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.