Читать книгу Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue - Warren T. Ashton - Страница 10

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"He is a man, setting his fate aside,

Of comely virtues;

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice,

But with a noble fury and a fair spirit

He did oppose his foe."

Shakespeare.

Colonel Dumont's melancholy forebodings proved to be too well grounded, for in ten days after the departure of Henry Carroll he breathed his last, not fully ripe in years, but mature in the stature of a good man. His worldly affairs had all been arranged, and with his mind at peace with God and man he bade a final adieu to his weeping daughter and dissembling brother, and calmly resigned his spirit to its Author.

The mansion of Colonel Dumont had been the abode of happiness. Cheerfulness and contentment—rare visitors at the home of opulence—dwelt gracefully amid the luxurious splendor of this house. But now a heavy stroke of affliction had come upon the devoted Emily. The ruthless hand of death had struck down her father in the midst of prosperity and happiness. She felt that she was alone in the world. Her unsympathizing uncle seemed not to feel the loss, but appeared even more cold and churlish than ever. She could not expect from him the offices of kindness and sympathy. She was an orphan, but not till she was prepared to combat with the trials of life. Recognizing the hand of Providence in this visitation of the Angel of Death, she bowed meekly and submissively to the Master Will, and was even cheerful and happy in her tears.

It was about ten o'clock on the night succeeding the funeral of Colonel Dumont that a small canoe, containing a single individual, touched at the bank of the river near the now gloomy mansion. Leaping from the canoe, which was nearly swamped by the act, the person it had contained drew the frail bark beyond the reach of the rapid current, and ascended the steep bank. Following the smooth shell road through the long vista of negro huts, he reached the little grove of tropical trees which surrounded the proprietary mansion. Casting an anxious glance around him, to satisfy himself that he was not watched, he cautiously approached the only illuminated window on that side of the house, upon which, after a close scrutiny of the interior of the room, he gave several light taps. This signal was answered by Jaspar Dumont, who, with a word of caution, opened the window. The stranger, with a light spring which belied his apparent years, gained the interior of the room, which was the library of the late owner.

The person who had thus obtained admission was the lawyer, Antoine De Guy, whom Maxwell had suggested as a fit agent for the execution of Jaspar's scheme. He was certainly an odd-looking man. His face was of a very dark red color, much like that which is produced by the united effects of exposure and intemperance, and was encircled by a pair of black whiskers, intermixed with gray. His cranium was ornamented with a huge mass of the same parti-colored hair. His fiery red nose was placed in strange contrast with a pair of green spectacles, which entirely concealed the color and expression of his eyes. His clothes were of a most primitive cut, and had probably been black once, but were now rusty and white from long service. His form was portly, a little inclined to corpulency. His hands were most unprofessionally dirty; but this might have been occasioned by contact with the canoe in his passage. On one of his fingers glittered a diamond ring, which, considering the lack of ornaments in other respects, but ill accorded with the apparent parsimony of the man. It might, however, have been obtained in the way of trade, for Maxwell had hinted that he did business under the sign of the "three golden balls." He was apparently in the neighborhood of five-and-forty, and looked like the debauchee in the face, while his dress indicated the penurious man of business.

"Did any one see you?" asked Jaspar, whose teeth were chattering with apprehension, notwithstanding his natural boldness.

"Not that I am aware of," replied De Guy, in a silky tone, which, proceeding from such a form, would have astonished the listener.

"You met no one?" interrogated the anxious Jaspar.

"Not a soul! Everything was still."

"Let us be sure of it. Step into this room for a moment. I will see that all the servants have retired," said Jaspar, pushing his confederate into an adjoining apartment.

A light pull at the bell-rope brought to the library the body-servant of the late planter.

This "boy," who was known by the name of Hatchie, was a mulatto. He was about forty years of age, and, having never been reduced to labor in the cane-fields, bore his age remarkably well. He was about six feet in height, very stout built, and was endowed with immense physical strength. His brow was a little wrinkled, and his head was a little bald upon the top—and these were the only evidences of his years. His expression was that of great intelligence. In his countenance there was a kind of humility, to which his demeanor corresponded, that might have resulted from his condition, or have been inherent in his nature. He was a man who, even in a land of slavery, would be instinctively respected.

He had been a great favorite with his late master, in whose family he had spent the greater part of his life. By being constantly in attendance upon him and his guests, he had acquired a much greater amount of information than is often found in those of his condition. He could read and write, and by his intelligence and singular fidelity had proved a valuable addition to his master's household. Possessing his confidence, and regarded more as a friend than a slave by Emily, he was a privileged person in the house—a confidence which in no instance did he abuse, and which in no degree abated his affection or his fidelity.

Hatchie was not a phrenologist, but he had long ago acquired a perfect knowledge of Jaspar's character—a knowledge which his master or Emily had never obtained.

Hatchie considered Emily, now that her father was dead, as his own especial charge, and he watched over her, in the disparity of their stations, very much as a faithful dog watches over a child intrusted to its keeping. Towards her he entertained a sentiment of the profoundest respect as his mistress, and of parental affection as one who had grown up under his eye.

"Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the hands all in?"

"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, whose penetrating mind detected the tremulous quiver of Jaspar's lip; "all in two hours ago, according to regulations."

"All right, then. You can go to bed now."

"Yes, sir," replied Hatchie, with his customary obeisance, as he turned to depart.

"Stay a moment. Go to Miss Emily, and get the keys of the secretary," said Jaspar, with assumed carelessness.

Hatchie obeyed; and, suspecting something before, he was confirmed in the opinion now, and determined to watch. His suspicions of something—he knew not what—had been excited by seeing Maxwell in earnest consultation with Jaspar on the day of the funeral. He had, of course, no idea of the plots of the latter; but, in common with all the "boys," he hated Jaspar, and was willing to know more of his transactions.

Giving the keys to Jaspar, he left the room, and heard the creaking of the bolt which fastened the door.

As soon as the servant had departed, Jaspar called his confederate from his concealment.

"Are you ready for business?" said he.

"I am," replied De Guy, "as soon as you pay me the first instalment. I can't take a single step in the dark."

"Here it is," and Jaspar took from his pocket the money. "Have you the document?"

"I have," replied De Guy, producing the fictitious will, which Maxwell had drawn up in conformity with the instructions of Jaspar.

"And you are ready to affix the signature?" said Jaspar, who appeared not to be in the possession of his usual confidence. Few villains ever become so hardened as never to tremble.

"I am. I came for that purpose. Give me the genuine will, and I will soon make this one so near like it that the witnesses themselves shall not discover the cheat," replied De Guy, with an air of confidence.

"You shall have it; but first read this to me. I do nothing blindly."

The attorney, in his silky tones, read the paper through, and Jaspar pronounced it correct in every particular.

"I see nothing in the way of entire success," said Jaspar, rubbing his hands with delight at his prospective fortune.

"Nor I," replied De Guy, "except that these witnesses will deny the substance of it."

"How can they, when they know it not? The colonel, for some reason or other, would not let them read it or know its purport. Maxwell and myself are pledged to secrecy. It is upon this fact that I based the scheme."

"But the will would not be worth a tittle in the law with such witnesses."

"Bah! the colonel knew no one would contest it. He did it at his own risk."

"But will they not contest your will?"

"If they do, I shall find the means of proving what the document affirms, and my case will then stand just as well. As a kind of assurance for the witnesses my brother affixed a character—a kind of cabalistic design—upon the will, assuring them it was placed on the will alone. You have a copy of this design?"

"I have. Maxwell gave it to me, and I have practised till I can do it to perfection. Your brother had an odd way of doing business."

"He had; but his oddity in this instance is a God-send."

"But the other document, Mr. Dumont! My stay is already too long!"

Jaspar, taking the keys from the table, opened the secretary, and took from a small iron safe in the lower part of it a large packet, on which were several large masses of wax bearing the impress of Colonel Dumont's seal.

"Now, De Guy," said he, "do your best."

"Do not fear! I never yet saw a name I could not imitate."

"So much the better; but be careful, I entreat you! Think how much depends upon care!"

"O, I can do it so nicely that your brother himself would not deny it, if he should step out of his grave!"

"Silence, man!" said Jaspar, angrily, as a superstitious thrill of terror crept through his veins.

Jaspar took up the packet, and was about to snap the seals, when, quicker than thought, the window through which De Guy had entered flew open, and Hatchie leaped into the room. Without giving Jaspar or his accomplice time to recover from the surprise of his sudden entrance, he levelled a blow at the lawyer, and another at the perfidious brother, which placed both in a rather awkward position on the floor. Hatchie then seized the envelope containing the will, and made his escape in the manner he had entered, well knowing that Jaspar would not hesitate to take his life rather than be foiled in his purpose.

Hatchie knocking down De Guy and Jasper, and stealing the will.

The mulatto's blows produced no serious effect upon the heads of the two villains, and, recovering from the surprise and shock the act had occasioned, they lost not a moment in pursuing their assailant. Hatchie directed his course to the river, and scarcely a moment had elapsed before he heard the steps of his pursuers. Leaping down the bank, he ran along by the edge of the water, with the intention of reaching a boat which he knew was moored a few rods further down. In his flight, however, he discovered the canoe in which De Guy had arrived, and, casting it off, he paddled with astonishing rapidity towards the opposite shore.

His pursuers reached the bank, and perceiving the canoe through the darkness, Jaspar discharged his rifle at it. A heavy splash followed the discharge. The canoe appeared to float at the mercy of the current. Jaspar and De Guy, satisfied that the rifle-ball had done its work, hastened down stream to a small point of land which projected into the river, with the hope of securing the canoe and the body of the slave, upon which they expected to find the will. The canoe was driven ashore, as they had anticipated; but it contained not the objects for which they sought. The corpse of Hatchie was nowhere to be found, though they paddled about the river an hour in search of it—not that the body of the mulatto was of any consequence, but in the hope of obtaining the precious will.

Here was a contingency for which Jaspar was wholly unprepared. The original signature of the will was not now available, and they must trust to luck for accuracy in signing the false one. There was little difficulty in this, as the will was known to have been signed in the usual manner, and the private character they had in their possession. Still Jaspar felt that the original paper afforded the surer means of deceiving the witnesses. They had before intended to produce a fac-simile, mechanically, of the original—a purpose which could not now be accomplished. The witnesses were all friends of Colonel Dumont, and they had various papers signed by them from which to copy their signatures. The worst, and to Jaspar's daring mind the only difficulty which now presented itself, was the fear that the body of Hatchie might be found, and the genuine will thus brought to light. After much reflection and consultation with De Guy, he determined to risk all, to watch for the body, and be prepared to overcome any obstacle which might be presented. With this conclusion they returned to the library. By the aid of old notes, checks, and other papers, the fictitious will was duly signed, the significant character affixed, and the document enveloped so as to exactly resemble the original packet.

The whole transaction was so well performed that Jaspar retired to his pillow confident of success, to await the result on the morrow, when the will was to be read.