Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-westOptic, Oliver
General
Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue: A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-west
Optic, Oliver
African Americans -- Fiction; Enslaved persons -- United States -- Fiction
Jaspar again relapsed into the moody melancholy from which the presence
of the overseer had roused him. Sinking back into his chair, he again
was a prey to the armed fears that continually goaded him. Occasionally
he roused from his stupor, and, driven by the startling apparition of
future retribution, paced the room in the most intense nervous
excitement. Frequent were the stops he made at the brandy-bottle on the
table; but, for a time, even the brandy-fiend refused to comfort
him,--refused to excite his brain, or pour a healing balm upon his
consuming misery. Again he sunk into his chair, overcome by the torture
of his emotions, and again the gnawing worm forced him to the bottle,
until, at last, nearly stupefied by the liquor, he slumbered uneasily in
his chair. But the terrible apparition, which seldom left him when
awake, was constant in his dreams; and, just as he was about to plunge
into the awful abyss that always yawned before him, he awoke, and
staggered to the bottle again. A gleam of consciousness now visited his
inebriated mind, and he bethought himself of retiring. With a dim sense
of his usual precaution, he reeled to the secretary, and attempted to
lock the drawers. He discovered that one key was missing; but, too much
intoxicated to reason upon the circumstance, he took another draught of
brandy, and ambled towards his sleeping-room. He was too far gone to
effect a landing at the head of the stairs, and fell full-length upon
the floor when he released his hold of the banister.
Dalhousie was still up, and his knowledge of Jaspar's habits enabled him
to judge the occasion of the noise he heard, and he immediately hastened
to the rescue. "Lucky!" muttered he, as he lifted the fallen man. "He
must have been intoxicated when he examined those papers, or he would
have seen that letter."
Jaspar, who had not entirely lost his senses, muttered something about
an accident, and clung closely to his companion, who soon deposited him
on his bed.
The overseer, instead of returning to his room, descended to the
library, where the light was still burning. Locking the door, he seated
himself in the large stuffed chair, and drew from his pocket the letter
he had purloined from the secretary. Opening it, he proceeded to a
re-perusal of it. The letter was as follows:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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