"But as thou art a man
Whom I have picked and chosen from the world,
Swept that thou wilt be true to what I utter;
And when I've told thee that which only gods,
And men like gods, are privy to, then swear
No chance, or change, shall wrest it from thy bosom."
OTWAY.
Emily Dumont, while yet insensible, was conveyed to her state-room,
where, by the assiduous attention of the stewardess and the lady
passengers, she was soon restored to consciousness. An army surgeon, who
was fortunately on board, prescribed a course of treatment which
prevented all evil consequences, so that on the following morning she
appeared at breakfast as well as usual bodily, though the terrible fact
that her uncle had attempted her life so agitated her that sleep had
been a stranger to her eyelids. By whom she had been rescued was yet
unknown to her.
Henry Carroll again took his place opposite her at the morning meal,--a
place he had secured by the exercise of a full hour's patience in
occupying it. At the first convenient opportunity, he congratulated her
upon her safe recovery, and for the first time she heard the particulars
of her rescue. Jaspar, with an ill grace, expressed his obligations to
him, though at the same time he wished him at the bottom of the river.
Henry failed not to notice the blush which came to her cheek, as she
modestly but fervently expressed her gratitude for the noble service he
had rendered her. Although her accepted lover, there had been but little
intercourse of a tender nature between them,--not enough to prevent her
heart from fluttering when he spoke, and sending its warm blood to her
cheek.
With what indescribable pleasure does the lover recognize the blush
which a word or an act of his own calls to the face of his new-found
love! Like the breaking clouds which disclose to the worn mariner the
faint outline of the distant land, he hails it as the omen of future
bliss! It is part of the mystical language of the heart. It is part of
the mechanism of the affections, which the will cannot conceal. The
gentle look, the warm pressure of the hand, the eloquent language of
love, which modesty at first forbids, are supplied by the timid,
uncalled, beautiful blush! Prudence and delicacy cannot chain it in the
veins.
Henry read in her blush the warm current of pure love which flowed from
her heart. It told him how willingly her gratitude coalesced with her
love. Their position at table did not afford the opportunity of
interchanging those feelings of the heart which each felt swelling
within. The present, so full of joy and hope, it seemed cruel to
surround with circumstances which forbade them to enjoy it. A crowded
steamer is the most uncomfortable place in the world for a pair of
lovers, and Henry and Emily felt the inconvenience of it.
But, if the position of the lovers was uncomfortable, Jaspar's was
painful. They had the consolation of loving and being loved; but he was
now writhing under the weight of an additional torture. The appearance
of Hatchie was the knell of all his hopes, the precursor of ruin. To him
it was a mystery, and all his endeavors to solve it were unavailing.
About noon the Chalmetta arrived at Baton Rouge, where, according to
previous arrangement, and much to the joy of the perplexed uncle, De Guy
came on board. Jaspar greeted him with more than usual courtesy, and
felt, to as great a degree as guilt can feel it, a relief from the
embarrassments which surrounded him. The first step of the red-faced
attorney, on finding no state-room unoccupied, was to dispossess two
flat-boatmen of theirs, by the payment of a round bonus. Jaspar thought
this a rather extravagant move for one apparently so parsimonious; but
his mind was too deeply engrossed with the difficulties which environed
him to comment on extraneous subjects.
To this state-room Jaspar and his confidant retired, to consider the
condition of their operations; and while they deliberate we will return
to another character.
Uncle Nathan was in the full enjoyment of all the satisfaction which
seeing the world affords to the observing man. He gazed with unceasing
wonder upon the Father of Waters, on whose mighty bosom he was borne
towards the loved scenes of home. He was edified and amused with the
ever-varying succession of objects which presented themselves, as the
Chalmetta progressed. Flat-boats and steamers, plantations and
cotton-wood groves, islands and cut-offs, were all objects of interest.
And, when he was tired of these, "Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress," which
was his constant travelling companion, afforded him all the excitement
his contented disposition required. The time promised to be easily
disposed of, even if the passage should be unusually prolonged. Besides,
the number and variety of dispositions on board afforded him some study,
and some instruction. There were men of all grades of society, and all
degrees of moral worth,--beginning, of course, at a very moderate
standard, and descending to the vilest of the vile, which last were in a
large majority. There were tipplers, and gamblers, and profane swearers,
in abundance; and Uncle Nathan felt, at the bottom of his philanthropic
heart, a desire to lead them from their sins. Not that he was officious
and meddlesome, for he believed in "a time for everything." In his
modest, inoffensive way, no doubt, he sowed the seeds of future
reformation in some wayward heart.
Pat Fegan proved an apt disciple, and already had Uncle Nathan given him
the first lesson in the form of a temperance lecture, which probably had
its effect, as he left the boiler deck without the dram for which he
was supposed to have come up.
"Now, Partrick," said Uncle Nathan, on the evening after Emily's rescue,
"rum never did any one any good."
"'Pon my soul it did, thin,--it makes me happy whin sorra thing else in
the wide world will comfort me," replied Pat.
"But that an't nateral happiness; it an't the sort that comes of doin'
good to your feller-creturs."
"It sinds throuble away--what else is happiness?"
"But how do you feel arterwards? That's the pint."
"Arrah! bad enough, sure. Yous have the betther of me there."
"Then leave it off, Partrick," responded Uncle Nathan, drawing the
pledge from his pocket. "Sign the pledge, and you are safe."
But we need not follow Uncle Nathan in his reformatory lucubrations. Pat
signed the pledge; but whether he had an appreciating sense of the
restraint he imposed upon his appetite we cannot say. Uncle Nathan
thought him saved from his cups, and rejoiced accordingly. Perhaps, if
he had looked a little closer, he might have suspected an interested
motive on the part of Pat. He saw none, and, feeling secure in the
present victory, he admonished his disciple "to stick to it as long as
he lived."
"'Pon me word, I will, thin," replied Pat. "I see yous are a gintleman,
if yous don't look jist like one. Now, do you see, Mr. Binson, you are
jist the man I am looking for, this last six hours."
"Why so, Partrick--what do you mean?" said Uncle Nathan, mystified by
the sudden change of manner in the new convert.
"Hould aisy a bit, for I'd like to hould a private correspondence wid
yous. Will ye jist come to the hurricane deck, till I tells yous all
about it?"
"Sartain," replied Uncle Nathan, his curiosity fully excited.
As soon as they reached a deserted portion of the promenade deck, Pat,
after satisfying himself there were no listeners near, commenced, with
an air of grave importance, his story.
"Whisht now, and draw near," said he. "Can yous keep a sacret?"
"Well, I think I could, if it was an honest one."
"Faix, thin, it _is_ an honest one. Sure yous come from the North, and
don't belave in keeping the naigers in bondage?"
"To be sure not."
"Well, then, would yous help a naiger out of throuble, if yous could as
well as not?"
"I sartainly wish 'em well; but the Scripture says 'Honor the king,'
which means nothin' more nor less than 'obey the laws.' Arter all,
though, perhaps we ought not to mind wicked laws."
"Musha bad luck to your raysoning! Sure I'm no docthor, to blarney over
the matther. Will yous kape the sacret?" asked Pat, a little excited,
and somewhat disappointed to find his auditor lukewarm in "the cause."
"Sartain; tell your story, and, if I can't do you any good, I won't do
you any harm."
"That's the mon for me!" replied Pat, slapping Uncle Nathan familiarly
on the back. "Now, do you see, there's a naiger on this boat, that wants
a frind."
"A friend!" said Uncle Nathan, with some doubt, as he reflected on the
conflict between the claims of humanity and the stringent laws of the
slave states.
"To be sure, a _frind_!" replied Pat, with emphasis.
"I _will_ befriend him," replied Uncle Nathan, his natural inclination
triumphing over his fear of the law.
"Spoken like a Christian! Sure, that's jist what St. Patrick would say,
if the saint--long life to him!--were here," replied Pat, rejoicing
that the difficulty was overcome.
"Now, dhraw near till I tells yous all about it; and, if iver you
mintion a word of it, may your sowl never lave purgatory till it is
burnt to a cindther! Now, do you mind, there's a naiger concayled in the
hould of the boat, that wants to correspond with a faymale in the
cabin."
"But he will expose himself, and she may deliver him up."
"Divil a bit! Didn't he save her from dhrowning, last night?" exclaimed
Pat, warmly, for this act of Hatchie excited all his admiration.
"Good gracious! you don't say so!" and Uncle Nathan understood the
mystery of the previous night.
"Sorra a word o' lie in it."
"But where in natur is the feller?" asked the wonder-struck Yankee, his
curiosity getting the better of every other consideration.
"Whisht, now," whispered Pat; "he is in one of those boxes, with the
dead men! Do yous mind?"
"Good gracious! how you talk! In a coffin?"
"Divil a coffin at all. Sure as nate a bit of a box as iver held a
Christian."
"But why does he wish to speak with the lady?"
"Sorra know I know," replied Pat, to whom Hatchie had communicated no
more than was necessary.
"Does he wish to see her in person?"
"Not a bit of it. Now, do you mind, I saw you speaking to the lady, and
I tould him of it. Then the naiger axed me could he trust yous. I tould
him yes; and he tould me to bring yous down to him, and that's the whole
of it. Now, will yous go down the night and spake to him?"
Uncle Nathan reflected a little; for, though no craven, he was very
prudent, and had no romance in his composition. After deliberating some
time, much to the detriment of Pat's patience, he replied in the
affirmative.
Pat then instructed him in relation to certain precautions to be
observed in order to avoid notice, and left him to ponder the
strangeness of the adventure. He had well considered his course, and,
having decided upon it, he was earnest in pursuing it. He had chosen, he
felt, a dangerous, but his conscience assured him a right path, and
nothing could now deter him from proceeding in it. He was not fickle,
and invoked many a blessing on the effort he might make for the
salvation of the poor negro. True, his prudence had magnified the
undertaking, which was a trivial affair, into a great adventure.
Imagination often makes bold men.