Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine

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When the boat arrived at Natches, a rather good-looking,
genteel-appearing man came on board to purchase a servant.
This individual introduced himself to Jennings as the Rev. James Wilson.
The slave-trader conducted the preacher to the deck-cabin, where he kept
his slaves, and the man of God, after having some questions answered,
selected Agnes as the one best suited to his service.

It seemed as if poor Marion's heart would break when she
found that she was to be separated from her mother.
The preacher, however, appeared to be but little moved by
their sorrow, and took his newly-purchased victim on shore.
Agnes begged him to buy her daughter, but he refused,
on the ground that he had no use for her.

During the remainder of the passage, Marion wept bitterly.

After a run of a few hours, the boat stopped at Baton Rouge, where an
additional number of passengers were taken on board, among whom were
a number of persons who had been attending the races at that place.
Gambling and drinking were now the order of the day.

The next morning, at ten o'clock, the boat arrived at new Orleans,
where the passengers went to their hotels and homes, and the negroes
to the slave-pens.

Lizzie, the white slave-mother, of whom we have already spoken, created as
much of a sensation by the fairness of her complexion and the alabaster
whiteness of her child, when being conveyed on shore at New Orleans,
as she had done when brought on board at Grand Gulf. Every one that saw
her felt that slavery in the Southern States was not confined to the negro.
Many had been taught to think that slavery was a benefit rather than
an injury, and those who were not opposed to the institution before,
now felt that if whites were to become its victims, it was time at least
that some security should be thrown around the Anglo-Saxon to save him
from this servile and degraded position.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SLAVE-MARKET.

NOT far from Canal Street, in the city of New Orleans,
stands a large two-story, flat building, surrounded by a stone
wall some twelve feet high, the top of which is covered with bits
of glass, and so constructed as to prevent even the possibility
of any one's passing over it without sustaining great injury.
Many of the rooms in this building resemble the cells of a prison,
and in a small apartment near the "office" are to be seen
any number of iron collars, hobbles, handcuffs, thumbscrews,
cowhides, chains, gags, and yokes.

A back-yard, enclosed by a high wall, looks something like
the playground attached to one of our large New England schools,
in which are rows of benches and swings. Attached to the back premises
is a good-sized kitchen, where, at the time of which we write,
two old negresses were at work, stewing, boiling, and baking,
and occasionally wiping the perspiration from their furrowed
and swarthy brows.

The slave-trader, Jennings, on his arrival at New Orleans,
took up his quarters here with his gang of human cattle,
and the morning after, at 10 o'clock, they were exhibited for sale.
First of all came the beautiful Marion, whose pale countenance
and dejected look told how many sad hours she had passed
since parting with her mother at Natchez. There, too,
was a poor woman who had been separated from her husband;
and another woman, whose looks and manners were expressive
of deep anguish, sat by her side. There was "Uncle Jeems,"
with his whiskers off, his face shaven clean, and the gray hairs
plucked out, ready to be sold for ten years younger than he was.
Toby was also there, with his face shaven and greased,
ready for inspection.

The examination commenced, and was carried on in such a manner as to shock
the feelings of any one not entirely devoid of the milk of human kindness.

"What are you wiping your eyes for?" inquired a far, red-faced man,
with a white hat set on one side of his head and a cigar in his mouth,
of a woman who sat on one of the benches.

"Because I left my man behind."

"Oh, if I buy you, I will furnish you with a better man than you left.
I've got lots of young bucks on my farm."

"I don't want and never will have another man," replied the woman.

"What's you name?" asked a man in a straw hat of a tall negro who stood
with his arms folded across his breast, leaning against the wall.

"My name is Aaron, sar."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"Where were you raised?"

"In old Virginny, sar."

"How many men have owned you?"

"Four."

"Do you enjoy good health?"

"Yes, sar."

"How long did you live with your first owner?"

"Twenty years."

"Did you ever run away?"

"No, sar."

"Did you ever strike your master?"

"No, sar."

"Were you ever whipped much?"

"No, sar; I s'pose I didn't desarve it, sar."

"How long did you live with your second master?"

"Ten years, sar."

"Have you a good appetite?"

"Yes, sar."

"Can you eat your allowance?"

"Yes, sar,--when I can get it."

"Where were you employed in Virginia?"

"I worked de tobacker fiel'."

"In the tobacco field, eh?"

"Yes, sar."

"How old did you say you was?"

"Twenty-five, sar, nex' sweet-'tater-diggin' time."

"I am a cotton-planter, and if I buy you, you will have to
work in the cotton-field. My men pick one hundred and fifty
pounds a day, and the women one hundred and forty pounds;
and those who fail to perform their task receive five stripes
for each pound that is wanting. Now, do you think you could
keep up with the rest of the hands?"

"I don't know, sar, but I 'specs I'd have to."

"How long did you live with your third master?"

"Three years, sar."

"Why, that makes you thirty-three. I thought you told me you
were only twenty-five?"

Aaron now looked first at the planter, then at the trader,
and seemed perfectly bewildered. He had forgotten the lesson
given him by Pompey relative to his age; and the planter's
circuitous questions--doubtless to find out the slave's real age--
had thrown the negro off his guard.

"I must see you back, so as to know how much you have been whipped,
before I think of buying."

Pompey, who had been standing by during the examination,
thought that his services were now required, and, stepping forth
with a degree of officiousness, said to Aaron,--

"Don't you hear de gemman tell you he wants to 'zamin you.
Cum, unharness yo'seff, ole boy, and don't be standin' dar."

Aaron was soon examined, and pronounced "sound;" yet the conflicting
statement about his age was not satisfactory.

Fortunately for Marion, she was spared the pain of undergoing
such an examination. Mr. Cardney, a teller in one of the banks,
had just been married, and wanted a maid-servant for his wife,
and, passing through the market in the early part of the day,
was pleased with the young slave's appearance, and his dwelling
the quadroon found a much better home than often falls to the lot
of a slave sold in the New Orleans market.

CHAPTER VII

THE SLAVE-HOLDING PARSON

THE Rev. James Wilson was a native of the State of Connecticut,
where he was educated for the ministry in the Methodist persuasion.
His father was a strict follower of John Wesley, and spared
no pains in his son's education, with the hope that he would
one day be as renowned as the leader of his sect.
James had scarcely finished his education at New Haven,
when he was invited by an uncle, then on a visit to his father,
to spend a few months at Natchez in Mississippi. Young Wilson
accepted his uncle's invitation, and accompanied him to the South.
Few young men, and especially clergymen, going fresh from college
to the South, but are looked upon as geniuses in a small way,
and who are not invited to all the parties in the neighborhood.
Mr. Wilson was not an exception to this rule.
The society into which he was thrown, on his arrival at Natchez,
was too brilliant for him not to be captivated by it, and,
as might have been expected, he succeeded in captivating
a plantation with seventy slaves if not the heart of the lady
to whom it belonged.

Added to this, he became a popular preacher, and had a large
congregation with a snug salary. Like other planters,
Mr. Wilson confided the care of his farm to Ned Huckelby,
an overseer of high reputation in his way.

The Poplar Farm, as it was called, was situated in a beautiful valley,
nine miles from Natchez, and near the Mississippi River.
The once unshorn face of nature had given way, and the farm now
blossomed with a splendid harvest. The neat cottage stood in a grove,
where Lombardy poplars lift their tops almost to prop the skies,
where the willow, locust, and horse-chestnut trees spread forth
their branches, and flowers never ceased to blossom.

This was the parson's country residence, where the family spent only
two months during the year. His town residence was a fine villa,
seated on the brow of a hill, at the edge of the city.

It was in the kitchen of this house that Agnes found her new home.
Mr. Wilson was every inch a democrat, and early resolved that "his people,"
as he called his slaves, should be well-fed and not over-worked, and therefore
laid down the law and gospel to the overseer as well as to the slaves.
"It is my wish," said he to Mr. Carlingham, an old school-fellow
who was spending a few days with him,--"It is my wish that a new system
be adopted on the plantations in this State. I believe that the sons
of Ham should have the gospel, and I intend that mine shall have it.
The gospel is calculated to make mankind better and none should
be without it."

"What say you," said Carlingham, "about the right of man to his liberty?"

"Now, Carlingham, you have begun to harp again about men's rights.
I really wish that you could see this matter as I do."

"I regret that I cannot see eye to eye with you," said Carlingham.
"I am a disciple of Rousseau, and have for years made the rights
of man my study, and I must confess to you that I see no difference
between white and black, as it regards liberty."

"Now, my dear Carlingham, would you really have the negroes enjoy
the same rights as ourselves?"

"I would most certainly. Look at our great Declaration
of Independence! look even at the Constitution of our
own Connecticut, and see what is said in these about liberty."
"I regard all this talk about rights as mere humbug.
The Bible is older than the Declaration of Independence,
and there I take my stand."

A long discussion followed, in which both gentlemen put forth
their peculiar ideas with much warmth of feeling.

During this conversation, there was another person in the room,
seated by the window, who, although at work, embroidering a
fine collar, paid minute attention to what was said.
This was Georgiana, the only daughter of the parson, who had but just
returned from Connecticut, where she had finished her education.
She had had the opportunity of contrasting the spirit of Christianity
and liberty in New England with that of slavery in her native State,
and had learned to feel deeply for the injured negro.

Georgiana was in her nineteenth year, and had been much
benefited by her residence of five years at the North.
Her form was tall and graceful, her features regular and
well-defined, and her complexion was illuminated by the freshness
of youth, beauty, and health.

The daughter differed from both the father and visitor upon
the subject which they had been discussing; and as soon
as an opportunity offered, she gave it as her opinion that
the Bible was both the bulwark of Christianity and of liberty.
With a smile she said,--

"Of course, papa will overlook my difference with him,
for although I am a native of the South, I am by education
and sympathy a Northerner."

Mr. Wilson laughed, appearing rather pleased than otherwise
at the manner in which his daughter had expressed herself.
From this Georgiana took courage and continued,--

"'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' This single passage of
Scripture should cause us to have respect for the rights of the slave.
True Christian love is of an enlarged and disinterested nature.
It loves all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, without regard
to color or condition."

"Georgiana, my dear, you are an abolitionist,--your talk is fanaticism!"
said Mr. Wilson, in rather a sharp tone; but the subdued look of the girl
and the presence of Carlingham caused him to soften his language.

Mr. Wilson having lost his wife by consumption, and Georgiana
being his only child, he loved her too dearly to say more,
even if he felt disposed. A silence followed this exhortation
from the young Christian, but her remarks had done a noble work.
The father's heart was touched, and the sceptic, for the first time,
was viewing Christianity in its true light.

CHAPTER VIII

A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN

BESIDES Agnes, whom Mr. Wilson had purchased from the slave-trader,
Jennings, he kept a number of house-servants. The chief one of these
was Sam, who must be regarded as second only to the parson himself.
If a dinner-party was in contemplation, or any company was to be invited,
after all the arrangements had been talked over by the minister
and his daughter, Sam was sure to be consulted on the subject
by "Miss Georgy," as Miss Wilson was called by all the servants.
If furniture, crockery, or anything was to be purchased,
Sam felt that he had been slighted if his opinion was not asked.
As to the marketing, he did it all. He sat at the head of the servants'
table in the kitchen, and was master of the ceremonies.
A single look from him was enough to silence any conversation
or noise among the servants in the kitchen or in any other part
of the premises.

There is in the Southern States a great amount of prejudice
in regard to color, even among the negroes themselves.
The nearer the negro or mulatto approaches to the white, the more
he seems to feel his superiority over those of a darker hue.
This is no doubt the result of the prejudice that exists on
the part of the whites against both the mulattoes and the blacks.

Sam was originally from Kentucky, and through the instrumentality
of one of his young masters, whom he had to take to school,
he had learned to read so as to be well understood, and, owing to
that fact, was considered a prodigy, not only among his own
master's slaves, but also among those of the town who knew him.
Sam had a great wish to follow in the footsteps of his master
and be a poet, and was therefore often heard singing doggerels
of his own composition.

But there was one drawback to Sam, and that was his color.
He was one of the blackest of his race. This he evidently regarded
as a great misfortune; but he endeavored to make up for it in dress.
Mr. Wilson kept his house-servants well dressed, and as for Sam,
he was seldom seen except in a ruffled shirt. Indeed, the washerwoman
feared him more than any one else in the house.

Agnes had been inaugurated chief of the kitchen department,
and had a general supervision of the household affairs.
Alfred, the coachman, Peter, and Hetty made up the remainder
of the house-servants. Besides these, Mr. Wilson owned
eight slaves who were masons. These worked in the city.
Being mechanics, they were let out to greater advantage than
to keep them on the farm.

Every Sunday evening, Mr. Wilson's servants, including the brick-layers,
assembled in the kitchen, where the events of the week were fully discussed
and commented upon. It was on a Sunday evening, in the month of June,
that there was a party at Mr. Wilson's house, and, according to custom
in the Southern States, the ladies had their maid-servants with them.
Tea had been served in "the house," and the servants, including the strangers,
had taken their seats at the table in the kitchen. Sam, being a
"single gentleman," was unusually attentive to the "ladies" on this occasion.
He seldom let a day pass without spending an hour or two in combing
and brushing his "har." He had an idea that fresh butter was better
for his hair than any other kind of grease, and therefore on churning days
half a pound of butter had always to be taken out before it was salted.
When he wished to appear to great advantage, he would grease his
face to make it "shiny." Therefore, on the evening of the party,
when all the servants were at the table, Sam cut a big figure.
There he sat, with his wool well combed and buttered, face nicely greased,
and his ruffles extending five or six inches from his bosom.
The parson in his drawing-room did not make a more imposing appearance
than did his servant on this occasion.

"I jis bin had my fortune tole last Sunday night," said Sam,
while helping one of the girls.

"Indeed!" cried half a dozen voices.

"Yes," continued he; "Aunt Winny tole me I's to hab de prettiest yallah gal
in de town, and dat I's to be free!"

All eyes were immediately turned toward Sally Johnson,
who was seated near Sam.

"I 'specs I see somebody blush at dat remark," said Alfred.

"Pass dem pancakes an' 'lasses up dis way, Mr. Alf., and none ob
your 'sinuwashuns here," rejoined Sam.

"Dat reminds me," said Agnes, "dat Dorcas Simpson is gwine to git married."

"Who to, I want to know?" inquired Peter.

"To one of Mr. Darby's field-hands," answered Agnes.

"I should tink dat gal wouldn't frow herseff away in dat ar way," said Sally.
"She's good lookin' 'nough to git a house-servant, and not hab to put up
wid a field-nigger.

"Yes," said Sam, "dat's a werry unsensible remark ob yourn,
Miss Sally. I admires your judgment werry much, I 'sures you.
Dar's plenty ob susceptible an' well-dressed house-serbants dat a gal
ob her looks can git widout takin' up wid dem common darkies."

The evening's entertainment concluded by Sam's relating a little
of his own experience while with his first master, in old Kentucky.
This master was a doctor, and had a large practice among his neighbors,
doctoring both masters and slaves. When Sam was about fifteen years old,
his master set him to grinding up ointment and making pills.
As the young student grew older and became more practised in his profession,
his services were of more importance to the doctor. The physician having
a good business, and a large number of his patients being slaves,--
the most of whom had to call on the doctor when ill,--he put Sam
to bleeding, pulling teeth, and administering medicine to the slaves.
Sam soon acquired the name among the slaves of the "Black Doctor."
With this appellation he was delighted; and no regular physician could have
put on more airs than did the black doctor when his services were required.
In bleeding, he must have more bandages, and would rub and smack the arm
more than the doctor would have thought of.

Sam was once seen taking out a tooth for one of his patients,
and nothing appeared more amusing. He got the poor fellow down
on his back, and then getting astride of his chest, he applied
the turnkeys and pulled away for dear life. Unfortunately, he had
got hold of the wrong tooth, and the poor man screamed as loud
as he could; but it was to no purpose, for Sam had him fast,
and after a pretty severe tussle out came the sound grinder.
The young doctor now saw his mistake, but consoled himself
with the thought that as the wrong tooth was out of the way,
there was more room to get at the right one.

Bleeding and a dose of calomel were always considered
indispensable by the "old boss," and as a matter of course,
Sam followed in his footsteps.

On one occasion the old doctor was ill himself, so as to be unable to attend
to his patients. A slave, with pass in hand, called to receive medical
advice, and the master told Sam to examine him and see what he wanted.
This delighted him beyond measure, for although he had been acting
his part in the way of giving out medicine as the master ordered it,
he had never been called upon by the latter to examine a patient,
and this seemed to convince him after all that he was no sham doctor.
As might have been expected, he cut a rare figure in his first examination.
Placing himself directly opposite his patient, and folding his arms
across his breast, looking very knowingly, he began,--

"What's de matter wid you?"

"I is sick."

"Where is you sick?"

"Here," replied the man, putting his hand upon his stomach.

"Put out your tongue," continued the doctor.

The man ran out his tongue at full length.

"Let me feel your pulse;" at the same time taking his patient's hand in his,
and placing his fingers upon his pulse, he said,--

"Ah! your case is a bad one; ef I don't do something for you,
and dat pretty quick, you'll be a gone coon, and dat's sartin."
At this the man appeared frightened, and inquired what was the matter
with him, in answer to which Sam said,--

"I done told dat your case is a bad one, and dat's enuff."

On Sam's returning to his master's bedside, the latter said,--

"Well, Sam, what do you think is the matter with him?"

"His stomach is out ob order, sar," he replied.

"What do you think had better be done for him?"

"I tink I'd better bleed him and gib him a dose ob calomel," returned Sam.

So, to the latter's gratification, the master let him have his own way.

On one occasion, when making pills and ointment, Sam made
a great mistake. He got the preparations for both mixed together,
so that he could not legitimately make either. But fearing
that if he threw the stuff away, his master would flog him,
and being afraid to inform his superior of the mistake, he resolved
to make the whole batch of pill and ointment stuff into pills.
He well knew that the powder over the pills would hide the inside,
and the fact that most persons shut their eyes when taking such medicine
led the young doctor to feel that all would be right in the end.
Therefore Sam made his pills, boxed them up, put on the labels,
and placed them in a conspicuous position on one of the shelves.

Sam felt a degree of anxiety about his pills, however.
It was a strange mixture, and he was not certain whether it
would kill or cure; but he was willing that it should be tried.
At last the young doctor had his vanity gratified.
Col. Tallen, one of Dr. Saxondale's patients, drove up one morning,
and Sam as usual ran out to the gate to hold the colonel's horse.

"Call your master," said the colonel; "I will not get out."

The doctor was soon beside the carriage, and inquired about
the health of his patient. After a little consultation,
the doctor returned to his office, took down a box of Sam's
new pills, and returned to the carriage.

"Take two of these every morning and night," said the doctor,
"and if you don't feel relieved, double the dose."

"Good gracious," exclaimed Sam in an undertone, when he heard
his master tell the colonel how to take the pills.

It was several days before Sam could learn the result of his new medicine.
One afternoon, about a fortnight after the colonel's visit,
Sam saw his master's patient riding up to the gate on horseback.
The doctor happened to be in the yard, and met the colonel and said,--

"How are you now?"

"I am entirely recovered," replied the patient.
"Those pills of yours put me on my feet the next day."

"I knew they would," rejoined the doctor.

Sam was near enough to hear the conversation, and was delighted
beyond description. The negro immediately ran into the kitchen,
amongst his companions, and commenced dancing.

"What de matter wid you?" inquired the cook.

"I is de greatest doctor in his country," replied Sam.
"Ef you ever get sick, call on me. No matter what ails you,
I is de man dat can cure you in no time. If you do hab de backache,
de rheumatics, de headache, de coller morbus, fits, er any ting else,
Sam is de gentleman dat can put you on your feet wid his pills."

For a long time after, Sam did little else than boast of his skill
as a doctor.

We have said that the "black doctor" was full of wit and good sense.
Indeed, in that respect, he had scarcely an equal in the neighborhood.
Although his master resided some little distance out of the city,
Sam was always the first man in all the negro balls and parties in town.
When his master could give him a pass, he went, and when he did
not give him one, he would steal away after his master had retired,
and run the risk of being taken up by the night-watch. Of course,
the master never knew anything of the absence of the servant at night
without permission. As the negroes at these parties tried to excel each
other in the way of dress, Sam was often at a loss to make that appearance
that his heart desired, but his ready wit ever helped him in this.
When his master had retired to bed at night, it was the duty of Sam to put
out the lights, and take out with him his master's clothes and boots,
and leave them in the office until morning, and then black the boots,
brush the clothes, and return them to his master's room.

Having resolved to attend a dress-ball one night, without his master's
permission, and being perplexed for suitable garments, Sam determined
to take his master's. So, dressing himself in the doctor's clothes,
even to his boots and hat, off the negro started for the city.
Being well acquainted with the usual walk of the patrols he found no
difficulty in keeping out of their way. As might have been expected,
Sam was the great gun with the ladies that night.

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