A Daughter of the Union Part 25
"I did not think that you were a Southerner when you spoke," she said.
"What are you doing here? We are Confederates."
"Yes, I know," answered Jeanne. "My aunt and uncle left me on a deserted plantation because I was a Yankee, and I started back to New Orleans hoping that General Butler would send me home. I must have taken the wrong road, and so gotten lost. You won't turn me away, will you, just because I am a Yankee?"
"No; not for to-night anyway. I just hate Yankees, but I reckon you don't count as you are a girl. Come on to bed now, and we'll talk it over in the morning."
And Jeanne went into the tent content to let the morrow take care of itself now that she was sheltered for the night.
CHAPTER XIX
"BOB"
At daybreak the roll of martial drums startled Jeanne into wakefulness.
"What is it?" she cried, springing from the couch.
"The drummers are beating the reveille," answered the calm voice of Bob who was already up. "That means that it is time to get up. You needn't be in a hurry, however. There are two hours yet until breakfast."
"But you are dressing," said Jeanne. "I will too."
"I always get up when the regiment does," answered Bob. "But you are different. You are a guest."
"What are you?" asked Jeanne curiously.
"The Colonel's daughter, and the child of the regiment. What is your name?"
"Jeanne Vance. I live in New York city."
"That is a long way from here," said Bob. "Do you mind telling me why you came down here?"
"I think I should like to," replied Jeanne gazing at the trim figure of the girl admiringly. She was clad in a suit of gray cloth consisting of a skirt and close fitting jacket with epaulets upon the shoulders.
A cap of the same material was perched jauntily upon her raven black hair. Her face, piquant and sparkling, was tanned a healthy brown through which the red of her cheeks glowed brightly. Jeanne thought that she had never seen a more charming girl, and, rebel though she knew she was, she felt her heart drawn toward her.
"Yes, I think that I should like to tell you," she repeated, and then as rapidly as possible she told of her mission and the events that had followed its execution.
Bob listened attentively.
"It was awfully mean in your aunt to treat you the way she did," she commented as Jeanne finished her story. "You are a brave girl even if you are a Yankee, and I like you. Father says there are some nice ones, but I reckon that they haven't so awfully many brave ones among them, or we wouldn't be whipping them so."
"Whipping them?" cried Jeanne aghast. "What do you mean by whipping them?
We were doing all the whipping the last I knew anything about it."
"Well, you certainly haven't heard the news lately then," rejoined Bob.
"If you had, you would have learned that General Bragg had invaded Tennessee and Kentucky and that the Confederates have both those states back again. I tell you the Yankees are just 'skedaddling' before him."
"It can't be true," wailed Jeanne. "Kentucky and Tennessee both taken from us when we fought so hard to get them? Surely it is not true!"
"But it is," a.s.serted Bob positively. "And that is not the greatest news: General Lee has not only driven McClellan from in front of Richmond, but he has invaded Maryland and we expect to hear at any time that Washington has fallen into our hands."
"Is it true?" asked Jeanne again turning so pale that Bob thought she was going to faint.
"Here, drink this!" Bob tipped up her canteen of water to Jeanne's lips.
"I did not know that Yankees cared so much for such things."
"Cared for such things," echoed Jeanne indignantly. "Of course we care.
How could any one hear that the Capital is menaced and not care? But the traitors will never succeed in taking it. Never! I know our people. They will defend it with their lives, and drive the treacherous miscreants, who would dare profane by their touch, back to where they belong."
"We are not traitors," flashed Bob. "We have a right to secede if we want to. The Capital belongs as much to us as it does to you, anyway."
"It doesn't," cried Jeanne angrily. "It belongs to the North because the North is trying to uphold the Government left to us by our great and good Washington."
"Your great and good Washington," sneered Bob. "Washington belonged to us, I'd have you know. He was a Virginian, and let me tell you, that if it hadn't been for Southerners there never would have been any United States anyway."
"There would too," flashed back Jeanne. "My great-grandfather fought in the Revolution, and there were plenty who fought that were not Southerners."
"And who led them, pray?" demanded Bob. "Why, George Washington, a Southerner. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence? Thomas Jefferson, a Southerner. Who got up the Const.i.tution? Why James Madison, a Southerner.
And mind you, Jeanne Vance, this country couldn't be run at first except by Southerners. Out of the first five presidents, four were Southerners."
"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe," and Jeanne counted them on her fingers. "John Adams was a Ma.s.sachusetts man."
"Phew!" and Bob's lips curled scornfully. "And the people were so sick of him that they only let him stay in four years. They were glad enough to get back to us. I am sure that I don't wonder. I don't see how they could stand a New Englander."
"I'm afraid that you'll have to," said Jeanne, wrathfully. "They are the best people in the world. One of them is worth a dozen Southerners."
"He isn't," blazed Bob. "He----"
"Why, what does this mean?" cried a voice from without the tent. "Bob, is that the way you treat a guest? I am surprised."
"It's dad!" exclaimed Bob, rapidly untying the flap of the tent. "Come in."
To Jeanne's surprise she saluted her father military fashion instead of kissing him. The gentleman entered--a tall, black-haired, black-eyed man of splendid military bearing and courtly mien. His eyes were twinkling, but he spoke to his daughter in rather a stern tone.
"Is this the way to entertain a guest, my child? I suppose that this is the young lady that Johnson brought in last night."
"Yes," answered Bob, in a shamefaced way. "She is a Yankee, and we were quarreling. I don't know how it began. Do you?" to Jeanne.
"No," answered Jeanne. "I don't."
"I am ashamed of myself," said Bob, impulsively. "I ought to have remembered that you were my guest. If you will forgive me this time I won't do it any more."
"I was wrong too," said Jeanne, humbly. "We'll forgive each other."
Bob hesitated a moment and then leaned toward her.