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
In a small log-cabin, a few miles above "Cottage Island," reposing upon
a rude bed, on the morning of the Chalmetta's disaster, was a young and
beautiful female. She was pale and in tears, evidently suffering the
most excruciating mental agony. An old woman, from whose bosom her
half-civilized mode of life had not entirely banished those refined
sympathies which belong by intuition to her sex, was vainly striving to
impart comfort.
"You ought to be thankful, ma'am, that you wan't blowed up, with the
rest of the poor people," said she, kindly, attempting to turn the
lady's attention from her absorbing misery.
"I had rather a thousand times have perished than fallen into the hands
of the villain who rescued me," replied Emily,--it was she,--with a
shudder.
"O, ma'am, they shan't hurt a hair of your head. My old man wouldn't see
such a good cretur as you hurt, for all the world."
"Alas! I fear his power will not avail against this hardened villain."
"Never you fear, ma'am! Two sich popinjays as them couldn't skeer my
Jerry, nohow. Besides, my son, Jim, will be back in an hour or two."
"I fear they cannot aid me."
"Yes, they can. My Jerry alone would turn 'em inside out, if they are
sarcy."
"I can scarcely hope the villains--"
"Softly, lady, softly! do not be harsh!" said Harwell, entering the
apartment in which Emily was, and which was the only one the cabin
contained.
"Mr. Maxwell," said Emily, rising, "if you have any mercy, or pity for
my misfortunes, let me be left alone."
"I would not injure you, Miss Dumont," replied Maxwell, in a gentle
tone. "I would see you in safety at your destination. Mr. Vernon has
been two hours absent, in search of a carriage."
"A carriage! For what?"
"To convey you to a steamboat-landing."
"Bless your heart, sir! you needn't go a step for that. My Jerry will
hail the very next one that passes the wood-yard," suggested the old
lady.
"Silence, old woman!" said Maxwell, sternly, for he feared the dame
would increase Emily's distrust of him.
"Don't old-woman me, you puppy! I know what's what!" responded the dame,
sharply, for her temper was not exactly angelic; "it's my opinion you
don't mean this lady any good. Let me tell you, aforehand, you can't cut
any of your didoes here!"
"Silence, woman! when I need your help I will ask it. I propose, Miss
Dumont, to convey you to Vicksburg, where you can be comfortably
accommodated until a steamer arrives which will take you to Cincinnati.
It may be several days, you are aware."
"Several days!" exclaimed the mistress of the cabin; "who ever heerd of
such a thing! There'll be one along afore the day is out."
"For Cincinnati?" sneered Maxwell, who found the old woman's tongue a
very formidable weapon.
"I dare say there will," responded the dame.
"It is extremely uncertain, Miss Dumont. We came in the last one, and it
is scarcely possible, at this season, another followed immediately. But
here is the carriage."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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