Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine

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This was too much for a white man to stand from a negro, and the
preacher seized his slave by the throat, intending to choke him.
But for once he found his match. Jerome knocked him down,
and then escaped through the back-yard to the street,
and from thence to the woods.

Recovering somewhat from the effect of his fall, the parson
regained his feet and started in pursuit of the fugitive.
Finding, however, that the slave was beyond his reach, he at once
resolved to put the dogs on his track. Tabor, the negro-catcher,
was sent for, and in less than an hour, eight or ten men, including
the parson, were in the woods with hounds, trying the trails.
These dogs will attack a negro at their master's bidding;
and cling to him as the bull-dog will cling to a beast.
Many are the speculations as to whether the negro will be
secured alive or dead, when these dogs once get on his track.
Whenever there is to be a negro hunt, there is no lack
of participants. Many go to enjoy the fun which it is said
they derive from these scenes.

The company had been in the woods but a short time ere they
go on the track of two fugitives, once of whom was Jerome.
The slaves immediately bent their steps toward the swamp,
with the hope that the dogs, when put upon their scent would
be unable to follow them through the water.

The slaves then took a straight course for the Baton Rouge
and Bayou Sara road, about four miles distant. Nearer and nearer
the whimpering pack pressed; their delusion begins to dispel.
All at once the truth flashes upon the minds of the fugitives
like a glare of light,--'tis Tabor with his dogs!

The scent becomes warmer and warmer, and what was at first an irregular
cry now deepens into one ceaseless roar, as the relentless pack presses
on after its human prey.

They at last reach the river, and in the negroes plunge, followed by
the catch-dog. Jerome is caught and is once more in the hands
of his master, while the other poor fellow finds a watery grave.
They return, and the preacher sends his slave to jail.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TRUE HEROINE

IN vain did Georgiana try to console Clotelle, when the latter heard,
through one of the other slaves, that Mr. Wilson had started
with the dogs in pursuit of Jerome. The poor girl well knew
that he would be caught, and that severe punishment, if not death,
would be the result of his capture. It was therefore with a
heart filled with the deepest grief that the slave-girl heard
the footsteps of her master on his return from the chase.
The dogged and stern manner of the preacher forbade even
his daughter inquiring as to the success of his pursuit.
Georgiana secretly hoped that the fugitive had not bee caught;
she wished it for the sake of the slave, and more especially
for her maid-servant, whom she regarded more as a companion
than a menial. But the news of the capture of Jerome soon
spread through the parson's household, and found its way
to the ears of the weeping and heart-stricken Clotelle.

The reverend gentleman had not been home more than an hour ere
some of his parishioners called to know if they should not take
the negro from the prison and execute *Lynch law* upon him.

"No negro should be permitted to live after striking a white man;
let us take him and hang him at once," remarked an elderly-looking man,
whose gray hairs thinly covered the crown of his head.

"I think the deacon is right," said another of the company;
"if our slaves are allowed to set the will of their masters
at defiance, there will be no getting along with them,--
an insurrection will be the next thing we hear of."

"No, no," said the preacher; "I am willing to let the law take its course,
as it provides for the punishment of a slave with death if he strikes
his master. We had better let the court decide the question.
Moreover, as a Christian and God-fearing people, we ought to submit
to the dictates of justice. Should we take this man's life by force,
an Allwise Providence would hold us responsible for the act."

The company then quietly withdrew, showing that the preacher
had some influence with his people.

"This," said Mr. Wilson, when left alone with his daughter,--
"this, my dear Georgiana, is the result of your kindness
to the negroes. You have spoiled every one about the house.
I can't whip one of them, without being in danger of having
my life taken."

"I am sure, papa," replied the young lady,--"I am sure I never did any thing
intentionally to induce any of the servants to disobey your orders."

"No, my dear," said Mr. Wilson, "but you are too kind to them.
Now, there is Clotelle,--that girl is completely spoiled.
She walks about the house with as dignified an air as if she
was mistress of the premises. By and by you will be sorry
for this foolishness of yours."

"But," answered Georgiana, "Clotelle has a superior mind,
and God intended her to hold a higher position in life than
that of a servant."

"Yes, my dear, and it was your letting her know that she was
intended for a better station in society that is spoiling her.
Always keep a negro in ignorance of what you conceive to be
his abilities," returned the parson.

It was late on the Saturday afternoon, following the capture
of Jerome that, while Mr. Wilson was seated in his study preparing
his sermon for the next day, Georgiana entered the room and asked
in an excited tone if it were true that Jerome was to hanged on
the following Thursday.

The minister informed her that such was the decision of the court.

"Then," said she, "Clotelle will die of grief."

"What business has she to die of grief?" returned the father,
his eyes at the moment flashing fire.

"She has neither eaten nor slept since he was captured," replied Georgiana;
"and I am certain that she will not live through this."

"I cannot be disturbed now," said the parson; "I must get my sermon
ready for to-morrow. I expect to have some strangers to preach to,
and must, therefore, prepare a sermon that will do me credit."

While the man of God spoke, he seemed to say to himself,--

"With devotion's visage, and pious actions,
We do sugar over the devil himself."

Georgiana did all in her power to soothe the feelings
of Clotelle, and to induce her to put her trust in God.
Unknown to her father, she allowed the poor girl to go every
evening to the jail to see Jerome, and during these visits,
despite her own grief, Clotelle would try to comfort her
lover with the hope that justice would be meted out to him
in the spirit-land.

Thus the time passed on, and the day was fast approaching
when the slave was to die. Having heard that some secret
meeting had been held by the negroes, previous to the attempt
of Mr. Wilson to flog his slave, it occurred to a magistrate
that Jerome might know something of the intended revolt.
He accordingly visited the prison to see if he could learn
anything from him, but all to no purpose. Having given up all
hopes of escape, Jerome had resolved to die like a brave man.
When questioned as to whether he knew anything of a conspiracy
among the slaves against their masters, he replied,--

"Do you suppose that I would tell you if I did?"

"But if you know anything," remarked the magistrate, "and will tell us,
you may possibly have your life spared."

"Life," answered the doomed man, "is worth nought to a slave.
What right has a slave to himself, his wife, or his children?
We are kept in heathenish darkness, by laws especially enacted
to make our instruction a criminal offence; and our bones,
sinews, blood, and nerves are exposed in the market for sale.

"My liberty is of as much consequence to me as Mr. Wilson's is
to him. I am as sensitive to feeling as he. If I mistake not,
the day will come when the negro will learn that he can get
his freedom by fighting for it; and should that time arrive,
the whites will be sorry that they have hated us so shamefully.
I am free to say that, could I live my life over again,
I would use all the energies which God has given me to get
up an insurrection."

Every one present seemed startled and amazed at the intelligence
with which this descendant of Africa spoke.

"He's a very dangerous man," remarked one.

"Yes," said another, "he got some book-learning somewhere,
and that has spoiled him."

An effort was then made to learn from Jerome where he had learned to read,
but the black refused to give any information on the subject.

The sun was just going down behind the trees as Clotelle
entered the prison to see Jerome for the last time.
He was to die on the next day. Her face was bent upon her hands,
and the gushing tears were forcing their way through her fingers.
With beating heart and trembling hands, evincing the deepest emotion,
she threw her arms around her lover's neck and embraced him.
But, prompted by her heart's unchanging love, she had in her
own mind a plan by which she hoped to effect the escape
of him to whom she had pledged her heart and hand.
While the overcharged clouds which had hung over the city during
the day broke, and the rain fell in torrents, amid the most
terrific thunder and lightning, Clotelle revealed to Jerome
her plan for his escape.

"Dress yourself in my clothes," said she, "and you can easily
pass the jailer."

This Jerome at first declined doing. He did not wish to place
a confiding girl in a position where, in all probability,
she would have to suffer; but being assured by the young girl that
her life would not be in danger, he resolved to make the attempt.
Clotelle being very tall, it was not probably that the jailer would
discover any difference in them.

At this moment, she took from her pocket a bunch of keys and unfastened
the padlock, and freed him from the floor.

"Come, girl, it is time for you to go," said the jailer,
as Jerome was holding the almost fainting girl by the hand.

Being already attired in Clotelle's clothes, the disguised man
embraced the weeping girl, put his handkerchief to his face,
and passed out of the jail, without the keeper's knowing
that his prisoner was escaping in a disguise and under cover
of the night.

CHAPTER XX

THE HERO OF MANY ADVENTURES

JEROME had scarcely passed the prison-gates, ere he reproached
himself for having taken such a step. There seemed to him no hope
of escape out of the State, and what was a few hours or days at most,
of life to him, when, by obtaining it, another had been sacrificed.
He was on the eve of returning, when he thought of the last words uttered
by Clotelle. "Be brave and determined, and you will still be free."
The words sounded like a charm in his ears and he went boldly forward.

Clotelle had provided a suit of men's clothes and had placed
them where her lover could get them, if he should succeed
in getting out.

Returning to Mr. Wilson's barn, the fugitive changed his apparel,
and again retraced his steps into the street. To reach the Free States
by travelling by night and lying by during the day, from a State so far south
as Mississippi, no one would think for a moment of attempting to escape.
To remain in the city would be a suicidal step. The deep sound of the escape
of steam from a boat, which was at that moment ascending the river,
broke upon the ears of the slave. "If that boat is going up the river,"
said he, "why not I conceal myself on board, and try to escape?"
He went at once to the steamboat landing, where the boat was just coming in.
"Bound for Louisville," said the captain, to one who was making inquiries.
As the passengers were rushing on board, Jerome followed them,
and proceeding to where some of the hands were stowing away bales of goods,
he took hold and aided them.

"Jump down into the hold, there, and help the men," said the mate
to the fugitive, supposing that, like many persons, he was
working his way up the river. Once in the hull among the boxes,
the slave concealed himself. Weary hours, and at last days,
passed without either water or food with the hidden slave.
More than once did he resolve to let his case be known; but the knowledge
that he would be sent back to Natchez kept him from doing so.
At last, with lips parched and fevered to a crisp, the poor man
crawled out into the freight-room, and began wandering about.
The hatches were on, and the room dark. There happened to be
on board a wedding party, and a box, containing some ofthe
bridal cake, with several bottles of port wine, was near Jerome.
He found the box, opened it, and helped himself. In eight days,
the boat tied up at the wharf at the place of her destination.
It was late at night; the boat's crew, with the single exception
of the man on watch, were on shore. The hatches were off,
and the fugitive quietly made his way on deck and jumped on shore.
The man saw the fugitive, but too late to seize him.

Still in a Slave State, Jerome was at a loss to know
how he should proceed. He had with him a few dollars,
enough to pay his way to Canada, if he could find a conveyance.
The fugitive procured such food as he wanted from one of the many
eating-houses, and then, following the direction of the North Star,
he passed out of the city, and took the road leading to Covington.
Keeping near the Ohio River, Jerome soon found an opportunity to
cross over into the State of Indiana. But liberty was a mere name
in the latter State, and the fugitive learned, from some colored
persons that he met, that it was not safe to travel by daylight.
While making his way one night, with nothing to cheer him
but the prospect of freedom in the future, he was pounced upon
by three men who were lying in wait for another fugitive,
an advertisement of whom they had received through the mail.
In vain did Jerome tell them that he was not a slave.
True, they had not caught the man they expected; but, if they could
make this slave tell from what place he had escaped, they knew
that a good price would be paid them for the negro's arrest.

Tortured by the slave-catchers, to make him reveal the name
of his master and the place from whence he had escaped,
Jerome gave them a fictitious name in Virginia, and said that his
master would give a large reward, and manifested a willingness
to return to his "old boss." By this misrepresentation,
the fugitive hoped to have another chance of getting away.
Allured with the prospect of a large sum of the needful,
the slave-catchers started back with their victim.
Stopping on the second night at an inn, on the banks of
the Ohio River, the kidnappers, in lieu of a suitable place
in which to confine their prize during the night, chained him
to the bed-post of their sleeping-chamber. The white men were
late in retiring to rest, after an evening spent in drinking.
At dead of night, when all was still, the slave arose
from the floor, upon which he had been lying, looked around
and saw that Morpheus had possession of his captors.
For once, thought he, the brandy bottle has done a noble work.
With palpitating heart and trembling limbs, he viewed his position.
The door was fast, but the warm weather had compelled them
to leave the window open. If he could but get his chains off,
he might escape through the window to the piazza.
The sleepers' clothes hung upon chairs by the bedside.
The slave thought of the padlock-key, examined the pockets,
and found it. The chains were soon off, and the negro stealthily
making his way to the window. He stopped, and said to himself,
"These men are villains; they are enemies to all who, like me,
are trying to be free. Then why not I teach them a lesson?"
He then dressed himself in the best suit, hung his own worn-out
and tattered garments on the same chair, and silently passed
through the window to the piazza, and let himself down by one
of the pillars, and started once more for the North.

Daylight came upon the fugitive before he had selected
a hiding-place for the day, and he was walking at a rapid rate,
in hopes of soon reaching some woodland or forest. The sun
had just begun to show itself, when the fugitive was astounded
at seeing behind him, in the distance, two men upon horseback.
Taking a road to the right, the slave saw before him a farmhouse,
and so near was he to it that he observed two men in front
of it looking at him. It was too late to turn back.
The kidnappers were behind him--strange men before him.
Those in the rear he knew to be enemies, while he had no idea
of what principles were the farmers. The latter also saw the white
men coming, and called to the fugitive to come that way.
The broad-brimmed hats that the farmers wore told the slave
that they were Quakers.

Jerome had seen some of these people passing up and down the river,
when employed on a steamer between Natchez and New Orleans,
and had heard that they disliked slavery. He, therefore,
hastened toward the drab-coated men, who, on his approach,
opened the barn-door, and told him to "run in."

When Jerome entered the barn, the two farmers closed the door,
remaining outside themselves, to confront the slave-catchers,
who now came up and demanded admission, feeling that they
had their prey secure.

"The can't enter my premises," said one of the Friends,
in rather a musical voice.

The negro-catchers urged their claim to the slave, and intimated that,
unless they were allowed to secure him, they would force their way in.
By this time, several other Quakers had gathered around the barn-door.
Unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most fortunately for the fugitive,
the Friends had just been holding a quarterly meeting in the neighborhood,
and a number of them had not yet returned to their homes.
After some talk, the men in drab promised to admit the hunters, provided they
procured an officer and a search-warrant from a justice of the peace.
One of the slave-catchers was left to see that the fugitive did
not get away, while the others went in pursuit of an officer.
In the mean time, the owner of the barn sent for a hammer and nails,
and began nailing up the barn-door.

After an hour in search of the man of the law, they returned with an officer
and a warrant. The Quaker demanded to see the paper, and, after looking
at it for some time, called to his son to go into the house for his glasses.
It was a long time before Aunt Ruth found the leather case, and when she did,
the glasses wanted wiping before they could be used. After comfortably
adjusting them on his nose, he read the warrant over leisurely.

"Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can't wait all day," said the officer.

"Well, will thee read it for me?" returned the Quaker.

The officer complied, and the man in drab said,--

"Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to throw no obstacles in the way
of the execution of the law of the land."

On approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in it,
in the way of their progress.

"Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale,"
said the officer.

"Please read that paper over again, will thee?" asked the Quaker.

The officer once more read the warrant.

"I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to open
my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it;
I tell thee plainly, thee can't have mine."

The implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and,
after another half-hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn.
Three hours is a long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers.
The hay is turned over, and the barn is visited in every part;
but still the runaway is not found. Uncle Joseph has a glow
upon his countenance; Ephraim shakes his head knowingly;
little Elijah is a perfect know-nothing, and, if you look
toward the house, you will see Aunt Ruth's smiling face,
ready to announce that breakfast is ready.

"The nigger is not in this barn," said the officer.

"I know he is not," quietly answered the Quaker.

"What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were afraid we
would enter?" inquired one of the kidnappers.

"I can do what I please with my own door, can't I," said the Quaker.

The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front
door and out at the back; and the reading of the warrant,
nailing up of the door, and other preliminaries of the Quaker,
was to give the fugitive time and opportunity to escape.

It was now late in the morning, and the slave-catchers were a long way
from home, and the horses were jaded by the rapid manner in which they
had travelled. The Friends, in high glee, returned to the house
for breakfast; the man of the law, after taking his fee, went home,
and the kidnappers turned back, muttering, "Better luck next time."

CHAPTER XXI

SELF-SACRIFICE

NOW in her seventeenth year, Clotelle's personal appearance presented
a great contrast to the time when she lived with old Mrs. Miller.
Her tall and well-developed figure; her long, silky black hair,
falling in curls down her swan-like neck; her bright, black eyes
lighting up her olive-tinted face, and a set of teeth that a Tuscarora
might envy, she was a picture of tropical-ripened beauty. At times,
there was a heavenly smile upon her countenance, which would have warmed
the heart of an anchorite. Such was the personal appearance of the girl
who was now in prison by her own act to save the life of another.
Would she be hanged in his stead, or would she receive a different
kind of punishment? These questions Clotelle did not ask herself.
Open, frank, free, and generous to a fault, she always thought of others,
never of her own welfare.

The long stay of Clotelle caused some uneasiness to Miss Wilson;
yet she dared not tell her father, for he had forbidden
the slave-girl's going to the prison to see her lover.
While the clock on the church near by was striking eleven,
Georgiana called Sam, and sent him to the prison in
search of Clotelle.

"The girl went away from here at eight o'clock," was the jailer's
answer to the servant's inquiries.

The return of Sam without having found the girl saddened
the heart of the young mistress. "Sure, then," said she,
"the poor, heartbroken thing has made way with herself."

Still, she waited till morning before breaking the news of Clotelle's
absence to her father.

The jailer discovered, the next morning, to his utter astonishment,
that his prisoner was white instead of black, and his first impression
was that the change of complexion had taken place during the night,
through fear of death. But this conjecture was soon dissipated;
for the dark, glowing eyes, the sable curls upon the lofty brow,
and the mild, sweet voice that answered his questions, informed him
that the prisoner before him was another being.

On learning, in the morning, that Clotelle was in jail dressed in male attire,
Miss Wilson immediately sent clothes to her to make a change in her attire.
News of the heroic and daring act of the slave-girl spread through the city
with electric speed.

"I will sell every nigger on the place," said the parson,
at the breakfast-table,--"I will sell them all, and get a new lot,
and whip them every day."

Poor Georgiana wept for the safety of Clotelle, while she felt
glad that Jerome had escaped. In vain did they try to extort
from the girl the whereabouts of the man whose escape she
had effected. She was not aware that he had fled on a steamer,
and when questioned, she replied,--

"I don't know; and if I did I would not tell you.
I care not what you do with me, if Jerome but escapes."

The smile with which she uttered these words finely illustrated
the poet's meaning, when he says,--

"A fearful gift upon they heart is laid,
Woman--the power to suffer and to love."

Her sweet simplicity seemed to dare them to lay their rough hands
amid her trembling curls.

Three days did the heroic young woman remain in prison, to be
gazed at by an unfeeling crowd, drawn there out of curiosity.
The intelligence came to her at last that the court had decided
to spare her life, on condition that she should be whipped,
sold, and sent out of the State within twenty-four hours.

This order of the court she would have cared but little for,
had she not been sincerely attached to her young mistress.

"Do try and sell her to some one who will use her well,"
said Georgiana to her father, as he was about taking his hat
to leave the house.

"I shall not trouble myself to do any such thing,"
replied the hard-hearted parson. "I leave the finding of a
master for her with the slave-dealer."

Bathed in tears, Miss Wilson paced her room in the absence
of her father. For many months Georgiana had been in a decline,
and any little trouble would lay her on a sick bed for days.
She was, therefore, poorly able to bear the loss of this companion,
whom she so dearly loved.

Mr. Wilson had informed his daughter that Clotelle was to be flogged;
and when Felice came in and informed her mistress that the poor
girl had just received fifty lashes on her bare person,
the young lady fainted and fell on the floor. The servants placed
their mistress on the sofa, and went in pursuit of their master.
Little did the preacher think, on returning to his daughter,
that he should soon be bereft of her; yet such was to be his lot.
A blood-vessel had been ruptured, and the three physicians who were
called in told the father that he must prepare to lose his child.
That moral courage and calmness, which was her great characteristic,
did not forsake Georgiana in her hour of death. She had ever been kind
to the slaves under her charge, and they loved and respected her.
At her request, the servants were all brought into her room,
and took a last farewell of their mistress. Seldom, if ever,
was there witnessed a more touching scene than this.
There lay the young woman, pale and feeble, with death stamped upon
her countenance, surrounded by the sons and daughters of Africa,
some of whom had been separated from every earthly tie, and the most
of whose persons had been torn and gashed by the negro-whip. Some
were upon their knees at the bedside, others standing around,
and all weeping.

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