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.