Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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William Wells Brown >> Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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The next morning, Sam was back home long before his master's time
for rising, and the clothes were put in their accustomed place.
For a long time Sam had no difficulty in attiring himself
for parties; but the old proverb that "It is a long lane
that has no turning," was verified in the negro's case.
One stormy night, when the rain was descending in torrents,
the doctor heard a rap at his door. It was customary with him,
when called up at night to visit a patient, to ring for Sam.
But this time, the servant was nowhere to be found.
The doctor struck a light and looked for clothes; they, too,
were gone. It was twelve o'clock, and the doctor's clothes,
hat, boots, and even his watch, were nowhere to be found.
Here was a pretty dilemma for a doctor to be in. It was some time
before the physician could fit himself out so as to make the visit.
At last, however, he started with one of the farm-horses, for Sam
had taken the doctor's best saddle-horse. The doctor felt sure
that the negro had robbed him, and was on his way to Canada;
but in this he was mistaken. Sam had gone to the city to attend
a ball, and had decked himself out in his master's best suit.
The physician returned before morning, and again retired
to bed but with little hope of sleep, for his thoughts were
with his servant and horse. At six o'clock, in walked Sam
with his master's clothes, and the boots neatly blacked.
The watch was placed on the shelf, and the hat in its place.
Sam had not met any of the servants, and was therefore entirely
ignorant of what had occurred during his absence.
"What have you been about, sir, and where was you last night
when I was called?" asked the doctor.
"I don't know, sir. I 'spose I was asleep," replied Sam.
But the doctor was not to be so easily satisfied, after having
been put to so much trouble in hunting up another suit without
the aid of Sam. After breakfast, Sam was taken into the barn,
tied up, and severely flogged with the cat, which brought
from him the truth concerning his absence the previous night.
This forever put an end to his fine appearance at the negro parties.
Had not the doctor been one of the most indulgent of masters,
he would not have escaped with merely a severe whipping.
As a matter of course, Sam had to relate to his companions
that evening in Mr. Wilson's kitchen all his adventures
as a physician while with his old master.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN OF HONOR
AUGUSTINE CARDINAY, the purchaser of Marion, was from the Green Mountains
of Vermont, and his feelings were opposed to the holding of slaves;
but his young wife persuaded him into the idea that it was no worse
to own a slave than to hire one and pay the money to another.
Hence it was that he had been induced to purchase Marion.
Adolphus Morton, a young physician from the same State,
and who had just commenced the practice of his profession
in New Orleans, was boarding with Cardinay when Marion was
brought home. The young physician had been in New Orleans
but a very few weeks, and had seen but little of slavery.
In his own mountain-home, he had been taught that the slaves
of the Southern States were negroes, and if not from the coast
of Africa, the descendants of those who had been imported.
He was unprepared to behold with composure a beautiful white
girl of sixteen in the degraded position of a chattel slave.
The blood chilled in his young heart as he heard Cardinay tell how,
by bantering with the trader, he had bought her two hundred dollars less
than he first asked. His very looks showed that she had the deepest
sympathies of his heart.
Marion had been brought up by her mother to look
after the domestic concerns of her cottage in Virginia,
and well knew how to perform the duties imposed upon her.
Mrs. Cardinay was much pleased with her new servant, and often
mentioned her good qualities in the presence of Mr. Morton.
After eight months acquaintance with Marion, Morton's sympathies
ripened into love, which was most cordially reciprocated
by the friendless and injured child of sorrow. There was
but one course which the young man could honorably pursue,
and that was to purchase Marion and make her his lawful wife;
and this he did immediately, for he found Mr. and Mrs. Cardinay
willing to second his liberal intentions.
The young man, after purchasing Marion from Cardinay,
and marrying her, took lodgings in another part of the city.
A private teacher was called in, and the young wife was taught
some of those accomplishments so necessary for one taking
a high position in good society.
Dr. Morton soon obtained a large and influential practice in his profession,
and with it increased in wealth; but with all his wealth he never
owned a slave. Probably the fact that he had raised his wife from
that condition kept the hydra-headed system continually before him.
To the credit of Marion be it said, she used every means to obtain
the freedom of her mother, who had been sold to Parson Wilson, at Natchez.
Her efforts, however, had come too late; for Agnes had died of a fever
before the arrival of Dr. Morton's agent.
Marion found in Adolphus Morton a kind and affectionate husband;
and his wish to purchase her mother, although unsuccessful,
had doubly endeared him to her. Ere a year had elapsed from the time
of their marriage, Mrs. Morton presented her husband with a lovely
daughter, who seemed to knit their hearts still closer together.
This child they named Jane; and before the expiration of the second year,
they were blessed with another daughter, whom they named Adrika.
These children grew up to the ages of ten and eleven,
and were then sent to the North to finish their education,
and receive that refinement which young ladies cannot obtain
in the Slave States.
CHAPTER X
THE QUADROON'S HOME
A FEW miles out of Richmond is a pleasant place, with here and there
a beautiful cottage surrounded by trees so as scarcely to be seen.
Among these was one far retired from the public roads,
and almost hidden among the trees. This was the spot that Henry
Linwood had selected for Isabella, the eldest daughter of Agnes.
The young man hired the house, furnished it, and placed his
mistress there, and for many months no one in his father's family
knew where he spent his leisure hours.
When Henry was not with her, Isabella employed herself in looking after
her little garden and the flowers that grew in front of her cottage.
The passion-flower, peony, dahlia, laburnum, and other plants,
so abundant in warm climates, under the tasteful hand of Isabella,
lavished their beauty upon this retired spot, and miniature paradise.
Although Isabella had been assured by Henry that she should be free
and that he would always consider her as his wife, she nevertheless
felt that she ought to be married and acknowledged by him.
But this was an impossibility under the State laws, even had
the young man been disposed to do what was right in the matter.
Related as he was, however, to one of the first families in Virginia,
he would not have dared to marry a woman of so low an origin,
even had the laws been favorable.
Here, in this secluded grove, unvisited by any other except
her lover, Isabella lived for years. She had become the mother
of a lovely daughter, which its father named Clotelle.
The complexion of the child was still fairer than that of
its mother. Indeed, she was not darker than other white children,
and as she grew older she more and more resembled her father.
As time passed away, Henry became negligent of Isabella and his child,
so much so, that days and even weeks passed without their seeing him,
or knowing where he was. Becoming more acquainted with the world,
and moving continually in the society of young women of his
own station, the young man felt that Isabella was a burden to him,
and having as some would say, "outgrown his love," he longed to free
himself of the responsibility; yet every time he saw the child,
he felt that he owed it his fatherly care.
Henry had now entered into political life, and been elected to a seat
in the legislature of his native State; and in his intercourse
with his friends had become acquainted with Gertrude Miller,
the daughter of a wealthy gentleman living near Richmond.
Both Henry and Gertrude were very good-looking, and a mutual
attachment sprang up between them.
Instead of finding fault with the unfrequent visits of Henry,
Isabella always met him with a smile, and tried to make both him
and herself believe that business was the cause of his negligence.
When he was with her, she devoted every moment of her time
to him, and never failed to speak of the growth and increasing
intelligence of Clotelle.
The child had grown so large as to be able to follow its father
on his departure out to the road. But the impression made on
Henry's feelings by the devoted woman and her child was momentary.
His heart had grown hard, and his acts were guided by no fixed principle.
Henry and Gertrude had been married nearly two years before Isabella
knew anything of the event, and it was merely by accident that she
became acquainted with the facts.
One beautiful afternoon, when Isabella and Clotelle were picking
wild strawberries some two miles from their home, and near
the road-side, they observed a one-horse chaise driving past.
The mother turned her face from the carriage not wishing to be
seen by strangers, little dreaming that the chaise contained
Henry and his wife. The child, however, watched the chaise,
and startled her mother by screaming out at the top of her voice,
"Papa! papa!" and clapped her little hands for joy.
The mother turned in haste to look at the strangers, and her eyes
encountered those of Henry's pale and dejected countenance.
Gertrude's eyes were on the child. The swiftness with which Henry
drove by could not hide from his wife the striking resemblance
of the child to himself. The young wife had heard the child
exclaim "Papa! papa!" and she immediately saw by the quivering
of his lips and the agitation depicted in his countenance,
that all was not right.
"Who is that woman? and why did that child call you papa?"
she inquired, with a trembling voice.
Henry was silent; he knew not what to say, and without another word passing
between them, they drove home.
On reaching her room, Gertrude buried her face in her handkerchief and wept.
She loved Henry, and when she had heard from the lips of her companions
how their husbands had proved false, she felt that he was an exception,
and fervently thanked God that she had been so blessed.
When Gertrude retired to her bed that night, the sad scene of the day
followed her. The beauty of Isabella, with her flowing curls, and the look
of the child, so much resembling the man whom she so dearly loved,
could not be forgotten; and little Clotelle's exclamation of "Papa! papa!"
rang in her ears during the whole night.
The return of Henry at twelve o'clock did not increase her happiness.
Feeling his guilt, he had absented himself from the house since his return
from the ride.
CHAPTER XI
TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE
THE night was dark, the rain descended in torrents from the black
and overhanging clouds, and the thunder, accompanied with vivid
flashes of lightning, resounded fearfully, as Henry Linwood stepped
from his chaise and entered Isabella's cottage.
More than a fortnight had elapsed since the accidental meeting,
and Isabella was in doubt as to who the lady was that Henry was with in
the carriage. Little, however, did she think that it was his wife.
With a smile, Isabella met the young man as he entered her little dwelling.
Clotelle had already gone to bed, but her father's voice aroused her
from her sleep, and she was soon sitting on his knee.
The pale and agitated countenance of Henry betrayed his uneasiness,
but Isabella's mild and laughing allusion to the incident of their
meeting him on the day of his pleasure-drive, and her saying,
"I presume, dear Henry, that the lady was one of your relatives,"
led him to believe that she was still in ignorance of his marriage.
She was, in fact, ignorant who the lady was who accompanied
the man she loved on that eventful day. He, aware of this,
now acted more like himself, and passed the thing off as a joke.
At heart, however, Isabella felt uneasy, and this uneasiness
would at times show itself to the young man. At last, and with a
great effort, she said,--
"Now, hear Henry, if I am in the way of your future happiness, say so, and I
will release you from any promises that you have made me. I know there is
no law by which I can hold you, and if there was, I would not resort to it.
You are as dear to me as ever, and my thoughts shall always be devoted
to you. It would be a great sacrifice for me to give you up to another,
but if it be your desire, as great as the sacrifice is, I will make it.
Send me and your child into a Free State if we are in your way."
Again and again Linwood assured her that no woman possessed his love but her.
Oh, what falsehood and deceit man can put on when dealing with woman's love!
The unabated storm kept Henry from returning home until
after the clock had struck two, and as he drew near
his residence he saw his wife standing at the window.
Giving his horse in charge of the servant who was waiting,
he entered the house, and found his wife in tears.
Although he had never satisfied Gertrude as to who the quadroon
woman and child were, he had kept her comparatively easy
by his close attention to her, and by telling her that she
was mistaken in regard to the child's calling him "papa."
His absence that night, however, without any apparent cause,
had again aroused the jealousy of Gertrude; but Henry told her
that he had been caught in the rain while out, which prevented
his sooner returning, and she, anxious to believe him,
received the story as satisfactory.
Somewhat heated with brandy, and wearied with much loss of sleep,
Linwood fell into a sound slumber as soon as he retired.
Not so with Gertrude. That faithfulness which has ever
distinguished her sex, and the anxiety with which she watched
all his movements, kept the wife awake while the husband slept.
His sleep, though apparently sound, was nevertheless uneasy.
Again and again she heard him pronounce the name of Isabella,
and more than once she heard him say, "I am not married;
I will never marry while you live." Then he would speak
the name of Clotelle and say, "My dear child, how I love you!"
After a sleepless night, Gertrude arose from her couch,
resolved that she would reveal the whole matter to her mother.
Mrs. Miller was a woman of little or no feeling, proud, peevish,
and passionate, thus making everybody miserable that came near her;
and when she disliked any one, her hatred knew no bounds.
This Gertrude knew; and had she not considered it her duty,
she would have kept the secret locked in her own heart.
During the day, Mrs. Linwood visited her mother and told her all
that had happened. The mother scolded the daughter for not having
informed her sooner, and immediately determined to find out who the
woman and child were that Gertrude had met on the day of her ride.
Three days were spent by Mrs. Miller in this endeavor,
but without success.
Four weeks had elapsed, and the storm of the old lady's
temper had somewhat subsided, when, one evening, as she was
approaching her daughter's residence, she saw Henry walking
in the direction of where the quadroon was supposed to reside.
Being satisfied that the young man had not seen her, the old
woman at once resolved to follow him. Linwood's boots squeaked
so loudly that Mrs. Miller had no difficulty in following him
without being herself observed.
After a walk of about two miles, the young man turned into a narrow
and unfrequented road, and soon entered the cottage occupied by Isabella.
It was a fine starlight night, and the moon was just rising when they
got to their journey's end. As usual, Isabella met Henry with a smile,
and expressed her fears regarding his health.
Hours passed, and still old Mrs. Miller remained near the house,
determined to know who lived there. When she undertook
to ferret out anything, she bent her whole energies to it.
As Michael Angelo, who subjected all things to his pursuit
and the idea he had formed of it, painted the crucifixion
by the side of a writhing slave and would have broken up
the true cross for pencils, so Mrs. Miller would have entered
the sepulchre, if she could have done it, in search of an object
she wished to find.
The full moon had risen, and was pouring its beams upon
surrounding objects as Henry stepped from Isabella's door,
and looking at his watch, said,--
"I must go, dear; it is now half-past ten."
Had little Clotelle been awake, she too would have been at the door.
As Henry walked to the gate, Isabella followed with her left hand locked
in his. Again he looked at his watch, and said,--
"I must go."
"It is more than a year since you staid all night,"
murmured Isabella, as he folded her convulsively in his arms,
and pressed upon her beautiful lips a parting kiss.
He was nearly out of sight when, with bitter sobs,
the quadroon retraced her steps to the door of the cottage.
Clotelle had in the mean time awoke, and now inquired
of her mother how long her father had been gone.
At that instant, a knock was heard at the door, and supposing
that it was Henry returning for something he had forgotten,
as he frequently did, Isabella flew to let him in.
To her amazement, however, a strange woman stood in the door.
"Who are you that comes here at this late hour?"
demanded the half-frightened Isabella.
Without making any reply, Mrs. Miller pushed the quadroon aside,
and entered the house.
"What do you want here?" again demanded Isabella.
"I am in search of you," thundered the maddened Mrs. Miller;
but thinking that her object would be better served by seeming
to be kind, she assumed a different tone of voice, and began
talking in a pleasing manner.
In this way, she succeeded in finding out that connection existing
between Linwood and Isabella, and after getting all she could
out of the unsuspecting woman, she informed her that the man
she so fondly loved had been married for more than two years.
Seized with dizziness, the poor, heart-broken woman fainted
and fell upon the floor. How long she remained there she could
not tell; but when she returned to consciousness, the strange
woman was gone, and her child was standing by her side.
When she was so far recovered as to regain her feet,
Isabella went to the door, and even into the yard, to see
if the old woman was no somewhere about.
As she stood there, the full moon cast its bright rays
over her whole person, giving her an angelic appearance
and imparting to her flowing hair a still more golden hue.
Suddenly another change came over her features, and her
full red kips trembled as with suppressed emotion.
The muscles around her faultless mouth became convulsed,
she gasped for breath, and exclaiming, "Is it possible that man
can be so false!" again fainted.
Clotelle stood and bathed her mother's temples with cold water until
she once more revived.
Although the laws of Virginia forbid the education of slaves,
Agnes had nevertheless employed an old free negro to teach
her two daughters to read and write. After being separated
from her mother and sister, Isabella turned her attention
to the subject of Christianity, and received that consolation
from the Bible which is never denied to the children of God.
This was now her last hope, for her heart was torn with grief
and filled with all the bitterness of disappointment.
The night passed away, but without sleep to poor Isabella.
At the dawn of day, she tried to make herself believe
that the whole of the past night was a dream, and determined
to be satisfied with the explanation which Henry should give
on his next visit.
CHAPTER XII
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW
WHEN Harry returned home, he found his wife seated at the window,
awaiting his approach. Secret grief was gnawing at her heart.
Her sad, pale cheeks and swollen eyes showed too well that agony,
far deeper than her speech portrayed, filled her heart.
A dull and death-like silence prevailed on his entrance.
His pale face and brow, dishevelled hair, and the feeling
that he manifested on finding Gertrude still up, told Henry
in plainer words than she could have used that his wife
was aware that her love had never been held sacred by him.
The window-blinds were still unclosed, and the full-orbed moon
shed her soft refulgence over the unrivalled scene, and gave
it a silvery lustre which sweetly harmonized with the silence
of the night. The clock's iron tongue, in a neighboring belfry,
proclaimed the hour of twelve, as the truant and unfaithful
husband seated himself by the side of his devoted and loving wife,
and inquired if she was not well.
"I am, dear Henry," replied Gertrude; "but I feat *you* are not.
If well in body, I fear you are not at peace in mind."
"Why?" inquired he.
"Because," she replied, "you are so pale and have such a wild look
in your eyes."
Again he protested his innocence, and vowed she was the only woman
who had any claim upon his heart. To behold one thus playing upon
the feelings of two lovely women is enough to make us feel that evil
must at last bring its own punishment.
Henry and Gertrude had scarcely risen from the breakfast-table next
morning ere old Mrs. Miller made her appearance. She immediately took
her daughter aside, and informed her of her previous night's experience,
telling her how she had followed Henry to Isabella's cottage,
detailing the interview with the quadroon, and her late return home alone.
The old woman urged her daughter to demand that the quadroon and her child
be at once sold to the negro speculators and taken out of the State,
or that Gertrude herself should separate from Henry.
"Assert your rights, my dear. Let no one share a heart that justly
belongs to you," said Mrs. Miller, with her eyes flashing fire.
"Don't sleep this night, my child, until that wench has been removed
from that cottage; and as for the child, hand that over to me,--
I saw at once that it was Henry's."
During these remarks, the old lady was walking up and down the room
like a caged lioness. She had learned from Isabella that she had
been purchased by Henry, and the innocence of the injured quadroon
caused her to acknowledge that he was the father of her child.
Few women could have taken such a matter in hand and carried it
through with more determination and success than old Mrs. Miller.
Completely inured in all the crimes and atrocities connected
with the institution of slavery, she was also aware that,
to a greater or less extent, the slave women shared with their
mistress the affections of their master. This caused her to look
with a suspicious eye on every good-looking negro woman that she saw.
While the old woman was thus lecturing her daughter upon her
rights and duties, Henry, unaware of what was transpiring,
had left the house and gone to his office. As soon as the old
woman found that he was gone, she said,--
"I will venture anything that he is on his way to see that wench again.
I'll lay my life on it."
The entrance, however, of little Marcus, or Mark, as he was
familiarly called, asking for Massa Linwood's blue bag,
satisfied her that her son-in-law was at his office.
Before the old lady returned home, it was agreed that
Gertrude should come to her mother's to tea that evening,
and Henry with her, and that Mrs. Miller should there charge
the young husband with inconstancy to her daughter, and demand
the removal of Isabella.
With this understanding, the old woman retraced her steps
to her own dwelling.
Had Mrs. Miller been of a different character and not surrounded
by slavery, she could scarcely have been unhappy in such a home
as hers. Just at the edge of the city, and sheltered by large
poplar-trees was the old homestead in which she resided.
There was a splendid orchard in the rear of the house,
and the old weather-beaten sweep, with "the moss-covered bucket"
at its end, swung majestically over the deep well.
The garden was scarcely to be equalled. Its grounds were laid
out in excellent taste, and rare exotics in the greenhouse
made it still more lovely.
It was a sweet autumn evening, when the air breathed through
the fragrant sheaves of grain, and the setting sun, with his
golden kisses, burnished the rich clusters of purple grapes,
that Henry and Gertrude were seen approaching the house on foot;
it was nothing more than a pleasant walk. Oh, how Gertrude's
heart beat as she seated herself, on their arrival!
The beautiful parlor, surrounded on all sides with luxury
and taste, with the sun creeping through the damask curtains,
added a charm to the scene. It was in this room that Gertrude
had been introduced to Henry, and the pleasant hours that she
had spent there with him rushed unbidden on her memory.
It was here that, in former days, her beautiful countenance
had made her appearance as fascinating and as lovely as that
of Cleopatra's. Her sweet, musical voice might have been
heard in every part of the house, occasionally thrilling
you with an unexpected touch. How changed the scene!
Her pale and wasted features could not be lighted up by any
thoughts of the past, and she was sorrowful at heart.
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