A Tale of the Southern States
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William Wells Brown >> A Tale of the Southern States
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An hour after, he entered the quadroon's room, and, laying the
money in her lap, said,--
"There, Miss Isabella, you said just now that if you had the means
you would leave this place. There is money enough to take you to
England, where you will be free. You are much fairer than many of
the white women of the South, and can easily pass for a free white
woman."
At first Isabella thought it was a plan by which the negro wished
to try her fidelity to her owner; but she was soon convinced, by
his earnest manner and the deep feeling he manifested, that he was
entirely sincere.
"I will take the money," said she, "only on one condition, and that
is that I effect your escape, as well as my own."
"How can that be done?" he inquired, eagerly.
"I will assume the disguise of a gentleman, and you that of a
servant, and we will thus take passage in a steamer to Cincinnati,
and from thence to Canada."
With full confidence in Isabella's judgment, William consented at
once to the proposition. The clothes were purchased; everything
was arranged, and the next night, while Mr. Gordon was on one of
his sprees, Isabella, under the assumed name of Mr. Smith, with
William in attendance as a servant, took passage for Cincinnati in
the steamer Heroine.
With a pair of green glasses over her eyes, in addition to her
other disguise, Isabella made quite a gentlemanly appearance. To
avoid conversation, however, she kept closely to her state-room,
under the plea of illness.
Meanwhile, William was playing his part well with the servants. He
was loudly talking of his master's wealth, and nothing on the boat
appeared so good as in his master's fine mansion.
"I don't like dese steamboats, no how," said he; "I hope when massa
goes on anoder journey, he take de carriage and de hosses."
After a nine-days' passage, the Heroine landed at Cincinnati, and
Mr. Smith and his servant walked on shore.
"William, you are now a free man, and can go on to Canada," said
Isabella; "I shall go to Virginia, in search of my daughter."
This sudden announcement fell heavily upon William's ears, and with
tears he besought her not to jeopardize her liberty in such a
manner; but Isabella had made up her mind to rescue her child if
possible.
Taking a boat for Wheeling, Isabella was soon on her way to her
native State. Several months had elapsed since she left Richmond,
and all her thoughts were centred on the fate of her dear
Clotelle. It was with a palpitating heart that this injured woman
entered the stage-coach at Wheeling and set out for Richmond.
CHAPTER XV
THE ARREST.
IT was late in the evening when the coach arrived at Richmond, and
Isabella once more alighted in her native city. She had intended
to seek lodgings somewhere in the outskirts of the town, but the
lateness of the hour compelled her to stop at one of the principal
hotels for the night. She had scarcely entered the inn before she
recognized among the numerous black servants one to whom she was
well known, and her only hope was that her disguise would keep her
from being discovered. The imperturbable calm and entire
forgetfulness of self which induced Isabella to visit a place from
which she could scarcely hope to escape, to attempt the rescue of
a beloved child, demonstrate that over-willingness of woman to
carry out the promptings of the finer feelings of the heart. True
to woman's nature, she had risked her own liberty for another's.
She remained in the hotel during the night, and the next morning,
under the plea of illness, took her breakfast alone.
That day the fugitive slave paid a visit to the suburbs of the
town, and once more beheld the cottage in which she had spent so
many happy hours. It was winter, and the clematis and passion-
flower were not there; but there were the same walks her feet had
so often pressed, and the same trees which had so often shaded her
as she passed through the garden at the back of the house. Old
remembrances rushed upon her memory and caused her to shed tears
freely. Isabella was now in her native town, and near her
daughter; but how could she communicate with her? how could she
see her? To have made herself known would have been a suicidal
act; betrayal would have followed, and she arrested. Three days
passed away, and still she remained in the hotel at which she had
first put up, and yet she got no tidings of her child.
Unfortunately for Isabella, a disturbance had just broken out among
the slave population in the State of Virginia, and all strangers
were treated with suspicion.
The insurrection to which we now refer was headed by a full-blooded
negro, who had been born and brought up a slave. He had heard the
crack of the driver's whip, and seen the warm blood streaming from
the negro's body. He had witnessed the separation of parents from
children, and was made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave
could expect no justice from the hands of the slave-owner. The
name of this man was Nat Turner. He was a preacher amongst the
negroes, distinguished for his eloquence, respected by the whites,
loved and venerated by the negroes. On the discovery of the plan
for the outbreak, Turner fled to the swamps, followed by those who
had joined in the insurrection.
Here the revolted negroes numbered some hundreds, and for a time
bade defiance to their oppressors. The Dismal Swamps cover many
thousand acres of wild land, and a dense forest, with wild animals
and insects such as are unknown in any other part of Virginia.
Here runaway negroes usually seek a hiding-place, and some have
been known to reside here for years. The revolters were joined by
one of these. He was a large, tall, full-blooded negro, with a
stern and savage countenance; the marks on his face showed that he
was from one of the barbarous tribes in Africa, and claimed that
country as his native land. His only covering was a girdle around
his loins, made of skins of wild beasts which he had killed. His
only token of authority among those that he led was a pair of
epaulettes, made of the tail of a fox, and tied to his shoulder by
a cord. Brought from the coast of Africa, when only fifteen years
of age, to the island of Cuba, he was smuggled from thence into
Virginia. He had been two years in the swamps, and considered it
his future home. He had met a negro woman, who was also a runaway,
and, after the fashion of his native land, had gone through the
process of oiling her, as the marriage ceremony. They had built a
cave on a rising mound in the swamp, and this was their home. This
man's name was Picquilo. His only weapon was a sword made from a
scythe which he had stolen from a neighboring plantation. His
dress, his character, his manners, and his mode of fighting were
all in keeping with the early training he had received in the land
of his birth. He moved about with the activity of a cat, and
neither the thickness of the trees nor the depth of the water
could stop him. His was a bold, turbulent spirit; and, from
motives of revenge, he imbrued his hands in the blood of all the
whites he could meet. Hunger, thirst, and loss of sleep, he seemed
made to endure, as if by peculiarity of constitution. His air was
fierce, his step oblique, his look sanguinary.
Such was the character of one of the negroes in the Southampton
Insurrection. All negroes were arrested who were found beyond
their master's threshold, and all white strangers were looked upon
with suspicion.
Such was the position in which Isabella found affairs when she
returned to Virginia in search of her child. Had not the
slave-owners been watchful of strangers, owing to the outbreak,
the fugitive could not have escaped the vigilance of the police;
for advertisements announcing her escape, and offering a large
reward for her arrest, had been received in the city previous to
her arrival, and officers were therefore on the lookout for her.
It was on the third day after her arrival in Richmond, as the
quadroon was seated in her room at the hotel, still in the
disguise of a gentleman, that two of the city officers entered the
apartment and informed her that they were authorized to examine
all strangers, to assure the authorities that they were not in
league with the revolted negroes.
With trembling heart the fugitive handed the key of her trunk to
the officers. To their surprise they found nothing but female
apparel in the trunk, which raised their curiosity, and caused a
further investigation that resulted in the arrest of Isabella as a
fugitive slave. She was immediately conveyed to prison, there to
await the orders of her master.
For many days, uncheered by the voice of kindness, alone, hopeless,
desolate, she waited for the time to arrive when the chains should
be placed on her limbs, and she returned to her inhuman and
unfeeling owner.
The arrest of the fugitive was announced in all the newspapers, but
created little or no sensation. The inhabitants were too much
engaged in putting down the revolt among the slaves; and, although
all the odds were against the insurgents, the whites found it no
easy matter, with all their caution. Every day brought news of
fresh outbreaks. Without scruple and without pity, the whites
massacred all blacks found beyond the limits of their owners'
plantations. The negroes, in return, set fire to houses, and put to
death those who attempted to escape from the flames. Thus carnage
was added to carnage, and the blood of the whites flowed to avenge
the blood of the blacks.
These were the ravages of slavery. No graves were dug for the
negroes, but their bodies became food for dogs and vultures; and
their bones, partly calcined by the sun, remained scattered about,
as if to mark the mournful fury of servitude and lust of power.
When the slaves were subdued, except a few in the swamps,
bloodhounds were employed to hunt out the remaining revolters.
CHAPTER XVI
DEATH IS FREEDOM.
ON receiving intelligence of the arrest of Isabella, Mr. Gordon
authorized the sheriff to sell her to the highest bidder. She was,
therefore, sold; the purchaser being the noted negro-trader, Hope
H. Slater, who at once placed her in prison. Here the fugitive saw
none but slaves like herself, brought in and taken out to be
placed in ships, and sent away to some part of the country to
which she herself would soon be compelled to go. She had seen or
heard nothing of her daughter while in Richmond, and all hopes of
seeing her had now fled.
At the dusk of the evening previous to the day when she was to be
sent off, as the old prison was being closed for the night,
Isabella suddenly darted past the keeper, and ran for her life.
It was not a great distance from the prison to the long bridge
which passes from the lower part of the city across the Potomac to
the extensive forests and woodlands of the celebrated Arlington
Heights, then occupied by that distinguished relative and
descendant of the immortal Washington, Mr. Geo. W. Custis. Thither
the poor fugitive directed her flight. So unexpected was her
escape that she had gained several rods the start before the
keeper had secured the other prisoners, and rallied his assistants
to aid in the pursuit. It was at an hour, and in a part of the
city where horses could not easily be obtained for the chase; no
bloodhounds were at hand to run down the flying woman, and for
once it seemed as if there was to be a fair trial of speed and
endurance between the slave and the slave-catchers.
The keeper and his force raised the hue-and-cry on her path as they
followed close behind; but so rapid was the flight along the wide
avenue that the astonished citizens, as they poured forth from
their dwellings to learn the cause of alarm, were only able to
comprehend the nature of the case in time to fall in with the
motley throng in pursuit, or raise an anxious prayer to heaven as
they refused to join in the chase (as many a one did that night)
that the panting fugitive might escape, and the merciless
soul-dealer for once be disappointed of his prey. And now, with
the speed of an arrow, having passed the avenue, with the distance
between her and her pursuers constantly increasing, this poor,
hunted female gained the "Long Bridge," as it is called, where
interruption seemed improbable. Already her heart began to beat
high with the hope of success. She had only to pass three-quarters
of a mile across the bridge, when she could bury herself in a vast
forest, just at the time when the curtain of night would close
around her, and protect her from the pursuit of her enemies.
But God, by his providence, had otherwise determined. He had
ordained that an appalling tragedy should be enacted that night
within plain sight of the President's house, and the Capitol of
the Union, which would be an evidence wherever it should be known
of the unconquerable love of liberty which the human heart may
inherit, as well as a fresh admonition to the slave-dealer of the
cruelty and enormity of his crimes.
Just as the pursuers passed the high draw, soon after entering upon
the bridge, they beheld three men slowly approaching from the
Virginia side. They immediately called to them to arrest the
fugitive, proclaiming her a runaway slave. True to their Virginia
instincts, as she came near, they formed a line across the narrow
bridge to intercept her. Seeing that escape was impossible in that
quarter, she stopped suddenly, and turned upon her pursuers.
On came the profane and ribald crew faster than ever, already
exulting in her capture, and threatening punishment for her
flight. For a moment she looked wildly and anxiously around to see
if there was no hope of escape. On either hand, far down below,
rolled the deep, foaming waters of the Potomac, and before and
behind were the rapidly approaching steps and noisy voices of her
pursuers. Seeing how vain would be any further effort to escape,
her resolution was instantly taken. She clasped her hands
convulsively together, raised her tearful and imploring eyes
toward heaven, and begged for the mercy and compassion there which
was unjustly denied her on earth; then, exclaiming, "Henry,
Clotelle, I die for thee!" with a single bound, vaulted over, the
railing of the bridge, and sank forever beneath the angry and
foaming waters of the river!
Such was the life, and such the death, of a woman whose virtues and
goodness of heart would have done honor to one in a higher station
of life, and who, had she been born in any other land but that of
slavery, would have been respected and beloved. What would have
been her feelings if she could have known that the child for whose
rescue she had sacrificed herself would one day be free, honored,
and loved in another land?
CHAPTER XVII
CLOTELLE.
THE curtain rises seven years after the death of Isabella. During
that interval, Henry, finding that nothing could induce his
mother-in-law to relinquish her hold on poor little Clotelle, and
not liking to contend with one on whom a future fortune depended,
gradually lost all interest in the child, and left her to her
fate.
Although Mrs. Miller treated Clotelle with a degree of harshness
scarcely equalled, when applied to one so tender in years, still
the child grew every day more beautiful, and her hair, though kept
closely cut, seemed to have improved in its soft, silk-like
appearance. Now twelve years of age, and more than usually
well-developed, her harsh old mistress began to view her with a
jealous eye.
Henry and Gertrude had just returned from Washington, where the
husband had been on his duties as a member of Congress, and where
he had remained during the preceding three years without returning
home. It was on a beautiful evening, just at twilight, while
seated at his parlor window, that Henry saw a young woman pass by
and go into the kitchen. Not aware of ever having seen the person
before, he made an errand into the cook's department to see who the
girl was. He, however, met her in the hall, as she was about going
out.
"Whom did you wish to see?" he inquired.
"Miss Gertrude," was the reply.
"What did you want to see her for?" he again asked.
"My mistress told me to give her and Master Henry her compliments,
and ask them to come over and spend the evening."
"Who is your mistress?" he eagerly inquired.
"Mrs. Miller, sir," responded the girl.
"And what's your name?" asked Henry, with a trembling voice.
"Clotelle, sir," was the reply.
The astonished father stood completely amazed, looking at the now
womanly form of her who, in his happier days, he had taken on his
knee with so much fondness and alacrity. It was then that he saw
his own and Isabella's features combined in the beautiful face
that he was then beholding. It was then that he was carried back
to the days when with a woman's devotion, poor Isabella hung about
his neck and told him how lonely were the hours in his absence. He
could stand it no longer. Tears rushed to his eyes, and turning
upon his heel, he went back to his own room. It was then that
Isabella was revenged; and she no doubt looked smilingly down from
her home in the spirit-land on the scene below.
On Gertrude's return from her shopping tour, she found Henry in a
melancholy mood, and soon learned its cause. As Gertrude had borne
him no children, it was but natural, that he should now feel his
love centering in Clotelle, and he now intimated to his wife his
determination to remove his daughter from the hands of his
mother-in-law.
When this news reached Mrs. Miller, through her daughter, she
became furious with rage, and calling Clotelle into her room,
stripped her shoulders bare and flogged her in the presence of
Gertrude.
It was nearly a week after the poor girl had been so severely
whipped and for no cause whatever, that her father learned of the
circumstance through one of the servants. With a degree of
boldness unusual for him, he immediately went to his mother-in-law
and demanded his child. But it was too late,--she was gone. To
what place she had been sent no one could tell, and Mrs. Miller
refused to give any information whatever relative to the girl.
It was then that Linwood felt deepest the evil of the institution
under which he was living; for he knew that his daughter would be
exposed to all the vices prevalent in that part of the country
where marriage is not recognized in connection with that class.
CHAPTER XVIII
A SLAVE-HUNTING PARSON.
IT was a delightful evening after a cloudless day, with the setting
sun reflecting his golden rays on the surrounding hills which were
covered with a beautiful greensward, and the luxuriant verdure
that forms the constant garb of the tropics, that the steamer
Columbia ran into the dock at Natchez, and began unloading the
cargo, taking in passengers and making ready to proceed on her
voyage to New Orleans. The plank connecting the boat with the shore
had scarcely been secured in its place, when a good-looking man
about fifty years of age, with a white neck-tie, and a pair of
gold-rimmed glasses on, was seen hurrying on board the vessel.
Just at that moment could be seen a stout man with his face pitted
with the small-pox, making his way up to the above-mentioned
gentleman.
"How do you do, my dear sir? this is Mr. Wilson, I believe," said
the short man, at the same time taking from his mouth a large chew
of tobacco, and throwing it down on the ship's deck.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," replied the tall man.
"Why, don't you know me? My name is Jennings; I sold you a splendid
negro woman some years ago."
"Yes, yes," answered the Natchez man. "I remember you now, for the
woman died in a few months, and I never got the worth of my money
out of her."
"I could not help that," returned the slave-trader; "she was as
sound as a roach when I sold her to you."
"Oh, yes," replied the parson, "I know she was; but now I want a
young girl, fit for house use,--one that will do to wait on a
lady."
"I am your man," said Jennings, "just follow me," continued he,
"and I will show you the fairest little critter you ever saw." And
the two passed to the stern of the boat to where the trader had
between fifty and sixty slaves, the greater portion being women.
"There," said Jennings, as a beautiful young woman shrunk back with
modesty. "There, sir, is the very gal that was made for you. If
she had been made to your order, she could not have suited you
better."
"Indeed, sir, is not that young woman white?" inquired the parson.
"Oh, no, sir; she is no whiter than you see!"
"But is she a slave?" asked the preacher.
"Yes," said the trader, "I bought her in Richmond, and she comes
from an excellent family. She was raised by Squire Miller, and her
mistress was one of the most pious ladies in that city, I may say;
she was the salt of the earth, as the ministers say."
"But she resembles in some respect Agnes, the woman I bought from
you," said Mr. Wilson. As he said the name of Agnes, the young
woman started as if she had been struck. Her pulse seemed to
quicken, but her face alternately flushed and turned pale, and
tears trembled upon her eyelids. It was a name she had heard her
mother mention, and it brought to her memory those days,--those
happy days, when she was so loved and caressed. This young woman
was Clotelle, the granddaughter of Agnes. The preacher, on
learning the fact, purchased her, and took her home, feeling that
his daughter Georgiana would prize her very highly. Clotelle
found in Georgiana more a sister than a mistress, who, unknown to
her father, taught the slave-girl how to read, and did much toward
improving and refining Clotelle's manners, for her own sake. Like
her mother fond of flowers, the "Virginia Maid," as she was
sometimes called, spent many of her leisure hours in the garden.
Beside the flowers which sprang up from the fertility of soil
unplanted and unattended, there was the heliotrope, sweet-pea, and
cup-rose, transplanted from the island of Cuba. In her new home
Clotelle found herself saluted on all sides by the fragrance of
the magnolia. When she went with her young mistress to the Poplar
Farm, as she sometimes did, nature's wild luxuriance greeted her,
wherever she cast her eyes.
The rustling citron, lime, and orange, shady mango with its fruits
of gold, and the palmetto's umbrageous beauty, all welcomed the
child of sorrow. When at the farm, Huckelby, the overseer, kept
his eye on Clotelle if within sight of her, for he knew she was a
slave, and no doubt hoped that she might some day fall into his
hands. But she shrank from his looks as she would have done from
the charm of the rattlesnake. The negro-driver always tried to
insinuate himself into the good opinion of Georgiana and the
company that she brought. Knowing that Miss Wilson at heart hated
slavery, he was ever trying to show that the slaves under his
charge were happy and contented. One day, when Georgiana and some
of her Connecticut friends were there, the overseer called all the
slaves up to the "great house," and set some of the young ones to
dancing. After awhile whiskey was brought in and a dram given to
each slave, in return for which they were expected to give a
toast, or sing a short piece of his own composition; when it came
to Jack's turn he said,--
"The big bee flies high, the little bee makes the honey: the black
folks make the cotton, and the white folks gets the money."
Of course, the overseer was not at all elated with the sentiment
contained in Jack's toast. Mr. Wilson had lately purchased a young
man to assist about the house and to act as coachman. This slave,
whose name was Jerome, was of pure African origin, was perfectly
black, very fine-looking, tall, slim, and erect as any one could
possibly be. His features were not bad, lips thin, nose
prominent, hands and feet small. His brilliant black eyes lighted
up his whole countenance. His hair which was nearly straight, hung
in curls upon his lofty brow. George Combe or Fowler would have
selected his head for a model. He was brave and daring, strong in
person, fiery in spirit, yet kind and true in his affections,
earnest in his doctrines. Clotelle had been at the parson's but a
few weeks when it was observed that a mutual feeling had grown up
between her and Jerome. As time rolled on, they became more and
more attached to each other. After satisfying herself that these
two really loved, Georgiana advised their marriage. But Jerome
contemplated his escape at some future day, and therefore feared
that if married it might militate against it. He hoped, also, to
be able to get Clotelle away too, and it was this hope that kept
him from trying to escape by himself. Dante did not more love his
Beatrice, Swift his Stella, Waller his Saccharissa, Goldsmith his
Jessamy bride, or Bums his Mary, than did Jerome his Clotelle.
Unknown to her father, Miss Wilson could permit these two slaves
to enjoy more privileges than any of the other servants. The young
mistress taught Clotelle, and the latter imparted her instructions
to her lover, until both could read so as to be well understood.
Jerome felt his superiority, and always declared that no master
should ever flog him. Aware of his high spirit and determination,
Clotelle was in constant fear lest some difficulty might arise
between her lover and his master.
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