A Tale of the Southern States

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Mr. Wilson had informed his daughter that Clotelle was to be
flogged; and when Felice came in and informed her mistress that
the poor girl had just received fifty lashes on her bare person,
the young lady fainted and fell on the floor. The servants placed
their mistress on the sofa, and went in pursuit of their master.
Little did the preacher think, on returning to his daughter, that
he should soon be bereft of her; yet such was to be his lot. A
blood-vessel had been ruptured, and the three physicians who were
called in told the father that he must prepare to lose his child.
That moral courage and calmness, which was her great characteristic,
did not forsake Georgiana in her hour of death. She had ever been
kind to the slaves under her charge, and they loved and respected
her. At her request, the servants were all brought into her room,
and took a last farewell of their mistress. Seldom, if ever, was
there witnessed a more touching scene than this. There lay the
young woman, pale and feeble, with death stamped upon her
countenance, surrounded by the sons and daughters of Africa, some
of whom had been separated from every earthly tie, and the most of
whose persons had been torn and gashed by the negro-whip. Some
were upon their knees at the bedside, others standing around, and
all weeping.

Death is a leveler; and neither age, sex, wealth, nor condition,
can avert when he is permitted to strike. The most beautiful
flowers must soon fade and droop and die. So, also, with man; his
days are as uncertain as the passing breeze. This hour he glows
in the blush of health and vigor, but the next, he may be counted
with the number no more known on earth. Oh, what a silence pervaded
the house when this young flower was gone! In the midst of the
buoyancy of youth, this cherished one had drooped and died. Deep
were the sounds of grief and mourning heard in that stately
dwelling when the stricken friends, whose office it had been to
nurse and soothe the weary sufferer, beheld her pale and
motionless in the sleep of death.

Who can imagine the feeling with which poor Clotelle received the
intelligence of her kind friend's death? The deep gashes of the
cruel whip had prostrated the lovely form of the quadroon, and she
lay upon her bed of straw in the dark cell. The speculator had
bought her, but had postponed her removal till she should recover.
Her benefactress was dead, and--

" Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed farewell."

"Is Jerome safe?" she would ask herself continually. If her lover
could have but known of the sufferings of that sweet flower,--
that polyanthus over which he had so often been in his dreams,--.
he would then have learned that she was worthy of his love.

It was more than a fortnight before the slave-trader could take his
prize to more comfortable quarters. Like Alcibiades, who defaced
the images of the gods and expected to be pardoned on the ground
of eccentricity, so men who abuse God's image hope to escape the
vengeance of his wrath under the plea that the law sanctions their
atrocious deeds.

CHAPTER XXII

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

It was a beautiful Sunday in September, with a cloudless sky, and
the rays of the sun parching the already thirsty earth, that
Clotelle stood at an upper window in Slater's slave-pen in New
Orleans, gasping for a breath of fresh air. The bells of thirty
churches were calling the people to the different places of
worship. Crowds were seen wending their way to the houses of God;
one followed by a negro boy carrying his master's Bible; another
followed by her maid-servant holding the mistress' fan; a third
supporting an umbrella over his master's head to shield him from
the burning sun. Baptists immersed, Presbyterians sprinkled,
Methodists shouted, and Episcopalians read their prayers, while
ministers of the various sects preached that Christ died for all.
The chiming of the bells seemed to mock the sighs and deep groans
of the forty human beings then incarcerated in the slave-pen.
These imprisoned children of God were many of them Methodists,
some Baptists, and others claiming to believe in the faith of the
Presbyterians and Episcopalians.

0h, with what anxiety did these creatures await the close of that
Sabbath, and the dawn of another day, that should deliver them
from those dismal and close cells. Slowly the day passed away, and
once more the evening breeze found its way through the barred
windows of the prison that contained these injured sons and
daughters of America. The clock on the calaboose had just struck
nine on Monday morning, when hundreds of persons were seen
threading the gates and doors of the negro-pen. It was the same
gang that had the day previous been stepping to the tune and
keeping time with the musical church bells. Their Bibles were not
with them, their prayer-books were left at home, and even their
long and solemn faces had been laid aside for the week. They had
come to the man-market to make their purchases. Methodists were in
search of their brethren. Baptists were looking for those that had
been immersed, while Presbyterians were willing to buy fellow
Christians, whether sprinkled or not. The crowd was soon gazing
at and feasting their eyes upon the lovely features of Clotelle.

"She is handsomer," muttered one to himself, "than the lady that
sat in the pew next to me yesterday."

"I would that my daughter was half so pretty," thinks a second.

Groups are seen talking in every part of the vast building, and the
topic on 'Change, is the "beautiful quadroon." By and by, a tall
young man with a foreign face, the curling mustache protruding
from under a finely-chiseled nose, and having the air of a
gentleman, passes by. His dark hazel eye is fastened on the maid,
and he stops for a moment; the stranger walks away, but soon
returns--he looks, he sees the young woman wipe away the silent
tear that steals down her alabaster cheek; he feels ashamed that
he should gaze so unmanly on the blushing face of the woman. As he
turns upon his heel he takes out his white hankerchief and wipes
his eyes. It may be that he has lost a sister, a mother, or some
dear one to whom he was betrothed. Again he comes, and the
quadroon hides her face. She has heard that foreigners make bad
masters, and she shuns his piercing gaze. Again he goes away and
then returns. He takes a last look and then walks hurriedly off.

The day wears away, but long before the time of closing the sale
the tall young man once more enters the slave-pen. He looks in
every direction for the beautiful slave, but she is not there--
she has been sold! He goes to the trader and inquires, but he is
too late, and he therefore returns to his hotel.

Having entered a military school in Paris when quite young, and
soon after been sent with the French army to India, Antoine
Devenant had never dabbled in matters of love. He viewed all women
from the same stand-point--respected them for their virtues, and
often spoke of the goodness of heart of the sex, but never dreamed
of taking to himself a wife. The unequalled beauty of Clotelle had
dazzled his eyes, and every look that she gave was a dagger that
went to his heart. He felt a shortness of breath, his heart
palpitated, his head grew dizzy, and his limbs trembled; but he
knew not its cause. This was the first stage of "love at first
sight."

He who bows to the shrine of beauty when beckoned by this
mysterious agent seldom regrets it. Devenant reproached himself
for not having made inquiries concerning the girl before he left
the market in the morning. His stay in the city was to be short,
and the yellow fever was raging, which caused him to feel like
making a still earlier departure. The disease appeared in a form
unusually severe and repulsive. It seized its victims from amongst
the most healthy of the citizens. The disorder began in the brain
by oppressive pain accompanied or followed by fever. Fiery veins
streaked the eye, the face was inflamed and dyed of a dark dull
red color; the ears from time to time rang painfully. Now mucous
secretions surcharged the tongue and took away the power of speech;
now the sick one spoke, but in speaking had foresight of death.
When the violence of the disease approached the heart, the gums
were blackened. The sleep broken, troubled by convulsions, or by
frightful visions, was worse than the waking hours; and when the
reason sank under a delirium which had its seat in the brain,
repose utterly forsook the patient's couch. The progress of the
fever within was marked by yellowish spots, which spread over the
surface of the body. If then, a happy crisis came not, all hope
was gone. Soon the breath infected the air with a fetid odor, the
lips were glazed, despair painted itself in the eyes, and sobs,
with long intervals of silence, formed the only language. From
each side of the mouth, spread foam tinged with black and burnt
blood. Blue streaks mingled with the yellow all over the frame. All
remedies were useless. This was the yellow fever. The disorder
spread alarm and confusion throughout the city. On an average more
than four hundred died daily. In the midst of disorder and
confusion, death heaped victims on victims. Friend followed friend
in quick succession. The sick were avoided from the fear of
contagion, and for the same reason the dead were left unburied.
Nearly two thousand dead bodies lay uncovered in the burial-
ground, with only here and there a little lime thrown over them,
to prevent the air becoming infected. The negro, whose home is
in a hot climate, was not proof against the disease. Many
plantations had to suspend their work for want of slaves to take
the places of those who had been taken off by the fever.

CHAPTER XXIII

MEETING OF THE COUSINS.

THE clock in the hall had scarcely finished striking three when Mr.
Taylor entered his own dwelling, a fine residence in Camp Street,
New Orleans, followed by the slave-girl whom he had just purchased
at the negro-pen. Clotelle looked around wildly as she passed
through the hall into the presence of her new mistress. Mrs.
Taylor was much pleased with her servant's appearance, and
congratulated her husband on his judicious choice.

"But," said Mrs. Taylor, after Clotelle had gone into the kitchen,
"how much she looks like Miss Jane Morton."

"Indeed," replied the husband, "I thought, the moment I saw her
that she looked like the Mortons."

"I am sure I never saw two faces more alike in my life, than that
girl's and Jane Morton's," continued Mrs. Taylor.

Dr. Morton, the purchaser of Maron, the youngest daughter of Agnes,
and sister to Isabella, had resided in Camp Street, near the
Taylors, for more than eight years, and the families were on very
intimate terms, and visited each other frequently. Every one spoke
of Clotelle's close resemblance to the Mortons, and especially to
the eldest daughter. Indeed, two sisters could hardly have been
more alike. The large, dark eyes, black, silk-like hair, tall,
graceful figure, and mould of the face, were the same.

The morning following Clotelle's arrival in her new home, Mrs.
Taylor was conversing in a low tone with her husband, and both
with their eyes following Clotelle as she passed through the room.

"She is far above the station of a slave," remarked the lady. "I
saw her, last night, when removing some books, open one and stand
over it a moment as if she was reading; and she is as white as I
am. I almost sorry you bought her."

At this juncture the front door-bell rang, and Clotelle hurried
through the room to answer it.

"Miss Morton," said the servant as she returned to the mistress'
room.

"Ask her to walk in," responded the mistress.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "just look and see
if you do not notice a marked resemblance between the countenances
of Jane and Clotelle."

Miss Morton entered the room just as Mrs. Taylor ceased speaking.

"Have you heard that the Jamisons are down with the fever?"
inquired the young lady, after asking about the health of the
Taylors.

"No, I had not; I was in hopes it would not get into our street;"
replied Mrs. Taylor.

All this while Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were keenly scrutinizing their
visitor and Clotelle and even the two young women seemed to be
conscious that they were in some way the objects of more than
usual attention.

Miss Morton had scarcely departed before Mrs. Taylor began
questioning Clotelle concerning her early childhood, and became
more than ever satisfied that the slave-girl was in some way
connected with the Mortons.

Every hour brought fresh news of the ravages of the fever, and the
Taylors commenced preparing to leave town. As Mr. Taylor could not
go at once, it was determined that his wife should leave without
him, accompanied by her new maid servant. Just as Mrs. Taylor and
Clotelle were stepping into the carriage, they were informed that
Dr. Morton was down with the epidemic.

It was a beautiful day, with a fine breeze for the time of year,
that Mrs. Taylor and her servant found themselves in the cabin of
the splendid new steamer "Walk-in-the-Water," bound from New
Orleans to Mobile. Every berth in the boat wad occupied by persons
fleeing from the fearful contagion that was carrying off its
hundreds daily.

Late in the day, as Clotelle was standing at one of the windows of
the ladies' saloon, she was astonished to see near her, and with
eyes fixed intently upon her, the tall young stranger whom

she had observed in the slave-market a few days before. She turned
hastily away, but the heated cabin and the want of fresh air soon
drove her again to the window. The young gentleman again appeared,
and coming to the end of the saloon, spoke to the slave-girl in
broken English. This confirmed her in her previous opinion that he
was a foreigner, and she rejoiced that she had not fallen into his
hands.

"I want to talk with you," said the stranger.

"What do you want with me?" she inquired.

"I am your friend," he answered. "I saw you in the slave-market
last week, and regretted that I did not speak to you then. I
returned in the evening, but you was gone."

Clotelle looked indignantly at the stranger, and was about leaving
the window again when the quivering of his lips and the trembling
of his voice struck her attention and caused her to remain.

"I intended to buy you and make you free and happy, but I was too
late," continued he.

"Why do you wish to make me free?" inquired the girl.

"Because I once had an only and lovely sister, who died three years
ago in France, and you are so much like her that had I not known
of her death I should certainly have taken you for her."

"However much I may resemble your sister, you are aware that I am
not she; why, then, take so much interest in one whom you have
never seen before and may never see again?"

"The love," said he, "which I had for my sister is transferred to
you."

Clotelle had all along suspected that the man was a knave, and this
profession of love at once confirmed her in that belief. She
therefore immediately turned away and left him.

Hours elapsed. Twilight was just "letting down her curtain and
pinning it with a star," as the slave-girl seated herself on a
sofa by the window, and began meditating upon her eventful
history, meanwhile watching the white waves as they seemed to
sport with each other in the wake of the noble vessel, with the
rising moon reflecting its silver rays upon the splendid scene,
when the foreigner once more appeared near the window. Although
agitated for fear her mistress would see her talking to a
stranger, and be angry, Clotelle still thought she saw something
in the countenance of the young man that told her he was sincere,
and she did not wish to hurt his feelings.

"Why persist in your wish to talk with me?" she said, as he again
advanced and spoke to her.

"I wish to purchase you and make you happy," returned he.

"But I am not for sale now," she replied. "My present mistress will
not sell me, and if you wished to do so ever so much you could
not."

"Then," said he, "if I cannot buy you, when the steamer reaches
Mobile, fly with me, and you shall be free."

"I cannot do it," said Clotelle; and she was just leaving the
stranger when he took from his pocket a piece of paper and thrust
it into her hand.

After returning to her room, she unfolded the paper, and found, to
her utter astonishment that it contained a one hundred dollar note
on the Bank of the United States. The first impulse of the girl
was to return the paper and its contents immediately to the giver,
but examining the paper more closely, she saw in faint
pencil-marks, "Remember this is from one who loves you." Another
thought was to give it to her mistress, and she returned to the
saloon for that purpose; but on finding Mrs. Taylor engaged in
conversation with some ladies, she did not deem it proper to
interrupt her.

Again, therefore, Clotelle seated herself by the window, and again
the stranger presented himself. She immediately took the paper
from her pocket, and handed it to him; but he declined taking it,
saying,--

"No, keep it; it may be of some service to you when I am far
away."

"Would that I could understand you," said the slave.

"Believe that I am sincere, and then you will understand me,"
returned the young man. "Would you rather be a slave than be
free?" inquired he, with tears that glistened in the rays of the
moon.

"No," said she, "I want my freedom, but I must live a virtuous
life."

"Then, if you would be free and happy, go with me. We shall be in
Mobile in two hours, and when the passengers are going on shore,
you take my arm. Have your face covered with a veil, and you will
not be observed. We will take passage immediately for France; you
can pass as my sister, and I pledge you my honor that I will marry
you as soon as we arrive in France."

This solemn promise, coupled with what had previously been said,
gave Clotelle confidence in the man, and she instantly determined
to go with him. "But then," thought she, "what if I should be
detected? I would be forever ruined, for I would be sold, and in
all probability have to end my days on a cotton, rice, or sugar
plantation." However, the thought of freedom in the future
outweighed this danger, and her resolve was taken.

Dressing herself in some of her best clothes, and placing her
veiled bonnet where she could get it without the knowledge of her
mistress, Clotelle awaited with a heart filled with the deepest
emotions and anxiety the moment when she was to take a step which
seemed so rash, and which would either make or ruin her forever.

The ships which leave Mobile for Europe lie about thirty miles down
the bay, and passengers are taken down from the city in small
vessels. The "Walk-in-the-Water" had just made her lines fast, and
the passengers were hurrying on shore, when a tall gentleman with
a lady at his side descended the stage-plank, and stepped on the
wharf. This was Antoine Devenant and Clotelle.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM.

THE death of Dr. Morton, on the third day of his illness, came like
a shock upon his wife and daughters. The corpse had scarcely been
committed to its mother earth before new and unforeseen
difficulties appeared to them. By the laws of the Slave States,
the children follow the condition of their mother. If the mother
is free, the children are free; if a slave, the children are
slaves. Being unacquainted with the Southern code, and no one
presuming that Marion had any negro blood in her veins, Dr. Morton
had not given the subject a single thought. The woman whom he
loved and regarded as his wife was, after all, nothing more than a
slave by the laws of the State. What would have been his feelings
had he known that at his death his wife and children would be
considered as his property? Yet such was the case. Like most men of
means at that time, Dr. Morton was deeply engaged in speculation,
and though generally considered wealthy, was very much involved in
his business affairs.

After the disease with which Dr. Morton had so suddenly died had to
some extent subsided, Mr. James Morton, a brother of the deceased,
went to New Orleans to settle up the estate. On his arrival there,
he was pleased with and felt proud of his nieces, and invited them
to return with him to Vermont, little dreaming that his brother
had married a slave, and that his widow and daughters would be
claimed as such. The girls themselves had never heard that their
mother had been a slave, and therefore knew nothing of the danger
hanging over their heads.

An inventory of the property of the deceased was made out by Mr.
Morton, and placed in the hands of the creditors. These
preliminaries being arranged, the ladies, with their relative,
concluded to leave the city and reside for a few days on the banks
of Lake Ponchartrain, where they could enjoy a fresh air that the
city did not afford. As they were about taking the cars, however,
an officer arrested the whole party--the ladies as slaves, and
the gentleman upon the charge of attempting to conceal the
property of his deceased brother. Mr. Morton was overwhelmed with
horror at the idea of his nieces being claimed as slaves, and
asked for time, that he might save them from such a fate. He even
offered to mortgage his little farm in Vermont for the amount which
young slave-women of their ages would fetch. But the creditors
pleaded that they were an "extra article," and would sell for more
than common slaves, and must therefore be sold at auction.

The uncle was therefore compelled to give them up to the officers
of the law, and they were separated from him. Jane, the oldest of
the girls, as we have before mentioned, was very handsome, bearing
a close resemblance to her cousin Clotelle. Alreka, though not as
handsome as her sister, was nevertheless a beautiful girl, and
both had all the accomplishments that wealth and station could
procure.

Though only in her fifteenth year, Alreka had become strongly
attached to Volney Lapie, a young Frenchman, a student in her
father's office. This attachment was reciprocated, although the
poverty of the young man and the extreme youth of the girl had
caused their feelings to be kept from the young lady's parents.

The day of sale came, and Mr. Morton attended, with the hope that
either the magnanimity of the creditors or his own little farm in
Vermont might save his nieces from the fate that awaited them. His
hope, however, was in vain. The feelings of all present seemed to
be lost in the general wish to become the possessor of the young
ladies, who stood trembling, blushing, and weeping as the numerous
throng gazed at them, or as the intended purchaser examined the
graceful proportions of their fair and beautiful frames. Neither
the presence of the uncle nor young Lapie could at all lessen the
gross language of the officers, or stay the rude hands of those
who wished to examine the property thus offered for sale. After a
fierce contest between the bidders, the girls were sold, one for
two thousand three hundred, and the other for two thousand three
hundred and fifty dollars. Had these girls been bought for servants
only, they would in all probability have brought not more than
nine hundred or a thousand dollars each. Here were two beautiful
young girls, accustomed to the fondest indulgence, surrounded by
all the refinements of life, and with the timidity and gentleness
which such a life would naturally produce, bartered away like
cattle in the markets of Smithfield or New York.

The mother, who was also to have been sold, happily followed her
husband to the grave, and was spared the pangs of a broken heart.

The purchaser of the young ladies left the market in triumph, and
the uncle, with a heavy heart, started for his New England home,
with no earthly prospect of ever beholding his nieces again.

The seizure of the young ladies as slaves was the result of the
administrator's having found among Dr. Morton's papers the
bill-of-sale of Marion which he had taken when he purchased her.
He had doubtless intended to liberate her when he married her, but
had neglected from time to time to have the proper papers made
out. Sad was the result of this negligence.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FLIGHT.

ON once gaining the wharf, Devenant and Clotelle found no
difficulty in securing an immediate passage to France. The fine
packet-ship Utica lay down the bay, and only awaited the return of
the lighter that night to complete her cargo and list of
passengers, ere she departed. The young Frenchman therefore took
his prize on board, and started for the ship.

Daylight was just making its appearance the next morning when the
Utica weighed anchor and turned her prow toward the sea. In the
course of three hours, the vessel, with outspread sails, was
rapidly flying from land. Everything appeared to be auspicious.
The skies were beautifully clear, and the sea calm, with a sun
that dazzled the whole scene. But clouds soon began to chase each
other through the heavens and the sea became rough. It was then
that Clotelle felt that there was hope of escaping. She had
hitherto kept in the cabin, but now she expressed a wish to come
on deck. The hanging clouds were narrowing the horizon to a span,
and gloomily mingling with the rising surges. The old and
grave-looking seamen shook their weather-wise heads as if
foretelling a storm.

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