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
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 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
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 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, 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 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 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 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.
"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.