Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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William Wells Brown >> Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine
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"How can that be done?" he inquired, eagerly.
"I will assume the disguise of a gentleman, and you that of a servant,
and we will thus take passage in a steamer to Cincinnati, and from
thence to Canada."
With full confidence in Isabella's judgment, William consented
at once to the proposition. The clothes were purchased;
everything was arranged, and the next night, while Mr. Gordon
was on one of his sprees, Isabella, under the assumed name
of Mr. Smith, with William in attendance as a servant,
took passage for Cincinnati in the steamer Heroine.
With a pair of green glasses over her eyes, in addition to her
other disguise, Isabella made quite a gentlemanly appearance.
To avoid conversation, however, she kept closely to her state-room,
under the plea of illness.
Meanwhile, William was playing his part well with the servants.
He was loudly talking of his master's wealth, and nothing on the boat
appeared so good as in his master's fine mansion.
"I don't like dese steamboats, no how," said he; "I hope when massa
goes on anoder journey, he take de carriage and de hosses."
After a nine-days' passage, the Heroine landed at Cincinnati,
and Mr. Smith and his servant walked on shore.
"William, you are now a free man, and can go on to Canada," said Isabella;
"I shall go to Virginia, in search of my daughter."
This sudden announcement fell heavily upon William's ears,
and with tears he besought her not to jeopardize her liberty
in such a manner; but Isabella had made up her mind to rescue
her child if possible.
Taking a boat for Wheeling, Isabella was soon on her way to her
native State. Several months had elapsed since she left Richmond,
and all her thoughts were centred on the fate of her dear Clotelle.
It was with a palpitating heart that this injured woman entered
the stage-coach at Wheeling and set out for Richmond.
CHAPTER XV
THE ARREST
IT was late in the evening when the coach arrived at Richmond, and Isabella
once more alighted in her native city. She had intended to seek lodgings
somewhere in the outskirts of the town, but the lateness of the hour
compelled her to stop at one of the principal hotels for the night.
She had scarcely entered the inn before she recognized among
the numerous black servants one to whom she was well known, and her
only hope was that her disguise would keep her from being discovered.
The imperturbable calm and entire forgetfulness of self which induced
Isabella to visit a place from which she could scarcely hope to escape,
to attempt the rescue of a beloved child, demonstrate that over-willingness
of woman to carry out the promptings of the finer feelings of the heart.
True to woman's nature, she had risked her own liberty for another's.
She remained in the hotel during the night, and the next morning,
under the plea of illness, took her breakfast alone.
That day the fugitive slave paid a visit to the suburbs of the town, and
once more beheld the cottage in which she had spent so many happy hours.
It was winter, and the clematis and passion-flower were not there;
but there were the same walks her feet had so often pressed,
and the same trees which had so often shaded her as she passed
through the garden at the back of the house. Old remembrances
rushed upon her memory and caused her to shed tears freely.
Isabella was now in her native town, and near her daughter;
but how could she communicate with her? how could she see her?
To have made herself known would have been a suicidal act;
betrayal would have followed, and she arrested. Three days passed away,
and still she remained in the hotel at which she had first put up,
and yet she got no tidings of her child.
Unfortunately for Isabella, a disturbance had just broken
out among the slave population in the State of Virginia,
and all strangers were treated with suspicion.
The insurrection to which we now refer was headed by a full-blooded negro,
who had been born and brought up a slave. He had heard the crack of the
driver's whip, and seen the warm blood streaming from the negro's body.
He had witnessed the separation of parents from children, and was
made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave could expect no justice
from the hands of the slave-owner. The name of this man was Nat Turner.
He was a preacher amongst the negroes, distinguished for his eloquence,
respected by the whites, loved and venerated by the negroes.
On the discovery of the plan for the outbreak, Turner fled to the swamps,
followed by those who had joined in the insurrection.
Here the revolted negroes numbered some hundreds, and for a
time bade defiance to their oppressors. The Dismal Swamps
cover many thousand acres of wild land, and a dense forest,
with wild animals and insects such as are unknown in any
other part of Virginia. Here runaway negroes usually seek
a hiding-place, and some have been known to reside here for years.
The revolters were joined by one of these. He was a large,
tall, full-blooded negro, with a stern and savage countenance;
the marks on his face showed that he was from one of the barbarous
tribes in Africa, and claimed that country as his native land.
His only covering was a girdle around his loins, made of
skins of wild beasts which he had killed. His only token
of authority among those that he led was a pair of epaulettes,
made of the tail of a fox, and tied to his shoulder by a cord.
Brought from the coast of Africa, when only fifteen years of age,
to the island of Cuba, he was smuggled from thence into Virginia.
He had been two years in the swamps, and considered it
his future home. He had met a negro woman, who was also
a runaway, and, after the fashion of his native land, had gone
through the process of oiling her, as the marriage ceremony.
They had built a cave on a rising mound in the swamp,
and this was their home. This man's name was Picquilo.
His only weapon was a sword made from a scythe which he had
stolen from a neighboring plantation. His dress, his character,
his manners, and his mode of fighting were all in keeping with
the early training he had received in the land of his birth.
He moved about with the activity of a cat, and neither the thickness
of the trees nor the depth of the water could stop him.
He was a bold, turbulent spirit; and, from motives of revenge,
he imbrued his hands in the blood of all the whites he could meet.
Hunger, thirst, and loss of sleep, he seemed made to endure,
as if by peculiarity of constitution. His air was fierce,
his step oblique, his look sanguinary.
Such was the character of one of the negroes in the Southampton Insurrection.
All negroes were arrested who were found beyond their master's threshold,
and all white strangers were looked upon with suspicion.
Such was the position in which Isabella found affairs
when she returned to Virginia in search of her child.
Had not the slave-owners been watchful of strangers,
owing to the outbreak, the fugitive could not have escaped
the vigilance of the police; for advertisements announcing
her escape, and offering a large reward for her arrest,
had been received in the city previous to her arrival,
and officers were therefore on the lookout for her.
It was on the third day after her arrival in Richmond, as the quadroon
was seated in her room at the hotel, still in the disguise of a gentleman,
that two of the city officers entered the apartment and informed her that they
were authorized to examine all strangers, to assure the authorities that they
were not in league with the revolted negroes.
With trembling heart the fugitive handed the key of her trunk
to the officers. To their surprise they found nothing but female
apparel in the trunk, which raised their curiosity, and caused
a further investigation that resulted in the arrest of Isabella
as a fugitive slave. She was immediately conveyed to prison,
there to await the orders of her master.
For many days, uncheered by the voice of kindness, alone, hopeless, desolate,
she waited for the time to arrive when the chains should be placed on
her limbs, and she returned to her inhuman and unfeeling owner.
The arrest of the fugitive was announced in all the newspapers,
but created little or no sensation. The inhabitants were too much
engaged in putting down the revolt among the slaves; and, although all
the odds were against the insurgents, the whites found it no easy matter,
with all their caution. Every day brought news of fresh outbreaks.
Without scruple and without pity, the whites massacred all blacks found beyond
the limits of their owners' plantations. The negroes, in return, set fire
to houses, and put to death those who attempted to escape from the flames.
Thus carnage was added to carnage, and the blood of the whites flowed
to avenge the blood of the blacks.
These were the ravages of slavery. No graves were dug for
the negroes, but their bodies became food for dogs and vultures;
and their bones, partly calcined by the sun, remained scattered about,
as if to mark the mournful fury of servitude and lust of power.
When the slaves were subdued, except a few in the swamps,
bloodhounds were employed to hunt out the remaining revolters.
CHAPTER XVI
DEATH IS FREEDOM
ON receiving intelligence of the arrest of Isabella, Mr. Gordon
authorized the sheriff to sell her to the highest bidder.
She was, therefore, sold; the purchaser being the noted
negro-trader, Hope H. Slater, who at once placed her in prison.
Here the fugitive saw none but slaves like herself, brought in
and taken out to be placed in ships, and sent away to some part
of the country to which she herself would soon be compelled to go.
She had seen or heard nothing of her daughter while in Richmond,
and all hopes of seeing her had now fled.
At the dusk of the evening previous to the day when she was to
be sent off, as the old prison was being closed for the night,
Isabella suddenly dated past the keeper, and ran for her life.
It was not a great distance from the prison to the long bridge
which passes from the lower part of the city across the Potomac
to the extensive forests and woodlands of the celebrated
Arlington Heights, then occupied by that distinguished
relative and descendant of the immortal Washington, Mr. Geo.
W. Custis. Thither the poor fugitive directed her flight.
So unexpected was her escape that she had gained several rods
the start before the keeper had secured the other prisoners,
and rallied his assistants to aid in the pursuit.
It was at an hour, and in a part of the city where horses
could not easily be obtained for the chase; no bloodhounds
were at hand to run down the flying woman, and for once it
seemed as if there was to be a fair trial of speed and endurance
between the slave and the slave-catchers.
The keeper and his force raised the hue-and-cry on her path
as they followed close behind; but so rapid was the flight
along the wide avenue that the astonished citizens, as they
poured forth from their dwellings to learn the cause of alarm,
were only able to comprehend the nature of the case in time
to fall in with the motley throng in pursuit, or raise an anxious
prayer to heaven as they refused to join in the chase (as many
a one did that night) that the panting fugitive might escape,
and the merciless soul-dealer for once be disappointed of his prey.
And now, with the speed of an arrow, having passed the avenue,
with the distance between her and her pursuers constantly
increasing, this poor, hunted female gained the "Long Bridge,"
as it is called, where interruption seemed improbably.
Already her heart began to beat high with the hope of success.
She had only to pass three-quarters of a mile across the bridge,
when she could bury herself in a vast forest, just as the time
when the curtain of night would close around her, and protect
her from the pursuit of her enemies.
But God, by his providence, had otherwise determined.
He had ordained that an appalling tragedy should be enacted
that night within plain sight of the President's house,
and the Capitol of the Union, which would be an evidence
wherever it should be known of the unconquerable love of liberty
which the human heart may inherit, as well as a fresh admonition
to the slave-dealer of the cruelty and enormity of his crimes.
Just as the pursuers passed the high draw, soon after entering upon
the bridge, they beheld three men slowly approaching from the Virginia side.
They immediately called to them to arrest the fugitive, proclaiming her
a runaway slave. True to their Virginia instincts, as she came near,
they formed a line across the narrow bridge to intercept her.
Seeing the escape was impossible in that quarter, she stopped suddenly,
and turned upon her pursuers.
On came the profane and ribald crew faster than ever, already exulting
in her capture, and threatening punishment for her flight.
For a moment she looked wildly and anxiously around to see
if there was no hope of escape. On either hand, far down below,
rolled the deep, foaming waters of the Potomac, and before and behind
were the rapidly approaching steps and noisy voices of her pursuers.
Seeing how vain would be any further effort to escape, her resolution
was instantly taken. She clasped her hands convulsively together,
raised her tearful and imploring eyes toward heaven, and begged
for the mercy and compassion there which was unjustly denied her
on earth; then, exclaiming, "Henry, Clotelle, I die for thee!"
with a single bound, vaulted over the railing of the bridge,
and sank forever beneath the angry and foaming waters of the river!
Such was the life, and such the death, of a woman whose virtues
and goodness of heart would have done honor to one in a higher
station of life, and who, had she been born in any other land
but that of slavery, would have been respected and beloved.
What would have been her feelings if she could have known
that the child for whose rescue she had sacrificed herself
would one day be free, honored, and loved in another land?
CHAPTER XVII
CLOTELLE
THE curtain rises seven years after the death of Isabella.
During that interval, Henry, finding that nothing could induce
his mother-in-law to relinquish her hold on poor little Clotelle,
and not liking to contend with one on whom a future fortune depended,
gradually lost all interest in the child, and left her to her fate.
Although Mrs. Miller treated Clotelle with a degree of harshness
scarcely equalled, when applied to one so tender in years,
still the child grew every day more beautiful, and her hair,
though kept closely cut, seemed to have improved in its soft,
silk-like appearance. Now twelve years of age, and more than
usually well-developed, her harsh old mistress began to view
her with a jealous eye.
Henry and Gertrude had just returned from Washington,
where the husband had been on his duties as a member of Congress,
and where he had remained during the preceding three years
without returning home. It was on a beautiful evening,
just at twilight, while seated at his parlor window,
that Henry saw a young woman pass by and go into the kitchen.
Not aware of ever having seen the person before, he made
an errand into the cook's department to see who the girl was.
He, however, met her in the hall, as she was about going out.
"Whom did you wish to see?" he inquired.
"Miss Gertrude," was the reply.
"What did you want to see her for?" he again asked.
"My mistress told me to give her and Master Henry her compliments,
and ask them to come over and spend the evening."
"Who is your mistress?" he eagerly inquired.
"Mrs. Miller, sir," responded the girl.
"And what's your name?" asked Henry, with a trembling voice.
"Clotelle, sir," was the reply.
The astonished father stood completely amazed, looking at
the now womanly form of her who, in his happier days,
he had taken on his knee with so much fondness and alacrity.
It was then that he saw his own and Isabella's features
combined in the beautiful face that he was then beholding.
It was then that he was carried back to the days when with
a woman's devotion, poor Isabella hung about his neck
and told him how lonely were the hours in his absence.
He could stand it no longer. Tears rushed to his eyes,
and turning upon his heel, he went back to his own room.
It was then that Isabella was revenged; and she no doubt
looked smilingly down from her home in the spirit-land on
the scene below.
On Gertrude's return from her shopping tour, she found
Henry in a melancholy mood, and soon learned its cause.
As Gertrude had borne him no children, it was but natural,
that he should now feel his love centering in Clotelle,
and he now intimated to his wife his determination to remove
his daughter from the hands of his mother-in-law.
When this news reached Mrs. Miller, through her daughter, she became furious
with rage, and calling Clotelle into her room, stripped her shoulders bare
and flogged her in the presence of Gertrude.
It was nearly a week after the poor girl had been so severely whipped
and for no cause whatever, that her father learned on the circumstance
through one of the servants. With a degree of boldness unusual for him,
he immediately went to his mother-in-law and demanded his child.
But it was too late,--she was gone. To what place she had been sent
no one could tell, and Mrs. Miller refused to give any information
whatever relative to the girl.
It was then that Linwood felt deepest the evil of the institution
under which he was living; for he knew that his daughter would
be exposed to all the vices prevalent in that part of the country
where marriage is not recognized in connection with that class.
CHAPTER XVIII
A SLAVE-HUNTING PARSON
IT was a delightful evening after a cloudless day, with the setting sun
reflecting his golden rays on the surrounding hills which were covered
with a beautiful greensward, and the luxuriant verdure that forms
the constant garb of the tropics, that the steamer Columbia ran
into the dock at Natchez, and began unloading the cargo, taking in
passengers and making ready to proceed on her voyage to New Orleans.
The plank connecting the boat with the shore had scarcely been secured
in its place, when a good-looking man about fifty years of age,
with a white neck-tie, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on,
was seen hurrying on board the vessel. Just at that moment could
be seen a stout man with his face fitted with the small-pox, making
his way up to the above-mentioned gentleman.
"How do you do, my dear sir? this is Mr. Wilson, I believe,"
said the short man, at the same time taking from his mouth a large
chew of tobacco, and throwing it down on the ship's deck.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," replied the tall man.
"Why, don't you know me? My name is Jennings; I sold you a splendid negro
woman some years ago."
"Yes, yes," answered the Natchez man. "I remember you now,
for the woman died in a few months, and I never got the worth
of my money out of her."
"I could not help that," returned the slave-trader; "she was as sound
as a roach when I sold her to you."
"Oh, yes," replied the parson, "I know she was; but now I want a young girl,
fit for house use,--one that will do to wait on a lady."
"I am your man," said Jennings, "just follow me," continued he,
"and I will show you the fairest little critter you ever saw."
And the two passed to the stern of the boat to where the trader had
between fifty and sixty slaves, the greater portion being women.
"There," said Jennings, as a beautiful young woman shrunk back with modesty.
"There, sir, is the very gal that was made for you. If she had been made
to your order, she could not have suited you better."
"Indeed, sir, is not that young woman white?" inquired the parson.
"Oh, no, sir; she is no whiter than you see!"
"But is she a slave?" asked the preacher.
"Yes," said the trader, "I bought her in Richmond, and she comes
from an excellent family. She was raised by Squire Miller, and her
mistress was one of the most pious ladies in that city, I may say;
she was the salt of the earth, as the ministers say."
"But she resembles in some respect Agnes, the woman I bought from you,"
said Mr. Wilson. As he said the name of Agnes, the young woman started
as if she had been struck. Her pulse seemed to quicken, but her face
alternately flushed and turned pale, and tears trembled upon her eyelids.
It was a name she had heard her mother mention, and it brought to her
memory those days,--those happy days, when she was so loved and caressed.
This young woman was Clotelle, the granddaughter of Agnes.
The preacher, on learning the fact, purchased her, and took her home,
feeling that his daughter Georgiana would prize her very highly.
Clotelle found in Georgiana more a sister than a mistress, who,
unknown to her father, taught the slave-girl how to read, and did much
toward improving and refining Clotelle's manners, for her own sake.
Like her mother fond of flowers, the "Virginia Maid," as she was
sometimes called, spent many of her leisure hours in the garden.
Beside the flowers which sprang up from the fertility of soil unplanted
and unattended, there was the heliotrope, sweet-pea, and cup-rose,
transplanted from the island of Cuba. In her new home Clotelle found
herself saluted on all sides by the fragrance of the magnolia.
When she went with her young mistress to the Poplar Farm, as she
sometimes did, nature's wild luxuriance greeted her, wherever she
cast her eyes.
The rustling citron, lime, and orange, shady mango with its fruits
of gold, and the palmetto's umbrageous beauty, all welcomed the child
of sorrow. When at the farm, Huckelby, the overseer, kept his eye
on Clotelle if within sight of her, for he knew she was a slave,
and no doubt hoped that she might some day fall into his hands.
But she shrank from his looks as she would have done from the charm
of the rattlesnake. The negro-driver always tried to insinuate himself
into the good opinion of Georgiana and the company that she brought.
Knowing that Miss Wilson at heart hated slavery, he was ever trying
to show that the slaves under his charge were happy and contented.
One day, when Georgiana and some of her Connecticut friends were there,
the overseer called all the slaves up to the "great house," and set
some of the young ones to dancing. After awhile whiskey was brought
in and a dram given to each slave, in return for which they were
expected to give a toast, or sing a short piece of his own composition;
when it came to Jack's turn he said,--
"The big bee flies high, the little bee makes the honey:
the black folks make the cotton, and the white folks
gets the money."
Of course, the overseer was not at all elated with the sentiment
contained in Jack's toast. Mr. Wilson had lately purchased a young
man to assist about the house and to act as coachman. This slave,
whose name was Jerome, was of pure African origin, was perfectly black,
very fine-looking, tall, slim, and erect as any one could possibly be.
His features were not bad, lips thin, nose prominent, hands and feet small.
His brilliant black eyes lighted up his whole countenance.
His hair, which was nearly straight, hung in curls upon his lofty brow.
George Combe or Fowler would have selected his head for a model.
He was brave and daring, strong in person, fiery in spirit,
yet kind and true in his affections, earnest in his doctrines.
Clotelle had been at the parson's but a few weeks when it was
observed that a mutual feeling had grown up between her and Jerome.
As time rolled on, they became more and more attached to each other.
After satisfying herself that these two really loved, Georgiana advised
their marriage. But Jerome contemplated his escape at some future day,
and therefore feared that if married it might militate against it.
He hoped, also, to be able to get Clotelle away too, and it was this hope
that kept him from trying to escape by himself. Dante did not more love
his Beatrice, Swift his Stella, Waller his Saccharissa, Goldsmith his
Jessamy bride, or Burns his Mary, than did Jerome his Clotelle.
Unknown to her father, Miss Wilson could permit these two slaves to enjoy
more privileges than any of the other servants. The young mistress
taught Clotelle, and the latter imparted her instructions to her lover,
until both could read so as to be well understood. Jerome felt
his superiority, and always declared that no master should ever flog him.
Aware of his high spirit and determination, Clotelle was in constant
fear lest some difficulty might arise between her lover and his master.
One day Mr. Wilson, being somewhat out of temper and
irritated at what he was pleased to call Jerome's insolence,
ordered him to follow him to the barn to be flogged.
The young slave obeyed his master, but those who saw him
at the moment felt that he would not submit to be whipped.
"No, sir," replied Jerome, as his master told him to take off his coat:
"I will serve you, Master Wilson, I will labor for you day and night,
if you demand it, but I will not be whipped."
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