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My father! I had found him; but the finding of him in such a miserable, degraded, besotted being as he who was before me seemed to be the greatest mishap, the most overwhelming misfortune, that could possibly have overtaken me. He was the first white man I had ever seen really intoxicated. I was mortified and disheartened as I looked at his pale, thin face, and regarded his trembling limbs.
What should I do? I could not tell him that I was his son. I could not throw myself into his arms and weep tears of joy, as I had imagined the impressive scene, in case I should ever find either of my parents. I wanted to weep; I wanted to give myself up to a transport of grief, if not despair, as I realized the terrible truth that the degraded being before me was my father.