A Daughter of the Union Part 23

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, enn.o.bling 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 pa.s.sed; gra.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce; fields of deadened trees, all draped with the long gray Spanish moss, were silhouetted against the sky; groups of great oaks, with cl.u.s.ters 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 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 n.o.body 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 the gloom of the dwelling and after being a.s.sured 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 and lip. s...o...b..ll'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 upstairs 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.

CHAPTER 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 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 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."

Jeanne's eyes blazed in sudden anger, and she clenched her hands determinedly.

"I will see my parents again," she cried, pa.s.sionately. "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.