A Daughter of the Union Part 27
"I don't know, Jeanne. Dad said, you know, that it would be best to go to Jackson with us and then he would send you to the Federals. You wouldn't be any nearer getting home with a party of skirmishers than you are with us."
"I suppose not," sighed Jeanne, "but it would be something to be with my own people."
"We'll see," replied Bob. "Although I don't like to have you leave, Jeanne. It is a great deal nicer with you here. Dad likes it too, I know, for he said to me yesterday: 'Barbara,' he always calls me Barbara when he is serious, 'I like that little lady. You would please me if you would model your manners after hers. You are a bit hoydenish in your ways, and it grieves me. Fine manners are to a girl as the perfume is to a flower.' I said, copy-book style: 'Honored and respected parent, after having brought me up according to military regulations, don't you think it is a little unjust to twit me with my manners? If they are lacking, blame the code, not me.' And then I saluted, and retired, gracefully, I hope. At any rate the shot told for I heard him laughing as I went out. Now, Miss Vance, let me have a lesson. I suppose it's proper to begin with prunes and prisms. There! do I say that right?"
"Oh, Bob," cried Jeanne laughing as Bob perked up her mouth in a funny little grimace. "What a girl you are!"
"I hope you are well," went on Bob with a fine affectation of young ladyism. "Beautiful weather we're having, aren't we? There! Do you think dad will like that?"
"I like you better your own natural self, and I think that he does too,"
said Jeanne. "My ways don't suit you, Bob, and yours would not suit me.
But I am sure that you could have a fine manner without modeling after me. I like you best just as you are."
"So do I," said Bob, tucking her arm comfortably within Jeanne's. "And so does dad but he doesn't know it. I don't want him to get too fond of you."
Night came and as usual the soldiers gathered around the fires to sing songs and to tell stories. Presently Bob came among them to fulfill her promise to sing to them. Jeanne accompanied her, and the Northern girl wondered at the self-possession and ease with which the Colonel's daughter stood before so many men and sang. But the Southern girl was so accustomed to the soldiers that she thought nothing of it. Song after song she sang responding with the utmost good nature to the repeated requests for more. At last she cried:
"Just one more, boys, and I must stop, for I am tired. What shall it be?"
"The Bonnie Blue Flag," cried several voices.
"Very well," and Bob began instantly:
"'We are a band of brothers, and natives to the soil, Fighting for the property we gained by honest toil; And when our rights were threatened, the cry rose near and far, Hurrah for the bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!
"'Then here's to our Confederacy; strong we are and brave; Like patriots of old we'll fight our heritage to save; And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer; So cheer for the bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star.
"'Then cheer, boys, cheer; raise the joyous shout, For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out; And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given.
The single star of the bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be eleven.'"
"Three cheers for the bonnie Blue Flag," called a voice and with a shout the soldiers responded.
"Now three for our beloved president, Jefferson Davis! And three for the Confederacy!" The men responded l.u.s.tily.
"And three cheers and a tiger for Miss Bob, the child of the regiment,"
shouted another enthusiastically.
These had scarcely died away when some one called. "Why can't the 'Little Yank' give us a song?"
"Yes, yes; the 'Little Yank,'" came from all sides.
For a moment Jeanne hesitated, and then she stepped forward into the place which Bob had vacated. Her heart beat fast as she looked into the expectant faces before her.
"I will sing of a flag too," she said in clear thrilling tones. With a quick motion she drew the stars and stripes from her bosom and shaking out its folds began earnestly:
"'Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd were so gallantly streaming; And the rockets, red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there!'"
For a few moments every one was still amazed at the girl's audacity, but as the last strain of the first stanza came from her lips a hoa.r.s.e, angry murmur went up from the soldiers, and there was a movement toward her.
But Jeanne heeded it not and in triumphant tones began the chorus:
"'Oh! say, does that star spangled banner yet wave, O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!'"
"Chuck that!" growled one of the men.
"Stow it, or it will be the worst for you," called another.
"You asked me to sing," said the girl undauntedly. "And I will choose my own song."
"She is right," and Colonel Peyton pushed his way to her side. "You asked her, boys, and she can sing what she chooses. Take your medicine like men."
Sullenly the soldiers settled back into their places while Jeanne courageously finished her song.
"It wasn't right," said Bob angrily as Jeanne joined her. "You didn't treat the boys right. If dad hadn't been there they wouldn't have stood it."
"If they don't want to hear such things they must not ask me to sing,"
cried Jeanne, her eyes blazing. "I am compelled to hear treason every day."
"You don't need to stay here," flashed Bob.
"I am sure that I don't want to," answered Jeanne. "I want to go to my own people and I will go to-morrow if your father will let me. I don't stay because I want to."
"Well, you needn't be so glad to be rid of us," and the tears welled up into Bob's eyes. "I am sure that we are good to you."
"Yes; you are," and Jeanne went to her quickly. "I shall be sorry to leave you, Bob, but I do want to see my father and my mother. It has been so long, so long." She turned away to hide her tears.
"Yes, it has;" and Bob put her arm within Jeanne's affectionately. "I am sure that I don't blame you for wanting to see them. I don't know why I say such mean things, Jeanne. I wish we didn't quarrel."
"Maybe we can't help it," answered Jeanne, pressing her arm.
"No; I suppose you can't help being a Yankee," said Bob, so dolefully that Jeanne laughed.
"I don't want to," she said. "I am not sorry that you are a Southerner, but I wish you were for the Union."
"Well, I don't, and so there we are! I suppose that there is just one thing to do," and Bob nodded her head sagely, "and that is not to quarrel any more than we can help. When we do we'll make up, won't we?"
"Yes," answered Jeanne. "We will."
Once more the two were friends, and thus the days pa.s.sed. October waned and soon rested with the other months of the dying year, and chill November reigned supreme. Still the order to move did not come. There was an uneasiness in the Colonel's manner as his scouts brought in news each day that the country surrounding Jackson was filling up with Federals.
One morning a number of the companies of the regiment left the camp, and Bob confided to Jeanne the news that they expected to be in an engagement before they returned.
Jeanne, thrilled by the intelligence that she was so near to her own people, sat thoughtfully in front of the tent devoted to the use of the girls.
"Would it not be possible," she wondered, "for me to join them? These people are kind and good, but would it not be much better for me to be with those of my own side? If I were with them they could send me to some place where it would be safe for me to take the cars for home. Father and mother must be so worried. I will see Colonel Peyton and ask him what he thinks of it," she cried, springing to her feet.
She hastened toward the tent of the commander, reaching it at the same time as a number of soldiers did. A man was in their midst who, although he wore a suit of b.u.t.ternut, seemed to be a prisoner. Jeanne paused as the men stopped directly in front of her, and gave a cry of amazement at sight of the man.