"'Tis much he dares;
And to that dauntless temper of his mind
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor
To act in safety." SHAKSPEARE.
Although the general condition of the negro slaves at the South is the
most degraded in which humanity can exist, there are some exceptions to
the rule; and among them may well be placed the body-servant of Colonel
Dumont, Hatchie, whose sudden and mysterious reäppearance upon the deck
of the Chalmetta must be accounted for.
With an intelligence far superior to his condition, Hatchie discovered
the villany that lurked in the eye of Jaspar, on the night of the
forgery of the will. As we have before said, no one better than he knew
the character of Jaspar; no one better than he knew of what villany he
was capable. When he had been sent for the keys, an undefined sense of
duty prompted him to watch, and, if possible, to prevent the mischief
which he foresaw was gathering. When ordered to retire, he had pretended
to obey; but he placed himself beneath the window through which De Guy
had entered, a small crack of which had been accidentally left open. In
this position he saw Jaspar take out the packet which he knew contained
the will. He heard De Guy read the fictitious will, and at once
discerned enough of the plot to comprehend the danger that hovered over
his mistress. He understood that the real will was to be destroyed; and
his first impulse was to save it, which he had adroitly accomplished as
before related.
When Hatchie reached the open air, he was sensible of the dangerous
position in which his bold act had placed him. So sudden and
unpremeditated had been his action that no thought of future
consequences had accompanied it. But, undismayed, he ran at his fleetest
speed towards the river. He heard the footsteps of his pursuers, and
every step he advanced he expected to receive the bullet of Jaspar.
Trusting for safety to the darkness of the night, he quickened his
speed, till he gained the steep bank of the river. Leaping into the
canoe which he discovered in his flight, he pushed out into the stream,
and was several rods advanced towards the opposite shore when his
pursuers reached the bank.
Plying the canoe with all the strength and skill of which he was master,
his progress was suddenly interrupted by a log, upon which his frail
bark struck with much violence. The collision checked his progress, and
swung the canoe round by the side of the log. Satisfied that Jaspar
would fire as soon as he saw the canoe, his ready ingenuity supplied him
with the means of avoiding the ball, and of escaping further pursuit.
Taking the will in his mouth, he grasped the canoe with one hand, and
paddled silently with the other and with his feet. He had turned the
canoe adrift, and Jaspar, without waiting to examine it, had fired.
Hatchie then jumped up in the water, and produced the splash which had
deceived his pursuers.
With much difficulty the mulatto had propelled the log beyond the reach
of the current into comparatively still water. Here he remained quietly
on the log, using only sufficient exertion to avoid the current, until
he was satisfied that Jaspar and his companion had departed from the
bank. He then returned to the shore, using the greatest precaution to
avoid his enemies; but all was still.
Immediate danger being at an end, he bethought him of securing his
future safety,--a matter of extreme difficulty for one in his position.
He was satisfied that Jaspar would invent some story to account for his
disappearance; and just as well satisfied that he would shoot him, if he
again showed himself on the plantation. He congratulated himself on the
happy scheme he had adopted to deceive Jaspar; for he had now a
reasonable security from being advertised and pursued as a runaway
slave.
After much reflection, he concluded his wisest plan would be to seek
safety in New Orleans, where, in the crowd, he might escape recognition.
The cane-brake and the cotton-grove would not protect him. He might be
seen, and the blood-hound and the rifle bring him in a prisoner, and
even Miss Emily would now be unable to save him from the penalty. How
could he live in New Orleans, or how escape from there? He was without
money, and he had sense enough to know that money is a desideratum,
especially to the traveller.
Of this useful commodity, however, he had a supply in the mansion house,
which he had saved from the presents made him by Colonel Dumont and his
guests. Recognizing the necessity of obtaining it, as well as some more
clothing, he resolved to enter the house and procure them, after the
light he saw in the library-window was removed.
While waiting, he pondered more fully his position. What should be his
future conduct in regard to the will? He carried with him, he felt, the
future destiny of his gentle, much-loved mistress. He felt that on his
action during the next hour depended the happiness for a lifetime of one
whom he had been taught to revere, and whose gentleness and beauty had
almost lured him to worship. If the morrow's sun found him in the
vicinity of the estate, he would probably fall a victim to Jaspar's
policy. What should he do with the will? Should he show himself at the
hour appointed for the reading of it? He might fall into Jaspar's hands
in the attempt, the precious document be wrested from him, and thus all
his exertions be in vain. Without the will itself he could do
nothing,--his word or his evidence in court would be of no avail. No
one would believe the former against Jaspar, and the latter was
inadmissible.
Should he carry it to Mr. Faxon, or even to Miss Emily herself, Jaspar
might obtain possession of it by some means.
His deliberations could suggest no method by which immediate justice
could be done his mistress; and the conclusion of his reflections was,
that he must place himself in a safe position before he attempted to
expose the villany of others. His mistress, he knew by the will which he
had heard De Guy read, was to be conveyed to Cincinnati. He must go to
Cincinnati--but how? This was a hard question for the faithful Hatchie
to answer; but answer it he must. He would go to New Orleans, and there
form his plan.
After waiting till the lights were extinguished in the library, he
entered the house, and obtained his money and clothing.
By the exercise of much caution, he reached New Orleans in safety,
where, by the disbursement of a small sum of money, he obtained a secure
retreat in the house of a free man, with whom he had formerly been
acquainted. His object was now to obtain a passage to Cincinnati,--a
matter not easy to accomplish, as the law against conveying blacks,
unprovided with the necessary permit, was very stringent. He could not
hope, with his limited means, to offer an acceptable bribe for this
service. To attain his object, therefore, he must resort to stratagem,
for the chances of obtaining a passage by direct means were too remote
and too perilous to be hoped for. But accident soon afforded him the
means of attaining his end.
The negro with whom he had obtained a shelter kept a small shop, and by
the grace of the authorities and his neighbors was permitted to sell
liquor, tobacco and cigars, to the steamboat cooks, stewards, sailors,
and the soldiers who thronged the city on their return from Mexico. In
the rear of this shop, and connected with it, was a small room in which
the negro lived. This room afforded a safe retreat, and in it Hatchie
had his hiding-place.
One day a little knot of men, in the faded, dilapidated garments of the
army, entered the tap-room of Hatchie's protector. They drank deeply,
and, as was their constant practice, they seated themselves at the
broken table, and commenced gambling with the negro's dirty cards for
the few dollars which remained in their possession. This amusement
terminated, as such amusements frequently do, in a fight, in which one
of the number seemed to be singled out as an object of vengeance for the
others. This individual was an Irishman; and, for a time, he held way
manfully against his assailants. But, at last, in spite of the exertions
of the "proprietor" to protect him, he was likely to get the worst of
it, when Hatchie, no longer able to control his indignation at the
unfairness displayed in the encounter, suddenly interfered in favor of
the now fallen man. His enormous strength and skill soon cleared the
room of the rioters. Hatchie drew the defeated Irishman into his
hiding-place, and locked the door. This man was Pat Fegan, who has been
introduced to the reader.
Pat was filled with gratitude to his protector, and swore he would stick
by him till his dying day, if he was a "naiger." A mutual friendship was
thus established, which resulted in the disclosure of their future
prospects. The fact that both were seeking the same destination seemed
to strengthen the bond thus formed. Hatchie, shrewd by nature, read the
true heart of the Irishman. He felt that he could trust him with his
life; but his ability was quite another thing.
Pat Fegan was without means, and readily accepted the hospitality which
Hatchie offered to pay for. In the course of the long conversations with
which the two friends beguiled the weary day, Pat related his adventures
in Mexico, at the close of which he casually mentioned that the remains
of several officers, who died there, were to be conveyed up the river.
Hatchie's curiosity prompted many inquiries, which drew from the
talkative Hibernian a full description of the boxes that contained the
coffins, and many particulars relative to the transportation of them.
Pat's description of the boxes suggested to Hatchie the means of getting
to Cincinnati.
"Could you get me a box like those which contain these coffins?" asked
he.
"Faix, I can, thin, if I only had the matther of two or three dollars.
But what the divil makes yous ax sich a question?"
"I will give you ten dollars, and pay your passage to Cincinnati
besides, if you will get me the box," said Hatchie, disregarding Pat's
query.
"By me sowl, I'll get yous the box, and ax yous only the price meself
pays for 't," replied Pat, touched at the idea of a reward, which
between friends seemed base even to his rude mind.
"And I shall want your help, too."
"Yous may well count on that, for whin did a Fegan desart his frind? But
tell me, honey, what yous mane to do wid it."
"I intend to get to Cincinnati in it."
"Is it in the box?" exclaimed Pat, astonished beyond measure. "Sure you
will smodther!"
"But, my friend, I want you to look out for that, and give me something
to eat and drink. You can pretend that the box contains the body of your
captain, who, you said, died in Mexico."
"Arrah, me darlint, I see it all!" and Pat shook his sides with laughter
at the idea of the mulatto's "travelling-carriage," as he styled it.
Pat had procured the box, and conveyed it to Hatchie's asylum. It was
sufficiently large to furnish quite a roomy apartment. The covering
consisted of short boards, matched, and screwed on crossways. To
facilitate the introduction of food and air, and to afford the means of
a speedy exit in case of need, he had taken off half these boards, and
fastened them together with cleats on the inner side. The ends of the
screws were then filed off, so that this portion of the lid exactly
corresponded with the other portion. A number of hooks were then
procured, so as to fasten it upon the inner side. By this arrangement,
the occupant of the box would not be dependent upon exterior aid for
egress. When once on board the steamer, he expected he should be able to
leave his hiding-place in the night, and perhaps at other times.
Upon the outside the box was similar to the others, and was duly marked
and consigned.
Hatchie's quarters were near the dépôt from which the coffins were to be
shipped, and Pat, watching his time, had wheeled his own charge down in
season to be shipped with the others. In the haste of embarking, the
clerk had not noticed that one box more had been brought on board than
his manifest indicated.
Hatchie was not aware that Emily and her uncle were passengers on the
same boat till the moment of the accident. He had before released
himself from his prison-box, and was enjoying the fresh air, which the
closeness of his box rendered particularly desirable, when he heard the
scream of his mistress. Her voice was familiar, and even in the scream
of terror he recognized it. It needed not a second thought to convince
him of his duty. He had saved her life, and, forgetful of the danger of
thus exposing his person, he stood by and saw her conveyed to her
state-room. He heard Jaspar call for her deliverer, and offer a reward.
This he knew, if no one else did, was gross hypocrisy, and in the
indignation of his honest heart he had stepped forward to confront him.
The sight of Jaspar, and the thought of his own responsibility, recalled
his prudence; and he hastened to retrieve his error by escaping to his
hiding-place in the box, in which no one thought of searching for a
living man.
In the excitement and exertion attendant upon the incident, Henry
Carroll had not recognized Hatchie; and, while Jaspar inquired for her
deliverer, he had been seeking the surgeon. Henry thought of nothing but
her safety.
Hatchie at once knew the voice of Henry, but, knowing nothing of the
relation between him and his mistress, he feared to trust him with his
secret.