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 shore 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 shore 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 Snowball fer short.”

“You did?” laughed Jeanne. “Why, Tenny, Snowball 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 Snowball.’ 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 Snowball. It wuzn’t stylish nohow, but would you b’lebe me, chile? De fust thing I knowed, white and culled wuz a callin’ her Snowball, 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 nobody could do for ’em laik Snowball. 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’ Massa Cap’n he bought me but ’nother man bought Snowball 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. Massa 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 Snowball.”

“Now, missy, what could Tenny do? A pore ole nigger 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 nobody 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 Massa 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 nigga’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 nobody could ever separate you again.”

“Bress yer good haht, honey!” exclaimed Tenny, clapping her hands. “I wish I knowed his name. He wus an horsifer. I heerd dem call him Kuhnel.”

“And don’t you remember his name?”

“No, missy; I doesn’t. Nebber heerd him called nuffin but Kuhnel nohow. Wait a minnit! Chile, chile, ’pears ter me I did hyar it. Lemme think. My ole haid no ’count no mo’.” She placed her hands to her head and looked with troubled eyes at Jeanne. “Why can’t I ’member? ’Twuzn’t Massa Benson? No; ’twuzn’t. Think, nigga! Why done yer ’zert yersef? Nebber did hab no sense nohow.”

Thus she rambled on, muttering to herself until presently she sprang to her feet exclaiming:

“I’se got it, missy. ’Twuz Kuhnel Peyton. Massa Kuhnel Peyton! I ’members it now ’zactly. Massa Kuhnel Peyton! Dat’s it. Dat’s it.”

“Colonel Peyton!” said Jeanne. “I’ll remember that name, Tenny. How much do you suppose the Colonel would want for her?”

“’Bout a tousand dollahs, I reckon,” answered Tenny.

“A thousand dollars,” echoed Jeanne in dismay. “Oh, Tenny, I haven’t near that much. I didn’t suppose that it would be so much as that.”

“Niggas wuth heaps ob money,” said Tenny proudly. “My gal wuz smaht, I tell yer. Dat’s why she brung so much. Can’t you buy her, missy? Tenny’ll lub yer all yer life ef yer will.”

“I’ll write to my father,” decided Jeanne. “I’ll get him to buy her for me. He will know just what to do, and you shall have your child again, Tenny, I’ll promise you that.”

“Ef yer’ll jest do that, missy, ole Tenny’ll do anything in de wohld fer yer,” sobbing in her eagerness. “To think ob habin’ my babby ergain. She wuz my babby, missy. I had ten befo’ her but ’peared laik none ob dem tuk sich a hole on ma haht de way she did. Ef I kin hab her ergain I’ll brack yer shoes, an’ scrub yer floors er do anything all de res’ ob ma life. Yer won’t need ter lift yer purty white han’s ter do er a lick er wuk nebber no mo’.”

“I’ll do it if it is possible,” said Jeanne. “It may take some time to find the Colonel, Tenny. You know that the war has disturbed everything so, but my father will know just what to do. If anybody can find him I know that he can. Just hope and pray that it will all come right yet.”

“I’ll do dat, honey. I’se been prayin’ fer dis long time, but I didn’t do no hopin’ kase it didn’t seem no use. But bress yer! De Lohd seems ’bout ter lead me outen de valley ob de shadder. Massa Cap’n say sumtime we all be free, but dat’s too much ter hope fer.”

“No; it isn’t, Tenny. The people up North are talking about it all the time and working for it. I should not be surprised if it were to happen any time.”

“Glory!” shouted the old woman rapturously. “Den dere wouldn’t be no mo’ whippin’s, ner chilluns sold frum der mammies, ner hidin’s in de swamp wid de dogs arter yer, ner put in jail ef yer does run away. Oh, chile, it’ll be de bressed day ef it do happen! But it can’t be true.”

“Hope for it, Tenny. That is what we are doing, but it grows late and I believe that I am tired. Would you mind going with me to the cabin while I go to bed? Someway I feel lonesome to-night.”

“’Course yer lonesum. Way offen yer folks laik dis. Suttinly I’ll go an’ only too glad. Ole Tenny’ll put yer ter bed laik she wuz yer own mammy.” She bustled about the girl when they reached the latter’s stateroom and soon had Jeanne snugly in bed. “Dis hyar winda’ll gib yer air,” she said opening it. “Yer needn’t be afeerd kase it opens on de ribba, and nobody can’t git in. Now shet dem eyes ob yourn, and go ter sleep.”

She sat by the girl’s side and began crooning weirdly. The wild barbaric melody rising and falling in a sort of rhythm with the motion of the boat. Jeanne listened fascinated by the music and presently her eyes became heavy and soon she was fast asleep.

On and on down the tortuous curves of the river The Gem wended her way until at last she came in sight of the flotilla under the command of Commodore Davis. A shout went up from the fleet as the men caught sight of the transport, and there was a scramble for her sides as she hove to alongside of the flagship of the Commodore.

Jeanne kept herself in readiness to be transferred to one of the gunboats, for Captain Leathers had told her that he did not expect to go farther. Soon he returned from a visit to the flagship.

“Commodore Davis says that it will not be advisable for you to come aboard any one of his ships as there are many cases of fever among the men,” he said, coming at once to the waiting girl. “Both Commodore Farragut’s force and his own are down with it. They intend withdrawing from the assault on Vicksburg as they have received orders to that effect from Washington. Therefore Davis will retire to Helena and Farragut to New Orleans until they can have the coÖperation of the army.”

“But––” began Jeanne.

“You see the thing is to get you to Farragut,” interrupted the Captain. “Davis and I have decided that some of these supplies ought to be carried to the Commodore directly. He knows his need; so that I am going to him with the transport. Davis will send a gunboat with me for protection. It is fair to tell you that there will be great danger. The ram Arkansas is anchored just below the city and will do all she can to injure us. Now the question is, what will you do? The best thing to my way of thinking would be for you to stay right here with old Tenny either on one of the gunboats, fever stricken though they be, or to land somewhere until my return.”“There is no question at all about it,” said Jeanne decidedly. “I will go with you.”

“But you understand that there is danger, child? Great danger! We may all of us be killed.”

“Yes; I know,” replied Jeanne quietly, “but I started for New Orleans, Captain, and I am going if I can get there.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said,” and the Captain heaved a sigh. “I will not attempt to combat your decision, child, but I wish you would not go. However I must see the men now, and place the matter before them. You may go with me if you like.”

Jeanne followed him and stood by his side as he called all hands aft.

“My men,” said the captain in clear tones, “I have called you together to put a plain statement of facts before you. You know that we were sent here with supplies for the two fleets of Commodores Farragut and Davis. Both squadrons have many cases of fever which has seriously depleted their strength. Farragut needs the drugs that we have immediately. Of course he can get supplies by the outside route, but that takes too long. The poor fellows are in urgent want of what we have. Now, men, it was not the intention to go farther when we started than Davis’s flotilla, but my heart bleeds for those suffering sailors. I want to run by Vicksburg to-night in the darkness. I will not disguise the danger. The ram Arkansas lies at anchor under the city as a further menace besides the batteries. I want no man to accompany the expedition who does not go willingly. All who wish to remain with the fleet may do so without the least stigma of cowardice attaching to them. Who will go with me?”

There was dead silence. Jeanne looked with surprise at the grave faces before her. She had thought that men were always ready to lay down their lives in a good cause. She had not dreamed that any one would hesitate for a moment. Her amazed look gave place to one of scorn as the time passed and no one spoke. Stepping close to the Captain’s side she slipped her little hand into his and said clearly:

“I will go with you, Captain.”