“I donot 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 beastof 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 creaturesthat 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 herso 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.
The 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?”
“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 deMassa 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.
“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.
“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 themind 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.”
Jeannehanded 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.
“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 faceof 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 beencommunication 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 mybasket. 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?”
“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. “Anotherattempt 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.”
“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 yousaid 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.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.
Therewas 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.”
“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.”
“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 unableto 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 andJeanne 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 Jeannesprang 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 herfrom 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 waterand 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 andtook 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.”
“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 forthe 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.
Theparty 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 hadrobbed 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 herheart 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 judgmentup 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 athis 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,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 Jeannewas 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 dispelledthe 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 cheekand 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.
“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 upstairshall 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.
Itwas 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 alonely, 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 fromme. ‘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.”
Jeanne’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.”
But 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 hungerand 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: