A Tale of the Southern States

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The beautiful parlor, surrounded on all sides with luxury and
taste, with the sun creeping through the damask curtains, added a
charm to the scene. It was in this room that Gertrude had been
introduced to Henry, and the pleasant hours that she had spent
there with him rushed unbidden on her memory. It was here that, in
former days, her beautiful countenance had made her appearance as
fascinating and as lovely as that of Cleopatra's. Her sweet,
musical voice might have been heard in every part of the house,
occasionally thrilling you with an unexpected touch. How changed
the scene! Her pale and wasted features could not be lighted up by
any thoughts of the past, and she was sorrowful at heart.

As usual, the servants in the kitchen were in ecstasies at the
announcement that "Miss Gerty," as they called their young
mistress, was in the house, for they loved her sincerely. Gertrude
had saved them from many a flogging, by interceding for them, when
her mother was in one of her uncontrollable passions. Dinah, the
cook, always expected Miss Gerty to visit the kitchen as soon as
she came, and was not a little displeased, on this occasion, at
what she considered her young mistress's neglect. Uncle Tony, too,
looked regularly for Miss Gerty to visit the green house, and
congratulate him on his superiority as a gardener.

When tea was over, Mrs. Miller dismissed the servants from the
room, then told her son-in-law what she had witnessed the previous
night, and demanded for her daughter that Isabella should be
immediately sent out of the State, and to be sure that the thing
would be done, she wanted him to give her the power to make such
disposition of the woman and child as she should think best.
Gertrude was Mrs. Miller's only child, and Henry felt little like
displeasing a family upon whose friendship he so much depended,
and, no doubt, long wishing to free himself from Isabella, he at
once yielded to the demands of his mother-in-law. Mr. Miller was a
mere cipher about his premises. If any one came on business
connected with the farm, he would invariably say, "Wait tin I see
my wife," and the wife's opinion was sure to be law in every case.
Bankrupt in character, and debauched in body and mind, with seven
mulatto children who claimed him as their father, he was badly
prepared to find fault with his son-in-law. It was settled that
Mrs. Miller should use her own discretion in removing Isabella
from her little cottage, and her future disposition. With this
understanding Henry and Gertrude returned home. In the deep
recesses of his heart the young man felt that he would like to see
his child and its mother once more; but fearing the wrath of his
mother-in-law, he did not dare to gratify his inclination. He had
not the slightest idea of what would become of them; but he well
knew that the old woman would have no mercy on them.

CHAPTER XIII

A HARD-HEARTED WOMAN.

With no one but her dear little Clotelle, Isabella passed her weary
hours without partaking of either food or drink, hoping that Henry
would soon return, and that the strange meeting with the old woman
would be cleared up.

While seated in her neat little bedroom with her fevered face
buried in her handkerchief, the child ran in and told its mother
that a carriage had stopped in front of the house. With a
palpitating heart she arose from her seat and went to the door,
hoping that it was Henry; but, to her great consternation, the old
lady who had paid her such an unceremonious visit on the evening
that she had last seen Henry, stepped out of the carriage,
accompanied by the slave-trader, Jennings.

Isabella had seen the trader when he purchased her mother and
sister, and immediately recognized him. What could these persons
want there? thought she. Without any parleying or word of
explanation, the two entered the house, leaving the carriage in
charge of a servant.

Clotelle ran to her mother, and clung to her dress as if frightened
by the strangers.

"She's a fine-looking wench," said the speculator, as he seated
himself, unasked, in the rocking-chair; "yet I don't think she is
worth the money you ask for her."

"What do you want here?" inquired Isabella, with a quivering
voice.

"None of your insolence to me," bawled out the old woman, at the
top of her voice; "if you do, I will give you what you deserve so
much, my lady,--a good whipping."

In an agony of grief, pale, trembling, and ready to sink to the
floor, Isabella was only sustained by the hope that she would be
able to save her child. At last, regaining her self-possession,
she ordered them both to leave the house. Feeling herself
insulted, the old woman seized the tongs that stood by the
fire-place, and raised them to strike the quadroon down; but the
slave-trader immediately jumped between the women, exclaiming,--

"I won't buy her, Mrs. Miller, if you injure her."

Poor little Clotelle screamed as she saw the strange woman raise
the tongs at her mother. With the exception of old Aunt Nancy, a
free colored woman, whom Isabella sometimes employed to work for
her, the child had never before seen a strange face in her
mother's dwelling. Fearing that Isabella would offer some
resistance, Mrs. Miller had ordered the overseer of her own farm to
follow her; and, just as Jennings had stepped between the two
women, Mull, the negro-driver, walked into the room.

"Seize that impudent hussy," said Mrs. Miller to the overseer, "and
tie her up this minute, that I may teach her a lesson she won't
forget in a hurry."

As she spoke, the old woman's eyes rolled, her lips quivered, and
she looked like a very fury.

"I will have nothing to do with her, if you whip her, Mrs. Miller,"
said the slave-trader. "Niggers ain't worth half so much in the
market with their backs newly scarred," continued he, as the
overseer commenced his preparations for executing Mrs. Miller's
orders.

Clotelle here took her father's walking-stick, which was lying on
the back of the sofa where he had left it, and, raising it,
said,--

"If you bad people touch my mother, I will strike you."

They looked at the child with astonishment; and her extreme youth,
wonderful beauty, and uncommon courage, seemed for a moment to
shake their purpose. The manner and language of this child were
alike beyond her years, and under other circumstances would have
gained for her the approbation of those present.

"Oh, Henry, Henry!" exclaimed Isabella, wringing her hands.

"You need not call on him, hussy; you will never see him again,"
said Mrs. Miller.

"What! is he dead?" inquired the heart-stricken woman.

It was then that she forgot her own situation, thinking only of the
man she loved. Never having been called to endure any kind of
abusive treatment, Isabella was not fitted to sustain herself
against the brutality of Mrs. Miller, much less the combined
ferociousness of the old woman and the overseer too. Suffice it to
say, that instead of whipping Isabella, Mrs. Miller transferred
her to the negro-speculator, who took her immediately to his
slave-pen. The unfeeling old woman would not permit Isabella to
take more than a single change of her clothing, remarking to
Jennings,--

"I sold you the wench, you know,--not her clothes."

The injured, friendless, and unprotected Isabella fainted as she
saw her child struggling to release herself from the arms of old
Mrs. Miller, and as the wretch boxed the poor child's ears.

After leaving directions as to how Isabella's furniture and other
effects should be disposed of, Mrs. Miller took Clotelle into her
carriage and drove home. There was not even color enough about the
child to make it appear that a single drop of African blood flowed
through its blue veins.

Considerable sensation was created in the kitchen among the
servants when the carriage drove up, and Clotelle entered the
house.

"Jes' like Massa Henry fur all de worl," said Dinah, as she caught
a glimpse of the child through the window.

"Wondah whose brat dat ar' dat missis bringin' home wid her?" said
Jane, as she put the ice in the pitchers for dinner." I warrant
it's some poor white nigger somebody bin givin' her."

The child was white. What should be done to make it look like
other negroes, was the question which Mrs. Miller asked herself.

The callous-hearted old woman bit her nether lip, as she viewed
that child, standing before her, with her long, dark ringlets
clustering over her alabaster brow and neck.

"Take this little nigger and cut her hair close to her head," said
the mistress to Jane, as the latter answered the bell.

Clotelle screamed, as she felt the scissors going over her head,
and saw those curls that her mother thought so much of falling
upon the floor.

A roar of laughter burst from the servants, as Jane led the child
through the kitchen, with the hair cut so short that the naked
scalp could be plainly seen.

"Gins to look like nigger, now," said Dinah, with her mouth upon a
grin.

The mistress smiled, as the shorn child reentered the room; but
there was something more needed. The child was white, and that was
a great objection. However, she hit upon a plan to remedy this
which seemed feasible. The day was excessively warm. Not a single
cloud floated over the blue vault of heaven; not a breath of wind
seemed moving, and the earth was parched by the broiling sun.
Even the bees had stopped humming, and the butterflies had hid
themselves under the broad leaves of the burdock. Without a morsel
of dinner, the poor child was put in the garden, and set to
weeding it, her arms, neck and head completely bare. Unaccustomed
to toil, Clotelle wept as she exerted herself in pulling up the
weeds. Old Dinah, the cook, was as unfeeling as her mistress, and
she was pleased to see the child made to work in the hot sun.

"Dat white nigger 'll soon be black enuff if missis keeps her
workin' out dar," she said, as she wiped the perspiration from her
sooty brow.

Dinah was the mother of thirteen children, all of whom had been
taken from her when young; and this, no doubt, did much to harden
her feelings, and make her hate all white persons.

The burning sun poured its rays on the face of the friendless child
until she sank down in the corner of the garden, and was actually
broiled to sleep.

"Dat little nigger ain't workin' a bit, missus," said Dinah to Mrs.
Miller, as the latter entered the kitchen.

"She's lying in the sun seasoning; she will work the better by and
by," replied the mistress.

"Dese white niggers always tink dey seff good as white folks," said
the cook.

"Yes; but we will teach them better, won't we, Dinah?" rejoined
Mrs. Miller.

"Yes, missus," replied Dinah; "I don't like dese merlatter niggers,
no how. Dey always want to set dey seff up for sumfin' big." With
this remark the old cook gave one of her coarse laughs, and
continued: "Missis understands human nature, don't she? Ah! ef she
ain't a whole team and de ole gray mare to boot, den Dinah don't
know nuffin'."

Of course, the mistress was out of the kitchen before these last
marks were made.

It was with the deepest humiliation that Henry learned from one of
his own slaves the treatment which his child was receiving at the
hands of his relentless mother-in-law.

The scorching sun had the desired effect; for in less than a
fortnight, Clotelle could scarcely have been recognized as the
same child. Often was she seen to weep, and heard to call on her
mother.

Mrs. Miller, when at church on Sabbath, usually, on warm days, took
Nancy, one of her servants, in her pew, and this girl had to fan
her mistress during service. Unaccustomed to such a soft and
pleasant seat, the servant would very soon become sleepy and begin
to nod. Sometimes she would go fast asleep, which annoyed the
mistress exceedingly. But Mrs. Miller had nimble fingers, and on
them sharp nails, and, with an energetic pinch upon the bare arms
of the poor girl, she would arouse the daughter of Africa from her
pleasant dreams. But there was no one of Mrs. Miller's servants
who received as much punishment as old Uncle Tony.

Fond of her greenhouse, and often in the garden, she was ever at
the gardener's heels. Uncle Tony was very religious, and, whenever
his mistress flogged him, he invariably gave her a religious
exhortation. Although unable to read, he, nevertheless, had on his
tongue's end portions of Scripture which he could use at any
moment. In one end of the greenhouse was Uncle Tony's sleeping
room, and those who happened in that vicinity, between nine and
ten at night, could hear the old man offering up his thanksgiving
to God for his protection during the day. Uncle Tony, however,
took great pride, when he thought that any of the whites were
within hearing, to dwell, in his prayer, on his own goodness and
the unfitness of others to die. Often was he heard to say, "O Lord,
thou knowest that the white folks are not Christians, but the
black people are God's own children." But if Tony thought that his
old mistress was within the sound of his voice, he launched out
into deeper waters.

It was, therefore, on a sweet night, when the bright stars were
looking out with a joyous sheen, that Mark and two of the other
boys passed the greenhouse, and heard Uncle Tony in his devotions.

"Let's have a little fun," said the mischievous Marcus to his young
companions. "I will make Uncle Tony believe that I am old
mistress, and he'll give us an extra touch in his prayer." Mark
immediately commenced talking in a strain of voice resembling, as
well as he could, Mrs. Miller, and at once Tony was heard to say
in a loud voice, "O Lord, thou knowest that the white people are
not fit to die; but, as for old Tony, whenever the angel of the
Lord comes, he's ready." At that moment, Mark tapped lightly on
the door. "Who's dar?" thundered old Tony. Mark made no reply. The
old man commenced and went through with the same remarks addressed
to the Lord, when Mark again knocked at the door. "Who dat dar?"
asked Uncle Tony, with a somewhat agitated countenance and
trembling voice. Still Mark would not reply. Again Tony took up
the thread of his discourse, and said, "O Lord, thou knowest as
well as I do that dese white folks are not prepared to die, but
here is Old Tony, when de angel of de Lord comes, he's ready to go
to heaven." Mark once more knocked at the door. "Who dat dar?"
thundered Tony at the top of his voice.

"De angel of de Lord," replied Mark, in a somewhat suppressed and
sepulchral voice.

"What de angel of de Lord want here?" inquired Tony, as if much
frightened.

"He's come for poor old Tony, to take him out of the world" replied
Mark, in the same strange voice.

"Dat nigger ain't here; he die tree weeks ago," responded Tony, in
a still more agitated and frightened tone. Mark and his companions
made the welkin ring with their shouts at the old man's answer.
Uncle Tony hearing them, and finding that he had been imposed
upon, opened his door, came out with stick in hand, and said, "Is
dat you, Mr. Mark? you imp, if I can get to you I'll larn you how
to come here wid your nonsense."

Mark and his companions left the garden, feeling satisfied that
Uncle Tony was not as ready to go with "de angel of de Lord" as he
would have others believe.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PRISON.

While poor little Clotelle was being kicked about by Mrs. Miller,
on account of her relationship to her son-in-law, Isabella was
passing lonely hours in the county jail, the place to which
Jennings had removed her for safe-keeping, after purchasing her
from Mrs. Miller. Incarcerated in one of the iron-barred rooms of
that dismal place, those dark, glowing eyes, lofty brow, and
graceful form wilted down like a plucked rose under a noonday sun,
while deep in her heart's ambrosial cells was the most anguishing
distress.

Vulgar curiosity is always in search of its victims, and Jennings'
boast that he had such a ladylike and beautiful woman in his
possession brought numbers to the prison who begged of the jailer
the privilege of seeing the slave-trader's prize. Many who saw her
were melted to tears at the pitiful sight, and were struck with
admiration at her intelligence; and, when she spoke of her child,
they must have been convinced that a mother's sorrow can be
conceived by none but a mother's heart. The warbling of birds in
the green bowers of bliss, which she occasionally heard, brought
no tidings of gladness to her. Their joy fell cold upon her heart,
and seemed like bitter mockery. They reminded her of her own
cottage, where, with her beloved child, she had spent so many happy
days.

The speculator had kept close watch over his valuable piece of
property, for fear that it might damage itself. This, however,
there was no danger of, for Isabella still hoped and believed that
Henry would come to her rescue. She could not bring herself to
believe that he would allow her to be sent away without at least
seeing her, and the trader did all he could to keep this idea
alive in her.

While Isabella, with a weary heart, was passing sleepless nights
thinking only of her daughter and Henry, the latter was seeking
relief in that insidious enemy of the human race, the intoxicating
cup. His wife did all in her power to make his life a pleasant and
a happy one, for Gertrude was devotedly attached to him; but a
weary heart gets no gladness out of sunshine. The secret remorse
that rankled in his bosom caused him to see all the world
blood-shot. He had not visited his mother-in-law since the evening
he had given her liberty to use her own discretion as to how
Isabella and her child should be disposed of. He feared even to go
near the house, for he did not wish to see his child. Gertrude
felt this every time he declined accompanying her to her mother's.
Possessed of a tender and confiding heart, entirely unlike her
mother, she sympathized deeply with her husband. She well knew
that all young men in the South, to a greater or less extent,
became enamored of the slave-women, and she fancied that his case
was only one of the many, and if he had now forsaken all others
for her she did not wish for him to be punished; but she dared not
let her mother know that such were her feelings. Again and again
had she noticed the great resemblance between Clotelle and Henry,
and she wished the child in better hands than those of her cruel
mother.

At last Gertrude determined to mention the matter to her husband.
Consequently, the next morning, when they were seated on the back
piazza, and the sun was pouring its splendid rays upon everything
around, changing the red tints on the lofty hills in the distance
into streaks of purest gold, and nature seeming by her smiles to
favor the object, she said,--

"What, dear Henry, do you intend to do with Clotelle?"

A paleness that overspread his countenance, the tears that trickled
down his cheeks, the deep emotion that was visible in his face,
and the trembling of his voice, showed at once that she had
touched a tender chord. Without a single word, he buried his face
in his handkerchief, and burst into tears.

This made Gertrude still more unhappy, for she feared that he had
misunderstood her; and she immediately expressed her regret that
she had mentioned the subject. Becoming satisfied from this that
his wife sympathized with him in his unhappy situation, Henry told
her of the agony that filled his soul, and Gertrude agreed to
intercede for him with her mother for the removal of the child to
a boarding-school in one of the Free States.

In the afternoon, when Henry returned from his office, his wife met
him with tearful eyes, and informed him that her mother was filled
with rage at the mere mention of the removal of Clotelle from her
premises.

In the mean time, the slave-trader, Jennings, had started for the
South with his gang of human cattle, of whom Isabella was one.
Most quadroon women who are taken to the South are either sold to
gentlemen for their own use or disposed of as house-servants or
waiting-maids. Fortunately for Isabella, she was sold, for the
latter purpose. Jennings found a purchaser for her in the person
of Mr. James French.

Mrs. French was a severe mistress. All who lived with her, though
well-dressed, were scantily fed and over-worked. Isabella found
her new situation far different from her Virginia cottage-life.
She had frequently heard Vicksburg spoken of as a cruel place for
slaves, and now she was in a position to test the truthfulness of
the assertion.

A few weeks after her arrival, Mrs. French began to show to
Isabella that she was anything but a pleasant and agreeable
mistress. What social virtues are possible in a society of which
injustice is a primary characteristic,--in a society which is
divided into two classes, masters and slaves? Every married woman
at the South looks upon her husband as unfaithful, and regards
every negro woman as a rival.

Isabella had been with her new mistress but a short time when she
was ordered to cut off her long and beautiful hair. The negro is
naturally fond of dress and outward display. He who has short
woolly hair combs and oils it to death; he who has long hair would
sooner have his teeth drawn than to part with it. But, however
painful it was to Isabella, she was soon seen with her hair cut
short, and the sleeves of her dress altered to fit tight to her
arms. Even with her hair short and with her ill-looking dress,
Isabella was still handsome. Her life had been a secluded one, and
though now twenty-eight years of age, her beauty had only assumed
a quieter tone. The other servants only laughed at Isabella's
misfortune in losing her beautiful hair.

"Miss 'Bell needn't strut so big; she got short nappy har's well's
I," said Nell, with a broad grin that showed her teeth.

"She tink she white when she cum here, wid dat long har ob hers,"
replied Mill.

"Yes," continued Nell, "missus make her take down her wool, so she
no put it up to-day."

The fairness of Isabella's complexion was regarded with envy by the
servants as well as by the mistress herself. This is one of the
hard features of slavery. To-day a woman is mistress of her own
cottage; to-morrow she is sold to one who aims to make her life as
intolerable as possible. And let it be remembered that the
house-servant has the best situation a slave can occupy.

But the degradation and harsh treatment Isabella experienced in her
new home was nothing compared to the grief she underwent at being
separated from her dear child. Taken from her with scarcely a
moment's warning, she knew not what had become of her.

This deep and heartfelt grief of Isabella was soon perceived by her
owners, and fearing that her refusal to take proper food would
cause her death, they resolved to sell her. Mr. French found no
difficulty in securing a purchaser for the quadroon woman, for
such are usually the most marketable kind of property. Isabella
was sold at private sale to a young man for a housekeeper; but
even he had missed his aim.

Mr. Gordon, the new master, was a man of pleasure. He was the owner
of a large sugar plantation, which he had left under the charge of
an overseer, and was now giving himself up to the pleasures of a
city life. At first Mr. Gordon sought to win Isabella's favor by
flattery and presents, knowing that whatever he gave her he could
take from her again. The poor innocent creature dreaded every
moment lest the scene should change. At every interview with Gordon
she stoutly maintained that she had left a husband in Virginia,
and could never think of taking another. In this she considered
that she was truthful, for she had ever regarded Henry as her
husband. The gold watch and chain and other glittering presents
which Gordon gave to her were all kept unused.

In the same house with Isabella was a man-servant who had from time
to time hired himself from his master. His name was William. He
could feel for Isabella, for he, like her, had been separated from
near and dear relatives, and he often tried to console the poor
woman. One day Isabella observed to him that her hair was growing
out again.

"Yes," replied William; "you look a good deal like a man with your
short hair."

"Oh," rejoined she, "I have often been told that I would make a
better looking man than woman, and if I had the money I might
avail myself of it to bid farewell to this place."

In a moment afterwards, Isabella feared that she had said too much,
and laughingly observed, "I am always talking some nonsense; you
must not heed me."

William was a tall, full-blooded African, whose countenance beamed
with intelligence. Being a mechanic, he had by industry earned
more money than he had paid to his owner for his time, and this he
had laid aside, with the hope that he might some day get enough to
purchase his freedom. He had in his chest about a hundred and
fifty dollars. His was a heart that felt for others, and he had
again and again wiped the tears from his eyes while listening to
Isabella's story.

"If she can get free with a little money, why not give her what I
have?" thought he, and then resolved to do it.

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