Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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William Wells Brown >> Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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Here both father and daughter wept at the thought of other days.
When they had recovered their composure, Mr. Linwood went on again:
"Old Mrs. Miller," said he, "after the death of Gertrude, aware that she
had contributed much toward her unhappiness, took to the free use of
intoxicating drinks, and became the most brutal creature that ever lived.
She whipped her slaves without the slightest provocation, and seemed
to take delight in inventing new tortures with which to punish them.
One night last winter, after having flogged one of her slaves nearly
to death, she returned to her room, and by some means the bedding
took fire, and the house was in flames before any one was awakened.
There was no one in the building at the time but the old woman and
the slaves, and although the latter might have saved their mistress,
they made no attempt to do so. Thus, after a frightful career
of many years, this hard-hearted woman died a most miserable death,
unlamented by a single person."
Clotelle wiped the tears from her eyes, as her father finished
this story, for, although Mrs. Miller had been her greatest enemy,
she regretted to learn that her end had been such a sad one.
"My peace of mind destroyed," resumed the father, "and broken down in health,
my physician advised me to travel, with the hope of recruiting myself,
and I sailed from New York two months ago."
Being brought up in America, and having all the prejudice against color
which characterizes his white fellow-countrymen, Mr. Linwood very much
regretted that his daughter, although herself tinctured with African blood,
should have married a black man, and he did not fail to express to her
his dislike of her husband's complexion.
"I married him," said Clotelle, "because I loved him.
Why should the white man be esteemed as better than the black?
I find no difference in men on account of their complexion.
One of the cardinal principles of Christianity and freedom
is the equality and brotherhood of man."
Every day Mr. Linwood became more and more familiar with Jerome,
and eventually they were on the most intimate terms.
Fifteen days from the time that Clotelle was introduced
into her father's room, they left Ferney for Geneva.
Many were the excursions Clotelle made under the shadows
of Mont Blanc, and with her husband and father for companions;
she was now in the enjoyment of pleasures hitherto unknown.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE FATHER'S RESOLVE
AWARE that her father was still a slave-owner, Clotelle determined
to use all her persuasive power to induce him to set them free,
and in this effort she found a substantial supporter in her husband.
"I have always treated my slaves well," said Mr. Linwood to Jerome,
as the latter expressed his abhorrence of the system; "and my neighbors,
too, are generally good men; for slavery in Virginia is not like slavery
in the other States," continued the proud son of the Old Dominion.
"Their right to be free, Mr. Linwood," said Jerome, "is taken from them,
and they have no security for their comfort, but the humanity and
generosity of men, who have been trained to regard them not as brethren,
but as mere property. Humanity and generosity are, at best, but poor
guaranties for the protection of those who cannot assert their rights,
and over whom law throws no protection."
It was with pleasure that Clotelle obtained from her father a promise
that he would liberate all his slaves on his return to Richmond.
In a beautiful little villa, situated in a pleasant spot,
fringed with hoary rocks and thick dark woods, within sight
of the deep blue waters of Lake Leman, Mr. Linwood, his daughter,
and her husband, took up their residence for a short time.
For more than three weeks, this little party spent their time in
visiting the birth-place of Rousseau, and the former abodes of Byron,
Gibbon, Voltaire, De Stael, Shelley, and other literary characters.
We can scarcely contemplate a visit to a more historic and interesting
place than Geneva and its vicinity. Here, Calvin, that great luminary
in the Church, lived and ruled for years; here, Voltaire, the mighty genius,
who laid the foundation of the French Revolution, and who boasted,
"When I shake my wig, I powder the whole republic," governed in the higher
walks of life.
Fame is generally the recompense, not of the living, but of the dead,--
not always do they reap and gather in the harvest who sow the seed;
the flame of its altar is too often kindled from the ashes of the great.
A distinguished critic has beautifully said, "The sound which the stream
of high thought, carried down to future ages, makes, as it flows--
deep, distant, murmuring ever more, like the waters of the mighty ocean."
No reputation can be called great that will no endure this test.
The distinguished men who had lived in Geneva transfused their spirit,
by their writings, into the spirit of other lovers of literature and
everything that treated of great authors. Jerome and Clotelle lingered
long in and about the haunts of Geneva and Lake Leman.
An autumn sun sent down her bright rays, and bathed every object
in her glorious light, as Clotelle, accompanied by her husband
and father set out one fine morning on her return home to France.
Throughout the whole route, Mr. Linwood saw by the deference paid to Jerome,
whose black complexion excited astonishment in those who met him,
that there was no hatred to the man in Europe, on account of his color;
that what is called prejudice against color is the offspring of
the institution of slavery; and he felt ashamed of his own countrymen,
when he thought of the complexion as distinctions, made in the United States,
and resolved to dedicate the remainder of his life to the eradication
of this unrepublican and unchristian feeling from the land of his birth,
on his return home.
After a stay of four weeks at Dunkirk, the home of the Fletchers, Mr. Linwood
set out for America, with the full determination of freeing his slaves,
and settling them in one of the Northern States, and then to return to France
to end his days in the society of his beloved daughter.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE RETURN HOME
THE first gun fired at the American Flag, on the 12th
of April, 1861, at Fort Sumter, reverberated all over Europe,
and was hailed with joy by the crowned heads of the Old World,
who hated republican institutions, and who thought they saw, in this
act of treason, the downfall of the great American experiment.
Most citizens, however, of the United States, who were then
sojourning abroad, hastened home to take part in the struggle,--
some to side with the rebels, others to take their stand
with the friends of liberty. Among the latter, none came with
swifter steps or more zeal than Jerome and Clotelle Fletcher.
They arrived in New Orleans a week after the capture of that city
by the expedition under the command of Major-Gen. B. F. Butler.
But how changed was society since Clotelle had last set
feet in the Crescent City! Twenty-two years had passed;
her own chequered life had been through many shifting scenes;
her old acquaintances in New Orleans had all disappeared;
and with the exception of the black faces which she
beheld at every turn, and which in her younger days were
her associates, she felt herself in the midst of strangers;
and these were arrayed against each other in mortal combat.
Possessed with ample means, Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher set about
the work of assisting those whom the rebellion had placed
in a state of starvation and sickness.
With a heart overflowing with the milk of human kindness,
and a tear for every sufferer, no matter of what color or sect,
Clotelle was soon known as the "Angel of Mercy."
The "General Order No. 63," issued on the 22nd of August, 1862,
by Gen. Butler, recognizing, and calling into the service of the Federal
Government, the battalion of colored men known as the "Native Guard,"
at once gave full scope to Jerome's military enthusiasm; and he made
haste to enlist in the organization.
The "Native Guard" did good service in New Orleans and vicinity,
till ordered to take part in the siege of Port Hudson,
where they appeared under the name of the "First Louisiana,"
and under the immediate command of Lieut.-Col. Bassett.
The heroic attack of this regiment, made on the 27th
of May, 1863, its unsurpassed "charge," its great loss,
and its severe endurance on the field of battle, are incidents
which have passed into history. The noble daring of the First
Louisiana gained for the black soldiers in our army the praise
of all Americans who value Republican institutions.
There was, however, one scene, the closing one in the first
day's attack on Port Hudson, which, while it reflects undying
credit upon the bravery of the negro, pays but a sorry tribute
to the humanity of the white general who brought the scene
into existence. The field was strewn with the dead, the dying,
and the wounded; and as the jaded regiments were leaving
the ground, after their unsuccessful attack, it was found
that Capt. Payne, of the Third Louisiana, had been killed;
and his body, which was easily distinguished by the uniform,
was still on the battle-field. The colonel of the regiment,
pointing to where the body lay, asked, "Are there four men
here who will fetch the body of Capt. Payne from the field?"
Four men stepped out, and at once started. But, as the body lay
directly under the range of the rebel batteries, they were all
swept down by the grape, canister, and shell which were let loose
by the enemy. The question was again repeated, "Are there four
men who will go for the body?" The required number came forth,
and started upon a run; but, ere they could reach the spot,
they were cut down. "Are there four more who will try?"
The third call was answered in the affirmative, and the men started
upon the double-quick. They, however, fell before getting as far
as the preceding four. Twelve men had been killed in the effort
to obtain the body of the brave Payne, but to no purpose.
Humanity forbade another trial, and yet it was made.
"Are there four more men in the regiment who will volunteer
to go for Capt. Payne's body?" shouted the officer.
Four men sprang forward, as if fearful that they would miss
the opportunity of these last: one was Jerome Fletcher, the hero
of our story. They started upon the run; and, strange to tell,
all of them reached the body, and had nearly borne it from
the field, when two of the number were cut down. Of these,
one was Jerome. His head was entirely torn off by a shell.
The body of the deceased officer having been rescued, an end
was put t the human sacrifice.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE ANGEL OF MERCY
The sad intelligence of Jerome's death was brought to Clotelle
while she was giving her personal attention to the sick and
wounded that filled the hospitals of New Orleans. For a time she
withdrew from the gaze of mankind, and gave herself up to grief.
Few unions had been productive of more harmonious feelings than hers.
And this blow, so unexpected and at a time when she was experiencing
such a degree of excitement caused by the rebellion, made her,
indeed, feel the affliction severely.
But the newspaper accounts of the intense suffering of the Union prisoners
in the rebel States aroused her, and caused her to leave her retirement.
In the month of October, 1863, Clotelle resolved to visit Andersonville,
Ga., for the purpose of alleviating the hardships of our sick and
imprisoned soldiers, and at once put her resolution into effect by going
immediately to that place. After crossing the lines, she passed as a
rebel lady, to enable her the more successfully to carry out her object.
On her arrival at Andersonville, Clotelle took up her abode with a
private family, of Union proclivities, and commenced her work of mercy.
She first visited the hospitals, the buildings of which were merest
excuses for hospitals.
It was the beginning of November; and, even in that southern latitude,
the cold made these miserable abodes uncomfortable nights and mornings.
The dirty, unventilated rooms, with nothing but straw upon the cold,
damp floor, for beds, upon which lay the ragged, emaciated Union prisoners,
worn down to skin and bone with disease and starvation, with their
sunken eyes and wild looks, made them appear hideous in the extreme.
The repulsive scenes, that showed the suffering, neglect, and cruelty
which these poor creatures had experienced, made her heart sink within her.
Having paid considerable attention to hospital life in Europe,
and so recently from amongst the sick at New Orleans,
Clotelle's experience, suggestions, and liberal expenditure
of money, would have added greatly to the comfort of these
helpless men, if the rebel authorities had been so disposed.
But their hatred to Union prisoners was so apparent, that the
interest which this angel of humanity took in the condition
of the rebel sick could not shield her from the indignation of
the secession officials for her good feeling for the Union men.
However, with a determination to do all in her power for the needy,
she labored in season and out.
The brutal treatment and daily murders committed upon our soldiers
in the Andersonville prisons caused Clotelle to secretly aid
prisoners in their escape. In the latter work, she brought
to her assistance the services of a negro man named Pete.
This individual was employed about the prison, and, having the entire
confidence of the commandant, was in a position to do much
good without being suspected. Pete was an original character,
of a jovial nature, and, when intending some serious adventure,
would appear very solemn, and usually singing a doleful ditty,
often the following, which was a favorite with him:--
"Come listen, all you darkies, come listen to my song:
It am about old Massa, who use me bery wrong.
In de cole, frosty mornin', it an't so bery nice,
Wid de water to de middle, to hoe among de rice;
When I neber hab forgotten
How I used to hoe de cotton,
How I used to hoe de cotton,
On de old Virginny shore;
But I'll neber hoe de cotton,
Oh! neber hoe de cotton
Any more.
"If I feel de drefful hunger, he tink it am a vice,
And he gib me for my dinner a little broken rice,--
A little broken rice and a bery little fat,
And he grumble like de debbil if I eat too much of dat;
When I neber hab forgotten, etc.
"He tore me from my Dinah; I tought my heart would burst:
He made me lub anoder when my lub was wid de first;
He sole my picanninnies becase he got dar price,
And shut me in de marsh-field to hoe among de rice;
When I neber hab forgotten, etc.
"And all de day I hoe dar, in all de heat and rain;
And, as I hoe away dar, my heart go back again,--
Back to de little cabin dat stood among de corn,
And to de ole plantation where she and I war born!
Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.
"Den Dinah am beside me, de chil'ren on my knee,
And dough I am a slave dar, it 'pears to me I'm free,
Till I wake up from my dreaming, and wife and chil'ren gone,
I hoe away and weep dar, and weep dar all alone!
Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.
"But soon a day am comin', a day I long to see,
When dis darky in de cole ground, foreber will be free,
When wife and chil'ren wid me, I'll sing in Paradise,
How He, de blessed Jesus, hab bought me wid a price;
How de Lord hab not forgotten
How well I hoed de cotton,
How well I hoed de cotton
On de old Virginny shore;
Dar I'll neber hoe de cotton,
Oh! I'll neber hoe de cotton
Any more."
When away from the whites, and among his own class, Pete could often
be heard in the following strains:--
"A storm am brewin' in de Souf,
A storm am brewin' now.
Oh! hearken den, and shut your mouf,
And I will tell you how:
And I will tell you how, ole boy,
De storm of fire will pour,
And make de darkies dance for joy,
As dey neber danced afore;
So shut your mouf as close as deafh,
And all you niggas hole your breafh,
And I will tell you how.
"De darkies at de Norf am ris,
And dey am comin' down--
Am comin' down, I know dey is,
To do de white folks brown!
Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass,
And set de niggas free,
And when dat day am come to pass
We'll all be dar to see!
So shut your mouf as close as deafh,
And all you niggas hole your breafh,
And do de white folks brown!
"Den all de week will be as gay
As am de Chris'mas time;
We'll dance all night and all de day,
And make de banjo chime--
And make de banjo chime, I tink,
And pass de time away,
Wid 'nuf to eat and nuf to drink,
And not a bit to pay!
So shut your mouf as close as deafh,
And all you niggas hole your breafh,
And make de banjo chime."
How to escape from prison was ever the thoughts by day and
dreams by night of the incarcerated. Plans were concocted,
partly put into execution, and then proved failures.
Some of these caused increased suffering to the prisoners after
their discovery; for, where the real parties could not be found,
the whole were ill-treated as a punishment to the guilty.
Tunnelling was generally the mode for escape; and tunnelling
became the order of the day, or, rather, the work for the night.
In the latter part of November, 1863, the unusual gaiety
of the prisoners showed that some plan of exit from the prison
was soon to be exhibited.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE GREAT TUNNEL AND THE MISTAKE
FOR several weeks, some ten or fifteen of the most
able-bodied of the prisoners had been nightly at work;
and the great tunnel, the
ever projected by men
for their escape from prison, was thought to be finished,
with the exception of the tapping outside of the prison wall.
The digging of a tunnel is not an easy job, and, consequently,
is of slow progress. The Andersonville prisoners had to dig
ten feet down into the earth, after cutting through the floor,
and then went a distance of fifty feet to get beyond the wall.
The digging was done in the following way: As soon as the
operator was below the surface, and had a place large enough
to admit the body, he laid down upon his face, at full length,
and with his knife, spoon, piece of earthenware, or old iron,
dug away with all his energies, throwing the dirt behind him,
which was gathered up by a confederate, carried off, and hi.
This mode of operating was carried on night after night,
and the flooring replaced during the day, to prevent suspicion.
The want of fresh air in the tunnel, as it progressed to completion,
often drove the men from their work, and caused a delay,
which proved fatal to their successful escape.
The long-looked for day arrived. More than three hundred
had prepared to leave this hated abode, by the tunnel.
All they waited for was the tapping and the signal. The time came,
the place of egress was tapped, and the leader had scarcely put
his head out of the hole, ere he was fired upon by the sentinels,
which soon alarmed and drew the entire guard to the spot.
Great was the commotion throughout the prison, and all who were
caught in the tunnel were severely punished.
This failure seemed to depress the spirits of the men more than any
previous attempt. Heavy irons were placed upon the limbs of many of
the prisoners, and their lot was made otherwise harder by the keepers.
Clotelle, though often permitted to see the prisoners and contribute
to their wants, and, though knowing much of their designs, knew nothing
of the intended escape, and therefore was more bold in her intercessions
in their behalf when failure came upon them.
The cruelty which followed this mishap, induced Clotelle to interest herself
in another mode of escape for the men thus so heavily ironed.
Pete, the man of all work, whose sympathies were with the Union prisoners,
was easily gained over to a promise of securing the keys of the prison
and letting the men escape, especially when Clotelle offered him money
to enable him to make good his own way to the North.
The night of the exodus came. It was favored with darkness;
and it so happened that the officials were on a spree,
owing to the arrival of Confederate officers with news
of a rebel victory.
Before getting the keys, Pete supplied the sentinels
on duty with enough whiskey, which he had stolen
from the keepers' store-room, to make them all drunk.
At the chosen moment, the keys were obtained by Pete,
the doors and gates were opened, and ninety-three prisoners,
including the tunnel workers, whose irons were taken off,
made their escape, allowing the faithful negro to accompany them.
Nothing was known of the exit of the men till breakfast hour
on the next morning. On examination of the store-room, it
was found, that, in addition to the whiskey Pete had taken
a large supply of stores for the accommodation of the party.
Added to this, a good number of arms with ammunition had been
furnished the men by the African.
The rebels were not prepared to successfully pursue the fleeing
prisoners, although armed men were sent in different directions.
Nothing, however, was heard of them till they reached the Union lines.
Long suspected of too freely aiding Union prisoners, Clotelle was
now openly charged with a knowledge of the escape of these men,
and was compelled to leave Andersonville.
CHAPTER XXXIX
CONCLUSION
THE fiendish and heartless conduct of a large number of the people
of the South towards Union men during the war, and especially
the unlady-like demeanor of rebel women at New Orleans
and other points, is a matter that has passed into history.
In few places were the women more abusive to those of Union
proclivities than the female portion of the inhabitants
of Greenville, Alabama. While passing through this town,
on her return from Andersonville to New Orleans, Clotelle had
to encounter the fierce ill-treatment of these chivalrous
daughters of the South. There were, during the rebellion,
many brave and generous women, who, in the mountains and lowlands
of Alabama, gave aid to Federals,--soldiers and civilians,--
in their wanderings and escape from the cruelties of the traitors.
One of these patriotic women was arrested while on a visit
to Greenville for the purpose of procuring medicine and other
necessaries for sick Union men then hid away in the woods.
This large-hearted woman--Eunice Hastings--had her horse
taken from her, robbed of the goods she had purchased, and,
after experiencing almost death at the hands of the rebel women,
was released and turned out penniless, and without the means
of reaching her home in the country; when Clotelle,
who had just arrived at the dilapidated and poorly kept hotel,
met her, and, learning the particulars of her case,
offered assistance to the injured woman, which brought down
upon her own head the condemnation of the secesh population
of the place. However, Clotelle purchased a fine horse from
the landlord, gave it to Miss Hastings, who, after securing
some articles for which she had come to Greenville, left town
under cover of night, and escaped further molestation.
This act of kindness to a helpless sister at once stirred up
the vilest feelings of the people.
"The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules."
As has already been said, there was nothing in the appearance
of Clotelle to indicate that a drop of African blood coursed
through her veins, except, perhaps, the slight wave in the hair,
and the scarcely perceptible brunettish tinge upon the countenance.
She passed as a rebel lady; yet the inhabitants of Greenville could
not permit sympathy with, and aid to, a Union woman to pass unnoticed,
and therefore resolved on revenge.
"Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils."
Clotelle's person, trunks, and letters were all searched
with the hope and expectation of finding evidences of a spy.
Nothing of the kind being found, she was then rigorously
interrogated as to her sympathies with the two contending armies.
With no wish whatever to conceal her opinions, she openly avowed
that she was a Union woman. This was enough. After being persecuted
during the day, she was put in charge of a committee of rebel women
for the night, with a promise of more violent treatment on the morrow.
The loyalty of the negroes of the South, during the severest
hours of the rebellion, reflects the greatest possible credit
on the race. Through their assistance, hundreds of Union men
were enabled to make their escape from prisons, and thousands
kept from starvation when on their way to the Federal lines,
or while keeping out of the way of rebel recruiting gangs.
They seldom, if ever, hesitated to do the white Unionists a service,
at the risk even of life, and, under the most trying circumstances,
revealed a devotion and a spirit of self-sacrifice that were heroic.
No one ever made an appeal to them they did not answer.
They were degraded and ignorant, which was attributable to the cruel
laws and equally unchristian practices of the people of the South;
but their hearts were always open, and the slightest demand upon
their sympathies brought forth their tears. They never shunned
a man or woman who sought food or shelter on their way to freedom.
The goodness of heart and the guileless spirit of the blacks was not
better understood by any one than Clotelle; and she felt a secret
joy at seeing all the servants in the Greenville hotel negroes.
She saw from their very looks that she had their undivided sympathies.
One of the servants overheard the rebels in a conversation,
in which it was determined to send Clotelle to the county town,
for safe keeping in the jail, the following day; and this fact was
communicated to the unfortunate woman. The slave woman who gave
the information told her that she could escape if she desired.
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