The steamer which had been a passenger packet plying her trade between St. Louis and New Orleans before the war had been converted into a transport for carrying men and supplies for the government. As Mr. Huntsworth and Jeanne ascended the gangplank they were met by the Captain.
“Is this the young lady who is to be our guest down the river?” he asked in such a hearty way that Jeanne’s heart warmed to him immediately. “General Wallace advised me that I was to expect one.”
“This is the girl, Captain,” replied Mr. Huntsworth. “And I hope for your sake that you and your crew are thoroughly Union, otherwise it would be better for you to meet with a rebel ram. I don’t believe that the Johnnies could make it any warmer for you than she could.”
“This is just the place for her then,” declared the Captain smilingly. “We are Union to the core, Miss Vance. I believe that is your name.”
“Yes, sir; my name is Jeanne Vance, but please do not call me ‘Miss Vance.’ It makes me feel so strange.”
“All right, my little girl. I will do as you say. I am glad that you have no grown-up notions about you. I foresee that we shall get along famously. This is the way to the cabin, and that room is where you will bunk. It is next to mine. You can call on me or Tennessee for anything you need.”
“Tennessee!” ejaculated Jeanne with a puzzled look.
“Yes; our cook. We call her Tenny for short, and she is about the jolliest old darky that ever trod a deck. A good motherly woman with a white soul if she is black. Now make yourself comfortable. I will send Tenny to you to help you. I have some things to attend to on deck.”
“Isn’t he kind?” exclaimed Jeanne. “How good people are to girls traveling alone!”
“It is because they are Americans,” said Mr. Huntsworth. “You should be proud of such a country. I am glad that you have fallen into such pleasant hands. I will tell your father if I see him before you do. Will you stay in New Orleans long?”