A Tale of the Southern States
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William Wells Brown >> A Tale of the Southern States
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As Clotelle came on deck, she strained her eyes in vain to catch a
farewell view of her native land. With a smile on her countenance,
but with her eyes filled with tears, she said,--
"Farewell, farewell to the land of my birth, and welcome, welcome,
ye dark blue waves. I care not where I go, so it is
'Where a tyrant never trod,
Where a slave was never known,
But where nature worships God,
If in the wilderness alone.'"
Devenant stood by her side, seeming proud of his future wife, with
his face in a glow at his success, while over his noble brow
clustering locks of glossy black hair were hanging in careless
ringlets. His finely-cut, classic features wore the aspect of one
possessed with a large and noble heart.
Once more the beautiful Clotelle whispered in the ear of her
lover,--
"Away, away, o'er land and sea, America is now no home for me."
The winds increased with nightfall, and impenetrable gloom
surrounded the ship. The prospect was too uncheering, even to
persons in love. The attention which Devenant paid to Clotelle,
although she had been registered on the ship's passenger list as
his sister, caused more than one to look upon his as an agreeable
travelling companion. His tall, slender figure and fine
countenance bespoke for him at first sight one's confidence. That
he was sincerely and deeply enamored of Clotelle all could see.
The weather became still more squally. The wind rushed through the
white, foaming waves, and the ship groaned with its own wild and
ungovernable labors, while nothing could be seen but the wild
waste of waters. The scene was indeed one of fearful sublimity.
Day came and went without any abatement of the storm. Despair was
now on every countenance. Occasionally a vivid flash of lightning
would break forth and illuminate the black and boiling surges that
surrounded the vessel, which was now scudding before the blast
under bare poles.
After five days of most intensely stormy weather, the sea settled
down into a dead calm, and the passengers flocked on deck. During
the last three days of the storm, Clotelle had been so unwell as
to be unable to raise her head. Her pale face and quivering lips
and languid appearance made her look as if every pulsation had
ceased. Her magnificent large and soft eyes, fringed with lashes
as dark as night, gave her an angelic appearance. The unreserved
attention of Devenant, even when sea-sick himself, did much to
increase the little love that the at first distrustful girl had
placed in him. The heart must always have some object on which to
centre its affections, and Clotelle having lost all hope of ever
again seeing Jerome, it was but natural that she should now
transfer her love to one who was so greatly befriending her. At
first she respected Devenant for the love he manifested for her,
and for his apparent willingness to make any sacrifice for her
welfare. True, this was an adventure upon which she had risked her
all, and should her heart be foiled in this search for hidden
treasures, her affections would be shipwrecked forever. She felt
under great obligations to the man who had thus effected her
escape, and that noble act alone would entitle him to her love.
Each day became more pleasant as the noble ship sped onward amid
the rippled spray. The whistling of the breeze through the rigging
was music to the ear, and brought gladness to the heart of every
one on board. At last, the long suspense was broken by the
appearance of land, at which all hearts leaped for joy. It was a
beautiful morning in October. The sun had just risen, and sky and
earth were still bathed in his soft, rosy glow, when the Utica
hauled into the dock at Bordeaux. The splendid streets, beautiful
bridges, glittering equipages, and smiling countenances of the
people, gave everything a happy appearance, after a voyage of
twenty-nine days on the deep, deep sea.
After getting their baggage cleared from the custom-house and going
to a hotel, Devenant made immediate arrangements for the marriage.
Clotelle, on arriving at the church where the ceremony was to take
place, was completely overwhelmed at the spectacle. She had never
beheld a scene so gorgeous as this. The magnificent dresses of the
priests and choristers, the deep and solemn voices, the elevated
crucifix, the burning tapers, the splendidly decorated altar, the
sweet-smelling incense, made the occasion truly an imposing one. At
the conclusion of the ceremony, the loud and solemn peals of the
organ's swelling anthem were lost to all in the contemplation of
the interesting scene.
The happy couple set out at once for Dunkirk, the residence of the
bridegroom's parents. But their stay there was short, for they had
scarcely commenced visiting the numerous friends of the husband
ere orders came for him to proceed to India to join that portion
of the French army then stationed there.
In due course of time they left for India, passing through Paris
and Lyons, taking ship at Marseilles. In the metropolis of France,
they spent a week, where the husband took delight in introducing
his wife to his brother officers in the French army, and where the
newly-married couple were introduced to Louis Phillippe, then King
of France. In all of these positions, Clotelle sustained herself
in a most ladylike manner.
At Lyons, they visited the vast factories and other public works,
and all was pleasure with them. The voyage from Marseilles to
Calcutta was very pleasant, as the weather was exceedingly fine.
On arriving in India, Captain Devenant and lady were received with
honors--the former for his heroic bravery in more than one battle,
and the latter for her fascinating beauty and pleasing manners,
and the fact that she was connected with one who was a general
favorite with all who had his acquaintance. This was indeed a
great change for Clotelle. Six months had not elapsed since her
exposure in the slave-market of New Orleans. This life is a
stage, and we are indeed all actors.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE HERO OF A NIGHT.
MOUNTED on a fast horse, with the Quaker's son for a guide, Jerome
pressed forward while Uncle Joseph was detaining the slave-catchers
at the barn-door, through which the fugitive had just escaped.
When out of present danger, fearing that suspicion might be
aroused if he continued on the road in open day, Jerome buried
himself in a thick, dark forest until nightfall. With a yearning
heart, he saw the splendor of the setting sun lingering on the
hills, as if loath to fade away and be lost in the more sombre
hues of twilight, which, rising from the east, was slowly stealing
over the expanse of heaven, bearing silence and repose, which
should cover his flight from a neighborhood to him so full of
dangers.
Wearily and alone, with nothing but the hope of safety before him
to cheer him on his way, the poor fugitive urged his tired and
trembling limbs forward for several nights. The new suit of
clothes with which he had provided himself when he made his escape
from his captors, and the twenty dollars which the young Quaker
had slipped into his hand, when bidding him "Fare thee well,"
would enable him to appear genteelly as soon as he dared to travel
by daylight, and would thus facilitate his progress toward
freedom,
It was late in the evening when the fugitive slave arrived at a
small town on the banks of Lake Erie, where he was to remain over
night. How strange were his feelings! While his heart throbbed for
that freedom and safety which Canada alone could furnish to the
whip-scarred slave, on the American continent, his thoughts were
with Clotelle. Was she still in prison, and if so, what would be
her punishment for aiding him to escape from prison? Would he ever
behold her again? These were the thoughts that followed him to his
pillow, haunted him in is dreams, and awakened him from his
slumbers.
The alarm of fire aroused the inmates of the hotel in which Jerome
had sought shelter for the night from the deep sleep into which
they had fallen. The whole village was buried in slumber, and the
building was half consumed before the frightened inhabitants had
reached the scene of the conflagration. The wind was high, and the
burning embers were wafted like so many rockets through the sky.
The whole town was lighted up, and the cries of women and children
in the streets made the scene a terrific one. Jerome heard the
alarm, and hastily dressing himself, he went forth and hastened
toward the burning building.
"There,--there in that room in the second story, is my child!"
exclaimed a woman, wringing her hands, and imploring some one to
go to the rescue of her little one.
The broad sheets of fire were flying in the direction of the
chamber in which the child was sleeping, and all hope of its being
saved seemed gone. Occasionally the wind would lift the pall of
smoke, and show that the work of destruction was not yet complete.
At last a long ladder was brought, and one end placed under the
window of the room. A moment more and a bystander mounted the
ladder and. ascended in haste to the window. The smoke met him as
he raised the sash, and he cried out, "All is lost!" and returned
to the ground without entering the room.
Another sweep of the wind showed that the destroying element had
not yet made its final visit to that part of the doomed building.
The mother, seeing that all hope of again meeting her child in
this world was gone, wrung her hands and seemed inconsolable with
grief.
At this juncture, a man was seen to mount the ladder, and ascend
with great rapidity. All eyes were instantly turned to the figure
of this unknown individual as it disappeared in the cloud of smoke
escaping from the window. Those who a moment before had been
removing furniture, as well as the idlers who had congregated at
the ringing of the bells, assembled at the foot of the ladder, and
awaited with breathless silence the reappearance of the stranger,
who, regardless of his own safety, had thus risked his life to save
another's. Three cheers broke the stillness that had fallen on
the company, as the brave man was seen coming through the window
and slowly descending to the ground, holding under one arm the
inanimate form of the child. Another cheer, and then another, made
the welkin ring, as the stranger, with hair burned and eyebrows
closely singed, fainted at the foot of the ladder. But the child
was saved.
The stranger was Jerome. As soon as he revived, he shrunk from
every eye, as if he feared they would take from him the freedom
which he had gone through so much to obtain.
The next day, the fugitive took a vessel, and the following morning
found himself standing on the free soil of Canada. As his foot
pressed the shore, he threw himself upon his face, kissed the
earth, and exclaimed, "O God! I thank thee that I am a free man."
CHAPTER XXVII
TRUE FREEDOM.
THE history of the African race is God's illuminated clock, set in
the dark steeple of time. The negro has been made the hewer of
wood and the drawer of water for nearly all other nations. The
people of the United States, however, will have an account to
settle with God, owing to their treatment of the negro, which will
far surpass the rest of mankind.
Jerome, on reaching Canada, felt for the first time that personal
freedom which God intended that all who bore his image should
enjoy. That same forgetfulness of self which had always
characterized him now caused him to think of others. The thoughts
of dear ones in slavery were continually in his mind, and above
all others, Clotelle occupied his thoughts. Now that he was free,
he could better appreciate her condition as a slave. Although
Jerome met, on his arrival in Canada, numbers who had escaped from
the Southern States, he nevertheless shrank from all society,
particularly that of females. The soft, silver-gray tints on the
leaves of the trees, with their snow-spotted trunks, and a biting
air, warned the new-born freeman that he was in another climate.
Jerome sought work, and soon found it; and arranged with his
employer that the latter should go to Natchez in search of
Clotelle. The good Scotchman, for whom the fugitive was laboring,
freely offered to go down and purchase the girl, if she could be
bought, and let Jerome pay him in work. With such a prospect of
future happiness in view, this injured descendant of outraged and
bleeding Africa went daily to his toil with an energy hitherto
unknown to him. But oh, how vain are the hopes of man!
CHAPTER XXVIII
FAREWELL TO AMERICA.
THREE months had elapsed, from the time the fugitive commenced work
for Mr. Streeter, when that gentleman returned from his Southern
research, and informed Jerome that Parson Wilson had sold
Clotelle, and that she had been sent to the New Orleans
slave-market.
This intelligence fell with crushing weight upon the heart of
Jerome, and he now felt that the last chain which bound him to his
native land was severed. He therefore determined to leave America
forever. His nearest and dearest friends had often been flogged in
his very presence, and he had seen his mother sold to the
negro-trader. An only sister had been torn from him by the
soul-driver; he had himself been sold and resold, and been
compelled to submit to the most degrading and humiliating insults;
and now that the woman upon whom his heart doted, and without whom
life was a burden, had been taken away forever, he felt it a duty
to hate all mankind.
If there is one thing more than another calculated to make one hate
and detest American slavery, it is to witness the meetings between
fugitives and their friends in Canada. Jerome had beheld some of
these scenes. The wife who, after years of separation, had escaped
from her prison-house and followed her husband had told her story
to him. He had seen the newly-arrived wife rush into the arms of
the husband, whose dark face she had not looked upon for long,
weary years. Some told of how a sister had been ill-used by the
overseer; others of a husband's being whipped to death for having
attempted to protect his wife. He had sat in the little log-hut,
by the fireside, and heard tales that caused his heart to bleed;
and his bosom swelled with just indignation when he thought that
there was no remedy for such atrocious acts. It was with such
feelings that he informed his employer that he should leave him at
the expiration of a month.
In vain did Mr. Streeter try to persuade Jerome to remain with him;
and late, in the month of February, the latter found himself on
board a small vessel loaded with pine-lumber, descending the St.
Lawrence, bound for Liverpool. The bark, though an old one, was,
nevertheless, considered seaworthy, and the fugitive was working
his way out. As the vessel left the river and gained the open sea,
the black man appeared to rejoice at the prospect of leaving a
country in which his right to manhood had been denied him, and his
happiness destroyed.
The wind was proudly swelling the white sails, and the little craft
plunging into the foaming waves, with the land fast receding in
the distance, when Jerome mounted a pile of lumber to take a last
farewell of his native land. With tears glistening in his eyes,
and with quivering lips, he turned his gaze toward the shores that
were fast fading in the dim distance, and said,--
"Though forced from my native land by the tyrants of the South, I
hope I shall some day be able to return. With all her faults, I
love my country still."
CHAPTER XXIX
A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND.
THE rain was falling on the dirty pavements of Liverpool as Jerome
left the vessel after her arrival. Passing the custom-house, he
took a cab, and proceeded to Brown's Hotel, Clayton Square.
Finding no employment in Liverpool, Jerome determined to go into
the interior and seek for work. He, therefore, called for his
bill, and made ready for his departure. Although but four days at
the Albion, he found the hotel charges larger than he expected;
but a stranger generally counts on being "fleeced" in travelling
through the Old World, and especially in Great Britain. After
paying his bill, he was about leaving the room, when one of the
servants presented himself with a low bow, and said,--
"Something for the waiter, sir?"
"I thought I had paid my bill," replied the man, somewhat surprised
at this polite dun.
"I am the waiter, sir, and gets only what strangers see fit to give
me."
Taking from his pocket his nearly empty purse, Jerome handed the
man a half-crown; but he had hardly restored it to his pocket,
before his eye fell on another man in the waiting costume.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Whatever your honor sees fit to give me, sir. I am the tother
waiter."
The purse was again taken from the pocket, and another half-crown
handed out. Stepping out into the hall, he saw standing there a
good-looking woman, in a white apron, who made a very pretty
courtesy.
"What's your business?" he inquired.
"I am the chambermaid, sir, and looks after the gentlemen's beds."
Out came the purse again, and was relieved of another half-crown;
whereupon another girl, with a fascinating smile, took the place
of the one who had just received her fee.
"What do you want?" demanded the now half-angry Jerome.
"Please, sir, I am the tother chambermaid."
Finding it easier to give shillings than half-crowns, Jerome handed
the woman a shilling, and again restored his purse to his pocket,
glad that another woman was not to be seen.
Scarcely had he commenced congratulating himself, however, before
three men made their appearance, one after another.
"What have you done for me?" he asked of the first.
"I am the boots, sir."
The purse came out once more, and a shilling was deposited in the
servant's hand.
"What do I owe you?" he inquired of the second.
"I took your honor's letter to the post, yesterday, sir."
Another shilling left the purse.
"In the name of the Lord, what am I indebted to you for?" demanded
Jerome, now entirely out of patience, turning to the last of the
trio.
"I told yer vership vot time it vas, this morning."
"Well!" exclaimed the indignant man, "ask here what o'clock it is,
and you have got to pay for it."
He paid this last demand with a sixpence, regretting that he had
not commenced with sixpences instead of half-crowns.
Having cleared off all demands in the house, he started for the
railway station; but had scarcely reached the street, before he
was accosted by an old man with a broom in his hand, who, with an
exceedingly low bow, said,--
"I is here, yer lordship."
"I did not send for you; what is your business?" demanded Jerome.
"I is the man what opened your lordship's cab-door, when your
lordship came to the house on Monday last, and I know your honor
won't allow a poor man to starve."
Putting a sixpence in the old man's hand, Jerome once more started
for the depot. Having obtained letters of introduction to persons
in Manchester, he found no difficulty in getting a situation in a
large manufacturing house there. Although the salary was small,
yet the situation was a much better one than he had hoped to
obtain. His compensation as out-door clerk enabled him to employ a
man to teach him at night, and, by continued study and attention
to business, he was soon promoted.
After three years in his new home, Jerome was placed in a still
higher position, where his salary amounted to fifteen hundred
dollars a year. The drinking, smoking, and other expensive habits,
which the clerks usually indulged in, he carefully avoided.
Being fond of poetry, he turned his attention to literature.
Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," the writings of Dryden, Addison,
Pope, Clarendon, and other authors of celebrity, he read with
attention. The knowledge which he thus picked up during his
leisure hours gave him a great advantage over the other clerks,
and caused his employers to respect him far more than any other in
their establishment. So eager was he to improve the time that he
determined to see how much he could read during the unemployed
time of night and morning, and his success was beyond his
expectations.
CHAPTER XXX
NEW FRIENDS.
BROKEN down in health, after ten years of close confinement in his
situation, Jerome resolved to give it up, and thereby release
himself from an employment which seemed calculated to send him to
a premature grave.
It was on a beautiful morning in summer that he started for
Scotland, having made up his mind to travel for his health. After
visiting Edinburgh and Glasgow, he concluded to spend a few days
in the old town of Perth, with a friend whose acquaintance he had
made in Manchester. During the second day of his stay in Perth,
while crossing the main street, Jerome saw a pony-chaise coming
toward him with great speed. A lady, who appeared to be the only
occupant of the vehicle, was using her utmost strength to stop the
frightened horses. The footman, in his fright, had leaped from
behind the carriage, and was following with the crowd. With that
self-forgetfulness which was one of his chief characteristics,
Jerome threw himself before the horses to stop them; and, seizing
the high-spirited animals by the bit, as they dashed by him, he
was dragged several rods before their speed was checked, which was
not accomplished until one of the horses had fallen to the ground,
with the heroic man struggling beneath him.
All present were satisfied that this daring act alone had saved the
lady's life, for the chaise must inevitably have been dashed in
pieces, had the horses not been thus suddenly checked in their mad
career.
On the morning following this perilous adventure, Col. G----called
at Jerome's temporary residence, and, after expressing his
admiration for his noble daring, and thanking him for having saved
his daughter's life, invited him to visit him at his country
residence. This invitation was promptly accepted in the spirit in
which it was given ; and three days after, Jerome found himself at
the princely residence of the father of the lady for whose safety
he had risked his own life. The house was surrounded by fine
trees, and a sweet little stream ran murmuring at the foot,
while beds of flowers on every hand shed their odors on the summer
air. It was, indeed, a pleasant place to spend the warm weather,
and the colonel and his family gave Jerome a most cordial welcome.
Miss G. showed especial attention to the stranger. He had not
intended remaining longer than the following day: but the family
insisted on his taking part in a fox-hunt that was to come off on
the morning of the third day. Wishing to witness a scene as
interesting as the chase usually proves to be, he decided to
remain.
Fifteen persons, five of whom were ladies, were on the ground at
the appointed hour. Miss G. was, of course, one of the party. In
vain Jerome endeavored to excuse himself from joining in the
chase. His plea of ill-health was only met by smiles from the
young ladies, and the reply that a ride would effect a cure.
Dressed in a scarlet coat and high boots, with the low, round cap
worn in the chase, Jerome mounted a high-spirited horse, whip in
hand, and made himself one of the party. In America, riding is a
necessity; in England, it is a pleasure. Young men and women
attend riding-school in our fatherland, and consider that they are
studying a science. Jerome was no rider. He had not been on
horseback for more than ten years, and as soon as he mounted,
every one saw that he was a novice, and a smile was on the
countenance of each member of the company.
The blowing of the horn, and assembling of the hounds, and finally
the release of the fox from his close prison, were the signals for
the chase to commence. The first half-mile the little animal took
his course over a beautiful field where there was neither hedge
nor ditch. Thus far the chase was enjoyed by all, even by the
American rider, who was better fitted to witness the scene than to
take part in it.
We left Jerome in our last reluctantly engaged in the chase; and
though the first mile or so of the pursuit, which was over smooth
meadow-land, had had an exhilarating effect upon his mind, and
tended somewhat to relieve him of the embarrassment consequent
upon his position, he nevertheless still felt that he was far from
being in his proper element. Besides, the fox had now made for a
dense forest which lay before, and he saw difficulties in that
direction which to him appeared insurmountable.
Away went the huntsmen, over stone walls, high fences, and deep
ditches. Jerome saw the ladies even leading the gentlemen, but
this could not inspire him. They cleared the fences, four and five
feet high with perfect ease, showing they were quite at home in
the saddle. But alas for the poor American! As his fine steed came
up to the first fence, and was about to make the leap, Jerome
pulled at the bridle, and cried at the top of his voice, "Whoa!
whoa! whoa!" the horse at the same time capering about, and
appearing determined to keep up with the other animals.
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