A Daughter of the Union Part 16

The Orderly called a cab and a.s.sisted Jeanne into it, putting her satchel and basket beside her. Then springing in he gave the order and they were off.

Past Lafayette Square with its city hall, churches and Odd Fellows Hall which were grouped round it with fine effect they went, and on into that portion of the city that was known as the Faubourg Marigny whose residences were built with more architectural generosity, broader s.p.a.ces, longer vistas, ampler gardens and with more sacrifices to the picturesque than the part of the city through which they had just pa.s.sed.

At last the cab turned into the courtyard of a ma.s.sive brick building.

It was a true Spanish building with broad doorways and windows, the roof of which was a solid terrace surrounded by a stone bal.u.s.trade. The establishment had all the privacy of isolation and seclusion and was a charming spot. The gardens were very large and s.p.a.cious, and fragrant with the blossoms from the magnolia groves. The avenue to the house was shaded with orange trees that later would be redolent with perfume and beautiful beyond description. Fruit trees were everywhere. Pomegranate, peach, banana, fig, pear interspersed with rose trees and jasmine whose odors ravished the senses.

The cab swept in an extensive circle round the courtyard to the carriage step before the broad doorway. A tall gentleman, elegantly appareled, stood leaning in an easy att.i.tude against one of the pillars of the broad piazza smoking a cigar. He advanced to meet the arrivals as the Orderly threw open the door of the cab and handed out the girl.

"General Butler presents his compliments to Mr. and Madame Vance," he said, with a deep bow, "and begs to introduce to them their niece, Miss Vance of New York."

"My niece!" exclaimed the gentleman giving Jeanne a look of astonishment.

"I have none unless my brother has a daughter. Are you d.i.c.k's child?"

"Yes," replied Jeanne, her heart beating quickly. "You are Uncle Ben, aren't you?" with a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

"I am Benjamin Vance at least," was the answer. "Come in. I don't know your name, but you are welcome if you are d.i.c.k's daughter."

"I am Richard Vance's daughter," replied Jeanne with some dignity.

"Then you are certainly my niece, though what in the world you are doing here is more than I can see. d.i.c.k is well, is he? But come in. You shall tell me all about it later."

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and without a glance or word for the Orderly drew her up the brick stairs and through the hall, whose stairway was beautiful enough for a palace with its elaborate, fantastic, hand-wrought iron railing, and on to the door of a salon. A beautiful woman swept graciously forward to meet them. She was very dark with brilliant black eyes and silky hair of raven hue. Her manner was easy, graceful and rather impa.s.sioned, and her features showed unmistakably her French descent.

"Clarisse," said the gentleman, "this is my niece who has honored us with a visit. I think that I have told you of my brother, Richard. She is his daughter and is from New York City."

"Mais!" exclaimed the lady, with a laugh and speaking with a decidedly French accent. "You surprise me! I knew not that you had a niece. Why did you not tell me? It is one bad husband you are not to tell me of the dear demoiselle. You are welcome, child. She resembles you, mon ami," taking Jeanne's face between her hands and giving her a long look. "We shall be great friends, my dear. Is it not so?"

"Yes;" Jeanne's lips quivered and her eyes filled suddenly with tears at this unexpected greeting. Her mission had ended so differently from the way she had antic.i.p.ated;--the doubt of her loyalty and the knowledge that her uncle was a rebel had filled her heart with misgivings so that this welcome was almost more than she could bear. But as this gleam of sunshine comforted her, she steeled herself against its influence and drew herself up bravely.

"I must tell you something," she said, "before you welcome me too warmly.

I am for the Union."

She did not dare to look at them as she spoke. Her thought was that they must know her principles before going further. She was homesick and longing for love and tenderness, but not for one moment would she receive them under false pretenses. A glance flashed from husband to wife and then a clear, silvery laugh rang out as the lady caught her to her.

"You dear little Yankee! you are too ridiculous for anything! Did you think we would turn you out because you were not a rebel? Well, we are rebels, my dear, but as we have to stand that odious, uncouth General Butler of yours I think we won't mind a little thing like you. Come now, and I will take you to your room and you shall rest. Then you shall tell us why you have come all this way to see us at such a time."

Jeanne returned her caresses with fervor, and abandoned herself to the delight of being fondled and petted again as only children can do who have been deprived of endearments after being accustomed to them.

"They are nice people," she whispered as the lady left her in a cool quiet room. "I wonder if it is wrong to like them? But it is father's brother, and I ought to love them. Oh, I do wish they were not rebels! How can they be traitors when they are so good!"

After she had rested her uncle's wife came for her.

"You are not weary now, are you?" she asked in her soft, caressing voice.

"You looked so fatigued, child. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Jeanne."

"Jeanne? Oh, you darling! That is French, isn't it? I did not know that the Americans ever named their children so. Jeanne! It is delightful."

"And you are Aunt Clarisse?"

"Ma foi, Jeanne! Do not call me anything so prim. Call me 'Cherie.' Aunt Clarisse indeed!" She laughed gaily.

"Cherie! what does it mean?" asked the girl wonderingly, gazing at the bright face above her with delight. "It should be something brilliant and sweet to suit you, I think. Something like rich red roses heavy with perfume and sweetness."

"You little flatterer! And you call yourself a Yankee? No, no; Yankees do not make speeches like that. You are French as your name is."

"But I like to be a Yankee," cried Jeanne.

"Be what you like, little one, so long as you are as sweet as you are.

But now let us go down to your uncle, after you take one little cup of coffee. So! Now we are ready."

The two descended to the drawing-room arm in arm, and there Jeanne related all the circ.u.mstances that led to her coming to New Orleans, concealing nothing. Her deep love and attachment to her country glowed through the narrative like a golden thread. The lady and gentleman listened in silence until she related General Butler's doubt of herself, when her uncle sprang to his feet with an exclamation.

"The scoundrel!" he cried. "To subject you to such treatment. And we are helpless. Yes; we are helpless. Day after day some new act of injustice comes to our ears and we must submit. But our time is coming, and I fancy that Butler won't relish what his high handed proceedings will bring him."

"He is truly a beast without the instincts of a gentleman," cried Madame Vance, excitedly. "That is our name for him, Jeanne. 'Beast' Butler, and well he deserves it."

Jeanne moved uneasily.

"It wasn't pleasant," she said, "and it was a new thing to me to have my loyalty questioned, but I think he must have to do that way. You are so against him, you know, that if he were not careful you might rise up and drive him out. And the Union must have New Orleans. Father says that the rebellion can never be put down unless the Mississippi River is in our possession."

"True for you, my little Yankee. And that is just where the Union will fail. They did take New Orleans through the cowardice of its defenders, but they'll never get Vicksburg. And so long as we can hold that the Confederacy is safe. But you say that you ran past the Vicksburg batteries. Tell that again."

Jeanne retold that portion of her story to please him.

"I am glad that you are here, child," remarked Mr. Vance when she had finished. "But I am surprised at Brother d.i.c.k's sending you to face such dangers. He always was an enthusiast in anything that he undertook, and undervalued life if it stood in the way of accomplishing his object."

"Father did not know that it was so risky," said Jeanne unwilling to hear aught against her father. "He would not have sent me if he had. Besides I wanted to come, and I am glad that I did come, now that I have met you and Cherie."

"Yes; I am glad for you to know her too," said Uncle Ben, his Yankee tones sounding in flat contrast with his wife's sibilant ones. "I always intended taking her North to see d.i.c.k's folks, but just as we were ready to go this war came on and here we are now at the mercy of that Yankee."

"But you are a Yankee too, Uncle Ben," said Jeanne bluntly.

"Ages ago, little one. He has gotten over all that now," said Madame Vance softly. "After you have been with us awhile you will get over your rank Unionism too."

Jeanne shook her head decidedly.

"Dear Cherie," she said, "nothing could ever make me disloyal to my flag.

See! I always carry it with me."

She drew the flag from her bosom and waved it proudly before her. Madame Vance gasped, and her husband's face darkened perceptibly.

"Little one, you will not carry it while here, will you? To please me, dear, never take it out again."

"Oh, but I must," said Jeanne. "I promised my own dear mother that I would look at it every night and I must keep my promise. I wish I could please you, Cherie, but I cannot. But I will do this much. I will not take it out before you any more. I ought to respect your feelings, I know."