A Daughter of the Union Part 9

The steamer which had been a pa.s.senger packet plying her trade between St. Louis and New Orleans before the war had been converted into a transport for carrying men and supplies for the government. As Mr.

Huntsworth and Jeanne ascended the gangplank they were met by the Captain.

"Is this the young lady who is to be our guest down the river?" he asked in such a hearty way that Jeanne's heart warmed to him immediately.

"General Wallace advised me that I was to expect one."

"This is the girl, Captain," replied Mr. Huntsworth. "And I hope for your sake that you and your crew are thoroughly Union, otherwise it would be better for you to meet with a rebel ram. I don't believe that the Johnnies could make it any warmer for you than she could."

"This is just the place for her then," declared the Captain smilingly.

"We are Union to the core, Miss Vance. I believe that is your name."

"Yes, sir; my name is Jeanne Vance, but please do not call me 'Miss Vance.' It makes me feel so strange."

"All right, my little girl. I will do as you say. I am glad that you have no grown-up notions about you. I foresee that we shall get along famously.

This is the way to the cabin, and that room is where you will bunk. It is next to mine. You can call on me or Tennessee for anything you need."

"Tennessee!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jeanne with a puzzled look.

"Yes; our cook. We call her Tenny for short, and she is about the jolliest old darky that ever trod a deck. A good motherly woman with a white soul if she is black. Now make yourself comfortable. I will send Tenny to you to help you. I have some things to attend to on deck."

"Isn't he kind?" exclaimed Jeanne. "How good people are to girls traveling alone!"

"It is because they are Americans," said Mr. Huntsworth. "You should be proud of such a country. I am glad that you have fallen into such pleasant hands. I will tell your father if I see him before you do. Will you stay in New Orleans long?"

"I don't know. I will have to hear from my father about that. But how easy it has been to get there!"

"The most difficult part is to come," said the old gentleman gravely.

"Once the Vicksburg batteries are pa.s.sed you will be safe. I do not think that this boat will try to make the run. She is hardly in fighting shape.

Of course you will be transferred to a gun boat. Well, well, I hope that you will get through all right and that we will soon meet again. Good-bye, little girl."

"Good-bye, sir," and Jeanne shook hands with him cordially. "Thank you so much for all your kindness. I hope that I will see you again. Good-bye."

Another hand shake and the old gentleman left the cabin slowly, and went on sh.o.r.e.

"Done you feel bad, honey," and a fat negress came up to her as she sat down on the side of her berth feeling rather forlorn. "Wus dat yer par?"

"No," and Jeanne looked up quickly with a smile. "Are you Tennessee? I am glad to see you. The Captain told me about you."

"Yes; I'se Tennessee, honey, but lawsie! Dey doesn't call me nuffin but Tenny. But ef yer want ter see the las' ob de ole gem'muns jest foller yer aunty ter de deck."

Jeanne followed the negress, and stood on the deck watching the preparations for departure. Mr. Huntsworth saw her and waved his hand. Jeanne waved hers in response, and as the transport backed out into the river and steamed southward, she gazed at him until his figure grew to be a tiny speck and then disappeared in the distance.

"Now, missy, I'se got ter ten' ter de dinner, but you can k.u.m wid me ef yer likes, elsen you can stay hyar and watch de ribber. Most folks likes ter do dat. I 'spect mebbe dats de best thing fer yer."

"Well, then I will stay, Mrs. Tenny," smiled Jeanne.

"Mrs. Tenny! Huh! Who is yer talkin' to, honey? I'se jest Tenny or aunty jest as yer likes. But done go ter puttin' no missis on to it. White folks done do dat down hyar."

"Then I will call you Tenny," said Jeanne, recoiling just a little from calling the woman aunty. "But it doesn't seem right not to say Mrs."

"Yes, missy, it's all right. Now I'll get up a good dinner. 'Specks you is powerful hungry, ain't yer? Ole Tenny gwine ter do her bes' fer de little missy," and the good creature hurried below.

CHAPTER VII

THE EXAMPLE OF A GIRL

Slowly the transport, which was called The Gem, steamed down the river and Jeanne stayed on deck long hours to watch the scenery, which was new and strange to her. The river was full of devious windings and the girl was amazed at its great bends and loops, and sometimes it seemed to her that the turns must bring them back to Memphis. The eastern sh.o.r.e bounded by the lofty plains of Tennessee and Mississippi terminating at times in precipitous bluffs afforded a great contrast to the flat lands of the western bank. The dense forests of cottonwood, sweet gum, magnolia, sycamore and tulip trees festooned with long gray streamers of moss were interspersed with cypress swamps and a network of bayous.

"Whar you bin dat you ain't nebber seed no 'nolias befo'?" queried Tennessee as she listened to Jeanne's expressions of admiration as a particularly handsome clump of magnolias came into view on the western bank. The channel of the river at this point ran so close to the sh.o.r.e that the perfume of the creamy blossoms was very perceptible.

"I've always lived in New York City," replied Jeanne. "I saw some magnolia trees once in Maryland, but I never saw them in blossom. Aren't they beautiful?"

"Yes, honey. Dey is purty fer a fac'," replied the negress. "I allers laked de 'nolias myself, and dat wuz de reason dat I named my darter so, but we called her s...o...b..ll fer short."

"You did?" laughed Jeanne. "Why, Tenny, s...o...b..ll isn't any shorter than Magnolia. Why didn't you call her 'Nolia,' if you wished to shorten the name?"

"My ole marster, he done it," was the reply. "Ole marster say, 'Tenny, dat li'l pickaninny too white ter be named anything so yaller as a magnolia.

Better call her s...o...b..ll.' Ole marster allers would hab his joke, and dat gal of mine wuz jist as brack as de nex' one. I didn't want my chile called s...o...b..ll. It wuzn't stylish nohow, but would you b'lebe me, chile?

De fust thing I knowed, white and culled wuz a callin' her s...o...b..ll, an'

den I did, too."

"Where is she now, Tenny? I should think you would want her with you on these trips."

"Chile, chile, dat's de thing dat tears dis hyar old heart ob mine,"

said the woman, her eyes filling with tears. "Ole marster say she was a 'likely gal' an' she wuz, ef she wuz mine. Dey made much ob her and would hab her roun' dem all de time. Seem laik n.o.body could do for 'em laik s...o...b..ll. Den ole marster tuk sick and died an' ole missus she say she hab ter sell us all, kase she didn't hab no money any mo'. An' Ma.s.sa Cap'n he bought me but 'nother man bought s...o...b..ll an' tuk her down to Loosyanny."

"Why, that is awful!" cried Jeanne, her eyes overflowing, her heart full of sympathy for the darky. She had often heard tales of this kind but this was the first time that this phase of slavery had been brought home to her. A child torn from its mother appealed to her, so many miles from her own dear mother, as nothing else could have done. "Why didn't Captain Leathers buy her too?" she asked. "He seems like a kind man."

"He is, honey. 'Deed he is," replied Tenny wiping her eyes, "an' he did try, but the yudder man had bought her fust an' he wouldn't gib her up.

I can't blame him fer she wuz a likely gal. Lawsie, chile, dat gal wuz smarter'n a whip!"

"How long has she been gone, Tenny?"

"'Twas befo' de wah broke out. Ma.s.sa Cap'n he wanted a good cook, an' I sutinly am dat, so he tuk me. He say dat I'se ter hab my freedum too, but shucks! what's freedum ter me? I'd rudder hab my gal dan all de freedum in de world."

"Yes; I suppose so," said Jeanne dreamily. "Still, Tenny, if you had your freedom you could go to look for s...o...b..ll."

"Now, missy, what could Tenny do? A pore ole n.i.g.g.e.r can't do nuffin nohow.

S'pose I did fin' her, what's I gwine ter do 'bout it? I couldn't buy her. 'Sides, ef dey cot an ole 'ooman a foolin' roun' dat didn't seem ter 'long ter n.o.body dey lock me up, suah. Mebbe dey'd whip me. An', chile, once you had de whip ter yer back you doesn't want it no mo'. No; I'se gwine ter stay right with Ma.s.sa Cap'n. He's a good marster, an'

he'll take good keer ob Tenny."

Jeanne sat silently thinking over what she had heard. Her heart ached for the helpless mother and she chafed at her inability to aid her. The darkness of the great slavery evil fell upon her spirit. Was this the land of the free and the home of the brave? she mused. How could she ever sing "The Star Spangled Banner" again so long as it waved over a country a portion of whose inhabitants groaned under a yoke of bondage!

"'Spect I ortern't ter hab tole yer dis, chile," said Tenny, becoming alarmed at her silence. "A n.i.g.g.a's trubbles nuffin nohow. Done you bodder yer purty haid ober it. I'se sorry I tole yer."

"I am glad, Tenny, but I do feel so sorry for you. I wish I could help you. If I knew where the man was that bought your child I'd buy her back and give her to you. Then if Captain Leathers would set you free you could both go North and n.o.body could ever separate you again."