“Yes, that makes a difference,” assented her father. “Yet, my child, remember that before you have been accompanied by either your mother or me. Now you will have to rely entirely upon yourself. This is a letter for Commodore Porter who is a friend of mine, and who is somewhere on the Mississippi. Ask for him as soon as you reach Memphis. If he is not there there will be others on our side who will carry you down the river after reading the letter. If at any time you are in doubt what to do go to the hospitals. There are always women there who will gladly give whatever aid you may need. And here is money.”
“Mother gave me some,” interrupted Jeanne who had listened with the closest attention.
“Yes; that is in your purse, which is in the satchel, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, take this also. I had this bag made to hold it.” He put a roll of bills into an oilskin bag and drew the cord so that the opening closed tightly together. “Wear that about your neck, child, and keep it hidden under your dress,” he said. “Keep that always about you as a reserve fund. So long as you have money you can get along pretty well. Take out what you need from time to time, carrying only a small amount in your purse. Above all beware of talking too freely to strangers. Now for the final instructions: you are going to New Orleans to visit your Uncle Ben. When you reach there ask him to direct you to Mr. ––––,” here he whispered in her ear. “Speak that name to no person. When you have delivered the papers into his hands your duty is done. Stay with your uncle until you hear from me. I will write you how to come home. Now, Jeanne, I think that this is all I have to say. If anything should happen that these arrangements fail, don’t run any danger but return home. You see that I am leaving a great deal to your judgment. Can you remember everything that I have said?”
“Yes. And you may be sure that I will do just as you tell me. It seems to me that everything has been thought of and that there is no chance of failing.”
“Sometimes the best laid plans are thwarted,” said her father gravely. “It may not be a very wise thing to send my daughter on such an errand, but you are such a sensible little thing that I feel as if you would succeed.”
“I will,” said Jeanne determinedly. “I want to be worthy of my name, father. Did not another Jeanne not much older than I lead the Dauphin of France to a crown? Surely then I can do this thing which is small in comparison.”
“I am afraid we did wrong in giving you such a name,” remarked her father smilingly. “How full of the martial spirit you are, Jeanne. I believe that you would undertake the capture of Jeff Davis if I asked you to.”
“I would,” exclaimed the girl with a look that boded ill for the rebel president. “Perhaps we will try it yet.”