Hatchie, the Guardian Slave; or, The Heiress of Bellevue / A Tale of the Mississippi and the South-west

by Warren T. Ashton

The traveller on the Mississippi observes with interest the innumerable islands which dot the river, and relieve the monotony of the scenery. These islands are, for the most part, covered with a luxurious growth of cotton-wood trees. They have generally been formed by what are technically called cut-offs, or new channels, from the main land. The mighty torrent, scorning its own well-beaten track, ploughs a way through the country, and returns to its channel miles below, opening at once a new path for the voyager upon its tide. The portion of land thus separated from the main shore is often subdivided by the action of the waters into several smaller islands. These islets are, however, oftener seen in isolated positions, varying in area from a few square rods to several acres. A remarkable feature of these islands is their locomotive powers,—for, strange as it may seem, they annually take a step down stream! Observation has shown a change of position almost incredible.

The river, continually wearing upon the up-river side of the island, washes the sands and soil to the lower side. Thus, the situation of the island is actually changed. The fact is clearly shown by the singular configuration of the mass of trees growing upon them. The wood on the upstream side of the island is of the largest size; while that on the down-stream side begins at the mere shrub, and, by a regular gradation in height, like a pair of stairs, increases to the altitude of the full-grown tree. Each successive year places a new layer of soil upon the lower side, in which the young tree takes root; and the growth of each year is distinctly visible to the traveller as he ascends the river.

On one of these islands, above Vicksburg, was located a neat cottage. The island differed in many respects from others. Its area might have been eight or ten acres. On one side of it was a narrow, but deep stream, which, entering from the broad river, described a semi circle, and returned its waters on the same side. On three sides, except at the mouths of the little stream, the island was rendered inaccessible by the high banks, while on the fourth side the shrubs grew so luxuriantly as to be impervious, save to the most resolute visitor. From the high banks which walled it in the surface of the island sloped gradually towards a common centre, through which rushed the little stream.

This little island had probably been a part of the main land; the river had forced its way through a valley, and, by degrees, had worn down the high land on either side, till they formed the precipices which now frowned on the visitor. The little stream had, perhaps, once been a meandering rivulet,—part of one which emptied into the river on the opposite side.

On one of the sloping sides of the interior was situated the cottage. It was small in size, containing but four rooms and an attic, and was neatly painted white. Its location in the valley concealed it from the main land, and from the traveller upon the river. It was accessible only by means of the stream, which rolled by within a few rods of the door. A cow grazed in the woods, which had been partly cleared of under-brush, and had the appearance of a park grove. Near the house a plot of land had been reduced to a state of cultivation, upon which an old negro servant managed to raise vegetables sufficient for the use of the family.

The interior of the cottage was neatly furnished, though with none of the gaudy trappings of fashion. Everything was plain and useful. On the side fronting the stream, which served the inmates as a highway, were two rooms,—a library, which was also the sitting-room, and a sleeping apartment. The library was far the most substantial and comfortable-looking room in the house, inasmuch as it was abundantly supplied with modern and classical lore. In the middle was a large writing-desk, upon which lay sundry manuscripts, apparently the last labor of the occupant. The books and papers were all arranged with scrupulous neatness and method.

The two rooms in the rear were the dining-room and another sleeping apartment, while the attic was occupied by the old negro and his wife,—the property of the proprietor, and his only attendants upon the island. Back of the house, as is the custom of the South, was a small building used as a kitchen. Near it was another building, appropriated to the use of the cow aforesaid.

In the stream in front of the cottage, fastened to a tree on the bank, was a beautifully-modelled sail-boat, which was worthy to rank with the miniature yachts of our large cities. She was schooner-rigged, with a small cabin forward. Her masts, by an ingenious contrivance, could be lowered down aft, and, by means of a rope attached to the fore-top, and running through a block on the bowsprit, could be instantly restored to their original upright position. This arrangement the owner found necessary, on account of the overhanging trees, which nearly concealed the two openings of the stream into the river.

On the night of the Chalmetta's terrible disaster, a man wrapped in a camlet cloak left the cottage, and approached the landing-place. In one hand he carried a glass lantern, and in the other a double-barrelled gun. Descending the steps to the rude pier of logs, he drew the boat in-shore and seated himself in the stern-sheets. Unloosing the stern-line, which alone held her, the boat was borne on by the rapid stream. The helm the occupant handled with a masterly skill, and in a moment the little bark swept through the half-hid opening into the broad river. Placing the helm amid-ships, the man went forward, and, pulling the proper line, brought the masts to their upright position. He then inserted the iron keys which kept them in their place, and hoisted the sails. By this time the boat had drifted to the lower extremity of the island; so, bracing her sharp up, he stood away across the river. Tacking before he reached the swift channel, which flowed close in shore, he laid the boat's course up the stream. The wind was blowing fresh, and, notwithstanding the contending force of the current, the boat careened to her task, and made very good progress through the water. While the gallant little bark pursues her way, we will introduce her skipper to the reader.

Dr. Vaudelier was about fifty years of age. He was descended from one of the old French families of Louisiana; and had been, for nearly thirty years, a practising physician in the city of New Orleans, during which time he had accumulated a very handsome fortune. At the age of twenty-five he had been married to a lady, whose only recommendations were her personal beauty and her fashionable accomplishments. Her vanity had disgusted him, and her uncontrollable temper had embittered to its very dregs the cup of his existence. Being naturally of a gloomy and melancholy temperament, this unfortunate union had rendered his life almost insupportable. Domestic happiness, to which he had looked forward with high-wrought anticipations, proved, in his case, to have no foundation.