P.S. By the way, the wench Sally gave birth to a fine piccaninny, a boy, that night—somewhat prematurely, I’m told. So you see there’s no small loss without some great gain. As for Tassle, he’s no loss at all, for you can easily replace him, and I’ve got my eye on a capital overseer for you.
J. L.
The smile on the sardonic visage of Mr. Lafitte expanded more and more tigerish, and as he came to the end of the letter, he burst into a smooth, soft roar of merriment, while floods of devilish delight raged within him.
“And so William Tassle’s food for worms,” he soliloquized, shaking with internal laughter. “Poor Tassle, that’s the end of you. And Jim’s roasted. Good! I hope they made the fire slow. Infernal scoundrel! I wish I’d been there to hear him screech the soul out of him. That’s the way to keep the black devils under. God! if it wasn’t for a good fire round some of them when they lift their hands against us, I believe that they’d be up in insurrection, and give us St. Domingo. But that they never can do while the Union lasts. Ah, the glorious Union! Rise on us if you dare, my black angels, and see the short work the muskets of the Union will make with you. Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable! That’s the ticket for you, my black cherubs!”
And again Mr. Lafitte burst into raging laughter.
“Ah, me, ah me!” he sighed, subsiding. “I feel refreshingly wicked to-day, spite of all. This news has done me good. But let’s see what Joseph has to say again,” he added, deliberately opening the other letter, and smoothing it out as he had done the first, with a sardonic smile on his brunette face.
Ah, Mr. Lafitte! What is this? As he began to read the color of his face vanished, like the flame of a blown-out lamp, his complexion became livid, with dark spots on its ghastliness, his eyes grew glassy, and his jaw fell. He did not drop the letter, but read slowly and steadily on—and this is what he read:
Lafitte Plantation, Avoyelles, La.
May 23d, 1852.
Torwood, come home for God’s sake as quick as you can. There’s worse news here than I wrote you on the 20th. Josephine has eloped with young Raynal. I’m sorry to tell you so abruptly, but I don’t know how to break it to you. This is evidently a preconcerted affair, for Raynal, you know, was retiring from business just about the time you left, and has since been turning all his property into money. Anyhow, they’re gone—gone to Italy—and they’re out of the country by this time.