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 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 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?"
"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, 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, 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."
"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
"'A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the best of men.'
"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."
"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 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 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:
"Ma sistah, done you want to get religin?
Go down in de lonesum valley,
Go down in de lonesum valley,
Go down in de lonesum valley, ma Lohd,
To meet ma Jesus dar."
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. 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 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 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?"
Jeanne 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 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 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?"
"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.