“’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 reaeppearance 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 depot 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.