Whatever
comes I will be true to my country.”

“I have made you this flag,” continued
Mrs. Vance, drawing a small United States
flag from the folds of her dress. “I began it
some time ago as a surprise for your birthday,
but finished it last night for you to take with
you. Keep it about your person, and each
night look upon it and pray for the success of
the Union.”

“And it is really my own,” exclaimed
Jeanne, delightedly, pressing the silken folds
to her lips. “It makes me so happy to have
34
it, mother. I never had one before that was
all mine. See,” folding it and placing it in
the bosom of her dress, “I will wear it over
my heart that no disloyal thought may find
entrance there. I will bring it back to you
unsullied.”

Her mother pressed her again to her breast.

“I believe it, dear. Now kiss me, Jeanne.
I hear your father coming for you. Oh, ’tis
hard to let you go!” She clasped her convulsively
to her, and caressed her repeatedly.

“Are you ready, Jeanne?” asked Mr. Vance
entering. “We have not much time left.”

“I am all ready, father,” answered Jeanne
quickly catching up her satchel. “Aren’t
you coming with us, mother?”

“No, dear;” Mrs. Vance struggled bravely
with her emotion. “I am going to let your
father have you for the last few moments
alone. I have had you all day, you know.”

Jeanne ran back to her for another embrace.

“My child! My child!” whispered the
mother passionately. “There! Go while I
can bear it.”

Unable to speak Jeanne followed her father
to the carriage.

35“I am afraid that I have acted hastily in
letting you undertake this matter,” said her
father, drawing her to him. “In one way the
fates are propitious. The papers to-day announce
the fall of Vicksburg. That leaves
the Mississippi entirely open and reduces the
danger. Still it may be exposing you to some
risk, and it now seems to me unwise to saddle
so great a responsibility upon so young a girl.
I wish there was some one else to send.”

“Father, I am glad to be of service. I am
so proud to think that you have so trusted
me. Now I am really doing something for
the country. And I will not betray your trust.”

“I know that you will be as true as steel,”
answered Mr. Vance tenderly. “I do not fear
that you will betray my confidence, but let
me caution you for yourself. Where have you
concealed the papers?”

“Mother quilted them in my petticoat,” answered
Jeanne.

“Then try to forget where they are. I was
once on the train where a girl was traveling
alone. She had evidently been warned against
pickpockets, for ever and anon she would start
up and clap her hand to her pocket. Do you
see the point, daughter?”

36“It showed plainly where she kept her
money,” replied Jeanne promptly.

“Exactly. If you keep fingering the petticoat
it will show to every one that there is
something concealed there. Therefore forget
all about the papers if you can. Act as naturally
as a little girl would going to visit her
uncle. There must of course be a reason for
your going and I have provided for that in
this way. Quinine is a contraband article and
highly prized in the South. This basket has
a false bottom. Above is a lunch for your
journey and underneath a quantity of quinine.
You may get through without falling into the
Confederates’ hands but it is just as well to be
prepared for emergencies, as you remarked
last night. Should you happen to be taken
by them and they question you too closely,
finally confess about the quinine. It will be
a point in your favor that you have smuggled
it through the Union lines. Should they take
it no matter. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“I have secured transportation to Memphis,
Tennessee,” continued Mr. Vance. “It brings
you closer to New Orleans and leaves a shorter
distance to be traversed by water. You will
37
have to change cars twice. Once at Washington
City which you can do easily as you have
been there a number of times. The other is
at Cincinnati, Ohio. Do you think you can
manage it?”

“Why, of course I can,” said Jeanne proudly.
“It isn’t as if I had never been anywhere.”

“Yes, that makes a difference,” assented
her father. “Yet, my child, remember that
before you have been accompanied by either
your mother or me. Now you will have to
rely entirely upon yourself. This is a letter
for Commodore Porter who is a friend of
mine, and who is somewhere on the Mississippi.
Ask for him as soon as you reach
Memphis. If he is not there there will be
others on our side who will carry you down
the river after reading the letter. If at any
time you are in doubt what to do go to the
hospitals. There are always women there who
will gladly give whatever aid you may need.
And here is money.”

“Mother gave me some,” interrupted Jeanne
who had listened with the closest attention.

“Yes; that is in your purse, which is in
the satchel, is it not?”

“Yes.”

38“Well, take this also. I had this bag made
to hold it.” He put a roll of bills into an oilskin
bag and drew the cord so that the opening
closed tightly together. “Wear that about
your neck, child, and keep it hidden under
your dress,” he said. “Keep that always
about you as a reserve fund. So long as you
have money you can get along pretty well.
Take out what you need from time to time,
carrying only a small amount in your purse.
Above all beware of talking too freely to
strangers. Now for the final instructions:
you are going to New Orleans to visit your
Uncle Ben. When you reach there ask him
to direct you to Mr. ––––,” here he whispered
in her ear. “Speak that name to no
person. When you have delivered the papers
into his hands your duty is done. Stay with
your uncle until you hear from me. I will
write you how to come home. Now, Jeanne,
I think that this is all I have to say. If anything
should happen that these arrangements
fail, don’t run any danger but return home.
You see that I am leaving a great deal to
your judgment. Can you remember everything
that I have said?”

“Yes. And you may be sure that I will do
39
just as you tell me. It seems to me that
everything has been thought of and that
there is no chance of failing.”

“Sometimes the best laid plans are
thwarted,” said her father gravely. “It may
not be a very wise thing to send my daughter
on such an errand, but you are such a sensible
little thing that I feel as if you would succeed.”

“I will,” said Jeanne determinedly. “I
want to be worthy of my name, father. Did
not another Jeanne not much older than I
lead the Dauphin of France to a crown?
Surely then I can do this thing which is
small in comparison.”

“I am afraid we did wrong in giving you
such a name,” remarked her father smilingly.
“How full of the martial spirit you are,
Jeanne. I believe that you would undertake
the capture of Jeff Davis if I asked you to.”

“I would,” exclaimed the girl with a look
that boded ill for the rebel president. “Perhaps
we will try it yet.”

“We will get through this affair first, my
dear. Here we are at the station. We’ll have
to make a run for that train.”

They had taken a ferry during the conversation
40
and by this time had reached Jersey
City. Running through the gates they
boarded the train just as the signal was given
to pull out.

“My little girl, good-bye,” murmured Mr.
Vance, clasping her to him for a brief second.
“God bless and keep you, Jeanne. May He
bring you safely back. Be brave,” he added,
as he saw Jeanne’s lips quivering.

“I will,” sobbed Jeanne, breaking down
completely as her father started away. “Oh,
father, kiss me just once more.”

“Is it too much for you, my little girl?”
Mr. Vance held her closely. “You need not
go, Jeanne.”

“I want to. I am all right,” gasped
Jeanne, controlling herself by an effort.
“Now go, father, dear. See how brave I am.”

She smiled up at him through her tears.
Mr. Vance regarded her anxiously.

“Go,” whispered Jeanne as the train began
to move. Hastily her father left her. Jeanne
leaned from the window and waved her hand
as long as she could see him. But soon the
train rounded a curve and he was lost to view.
Then leaning back in her seat she gave herself
up to her tears.

41CHAPTER IV
A TIMELY RENEWAL OF ACQUAINTANCE

Jeanne sobbed unrestrainedly for some
time. A sense of forlornness oppressed her,
and the magnitude of the task she had undertaken
weighed upon her spirits. As Mr.
Vance had said she had never traveled alone
before, and now that she had actually started
upon the journey a thousand fears assailed
her. The idea of being engaged upon a
mission that involved something of risk had
seemed a noble thing, and easy of accomplishment
in her own home. Here, lacking the
sustaining presence of her parents, and the
relaxation after the excitement of the day,
made the enterprise seem formidable indeed.
So absorbed was she in her meditations that
she had not noticed the other occupants of
the coach, but presently there was borne in
upon her senses the sound of singing.

“Oh, what is it?” she exclaimed with a
nervous start.

42“Some soldiers on their way to Washington,”
answered a lady who sat behind her.

Jeanne’s interest was aroused at once, and
she looked about her. In the rear of the car
were a number of soldiers clad in blue. They
seemed in high spirits and were singing
lustily:

“They are going to the war with a song
upon their lips, perhaps to be killed, while I
am afraid because I am alone,” mused Jeanne,
her lip curling in self-contempt. “I don’t
believe that girls amount to much after all.”

“I will be brave,” and the girl sat up very
straight. “I will not be afraid any more, for
I, too, am battling for the right. I am just as
43
truly serving my country as they are, and I
will be just as brave. Besides, father would be
sorry if he knew that I felt so bad.”

Drying her eyes she listened attentively to
the soldiers as they sang, one after another, the
martial airs that had become so popular since
the breaking out of the war. After a little
time they struck up “The Star Spangled
Banner,” and then there followed a scene that
the girl never forgot. Men, women and children
caught the enthusiasm and, rising to
their feet, joined in the song. Jeanne sang
too, as she had never sung before. The
words held a new meaning for her. She felt
once more an exaltation of spirit and a kinship
with these brave fellows who were willing
to give their lives for their country.
What was danger, disease or life itself, if she
could be of service in ever so small a way?

A mighty shout went up as the final chorus
was rendered, and three cheers for the flag
were given with a vim that mingled musically
with the rush and roar of the train. Flushed
44
and breathless Jeanne sank back into her seat,
her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing, her
whole being thrilled with patriotic fervor.
She was no longer fearful and lonely, but
eager and ready to do and dare all things
needful for the success of her mission.

And so when Washington was reached the
girl took up her satchel with quite the air of
an old traveler and, accosting an official, asked
about her train with the utmost self-possession.

She had but a short time to wait before she
was once more flying across the country en
route for Cincinnati. The night passed without
incident. The journey was tiresome but
so uneventful that she became imbued with
confidence in her ability to travel alone and
made her change to the Memphis and Charleston
Railroad for Memphis at Cincinnati without
trouble.

The day had been very warm and as Jeanne
took her seat in the coach she heaved a sigh
of relief as she saw the sun sinking to his
rest.

“It will be cooler now,” she said to herself,
settling comfortably back in the cushions.
“I am glad that I have the seat to myself.”

But to her dismay at the next station a
45
rough-looking man entered the car and took
possession of the seat beside her. The girl
looked intently out of the window, after her
first glance at the fellow, inwardly hoping
that his journey would not be a long one.
For some time the man did not pay any attention
to her, then he turned abruptly and
said:

“Do you want that window down?”

“No; thank you,” returned Jeanne adopting
the manner she had seen her mother use
towards people of whom she did not approve.

The man eyed her narrowly, but the girl
preserved her composure under his scrutiny.

“What’s yer got in yer basket?” he demanded
presently.

A look of indignation flashed over Jeanne’s
face. She opened her lips to reply. “None of
your business,” as some of the girls she knew
would have done, but something that her
mother had once said came into her mind
just as she was about to make the retort.

“My dear,” her mother had said, “no matter
how rudely others may behave, be a lady.
Because some one else has been impolite does
not excuse it in you.”

As this came to Jeanne she closed her lips
46
resolutely and, turning her back very decidedly,
looked out of the window.

“Yer needn’t put on any of yer airs with
me,” growled the fellow, who was evidently
in a surly humor. “Can’t yer answer a
civil question?”

Still Jeanne made no reply, and the man
reached out to take hold of her basket. But
the girl was too quick for him, and lifting it
into her lap held on to it tightly while she
placed her feet upon her satchel.

“Yer needn’t be so spunky,” said the fellow
sheepishly. “I jest wanted to see if yer
didn’t have somethin’ to eat.”

“If you are hungry, you should have said
so,” said Jeanne, relaxing instantly, for her
warm heart was always open to appeals of this
nature. She opened her basket and took out
some dainty sandwiches. “You are quite
welcome to what you wish to eat,” she said
graciously, “but you were not very nice about
asking for it.”

“A feller don’t stop fer manners,” said the
man nibbling at the sandwiches gingerly,
“when he’s as hungry as I am. Is that all
ye’ve got in there?”

“I have some more lunch,” said Jeanne
47
rather indignantly, for the fellow did not seem
very ravenous for a hungry man. “I shall
keep that for the rest of my journey.”

“Whar yer goin’? Ain’t yer got nobody
with yer?” queried the man a gleam coming
into his eyes.

“Don’t you think that you are rather inquisitive?”
questioned Jeanne boldly. “Why
should you want to know where I am going?”

“Because folks have to be keerful in times
like these,” said the other brusquely.
“Haven’t yer got some money too?”

“I have none to give you,” answered
Jeanne. “And I would rather that you
would not sit by me any longer. Will you
please go away?”

“Not if I knows myself and I think I do,”
laughed the man. “See here! I’ll go away
if you will give me your purse. I know that
it’s in that there basket. You take too much
care of it fer it only ter hold yer food. Now
give it to me quick.”

“I won’t,” said Jeanne determinedly clinging
to the basket, for she had put her purse
there after buying some fruit. “If you touch
this basket I’ll scream and the people will
know what you are doing.”

48“Pooh! I’ll tell them that you are my
crazy sister that I’m taking to an asylum,”
said the fellow easily. “Now you’d better
give me that money.”

“People would know that I was not your
sister,” exclaimed the girl scornfully. “You
don’t look in the least like my brother. Now,
sir, go away.”

“Not without that money. Sit down,” he
commanded gruffly as the girl half rose from
her seat.

Jeanne cast a wild, imploring look about
her for help and sank back in her seat despairingly,
for the passengers seemed intent
upon other concerns, and the noise of the
train prevented the conversation from being
overheard.

“Are you going to hand out that money?”

“Ye-es,” faltered Jeanne, reaching for her
purse.

“What do you mean by frightening this
girl?” demanded a voice, and a hand was
laid upon the ruffian’s shoulder. “Get out of
my seat, you rascal, or I’ll have you thrown
off the car.”

A cry of delight escaped Jeanne’s lips as
she saw that the man who had come to her
49
assistance was the old gentleman who had
bought the handkerchiefs from her during
the fair.

“I–I did not mean any harm,” stammered
the fellow, resigning the seat with alacrity.
“I was jest trying ter scare the girl a
little.”

“Well, let me catch you ‘jest trying ter
scare her,’ any more, and it will be the worse
for you,” cried the old gentleman threateningly.
“Now clear out, and let me see no
more of you.”

The fellow slunk off and her friend in need
took the seat by Jeanne’s side.

“That fellow was annoying you terribly,
was he not?”

“Yes, sir; I was very much frightened, especially
when he demanded my money.”

“What! Did he do that? Why the
scamp! This is worse than I thought. I’ll
get the conductor after him.”

“Oh, let him go,” pleaded Jeanne, who was
quite a little upset by the episode. “Please
stay with me.”

“Very well.” The old man saw her nervousness
and acquiesced willingly. “He can’t
get off the train so long as this rate of speed
50
is kept up, and I’ll see about getting him
later. Now tell me all about it.”

Jeanne gave him a succinct account of what
the man had said and done. “And I was so
glad when you came up as you did,” she said
in finishing. “But I did not expect to see
you here, sir, and I thank you so much for
your assistance.”

“Tut, tut! It is every American’s duty to
look after women folks when they travel
alone. I had just come from the smoker and
saw as I entered the door that something was
wrong. As the ruffian had my seat I came up
at once and demanded it of him. But you
are not more surprised to see me than I was
to recognize the little patriot of the handkerchiefs.
Aren’t you a long way from home?”

“Yes, sir; I am, but I am going to visit my
Uncle Ben in New Orleans.”

“Rather a troublesome time for a visit,” remarked
the other musingly. Then as a deep
flush suffused the girl’s cheek, he added
keenly, “I know that there are sometimes
reasons why visits should be made even though
the times be perilous. There! I am not going
to ask any questions, so don’t look at me
like that. My name is Emanuel Huntsworth,
51
and I live near Corinth, Mississippi. I was
formerly a New Englander but settled in the
South a number of years ago. My Union
sentiments having made me obnoxious to my
neighbors I feared for the safety of my family
and am returning from moving them North.
I am going back now to wind up my business,
when I shall go North once more to do what I
can for the government. If you have no
friends with you, perhaps you have no objections
to my company as far as our ways lie
together.”

“I should be pleased to be with you,” said
Jeanne sweetly. “I am all alone, Mr. Huntsworth.
My name is Jeanne Vance, and I
live in New York City. I was all right
until I got on this train, but now I can’t
help but be a little uneasy since that man
acted so.”

“The rascal! I had forgotten him. Conductor,”
as that individual came by. “I think
there is a man on this train that will bear
watching.” Thereupon he related the incident
to the official.

“I will look after the fellow,” said the conductor.

But search failed to reveal the presence of
52
the man on the train and soon Mr. Huntsworth
and Jeanne were convinced that, fearing
the consequences of his actions, he had
jumped from the train.

53CHAPTER V
CASTING BREAD UPON THE WATERS

“You must be very tired,” remarked Mr.
Huntsworth, as the train drew in at the
Memphis station. “It has been a long hard
trip, and if you’ll take my advice you will
stay here for a day or two before trying to go
farther on your journey.”

“Oh, I must not,” exclaimed Jeanne
quickly. “I must get to New Orleans just as
soon as I can. It is very necessary.”

“Necessary, eh?” The old gentleman regarded
her with a quizzical expression on his
face. “Why should you be so anxious to see
your uncle? You must be very fond of him.
Have you visited him often?”

“No, sir,” answered Jeanne in some confusion.
“I never saw him in my life. He went
to New Orleans and engaged in business there
long before I was born. Father hasn’t heard
from him for a number of years.”

“Then isn’t it rather queer for your father
to choose such a time as this for you to pay
54
him a visit?” queried Mr. Huntsworth keenly.
“Now don’t be alarmed, child,” he added
hastily as Jeanne looked up in a startled manner
while the color mounted to cheek and
brow. “I do not wish you to tell me any
of your secrets if you have any. I presume
that there are just and sufficient reasons for
you to go or you would not be going. I
merely wished to show you that over anxiety
to reach your destination might subject you
to suspicion. Also tell no one else that you
have never seen your uncle. If you do, others
beside myself will wonder why you have been
sent to him at a time like this. You don’t
mind my telling you this, little girl, do
you?”

“No, indeed,” returned Jeanne warmly.
“I am very glad that you did so. Father
says that one way to learn things is to listen
to older people. But I will be truly glad to
see Uncle Ben. Father has told me so much
about him. He was his favorite brother, and
my brother, Dick, is named for him and for
father too. Richard Benjamin Vance.”

Mr. Huntsworth’s eyes twinkled, and he
gave a low chuckle of appreciation.

“My dear,” said he, “just answer every
55
one who asks you questions in the way you
have me, and you’ll come out all right. Of
course you would want to see your uncle under
those circumstances.” Again he chuckled and
looked at her approvingly. “She knows that
I am her friend,” he mused, “yet she will not
tell me why she is sent down here. That
there is some reason for it I am convinced.
A very remarkable girl!” Aloud he continued,
“Here we are at Memphis, child. What
shall you do now?”

“It is so near night that I guess that I’d
better go to a hotel,” said Jeanne. “That is
what father always does first. Then to-morrow
morning I want to find Commodore Porter.
I have a letter for him.”

“Porter is down the river with Farragut. I
doubt if you will be able to find him. But
we’ll see in the morning. The thing to do is
to get a good night’s rest after this journey.
Here is a cab for the Gayoso House. I always
stop there. It is a good place, and overlooks
the river. Have you ever seen the Mississippi
before?”

“No,” answered Jeanne trying to look
about in the gathering darkness. “It’s a
great river, isn’t it?”

56“None greater,” answered Mr. Huntsworth
enthusiastically. “Whichever side of this
struggle holds it will be the winning side. It
is the backbone of the rebellion, and the key
to the whole situation.”

“But we hold it, sir,” said Jeanne earnestly.
“My father says that now that
Vicksburg is taken it will not be long before
Richmond will fall and then the rebellion
will be over.”

“Pray God that your father may be right,”
said Mr. Huntsworth. “But I fear that he is
mistaken. These Southerners are not so easily
whipped. Every inch of the Confederacy
will have to be conquered before they will
acknowledge themselves beaten. The North
makes the same mistake as the South does.
Each forgets that both are of the same Anglo-Saxon
blood that never knows defeat. I fear
the struggle will be a long and bloody one,
all the more bitter for being waged between
brothers.”

“I hope that it will not be long,” sighed
Jeanne. “I shouldn’t like for Dick to have
to be away much longer.”

“Is your brother in the army, my dear?”

“Yes, sir. Father works for the government,
57
mother belongs to The Woman’s Central
Relief Association, and I make socks and hem
handkerchiefs for the soldiers, and––” she
paused suddenly, conscious that she was about
to speak of the object of her journey.

“And you hold fairs to tempt the shekels
from the unwary, eh?” completed Mr. Huntsworth.
“Well, you are certainly a patriotic
family. This is the Gayoso House, child. It
has been the resort of all the noted Southerners.
It is too dark for you to see the
river, but you can hear its murmurings.”

Jeanne leaned forward eagerly. The soft
lapping of the water, as it beat against the
foot of the bluff upon which the city stood,
came gently to her ears.

“I wish I could see it,” she exclaimed.

“You can in the morning. Meantime, let’s
get some supper. Here, boy,” to a porter,
“don’t you see that we are waiting to be
shown to the dining-room?”

“Yes, sah. Right dis way, sah,” responded
the negro, his ivories relaxing into a broad
grin. “Glad ter see yer back, sah. We all’s
mighty sorry ter heah dat you is gwine ter
go norf, sah.”

“Who told you that I was going North,
58
you black rascal?” demanded Mr. Huntsworth.
“I’ve been North. Have just gotten
back. Here, take this, and tell that waiter to
hurry up with that supper.”

“Yes, sah. Thank ye, sah,” answered the
black pocketing the shinplaster slipped into
his hand, with alacrity.

“I think I never saw so many negroes before,”
remarked Jeanne, looking about the
dining-room. “Where do they all come
from?”

“You’ll see a great many more before you
go back to New York,” responded Mr. Huntsworth.
“The South literally teems with
them. If the race only knew its power it
would not leave its battles to be fought by the
North. A while ago I said the Mississippi
was the key to the rebellion. I was mistaken.
It is dar-key.”

Jeanne laughed merrily.

“My dear child, did you see the point?”
cried the old gentleman delightedly. “That
is indeed an accomplishment! Now my
daughter, Anne, is a good girl. An excellent
girl, but she not only cannot make a pun, but
neither can she see one when it is made. I
have a little weakness that way myself.”

59“We used to, Dick, father and I, to make
them at home. But we did it so much that
mother stopped us. She said that it wasn’t
refined–I am sure that I beg your pardon,”
she broke off in great distress.

“There! Don’t take it so to heart,”
laughed Mr. Huntsworth good-naturedly.
“I know that it isn’t just the thing to pun,
but

“Then, too, we have the example of the
immortal Shakespeare. But I won’t indulge
again before you, my dear.”

“Oh, but I like them,” cried Jeanne. “I
think mother stopped us because we did nothing
else for a time. But she used to laugh at
some of them herself. She did, truly.”

“Well, well, of course if you enjoy them
that is another thing. Perhaps you can tell
when a boy is not a boy.”

“I can beat any sort of a drum but a conundrum,”
was Jeanne’s quick reply.

“My, my, but I shall have to look to my
laurels,” exclaimed Mr. Huntsworth in mock
alarm. “That was very bright.”

60“It’s Dick’s,” confessed Jeanne blushing.
“He is so clever. He could always think of
something good to say.”

“You think a great deal of Dick, don’t
you?”

“Yes, sir; we are very proud of him. And
his Colonel has complimented him twice for
bravery,” and Jeanne’s eyes lighted up with
pride. “He went at the first call for troops.
I’ll never forget the day he asked father if he
might go. ‘It’s our country’s need, father,’
he said, standing there so brave and handsome.
‘No Vance has ever turned a deaf ear
to that, sir.’ And father said, ‘My son, if you
feel it your duty, go, and God be with you.’
O, you should see Dick, sir,” she continued,
enthusiastically. “There is no one quite like
him.”

“Perhaps I may some day. I should like
to very much. I do not wonder at his bravery
since every one of you are so devoted to the
cause. Now, my little girl, you had best retire.
I am sure that you must be tired.”

Jeanne rose instantly and, bidding him
good-night, was shown to her room. She was
up bright and early the next morning, and,
dressing quickly ran down the stairs and out
61
on the gallery eager to take a look at the
city.

The Gayoso House fronted upon a wide
esplanade which extended along the bluff in
front of the town. Blocks of large warehouses
and public buildings bordered the
esplanade on the same side as the hotel. The
city was beautifully situated on the Mississippi
River just below the mouth of the Wolf River,
and located upon what was known as the
fourth Chickasaw Bluff, an elevation about
forty feet high.

Below the bluff ran the river, and far to the
right was what had been a naval depot established
by the United States but used until the
recent capitulation of Memphis by the Confederates
for the purpose of building vessels
of their own. To Jeanne, accustomed to New
York City, Memphis seemed very small indeed.
It was in reality a place of about twelve thousand
inhabitants and considered a flourishing
little city, being the port of entry for Shelby
County, Tennessee. At one time it was the
most important town on the river between St.
Louis and New Orleans.

But if the girl was disappointed in the size
of the place, the beauty of the surroundings
62
made up for it. She gave an ecstatic “Oh,”
at the sight of the broad esplanade with the
noble river washing the base of the bluff which
jutted out into a bed of sandstone that formed
a natural landing for boats. Several steamboats
lay at anchor and Jeanne’s attention
was drawn to them by the singing of the
blacks as they hurried to and from the wharf
loading the steamers with freight. It was a
weird plantation refrain in the minor key.
Jeanne had never heard anything like it, and
she listened intently as the song grew louder
and louder as the enthusiasm of the blacks increased:

Over and over they sang the refrain, and
the girl was so interested that she did not
hear Mr. Huntsworth’s approach.

“Well, what do you think of the South?”
he asked.

“I like it. Mr. Huntsworth, just listen to
those negroes sing. Isn’t it musical?”

“They call them niggers here,” said Mr.
63
Huntsworth smiling. “Yes; their singing is
melodious. I have always liked to listen to
it. Sometime in the future, I fancy, more
will be made of those melodies than we dream
of now. When you go down the river you
will hear more of it. Some of their songs are
very quaint. Do you know that we will have
to see General Wallace to obtain a permit to
go into the enemy’s country?”

“General Wallace?” repeated Jeanne.
“Why?”

“The town is under martial law with General
Wallace in command. I have been wondering
what will be the best for you to do.
To come with me to Corinth, for we can go
there without difficulty, or for you to stick to
the river route as you had intended. I have
learned that Vicksburg is not in our hands
after all. Its capitulation was a false report.
Farragut is waiting for Halleck to send troops
to occupy it and is still keeping up the bombardment.”

“But a boat could get through, could it
not?”

“Yes; I think so. Davis guards the stream
above Vicksburg while the Commodore holds
the lower part. I’ll talk with General Wallace
64
about it. Meantime after we have had
breakfast you can walk along this esplanade,
and see something of the place. You will not
get lost, will you?”

“No, indeed,” laughed Jeanne. “I came
from New York, you know. I should be able
to get around a little place like this.”

“Very well, then.”

Jeanne donned her hat and wandered along
the wide esplanade viewing the city, the river
and the surrounding country. She walked on
and on until finally she had wandered some
distance from the hotel and the buildings were
growing farther and farther apart when she
was startled by a groan.

Looking about her she beheld a young fellow
of about twenty-one years clad in the blue
uniform of the United States lying upon the
ground. Without a thought but that one of
the soldiers was suffering Jeanne sprang to
his side and knelt beside him.

“What is it?” she cried. “Are you hurt?”

“Just faint,” murmured the young man in
a weak voice, and the girl noted with surprise
the Southern accent. “I’ll be all right in a
moment.”

“Smell this.” Jeanne thrust her bottle of
65
smelling salts under his nose, and began to
chafe his forehead vigorously. “There!
You’re better now, aren’t you?”

“Much better.” The young fellow struggled
to a sitting posture and smiled wanly. “What
a good little thing you are!”

“Well, I like soldiers,” said Jeanne. “My
brother, Dick, is one, and whenever I see a
soldier suffering I always want to do something
for him. You are fighting for us, you know.
Are you sick?”

“No; but I have been. I just came out of
the hospital a few days ago, and I am not so
strong as I thought.”

“You should go home and stay until you
get well,” said the girl with a quaint assumption
of maternal authority.

“Home! I have none.” The young man’s
brow darkened. “If I were to go to my home,
I would be spurned from its doors.”

“But why?” cried Jeanne.

“Listen, and you shall hear, child. I am a
native of the state of Louisiana. I was educated
at West Point, and when the war broke
out had just graduated. You know the conditions
under which we are entered, do you
not?”

66Jeanne shook her head.

“We are to serve the country four years for
the education given, so when the war came I
felt it my duty to give those four years. I
went to my father and told him so briefly.
‘Never darken my door again while you wear
that uniform,’ he said. ‘You are no son of
mine if you side in with a horde of miscreants
sent to invade the sacred soil of the South.’ I
told him that it was my duty. That I had
but just graduated and that my honor demanded
that I should repay my debt to the
government, but he would not listen. So I
left him.”

“But have you no friends?” asked Jeanne,
her face aglow with compassion.

“Friends? No; they fight on the other
side,” was the bitter reply. “And what do
these Yankees care for me? They don’t realize
what I have given up.”

“But we do care,” cried the girl. “My
father and mother just love soldiers. Oh, if
you would only go to them they would care
for you. Do go. Will you?”

A smile lighted up the young man’s face as
he noted her warmth.

“I wish all your people were like you,” he
67
said. “It would not be so hard to do my duty
then.”

“We are all just alike,” said Jeanne. “My
father would be proud to have you honor his
house. And you are an officer, too,” she
added, glancing at his epaulets.

“Only a lieutenant.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you are
since you are a soldier. Have you a pencil
and paper?”

“Yes; why?”

“I want to give you my father’s address.
You will go there, won’t you?”

“My little girl,” the young man’s voice
was husky. “I couldn’t do that, you know.
Why, it would be monstrous to intrude upon
them.”

“No; it would not,” declared Jeanne. “I
wish I were going home. I’d make you go
with me. But won’t you go? Truly they
would welcome you as if you were Dick, my
brother. And if you don’t go, I’ll always feel
as if something had happened to you just because
you had no place to go. You have done
a great deal for our side, you know.”

“Well, I’ll promise,” said the soldier a little
wearily, as if it were beyond his strength to
68
prolong the argument. “Where do they
live?”

“In New York City,” and Jeanne rapidly
penciled the address.

“Then it is utterly out of the question. I
can’t promise you.”

“I know,” said Jeanne quickly. “You
haven’t any money.”

A flush passed over the Lieutenant’s face.

“Soldiers never do have, Dick says,” went
on the girl, taking out her purse in a matter-of-fact way.

“No–no, I–I can’t do that,” groaned the
soldier. “Merciful goodness, has it come to
this? That I should receive charity from a
child!”

“It isn’t charity,” cried Jeanne hotly.
“You can pay it back to my father if you
like. I want you to get good and strong so
that you can fight for us again.”

“I’ll do it,” exclaimed the young fellow
impulsively. “A few weeks’ rest would put
new life in me. And I’ll be your soldier,
little girl.”

“Will you?” cried Jeanne delightedly.
“That will be most as good as if I could fight
myself, won’t it?”

69“Every bit,” declared the Lieutenant rising.
“God bless you, child. Such warm hearts as
yours make life seem worth the living after
all.”

He raised her hand to his lips. Then as if
afraid to trust himself to speak further left
her abruptly. Excited and happy Jeanne
ran back to the hotel where she found Mr.
Huntsworth waiting for her.

70CHAPTER VI
IN DIXIE LAND

“Oh, Mr. Huntsworth,” she cried, “I have
something to tell you,” and she rapidly related
the incident of the young Lieutenant.

“Are you sure the fellow was telling the
truth?” queried the old man smiling at her
enthusiasm. “Sometimes rascals tell all sorts
of stories in order to get money.”

“This man was a gentleman and I know
he was truthful. He didn’t want to take the
money at all. I had to plead with him to get
him to do it. Besides he did not speak to me
until I had spoken to him first. He was not
strong enough for duty and he showed it.”

“Then, my dear, you have done a noble
thing. If the young man told the truth his
position is indeed a sad one. His rebel kinsmen
would turn from him if he espoused the
cause of the Union and his duty is doubly
hard that he must fight against father, home,
neighbors and friends. I am afraid that we
do not appreciate all that a man gives up
71
when, a Southerner by birth, he throws his
lot in with ours. Many high-minded men
have gone with the South because their state
went that way, and it takes nobleness indeed
to rise above the call of one’s own state when
the government demands the sacrifice. I
should like to have seen the young fellow.
Did he give his name?”

“Why, I did not think to ask it,” exclaimed
Jeanne. “But father will know of
course.”

“So you really believe that he will go to
your father’s.”

“Certainly I do.”

“Oh, for the faith of childhood,” exclaimed
Mr. Huntsworth. “But whether he
does or not you seemed to have infused new
life into him and that is what a man needs
most when he is discouraged. You are a true
patriot, child. But now, my little Quixote,
let’s go to General Wallace. I have explained
everything to him, but he desires to
see you personally.”

The headquarters of Gen. Lewis Wallace
who was at this time in charge of the city of
Memphis were soon reached, and Jeanne and
her friend were ushered into his presence.
72
A man of medium height, rather slender in
build, stern of feature but whose eyes beamed
with kindness, serious of mien and visage
and habited in a plain suit of blue flannel
with two stars upon his shoulders denoting a
Major-General in the United States Army, rose
to greet them. Full of chivalric dash, possessing
a cool head with a capacity for large
plans and the steady nerve to execute whatever
he conceived, the young General was an
interesting figure and Jeanne gazed at him
with some curiosity.

“So, my little maid,” said the General.
“You wish to go to New Orleans?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Jeanne returning his
scrutiny modestly.

“Do you not know that it will be a difficult
matter to do so? Farragut is still storming
the batteries of Vicksburg and while a transport
goes this morning to take supplies to
Captain Davis, and you could go down that
far on it, still it is scarcely the time for a girl
to make a visit.”

“I must go, General,” said Jeanne firmly.

“Will you tell me why, my child?”

“I cannot, sir.”

“But I cannot let you subject yourself to
73
danger unless there is some necessity for it.
It seems to me that a mere visit could be postponed
until a safer season. Now unless there
are urgent reasons for it I feel compelled to forbid
your going.”

“Sir,” said Jeanne blushing at her temerity
yet speaking boldly notwithstanding, “there
are urgent reasons for my going. I do not
wish to tell them because they concern the
government. But my father would not have
let me come had there not been necessity.”

“You surely do not mean that you are an
emissary of the government?” exclaimed the
General in surprise. “Why, you are but a little
girl.”

“But exceedingly patriotic, General,” interrupted
Mr. Huntsworth. “She has given a
fair to raise money for the soldiers, made I
don’t know how many shirts, socks and handkerchiefs
and just now emptied her purse to
send a soldier home to her parents to be taken
care of. Best of all she can relish a pun when
she hears one which you will agree is a rare
accomplishment for a girl or even a woman.
Oh, she is capable of anything.”

“I believe it,” laughed the General. “I
fear that I shall have to give up before such a
74
formidable array of accomplishments. Have
you really done all those things?”

“All but the shirts,” answered Jeanne
shyly, “mother makes those. You see father
works for the government, mother is in the
Women’s Relief Association and Dick is in
the army, so I just had to do something to
help too.”

“I see,” said the General. “What is your
father’s name?”

“Richard Vance, sir.”

“Richard Vance!” exclaimed the General.
“Oh! I understand everything now. You
shall go to New Orleans, child, if our boats
can get you there. The transport will start
in an hour. Can you be ready to go by that
time?”

“I am ready now, sir.”

“That is the bearing of a true soldier,” approved
the General. “I will give you a letter
to Farragut––”

“I have one to Commodore Porter, sir,”
interrupted Jeanne, producing the missive.
“He is my father’s friend.”

“That is all right,” General Wallace hastily
scanned the letter. “But I will add a few
lines to Farragut. Success to you, my child.”

75“Thank you, sir,” answered Jeanne gratefully.

“Now we will amuse ourselves by walking
about a little until the transport starts,” said
Mr. Huntsworth as they left the room. “My
train goes this afternoon.”

“Then I shall have to tell you good-bye
soon,” said the girl regretfully. “I am sorry,
Mr. Huntsworth. You have been very kind
to me. My journey would not have been so
easy had it not been for you.”

“Tut, tut, I have done nothing,” said the
old gentleman. “I have pleased myself in
helping you. I was glad to have such a
bright little companion. And we shall meet
again, my dear. I promise you that. I am
not going to lose sight of my little comrade
easily. I want to bring my daughter, Anne,
to see you when you get home.”

“I wish you would,” replied Jeanne. “I
should like to know her. Mr. Huntsworth,
don’t you think I might send a telegram to
my father from here to let him know that I
am all right and about to start for New Orleans?”

“Why, bless my soul, child! That is the
very thing to do! What a head you have!
76
There is the office on the other side of the
street.”

“Yes; that was what made me think of it.”

The telegram dispatched, the two wended
their way to Jackson Park.

The statue of the old hero of New Orleans
stood in the centre of the green. It was inclosed
by a circular iron fence and ornamented
by carefully trained shrubbery. The
bust of the hero was placed on the top of a
plain shaft of marble about eight feet high.
On the north side of the shaft was an inscription.

“Look!” exclaimed Mr. Huntsworth.
“Some rampant rebel has marred that inscription.”

Jeanne looked and saw the writing which
read “The Federal Union: It Must be Preserved”–the
words Federal and Union had
been chipped out, presenting an appearance
as if a small hammer had been struck across
them.

“The villain!” continued the old gentleman
irascibly. “He ought to be hung who
ever he is!”

“It is a pity,” said Jeanne. “Isn’t this a
cruel war, Mr. Huntsworth, that the things
77
both the North and South have been so proud
of now become hateful to one part of the country?
I never thought so much about it until
since I met that young man this morning.”

“It is a terrible thing for brothers to be
arrayed against each other as we are,” assented
Mr. Huntsworth. “But don’t think
about it too much. It is a pity that your
young life should be clouded by the knowledge.
You think too much for your age.”

“I am better for it,” said Jeanne.
“Wouldn’t it be dreadful for me to laugh
and play and be glad all day when the country
is in peril? Every one ought to think.”

“Perhaps you are right. But sometimes I
have heard you say things that made me
think you a bit uncanny, as the Scotch say.
I am going to advise your father to turn you
out to grass when the war is over. I suppose
it would be useless to urge such a thing so
long as the war continues.”

“‘To turn me out to grass,’” laughed
Jeanne. “What a funny expression. Do
you mean for me to live in the fields like the
cows and the horses?”

“Well, something on that order,” smiled
Mr. Huntsworth. “Your father will understand
78
what I mean. See, there is your
steamer, child. I will see you aboard and
then I must say good-bye.”

The steamer which had been a passenger
packet plying her trade between St. Louis
and New Orleans before the war had been
converted into a transport for carrying men
and supplies for the government. As Mr.
Huntsworth and Jeanne ascended the gangplank
they were met by the Captain.

“Is this the young lady who is to be our
guest down the river?” he asked in such a
hearty way that Jeanne’s heart warmed to
him immediately. “General Wallace advised
me that I was to expect one.”

“This is the girl, Captain,” replied Mr.
Huntsworth. “And I hope for your sake
that you and your crew are thoroughly
Union, otherwise it would be better for you to
meet with a rebel ram. I don’t believe that
the Johnnies could make it any warmer for
you than she could.”

“This is just the place for her then,” declared
the Captain smilingly. “We are
Union to the core, Miss Vance. I believe
that is your name.”

“Yes, sir; my name is Jeanne Vance, but
79
please do not call me ‘Miss Vance.’ It makes
me feel so strange.”

“All right, my little girl. I will do as
you say. I am glad that you have no
grown-up notions about you. I foresee that
we shall get along famously. This is the way
to the cabin, and that room is where you will
bunk. It is next to mine. You can call on
me or Tennessee for anything you need.”

“Tennessee!” ejaculated Jeanne with a
puzzled look.

“Yes; our cook. We call her Tenny for
short, and she is about the jolliest old darky
that ever trod a deck. A good motherly
woman with a white soul if she is black.
Now make yourself comfortable. I will send
Tenny to you to help you. I have some
things to attend to on deck.”

“Isn’t he kind?” exclaimed Jeanne.
“How good people are to girls traveling
alone!”

“It is because they are Americans,” said
Mr. Huntsworth. “You should be proud of
such a country. I am glad that you have
fallen into such pleasant hands. I will tell
your father if I see him before you do. Will
you stay in New Orleans long?”

80“I don’t know. I will have to hear from
my father about that. But how easy it has
been to get there!”

“The most difficult part is to come,” said
the old gentleman gravely. “Once the
Vicksburg batteries are passed you will be
safe. I do not think that this boat will try
to make the run. She is hardly in fighting
shape. Of course you will be transferred to
a gun boat. Well, well, I hope that you will
get through all right and that we will soon
meet again. Good-bye, little girl.”

“Good-bye, sir,” and Jeanne shook hands
with him cordially. “Thank you so much
for all your kindness. I hope that I will see
you again. Good-bye.”

Another hand shake and the old gentleman
left the cabin slowly, and went on
shore.

“Done you feel bad, honey,” and a fat
negress came up to her as she sat down on the
side of her berth feeling rather forlorn. “Wus
dat yer par?”

“No,” and Jeanne looked up quickly with
a smile. “Are you Tennessee? I am glad to
see you. The Captain told me about you.”

“Yes; I’se Tennessee, honey, but lawsie!
81
Dey doesn’t call me nuffin but Tenny. But
ef yer want ter see the las’ ob de ole gem’muns
jest foller yer aunty ter de deck.”

Jeanne followed the negress, and stood on
the deck watching the preparations for departure.
Mr. Huntsworth saw her and waved
his hand. Jeanne waved hers in response,
and as the transport backed out into the river
and steamed southward, she gazed at him until
his figure grew to be a tiny speck and then
disappeared in the distance.

“Now, missy, I’se got ter ten’ ter de dinner,
but you can kum wid me ef yer likes, elsen
you can stay hyar and watch de ribber. Most
folks likes ter do dat. I ’spect mebbe dats de
best thing fer yer.”

“Well, then I will stay, Mrs. Tenny,”
smiled Jeanne.

“Mrs. Tenny! Huh! Who is yer talkin’
to, honey? I’se jest Tenny or aunty jest as yer
likes. But done go ter puttin’ no missis on to
it. White folks done do dat down hyar.”

“Then I will call you Tenny,” said Jeanne,
recoiling just a little from calling the woman
aunty. “But it doesn’t seem right not to say
Mrs.”

“Yes, missy, it’s all right. Now I’ll get up
82
a good dinner. ’Specks you is powerful
hungry, ain’t yer? Ole Tenny gwine ter do
her bes’ fer de little missy,” and the good
creature hurried below.

83CHAPTER VII
THE EXAMPLE OF A GIRL

Slowly the transport, which was called
The Gem, steamed down the river and Jeanne
stayed on deck long hours to watch the
scenery, which was new and strange to her.
The river was full of devious windings and the
girl was amazed at its great bends and loops,
and sometimes it seemed to her that the turns
must bring them back to Memphis. The
eastern shore bounded by the lofty plains of
Tennessee and Mississippi terminating at times
in precipitous bluffs afforded a great contrast
to the flat lands of the western bank. The
dense forests of cottonwood, sweet gum, magnolia,
sycamore and tulip trees festooned with
long gray streamers of moss were interspersed
with cypress swamps and a network of bayous.

“Whar you bin dat you ain’t nebber seed
no ’nolias befo’?” queried Tennessee as she
listened to Jeanne’s expressions of admiration
as a particularly handsome clump of magnolias
came into view on the western bank. The
84
channel of the river at this point ran so close
to the shore that the perfume of the creamy
blossoms was very perceptible.

“I’ve always lived in New York City,”
replied Jeanne. “I saw some magnolia trees
once in Maryland, but I never saw them in
blossom. Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Yes, honey. Dey is purty fer a fac’,”
replied the negress. “I allers laked de ’nolias
myself, and dat wuz de reason dat I named
my darter so, but we called her Snowball fer
short.”

“You did?” laughed Jeanne. “Why,
Tenny, Snowball isn’t any shorter than Magnolia.
Why didn’t you call her ‘Nolia,’ if
you wished to shorten the name?”

“My ole marster, he done it,” was the reply.
“Ole marster say, ‘Tenny, dat li’l pickaninny
too white ter be named anything so
yaller as a magnolia. Better call her Snowball.’
Ole marster allers would hab his joke,
and dat gal of mine wuz jist as brack as de
nex’ one. I didn’t want my chile called
Snowball. It wuzn’t stylish nohow, but
would you b’lebe me, chile? De fust thing I
knowed, white and culled wuz a callin’ her
Snowball, an’ den I did, too.”

85“Where is she now, Tenny? I should
think you would want her with you on these
trips.”

“Chile, chile, dat’s de thing dat tears dis
hyar old heart ob mine,” said the woman, her
eyes filling with tears. “Ole marster say she
was a ‘likely gal’ an’ she wuz, ef she wuz
mine. Dey made much ob her and would
hab her roun’ dem all de time. Seem laik
nobody could do for ’em laik Snowball. Den
ole marster tuk sick and died an’ ole missus
she say she hab ter sell us all, kase she didn’t
hab no money any mo’. An’ Massa Cap’n he
bought me but ’nother man bought Snowball
an’ tuk her down to Loosyanny.”

“Why, that is awful!” cried Jeanne, her
eyes overflowing, her heart full of sympathy
for the darky. She had often heard tales of
this kind but this was the first time that this
phase of slavery had been brought home
to her. A child torn from its mother appealed
to her, so many miles from her own
dear mother, as nothing else could have done.
“Why didn’t Captain Leathers buy her too?”
she asked. “He seems like a kind man.”

“He is, honey. ’Deed he is,” replied
Tenny wiping her eyes, “an’ he did try, but
86
the yudder man had bought her fust an’
he wouldn’t gib her up. I can’t blame him
fer she wuz a likely gal. Lawsie, chile, dat
gal wuz smarter’n a whip!”

“How long has she been gone, Tenny?”

“’Twas befo’ de wah broke out. Massa
Cap’n he wanted a good cook, an’ I sutinly
am dat, so he tuk me. He say dat I’se ter
hab my freedum too, but shucks! what’s freedum
ter me? I’d rudder hab my gal dan all
de freedum in de world.”

“Yes; I suppose so,” said Jeanne dreamily.
“Still, Tenny, if you had your freedom
you could go to look for Snowball.”

“Now, missy, what could Tenny do? A
pore ole nigger can’t do nuffin nohow.
S’pose I did fin’ her, what’s I gwine ter
do ’bout it? I couldn’t buy her. ’Sides,
ef dey cot an ole ’ooman a foolin’ roun’ dat
didn’t seem ter ’long ter nobody dey lock me
up, suah. Mebbe dey’d whip me. An’,
chile, once you had de whip ter yer back you
doesn’t want it no mo’. No; I’se gwine
ter stay right with Massa Cap’n. He’s a good
marster, an’ he’ll take good keer ob Tenny.”

Jeanne sat silently thinking over what she
had heard. Her heart ached for the helpless
87
mother and she chafed at her inability to aid
her. The darkness of the great slavery evil
fell upon her spirit. Was this the land of the
free and the home of the brave? she mused.
How could she ever sing “The Star Spangled
Banner” again so long as it waved over
a country a portion of whose inhabitants
groaned under a yoke of bondage!

“’Spect I ortern’t ter hab tole yer dis,
chile,” said Tenny, becoming alarmed at her
silence. “A nigga’s trubbles nuffin nohow.
Done you bodder yer purty haid ober it.
I’se sorry I tole yer.”

“I am glad, Tenny, but I do feel so sorry
for you. I wish I could help you. If I
knew where the man was that bought your
child I’d buy her back and give her to you.
Then if Captain Leathers would set you free
you could both go North and nobody could
ever separate you again.”

“Bress yer good haht, honey!” exclaimed
Tenny, clapping her hands. “I wish I
knowed his name. He wus an horsifer. I
heerd dem call him Kuhnel.”

“And don’t you remember his name?”

“No, missy; I doesn’t. Nebber heerd him
called nuffin but Kuhnel nohow. Wait a
88
minnit! Chile, chile, ’pears ter me I did
hyar it. Lemme think. My ole haid no
’count no mo’.” She placed her hands to her
head and looked with troubled eyes at Jeanne.
“Why can’t I ’member? ’Twuzn’t Massa
Benson? No; ’twuzn’t. Think, nigga!
Why done yer ’zert yersef? Nebber did hab
no sense nohow.”

Thus she rambled on, muttering to herself
until presently she sprang to her feet exclaiming:

“I’se got it, missy. ’Twuz Kuhnel Peyton.
Massa Kuhnel Peyton! I ’members it now
’zactly. Massa Kuhnel Peyton! Dat’s it.
Dat’s it.”

“Colonel Peyton!” said Jeanne. “I’ll
remember that name, Tenny. How much do
you suppose the Colonel would want for
her?”

“’Bout a tousand dollahs, I reckon,” answered
Tenny.

“A thousand dollars,” echoed Jeanne in
dismay. “Oh, Tenny, I haven’t near that
much. I didn’t suppose that it would be so
much as that.”

“Niggas wuth heaps ob money,” said
Tenny proudly. “My gal wuz smaht, I tell
89
yer. Dat’s why she brung so much. Can’t
you buy her, missy? Tenny’ll lub yer all yer
life ef yer will.”

“I’ll write to my father,” decided Jeanne.
“I’ll get him to buy her for me. He will
know just what to do, and you shall have
your child again, Tenny, I’ll promise you
that.”

“Ef yer’ll jest do that, missy, ole Tenny’ll
do anything in de wohld fer yer,” sobbing
in her eagerness. “To think ob habin’ my
babby ergain. She wuz my babby, missy. I
had ten befo’ her but ’peared laik none ob
dem tuk sich a hole on ma haht de way she
did. Ef I kin hab her ergain I’ll brack yer
shoes, an’ scrub yer floors er do anything all
de res’ ob ma life. Yer won’t need ter lift yer
purty white han’s ter do er a lick er wuk
nebber no mo’.”

“I’ll do it if it is possible,” said Jeanne.
“It may take some time to find the Colonel,
Tenny. You know that the war has disturbed
everything so, but my father will
know just what to do. If anybody can find
him I know that he can. Just hope and pray
that it will all come right yet.”

“I’ll do dat, honey. I’se been prayin’ fer
90
dis long time, but I didn’t do no hopin’ kase
it didn’t seem no use. But bress yer! De
Lohd seems ’bout ter lead me outen de valley
ob de shadder. Massa Cap’n say sumtime
we all be free, but dat’s too much ter hope
fer.”

“No; it isn’t, Tenny. The people up
North are talking about it all the time and
working for it. I should not be surprised if
it were to happen any time.”

“Glory!” shouted the old woman rapturously.
“Den dere wouldn’t be no mo’ whippin’s,
ner chilluns sold frum der mammies,
ner hidin’s in de swamp wid de dogs arter
yer, ner put in jail ef yer does run away.
Oh, chile, it’ll be de bressed day ef it do happen!
But it can’t be true.”

“Hope for it, Tenny. That is what we are
doing, but it grows late and I believe that I
am tired. Would you mind going with me
to the cabin while I go to bed? Someway I
feel lonesome to-night.”

“’Course yer lonesum. Way offen yer
folks laik dis. Suttinly I’ll go an’ only too
glad. Ole Tenny’ll put yer ter bed laik she
wuz yer own mammy.” She bustled about
the girl when they reached the latter’s stateroom
91
and soon had Jeanne snugly in bed.
“Dis hyar winda’ll gib yer air,” she said
opening it. “Yer needn’t be afeerd kase it
opens on de ribba, and nobody can’t git in.
Now shet dem eyes ob yourn, and go ter
sleep.”

She sat by the girl’s side and began crooning
weirdly. The wild barbaric melody rising
and falling in a sort of rhythm with the motion
of the boat. Jeanne listened fascinated
by the music and presently her eyes became
heavy and soon she was fast asleep.

On and on down the tortuous curves of the
river The Gem wended her way until at last
she came in sight of the flotilla under the
command of Commodore Davis. A shout
went up from the fleet as the men caught
sight of the transport, and there was a scramble
for her sides as she hove to alongside of
the flagship of the Commodore.

Jeanne kept herself in readiness to be transferred
to one of the gunboats, for Captain
Leathers had told her that he did not expect
to go farther. Soon he returned from a visit
to the flagship.

“Commodore Davis says that it will not be
advisable for you to come aboard any one of
92
his ships as there are many cases of fever
among the men,” he said, coming at once to
the waiting girl. “Both Commodore Farragut’s
force and his own are down with it.
They intend withdrawing from the assault on
Vicksburg as they have received orders to that
effect from Washington. Therefore Davis
will retire to Helena and Farragut to New
Orleans until they can have the coöperation
of the army.”

“But––” began Jeanne.

“You see the thing is to get you to Farragut,”
interrupted the Captain. “Davis and I
have decided that some of these supplies
ought to be carried to the Commodore directly.
He knows his need; so that I am
going to him with the transport. Davis will
send a gunboat with me for protection. It is
fair to tell you that there will be great danger.
The ram Arkansas is anchored just below the
city and will do all she can to injure us.
Now the question is, what will you do? The
best thing to my way of thinking would be
for you to stay right here with old Tenny
either on one of the gunboats, fever stricken
though they be, or to land somewhere until
my return.”

93“There is no question at all about it,” said
Jeanne decidedly. “I will go with you.”

“But you understand that there is danger,
child? Great danger! We may all of us be
killed.”

“Yes; I know,” replied Jeanne quietly,
“but I started for New Orleans, Captain, and
I am going if I can get there.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said,”
and the Captain heaved a sigh. “I will not
attempt to combat your decision, child, but I
wish you would not go. However I must see
the men now, and place the matter before
them. You may go with me if you like.”

Jeanne followed him and stood by his side
as he called all hands aft.

“My men,” said the captain in clear tones,
“I have called you together to put a plain
statement of facts before you. You know that
we were sent here with supplies for the two
fleets of Commodores Farragut and Davis.
Both squadrons have many cases of fever which
has seriously depleted their strength. Farragut
needs the drugs that we have immediately.
Of course he can get supplies by the outside
route, but that takes too long. The poor fellows
are in urgent want of what we have.
94
Now, men, it was not the intention to go
farther when we started than Davis’s flotilla,
but my heart bleeds for those suffering sailors.
I want to run by Vicksburg to-night in the
darkness. I will not disguise the danger.
The ram Arkansas lies at anchor under the
city as a further menace besides the batteries.
I want no man to accompany the expedition
who does not go willingly. All who wish to
remain with the fleet may do so without the
least stigma of cowardice attaching to them.
Who will go with me?”

There was dead silence. Jeanne looked
with surprise at the grave faces before her.
She had thought that men were always ready
to lay down their lives in a good cause. She
had not dreamed that any one would hesitate
for a moment. Her amazed look gave place
to one of scorn as the time passed and no one
spoke. Stepping close to the Captain’s side she
slipped her little hand into his and said
clearly:

“I will go with you, Captain.”

95CHAPTER VIII
THROUGH SHOT AND SHELL

A ringing cheer went up from the men and
they stepped forward with one accord.

“I’ll go with you, Captain,” cried one.
“With you and the little girl to the death.”

“Ay! to the death,” shouted the others in
chorus.

The Captain smiled down into Jeanne’s
face.

“You see what you have done,” he said.
“They did not care to follow me, but will go
anywhere with you. I believe that we shall
have to turn over the boat to your charge.”

“I think they would have gone,” said
Jeanne, rather abashed at so much notice.
“Perhaps they were just thinking it over.”

“True for you, my beauty,” cried the first
mate. “That’s what we were doing, Captain.
We’d a gone all right.”

“Now, men,” said the Captain seriously, still
retaining Jeanne’s hand, “you fully realize
what you are doing, do you? Think well,
96
because there can be no backing out when we
have started. Any one who does not wish to
join us may go forward. We have no means
of fighting and must take whatever the ‘rebs’
choose to give us. You see that I am not
mincing matters with you, boys. Move forward
any of you who do not wish to go.”

He paused and waited for a few moments,
but not a man stirred from his place.

“Then listen,” he went on briskly. “We’ll
finish giving the Commodore his supplies, and
then barricade the boat with bales of cotton.
Under the protection of one of Davis’s gunboats
we will try to run the batteries under
cover of the darkness. Now fall to, my hearties.
There is much to be done.”

There was another cheer and the men sprang
to their tasks. The Captain looked down at
the girl by his side. Jeanne’s eyes were like
stars, and her cheeks were red as roses. The
blood of her Revolutionary ancestors was up
and she showed no sign of fear.

“What will your father say if I do not bring
you safely through this?” asked the Captain.

“It is a risk that we must run,” said Jeanne.
“There is no more danger for me than for you
and the men.”

97“True, child; yet we are men, and you are
only a girl. I don’t know just where you
ought to stay through this affair. One part
of the boat will be just as safe as another.”

“Don’t mind me, Captain. You will have
your duties to attend to, and I will not bother
if I am ‘only a girl.’”

“Ah! that touched you, did it?” laughed
the Captain. “But I do mind you, child. I
don’t half like this idea of your going. You
are sure that you won’t stay here?”

“Sure, Captain. Indeed, I must get to New
Orleans, and there is no other way, is there?”

“No; to try to make it by land on either
side the river would be through the enemy’s
country with every chance in favor of capture.
This is a desperate risk but sometimes desperate
chances stand the best show of success.
Once past Vicksburg and the rest is easy.”

“Then please don’t say anything more
about my staying,” pleaded Jeanne. “I will
try not to be the least bit in the way.”

And so it came about that the transport
made ready to run the batteries of Vicksburg
with Jeanne on board. The girl watched the
men as they worked, and waited impatiently
for the time to come for them to start. At
98
last night fell. There was no moon, and a
little before midnight a gunboat drifted out
of Miliken’s Bend where the fleet lay, and,
showing no light from its chimney, moved
like some great bird down the noiseless current,
while the transport, hugging the western
shore under the cover of the friendly darkness,
followed close in the rear.

No sound could be heard from the heights
of Vicksburg, nor could any lights be seen.
The city lay in the brooding darkness as
calmly quiet as though no dread batteries
lay at her feet waiting but the word of command
to belch forth their terrible fire. An
hour passed, and Jeanne, sitting in the darkness
of the cabin listening with strained ears
to catch the least sound, began to believe that
they would get safely past the city undiscovered.

Suddenly there came a flash followed by a
crash that shook the shores. Lights danced
along the heights. Thunder answered thunder
and the roar of batteries from land and
water rent the air. Presently a blaze flickered,
flashed and then sprang up in a great
sheet of flame upon the heights throwing the
gunboat and the transport into a strong light,
99
and turning the gloom of the black midnight
into the brilliancy of day. The Confederates
had fired a mass of combustibles with which
to spy out the whereabouts of their enemies.

With the first burst of the artillery Jeanne
ran up on deck.

“Back to the cabin, girl,” shouted the
Captain hoarsely. “This is no place for
you.”

But as Jeanne turned to obey him a shot
tore through the cabin and fell hissing into
the water beyond. The girl paused. Captain
Leathers caught her arm and drew her
behind a bale of cotton.

“Stay there!” he panted. “You will be
as safe as anywhere.”

At this moment a terrible shape loomed
out of the darkness making straight for the
gunboat. A shout went up from the crews
of the gunboat and the transport as the rebel
ram Arkansas was recognized. Determined
to make a grand effort to escape, Captain
Leathers ordered all steam to be crowded on,
thinking to run down the river while the gunboat
engaged the ram.

The Gem responded nobly to the appeal and
her prow cut the waters until they rolled
100
from her in one mass of foam. But the Captain’s
design was penetrated instantly by the
enemy, and shot and shell sizzed through the
air like hail. It seemed miraculous that the
transport escaped being riddled.

Meantime the gunboat saw that the ram
designed to run her down, and swinging
round, welcomed the visitor with a full broadside.
As the sound of the guns and their tremendous
reverberations ran along the shore,
the answer came in a terrific onslaught from
the batteries above. Pandemonium seemed
to have broken loose. Shot and shell whistled
and sang through the air carrying death and
desolation in their wake. Shouts and cries
added to the confusion of the moment.

The ram, foiled in her first attempt to run
down the Yankee, withdrew a short distance
and turned again upon the boat. This time
she got her sharp bow full in upon the heavy
iron sides of the gunboat but her headway
was not sufficient to cause any very serious
damage. Before she could get away the Captain
of the Yankee vessel rushed upon the
hurricane deck and seizing a pistol shot the
rebel pilot dead. The rebel crew retaliated
by shooting him down. In the meantime the
101
ram prepared for another blow, withdrawing
for a terrific onslaught.

Just at this moment a shell struck the
magazine of the plucky gunboat. There was
an instantaneous explosion and the boat was
blown to atoms, her gallant crew perishing
with her.

“We are doomed,” groaned Captain
Leathers. “Nothing can save us now. Are
you ready to die, little girl?”

“Ready, Captain,” came from Jeanne’s pale
lips, and she arose from her place behind the
cotton. “But I want to die standing. I
wish we could shoot, Captain.”

“So do I. But we are at their mercy. It
would be a relief to do something, but to die
without a chance for a shot. Ah!”

The exclamation was caused by the fact
that the light of the bonfires was dying
down, and the transport was nearing the
turn of the lower bend. The shadows grew
deeper and longer, and soon only a pale
flickering flame remained of the brilliant
light of a short time before. Then the blackness
of night settled once more upon the
river and a cheer broke from the crew as the
transport rounded the lower bend of the
102
great loop upon which Vicksburg stood, and
passed out from under the batteries of the
modern Gibraltar.

“Will that terrible vessel come after us?”
asked Jeanne hardly realizing that the danger
was over.

“No, child. We are safe. The ram knows
that Farragut is somewhere near here, and
she will not venture out to-night. We are
safe; thank God!”

“Thank God!” echoed the girl faintly.
“Safe! Oh, Captain, Captain!” and she
burst into a passion of weeping.

“Why, my little heroine, what does this
mean?” cried Captain Leathers dismayed.
“You were cool enough through that fire of
grape and canister. ‘Ready to die,’ you said;
‘just so that you could die standing.’ It was
enough to frighten the bravest man, yet
you were not afraid. And now you break
down?”

“Leab her ter me, massa,” said old Tenny
coming up on deck. “Jest you leab dat
chile ter ole Tenny. Ef dis night ain’t been
enuff ter make an angel weep den I dunno
nuffin. Lawsie, massa! I’se been suah dat
I wuz daid fer de las’ hour. Fiah an’ brimstone
103
nebber scare me no mo’. De bad man
ain’t got no wuss ter gib dan dis has been, an’
I knows it. Come, chile! Come, honey!
Ole Tenny’ll put yer ter bed now.”

“Yes; that is the best place for her,” said
the Captain as the girl continued to sob uncontrollably.
“I’ll carry her down, Tenny,
and you see to her.”

He lifted Jeanne up bodily in his arms,
and bore her into the cabin picking his
way carefully through the débris scattered
about.

“I–I can’t help but cry,” sobbed Jeanne
with an effort at self-control.

“It’s all right, my little girl. Cry all you
want to. You are nervous and overwrought.
I feel as if I’d like to do the same if I wasn’t
a man. Sleep well because you are safe now,
and you won’t have any more of this to go
through. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” murmured Jeanne and presently
she grew calm under Tenny’s soothing
ministrations.

104CHAPTER IX
JEANNE MEETS THE HERO OF NEW ORLEANS

It was late before Jeanne awoke the next
morning. The sun was shining brightly and
she lay idly watching the dancing of the
sunbeams upon the wall scarcely realizing
where she was. Presently it all came back to
her, and a convulsive shudder shook her
frame as she seemed to hear again the whistle
of shot and shell, the cries of the wounded
and the shrieks of the unhappy crew of the
gunboat as it blew to atoms.

“How can the sun shine after all that has
happened?” asked the girl with that wonder
that comes to all of us when, after some great
calamity, nature presents the same undisturbed
aspect. “Oh, how can I ever laugh
again!”

“Is you ’wake, honey?” queried old Tenny
peering in at the door. “Massa Cap’n say
when it’s ’venient fer yer he laik ter hab yer
kum ter see ’Miral Farragut.”

105“What! have we reached Commodore Farragut?
He said ‘Commodore’ didn’t he,
Tenny?” inquired Jeanne, who did not know
that Farragut had been recently made a rear
admiral.

“No, honey; he said ’Miral, I’se suah,”
returned the negress.

Jeanne dressed quickly and then hastened
to Captain Leathers.

“How are you this morning, Jeanne?”
was the Captain’s salutation. “Pretty thankful
to be on earth, aren’t you? Admiral,”
turning to a slight, modest looking middle
aged man with gray hair, “this is the girl
I was telling you about. She stood fire last
night like a veteran.”

“You have shown yourself to be a true
heroine,” said Admiral Farragut taking her
hand. “It is not often that we meet such
courage in one so young.”

“I never heard that you were deficient
in this quality,” said the Captain. “Seems
to me that I’ve heard of a number of your exploits
when you were a lad.”

“I was a boy, Captain. One expects such
things from a lad but a tender, delicate little
girl,”–and he smiled such a winning smile
106
at Jeanne that she involuntarily drew closer
to him,–“that is decidedly different. Boys
take to such things naturally unless they are
molly coddles. Were you not afraid, little
girl?”

“Not until it was over,” answered Jeanne
shyly. “But it was a dreadful time. I can’t
help thinking of those poor men on the gunboat––”
Her voice faltered and her eyes
filled with tears.

“Yes, child.” The Admiral pressed her
hand warmly. “That is the worst part of it.
To lose such gallant fellows is one of the hard
things of war. And yet–there is no nobler
death than to fall in defense of one’s country.
But the Captain tells me that you have a
message for me.”

“Yes, sir. I have a letter from my father
to Commodore Porter, and General Wallace
added a few lines for you. I will get it.”

She ran to her stateroom and soon returned
with the letter. “It is for any one on our
side to read,” she said, as Farragut hesitated
slightly.

“In that case,” smiled the Admiral. “I
will read it. So, my little one, it is very
necessary for you to get to New Orleans?
107
You are young to be sent on business for
the government. Tell me what led you to
undertake such a thing.”

“Because I love my country and wished to
do something for her,” replied Jeanne so
fervently that Farragut’s face kindled in
response.

“Well said,” he exclaimed enthusiastically.
“That’s the stuff I wish that all Americans
were made of. But have you no mother?”

“I have a dear mother,” answered Jeanne
quickly. “She was quite willing for me to
come as it was necessary. She made me this
flag,” drawing it from her bosom, “and told
me that not even for life itself must I betray
it. I have kissed it every night,” continued
the girl caressing its folds fondly, “and I
keep it right over my heart that no traitorous
thought may enter there.”

“My dear child,” a tear glistened in the
Admiral’s eye, “you are a brave girl and
have a noble mother. So long as America
can produce such women there will be no
fear for the Union. You shall get to New
Orleans as quickly as possible. If it were
needful I would clear a passage with my
guns. But that will not be necessary. You
108
will soon see the end of your journey.
Would that all messengers were as brave
as you have shown yourself.”

“Perhaps they would be if they could meet
with such treatment as I have, sir. Some of
them are very bold and daring, and run
fearful risks. I have heard my father tell of
their narrow escapes. And some of them,”
and her eyes grew sorrowful, “never get
back. I have done nothing compared with
what many of them have done.”

“It is a great deal,” said Farragut kindly.
“More than most girls could do.”

And so petted and made much of by officers
and men the girl made the rest of her journey
down the river without incident. The entire
fleet of Farragut was brought to New Orleans
because the Admiral realized the futility
of taking Vicksburg without troops to hold
it. General Butler at New Orleans had none
to send him, and Halleck dawdled at Corinth
most inexplicably. Many of the men were
prostrated by fever and rest was a necessity.

Into the crescent shaped harbor upon which
the city stood the fleet came to anchor, and
Jeanne, full of anticipation at the thought of
109
seeing her uncle and the successful termination
of her mission, stood ready to go ashore.
Captain Leathers came to her side.

“You are to go with Admiral Farragut,”
he said. “He will take you to General Butler
who will know just where to find your
uncle.”

“Thank you,” said Jeanne gratefully.
“How kind you have been to me, Captain
Leathers. I will never forget you.”

“And I will never forget you,” said the
Captain heartily. “When people brave death
together it always makes them feel a sort of
kinship, don’t you think? And at any time
you want to go back I’ll carry you if I am
here.”

“Thank you,” said the girl again. They
shook hands and the Captain started to lead
her ashore when Tenny ran after them.

“Shorely you ain’t gwine ter leab without
tellin’ ole Tenny good-bye, is yer?” she
panted.

“No, no, Tenny. I hope to see you soon
again,” said Jeanne warmly for she had conceived
a real regard for the faithful creature.
“And I won’t forget about Snowball.”

“Bress yer haht, I knows yer won’t. Ole
110
Tenny nebber cease ter gib thanks dat she
hab met yer. Good-bye, honey.”

“Good-bye,” said Jeanne again and then
she followed the Captain down the cotton
platform, which was raised above the levee for
the convenient loading of cotton, to the levee
itself, and along the banks to DeLord Street
where they were joined by Admiral Farragut.
Jeanne bade the Captain adieu and then
walked slowly by the Admiral’s side through
the busy streets en route for the St. Charles
Hotel where General Butler had his headquarters.
The city had recovered something
of its former activity, and wore its accustomed
garb of careless gaiety and business bustle.

The markets were bright once more with
red bandannas and noisy with the many-tongued
chatter of the hucksters: Creole,
Spanish, French, German and English. A
perfect babel of tongues, and louder, more
obstreperous and broader mouthed than all
others rose the gleeful negro laughter.

The day was warm and bright, and the
mulatto women with baskets of cakes, figs,
pomegranates, bananas, crape myrtles and
oleanders, filled the air with their musical
negro cries as they vended their wares.
111
Nurses with children wearing Madras kerchiefs
of bright colors, wrinkled negro mammies,
Creoles with French or Spanish descent
plainly delineated upon their features and
soldiers, clad in the United States uniform,
thronged the banquettes and streets.

Jeanne looked about her with curiosity, for
the quaint old city presented a thoroughly
different aspect to the cities of the North.
Many of the people were of sullen countenance,
some of them taking no pains to conceal
their dislike to their conquerors. The
stars and stripes hung everywhere. Hundreds
of flags hung over the banquettes and in
some places ropes of them were stretched
across the streets. To her amazement Jeanne
saw a well dressed woman go out into the
street to avoid walking under a flag which
hung over the banquette. A soldier seized
her unceremoniously and forced her to pass
under the emblem. With freezing hauteur
the woman raised her parasol and interposed
its shelter between her and the offending flag.

“Verily, Butler hath his hands full,” quoth
the Admiral, and then he added: “You
wished to find your uncle, did you not?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jeanne, trying to overcome
112
her astonishment at what she saw.
“And yet I don’t know whether I should
find him first or not.”

“Why?” asked the Admiral in surprise.

“You know, sir, that I came down here on
business,” and as he nodded assent she continued.
“My father sent some papers to be
given to a man here in the service of the government.
I have always said that I was going
to Uncle Ben, but he is not the man. Father
told me not to mention the name until I
reached New Orleans and then only to some
one I could trust. The man’s name is John
Archer. Now do you think I should go to
him or to Uncle Ben first? I suppose Uncle
Ben would help me find him.”

“I should find the man, child. In every
case when performing a duty finish that first
before doing anything else. You have shown
great prudence in not mentioning the name
before. General Butler will of course know
this Archer, and will see that you see him.
Then I know that he will gladly find your
uncle for you.”

“I will do just as you say for you know
best. How glad father will be when he learns
how you have helped me.”

113“Ought you not to send him some word?”

“I will just as soon as I can say that I have
delivered the papers to Mr. Archer. He will
be so pleased. Then I will visit Uncle Ben
until father says for me to come home. Isn’t
it queer, Admiral, I have never seen my
uncle?”

“You have not? But you have heard from
him?”

“No, sir; he came South years ago. Long
before I was born, but my father always
thought so much of him that I will be glad to
see him.”

“In that case the very wisest thing to do is
to find John Archer,” said Farragut emphatically.
“This is the St. Charles, child.”

They paused before the famous structure.
A broad piazza supported by pillars overarched
with stone ran along the front, making an imposing
entrance. The building was a handsome one,
and famed at one time as the finest
hotel in the States.

Admiral Farragut and his charge were soon
admitted to General Butler’s presence. The
General had chosen the ladies’ parlor as his
official headquarters. The room was filled
with orderlies and sergeants each intent upon
114
the performance of some duty. In the midst
of them sat General Butler. He received his
visitors courteously. His name familiar to
every American, spoken of by some in terms of
highest praise, and by others with opprobrium,
made Jeanne shrink a little closer to Farragut’s
side as the General greeted them. He
was of imposing presence. Not tall, but of
well-developed form and fine massive head;
not graceful in movement but of firm solid
aspect; self-possessed and slow of speech.

“This is a great pleasure, Admiral,” he exclaimed
with heartiness. “Welcome back to
New Orleans.”

“Thank you, General,” returned Farragut.
“I should be glad to be here could I feel that I
have not left unfinished my work behind me.”

“Vicksburg then is still untaken?”

“I regret to answer, yes. But you are
making progress here. You have begun a
good work. I notice that the streets are being
cleaned.”

“The condition of things demanded it,” returned
Butler. “The quality of the climate
is pernicious and wasting enough without
having to brave the terror of yellow fever. It
has been in self-defense.”

115“It takes a strong hand to rule the city,
does it not?”

“A strong hand? Yes. I am subjected to
all sorts of abuse for my tyranny, as they call
it; but this one measure the strongest rebel
among them must approve. In time perhaps
they will see the need of all. My administration
may be vigorous, but of one thing rest assured:
So long as Benjamin F. Butler stays
in New Orleans the city shall acknowledge the
absolute and unquestioned supremacy of the
United States.”

“There is no doubt but that she will with
you at the helm,” said the Admiral. “General,
do you know a man by the name of
Archer?”

“John Archer?” asked the General, giving
a quick glance at him. “Well, to any one
else, Admiral, I should dissemble; but to you
I will say, yes. Why?”

“This girl,” pushing Jeanne forward, “has
brought messages, papers, or something of that
nature for him from New York City: I
thought that perhaps you could arrange a
meeting with him for her. After that she has
an uncle in the city whom she wishes to
find.”

116“This girl?” General Butler eyed Jeanne
keenly. “Rather young for a messenger, isn’t
she?”

“In years, perhaps; but she ran the fire of
the Vicksburg batteries in order to reach
here.”

“Indeed!” General Butler looked at her
more closely. “Do you know John Archer,
child?”

“No, sir.”

“Orderly, bring in the man Archer,” commanded
the General.

A look of surprise passed over Farragut’s
face, but he made no remark. Presently the
orderly returned with a man.

“Archer,” said the General quietly, “this
girl has brought some papers for you.”

There was a startled expression on the
man’s face, and he looked at Jeanne with
something like apprehension. General Butler
turned his attention to Admiral Farragut,
and Jeanne was left face to face with the man
whom she had come so far to see.

117CHAPTER X
AN UNFORESEEN RESULT

He was not an agreeable looking man and
Jeanne felt an instinctive distrust of him instantly.
For a few moments she hesitated,
and the thought came to her that she would
not give him the papers. But was it not for
this very thing that she had come to New
Orleans? What would her father say if she
did not fulfil her trust?

“You wished to see me?” said John
Archer, and it seemed to Jeanne that he was
trying to make signs to her.

“If you are Mr. John Archer?” and
Jeanne looked at him steadily. “I came
from Mr. Richard Vance.”

“Vance? Richard Vance?” repeated the
other as if the name conveyed nothing of importance
to his mind. “What Vance?”

“Why Richard Vance of New York City,”
answered Jeanne in astonishment. She had
inferred from what her father had said that
John Archer would be well acquainted with
118
the name. “He is my father, and he has
sent me to you with some papers. If you are
Mr. John Archer?”

“I am he,” answered the man, “but I
know nothing about any papers.”

“I thought that you would,” murmured
Jeanne. There seemed something strange to
her in the way the man was acting. “My
mother sewed them into my petticoat,” she
continued with a growing reluctance against
parting with them. “If there is any place
where I could go I would get them. It
seemed the best way to carry them.”

“Orderly,” interposed General Butler turning
to them, “take the young lady to Mrs.
Butler. My wife will gladly assist you,” he
added to Jeanne.

“Thank you,” said Jeanne, gratefully hurrying
after the Orderly. They soon reached
the apartments set aside for the use of General
Butler’s wife, and she herself opened the door
in answer to the Orderly’s knock.

“Come right in,” she said cordially in response
to Jeanne’s rapid explanation. “You
are young to be sent on such an errand, my
dear. But the times are such that we cannot
always choose our messengers. Very often
119
the young prove more reliable than older
persons. You say that they are in your petticoat,
my child?”

“Yes, ma’am,” returned Jeanne. “You
see it made my frock stand out like crinoline
and no one would think it was anything else.”

“And a good place it is too,” replied the
lady busy with her scissors. “You have a
thoughtful mother.”

“Mrs. Butler,” said the little girl suddenly
after she and the lady had finished their task
and the papers lay before them, “do you
know John Archer?”

“No, child. Why?”

“He is the man to whom my father sent
these papers,” said the girl thoughtfully.
“Someway I do not like him. I wish he
were not the man.”

“My dear,” reproved the lady gently, “we
ought not to let our fancies dominate us. If
the man came to the General’s rooms and was
received there, rest assured that he is all right.
The General has means of knowing whether a
man is to be trusted or not.”

“True,” replied Jeanne, and feeling that it
would be ungracious to give further expression
to her distrust she went slowly back to
120
the parlor. Why should she, a mere child,
presume to doubt a man whom the General
and even her own father trusted? “But I do
wish,” sighed she as she opened the door of
the apartment. “I do wish that he were not
the man.”

“Here are the papers,” she said, going
straight to Mr. Archer.

“Thank you.” Archer took the papers
mechanically and without another word or
look at her turned to the Orderly, and was
conducted from the room.

Jeanne stood looking after him somewhat
dismayed. Was this all? Some way she had
thought, had expected it to be so different.
Mr. Huntsworth, Captain Leathers, even the
great Farragut had seemed to consider that
she had done wonders in carrying the papers
but this man thought nothing of her action.
Tears of disappointment welled to her eyes.

“Never mind, child,” said Farragut seeing
her distress. “Some people are so matter of
fact that they suppose the whole world is of
the same way of thinking. Besides, the consciousness
of a good action is its own reward.”

“Ye-es,” said Jeanne, “I know that it
121
ought to be. It says so in my copy-book.
But I thought that it would be so different.”

“It would be a fine thing if all our acts
would receive approbation,” remarked General
Butler. “Brass bands and calcium
lights are things that human nature craves
for deeds well done, but they are seldom
given. That is, until one dies.”

“Don’t be cynical, General,” laughed Farragut.
“The child will find it out soon
enough.”

“Yes; I suppose so,” replied Butler.
“Didn’t you say something about an uncle,
Admiral?”

“Yes; that is the next thing in order.
She is to stay with him until her father tells
her to return. Her uncle is Benjamin
Vance.”

“Whe-ew,” whistled the General an expression
of blank amazement on his face.
“Did you say Benjamin Vance?”

“Certainly. Do you know him?”

“I do,” replied the General emphatically.
“And this girl is his niece, and she brings
papers down here to Archer? It is about the
boldest thing I ever heard of!”

“Why! What do you mean?”

122“I’ll tell you presently. Come here, girl.
Do you hear often from your uncle?” he
asked as Jeanne approached.

“No, sir. Father has not heard from him
in years. He came South long before I was
born, but I remembered that he lived here
when I was getting father to let me bring the
papers.”

“Isn’t it strange that you should have remembered
it just at that time?” questioned
Butler sharply.

“Why, no,” answered the girl regarding
him with wide open eyes. “I have heard
my father speak of Uncle Ben all my life,
and when New Orleans was mentioned I
always thought of him. So I said that I was
coming to see Uncle Ben when I was truly
bringing the papers to Mr. Archer. Father
thought it was best.”

“I see. What is in the papers?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Jeanne looked at
him so innocently that he was compelled to
believe her.

“Well, you at least, are innocent, I do believe.
Now, child, what else did you bring?
Anything for your uncle?”

“I brought him some quinine,” answered
123
Jeanne half laughing. “Father had it fixed
for me in my lunch basket. He said if I
should fall in with the rebels and they questioned
me too closely I was to own up about
it. See! here is the basket. The quinine is
right down in this place.”

“I don’t understand about the thing,” said
the General in a low tone to the Admiral.
“The girl is either the most innocent person
in the world and everything is exactly as she
says, or she is a consummate actress, young as
she is.”

“General, what in the world do you
mean?” queried Farragut.

“I mean,” said General Butler sternly,
“that it looks very much to me as if some
mischief were afloat. John Archer is under
arrest for disloyalty to the government. Naturally
this makes it bad for the girl.”

“Then,” said Farragut gravely, “why did
you permit him to have those papers?”

“He will not have them long. Did you
not notice an Orderly go out after him?”

“I saw a man go out, but I thought nothing
of it,” was the response.

“That man has his orders. Archer was
relieved of the papers as soon as he left the
124
room. I wanted to get all the evidence
against him that I could hence I did not tell
you about the matter at first. I thought that
he might recognize the girl or she him.”

“I believe that you are wrong,” said Farragut
earnestly. “I know nothing of course
about Archer, but I would stake my life that
what the girl says is true. It would be bold
indeed to deliver documents serviceable to the
enemy under our very noses.”

“The very boldness of the scheme would
make it successful. Besides, the fellow’s
arrest is recent. His accomplices in the
North cannot possibly have heard of it as
yet. He has been in the service of the Union
until suspected of furnishing information to
the enemy. You can see why the girl would
deliver the papers before us. Another thing,
her uncle, Benjamin Vance, is one of the
worst rebels in the city.”

“What!” cried Farragut.

“Yes.”

“But she is too young to enter into any
such scheme.”

“Ah! you do not know these people as I
do. They are perfectly unscrupulous as regards
ways and means when it comes to
125
carrying a point. Do you know the girl’s
father? I judged not from what you told me
of meeting with her.”

“No,” admitted Farragut. “But she carried
a letter to Commodore Porter with a few
lines from Wallace at Memphis to me.
Really you must be mistaken.”

“Letters can be forged,” said Butler sententiously.
“And sometimes wheedled from
officers, as we know to our sorrow. She may
be but a tool of persons who hope that
her youth will protect her from the consequences.
You must confess that it looks bad.
Ah, Johnson,” as his Orderly made his appearance,
“did you get them?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jeanne started forward with a cry of
amazement as the Orderly laid upon the table
the very papers which she had given John
Archer but a short time before.

General Butler spread them before him for
inspection.

“You can see for yourself that they contain
important information,” he said to Farragut.
“This thing would be all right if Archer were
loyal; otherwise it may show how it happens
that the enemy obtains so much information
126
that it should not. The girl is certainly
an emissary of the Confederates.”

“A what?” cried Jeanne starting forward
indignantly, for the General had raised his
voice and she had overheard the last words.
“What did you say, sir?”

“I said,” and the General turned to her
abruptly and spoke sternly, “that unless you
can prove otherwise, that you are sent with
these papers to Archer for the rebels.”

“Why, my father sent me,” cried the girl
blankly. “He is in the employ of the
government and so is Mr. Archer.”

“Archer was until quite recently, but he is
now under arrest on strong suspicion of
giving information to the enemy. You see
everything is known, child. Tell the truth.
Who sent you here?”

“My father,” said Jeanne again, looking
piteously from one to the other. “Oh, what
does he mean, Admiral? What does he
mean?”

“Child,” Farragut took her hand kindly.
“Tell me truly. What is your father?”

“He is in the employ of the government,”
reiterated Jeanne vehemently. “He sends
communications all over the states, because
127
he told me so. He said that telegraphs were
not to be trusted, nor the mails either. For
that reason people were sent to the different
cities with information about the government.”

“That proves nothing,” said the General,
“unless it can be substantiated. Why then
do you want to visit your uncle–if you are
loyal–when he is such a rebel?”

“A rebel?” cried Jeanne recoiling in horror.
“Is my uncle a rebel?”

128CHAPTER XI
CLEARED OF SUSPICION

The girl stared at them as if unable to
believe the evidence of her senses.

“A rebel!” she repeated wildly. “My
uncle a rebel? It cannot be!”

Her consternation was so apparent that
General Butler almost believed in her. Farragut’s
clouded face cleared instantly, and he
turned to the other quickly.

“Whatever scheme is afoot that girl knows
nothing of it,” he said. “Why, Butler, she
carries a United States flag in her breast,
and you should hear her talk. I am sure
that she is as loyal to the Union as either
you or I.”

“It may be, Admiral. One thing in her
favor is the fact that you believe in her. Let
me see! How was it that you said she came
from Vicksburg?”

“Did I not tell you? She came with
Captain Leathers from Memphis. The transport,
The Gem, joined us just below Vicksburg.
129
He brought us supplies, and there
is absolutely no question with regard to his
sentiments. They have been proved over
and over again.”

“Of course the girl may be all right and
everything be just as she says,” said General
Butler again. “As I say the thing in her
favor is that she came here to ask for Archer.
I suppose it was because she knew no one.
Had she sought her uncle first––”

“I advised her to come here,” said Farragut
in a low tone. “I told her to find Archer
first, and then to seek for her uncle, and she
acquiesced without hesitation.”

“I am afraid that she is deep. Of course
the whole thing was concocted in New York
City. They could not know that Archer had
been arrested, and this information would
have been sent to the Confederates as other
plans have been. I tremble to think of the
consequences had these papers fallen into their
hands. Really, traitors are everywhere. I
had hoped that the government had gotten
rid of them by this time.”

Meantime Jeanne was just recovering from
the shock of learning that her uncle was a
rebel. She had not heard the conversation of
130
the two officers, and now she came to Admiral
Farragut turning to him instinctively
in her distress.

“What shall I do?” she asked. “I can’t
go to Uncle Ben if he is a rebel. Oh, what
will father say!”

“I don’t know, child. What shall be done,
General? You command here.”

“The girl must go to her uncle,” said the
General decidedly. “There to remain until
I sift this thing to the bottom. Meantime
she must take the oath of allegiance to the
United States.”

“The oath?” cried Jeanne. “Why should
I take the oath, General Butler? I thought
that it was only for those whose loyalty to the
Union was doubted.”

“That is it precisely,” returned General
Butler coldly. “If you are sincere in your
avowed devotion to your country, the oath
won’t hurt you. If you are not then you will
either perjure yourself or else be registered as
an open enemy to the United States.”

Jeanne was dumb with anguish. She,
Jeanne Vance, an open enemy of the United
States! Of the country for which she was
ready to give her life! She gave one stricken
131
glance at the austere man before her, and
burst into tears.

“Come, come, General,” said Farragut laying
a kindly hand on the girl’s bowed head,
“you are too severe, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. Every man, woman and
child in this city must take this oath, or be
known as an enemy of the Union. It works
no hardship if one is loyal, and acts as a restraining
power on those who are not. The
authority of the Union must be recognized
while the city is under my charge.”

“Take the oath, child. That is, if you can
do so conscientiously. But whatever be the
consequences accept them as a brave girl, and
perjure yourself for no man,” advised Farragut.

“I will,” said Jeanne chokingly. “It isn’t
because of the oath that I feel bad, Admiral.
It is because my loyalty to the Union has
been doubted. Do you think that I would
carry this,” and she drew the flag from the
bosom of her dress, “if I were not for the
Union? I kiss its folds each night, and with
it before me, I pray for the success of my
country.” She kissed it passionately as she
spoke.

132“That action speaks for itself,” remarked
General Butler with such a change of tone
that Jeanne looked up hastily. “No rebel
woman or girl that I have ever known would
kiss that flag. I have hard work to make
them even walk under it. Forgive me, child,
for doubting you, but treachery lurks under
so many different forms that I am forced to
suspect even children.”

“Suppose,” suggested the Admiral, relieved
that the General had come to his way of
thinking, “suppose you begin at the beginning
and tell us all about this business. How
many have you in the family?”

“Four,” answered Jeanne promptly, a little
comfort creeping into her heart at the change
in the General’s manner. “Father who works
for the government, mother who is in the
Monarch Relief Association, and Dick who is
in the army.”

“Your brother is in the Union army?”
queried the General.

“Yes, sir.”

“That is easily verified,” said the General,
making a note of the fact. “Now how did
you come to be sent down here?”

Jeanne recounted the circumstances of the
133
affair rapidly not even omitting her mother’s
parting words of counsel. Both men listened
with close attention.

“And you knew nothing whatever of your
Uncle Ben?” asked Butler when she had finished.

“No, sir; father has not heard from him in
many years. He will be grieved to learn that
he is a rebel,” and her eyes filled with tears.

“I have no doubt of it. Now, my little
girl, I am going to send you to your uncle
until I can look up the truth of your story.”

“Couldn’t you send me home?” asked the
girl wistfully, a sudden yearning possessing
her for the refuge of her mother’s arms.

“I will soon. There are dangers by land
and by sea, and, as your father told you to
wait until you heard from him, I think that
it would be wise to do so. It will be best for
you to see for yourself what manner of man
your uncle is so that you can tell your father.
Good-bye,” and he held out his hand. “Come
in to see me sometimes while you are here.”

“Good-bye,” said Jeanne, shaking hands
with him as in duty bound. She gave him a
look of reproach and then turned to Farragut.

“This has been a hard trial for you, child,”
134
said the Admiral. “You have come through
with colors flying though. I believe that you
always will.”

“It has taught me,” said the girl with quivering
lips, “that there are worse things than
cannon balls and grape shot. I would rather
face Vicksburg a dozen times than to go
through this again.”

“Don’t take it too much to heart.” Farragut
patted her hand with great gentleness.
“It was a severe ordeal, but truth will always
prevail. Just think what it would have been
had you really been guilty. Your conscience
at least was clear.”

“I did not like Mr. Archer,” said Jeanne
musingly, loth to leave this friend. “I told
Mrs. Butler so. I did not want to give him
the papers.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” cried the General.

“Because you had received him here and I
thought that of course he was all right. It
would have been presumption on my part to
have spoken against him when my father sent
me to him, and I did not know anything
against him really. Besides, I did not dream
that any one could doubt my loyalty.”

135“You must forgive me,” said the General
humbly, seeing how deeply the girl was hurt.
“You don’t know what I have to put up with
or you would. When you have been here a
short time you will realize the situation better
than you do now. When you do, will you
come to me and be friends?”

“Yes;” and Jeanne smiled a little for the
first time.

“Good-bye,” and the Admiral extended his
hand as the girl prepared to accompany the
Orderly detailed by the General to conduct
her to her uncle’s house. “I hope to see you
again soon.”

“I hope so too,” answered Jeanne. Then
as she clasped his hand she cried half hysterically.
“Oh, Admiral, I am afraid to go. I
am afraid!”

“No, you’re not, child. You are tired and
nervous. Be brave. Meet your uncle as if
nothing had happened. I dare say that you
will find him kind and good.”

“But he is a rebel,” sobbed Jeanne in such
heartrending tones that both men smiled involuntarily.

“Well, some of them are very good men,”
said Farragut. “They are mistaken in their
136
views and need teaching a great many things,
but otherwise they are a warm-hearted people.
I am from the South myself, you know.”

“Are you?” asked the girl surprised, yet
she had wondered at his soft Southern voice.

“Yes; a Tennesseean. You seem to think
that I am all right.”

“You are,” replied Jeanne so heartily that
Farragut laughed outright. “But Uncle Ben
didn’t take New Orleans.”

“Perhaps you can get his services for us yet,
and he may do something better than to take
New Orleans. That may be your work here.”

“I doubt it,” spoke General Butler emphatically.
“There is no rebel so unregenerate as
a renegade Yankee. There may be some excuse
for those born in this section of the country,
but for a Yankee who embraces the pernicious
doctrine of secession there is none.
The Orderly waits, my child.”

Farewells were again exchanged, and Jeanne
followed reluctantly after her guide.

137CHAPTER XII
AN UNEXPECTED GREETING

The Orderly called a cab and assisted
Jeanne into it, putting her satchel and basket
beside her. Then springing in he gave the
order and they were off.

Past Lafayette Square with its city hall,
churches and Odd Fellows Hall which were
grouped round it with fine effect they went,
and on into that portion of the city that was
known as the Faubourg Marigny whose residences
were built with more architectural
generosity, broader spaces, longer vistas, ampler
gardens and with more sacrifices to the
picturesque than the part of the city through
which they had just passed.

At last the cab turned into the courtyard
of a massive brick building. It was a true
Spanish building with broad doorways and
windows, the roof of which was a solid terrace
surrounded by a stone balustrade. The
establishment had all the privacy of isolation
138
and seclusion and was a charming spot. The
gardens were very large and spacious, and
fragrant with the blossoms from the magnolia
groves. The avenue to the house was shaded
with orange trees that later would be redolent
with perfume and beautiful beyond description.
Fruit trees were everywhere. Pomegranate,
peach, banana, fig, pear interspersed
with rose trees and jasmine whose odors ravished
the senses.

The cab swept in an extensive circle round
the courtyard to the carriage step before the
broad doorway. A tall gentleman, elegantly
appareled, stood leaning in an easy attitude
against one of the pillars of the broad piazza
smoking a cigar. He advanced to meet the
arrivals as the Orderly threw open the door of
the cab and handed out the girl.

“General Butler presents his compliments
to Mr. and Madame Vance,” he said, with a
deep bow, “and begs to introduce to them
their niece, Miss Vance of New York.”

“My niece!” exclaimed the gentleman
giving Jeanne a look of astonishment. “I
have none unless my brother has a daughter.
Are you Dick’s child?”

“Yes,” replied Jeanne, her heart beating
139
quickly. “You are Uncle Ben, aren’t you?”
with a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

“I am Benjamin Vance at least,” was the
answer. “Come in. I don’t know your
name, but you are welcome if you are Dick’s
daughter.”

“I am Richard Vance’s daughter,” replied
Jeanne with some dignity.

“Then you are certainly my niece, though
what in the world you are doing here is more
than I can see. Dick is well, is he? But
come in. You shall tell me all about it
later.”

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and
without a glance or word for the Orderly
drew her up the brick stairs and through the
hall, whose stairway was beautiful enough for
a palace with its elaborate, fantastic, hand-wrought
iron railing, and on to the door of a
salon. A beautiful woman swept graciously
forward to meet them. She was very dark
with brilliant black eyes and silky hair of
raven hue. Her manner was easy, graceful
and rather impassioned, and her features
showed unmistakably her French descent.

“Clarisse,” said the gentleman, “this is my
niece who has honored us with a visit. I
140
think that I have told you of my brother,
Richard. She is his daughter and is from
New York City.”

“Mais!” exclaimed the lady, with a laugh
and speaking with a decidedly French accent.
“You surprise me! I knew not that you had
a niece. Why did you not tell me? It is one
bad husband you are not to tell me of the
dear demoiselle. You are welcome, child.
She resembles you, mon ami,” taking Jeanne’s
face between her hands and giving her a long
look. “We shall be great friends, my dear.
Is it not so?”

“Yes;” Jeanne’s lips quivered and her
eyes filled suddenly with tears at this unexpected
greeting. Her mission had ended so
differently from the way she had anticipated;–the
doubt of her loyalty and the knowledge
that her uncle was a rebel had filled her heart
with misgivings so that this welcome was almost
more than she could bear. But as this
gleam of sunshine comforted her, she steeled
herself against its influence and drew herself
up bravely.

“I must tell you something,” she said,
“before you welcome me too warmly. I am
for the Union.”

141She did not dare to look at them as she
spoke. Her thought was that they must
know her principles before going further.
She was homesick and longing for love and
tenderness, but not for one moment would
she receive them under false pretenses. A
glance flashed from husband to wife and then
a clear, silvery laugh rang out as the lady
caught her to her.

“You dear little Yankee! you are too
ridiculous for anything! Did you think we
would turn you out because you were not a
rebel? Well, we are rebels, my dear, but as
we have to stand that odious, uncouth General
Butler of yours I think we won’t mind a
little thing like you. Come now, and I will
take you to your room and you shall rest.
Then you shall tell us why you have come all
this way to see us at such a time.”

Jeanne returned her caresses with fervor,
and abandoned herself to the delight of being
fondled and petted again as only children
can do who have been deprived of endearments
after being accustomed to them.

“They are nice people,” she whispered as
the lady left her in a cool quiet room. “I
wonder if it is wrong to like them? But
142
it is father’s brother, and I ought to love
them. Oh, I do wish they were not rebels!
How can they be traitors when they are so
good!”

After she had rested her uncle’s wife came
for her.

“You are not weary now, are you?” she
asked in her soft, caressing voice. “You
looked so fatigued, child. Tell me, what is
your name?”

“Jeanne.”

“Jeanne? Oh, you darling! That is
French, isn’t it? I did not know that the
Americans ever named their children so.
Jeanne! It is delightful.”

“And you are Aunt Clarisse?”

“Ma foi, Jeanne! Do not call me anything
so prim. Call me ‘Cherie.’ Aunt
Clarisse indeed!” She laughed gaily.

“Cherie! what does it mean?” asked the
girl wonderingly, gazing at the bright face
above her with delight. “It should be something
brilliant and sweet to suit you, I think.
Something like rich red roses heavy with
perfume and sweetness.”

“You little flatterer! And you call yourself
a Yankee? No, no; Yankees do not
143
make speeches like that. You are French as
your name is.”

“But I like to be a Yankee,” cried Jeanne.

“Be what you like, little one, so long as
you are as sweet as you are. But now let us
go down to your uncle, after you take one
little cup of coffee. So! Now we are
ready.”

The two descended to the drawing-room
arm in arm, and there Jeanne related all the
circumstances that led to her coming to New
Orleans, concealing nothing. Her deep love
and attachment to her country glowed
through the narrative like a golden thread.
The lady and gentleman listened in silence
until she related General Butler’s doubt of
herself, when her uncle sprang to his feet with
an exclamation.

“The scoundrel!” he cried. “To subject
you to such treatment. And we are helpless.
Yes; we are helpless. Day after day some
new act of injustice comes to our ears and we
must submit. But our time is coming, and I
fancy that Butler won’t relish what his high
handed proceedings will bring him.”

“He is truly a beast without the instincts
of a gentleman,” cried Madame Vance, excitedly.
144
“That is our name for him, Jeanne.
‘Beast’ Butler, and well he deserves it.”

Jeanne moved uneasily.

“It wasn’t pleasant,” she said, “and it was
a new thing to me to have my loyalty questioned,
but I think he must have to do that
way. You are so against him, you know,
that if he were not careful you might rise up
and drive him out. And the Union must
have New Orleans. Father says that the
rebellion can never be put down unless the
Mississippi River is in our possession.”

“True for you, my little Yankee. And
that is just where the Union will fail. They
did take New Orleans through the cowardice
of its defenders, but they’ll never get Vicksburg.
And so long as we can hold that the
Confederacy is safe. But you say that you
ran past the Vicksburg batteries. Tell that
again.”

Jeanne retold that portion of her story to
please him.

“I am glad that you are here, child,” remarked
Mr. Vance when she had finished.
“But I am surprised at Brother Dick’s sending
you to face such dangers. He always was
an enthusiast in anything that he undertook,
145
and undervalued life if it stood in the way of
accomplishing his object.”

“Father did not know that it was so risky,”
said Jeanne unwilling to hear aught against
her father. “He would not have sent me if
he had. Besides I wanted to come, and I am
glad that I did come, now that I have met
you and Cherie.”

“Yes; I am glad for you to know her too,”
said Uncle Ben, his Yankee tones sounding in
flat contrast with his wife’s sibilant ones. “I
always intended taking her North to see
Dick’s folks, but just as we were ready to go
this war came on and here we are now at the
mercy of that Yankee.”

“But you are a Yankee too, Uncle Ben,”
said Jeanne bluntly.

“Ages ago, little one. He has gotten over
all that now,” said Madame Vance softly.
“After you have been with us awhile you
will get over your rank Unionism too.”

Jeanne shook her head decidedly.

“Dear Cherie,” she said, “nothing could
ever make me disloyal to my flag. See! I
always carry it with me.”

She drew the flag from her bosom and
waved it proudly before her. Madame Vance
146
gasped, and her husband’s face darkened perceptibly.

“Little one, you will not carry it while
here, will you? To please me, dear, never
take it out again.”

“Oh, but I must,” said Jeanne. “I promised
my own dear mother that I would look
at it every night and I must keep my promise.
I wish I could please you, Cherie, but I
cannot. But I will do this much. I will not
take it out before you any more. I ought to
respect your feelings, I know.”

“So much gained,” murmured the lady
aside to her husband. To Jeanne she only
said quietly:

“Thank you, dear. You are an amiable
little thing, and you shall have my favorite
darky for your maid while you are here. I
will call Snowball and she will help you to
dress for dinner.”

“Snowball,” echoed Jeanne.

147CHAPTER XIII
UNDER EVERY FLOWER THERE LURKS A SERPENT

“Yes; Snowball,” repeated Madame. “A
quaint name, is it not? She is so black that
I fancy that was the reason it was given her.
She bore it when your uncle bought her. She
is very bright, and a master hand at waiting
upon one.”

Jeanne made no further remark but eagerly
scanned the face of the darky as she entered.
She was indeed very black, and her shining
ivories were always visible in a smile. Good
nature was written all over her countenance,
but Jeanne could see no resemblance to Tenny.

“She may not be the one after all,” she
mused.

“Snowball,” said Madame. “Miss Jeanne
will be your young lady now. Your duty
will be to attend to her and to look after her
clothes while she is here.”

“Yes’m;” Snowball dropped a curtsy.
“Does yer want me ter do anything now, little
missy?”

148“Yes; help her to dress for dinner,” replied
Madame Vance speaking for Jeanne.
“We dine at eight, my dear.”

Jeanne followed the black to the room
which had been given her, and Snowball proceeded
to brush her hair.

“Snowball,” said the girl suddenly, “was
your mother named Tennessee? And did
they call her Tenny for short?”

“Bress yer soul, honey, yes,” cried Snowball
letting the brush fall in her astonishment.
“How kum yer ter know dat?”

“She was on the boat with me when I came
from Memphis,” replied Jeanne. “She told
me all about losing you and how much she
thought of you, but she thought that Colonel
Peyton bought you.”

“Yes’m, he did. But de Kuhnel went
to de wah an’ he say he hab too many
darkies, so he sell off all but de ones he hab
de longes’, an’ Massa Vance bought me.
What my ole mammy say?”

“She loves you very much, and she misses
you greatly, Snowball. I wish I could buy
you and set you free. Then you could go
North to live with her.”

“Wish yer could. I’d laik dat. An’ I’d
149
laik de bes’ in de wohld ter see my ole
mammy ergain. How’d she look, missy?”

Jeanne told the girl all that she could
recall about Tenny. How she looked and
what she had said. Snowball’s eyes glistened
as she talked.

“Yer got a good heart, little missy,” she
said as Jeanne paused for breath. “You
is de bestest lill’ lady dat I eber seed. Snowball’ll
lub ter wait on yer.”

And Jeanne soon found that it was really a
labor of love to the girl, and they grew to be
fast friends despite the difference in color and
condition. In fact she soon found that she
felt more at home with the colored girl than
she did with her aunt in spite of the caresses
which the latter lavished upon her.

The days passed into weeks, and the weeks
into months until two had rolled by and
Jeanne was still in New Orleans. She had
grown pale and thin and worn. She had no
illness but suffered the bad effects of the
wasting climate. In all the time she had
been there no word had come to her from her
parents, and a great longing for home possessed
her.

“Why does not my father write for me?”
150
she murmured one morning as she sat listlessly
before the window. “What can have
happened? Something is wrong I know, or
he would have sent for me.”

“Why so triste, my love?” asked her aunt
entering the room.

“Cherie,” and Jeanne returned the caress
that Madame bestowed upon her. “I am
wishing for my mother and home. I wonder
why I have not heard from my father.”

“It is strange,” admitted the lady. “And
yet, child, when one considers the state of the
country and how the Yankees seize mails and
telegrams, and exercise such a rigorous espionage
over them one cannot wonder after
all. I have no doubt that he has written, but
that his letters are being detained for some
reason by ‘Beast’ Butler.”

Jeanne made no reply. She had ceased
for some time saying anything when her aunt
launched forth in a tirade against the Yankees.
She was as staunch a patriot as ever,
but, without words, it had been borne in
upon her mind that her sentiments were unwelcome
to her uncle and aunt, and that
it would be better for her not to give utterance
to them.

151“Where is Snowball?” asked Madame
Vance presently. “I wish to take you for a
drive, and you are not dressed. That darky
gets more shiftless every day. Where is
she?”

“Hyar I is, missus.” Snowball started up
from behind a huge brocaded chair so quickly
that she overturned a low table upon which
stood a ewer that had contained orangeade.
A crash followed, and the culprit stood looking
at the fragments of the pitcher with consternation
written over her face.

“Come here,” and Madame’s tone was
so stern that Jeanne looked at her startled.
“Forty lashes you shall have for this.”

“Please’m, missus, lemme off dis time.
Clar ter goodness I didn’t go ter do it.”

“Please, please,” said Jeanne tearfully.
She had heard the sound of whippings once
or twice, but her aunt had always taken
her away from the sound immediately, and
her soul sickened at the thought of them.
“I could not bear to have Snowball whipped,
Cherie.”

“She must be punished,” said the lady
harshly. “Such carelessness cannot be tolerated
for a moment.”

152“But isn’t there some other way?” cried
Jeanne. “Do, do, dear Cherie, use some
other way of punishment.”

“Jeanne, I beg you to say no more. Am I
not capable of administering the affairs of my
own household? I want no Yankee notions
down here. I understand what she needs.”

Jeanne did not dare to reply. She had
never before seen her aunt angry although
she knew that the blacks were very much
afraid of her. Snowball was taken down
into the yard, and soon Jeanne heard the
most fearful screams as if a human being was
suffering the utmost that a mortal could
endure of agony.

She could not bear the cries. She ran
down the stairs and out into the yard where
she beheld the girl stretched upon the ground
on her face, her feet tied to a stake, her hands
held by a black man, her back uncovered
from her head to her heels. Her aunt was
standing by directing a burly negro in his
task of applying the lash.

The girl’s back was covered with blood.
Every stroke of the instrument of torture
tore up the flesh in long dark ridges. With
a cry of horror Jeanne caught the man’s arm
153
as it was about to descend for another
stroke.

“Stop,” she cried. “For the love of
mercy, stop!”

“Go into the house, girl,” commanded
Madame Vance in terrible tones. “Who are
you that you should interfere with my bidding?
Have I not the right to do with my
own slave as I wish? I want none of your
abolitionism here.”

“But she has been whipped enough,” cried
Jeanne. “Surely it is enough. I cannot
bear it.”

She burst into tears. For a moment
Madame’s face was convulsed with fury, and
then a wonderful change came over it. She
was once again the smiling, affectionate
lady that had greeted the girl on her arrival.

“There!” she said going to Jeanne and
putting her arms about her. “You shall
have your way. You see that ‘Cherie’ can
refuse you nothing. Put up your strap, Jeff.
I will let the girl off this time because Miss
Jeanne wishes it. But see that you are more
careful next time, Snowball. You might not
get off so easily.”

154“Yes, missus,” responded the sobbing creature
as she was helped upon her feet.

“Now come, Jeanne, and we will go for our
drive. You have no idea how troublesome
these blacks are, my dear. One has to keep
an iron hand upon them to hold them in subjection.
But of course you are not used to
them.”

“No,” said Jeanne shrinking a little from
her caresses. “We don’t have slavery at the
North. I never felt so thankful of it before.
Poor things! Poor things!”

Madame Vance’s brow darkened, but she
smoothed the girl’s hair softly.

“And aren’t you going to forgive your poor
‘Cherie’? Are you going to turn against her
because of a little whipping? You are unjust,
Jeanne. We who have the blacks to
deal with know more of this matter than you
do. Besides did I not give it up when you
asked me?”

“Forgive me,” answered Jeanne trying to
feel the same toward the beautiful woman as
she had before, but too full of the recent
horror to do so. “I am not used to such
things, Cherie, and it will take some time for
me to get over them.”

155“We will say no more about it, you quaint
one, but go for our drive.”

And soon they were out in the bright sunshine,
the lady pointing out places of interest
as she had often done before, but it seemed to
the girl that she was trying to impress upon
her mind the location of some of the streets
particularly.

“Now,” said Madame after they had returned
to the villa and were partaking of
refreshments, “now you shall show me again
the lunch basket with its curious hiding-place.
How clever your father must be,
child! I long to know him.”

“I wish we could go to him,” sighed
Jeanne as she obediently brought the basket
and showed once more the place where the
quinine had been concealed.

“Perhaps we may soon, who knows?” said
the lady gaily, examining the basket closely
notwithstanding her liveliness. “I would
tell you a secret–but no; not now.”

“What, Cherie?” cried the girl with eagerness.
“Is it about my father?”

“Now, now, curious one!” madame shook
her finger playfully at her. “Well then, I
will tell. I can refuse you nothing, petite.
156
You wind yourself about my heart so.
Listen, and you shall hear the grand news.
Your uncle and I wonder too why your father
does not write. We know that you have
a great desire for your home, and so we are
going to take you there.”

“Home! Oh, Cherie!” Jeanne sprang to
the lady and embraced her rapturously,
“Home! I am so glad! so glad!”

“Is it not grand, little one? And we go
together to see your clever father and your
beautiful mother. But your uncle has much
to do first. I will tell you more. He has
deeded you all his property. His houses, his
carriages, his slaves, his horses, his money, in
fact everything which he possesses. Is he not
kind?”

“To me?” and Jeanne looked at her in bewilderment.
“But why, Cherie?”

“Because he thinks so much of you, and
then too you are for the Union, and the
‘Beast’ will not take them from you as he
would from us.”

“But why should General Butler wish to
take your property from you?” asked the girl,
who knew nothing of the Confiscation Act.
In fact knowledge of any kind had been carefully
157
kept from her except such as reflected
upon the North.

“I do not know, child. Who does?”
shrugging her shoulders. “The vagaries of
the ‘Beast’ are not to be kept up with. But
it does not matter. You will have them and
we will be pleased. We have no children, you
know.”

“I know,” said Jeanne kissing her. She
could not understand the matter. Her uncle
had never shown any particular fondness for
her, and in fact seemed to shun her. “You
are very kind to me, Cherie.”

“So kind that you would do one little thing
for ‘Cherie’?” asked the lady, flashing a quick
glance at her.

“Certainly, I would,” replied the girl unwarily.

“Then listen, petite, and you shall hear
how you can do a great service for your uncle
and me. Draw closer, my pet. None must
hear what I would tell you.”

Jeanne came close to her side and waited to
hear what her aunt had to say.

158CHAPTER XIV
A VICTIM OF DECEIT

“I do not know,” began Madame in her
soft voice, “whether I have told you that I
have a brother. Have I?”

“No, Cherie.”

“I have, petite, in the Confederate Army.
He is very dear to me. A few days ago I
learned that he was wounded and ill. He is
not far from the city, and he lies in a rude
hospital tent without clothing or the necessary
food and medicine. Is it not hard, little
one, to think of being in the midst of plenty
while my only brother is destitute?”

“Yes,” answered Jeanne with ready sympathy,
“it is.”

“I thought that you would think so,” and
the lady smoothed her hair gently. “Suppose
that it were your own brother, Dick. I know
that you would do almost anything to help
him, and I feel the same about Auguste. I
tried vainly to get a pass to go to him to take
him some necessities, but ma foi! That beast
159
of a Yankee General will not give me one. I
am distressed. I suffer, but of what avail is
it? I come to you, my little one, for aid.”

“To me?” Jeanne looked her surprise.
“What can I do, Cherie?”

“You are so brave. You have so much
cleverness. Could I do it I would not ask it
of you. But what would you! I am a coward.
I faint at the least noise. I lose my
wits; and so, child, I want you to take some
medicine and food to my Auguste.”

“I to take it? Why how could I do it?”

“’Tis easy to one who has the courage,
petite. I would send Feliciane with you.
’Tis only to elude the sentinels some dark
night and once beyond them the rest is nothing.
Feliciane knows where a boat is hidden
on Lake Ponchartrain, and she would row you
to the other side where you would be met by
one of my brother’s comrades who would receive
the things. Then you step once more
into the boat, and Mais! there you are safe
and sound in the city again.”

“Why could not Feliciane go alone?” questioned
Jeanne.

“My child, she has not the intelligence.
One must demand nothing of these creatures
160
that calls for the exercise of reason. Will you
go, my pet?”

“Would it be wrong, Cherie?”

“Wrong to carry food to a wounded soldier?
Why should you think so, child?”

“Then it is nothing against the government?”

“No; I would not ask it of you if it were.
Will you please me, Jeanne? Your uncle
would like it too.”

“Yes, Cherie, I will,” said Jeanne after a
moment’s thought. “If it is only to take
some food to a poor soldier it cannot be wrong.
When do you wish me to go?”

“Dearest, to-night. There is no moon and
it will be easier to elude the guards. I may
use your basket, may I not? It will not be
so heavy to carry.”

“If you wish,” assented Jeanne. “But it
will not hold much.”

“I only want to send a few, a very few
things. Just what he needs most to put heart
into him, poor fellow! And then when you
come back, we will plan our journey to your
home. Oh, we will have the grand time!”

The day wore away. Madame Vance talked
volubly about the girl’s home and asked her
161
so many questions concerning it that Jeanne
was wrought up to the highest pitch. At last
the darkness fell. With it came a drizzling
rain and to the tenderly nurtured girl it
seemed that this would put a stop to the enterprise;
but no.

“Could anything be more fortunate,” cried
Madame who was in the highest spirits.
“Nothing could be better for our purpose.
Ah, petite, you will outwit the Yankee soldiers
yet.”

Jeanne looked troubled. The matter had
not presented itself in that light before.

“I am not doing wrong, am I, Cherie?”
she asked dubiously. “It is nothing against
the government, is it?”

“To be sure not. How quaint you are to
ask that again! Would I have you to do
wrong?”

The preparations were finally completed.
Robed in dark waterproof garments Jeanne
took the basket given her by her father and,
accompanied by Feliciane, a mulatto woman,
set forth, again upon a mission. But this
time the girl was downcast in spirit, and had
not the lofty exaltation of an approving conscience.

162The two walked in silence through the dark
streets of the city. The woman glided swiftly
along as if accustomed to the journey, making
many devious windings and turnings.
Jeanne’s progress was slower and the mulatto
often had to pause to wait until she could
catch up with her.

“Missy be keerful hyar,” whispered the
woman, when at length the outskirts of the
city were reached. “Keep close ter de trees.”

Jeanne obeyed. The sentinel’s lonely figure
could scarcely be discerned in the darkness.
Unconscious of their proximity the man was
singing softly to himself as he patrolled his
post steadily. To the girl it seemed as though
her heart beats must betray their presence.
The black touched her hand gently and, as
the guard turned to retrace his steps, they
glided silently past him, and were lost in the
darkness. The skiff was found, and the
strong steady strokes of the woman soon
pulled them out upon the waters of Lake
Ponchartrain.

“We got by all right, lill’ missy, didn’t
we?” chuckled she.

“Yes,” assented Jeanne. “Is it far, Feliciane?”

163“A long way,” was the response. “We
won’t git back ’tel de mohnin’.”

“Until morning?” echoed Jeanne in dismay.
“Will we have to be out in this rain
all that time?”

“Yes, honey. It’s bes’ fer it ter rain. De
Yanks can’t see yer den. Missus she laikes
fer it ter rain when she go.”

“Does she ever go?” asked Jeanne sitting
up very straight. “I thought that she was
afraid to go.”

“De Madame ain’t ’fraid ob nuffin,” was
the emphatic reply. “She usen ter go often.
She done carried heaps ob things ter de rebs.”

“But it has been because of her brother,
Feliciane,” said Jeanne, gently trying not to
condemn her aunt too severely.

“Huh brudder? What brudder? She
ain’t got no brudder. What you talkin’
’bout?”

“Oh, Feliciane, aren’t we carrying food and
medicine to her poor wounded brother,
Auguste?”

“What makes you think dat, chile? Massa
Auguste killed long time ago when de wah
fust beginned. ’Couhse we ain’t takin’ things
ter huh brudder. We’s carryin’ news ter de
164
Massa Gin’ral dat de Yanks gwine ter ’tack
him.”

“Then,” said Jeanne bitterly. “I have been
fooled. I will give no aid to the enemy.
Turn this boat back, Feliciane.”

“Not ef I knows myself, honey. I done
want no whoppin’. Madame Vance sent me,
an’ I’se gwine ter do what she say. What’d
yer kum fer ef yer didn’t want ter holpe
dem?”

“Because I did not know what I was
doing. Madame told me it was to take food
to her wounded brother.”

“She’s a great one fer pullin’ de wool ober
de eyes,” chuckled the negress. “Missus
kum nigh gittin’ ketched de las’ time she
kummed, so den she sent you.”

“Oh!” Jeanne sat very still, her heart
heavy with what she had heard. Truthful
herself, the knowledge that her aunt could
stoop to such duplicity filled her with anguish.
Her eyes were fast opening to the
fact that the sweetness of the lady and her
honeyed words masked a cruel, treacherous
nature, and unaccustomed as she was to deceit
of any sort she was weighed down by the discovery.

165“Feliciane,” she said coaxingly. “I will
give you more money than you ever had
in all your life before if you will turn this
boat back.”

“No, missy. Yer can’t hiah me ter do
nuffin ob dat kine,” came the relentless tones
of the darky. “Feliciane knows what’s good
fer huh, an’ she’s gwine ter do it.”

“Well, my basket shall not go at any rate,”
cried Jeanne and she caught it up to throw it
overboard. But the darky seized her arm in
a strong grip and took the basket from her.

“Be quiet, missy,” she said, “er I’ll hab
ter settle yer. An’ missus won’t keer nuther.
She done laik yer nohow.”

Jeanne could do nothing in the woman’s
powerful clasp, and was compelled to relinquish
her hold on the basket. Placing it
behind her the negress took the oars again
and resumed her rowing. Silence fell between
the two and steadily they drew nearer
to the farther shore. At last after what
seemed hours to Jeanne the keel of the boat
grated upon the sand and the woman sprang
out and drew the skiff upon the bank.

“Come,” she said to Jeanne and the girl
mechanically followed her.

166“Halt! who goes there?” came the challenge.

“A frien’,” responded Feliciane. “Done
yer know me, sah?”

“Feliciane,” exclaimed a voice joyfully.
“You are a jewel. Have you anything for
us? Who is with you?”

“Yes, sah; heah in dis basket missus sent.
It’s all erbout a ’tack what de Yanks is a-gwine
ter make on you folks. Missus kum
moughty nigh bein’ kotched de las’ time, an’
so she sent de lill’ missy with me.”

“Well, here are some letters. You won’t
be more than able to get back by daylight.
Are you too tired to make it to-night, Feliciane?”

“No, sah. Missus ’spects me ter do it.”

“Well, good-bye. Thank your mistress for
us, and tell her the boys in gray will soon
drive the Yankees out of the city, and
she won’t have this to do much longer.”

“I’ll tell huh, sah.”

Jeanne still silent went back to the boat.
Every hope that she had held that there was
really a wounded brother of Madame’s had
died during the interview, and the lady was
meeting with that fierce arraignment in the
167
mind of the girl that youth always gives
when for the first time the mask of hypocrisy
is torn from a loved face.

The dawn was streaking the gray sky with
crimson when they reached the city again.
The rain had ceased and the stormy night
was to be succeeded by a fair day. Jeanne’s
face showed white and stern in the gray of
the morning as she walked slowly by the
black’s side. Her lips were compressed together
in a straight line for she had determined
that Madame Vance should render
an account of her duplicity to her.

Presently Feliciane uttered an exclamation
of alarm, and thrust the package that the
rebel had given her into Jeanne’s hands.

“Run, missy, run,” she cried. “De Yanks
am a-kumin’.”

Involuntarily the girl quickened her steps,
but she had gone but a short distance when
she was caught by the shoulder, and brought
to a standstill.

“You are under arrest,” said the gruff
voice of a soldier. “Give me that package
you have.”

168CHAPTER XV
BEFORE GENERAL BUTLER AGAIN

Jeanne handed the package to the soldier
without a word. The man took it and then
said in a harsh manner:

“Follow me. It seems to me that you are
beginning mighty young.”

Still silent the girl trudged wearily along
beside him. She was very tired and the way
to the Custom-House was long. But she
uttered no complaint. Far bitterer to bear
than fatigue was the thought that she, Jeanne
Vance, had carried information to the enemies
of her country.

The Custom-House where General Butler
had established his permanent official headquarters
was finally reached, and she was
conducted through the court-room where Major
Bell was dispensing justice to a smaller
room adjoining the office of the Commander.
A number of persons were in the apartment
awaiting the coming of the General.

169“Has the General come in yet?” asked her
captor of an Orderly.

“No; but we expect him every moment.
Is it anything of importance?”

“I think so. I captured a young girl
who has been beyond the lines, and has
returned with a package of letters from
the Johnnies. The other boys gave chase
to the negro woman who was with her,
but this is the main one, I guess. I think
the General ought to see the letters immediately.”

“By all means. I will tell him as soon as
he comes, so that he will attend to you at
once. There are a number waiting this
morning.”

Faint and weary Jeanne sank into the seat
assigned her, and waited apathetically the
summons which were to lead her to the General’s
presence. It came soon and she was led
into the office where the General sat behind a
long table on which lay a pistol.

This was the man’s sole precaution against
assassination, and was used only after the discovery
of one or two plots to kill him.
There were several of his staff with him in
the room, but the girl saw only the stern face
170
of the Commander. He gave a start of surprise
as his eyes fell upon her.

“You?” he exclaimed. “Are you the girl
who has been caught bringing contraband
letters into the city? Child, child, I am surprised.”

Jeanne’s lips quivered and she turned very
pale, but she only said:

“Yes, sir; I did it.”

“And you are the girl who professed such
devotion to the cause of your country? You,
who carried the flag upon your person, and
kissed it to show your patriotism? I am more
than surprised! I am grieved!”

“Don’t,” exclaimed Jeanne, her utterance
choked with sobs. “Oh, sir, I do love my
country, but I am not worthy to carry its flag
any longer. Take it.” She drew the flag
from her dress and laid it before him.

Her distress was so evident, so real that
General Butler’s glance softened.

“If you feel like that,” he said not unkindly,
“perhaps you will tell me the truth
about the matter.”

“Gladly,” cried Jeanne eagerly. “I will
tell you anything that you ask.”

“These letters prove that there has been
171
communication exchanged before. Have you
ever been on a like expedition?”

“No, sir; I do not know that you will believe
me when I say that I did not know what
I was doing when I went on this errand. But
I did not. I would rather have died than to
have given aid to the enemies of the Union;
and yet I did it.”

“Suppose you tell me just how it happened,”
suggested the General. “I will gladly
hear any extenuating circumstances that you
may give, for I am loth to believe that you are
guilty of treachery.”

With many tears Jeanne related her story.
“I can never forgive myself,” she concluded
mournfully. “I deserve to be punished.”

“What was in the basket that you carried
over?”

“There was some medicine, quinine, I
think, jellies, and other delicacies.”

“There were no documents of any kind?
Think well, child.”

“I did not see any, but Feliciane told me,
and the rebel soldier also, that there was news
of an attack to be made upon General Thompson.
I am convinced that the intelligence
was concealed in the false bottom of my
172
basket. You remember where I carried the
quinine, sir?” Then she told how her aunt
had examined the basket and suggested its
use.

“Beyond doubt it carried the information,”
remarked Butler. “General Thompson with
his men is just beyond our lines. I have
known for some time that communication had
been going on between the citizens and the
soldiers, and have been keeping a sharp lookout.
Still they managed to elude my vigilance
some way. The Vances are among the
ring leaders. Why have you remained here
so long?” he asked, suddenly. “Why have
you not returned to your father?”

“I have not heard from him,” said Jeanne,
her tears flowing afresh. “In all this long
time I have not heard one word.”

“That is very strange!” The General
looked thoughtful. “Of course in the vicinity
surrounding us, and in all the country between
here and Richmond the telegraphs and
mails are in the hands of the Confederates.
But a letter could come safely by the sea
route. I am in communication with Washington
continually. There must be something
wrong. Have you written to him?”

173“Often and often. Uncle Ben mailed the
letters for me. My aunt told me yesterday
that they were going to take me home soon.”

“After hoodwinking you the way she has,
do you believe it? There is something here
that I do not understand. I believe that you
are truthful, child, and have been victimized
for some purpose. I will have to watch those
people more closely.”

“But how could I consent to do what I
have?” cried Jeanne. “Oh, I will never forgive
myself.”

“Older ones than you might have been deceived,”
comforted the General. “I have
read that ‘under every flower there lurks a
serpent’; and where there is so much sweetness
and amiability there is ground for the
suspicion that the reptile will sooner or later
make his appearance. You must guard
against such seductive measures, my child.
They are more to be feared than the most violent
opposition. Your uncle has a great deal
of property, has he not?”

“Why, yes,” said Jeanne. “But do you
know, General, that the queer part of it is
that he has given it all to me?”

“Ha, ha!” roared the General. “Another
174
attempt to evade the Confiscation Act, eh?
And you did not know the reason?”

“My aunt said that you would take it from
them because they were rebels, and that as I
was a Unionist you would not touch it if it
were mine.”

“I think that I’ll make that a boomerang
that shall rebound on their own heads,” remarked
the General with a twinkle in his eye.
“Now, child, what are you going to do?”

“I do not know, sir. I wish I could go
home.”

“Would you feel very badly if I sent you
back to your uncle’s?”

“Must I go there?” Jeanne uttered a cry
of dismay. “I don’t believe that I can, General
Butler. I don’t feel as if I ever wanted
to see either of them again.”

“But if you could help me?” suggested
the General. “You might, Jeanne.”

“If I could be of any service,” said Jeanne
bravely though every feature showed her dislike
to the suggestion. “I will go.”

“You are a brave little girl,” said the Commander
with appreciation. “I believe in you
thoroughly, child, else I would not ask this
of you.”

175“I am glad that you trust me,” said Jeanne
gratefully, her last fear of him vanishing.
“I had begun to believe that I could never
trust myself again.”

“Our truest strength lies in knowing our
weaknesses,” said the General sententiously.
“Truth is written on your face, and you are
earnest and thoughtful beyond your years.
The thing I wish you to do is this: go back
to your uncle’s and conduct yourself as far as
possible as you have done. I am convinced
that another attempt will soon be made to
carry information to Thompson. I want you
to let me know when the time will be. You
can find out by keeping your eyes and ears
open. Show that you are indignant at the
part you have been made to play for that will
be expected. Send me word the moment you
suspect that the attempt will be made. Can
you do this?”

“I will try, General. I will do it if only
to redeem myself in your eyes. If I can find
out the time I will.”

“Then you may go now. I think you can
understand why it is that I am so suspicious
of every one, do you not, child? By the
way, I found that everything was just as you
176
said it was when you were here before. That
has made it easy for you this time. Am I
forgiven for the way I treated you then?”

“I forgave you long ago,” said the girl
sweetly. “I had been here but a short
time when I realized that you must have
hard work to hold these people down. And
you have been good to believe me, General
Butler. You are not nearly so bad as people
think you are. They don’t know how kind
you are.”

The General laughed and then sighed.

“I am afraid that there are not many who
will agree with you,” he said. “But there,
child! I must attend to business. I will
write to your father myself and just as soon
as I hear from him you shall know it.”

“Will you?” cried Jeanne. “And oh, do
tell him to send for me soon.”

“Yes, you poor child! Or if I see an opportunity
to send you safely home you shall
go. I think that I can send you by one of
the steamers. If I had known of this you
should have returned with Mrs. Butler.”

“I wish I could have done so,” said the girl
wistfully.

“Well, you shall go soon, I promise you.
177
Keep a brave heart, and remember that it will
not be long before you shall go. Good-bye.”

He shook hands with her warmly, and then
stopped her as she was leaving the room.

“Your flag, my little girl. We had forgotten
your flag.”

“I am not worthy,” whispered the girl
looking longingly at it.

“My dear, so long as your heart is as loyal
as it is there is no one more worthy. Take it
and keep it unsullied as you have done.”

Jeanne took it joyfully and then departed.
Full of misgiving she reluctantly wended her
way toward her uncle’s house.

178CHAPTER XVI
THE VELVET GLOVE CONCEALS THE IRON HAND

There was an unusual stir in the villa
when Jeanne arrived. Madame Vance greeted
her with some eagerness.

“What has become of the letters?” she
cried. “Surely you did not permit the
Yankees to take them?”

“I could not help it, Cherie,” answered
Jeanne noting with her newly acquired insight
into the lady’s character that her own
well-being was of no importance. “I did not
know that the soldiers were near until Feliciane
gave the alarm and thrust the papers
into my hand. She should have kept them.
Did she escape?”

“She did. Of course she thought that you
would make an effort to do the same. What
did the ‘Beast’ say when he found that a
Yankee girl was working against him? It is
very droll.” And she laughed maliciously.
“I am surprised that you got away from him
at all.”

179“I would not have done so had he not believed
that I was but a tool in your hands,”
answered the girl bluntly. “I will never forgive
you, Cherie, for the way you deceived
me. You told me that your brother was
wounded, and that it was only to take him
some medicine and food, and you have no
brother at all. Was the information that you
sent concealed in my basket?”

“Certainly it was,” returned Madame
lightly. “Was it not for that purpose that
you showed me the hiding-place yesterday?
Thanks to your cleverness General Thompson
is aware of an attack by which Butler
meant to surprise him. That basket of yours
is a jewel for hiding contraband articles. It
will be used again.”

“It shall never again be so used if I can
help it,” cried Jeanne goaded beyond endurance
by the knowledge of how she had been
tricked. “I would not have believed that
you would have been guilty of telling an untruth.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Everything is fair in love and war,” said
the other mockingly. “It is not wrong to
falsify to Yankees.”

180“I will never forgive you. Never!” cried
the girl passionately. “I told General Butler
just how you deceived me, and I never can
trust you again. To think that such a woman
is the wife of my uncle!”

“Be careful of your words, my little
Yankee,” and the black eyes of the lady glittered
balefully. “I have treated you well
heretofore, but I may repent of my soft usage.
If gentle means will not convince you of the
error of your ways we will try other means.”

“What do you mean? You dare not use
me otherwise than well. I would not submit
to anything else, and Uncle Ben would not
allow you to ill treat me.”

“Your uncle will permit anything that I
choose to do,” retorted Madame angrily, and
the girl knew that she spoke truly. Mr.
Vance yielded to his wife in everything.
“And listen, girl! I dare anything that I
choose to do. I am sick of your puritanical
ways, and I have resolved to change them.
Why did you return if you were not of our
way of thinking? Why did you not stay
with ‘Beast’ Butler since you agree so well?
Speak, girl! why did you come back?”

“I–I–because––” Jeanne was unable
181
to proceed. The question was so unexpected
that she was not prepared to answer it.

“Aha!” and Madame regarded her keenly.
“I see. You came back to spy upon us.
Deny it if you can.”

Then as the girl made no reply she called:

“Feliciane, Feliciane!” The woman entered
the room. “Take this girl to the strong
room,” she commanded.

“Don’t dare to touch me,” cried Jeanne
springing away from the woman. “I will tell
General Butler of this.”

“So?” and Madame’s face became purple
with rage. “You admit it. I thought as
much. You have returned as a spy. Oh, he
boasts of having his creatures in every household,
but he has a de la Chaise to deal with
in me. Away with her, Feliciane!”

In vain Jeanne struggled and cried out
against the indignity. She was helpless in
the hands of the muscular negress, and was
soon carried struggling and screaming to the
top floor of the house, and pushed unceremoniously
into a room, the door closed and
locked upon her.

“Foh de land sake, lill’ missy, what you
doin’ heah?” came in a hoarse whisper and
182
Jeanne turned to see the face of Snowball
peering at her.

“Snowball, are you here?” she cried stifling
her sobs and trying to penetrate the
gloom of the darkened chamber.

“Yes, missy, I is. Dey allers puts us in
heah aftah we’s whipped. But how kum you
heah? You wuzn’t whipped, wuz yer?”

“No;” and Jeanne seated herself by the
prostrate form of the girl and took her hand.
“I would rather have been than to do what I
did yesterday.” She told the darky how Madame
had beguiled her into taking the trip to
the Confederates, and of her subsequent arrest
and discharge.

“I hopes dis Butler will help yer ef de
missus got a grudge agin yer,” muttered
Snowball. “An’ she sut’n’ly hab got one
elsen she wouldn’t put yer in dis place whar
we niggas is put. Why, missy, dis ain’t no
place foh yer.”

“But you have to stay here, Snowball. I
ought to stand it if you do. I wish there was
some way to get word to General Butler. He
would take me from here I know.”

“Dere won’t be no way, missy,” said Snowball
with melancholy conviction as Jeanne
183
sprang to her feet and began a hurried inspection
of the room. “Missus wouldn’t leab a
mouse hole ef she thought it could be used.”

And Jeanne found her words true. It was
a small low room without furniture of any
kind. A pile of straw upon which the darky
lay was the only thing in it. There were iron
shutters at the windows so strong that it
would require the strength of a man to open
them. The door was bolted and Jeanne resumed
her seat by the girl in a hopeless
manner.

“What can we do, Snowball?”

“Nuffin. Can’t do a bressed thing tell de
missus ready ter let us out. ’Tain’t so bad
when yer gits usen ter de dahk.”

“Does your back hurt much?”

“Not now, honey. It did huht awful when
dey pouhed de brine on tho’.”

“The brine! Not salt water, Snowball?”

“Yes’m. It did huht shore nuff when dey
pouhed dat on. Dey does it kase dey think
de whip won’t make no scahs when dey heal.
But it do huht awful.”

This new horror held Jeanne silent, and
her tears fell fast. A fierce indignation foreign
to her usually gentle nature shook her
184
from head to foot. “And father used to
say that abolitionists were extremists,” she
thought. “Oh, if ever I get home again I’ll
cry out on the streets against slavery.”

“Is yer cryin’, lill’ missy?” exclaimed
Snowball, as the warm drops fell upon her
hands. “Done yer do it. It done mattah
’bout a pore nigga laik me. Heah you is
tiahed mos’ ter def, I reckon. Can’t yer
sleep?”

“I’ll try, Snowball,” and Jeanne crept beside
the girl on her straw. “I am tired. I
almost wish I could die.”

“Done yer be downhahted, missy. Dey’ll
take me outen heah soon. Jes’ as soon as ma
back gits well, kase dey can’t ’ford ter lose a
val’able nigga laik me, and ef dey doesn’t
take you outen dis ’fore den I’ll run away ter
de Gin’ral. Heaps of de cullah folks go ter
him.”

“Will you, Snowball?” A gleam of hope
stole into Jeanne’s heart. She snuggled down
into the straw and soon fell into a deep sleep.

When she awakened she was alone in the
room. During her slumber Snowball had
been taken away, and Jeanne missed her
companionship sorely. A pitcher of water
185
and some bread had been placed by her side,
and the girl ate ravenously for she had taken
no food since the day before. Then once
more she wandered about the room trying to
find some means of escape. Realizing that
her efforts were useless she sank back on the
straw and gave herself up to thoughts of
home and her dear parents.

How little any of them thought that her
journey would turn out as it had. She pictured
her father’s indignation when she
should tell him of the treatment she had received
and her mother’s anxiety concerning
her. Well, even if Snowball did not get to
see General Butler he would seek her just as
soon as he heard from her father. Perhaps
when he found that he did not hear from her
he would come to see what the matter was.
And so the hours passed drearily by.

No one came to the room and no sound
reached her from below. By the deepening
of the gloom she knew that it was drawing
near night, and she looked forward with some
dread to spending the long hours of darkness
in that cheerless place. But summoning all
her fortitude she composed herself for slumber.

“I have the flag,” she said to herself and
186
took it from her bosom. “I am so glad that
the General gave it back to me. How is our
side doing, I wonder? Why didn’t I think
to ask him? It has been so long since I
heard. So long!”

With the flag clasped to her breast she fell
asleep once more. As before, while she slept
food and drink were placed beside her, and it
began to look as if she was to be condemned
to solitude. In this manner two days passed.
On the morning of the third day she was
rudely awakened by some one shaking
her.

“Get up,” cried Madame, who stood by her
side. “Get up! We are going.”

“Going? Going where?” cried Jeanne,
dazedly.

“We are going to your home,” answered
Madame Vance. “Get up and come with me
if you care to go too.”

“Home!” repeated Jeanne thinking that
she still slept. “Home!”

“Yes; don’t sit there like a silly, but come
at once. That Yankee beast has ordered that
all of the registered enemies of the United
States shall leave the city. And we must
go.”

187“Are you really going to take me home?”
asked the girl now thoroughly awake. “Oh,
if you will, I will forgive everything!”

“Then get ready quickly,” said Madame, a
cruel light in her eyes which the girl unfortunately
did not see. “We must go at once.
The ‘Beast’ will only permit us to take what
we can carry with us. The rest of the property
must go to enrich him and his brother.
Oh, they are a nice pair, but ma foi! what
can one expect of Yankees?”

Jeanne made no reply, but followed her to
her own room where Snowball was waiting to
dress her.

“Mus’ you go, lill’ missy?” whispered the
girl as Madame left them for the moment
alone. “I’se ’feerd foh yer ter go.”

“Are you going too, Snowball?”

“Missus say I is, an’, ob couhse, I long ter
huh I’se got ter ef she say so. But I done
want ter.”

An hour later Mr. and Madame Vance,
Jeanne, Feliciane, Snowball and Jeff left the
city in company with a number of others.
General Butler, wearied with the intrigues of
these avowed enemies of the government, had
ordered that they should leave his lines for
188
the Confederacy, and imposed the condition
that they should not return.

In all the throng that waited to see the
Confederates depart Jeanne saw no sign of the
General. There were plenty of aids and
members of his staff who looked closely after
the articles carried away by the departing
people, but of the General himself she saw
nothing. And so the girl was allowed to depart
with the refugees without a word from
the Unionists. Blinded by her desire to get
home, she left freedom and the protection of
the flag and went without question into the
heart of Secessia.

189CHAPTER XVII
AGAIN DECEIVED

The party of Secessionists of which Mr.
and Madame Vance were members embarked
on board the boat, Ceres, which steamed up
the narrow winding river, Tangipaho, to
Manchac bridge, the terminus of a railroad
that led to Ponchatoula ten miles distant
from which was the headquarters of General
Thompson; the main body of Confederates
being nine miles further on.

The shores of the river presented to view
nothing but desolation. Many of the houses
were deserted and every garden and field lay
waste. Gaunt, yellow, silent figures stood
looking at the disembarking refugees, images
of despair. The people there had been small
farmers, market gardeners, fishermen and
shell diggers; all of them absolutely dependent
upon the market of New Orleans
from which they had been cut off for more
than five months. Roving bands of Guerillas
and the march of the regiments had
190
robbed them of the last pig, the last chicken,
the last egg and even of their half grown
vegetables. In all that region there was
nothing to eat but corn on the cob, and of
that only a few pecks in each house.

A locomotive with a train of platform cars
stood on the track and the party soon were
gliding swiftly to the village.

Jeanne’s eyes brightened when she saw that
the place contained a post and telegraph
office.

“Uncle Ben,” she said timidly for none of
the party were in good spirits. The men were
sullen and the women bewailing their fate at
being obliged to leave their belongings behind
them.

“Uncle Ben,” said Jeanne again as her
uncle did not answer her.

“Well, what is it?” he asked ungraciously.

“Could I not telegraph to my father that
we are coming? There is a telegraph office
here.”

“What made you think that we were going
to Dick’s?” he asked after a broad stare of
amazement.

“Cherie told me,” answered Jeanne her
191
heart sinking at his expression. “Aren’t we
going, dear uncle?”

“Well, I rather guess not,” said Mr. Vance
emphatically. “I think we’ve had enough
of the Yankees without going where they are.
Enough to last us a lifetime.”

“Why did you tell me such a thing?”
burst from Jeanne turning upon her aunt
with indignation.

“Because, my dear little Yankee, I wanted
the pleasure of your company, of course,” replied
Madame mockingly.

“That is not true,” said Jeanne boldly.
“You do not like me, Aunt Clarisse,” dropping
the Cherie which she seldom afterward
used.

“No? you want the truth then?” said the
woman suddenly. “Because I hate you for
being a Yankee.”

“But you did like me at first and I was a
Yankee then,” and the girl shrank from the
light in the other’s eyes.

“Yes; for a time, but I soon tired of you.
You were too independent, and had views that
were tiresome to me. I might have loved you
had you yielded your will to mine. But you
would not. You, a mere girl, set your judgment
192
up against mine, although I granted
your lightest wish. Then you told that
Yankee General that your uncle had given
you all the property and he seized it in your
name. Think you that I would let you stay
to enjoy our property when we were driven
from the city? Oh, I saw through your artfulness!
But you shall not have the property
if that Beast does!”

“I did not want your property,” replied
Jeanne, her face becoming very pale as she
heard her aunt’s words. “Why should I care
for it? I want only to go to my home.
Please let me go back, Aunt Clarisse. I will
beg General Butler to let you have your property
again and to send me home. Truly, I do
not want anything of yours. Let me go
back.”

“Never,” cried the other angrily. “Who
would think that a puny faced thing like you
could be so sly!”

Jeanne made no reply but sank into bitter
thought. The rebel general, Jefferson Thompson,
received the refugees courteously and
promised to help them to reach friends and
relatives in other parts of the South. Meantime
he gave them such refreshment as was at
193
his disposal, resigning to the Vances his own
headquarters. For a few days they stayed
here, being joined by others from the city.
Then they broke up into small parties and
scattered, each bent upon reaching his own
objective point.

To her consternation Jeanne was told that
her uncle and aunt were bound for Alabama,
the very midst of Secession. The girl’s heart
died within her when she found that this was
their destination. With no friends near how
could she, a mere girl, hope to reach her own
people surrounded as she would be on all
sides by rebels? She was almost in despair.

At Waynesboro, they left the train and Mr.
Vance, securing a carriage with two good
horses, announced his intention of driving
through the rest of the way. Madame Vance
received the intelligence with demonstrations
of joy but Jeanne said nothing. In spite of
her depression, however, she could not but
feel a sense of pleasure as they bowled along
over the public road.

It was a pleasing ride, ennobling to the soul
as a series of beautiful scenes were unrolled to
the view. Far in the azure blue the great
banks of white clouds seemed to lie at anchor,
194
so slow of sail were they. The gloom of the
dense forest gently waving its boughs to the
breeze greeted the eye. Ever and anon the
dulcet murmur of gurgling streams broke
gently on the ear. Quiet cottages surrounded
by flowers and fruits, the abodes of peace and
content, were passed; grass green marshes
with here and there a tall pine or sombre
cypress standing as sentinels of the rich mead;
song birds caroling their sweet lays as they
flitted from bough to bough, or lightly soared
in space; fields of deadened trees, all draped
with the long gray Spanish moss, were silhouetted
against the sky; groups of great
oaks, with clusters of the mistletoe pendent.
On past plantations, busy with slaves whose
merry songs floated far on the gentle zephyrs.

But as the day wore away proofs that grim-visaged
war was raging in the land came more
and more into evidence.

Want and desolation mark the track of soldiers.
Armies must be fed and hungry men
respect neither friend nor foe when it comes to
satisfying their wants, and ravaged plantations
and desolated homes marred the beauty
of the peaceful landscape.

It was a long hard day’s ride and Jeanne
195
was glad when at last just as the brief twilight
was deepening, Mr. Vance descried a large
house in the distance and directed Jeff to drive
them there so that they might have shelter for
the night.

“Dar’s nobody ter hum,” was Jeff’s announcement
after knocking at all the doors.

“Go to the quarters and find out where the
people are,” commanded his master, but the
darky soon returned with the information
that the cabins were empty also.

“Strange,” said the gentleman. “What do
you think we would better do, Clarisse?”

“Can you not open the doors in some
way?” asked the lady pettishly. “I am
tired, mon ami, and if no one is there we
might just as well take possession. Private
property doesn’t seem to be respected these
times.”

Without another word Mr. Vance gave the
order, and the two men soon succeeded in
forcing an entrance. The fast falling darkness
gave weird glimpses of the interior of the
residence.

“Remain without,” said her husband hastily,
“until I get a light.”

Presently the cheering flash of a fire dispelled
196
the gloom of the dwelling and after being
assured that everything was all right
within, the lady entered followed by Jeanne
and the blacks. The October air was chilly
and the warmth of the pine knots was very
acceptable.

Jeanne crept into a corner where she could
enjoy the blaze and fell into a reverie. The
poor child was very miserable. Her aunt and
uncle scarcely noticed her or when they did
speak to her it was in such great contrast to
their former affectionate address that her
heart was heavy indeed.

The brightness of the pine knots in the vast
fireplace lighted up the room vividly. The
apartment seemed to have been the living-room
of the family, and its disarrangement
showed that the inmates had left its sheltering
walls hurriedly. At one end of the room
were great spinning wheels with the thread
still hanging.

Mr. Vance had drawn up an easy chair to
one side of the odorous fire and leaned silently
back in its depths apparently lost in thought.
His wife was seated near him, the firelight
glancing almost caressing on the rich sheen of
her hair and the vivid crimson of her cheek
197
and lip. Snowball’s dusky figure flitted back
and forth supplying the fire with the rich
pine knots as they were required while Jeff
and Feliciane were busied in the kitchen trying
to get up something for a meal.

Jeanne fell to studying the fair face of the
woman before her wondering over and over
how one so beautiful could be so cruel.

“Well! Have you finished staring at
me?” demanded Madame suddenly. “Have
done with your impudence, girl. You make
me nervous.”

“I beg your pardon,” murmured Jeanne
shrinking from the light in her aunt’s eyes.
“I do not wish to make you nervous. I was
just thinking––”

“I don’t care what you are doing,” said the
other sharply. “I do not wish to be stared
at.” She sat back in her chair, and relapsed
into silence. Jeanne withdrew her gaze, but
it wandered unconsciously to her uncle’s face.
He moved uneasily, but made no comment.

Presently Madame gave utterance to a harsh
laugh, and looked at the girl strangely.

“How would you like this for a home?”
she asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?” cried Jeanne.

198“Just what I say. How would you like to
live here?”

“I would not like it,” replied the girl decidedly.
“I like my own home best. There
is no place like New York.”

“Perhaps you may change your mind,” and
Madame gave vent to a peal of unpleasant
laughter. “I believe that you will have the
opportunity.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jeanne again,
but the lady’s only answer was a shrug of her
shoulders.

A vague uneasiness filled Jeanne’s mind at
her strange demeanor. She kept looking at
the girl with a curious, half triumphant expression,
while ever and anon she laughed in
that strange way that made the girl’s blood
chill with apprehension. She was glad when
at last Mr. Vance ordered them all to retire.

“There are plenty of rooms and good beds,”
he said. “Very likely the people left hurriedly
else they would have taken them with
them, or perhaps they left them because they
will soon return. However it may be, we
must get a good night’s rest for to-morrow we
have a long day’s ride before us.”

Jeanne chose a room at the end of the upstairs
199
hall and entering it closed the door
securely. Tired as she was from her long
ride she could not sleep but lay thinking
deeply about her aunt’s strange behavior.
She had become so accustomed to the lady’s
vagaries that she knew that some new idea
had suggested itself to her and she felt that it
related to herself.

At last her eyes grew heavy, and soon she
fell into the deep untroubled sleep of youth.

200CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE ENEMY’S CAMP

It was late when Jeanne awoke, and springing
up she dressed hastily and went downstairs.
There was no one in the living-room.
The fire had died down and a few glowing
coals gleamed red in the ashes. Full of a
vague alarm and fearing she knew not what,
Jeanne ran into the kitchen but there was no
one there. Quickly she ran from one room
to another but all were empty. The apartments
appeared larger and more desolate than
ever in their emptiness. Again and again
the now frightened girl ran through the
rooms and out upon the galleries, but the
echo of her own voice was all the answer
that came to her cries. At last the truth
dawned upon her. She had been abandoned
by her uncle and aunt.

This then was the meaning of Madame’s
laughter. She, Jeanne, a Union girl, had
been left to get along as best she could on a
201
lonely, deserted plantation in the very midst
of rebeldom; to live or die as the case might
be.

With a cry the girl flung herself upon the
floor and let the flood of her anguish sweep
over her. A great fear was upon her. The
fear of the unknown. Never before had she
been so utterly, so entirely alone. It was
long before she could control herself, and
when at last she sat up, and tried to think
calmly, she seemed to have grown older.

“I must be brave,” she thought. “Perhaps
it is better so after all. I am no worse off
than I was with them. May be I can make
my way back to New Orleans and General
Butler will send me home. But where am I?
I don’t know whether it is Alabama or Mississippi,
but whichever it is, I must try to get
back to Louisiana. Oh, my money!”

Hastily she searched for it and, to her great
joy, found the bills safely hidden in the lining
of her dress. Long ago her aunt had
complained of the thieving of the blacks, and
cautioned Jeanne to hide securely whatever
she had of value.

“Aunt Clarisse must have forgotten it,” she
exulted, “or she would have taken it from
202
me. ‘One can always get along if one has
money,’ father said. This will help me to get
home. I wonder if my flag is safe!”

Full of anxiety lest the beloved emblem
might have been taken she thrust her hand
into the folds of her dress, and to her great
delight, found it still there. Drawing it forth
she gazed at it lovingly, and then shook it
out straight. As she did so her eye was
caught by a piece of paper pinned to one
corner of it. With an exclamation Jeanne
caught at it eagerly.

“My dear little Yankee,” it ran. “We
leave you in possession. There is not much
to eat in the house, but ma foi! what care
you? Have you not your flag? Knowing
your penchant for appropriating other people’s
property we have given you an opportunity
to acquire more belongings. Are we
not kind?

“Should you see your honored parents
again (which I very much doubt) present my
truest affection to them. Hoping that your
solitude will give you time to repent of your
past misdeeds, believe me,

”As ever,

“Cherie.”

203Jeanne’s eyes blazed in sudden anger, and
she clenched her hands determinedly.

“I will see my parents again,” she cried,
passionately. “I will, I will! All the rebels
in the world shall not keep me from it! I’ll
start right back for New Orleans.”

Full of this resolution she arose and went
into the house in search of something to eat!
As Madame Vance had written there was
very little food in the dwelling. A thin slice
of bacon and a small hoe cake was all that
Jeanne could find, but she ate them, then
started forth on her journey back to New
Orleans.

Taking what she believed was the road
over which they had come the girl trudged
bravely along although it wound through a
deep forest. On and on through the dark
green gloom of the woodland she walked, knowing
nothing of the vegetation of the South,
and afraid to touch herbs or the wild fruit.

“I did not think the forest went so far,”
she murmured, as the day wore away and the
shadowy vista of woods still opened before
her. “And there was a house just beyond
the trees. I ought to get to it soon. Then I
will ask to stay for the night.”

204But the woods grew denser, and the road
became but a narrow bridle path. The afternoon
drew to a close, and the brief twilight
came suddenly upon her in the depths of the
forest.

Jeanne stopped dismayed, and then sank
down at the foot of a tall pine. A feeling of
homesick desolation crept over her, filling her
with vague, undefined forebodings. The tall
long-leaved pines and funereal cypress trees
rose on either side. The twilight deepened
into night and the hum of Nature’s wildwood
insects came to her ear. From the deeper forest
came the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill.
As the darkness deepened the hooting of the
owls could be heard and the croaking of some
frogs from a near-by swamp.

Jeanne felt cold chills creep up and down
her back as the tall trees festooned with gray
moss, almost reaching to the ground, swayed
to and fro as a shiver of moaning wind stirred
the air.

“I cannot stay here,” she exclaimed springing
to her feet. “It is better to keep on walking.
Surely there must be a house somewhere
near!”

And so, though she was faint from hunger
205
and weary from walking, she trudged on.
Presently the moon came up and deluged the
forest with a shining flood of light. The dark
pines, half in shadow, half in sheen, loomed
vast and giant-like on either side of the
gleaming path beneath.

Afraid to stop and rest, Jeanne walked on
and on. All at once she heard singing. The
sound filled her with new life and she hastened
eagerly in its direction. Louder and
louder came the melody to her ears until presently
she was able to distinguish the words:

Tears rushed into the girl’s eyes and a sob
broke from her lips. “Do they miss me, I
wonder?” she said brokenly. “Oh, mother,
mother! How little do you think that I am
wandering about in the woods without a place
to lay my head. Mother, mother!”

Jeanne looked up as the singer came toward
her. The bright moonlight fell full upon him
as he paused for a moment to examine the
lock of his gun, and she saw that he was a
Confederate soldier on picket duty. He resumed
the song as he swung the gun back to
his shoulder.

“He is like Dick,” thought the lonely girl.
“I am sure that he has a kind heart, or he
would not sing that song. Maybe he has a
sister too.”

Summoning all her courage she spoke timidly.
“Sir,” she said.

“Who goes there?” cried the startled
picket with an ominous click of his weapon.

“Just a little girl,” answered Jeanne, coming
forward into the moonlight. “I’m lost,
and I don’t know where to go.”

“A girl! It’s true I do declare!” burst
207
from the sentinel’s lips as he lowered his
gun. “How do you come to be here in the
woods at this time of night?”

“I am trying to get back to New Orleans,
and I must have taken the wrong road.”
Jeanne was trembling but she tried to control
herself. “Oh, could you tell me where I
could get something to eat and a place to
sleep? I–I am afraid.”

Her voice broke and despite her efforts at
self-command she burst into tears.

“There! Never mind! I’ll take you to
Miss Bob,” said the soldier with rough kindness.
“The woods ain’t no place fur a girl at
night. Just come with me.”

Jeanne followed him gladly. A brisk walk
of fifteen minutes brought them to a camp.
The tents gleamed white among the trees and
it seemed to the girl as though she had never
seen so many in all her life before. Some men
lounged lazily about one of the many fires
that dotted the place, talking in subdued
tones. They stared at the girl as the sentinel
came in with her but made no remark. The
soldier paused before a small tent and called
softly:

“Miss Bob! Miss Bob! are you asleep?”

208“What is it, Johnson?” came the reply in
the soft sleepy tones of a girl.

“Here is a girl out here who is lost. She
is hungry and wants a place to sleep. Will
you see to her? I am on duty.”

“Certainly. Go back to your post, Johnson.
I will be out in a minute.”

“All right.” The soldier saluted and
walked off leaving Jeanne a prey to conflicting
emotions.

In a few moments the flap of the tent was
pushed aside, and the slight figure of a girl
about Jeanne’s own age emerged from it.

“You are lost?” she asked advancing toward
Jeanne and speaking quickly. “And
hungry, I think Johnson said. Come, we’ll
have something to eat, and then go to bed.
Are you tired?”

Jeanne nodded, unable to speak.

“Sit here by the fire while I fix things.
Jim,” to one of the men, “this girl is hungry.
Will you help me get something for her to
eat?”

“’Course I will, Miss Bob.” The man
sprang to his feet and walked briskly away
disappearing into what Jeanne afterward
learned was the commissary department.

209“We’ll have something in a jiffy,” remarked
the girl encouragingly, beginning to
poke up the fire.

“See here, Miss Bob, let me do that,” and
another of the men ran to her side. “I
reckon Jim and me can fix things. ’Tain’t no
work for you.”

Soon cold chicken, bread, and hot coffee
were placed before the hungry girl and she
ate ravenously.

“I didn’t know that soldiers had chickens
to eat,” she remarked with a sigh of satisfaction
as she finished the last morsel.

The girl called Bob laughed merrily, the
men joining in heartily.

“We don’t usually,” and Bob controlled
her risibles with difficulty, “but you see a
whole heap of them walked right into camp,
and so of course we ate them.”

“Wasn’t it queer that they should come
right into camp?” said serious Jeanne. “I
always thought that you had to run after
them to catch them.”

Again the girl and the men laughed.

“Of course they didn’t exactly come here,”
said Bob comfortably, “but we’ve got the
smartest regiment in the whole Confederate
210
army. I verily believe that it could catch
and skin a hog without a man leaving the
ranks. Oh, they are fine foragers!”

“Forager?” Jeanne looked mystified. “I
wonder if Dick is a forager!”

“Who is Dick?”

“Dick is my brother in the army,” said
Jeanne proudly.

“Well, if he is a soldier you can depend
upon it that he is a forager,” said Bob with
decision. “Which side is your brother on?”

“The Union.”

The smile died away from the girl’s lips at
the reply, and she looked at Jeanne with
coldness.

“I did not think that you were a Southerner
when you spoke,” she said. “What are
you doing here? We are Confederates.”

“Yes, I know,” answered Jeanne. “My
aunt and uncle left me on a deserted plantation
because I was a Yankee, and I started
back to New Orleans hoping that General
Butler would send me home. I must have
taken the wrong road, and so gotten lost. You
won’t turn me away, will you, just because I
am a Yankee?”

“No; not for to-night anyway. I just
211
hate Yankees, but I reckon you don’t count
as you are a girl. Come on to bed now, and
we’ll talk it over in the morning.”

And Jeanne went into the tent content to
let the morrow take care of itself now that she
was sheltered for the night.

212CHAPTER XIX
“BOB”

At daybreak the roll of martial drums
startled Jeanne into wakefulness.

“What is it?” she cried, springing from the
couch.

“The drummers are beating the reveille,”
answered the calm voice of Bob who was
already up. “That means that it is time to
get up. You needn’t be in a hurry, however.
There are two hours yet until breakfast.”

“But you are dressing,” said Jeanne. “I
will too.”

“I always get up when the regiment does,”
answered Bob. “But you are different. You
are a guest.”

“What are you?” asked Jeanne curiously.

“The Colonel’s daughter, and the child of
the regiment. What is your name?”

“Jeanne Vance. I live in New York city.”

“That is a long way from here,” said Bob.
“Do you mind telling me why you came
down here?”

213“I think I should like to,” replied Jeanne
gazing at the trim figure of the girl admiringly.
She was clad in a suit of gray cloth
consisting of a skirt and close fitting jacket
with epaulets upon the shoulders. A cap of
the same material was perched jauntily upon
her raven black hair. Her face, piquant
and sparkling, was tanned a healthy brown
through which the red of her cheeks glowed
brightly. Jeanne thought that she had never
seen a more charming girl, and, rebel though
she knew she was, she felt her heart drawn
toward her.

“Yes, I think that I should like to tell
you,” she repeated, and then as rapidly as
possible she told of her mission and the events
that had followed its execution.

Bob listened attentively.

“It was awfully mean in your aunt to treat
you the way she did,” she commented as
Jeanne finished her story. “You are a brave
girl even if you are a Yankee, and I like you.
Father says there are some nice ones, but I
reckon that they haven’t so awfully many
brave ones among them, or we wouldn’t be
whipping them so.”

“Whipping them?” cried Jeanne aghast.
214
“What do you mean by whipping them?
We were doing all the whipping the last I
knew anything about it.”

“Well, you certainly haven’t heard the
news lately then,” rejoined Bob. “If you had,
you would have learned that General Bragg
had invaded Tennessee and Kentucky and
that the Confederates have both those states
back again. I tell you the Yankees are just
‘skedaddling’ before him.”

“It can’t be true,” wailed Jeanne. “Kentucky
and Tennessee both taken from us
when we fought so hard to get them? Surely
it is not true!”

“But it is,” asserted Bob positively. “And
that is not the greatest news: General Lee
has not only driven McClellan from in front
of Richmond, but he has invaded Maryland
and we expect to hear at any time that Washington
has fallen into our hands.”

“Is it true?” asked Jeanne again turning
so pale that Bob thought she was going to
faint.

“Here, drink this!” Bob tipped up her
canteen of water to Jeanne’s lips. “I did not
know that Yankees cared so much for such
things.”

215“Cared for such things,” echoed Jeanne indignantly.
“Of course we care. How could
any one hear that the Capital is menaced and
not care? But the traitors will never succeed
in taking it. Never! I know our people.
They will defend it with their lives, and drive
the treacherous miscreants, who would dare
profane by their touch, back to where they
belong.”

“We are not traitors,” flashed Bob. “We
have a right to secede if we want to. The
Capital belongs as much to us as it does to
you, anyway.”

“It doesn’t,” cried Jeanne angrily. “It
belongs to the North because the North is
trying to uphold the Government left to us
by our great and good Washington.”

“Your great and good Washington,” sneered
Bob. “Washington belonged to us, I’d have
you know. He was a Virginian, and let me
tell you, that if it hadn’t been for Southerners
there never would have been any United
States anyway.”

“There would too,” flashed back Jeanne.
“My great-grandfather fought in the Revolution,
and there were plenty who fought that
were not Southerners.”

216“And who led them, pray?” demanded Bob.
“Why, George Washington, a Southerner.
Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
Thomas Jefferson, a Southerner. Who got up
the Constitution? Why James Madison, a
Southerner. And mind you, Jeanne Vance,
this country couldn’t be run at first except by
Southerners. Out of the first five presidents,
four were Southerners.”

“Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison,
Monroe,” and Jeanne counted them on her
fingers. “John Adams was a Massachusetts
man.”

“Phew!” and Bob’s lips curled scornfully.
“And the people were so sick of him that
they only let him stay in four years. They
were glad enough to get back to us. I am
sure that I don’t wonder. I don’t see how
they could stand a New Englander.”

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to,” said
Jeanne, wrathfully. “They are the best
people in the world. One of them is worth
a dozen Southerners.”

“He isn’t,” blazed Bob. “He––”

“Why, what does this mean?” cried a
voice from without the tent. “Bob, is that
the way you treat a guest? I am surprised.”

217“It’s dad!” exclaimed Bob, rapidly untying
the flap of the tent. “Come in.”

To Jeanne’s surprise she saluted her father
military fashion instead of kissing him. The
gentleman entered–a tall, black-haired,
black-eyed man of splendid military bearing
and courtly mien. His eyes were twinkling,
but he spoke to his daughter in rather a stern
tone.

“Is this the way to entertain a guest, my
child? I suppose that this is the young lady
that Johnson brought in last night.”

“Yes,” answered Bob, in a shamefaced
way. “She is a Yankee, and we were quarreling.
I don’t know how it began. Do
you?” to Jeanne.

“No,” answered Jeanne. “I don’t.”

“I am ashamed of myself,” said Bob, impulsively.
“I ought to have remembered
that you were my guest. If you will forgive
me this time I won’t do it any more.”

“I was wrong too,” said Jeanne, humbly.
“We’ll forgive each other.”

Bob hesitated a moment and then leaned
toward her.

“There!” said the Colonel, as the girls
kissed. “That’s better. Leave it to the men
218
to settle the differences of the country. It is
not pleasant to see girls quarrel. Introduce
the little lady to me, Bob.”

“Jeanne, this is my father, Colonel Peyton,”
said Bob. “Dad, this is Jeanne Vance, from
New York city. And she is a brave girl, if
she is a Yankee. You must get her to tell
you all about her adventures.”

“I am sure that I shall be pleased to hear
them,” said the Colonel, affecting not to notice
Jeanne’s start of surprise as she heard his
name. “Do you girls know that it is breakfast
time?”

“Mercy!” cried Bob. “Have the drums
beaten the call? I did not hear them. Did
you ever! We’ve been two hours talking
and–quarreling,” she added, in a lower tone.

“Yes; there was a time when I thought
that it would be coffee and pistols for two,”
laughed the father. “Come, let us have
breakfast. I will hear the little lady’s story
while we eat.”

Jeanne looked about her with curious eyes
as they emerged from the tent. Everywhere
there were tents that were arranged with
military precision back of a parade-ground
which formed the front. First were the tents
219
of the men arranged by companies. Next
after the tents of the men came those of the
commissioned officers of the companies.
These faced on streets which ran at right
angles with the company streets. Still back
of these were the tents of the Colonel and his
staff. The flag-staff at the edge of the parade-ground,
and immediately in front of the
Colonel’s tent, sported a Confederate flag that
waved gaily in the breeze. In the rear of all
were found the Quartermaster’s and Sutler’s
departments. Dick had often written about
the soldiers doing their own cooking but here
the camp seemed filled with negroes who
bustled about cooking and waiting upon the
soldiers as if they had been in their own
dining-rooms.

“We are here awaiting orders,” said the
Colonel, when Jeanne had told him her story,
“but we expect to leave soon for Jackson.
There are a number of Federals in that vicinity.
It seems to me that your best plan
would be to remain with us until we reach
Jackson where I will try to get you to your
own side. They will assist you to get home.
That is where you ought to be.”

“And where I wish to be,” said Jeanne.
220
“You are very kind, Colonel Peyton. Kinder
than my own people were, and yet you know
that I am a Yankee.”

“I am treating you as I would wish my
own daughter treated under like circumstances,”
replied the Colonel gravely. “I
don’t war on girls, and it seems to me that
you have had rather a hard time of it. Well,
we’ll get you out of it as soon as possible unless
you and Bob destroy each other in your
quarrels.” And he looked at them with a
humorous twinkle in his eye.

“We won’t quarrel any more,” decided Bob.
“We have had our say and we feel better.
Don’t we, Jeanne?”

“Ye-es,” said Jeanne hesitatingly. “Only
I didn’t say all I wanted to.”

“Never mind,” laughed Colonel Peyton.
“I’ve no doubt but that you will have the opportunity
yet. Did Bob tell you how she
came to be with me?”

“No; how was it?”

“I ran away,” said Bob, her mouth full of
chicken. “I have no mother. Nobody but
dad. So when the war broke out, and he
went into it I made up my mind that I would
go too. Dad sold off our darkies and sent me
221
to stay with Aunt Betty in Mobile. I stood
it just as long as I could, then I took Jack, my
horse, and struck out for dad. I found him
finally, and now I’ve been with him for six
months. And I am going to stay too. Am I
not, dad?”

“Until we get to Jackson,” answered her
father, regarding her fondly. “Then I shall
send you on to Vicksburg to stay with sister
Sally. That is the safest place in the Confederacy.
Once there my mind will be easy
about you. A camp is no place for a girl.”

The breakfast was finished and Colonel
Peyton was about to leave them when he
turned to Bob abruptly.

“By the way,” he said, “wasn’t it Mr.
Vance who bought Snowball?”

“Yes; it was, dad. I wonder how Madame
treats her! It seems to me that I’ve heard
some awful stories about the way she uses her
darkies.”

“When she whips them she does whip
dreadfully,” said Jeanne. “But I only know
of once that she had Snowball whipped. And
you are the Colonel Peyton who bought her?”
Then she told them of Tenny, Snowball’s
mother.

222“That was why you started when you
heard my name, was it not?” asked the
Colonel.

“Yes, sir.”

“I wondered just a little at the cause of it,”
remarked the officer as he left them. “Now,
girls, be good.”

“I don’t want to go to Vicksburg a bit,”
confided Bob to Jeanne as they reëntered the
former’s tent. “I just love soldiering. Besides
I want to be near dad. Suppose he
should be wounded. He’d die if I was not
right there to look after him. I’m not going
to say anything, but it will take a regular
guard to keep me with Aunt Sally.”

“But if he wishes it,” said Jeanne to whom
her father’s lightest wish was law. “You will
have to stay then. He knows best.”

“It won’t be best for me to be away from
him,” said Bob, rebelliously. “I should imagine
all sorts of things were happening to
him.”

“Everybody who has a father or a brother
in the army does that,” said Jeanne sadly as
she thought of Dick. “But we have to stand
it, Bob, when the men and the boys will go to
the war. I could not if I didn’t think it was
223
right. If Dick should be killed––” her
voice faltered a little–“it would be a noble
death. Admiral Farragut said that there was
no nobler one than to die for one’s country,
and I should try not to grieve too much if he
were to fall doing his duty.”

“I do wish you were a Southerner,” said
Bob impulsively. “You feel just like we do
about those things. But, Jeanne, what if
your brother had thought that we were right
and had gone to our side? What would you
do then?”

“Dick couldn’t do that,” cried Jeanne.
“Why the place where he was born and the
way he was brought up would be against it.
No; Dick couldn’t be a rebel.”

“That’s what I thought about Frank,” said
Bob, with bitterness. “That’s one reason that
I stick so close to dad. I have, or rather had,
a brother too, Jeanne. But he broke dad’s
heart and mine by going to fight with the
Yankees. Yet his place of birth and his raising
were both against it. I will never forgive
him,” and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“And dad never will either.”

“But he is your brother,” said Jeanne,
pressing her hand. “If he thinks he is right,
224
even if he does differ with you, he is still
your brother.”

“Never,” cried Bob, dashing the tears
from her eyes. “I have no brother. Come,
let’s go to see the men drill.”

225CHAPTER XX
THE ARREST OF A SPY

Jeanne soon accustomed herself to the life
of the camp, but she did not grow fond of it
as Bob was. By her gentle way and pleasant
manners she became quite a favorite with
Colonel Peyton, but Bob reigned supreme in
the hearts of the men. She petted and
scolded them as if they were her brothers, and
Jeanne wondered when she saw how the strong
men submitted to her least command. But
the secret lay in the fact that the Southern
girl adored the soldiers and they knew it.

“It’s the smartest regiment in the whole
Confederacy,” declared Bob with shining eyes
to Jeanne one day. “I don’t believe that
there is another like it in the world.”

“Dick’s regiment is very gallant,” said
Jeanne, a trifle wistfully. “It has been complimented
publicly on account of its bravery.”

“Well, it can’t beat the ‘Die No Mores,’”
said Bob. “The boys have been specially
good this week. Dad said last night that not
226
a man had been under arrest for five days. I
always sing to them when that happens.”

“Do you sing, Bob?”

“Yes; I have quite a good voice,” said Bob
in such a matter-of-fact way that the other
girl smiled. “Do you?”

“A little,” acknowledged Jeanne. “Father
used to like to hear me.”

“Then we will give the boys a good time
to-night. They like singing and dad thinks
it helps to keep them cheerful. They often
sing themselves.”

“I have heard them in the evening, and I
like it when they do not sing rebel songs,”
said honest Jeanne.

“Well, you can hardly expect them to sing
any other, can you?” demanded Bob. “I
don’t suppose that you do like it. I shouldn’t
want to hear the Federal songs if I were in
one of their camps. But the spirits of the
men must be kept up for we expect to meet
the enemy soon.”

“Do you?” cried Jeanne. “Oh, Bob, do
you think that I could go to my side?”

“I don’t know, Jeanne. Dad said, you
know, that it would be best to go to Jackson
with us and then he would send you to the
227
Federals. You wouldn’t be any nearer getting
home with a party of skirmishers than you
are with us.”

“I suppose not,” sighed Jeanne, “but it
would be something to be with my own
people.”

“We’ll see,” replied Bob. “Although I
don’t like to have you leave, Jeanne. It is a
great deal nicer with you here. Dad likes it
too, I know, for he said to me yesterday:
‘Barbara,’ he always calls me Barbara when
he is serious, ‘I like that little lady. You
would please me if you would model your
manners after hers. You are a bit hoydenish
in your ways, and it grieves me. Fine manners
are to a girl as the perfume is to a flower.’
I said, copy-book style: ‘Honored and respected
parent, after having brought me up
according to military regulations, don’t you
think it is a little unjust to twit me with my
manners? If they are lacking, blame the
code, not me.’ And then I saluted, and retired,
gracefully, I hope. At any rate the
shot told for I heard him laughing as I went
out. Now, Miss Vance, let me have a lesson.
I suppose it’s proper to begin with prunes and
prisms. There! do I say that right?”

228“Oh, Bob,” cried Jeanne laughing as Bob
perked up her mouth in a funny little grimace.
“What a girl you are!”

“I hope you are well,” went on Bob with a
fine affectation of young ladyism. “Beautiful
weather we’re having, aren’t we? There!
Do you think dad will like that?”

“I like you better your own natural self,
and I think that he does too,” said Jeanne.
“My ways don’t suit you, Bob, and yours
would not suit me. But I am sure that you
could have a fine manner without modeling
after me. I like you best just as you are.”

“So do I,” said Bob, tucking her arm comfortably
within Jeanne’s. “And so does dad
but he doesn’t know it. I don’t want him to
get too fond of you.”

Night came and as usual the soldiers gathered
around the fires to sing songs and to tell
stories. Presently Bob came among them to
fulfill her promise to sing to them. Jeanne
accompanied her, and the Northern girl wondered
at the self-possession and ease with
which the Colonel’s daughter stood before so
many men and sang. But the Southern girl
was so accustomed to the soldiers that she
thought nothing of it. Song after song she
229
sang responding with the utmost good nature
to the repeated requests for more. At last she
cried:

“Just one more, boys, and I must stop, for
I am tired. What shall it be?”

“The Bonnie Blue Flag,” cried several
voices.

“Very well,” and Bob began instantly:

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Three cheers for the bonnie Blue Flag,”
called a voice and with a shout the soldiers
responded.

“Now three for our beloved president, Jefferson
230
Davis! And three for the Confederacy!”
The men responded lustily.

“And three cheers and a tiger for Miss
Bob, the child of the regiment,” shouted another
enthusiastically.

These had scarcely died away when some
one called. “Why can’t the ‘Little Yank’
give us a song?”

“Yes, yes; the ‘Little Yank,’” came from
all sides.

For a moment Jeanne hesitated, and then
she stepped forward into the place which Bob
had vacated. Her heart beat fast as she
looked into the expectant faces before her.

“I will sing of a flag too,” she said in clear
thrilling tones. With a quick motion she
drew the stars and stripes from her bosom and
shaking out its folds began earnestly:

For a few moments every one was still
amazed at the girl’s audacity, but as the last
strain of the first stanza came from her lips a
231
hoarse, angry murmur went up from the soldiers,
and there was a movement toward her.
But Jeanne heeded it not and in triumphant
tones began the chorus:

“Chuck that!” growled one of the men.

“Stow it, or it will be the worst for you,”
called another.

“You asked me to sing,” said the girl undauntedly.
“And I will choose my own song.”

“She is right,” and Colonel Peyton pushed
his way to her side. “You asked her, boys,
and she can sing what she chooses. Take
your medicine like men.”

Sullenly the soldiers settled back into their
places while Jeanne courageously finished her
song.

“It wasn’t right,” said Bob angrily as
Jeanne joined her. “You didn’t treat the
boys right. If dad hadn’t been there they
wouldn’t have stood it.”

“If they don’t want to hear such things
they must not ask me to sing,” cried Jeanne,
her eyes blazing. “I am compelled to hear
treason every day.”

232“You don’t need to stay here,” flashed
Bob.

“I am sure that I don’t want to,” answered
Jeanne. “I want to go to my own people
and I will go to-morrow if your father will
let me. I don’t stay because I want to.”

“Well, you needn’t be so glad to be rid of
us,” and the tears welled up into Bob’s eyes.
“I am sure that we are good to you.”

“Yes; you are,” and Jeanne went to her
quickly. “I shall be sorry to leave you, Bob,
but I do want to see my father and my
mother. It has been so long, so long.” She
turned away to hide her tears.

“Yes, it has;” and Bob put her arm within
Jeanne’s affectionately. “I am sure that I
don’t blame you for wanting to see them. I
don’t know why I say such mean things,
Jeanne. I wish we didn’t quarrel.”

“Maybe we can’t help it,” answered
Jeanne, pressing her arm.

“No; I suppose you can’t help being a
Yankee,” said Bob, so dolefully that Jeanne
laughed.

“I don’t want to,” she said. “I am not
sorry that you are a Southerner, but I wish
you were for the Union.”

233“Well, I don’t, and so there we are! I
suppose that there is just one thing to do,”
and Bob nodded her head sagely, “and that
is not to quarrel any more than we can help.
When we do we’ll make up, won’t we?”

“Yes,” answered Jeanne. “We will.”

Once more the two were friends, and thus
the days passed. October waned and soon
rested with the other months of the dying
year, and chill November reigned supreme.
Still the order to move did not come. There
was an uneasiness in the Colonel’s manner as
his scouts brought in news each day that the
country surrounding Jackson was filling up
with Federals.

One morning a number of the companies
of the regiment left the camp, and Bob confided
to Jeanne the news that they expected
to be in an engagement before they returned.

Jeanne, thrilled by the intelligence that she
was so near to her own people, sat thoughtfully
in front of the tent devoted to the use
of the girls.

“Would it not be possible,” she wondered,
“for me to join them? These people are
kind and good, but would it not be much
better for me to be with those of my own
234
side? If I were with them they could send
me to some place where it would be safe for me
to take the cars for home. Father and mother
must be so worried. I will see Colonel Peyton
and ask him what he thinks of it,” she
cried, springing to her feet.

She hastened toward the tent of the commander,
reaching it at the same time as a
number of soldiers did. A man was in their
midst who, although he wore a suit of butternut,
seemed to be a prisoner. Jeanne paused
as the men stopped directly in front of her,
and gave a cry of amazement at sight of the
man.

“You,” she cried, in agitated tones. “Oh,
I thought that you were on our side!”

A loud burst of laughter came from the
soldiers, and the prisoner became very pale.

“I reckon the ‘Little Yank’ has called
your death sentence, pardner,” said one of the
Confederates, roughly. “That shows that
you are a spy all right enough.”

“A spy,” cried Jeanne, a light flooding her
mind. “Oh, what have I done? What have
I done?”

“Do not grieve,” said the young man, who
was none other than the officer whom she had
235
aided in Memphis. “They strongly suspected
it any way, and were taking me to their Commanding
officer for examination.”

“There doesn’t need to be much examination,”
said a Confederate, bluntly. “Colonel
Peyton will make short work of you.”

“Whom did you say?” cried the young
man in such agonized tones that all turned to
look at him.

“Colonel Peyton,” was the reply. “Here
he is now.”

“What does this mean, boys?” asked Colonel
Peyton, appearing in the door of his tent.
“What is the disturbance?”

“A feller that we caught sneaking round
the camp,” answered the leader, gruffly. “He
claims to be a Southerner, and I reckon he is
one all right, but his actions are decidedly
suspicious. We were bringing him to you
when this girl recognized him, and called the
turn on him as belonging to the Federals.”

“He is that worst of men, a Southerner
who has turned against the State that gave
him birth and who takes up arms against
her,” said the Colonel sternly, yet with emotion.
“I know him, men, personally. He is
an officer in the Federal army. If he was
236
prowling about here in those clothes he is
without doubt a spy. Unhappy man,” he
continued, turning to the prisoner, “what
have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing,” and the young fellow bowed
his head upon his breast.

“You know the penalty of being caught as
a spy,” went on the pitiless voice of the Colonel.
“A spy is one of the most dishonorable
of men, and deserves any death given him.
We have not much time for such. You die
at sunrise. Take him, men, and guard him
well. I believe him to be a dangerous man.”

He turned back into his tent, and the
soldiers started away with him, when Jeanne
darted to the young man’s side, and caught
his hand between her own.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “I did not
know what I was doing. Forgive me.”

“Never mind, child,” said the young officer,
drearily. “It would have happened any way.
He knew me. I would rather have died in
battle, but after all I have been doing my
duty. It is not death I fear, but––”

“But what?” asked Jeanne, as he paused.

“It breaks my heart to be condemned to death
by my own father,” came the agonized reply.

237CHAPTER XXI
A SURPRISE AND AN ESCAPE

“Your father?” cried Jeanne, in amazement.
“Is Colonel Peyton your father?”

The young man bowed in assent.

“And he condemns you to death?” went
on the girl, a horrified expression on her face.
“How could he do such a thing? Oh, how
could he?”

“By George,” broke from one of the Confederates.
“This is a pretty mess! Boys, the
old man has sentenced his own son to death
as a spy.”

The soldiers crowded about the prisoner.
Jeanne drew close to him and laid her hand
pityingly upon his arm.

“I will tell Bob,” she said. “Perhaps she
can persuade your father not to do this monstrous
thing.”

“Bob! Is Bob here?” The Lieutenant
looked up eagerly and then shook his head.
“No,” he said, “she must not know. It
would break her heart. After all what has
238
he done but what is just? Had it been any
other Federal we would commend him for
doing his duty. He could not do other than
he has done. But say nothing to Bob. Add
this to your other kindness, Miss Jeanne.
And, as this will probably be the last opportunity
I shall ever have, let me thank you
also for sending me to your home.”

“Then you really went there,” cried Jeanne.
“You saw my father and my mother? How
did they look? Were they well? When did
you leave them? Oh, Lieutenant Peyton,
do tell me all about them.”

“They are all well, or were when I left
them which was two months ago. They were
as kind to me as if I had been their own son.
I shall never forget them. But they were
worried because they had not heard from
you. After you left Memphis no word came
to them. Child, why do you treat such
parents so? Why are you here in place of
being at home? It is wrong to subject them
to so much uneasiness. They cannot think
what has happened to you?”

“But I have written,” cried Jeanne, tearfully.
“And I want to get home. I don’t
want to stay here one bit. I want––”

239“Men, why do you dally here with your
prisoner?” came in stern tones from Colonel
Peyton who had approached the group unobserved.
“I desire that no further communication
be allowed between this man and that
girl. Are they not both Federals?”

“Being as he was your son, Colonel,” said
the leader, saluting, “we thought––”

“Your business is to obey orders, not to
think,” interrupted the officer brusquely.
“He is no son of mine. My son died to me
long ago.”

“Dad,” cried the cheery voice of Bob as
she came toward him. “They say that you
have caught a spy. Where is he? Why––”
Her gaze fell upon the prisoner and she
stopped short. “Frank,” she cried, shrilly,
“it’s Frank! Oh, dad, what does it mean?”

“It means,” said the Colonel, trying to
draw her away, “that you have no brother,
Bob. This man is nothing to you. He is a
spy and as such dies at sunrise.”

“At sunrise!” shrieked Bob. “No, no!”

“Away with that fellow,” ordered the Colonel,
harshly. “And mind! I shall hold each
one of you personally responsible for his
safety. Bob,” as the soldiers bore his son
240
away, “you are under arrest. Go to your
quarters and stay there until I release you.
And you also,” to Jeanne.

“You have no right to arrest me, Colonel
Peyton,” said Jeanne coldly. “I refuse to
obey any man who sentences his own son to
death.”

“You refuse to obey me?” cried the Colonel,
loth to believe his ears. “Me?”

“Yes, sir, you. I do not consider myself
under arrest. You have no right to put me
there. I am neither your daughter nor your
slave,” and Jeanne put her arm around Bob
and faced him defiantly.

“There are ways of enforcing obedience,
young lady,” said the Colonel. “Bob, to
your quarters.”

“But, dad,––”

“To your quarters,” commanded her father
sternly. “Johnson,” to a soldier, “see that
these girls are well-guarded until I give other
orders.”

And so it came about that a guard was
placed about their tent and the girls found
themselves as closely watched as if they were
indeed prisoners. In the afternoon as they
sat disconsolately together a confusion without
241
told that something unusual was going
on. Jeanne went to the aperture in the
front of the tent and looked out.

“What is it?” she asked of the sentry.

“Our men coming back,” was the answer.
“They have a number of prisoners and have
captured some fine horses.”

Jeanne reported the news to Bob, but she
received it apathetically. So overcome by
grief was she that she appeared to no longer
care for anything.

“Bob,” said Jeanne suddenly, “can’t we do
something to help your brother?”

“I am afraid not,” answered Bob in heartbroken
accents. “What can we do? We are
only girls. What can we do?”

“Well, we can make an effort. I will never
forgive myself if I don’t do something for
him.”

“Why should you care?” asked Bob listlessly.
“He is not your brother.”

“No, Bob, he isn’t. But he is one of our
officers, and I intend to help him get away.
It would be an awful thing for him to die by
the hand of his father.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Bob
looking at her with a gleam of interest.

242“I don’t know. I have been thinking all
day and I don’t know,” said Jeanne. “But
we must do something. I did not think that
your father could be so cruel.”

“He is doing his duty,” said Bob with pale
lips. “Poor dad! Jeanne, you think him
hard-hearted, but I know that this will kill
him. Poor, poor dad!”

“Then if he cares why does he condemn his
son to death?” asked Jeanne in surprise.

“Because he came here as a spy, and dad
could not overlook that fact even if he is his
son. Dad must regard Frank as a Federal,
Jeanne. He is bound to as a Confederate
officer.”

“But you are not bound. Surely you are
not going to let your brother die without trying
to save him?”

“Dad will never forgive me,” said Bob
weakly. “And yet I can’t let Frank die.”

“Of course not,” answered Jeanne. “Now,
Bob, let’s think hard. Maybe between us we
can get some plan.”

But the time passed, and darkness found
them still with no plan matured.

“We will save our rations,” said Bob as
their supper was handed in to them. “Frank
243
ought to have them to take with him if he
succeeds in escaping. If he doesn’t we won’t
care to eat.”

So they carefully put up the food into a
small package, and again fell to discussing
ways and means for the escape of Lieutenant
Peyton.

“Bob,” exclaimed Jeanne presently, “do
you know that I have not heard the guard
patrol our tent for a long time?”

Bob listened intently, and then sprang to
her feet.

“It’s true,” she exclaimed excitedly. “I
wonder what the reason is?”

They ran to the door of the tent and peered
out cautiously. There seemed to be a commotion
of some kind in camp. Men were hurrying
to and fro; bayonets rattled, and the subdued
murmur of many voices plainly told
that an unusual movement was on foot. The
girls looked on breathlessly and presently they
heard the order given for the men to fall in
line. Then “Forward, March!” came the
command and the ranks filed out of the camp
on the double quick, the Colonel at their head.

“Something’s up,” said Bob with conviction.
“Let’s go down to where the prisoners
244
are, Jeanne, and see how the land lies. Then
maybe we will know what to do.”

Silently Jeanne signified her assent and the
two stole quietly through the long rows of
tents to where the prisoners were.

“There is but one guard,” whispered Bob
in delight. “See, Jeanne! Frank lies the
closest to the fire. He is bound too, hand
and foot.”

“I see,” whispered Jeanne. “Let’s get
closer, Bob.”

Cautiously they approached nearer to the
men. Presently Jeanne uttered an exclamation
and stopped stock still.

“What is it?” asked Bob quickly. “Did
you hurt yourself?”

“Bob,” whispered Jeanne in great agitation,
“do you see that young fellow just beyond
Frank? The one with the yellow hair,
I mean.”

“Yes, Jeanne. Why?”

“That is my brother Dick. They shan’t
have Dick, Bob. Not if I had to face the
whole Confederate army myself.”

“Jeanne, is it truly Dick? Aren’t you
mistaken? Maybe it’s only some one who
looks like him.”

245“It’s Dick,” said Jeanne positively. “Watch
him. He will know my voice.” Regardless
of caution she began singing softly the then
popular melody:

Bob watched the young fellow as Jeanne’s
voice floated out upon the night air. The
boy, he was scarcely more than that, raised
himself to a sitting posture instantly, a blank
look of amazement upon his face.

“Miss Bob,” came from the guard, “it’s
against orders for either you or the ‘Little
Yank’ to be about the prisoners. I’m mighty
sorry, but you’ll have to go.”

“Johnson,” said Bob coaxingly, “haven’t I
always been good to you?”

“Yes, Miss Bob.”

“Who looked after you when you were
wounded, and cooked for you, and wrote your
letters to your wife?”

246“Miss Bob, for goodness sake don’t tell me
any of those things now. The Colonel’s
away, and there are just a few of us left to
guard the prisoners and the camp. ’Tain’t
right, Miss Bob.”

“You said that there was nothing that you
would not do for me,” went on Bob inexorably.

“And I meant it,” said the poor fellow. “I
know what you mean. I know that’s your
brother. But you must not ask it of me.
Please, Miss Bob.”

“I’m only going to ask you to turn your
back for ten minutes,” said Bob.

“And his knife,” whispered Jeanne tremblingly.
“Get his knife, Bob.”

“Turn your back for ten minutes,” repeated
Bob, “and lend me your knife.”

“For the love of mercy, Miss Bob,” pleaded
Johnson, “don’t ask this of me. It means
worse than death to me. It is a betrayal of
trust.”

“Your knife, Johnson,” and Bob held out
her hand. “What would your wife think of
your refusing me anything?”

“Take it,” said the man with the resignation
of despair. “The Colonel will have
247
me shot like a dog, but take it. I cannot
refuse.”

He handed her the knife and then turned
his back full upon the prisoners.

“Quick,” whispered Jeanne. “Cut your
brother’s bonds first, and then let me have the
knife.”

She ran to her brother’s side as she spoke
and threw her arms about him.

“Dick, Dick,” she said kissing him repeatedly.
“I am going to cut the cords that bind
you. Then you must run for your life.”

“Jeanne,” came the amazed voice of the
lad, “how in the name of all that’s wonderful,
did you come here?”

“I am well and happy,” cried Jeanne hurriedly.
“I cannot tell you more now, but I
am going home soon. Don’t mind about me.
Bob, hurry, hurry, before Johnson turns.”

“There!” said Bob flinging her the knife.
Rising to her feet triumphantly she called to
her friend. “Be quick, Jeanne! Johnson is
looking at his watch.”

“Run, boys,” panted Jeanne as the keen
edge of the blade severed the cord that bound
her brother’s feet. “If you value your lives,
run like the wind.”

248Frank Peyton needed no second bidding.
He was off but Dick Vance hesitated as he
glanced at his sister.

“She is safe,” cried Bob, reading his glance
aright. “I will answer for her with my life.
Go! Go! Don’t look yet, Johnson. One
minute more in pity!”

“No;” and Johnson wheeled round.
“Your brother is gone, but not another prisoner
goes. I am not beholden to any Federal.”
He swung his gun to his shoulder just
as Dick darted away.

With a scream of terror Jeanne threw herself
upon him while Bob caught hold of the
musket.

“It’s my brother,” shrieked Jeanne. “You
must not, you shall not shoot!”

“Well, I’ll be switched,” growled Johnson
in disgusted tones. “Does the whole Federal
army happen to be related to you two girls?
This is a pretty affair! But that Yank doesn’t
get away if the Colonel’s son does.”

Shaking himself free from their clinging
hands he fired two shots in the direction that
Dick Vance had taken. As other men came
running up they gave chase to the fugitives.

“They dare not follow far,” comforted Bob,
249
as Jeanne gave vent to a flood of tears. “They
won’t dare to leave the camp long.”

“Come then,” and Jeanne dashed away her
tears as an idea flashed into her mind. “Let’s
call them back.”

She took Bob’s hand and ran with her to
another part of the camp.

250CHAPTER XXII
DICK TO THE FORE

Jeanne uttered an exclamation of joy as she
stumbled upon a musket that for some reason
had been thrown aside.

“This is the very thing,” she cried.

“What are you going to do?” asked Bob.

“I am going to make the guards think that
we are attacked,” answered Jeanne, swinging
the gun to her shoulder as she had seen the
men do. Before the other could stop her she
had pulled the trigger. There was a flash followed
by a loud report, and with a groan
Jeanne fell prone upon the earth.

“Jeanne,” shrieked Bob, falling beside her.
“Jeanne, are you hurt? Oh, she’s shot!
She’s shot!”

“Miss Bob! Miss Bob, where are you?”
shouted the voices of the soldiers, and a number
of those who had been left to guard the
camp ran hither and thither in confusion.

“To arms!” came the hoarse command of
an officer. “We are attacked.”

251“Here! Oh, come here!” called Bob as
Jeanne lay groaning upon the ground.
“Captain Dallas, come here!”

In a few moments the soldiers were about
them. Captain Dallas raised the fallen girl
carefully.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked gently.
“Which way did the shot come?”

“It was the gun,” moaned Jeanne, feebly
finding herself able to talk. “It went off at
the wrong end.”

“Well, by George,” cried the Captain bursting
into a laugh, “we’re nicely fooled, boys.
The girl isn’t shot. She fired the gun herself.
The musket kicked. That’s all. Now you
girls go to bed,” he ordered sternly, “and
let’s have no more nonsense.”

“But Dick,” said Jeanne, getting upon her
feet. “You haven’t caught Dick, have you?”

“If you mean the fellow that left with the
Colonel’s son, no,” answered the Captain.
“We can’t spare the men to give chase, but
there will be a reckoning for somebody when
Colonel Peyton gets back. Now go to bed.
You’ll let us keep the rest of our prisoners, I
reckon,” he added with sarcasm.

“Oh, yes,” said Bob, laughing a little hysterically.
252
“It was just our brothers that we
were after.”

“Better go to the surgeon and get something
for that shoulder,” called the Captain as
they started off. “It’s liable to be pretty lame
for a few days.”

Bob profited by his advice and sought the
surgeon who gave her some liniment to rub
on it, but the morning found it still so lame
that Jeanne retained her bed.

On the morning of the third day the Colonel
and his men returned, worn and jaded
looking. There were no prisoners, and from
the spiritless condition of the soldiers it looked
as though they had been on a fruitless enterprise.

“And if that is the case,” remarked Bob to
Jeanne, “dad will be in an awful humor,
and we’ll catch it.”

It was afternoon before Colonel Peyton
sought their presence. Bob’s face blanched
as her father entered the tent, but Jeanne,
strong in the belief that Dick was safe, faced
him boldly.

“I want to hear the whole of this affair,”
said Colonel Peyton quietly ignoring his
daughter’s greeting. “Barbara, tell me just
what happened.”

253Briefly Bob related the facts of the
night’s occurrence. Her father listened attentively.

“And you threw up to Johnson the benefits
conferred upon him,” he said as Bob finished
her narrative. “I would not have believed
it of you, Barbara. Johnson has been court-martialed
and sentenced to the guard house
for one month. The officers were merciful
because that unhappy boy was my son. But
I cannot risk a second offense of this nature.
Hereafter, you will occupy quarters next to
my own. I did not dream that my daughter
would so far forget what was due to herself as
to aid in the escape of the enemies of her
country. I cannot but think it owing to the
companionship of the past few weeks. That
you may not be influenced further I forbid
you to have any further communication with
this girl. As for you,” turning to Jeanne and
speaking sternly, “as I have passed my word
to you that you shall be sent to the Federal
lines it shall be done. We leave for Jackson
to-morrow. At the first opportunity I will
send you to your people. Meantime, may I
ask that you refrain from any intercourse
whatever with my daughter? It is the smallest
254
return that you can make, in view of your
conduct of the last few days.”

“I have no desire to do other than you
wish, Colonel Peyton,” said Jeanne proudly.
“I am not sorry for anything I have done.
Were it to do over, I would not hesitate for a
moment to do anything I could to restore
either my brother or your son to liberty. I
am very sorry if my conduct has not pleased
you. I should think that you would be glad
to be saved from being the slayer of your
son.”

“We will not discuss the matter,” said the
Colonel coldly. “Come, Barbara, I will take
you to your quarters, and under pain of my
severest displeasure, I expect that you will
have no more to say to this young person.”

Bob gave Jeanne a long sad look, and then
silently gathering up her belongings, left the
tent.

And now began a dreary time for Jeanne.
Cold looks greeted her on every side. The
old, pleasant, cheery companionship with Bob
was no more. She missed even the tiffs they
had had, and longed with a passionate yearning
for home and friends. The march to
Jackson would have been a pleasant one as it
255
led through the autumn woods which shone
through a silvery mist amid spicy breezes
which blew cool and keen from the heart of
the pines, had it not been for the manner in
which she was treated.

No one paid the least attention to her comings
and goings. Indeed it seemed to her
that Colonel Peyton would gladly welcome
the fact of her disappearance, and so she grew
into the habit of riding a little apart from the
others and sometimes of loitering considerably
in the rear of the cavalcade. It had been the
original intention that she go in the wagon
with Bob, but under the altered conditions a
horse had been given her while Bob rode in
front with her father.

The afternoon of the second day out Jeanne
dropped behind the regiment, for she was
very tired, intending to wait for the wagons
and to ask the drivers to let her rest for a
while in one of them. A bend of the road
hid the regiment from view. The wagons
were far in the rear and for the time she was
alone.

“Jeanne,” came her name in low tones
from the underbrush at the side of the road.

Jeanne drew rein quickly and looked wonderingly
256
about her. She saw nothing and
thinking that she had imagined the call, she
started to go on, when it came again.

“Jeanne! Jeanne! Wait a moment.”

Pale and trembling the girl stopped, and
then to her astonishment Dick came breathlessly
though the undergrowth.

“Dick!” she cried. “Oh, Dick!”

“I have waited and watched for this chance
ever since I left the camp,” cried the lad.
“Come with me, Jeanne. You have no business
with these rebels.”

“But Colonel Peyton––” began Jeanne.

“Come,” cried Dick seizing the bridle of
her horse. “I do not understand why you
are here, but it is no place for you. I will
take you home.”

“Will you, Dick?” asked the girl joyfully,
preparing to dismount.

“Don’t get off the horse. We will need
him. I don’t know just where our men are,
and we may have a long distance to go.”

“But he is not ours,” objected Jeanne,
whose residence among soldiers had not been
long enough to render her conscience elastic
on this point.

“Yes, he is,” answered Dick. “The Government
257
confiscated all the property belonging
to the Johnnies long ago, and I guess this
horse comes under that act. I am only doing
my duty in taking the animal.”

“Do you think so?” asked Jeanne, dubiously.

“Certainly, I do,” and the lad led the horse
away from the road into the thicket. “I
thought I was going to have lots of trouble
to get you away from those people,” he said,
when they were a safe distance.

“They don’t care anything about me,” said
the girl, sadly. “O Dick, I’ve had such a
time!”

“There! There!” Dick drew her head
against his shoulder caressingly. “It’s all
over now. I’ll take care of you. But tell
me, Jeanne, how in the world did you come
down here in this benighted country? I left
you safe at home in New York and find you
here. How did it happen?”

“I thought that perhaps father had written,”
and Jeanne looked up through her tears.

“No; I have not heard from the folks for
quite a while, but we have been on the march,
and I was taken prisoner. I know that there
are letters for me somewhere.”

258“Then I will begin at the beginning,” said
Jeanne, stroking his hair tenderly. “Oh,
Dick, it is so good to be with some one who
belongs to me!”

259CHAPTER XXIII
RECAPTURE

“We must not stay here, Jeanne,” said
Dick, after his sister had finished her narrative.
“We must strike out for the Mississippi
River. Once there we may see some of
our boats. That will be our best show for
getting to our lines.”

“Is it far to the river, Dick?”

“I don’t know, Jeanne. If I felt sure that
Colonel Peyton would send you to our men, I
would let you go on with him, but after the
treatment given you, I don’t like to let you go
back.”

“No; let me stay with you, Dick. I feel
as if I never wanted to see a rebel again.”

“You are liable to see a good many of them
before we are out of this,” remarked Dick.
“The woods are full of them. I fear––”

“What?” asked Jeanne, as the lad paused.

“For you, sister. It will be a long, hard
journey. I wish I had known just how matters
stood and I would have left you where
260
you were. You have shown yourself a brave
girl, and it will take all your courage and
resolution now to stand up under the perils
we will have to encounter. I wish we had
some money. The Johnnies aren’t averse to
taking our money for all their devotion to
their cause. It would help us wonderfully.”

“See here, Dick!” Jeanne took a roll of
bills from her dress. “Will this be enough?”

“Where did you get it?” cried Dick in delight.
“Why, this is fine!”

“Father gave it to me just before I left,”
answered Jeanne. “He little thought that it
would help us both to get back to him. I
know Aunt Clarisse would have taken it if
she had remembered telling me to hide it.”

“Father will have a settling with Uncle
Ben and his wife,” cried the boy, his eyes
flashing. “I’d just like to meet the lady myself.
I don’t think she’d like what she would
hear!”

“I know it,” and the girl looked at him
admiringly. “I just feel as if my troubles
were all over. What a soldier you are,
Dick!”

“You are a pretty good one yourself,” answered
Dick. “I had no idea, Jeanne, that
261
you could stand fire as you did on that transport.
Why, I have known big men to be
afraid in a battle.”

“It’s the blood,” observed the girl, sagely.
“How could we be other than brave, when
our ancestors fought in the Revolution? We
just can’t help it.”

Dick laughed.

“Ancestors don’t seem to help some fellows
I know,” he said. “You’d be surprised at
some of the things they do. They play sick,
fall in behind the rest of us, or do anything
in the world to get out of the way of the
bullets. The queer part of the whole thing
is that those who expose themselves the most
rarely get hurt while the shots seek the
cowards.”

Thus conversing the two pursued their
journey. Darkness came on, and Dick proposed
a halt and rest for the night.

“There are so many swamps,” he said,
“and so many of those things they call
bayous that I like to see where I am going.
You won’t be afraid to stay out all night, will
you? There isn’t a house in sight, and it
might not be safe for us to go to it if there
were.”

262“I am not afraid with you, Dick. But it
does look rather ghost-like, doesn’t it, with all
that moss hanging from the trees?”

“Yes; the forest is not so fine as our own
Adirondacks. I don’t like this country anyway.
There are cypress swamps and malaria
every time you turn round. Malaria has
killed more of the boys than all the shots the
rebs ever fired. You won’t get sick, will you?”

“I stood New Orleans in the summertime,”
said the girl, “and they said down
there that anybody who could live there
through the summer could live anywhere.
But you have not told me how you came to
be down here.”

“Our regiment was sent to Corinth,” answered
Dick. “With a few others I was
taken prisoner during the battle there. General
Van Dorn sent us to Jackson, and from
there we were to be taken by rail to Richmond,
Virginia. For some reason the orders
were changed, and we were marched on foot
to your camp. What they intended to do
with us is more than I know. I tell you, I
was glad to be free again.”

“You are so pale,” said Jeanne, touching
him gently. “Are you well, Dick?”

263“Fine! Just need a good square meal to
set me up all right,” answered the boy
cheerily. “I haven’t had very much to eat
since you girls set me free. Just what I could
find in the woods. Herbs and wild grapes,
and persimmons. I eat the green ones
mostly.”

“But why?” asked Jeanne mystified.
“The ripe ones are ever so much better.
I like them now, although I didn’t at
first.”

“The green ones are best if you don’t have
much to eat,” rejoined Dick. “They are fine
to draw the stomach up to fit the supply.
Say, Jeanne, don’t you wish we had some of
mother’s doughnuts?”

“You poor, poor boy,” cried Jeanne laughing,
but there were tears in her eyes. “I wish
we were where we could get them. Will the
war last much longer, Dick?”

“I am afraid so,” was the lad’s reply.
“The rebs have played the mischief this fall,
and it looks as if all our work had to be done
over again. Now, Jeanne, you go to sleep, or
you won’t be fit to travel to-morrow.”

“And what will you do?”

“Watch while you sleep. Never mind me.
264
I am used to it. I have often stood guard,
and can do it just as well as not.”

“I don’t believe that anything will bother
us, brother. I wish you would sleep too.”

“No,” said Dick sturdily, “not now.”

Jeanne tried to obey him but sleep would
not come to her. The dark pines were on all
sides of them. The owls hooted dismally,
and the chill wind sobbed and moaned fitfully
in the pine trees. Presently Dick stooped
over her.

“Are you cold, Jeanne?”

“Yes, Dick. And I can’t sleep a bit.
Can’t we talk, or walk, or do something?”

“We will walk,” decided Dick. “I think
that the horse must be rested by this time.
What is his name?”

“Robert E. Lee,” answered Jeanne in a
hesitating tone fearing that Dick might not
like the animal to be so called. “Bob called
him ‘Rel’ for short, and so do I because I
don’t like the full name.”

“Lee is a fine general,” commented Dick.
“If we had had him on our side to begin
with, the war would have been over by this
time. I hope the horse is worthy of his
265
name. Take my hand, Jeanne, and we will
start.”

Throwing the rein over his shoulder Dick
guided himself by the stars and the brother
and sister again took up their journey to the
westward. Slowly they proceeded, stopping
occasionally to rest and picking their way
carefully through the forest. At last, just at
the break of day, they came to a clearing in
the woods in which stood a cabin. The blue
smoke curled invitingly from the chimney,
and in the open door stood a venerable
darky.

“It’s darkies,” cried Dick joyfully. “They
will give us something to eat.”

They hurried forward. The old man stared
at them as they approached him.

“Could you give us some breakfast, sir?”
asked Dick. “We are willing to pay well for
it. We are Unionists.”

“’Meriky,” called the old man excitedly,
“hyar’s two ob Massa Linkum’s folks wantin’
sumthing ter eat. Yes, suh; kum in, suh.
We’ll gib yer what we’ve got. Kum in!”

Gladly they entered. A bright looking
colored woman surrounded by half a dozen
pickaninnies of all ages and sizes from two to
266
fifteen was busily preparing the morning meal.
She bustled forward bowing and courtesying
as they entered.

“Kum in an’ welcome,” she said. “Lawsie,
you is one ob Massa Linkum’s sojers sho’ nuff.
Hain’t neber seed one befo’. We all jest lubs
Fadder Abraham, suh.”

“And the horse?” said Dick suggestively.

“Dat’s all right, suh. Hyar, Geo’ge Washington!
Done yer see de gem’man’s hoss a
stan’ing dere? Gib him sum fodder.”

With homely but cheerful hospitality they
pressed the viands upon them. It seemed to
Jeanne that nothing had ever tasted so good
before, and she could not but gaze in wonder
at the quantity of hominy, molasses, cornbread
and rye coffee that Dick managed to
stow away.

“What would it have been if he hadn’t
eaten the green persimmons,” she wondered.

“You all is a moughty long ways from your
lines,” remarked the old man as Dick told
them that he been taken prisoner and was
making his escape. “Dere’s sojers all ’bout
in dese hyar woods. ’Clar ter goodness I done
see how yer gwine ter git away from ’em.”

“We’ll manage,” said Dick hopefully. He
267
felt now that he could face all of Van Dorn’s
brigade. “Take this, my friend, and tell us
the best road to reach the Mississippi
River.”

“Thankky kindly, massa,” said the old
darky, taking the dollar bill that Dick gave
him with the eagerness of a child. “See
hyar, ’Meriky, it’s Linkum money. Good
Linkum money!”

“Sho’ nuff it am,” cried ’Merica examining
it. “Thankky, suh; and you too, missy.
Ef yer eber sees Massa Linkum tell him how
we all lubs him, an’ dat we am a lookin’
fohwa’d ter resting in his bosom.”

“I will,” said Jeanne with quick courtesy
as a suspicious sound came from Dick’s direction.
“Perhaps some day you will see him
for yourself.”

“De Lohd grant it,” came from the negroes
fervently. “De good buk done promised dat
we shall lie in Fadder Abraham’s bosom, an’
we knows we will. Tell him we’s ’spectin’ it
suah ter kum ter pass.”

“Though how Lincoln is going to take
them all into his bosom passes my comprehension,”
was Dick’s laughing comment as
they went on their way.

268“I think that he has done it already,
Dick,” said the girl with truer insight than
the boy. “They know it too, poor souls! I
hope that they will get to see him. I think
if I were a negro I would walk all the way to
Washington to do it.”

They were fortunate enough to obtain some
ears of corn from the home of a poor white,
the woman being so suspicious of them that
she would not permit them to enter her house.
She gladly however took the money they
offered and gave them the corn.

To all inquiries concerning the Mississippi
River they were told that if they kept on in
the same direction that they were going they
would reach it in time.

“All of which is very specific,” growled
Dick as he threw himself under a tree and
declared a halt. “I wonder if any of them
ever saw the river in their lives.”

“I don’t believe that they have,” said
Jeanne. “I found out in New Orleans that
these people that they call ‘poor whites’ are
very ignorant. But we’ll reach it some way,
Dick.”

“Yes; I begin to think that we will,” said
Dick complacently. “I wish that I had a
269
Confederate uniform though. These clothes
are rather conspicuous.”

“Dick,” cried Jeanne in horrified tones,
“you would not wear that uniform for a
minute, would you?”

“Wouldn’t I?” chuckled Dick. “I wish I
had a chance to try. Then we would not have
to skulk along this way but would go boldly
to the nearest town and board a train, and
there we’d be!”

“I would not wear one,” declared Jeanne.

“It wouldn’t change my principles,” said
Dick. “The clothes don’t make the man only
in the eyes of other people, and that is what
we want now. I would be just as true a Unionist
as I am now, and it would be much
safer for us both. A uniform and a gun are
just what I need. I am going to get them!”

He rose determinedly as he spoke and
helped Jeanne on the horse.

“Get on too, Dick,” she pleaded. “You
have walked all the time and your shoes are
in tatters. Please get up too.”

To please her Dick climbed up before her,
and they started off at a brisk pace. Suddenly
from a bend in the road before them a body
of rebel cavalry cantered into view. Jeanne
270
tittered a cry of alarm but Dick setting his
teeth made a quick dash into the woods.

The rebels had seen them, however, and
giving vent to their terrible yell, they dashed
in pursuit.

“Surrender,” cried the leader as they drew
near the hapless pair. “Surrender!”

“Never!” cried Dick, furiously urging his
horse to greater speed. A shower of bullets
fell about them. The horse stumbled and
then swayed heavily. Dick leaped from the
animal’s back and swung Jeanne to the
ground just as the poor brute fell. Throwing
his arms about his sister the boy faced the
men defiantly.

“You are our prisoner, Yank,” yelled the
leader as they surrounded them.

“My sister,” came from the lad’s lips. His
face was very pale and a despairing look came
into his eyes. He tottered and fell as he
spoke.

“Dick!” shrieked Jeanne, frantically flinging
herself beside him. “Dick, Dick!”

“Wounded,” was the terse remark of the
Captain as he made a brief examination.
“By George, but he showed pluck to face us
as he did! Look here, boys.”

271Turning back the lad’s shirt he showed a
gaping wound in his chest. With a cry of
agony at the sight, the world turned dark to
Jeanne, and she fell prostrate across the form
of her brother.

272CHAPTER XXIV
VICKSBURG

When Jeanne recovered consciousness she
knew by the rumbling and roaring that she
was on board a train. The riding was very
rough, and hardly realizing where she was she
began to feel about her for the cushions,
weakly wondering where the lights were. It
came to her with a sudden shock as her
fingers touched nothing but wood that she
was lying prone upon the floor of some sort
of a car with not even a blanket under her.

The knowledge brought back the full remembrance
of what had happened, and she
sat up quickly and tried to peer about her.

“Dick,” she called. “Dick!”

A low moan was the answer. Guided by
the sound Jeanne groped her way in its direction,
and soon came in contact with the
prostrate form of the boy.

“Dick,” she cried again. “Dick, is it
you?”

“Jeanne,” came the reply, in weak tones,
273
“are you safe? I called but you did not
answer. I did not know you were here.
What has happened? Were you asleep?”

“I think I must have fainted, Dick,” answered
Jeanne, as steadily as she could, for the
thought of Dick’s wound sickened her, and
she was still weak from her swoon. “But I
am all right. How do you feel, brother?
Are you suffering much pain?”

“It is terrible,” groaned the boy. “It
wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the
jolting.”

“It must be dreadful,” said Jeanne, with
aching heart. “Let me see if I can’t help
that a little.”

She crawled close to his side, and seating
herself with the side of the car for a brace,
gently lifted his head and shoulders into her
lap.

“Is that better?” she asked, as Dick settled
back heavily.

“Yes, dear; but I am afraid that it will be
hard on you.”

“Oh, no! It makes me feel so much better
to be able to do something for you. It breaks
my heart to have you suffer. Didn’t those
people do anything for you?”

274“The surgeon dressed my wound when
they reached the station. Then they threw
me into this box car. I felt worse because I
didn’t know what had become of you.”

“Now you must rest,” said Jeanne, holding
him tenderly against her. “We are still together,
Dick. You must sleep if you can.”

And so through all the long dark night the
girl held her wounded brother, and strove to
break the jolting of the rough car. Her arms
ached from their burden, and her limbs were
numb, but she breathed no word of discomfort.

Sometimes Dick would fall into a fitful
sleep in which he murmured feverishly and
then he would awake with a start, but Jeanne
was always awake to soothe him and to quiet
his wandering fancy.

At last the long hours of darkness passed,
as the longest and darkest must, and the sun
rose lightening up even the gloomy box car
with its rays. Pale and wan Dick looked in
the morning light and Jeanne’s heart was
very full as she gazed at him.

“What would mother say if she could see
him?” she thought. “Oh, if she were only
here to take care of him! But she can’t be
and I must do my best. God help me!”

275About nine o’clock the train slowed down
and presently pulled into a station. After a
long time the doors of the car opened and
some Confederate soldiers appeared.

“All out for Vicksburg,” called one facetiously.

“Shut up!” said another. “Don’t you see
that the boy is wounded and the girl doesn’t
look any better than he does.”

“What are you going to do with him?”
cried Jeanne in alarm as two of the men lifted
Dick up.

“Take him to the provost marshal and then
to the hospital. He is our prisoner, you
know.”

“Then you must take me right along with
him,” said Jeanne, decidedly, rising stiffly.
“I suppose I am a prisoner too.”

“I rather reckon so,” was the dry reply.

Jeanne said no more but followed closely
after the man as Dick was carried into the
station. The depot was thronged with soldiers
waiting to go out to the batteries. She obtained
her first glimpse of the “Gibraltar
of the South” as she drove through its streets
by Dick’s side, in an ambulance.

The city presented a fine appearance situated
276
as it was on the wooded summits of the
Walnut Hills. From these elevations the flat
alluvial country around could be seen in every
direction, which with its forests of oaks and
cottonwood interspersed with extensive plantations,
formed a picture of great panoramic
beauty. The main portion of the city lay
near the water front and above it the hills
were crowned with elegant private residences,
and made conspicuous by the high walls of
the public buildings. The court-house, a large
structure of light gray limestone, crowned the
summit of one of the hills and was one of the
first objects to catch the eye. The streets rose
from the river with an abrupt difficult ascent
and were cut through the bluffs and hills directly
to the edge of the levee.

With something approaching awe Jeanne
gazed at the formidable batteries which had
been erected to dispute the advance of the
Federals. The most of them were near the
lower end of the town as if the greatest danger
were to be apprehended from that point.
One tier was near the top of the bluff, another
about halfway down from the summit to the
water. A single row of water batteries was
located near the brink of the river to repel all
277
attacks made at close range. The batteries on
the hills causing more trouble to the Unionists
than those lower down as none of the
Federal guns could be elevated sufficiently to
reach them while their shot could be made to
plunge through the decks and disable whatever
boats or vessels came within their range.
As Jeanne gazed on these formidable defenses
she could not but wonder how the transport
had escaped destruction.

The provost marshal was reached at last and
Dick’s name and regiment were duly registered.
Then the provost turned to Jeanne.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he
said. “What were you doing?”

“Dick and I were trying to reach the Mississippi
River hoping that we might get
home,” said Jeanne.

“Were you carrying anything beyond the
lines?”

“No, sir.”

“How came you within our lines?” persisted
the officer, attracted by her youth and
innocence, yet determined to probe the affair
to the bottom.

“I came from New Orleans,” said Jeanne.
“I was visiting my uncle. When they left
278
the city they took me with them but left me
at a deserted plantation. I started back to
New Orleans but fell in with Colonel Peyton’s
camp and he was bringing me to Jackson
where he said that he would send me to our
side. I met Dick and so went with him because
he is my brother.”

“But what was Dick doing here?” queried
the man. “What business has a Union soldier
in this part of the country?”

“I was a prisoner,” answered Dick, speaking
for himself. “I had escaped and when I
knew that my sister was in the hands of you
fellows I waited to take her away.”

And Dick awaited the effect of his bold
declaration anxiously for he was uneasy for
his sister.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” said
the provost again.