Hatchie, the Guardian Slave Part 16

On board the Chalmetta, Harwell discovered an old acquaintance in the person of a notorious gambler,--a cla.s.s of persons who congregate on Mississippi steamers, and practise their arts upon the unwary traveller.

This person, who went by the name of Vernon, was well known at the faro and roulette boards in New Orleans. He was an accomplished swindler. In the winter season, when the city is crowded with the elite of the state, and with strangers from all parts of the Union, Vernon found abundant exercise for his professional ability at the h.e.l.ls of the city, in the employment of their proprietors, acting the part of banker, or anything else that offered him the means of gratifying his luxurious habits. A twinge of conscience never prevented him from adopting any means of emptying the pockets of his victims, even without the formality of dice or cards.

In the summer season he beguiled his time on the river, or migrated with the fas.h.i.+onables to Pascagoula, or a more northern watering-place,--in fine, to any sphere which afforded him a theatre for the exercise of his talents as a blackleg. Wherever he was, he never pa.s.sed by an opportunity to obtain possession of his neighbor's valuables. If the monied man would accept a hand at euchre or poker, why, he was so much the easier cleaned out; if not, false keys, pick-locks, or sleight-of-hand, soon relieved the unfortunate victim of his superfluous possessions.

Early in his career of fas.h.i.+onable dissipation, Maxwell had made the acquaintance of this notorious individual. Indeed, he had sufficient cause to remember him, for he had made a deep inroad into his patrimony.

Maxwell was too great a rascal himself to be long duped by a greater one. A kind of business intimacy had grown up between them, and continued to exist at the time of our story. This connection was not, however, publicly acknowledged by Maxwell; it would have been the ruin of his fine prospects: but he used him whenever a scheme of profit or revenge required an unscrupulous confederate. Yet this Vernon was by no means a dependent creature of Maxwell's, for he was bold, reckless, and independent to the last degree. Whether acting as the paid devil of another, or on his own responsibility, he bowed to no power but his own will. His physical courage was well known to be of the most obstinate character. When the coward dandy had an enemy to punish, Vernon, for a hundred dollars, would first insult and then fight the luckless individual. This had formerly been a lucrative part of his trade; but latterly his claims to the distinction of _gentleman_ and _man of honor_ had been of such a questionable character, that the man who refused to meet him did not lose caste among the bloods of the city.

Vernon was now on his way to a wider sphere of action than New Orleans, with its yellow fever season at hand, afforded him. As usual, he practised his arts on board the Chalmetta, which, however, afforded him but a narrow field, the pa.s.sengers being mostly officers, who had left their pay in the _cabarets_ of Mexico.

By some means he had ascertained that Henry Carroll was in possession of a considerable sum of money. By all the arts in his power he had endeavored to lure him to the gambling-table, which was constantly spread in the cabin, and surrounded by unfortunate victims, vainly striving against the coolness and trickery of professional blacklegs, to recruit their exhausted finances, or retrieve the ruin to which an unlucky hour had enticed them. Henry obstinately refused to take a hand; but Vernon's heart was set upon the bag of gold he knew was in Henry's trunk, and he resolved to possess it,--a feat not easy to accomplish on board a crowded steamer.

After Maxwell had recovered from the blow which had felled him to the deck, and while Henry was soothing the distress of Emily, he met Vernon, who was in the act of reconnoitring the young officer's state-room.

Vernon was just the person to serve him in this extremity. The protector of Emily must be removed from his charge, as her uncle had been by De Guy. He resolved upon a consultation with the blackleg. Accordingly he expressed his desire, to which the gambler replied by requesting him to give notice of the approach of any one, while he did a little business in the state-room.

Maxwell vainly remonstrated, but was obliged to comply with the wishes of the robber, or lose his services.

Vernon, thus protected from intrusion, entered the room, and by the aid of a pick-lock soon succeeded in obtaining possession of all poor Henry's earthly wealth. Beckoning Maxwell to follow, he descended to the main deck, where, procuring a lantern, they proceeded aft.

We must return to Uncle Nathan and Pat Fegan, whom we left on their way to the fugitive in the hold of the steamer.

"Whisht, now," said Pat, in a whisper, as they prepared to jump down the hatchway; "whisht, now, and don't spake a loud word, for the life of yous."

Uncle Nathan promised obedience, and followed Pat into the hold. All was total darkness, and it was not without a feeling of superst.i.tious dread that Uncle Nathan heard his companion tap on the box which contained the mulatto. He heard the whispered recognition of its inmate, and stood like a statue while Hatchie freed himself from his confinement.

"Whisht, now," said Pat, in a low voice; "give me your hand, Mr. Binson.

Now, there yous are," and he placed Uncle Nathan's hand in that of Hatchie.

Uncle Nathan found the hand was warm, and felt completely relieved of the sensation of fear which had come over him.

"Glad to see you," said he, though an instant afterwards his conscience asked him if he had not told a lie, inasmuch as it was so dark he could not see anything.

"You are a _friend_, I trust," replied Hatchie, who, although he implicitly relied on the _faith_ of the Irish ally, had not the fullest confidence in his judgment. Nothing but what he deemed a stern necessity would have compelled him to trust the secret with any one. So many dangers encompa.s.sed him, that the duty he owed to his injured mistress obliged him to look around for the means of preserving the valuable doc.u.ment he possessed. An accident to the steamer, the continuous danger of being restored to Jaspar, and a hundred other painful reflections, brought him to the resolution of depositing the will in the hands of the most trustworthy person he could find. In this extremity, he canva.s.sed the characters of all he knew on board. Henry Carroll, he feared, was too impetuous, if not actually devoted to Jaspar. He knew nothing of the interesting relation which the hearts of the lovers had recognized,--pity he did not! Uncle Nathan, whom Pat had described in glowing colors,--none are more highly esteemed than those who confer the most solid benefits,--seemed to him the proper person, especially as Pat had seen _her_ speak to him after the accident. An honest man is so easily known, that the poor Irishman's instinctive knowledge of human nature imparted the most correct information.

"I _am_ your friend, and I trust the Lord will always put it into my heart to befriend the unfortunate," said Uncle Nathan, in answer to Hatchie's remark.

"It is not on my own account that I need a friend," said Hatchie, in a melancholy tone, for the responsibility which rested upon him had solemnized his mind, and banished all reflections of self. "It matters little what becomes of _me_. But, sir, you are a stranger to me, and I know not that I may trust you."

"Nor I nuther, till I know what you want of me. If it is an honest sarvice, one that I can do without goin' agin my conscience, why, I am ready to do anything to help a feller-cretur."

"The service I am about to request," replied Hatchie, his doubts in a great measure removed by the apparent sincerity of his auditor, "can be done honestly; and, if your conscience approves any act, it will approve this one."

"Very well, I will act for you to the best of my judgment, and use all the discretion that natur gave me, and a little I larned by the way-side. Partrick tells me you want to talk with the lady whose life you saved last night."

"Not exactly to talk _with_ her, but about her. I feel that I can trust you, even with her destiny. That lady is my mistress. She is an angel of goodness. I am perfectly willing to be _her_ slave, so that it was not to gain my freedom I escaped in this box. It was to save her from a cruel wrong which her uncle would inflict upon her."

"That old gentleman who is with her?" interrupted Uncle Nathan.

"The same. He is the most hardened villain in the world,--so different from my poor master, who was a good man, and loved even his slaves! This man would make it appear that my mistress is not the legitimate child of her father, but the daughter of a quadroon girl, whom he formerly owned.

He has forged a will to obtain his own purposes, and deprived poor mistress of her natural rights. But, on the night when the villany was perpetrated, I managed to obtain the true will, and to make my escape,--and a very narrow escape it was, for I was shot at and obliged to jump into the river to save my life. They think the shot killed me; but I shall yet expose their villany--"

"Good gracious, I hope so!" exclaimed Uncle Nathan, whose sympathies wore awakened by the brief narrative of the mulatto.

"Now, it is scarcely prudent for me to retain possession of this will. I may be discovered, or drowned, or shot; and then my poor mistress would never be restored."

"True," replied Uncle Nathan, appreciating his companion's reasoning, and admiring his warm devotion to his mistress.

"I wish to place the will in the keeping of some trusty person, who will guard it as his own life,--who will deem no sacrifice too great to relieve the distressed, and foil the wicked," said Hatchie, earnestly.

"I will do the best I can."

"Before I intrust it to you, I must feel that you will not only be discreet, but that you will labor to foil this wicked plot."

"I will do everything I can," replied Uncle Nathan, warmly, for his heart was touched at the wrongs of Emily.

"Then here is the will," said Hatchie, handing him the packet, which he had taken the precaution to envelop in oil-cloth. "Remember how much depends upon your caution and fidelity. G.o.d forgive me, if I have done wrong in giving it to you."

"You may depend upon me. I will take good care of the doc.u.ment. But shan't I say anything to the lady about it?"

"a.s.sure her, if you can without exposing yourself, that the will is safe. It will give joy to her heart to know that she has the means of restoration to her home and name."

"I will see everything done about right; and I hope soon to meet you in the land of liberty."

"I shall never leave my mistress. I have been near her from her birth, and, though only a slave, I feel that I was sent into the world for no other purpose than to protect and serve her. Liberty away from her has no charms for me."

"Goodness!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Nathan; "I never should have thought it!"

Hatchie's devotion to his mistress, so eloquently expressed, jostled rather rudely the Northerner's prejudices concerning the treatment of slaves.

The conversation was here interrupted by three taps on the deck above them, produced by the brogan of Pat Fegan.

Hatchie recognized the preconcerted signal, and, abruptly terminating his remarks, he leaped into the box, drew on the lid, and left Uncle Nathan to find his way out as best he could.

"Whisht, now," said Pat, whispering down the hatch. "Jump up, Mr.

Binson!"

Uncle Nathan approached the hatchway, and endeavored to leap out, an effort which was a.s.sisted by Pat, who, rudely seizing him by the collar, jerked him out with a violence that threatened his bones with dissolution.

"How the divil did yous tumble in there?" screamed Pat, as two persons approached. "Are yous hurted?"

"A little," replied Uncle Nathan, perceiving the ruse of his coadjutor.

"I fear yous are. Thry are your legs broke?" continued Pat, whose energy of utterance gave a fair appearance to the deceit.

"Are you much hurt?" asked one of the persons who had by their presence disturbed the conference.

"Very little," replied Uncle Nathan, who really felt the uncomfortable effects of a knock on the knee he had received in his involuntary ascent from the hold.