A Tale of the Southern States

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One day Mr. Wilson, being somewhat out of temper and irritated at
what he was pleased to call Jerome's insolence, ordered him to
follow him to the barn to be flogged. The young slave obeyed his
master, but those who saw him at the moment felt that he would not
submit to be whipped.

"No, sir," replied Jerome, as his master told him to take off his
coat: "I will serve you, Master Wilson, I will labor for you day
and night, if you demand it, but I will not be whipped."

This was too much for a white man to stand from a negro, and the
preacher seized his slave by the throat, intending to choke him.
But for once he found his match. Jerome knocked him down, and then
escaped through the back-yard to the street, and from thence to
the woods.

Recovering somewhat from the effect of his fall, the parson
regained his feet and started in pursuit of the fugitive. Finding,
however, that the slave was beyond his reach, he at once resolved
to put the dogs on his track. Tabor, the negro-catcher, was sent
for, and in less than an hour, eight or ten men, including the
parson, were in the woods with hounds, trying the trails. These
dogs will attack a negro at their master's bidding; and cling to
him as the bull-dog will cling to a beast. Many are the
speculations as to whether the negro will be secured alive or
dead, when these dogs once get on his track. Whenever there is to
be a negro hunt, there is no lack of participants. Many go to
enjoy the fun which it is said they derive from these scenes.

The company had been in the woods but a short time ere they got on
the track of two fugitives, one of whom was Jerome. The slaves
immediately bent their steps toward the swamp, with the hope that
the dogs, when put upon their scent would be unable to follow them
through the water.

The slaves then took a straight course for the Baton Rouge and
Bayou Sara road, about four miles distant. Nearer and nearer the
whimpering pack pressed on; their delusion begins to dispel. All
at once the truth flashes upon the minds of the fugitives like a
glare of light,--'tis Tabor with his dogs!

The scent becomes warmer and warmer, and what was at first an
irregular cry now deepens into one ceaseless roar, as the
relentless pack presses on after its human prey.

They at last reach the river, and in the negroes plunge, followed
by the catch-dog. Jerome is caught and is once more in the hands
of his master, while the other poor fellow finds a watery grave.
They return, and the preacher sends his slave to jail.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TRUE HEROINE.

IN vain did Georgiana try to console Clotelle, when the latter
heard, through one of the other slaves, that Mr. Wilson had
started with the dogs in pursuit of Jerome. The poor girl well
knew that he would be caught, and that severe punishment, if not
death, would be the result of his capture. It was therefore with a
heart filled with the deepest grief that the slave-girl heard the
footsteps of her master on his return from the chase. The dogged
and stern manner of the preacher forbade even his daughter
inquiring as to the success of his pursuit. Georgiana secretly
hoped that the fugitive had not been caught; she wished it for the
sake of the slave, and more especially for her maid-servant, whom
she regarded more as a companion than a menial. But the news of
the capture of Jerome soon spread through the parson's household,
and found its way to the ears of the weeping and heart-stricken
Clotelle.

The reverend gentleman had not been home more than an hour ere come
of his parishioners called to know if they should not take the
negro from the prison and execute Lynch law upon him.

"No negro should be permitted to live after striking a white man;
let us take him and hang him at once," remarked an elderly-looking
man, whose gray hairs thinly covered the crown of his head.

"I think the deacon is right," said another of the company; "if our
slaves are allowed to set the will of their masters at defiance,
there will be no getting along with them,--an insurrection will be
the next thing we hear of."

"No, no," said the preacher; "I am willing to let the law take its
course, as it provides for the punishment of a slave with death if
he strikes his master. We had better let the court decide the
question. Moreover, as a Christian and God-fearing people, we
ought to submit to the dictates of justice. Should we take this
man's life by force, an All-wise Providence would hold us
responsible for the act."

The company then quietly withdrew, showing that the preacher had
some influence with his people.

"This" said Mr. Wilson, when left alone with his daughter,--"this,
my dear Georgiana, is the result of your kindness to the negroes.
You have spoiled every one about the house. I can't whip one of
them, without being in danger of having my life taken."

"I am sure, papa," replied the young lady,--"I am sure I never did
any thing intentionally to induce any of the servants to disobey
your orders."

"No, my dear," said Mr. Wilson, "but you are too kind to them. Now,
there is Clotelle,--that girl is completely spoiled. She walks
about the house with as dignified an air as if she was mistress of
the premises. By and by you will be sorry for this foolishness of
yours."

"But," answered Georgiana, "Clotelle has a superior mind, and God
intended her to hold a higher position in life than that of a
servant."

"Yes, my dear, and it was your letting her know that she was
intended for a better station in society that is spoiling her.
Always keep a negro in ignorance of what you conceive to be his
abilities," returned the parson.

It was late on the Saturday afternoon, following the capture of
Jerome that, while Mr. Wilson was seated in his study preparing
his sermon for the next day, Georgiana entered the room and asked
in an excited tone if it were true that Jerome was to be hanged on
the following Thursday.

The minister informed her that such was the decision of the court.

"Then," said she, "Clotelle will die of grief."

"What business has she to die of grief?" returned the father, his
eyes at the moment flashing fire.

"She has neither eaten nor slept since he was captured," replied
Georgians; "and I am certain that she will not live through this."

"I cannot be disturbed now," said the parson; "I must get my
sermon ready for to-morrow. I expect to have some strangers to
preach to, and must, therefore, prepare a sermon that will do me
credit."

While the man of God spoke, he seemed to say to himself,--

"With devotion's visage, and pious actions, We do sugar over the
devil himself."

Georgiana did all in her power to soothe the feelings of Clotelle,
and to induce her to put her trust in God. Unknown to her father,
she allowed the poor girl to go every evening to the jail to see
Jerome, and during these visits, despite her own grief, Clotelle
would try to comfort her lover with the hope that justice would be
meted out to him in the spirit-land.

Thus the time passed on, and the day was fast approaching when the
slave was to die. Having heard that some secret meeting had been
held by the negroes, previous to the attempt of Mr. Wilson to flog
his slave, it occurred to a magistrate that Jerome might know
something of the intended revolt. He accordingly visited the
prison to see if he could learn anything from him, but all to no
purpose. Having given up all hopes of escape, Jerome had resolved
to die like a brave man. When questioned as to whether he knew
anything of a conspiracy among the slaves against their masters,
he replied,--

"Do you suppose that I would tell you if I did?"

"But if you know anything," remarked the magistrate, "and will tell
us, you may possibly have your life spared."

"Life," answered the doomed man, "is worth nought to a slave. What
right has a slave to himself, his wife, or his children? We are
kept in heathenish darkness, by laws especially enacted to make
our instruction a criminal offence; and our bones, sinews, blood,
and nerves are exposed in the market for sale.

"My liberty is of as much consequence to me as Mr. Wilson's is to
him. I am as sensitive to feeling as he. If I mistake not, the day
will come when the negro will learn that he can get his freedom by
fighting for it; and should that time arrive, the whites will be
sorry that they have hated us so shamefully. I am free to say
that, could I live my life over again, I would use all the
energies which God has given me to get up an insurrection."

Every one present seemed startled and amazed at the intelligence
with which this descendant of Africa spoke.

"He's a very dangerous man," remarked one.

"Yes," said another, "he got some book-learning somewhere, and that
has spoiled him."

An effort was then made to learn from Jerome where he had learned
to read, but the black refused to give any information on the
subject.

The sun was just going down behind the trees as Clotelle entered
the prison to see Jerome for the last time. He was to die on the
next day Her face was bent upon her hands, and the gushing tears
were forcing their way through her fingers. With beating heart and
trembling hands, evincing the deepest emotion, she threw her arms
around her lover's neck and embraced him. But, prompted by her
heart's unchanging love, she had in her own mind a plan by which
she hoped to effect the escape of him to whom she had pledged her
heart and hand. While the overcharged clouds which had hung over
the city during the day broke, and the rain fell in torrents, amid
the most terrific thunder and lightning, Clotelle revealed to
Jerome her plan for his escape.

"Dress yourself in my clothes," said she, "and you can easily pass
the jailer."

This Jerome at first declined doing. He did not wish to place a
confiding girl in a position where, in all probability, she would
have to suffer; but being assured by the young girl that her life
would not be in danger, he resolved to make the attempt. Clotelle
being very tall, it was not probable that the jailer would
discover any difference in them.

At this moment, she took from her pocket a bunch of keys and
unfastened the padlock, and freed him from the floor.

"Come, girl, it is time for you to go," said the jailer, as Jerome
was holding the almost fainting girl by the hand.

Being already attired in Clotelle's clothes, the disguised man
embraced the weeping girl, put his handkerchief to his face, and
passed out of the jail, without the keeper's knowing that his
prisoner was escaping in a disguise and under cover of the night.

CHAPTER XX

THE HERO OF MANY ADVENTURES.

JEROME had scarcely passed the prison-gates, ere he reproached
himself for having taken such a step. There seemed to him no hope
of escape out of the State, and what was a few hours or days at
most, of life to him, when, by obtaining it, another had been
sacrificed. He was on the eve of returning, when he thought of the
last words uttered by Clotelle. "Be brave and determined, and you
will still be free." The words sounded like a charm in his ears and
he went boldly forward.

Clotelle had provided a suit of men's clothes and had placed them
where her lover could get them, if he should succeed in getting
out.

Returning to Mr. Wilson's barn, the fugitive changed his apparel,
and again retraced his steps into the street. To reach the Free
States by travelling by night and lying by during the day, from a
State so far south as Mississippi, no one would think for a moment
of attempting to escape. To remain in the city would be a suicidal
step. The deep sound of the escape of steam from a boat, which was
at that moment ascending the river, broke upon the ears of the
slave. "If that boat is going up the river," said he, "why not I
conceal myself on board, and try to escape?" He went at once to
the steamboat landing, where the boat was just coming in. "Bound
for Louisville," said the captain, to one who was making
inquiries. As the passengers were rushing on board, Jerome
followed them, and proceeding to where some of the hands were
stowing away bales of goods, he took hold and aided them.

"Jump down into the hold, there, and help the men," said the mate
to the fugitive, supposing that, like many persons, he was working
his way up the river. Once in the hull among the boxes, the slave
concealed himself. Weary hours, and at last days, passed without
either water or food with the hidden slave. More than once did he
resolve to let his case be known; but the knowledge that he would
be sent back to Natchez kept him from doing so. At last, with lips
parched and fevered to a crisp, the poor man crawled out into the
freight-room, and began wandering about. The hatches were on, and
the room dark. There happened to be on board a wedding party, and,
a box, containing some of the bridal cake, with several bottles of
port wine, was near Jerome. He found the box, opened it, and
helped himself. In eight days, the boat tied up at the wharf at
the place of her destination. It was late at night; the boat's
crew, with the single exception of the man on watch, were on shore.
The hatches were off, and the fugitive quietly made his way on
deck and jumped on shore. The man saw the fugitive, but too late
to seize him.

Still in a Slave State, Jerome was at a loss to know how he should
proceed. He had with him a few dollars, enough to pay his way to
Canada, if he could find a conveyance. The fugitive procured such
food as he wanted from one of the many eating-houses, and then,
following the direction of the North Star, he passed out of the
city, and took the road leading to Covington. Keeping near the
Ohio River, Jerome soon found an opportunity to cross over into
the State of Indiana. But liberty was a mere name in the latter
State, and the fugitive learned, from some colored persons that he
met, that it was not safe to travel by daylight. While making his
way one night, with nothing to cheer him but the prospect of
freedom in the future, he was pounced upon by three men who were
lying in wait for another fugitive, an advertisement of whom they
had received through the mail. In vain did Jerome tell them that
he was not a slave. True, they had not caught the man they
expected; but, if they could make this slave tell from what place
he had escaped, they knew that a good price would be paid them
for the negro's arrest.

Tortured by the slave-catchers, to make him reveal the name of his
master and the place from whence he had escaped, Jerome gave them
a fictitious name in Virginia, and said that his master would give
a large reward, and manifested a willingness to return to his "old
boss." By this misrepresentation, the fugitive, hoped to have
another chance of getting away. Allured with the prospect of a
large sum of the needful, the slave-catchers started back with
their victim. Stopping on the second night at an inn, on the banks
of the Ohio River, the kidnappers, in lieu of a suitable place in
which to confine their prize during the night, chained him to the
bed-post of their sleeping-chamber. The white men were late in
retiring to rest, after an evening spent in drinking. At dead of
night, when all was still, the slave arose from the floor, upon
which he had been lying, looked around and saw that Morpheus had
possession of his captors. For once, thought he, the brandy bottle
has done a noble work. With palpitating heart and trembling limbs,
he viewed his position. The door was fast, but the warm weather
had compelled them to leave the window open. If he could but get
his chains off, he might escape through the window to the piazza.
The sleepers' clothes hung upon chairs by the bedside. The slave
thought of the padlock-key, examined the pockets, and found it. The
chains were soon off, and the negro stealthily making his way to
the window. He stopped, and said to himself, "These men are
villains; they are enemies to all who, like me, are trying to be
free. Then why not I teach them a lesson?" He then dressed himself
in the best suit, hung his own worn-out and tattered garments on
the same chair, and silently passed through the window to the
piazza, and let himself down by one of the pillars, and started
once more for the North.

Daylight came upon the fugitive before he had selected a
hiding-place for the day, and he was walking at a rapid rate, in
hopes of soon reaching some woodland or forest. The sun had just
begun to show itself, when the fugitive was astounded at seeing
behind him, in the distance, two men upon horseback. Taking a
road to the right, the slave saw before him a farmhouse, and so
near was he to it that he observed two men in front of it looking
at him. It was too late to turn back. The kidnappers were behind
him--strange men before him. Those in the rear he knew to be
enemies, while he had no idea of what principles were the farmers.
The latter also saw the white men coming, and called to the
fugitive to come that way. The broad-brimmed hats that the farmers
wore told the slave that they were Quakers.

Jerome had seen some of these people passing up and down the river,
when employed on a steamer between Natchez and New Orleans, and
had heard that they disliked slavery. He, therefore, hastened
toward the drab-coated men, who, on his approach, opened the
barn-door, and told him to "run in."

When Jerome entered the barn, the two farmers closed the door,
remaining outside themselves, to confront the slave-catchers, who
now came up and demanded admission, feeling that they had their
prey secure.

"Thee can't enter my premises," said one of the Friends, in rather
a musical voice.

The negro-catchers urged their claim to the slave, and intimated
that, unless they were allowed to secure him, they would force
their way in. By this time, several other Quakers had gathered
around the barn-door. Unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most
fortunately for the fugitive, the Friends had just been holding a
quarterly meeting in the neighborhood, and a number of them had
not yet returned to their homes.

After some talk, the men in drab promised to admit the hunters,
provided they procured an officer and a search-warrant from a
justice of the peace. One of the slave-catchers was left to see
that the fugitive did not get away, while the others went in
pursuit of an officer. In the mean time, the owner of the barn
sent for a hammer and nails, and began nailing up the barn-door.

After an hour in search of the man of the law, they returned with
an officer and a warrant. The Quaker demanded to see the paper,
and, after looking at it for some time, called to his son to go
into the house for his glasses. It was a long time before Aunt
Ruth found the leather case, and when she did, the glasses wanted
wiping before they could be used. After comfortably adjusting them
on his nose, he read the warrant over leisurely.

"Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can't wait all day,"' said the officer.

"Well, will thee read it for me?" returned the Quaker.

The officer complied, and the man in drab said,--

"Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to throw no obstacles in
the way of the execution of the law of the land."

On approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in
it, in the way of their progress.

"Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale,"
said the officer.

"Please read that paper over again, will thee?" asked the Quaker.

The officer once more read the warrant.

"I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to
open my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for
it; I tell thee plainly, thee can't have mine."

The implements for opening the door are at length obtained and
after another half-hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn. Three
hours is a long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers.
The hay is turned over, and the barn is visited in every part; but
still the runaway is not found. Uncle Joseph has a glow upon his
countenance; Ephraim shakes his head knowingly; little Elijah is a
perfect know-nothing, and, if you look toward the house, you will
see Aunt Ruth's smiling face, ready to announce that breakfast is
ready.

"The nigger is not in this barn," said the officer.

"I know he is not," quietly answered the Quaker.

"What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were
afraid we would enter?" inquired one of the kidnappers.

"I can do what I please with my own door, can't I," said the
Quaker.

The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front door and
out at the back; and the reading of the warrant, nailing up of the
door, and other preliminaries of the Quaker, was to give the
fugitive time and opportunity to escape.

It was now late in the morning, and the slave-catchers were a long
way from home, and the horses were jaded by the rapid manner in
which they had travelled. The Friends, in high glee, returned to
the house for breakfast; the man of the law, after taking his fee,
went home, and the kidnappers turned back, muttering, "Better luck
next time."

CHAPTER XXI

SELF-SACRIFICE.

Now in her seventeenth year, Clotelle's personal appearance
presented a great contrast to the time when she lived with old
Mrs. Miller. Her tall and well-developed figure; her long, silky
black hair, falling in curls down her swan-like neck; her bright,
black eyes lighting up her olive-tinted face, and a set of teeth
that a Tuscarora might envy, she was a picture of tropical-ripened
beauty. At times, there was a heavenly smile upon her countenance,
which would have warmed the heart of an anchorite. Such was the
personal appearance of the girl who was now in prison by her own
act to save the life of another. Would she be hanged in his stead,
or would she receive a different kind of punishment? These
questions Clotelle did not ask herself. Open, frank, free, and
generous to a fault, she always thought of others, never of her
own welfare.

The long stay of Clotelle caused some uneasiness to Miss Wilson;
yet she dared not tell her father, for he had forbidden the
slave-girl's going to the prison to see her lover. While the clock
on the church near by was striking eleven, Georgiana called Sam,
and sent him to the prison in search of Clotelle.

"The girl went away from here at eight o'clock," was the jailer's
answer to the servant's inquiries.

The return of Sam without having found the girl saddened the heart
of the young mistress. "Sure, then," said she, "the poor
heart-broken thing has made way with herself."

Still, she waited till morning before breaking the news of
Clotelle's absence to her father.

The jailer discovered, the next morning, to his utter astonishment,
that his prisoner was white instead of black, and his first
impression was that the change of complexion had taken place
during the night, through fear of death. But this conjecture was
soon dissipated; for the dark, glowing eyes, the sable curls upon
the lofty brow, and the mild, sweet voice that answered his
questions, informed him that the prisoner before him was another
being.

On learning, in the morning, that Clotelle was in jail dressed in
male attire, Miss Wilson immediately sent clothes to her to make a
change in her attire. News of the heroic and daring act of the
slave-girl spread through the city with electric speed.

"I will sell every nigger on the place," said the parson, at the
break-fast-table,--"I will sell them all, and get a new lot, and
whip them every day."

Poor Georgiana wept for the safety of Clotelle, while she felt glad
that Jerome had escaped. In vain did they try to extort from the
girl the whereabouts of the man whose escape she had effected. She
was not aware that he had fled on a steamer, and when questioned,
she replied,--

"I don't know; and if I did I would not tell you. I care not what
you do with me, if Jerome but escapes."

The smile with which she uttered these words finely illustrated the
poet's meaning, when he says,--

"A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, Woman--the power to
suffer and to love."

Her sweet simplicity seemed to dare them to lay their rough hands
amid her trembling curls.

Three days did the heroic young woman remain in prison, to be gazed
at by an unfeeling crowd, drawn there out of curiosity. The
intelligence came to her at last that the court had decided to
spare her life, on condition that she should be whipped, sold, and
sent out of the State within twenty-four hours.

This order of the court she would have cared but little for, had
she not been sincerely attached to her young mistress.

"Do try and sell her to some one who will use her well," said
Georgiana to her father, as he was about taking his hat to leave
the house.

"I shall not trouble myself to do any such thing," replied the
hard-hearted parson. "I leave the finding of a master for her with
the slave-dealer."

Bathed in tears, Miss. Wilson paced her room in the absence of her
father. For many months Georgiana had been in a decline, and any
little trouble would lay her on a sick bed for days. She was,
therefore, poorly able to bear the loss of this companion, whom
she so dearly loved.

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