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?"
"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 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?" 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.
"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."
"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 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."
"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."
"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. 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 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.