Hatcher’s bank “got broke” soon after, and a series of ill-fortune at length reduced him to the condition of a race-course thimble-rig, and small sharper in general.
The pork-merchant I met many years afterward, as a successful monte dealer in the “Halls of the Montezumas.” Thither he had gone, – a camp-follower of the American army – and had accumulated an enormous fortune by keeping a gambling-table for the officers. He did not live long to enjoy his evil gains. The “vomito prieto” caught him at Vera Cruz; and his dust is now mingled with the sands of that dreary shore.
Thus, reader, it has been my happy fortune to record poetical justice to the various characters that have figured in the pages of our history.
I hear you exclaim, that two have been forgotten, the hero and heroine?
Ah! no – not forgotten. Would you have me paint the ceremony – the pomp and splendour – the ribbons and rosettes – the after-scenes of perfect bliss?
Hymen, forbid! All these must be left to your fancy, if your fancy deign to act. But the interest of a “lover’s adventures” usually ends with the consummation of his hopes – not even always extending to the altar – and you, reader, will scarce be curious to lift the curtain, that veils the tranquil after-life of myself and my beautiful Quadroon.
Note to the Preface
After what has been stated in the Preface, it will scarce be necessary to say that the names and some of the places mentioned in this book are fictitious. Some of the scenes, and many of the characters that figure in these pages, are real, and there are those living who will recognise them.
The book is “founded” upon an actual experience. It was written many years ago, and would have been then published, but for the interference of a well-known work, which treated of similar scenes and subjects. That work appeared just as the “Quadroon” was about to be put to press; and the author of the the latter, not willing to risk the chances of being considered an imitator had determined on keeping the “Quadroon” from the public.
Circumstances have ruled it otherwise; and having re-written some parts of the work, he now presents it to the reader as a painting – somewhat coarse and crude, perhaps – of life in Louisiana.
The author disclaims all “intention.” The book has been written neither to aid the Abolitionist nor glorify the planter. The author does not believe that by such means he could benefit the slave, else he would not fear to avow it. On the other hand, he is too true a Republican, to be the instrument that would add one drop to the “bad blood” which, unfortunately for the cause of human freedom, has already arisen between “North” and “South.” No; he will be the last man to aid European despots in this, their dearest wish and desperate hope.
London, July, 1856.