Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine

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Death is a leveler; and neither age, sex, wealth, nor condition,
can avert when he is permitted to strike. The most beautiful
flowers must soon fade and droop and die. So, also, with man;
his days are as uncertain as the passing breeze. This hour
he glows in the blush of health and vigor, but the next, he may
be counted with the number no more known on earth. Oh, what a
silence pervaded the house when this young flower was gone!
In the midst of the buoyancy of youth, this cherished one had
dropped and died. Deep were the sounds of grief and mourning
heard in that stately dwelling when the stricken friends,
whose office it had been to nurse and soothe the weary sufferer,
beheld her pale and motionless in the sleep of death.

Who can imagine the feeling with which poor Clotelle received
the intelligence of her kind friend's death? The deep gashes
of the cruel whip had prostrated the lovely form of the quadroon,
and she lay upon her bed of straw in the dark cell. The speculator
had brought her, but had postponed her removal till she should recover.
Her benefactress was dead, and--

"Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed farewell."

"Is Jerome safe?" she would ask herself continually.
If her lover could have but known of the sufferings of that sweet
flower,- -that polyanthus over which he had so often been
in his dreams,--he would then have learned that she was worthy
of his love.

It was more than a fortnight before the slave-trader could take his prize
to more comfortable quarters. Like Alcibiades, who defaced the images
of the gods and expected to be pardoned on the ground of eccentricity,
so men who abuse God's image hope to escape the vengeance of his wrath
under the plea that the law sanctions their atrocious deeds.

CHAPTER XXII

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND WHAT FOLLOWED

IT was a beautiful Sunday in September, with a cloudless sky,
and the rays of the sun parching the already thirsty earth,
that Clotelle stood at an upper window in Slater's slave-pen
in New Orleans, gasping for a breath of fresh air.
The bells of thirty churches were calling the people to
the different places of worship. Crowds were seen wending
their way to the houses of God; one followed by a negro boy
carrying his master's Bible; another followed by her maid-servant
holding the mistress' fan; a third supporting an umbrella
over his master's head to shield him from the burning sun.
Baptists immersed, Presbyterians sprinkled, Methodists shouted,
and Episcopalians read their prayers, while ministers
of the various sects preached that Christ died for all.
The chiming of the bells seemed to mock the sighs and deep groans
of the forty human beings then incarcerated in the slave-pen.
These imprisoned children of God were many of them Methodists,
some Baptists, and others claiming to believe in the faith
of the Presbyterians and Episcopalians.

Oh, with what anxiety did these creatures await the close of that Sabbath,
and the dawn of another day, that should deliver them from those dismal
and close cells. Slowly the day passed away, and once more the evening
breeze found its way through the barred windows of the prison that contained
these injured sons and daughters of America.

The clock on the calaboose had just struck nine on Monday morning,
when hundreds of persons were seen threading the gates and doors
of the negro-pen. It was the same gang that had the day previous been
stepping to the tune and keeping time with the musical church bells.
Their Bibles were not with them, their prayer-books were left at home,
and even their long and solemn faces had been laid aside for the week.
They had come to the man-market to make their purchases.
Methodists were in search of their brethren. Baptists were
looking for those that had been immersed, while Presbyterians
were willing to buy fellow-Christians, whether sprinkled or not.
The crowd was soon gazing at and feasting their eyes upon the lovely
features of Clotelle.

"She is handsomer," muttered one to himself, "than the lady
that sat in the pew next to me yesterday."

"I would that my daughter was half so pretty," thinks a second.

Groups are seen talking in every part of the vast building,
and the topic on 'Change, is the "beautiful quadroon."
By and by, a tall young man with a foreign face, the curling
mustache protruding from under a finely-chiseled nose,
and having the air of a gentleman, passes by.
His dark hazel eye is fastened on the maid, and he stops
for a moment; the stranger walks away, but soon returns--
he looks, he sees the young woman wipe away the silent tear
that steals down her alabaster cheek; he feels ashamed that
he should gaze so unmanly on the blushing face of the woman.
As he turns upon his heel he takes out his white handkerchief
and wipes his eyes. It may be that he has lost a sister,
a mother, or some dear one to whom he was betrothed.
Again he comes, and the quadroon hides her face.
She has heard that foreigners make bad masters, and she shuns
his piercing gaze. Again he goes away and then returns.
He takes a last look and then walks hurriedly off.

The day wears away, but long before the time of closing the sale the tall
young man once more enters the slave-pen. He looks in every direction
for the beautiful slave, but she is not there--she has been sold!
He goes to the trader and inquires, but he is too late, and he therefore
returns to his hotel.

Having entered a military school in Paris when quite young,
and soon after been sent with the French army to India,
Antoine Devenant had never dabbled in matters of love.
He viewed all women from the same stand-point--respected them
for their virtues, and often spoke of the goodness of heart
of the sex, but never dreamed of taking to himself a wife.
The unequalled beauty of Clotelle had dazzled his eyes,
and every look that she gave was a dagger that went to his heart.
He felt a shortness of breath, his heart palpitated, his head
grew dizzy, and his limbs trembled; but he knew not its cause.
This was the first stage of "love at first sight."

He who bows to the shrine of beauty when beckoned by this
mysterious agent seldom regrets it. Devenant reproached
himself for not having made inquiries concerning the girl
before he left the market in the morning. His stay in
the city was to be short, and the yellow fever was raging,
which caused him to feel like making a still earlier departure.
The disease appeared in a form unusually severe and repulsive.
It seized its victims from amongst the most healthy of the citizens.
The disorder began in the brain by oppressive pain accompanied
or followed by fever. Fiery veins streaked the eye,
the face was inflamed and dyed of a dark dull red color;
the ears from time to time rang painfully. Now mucous secretions
surcharged the tongue and took away the power of speech;
now the sick one spoke, but in speaking had foresight of death.
When the violence of the disease approached the heart, the gums
were blackened. The sleep broken, troubled by convulsions,
or by frightful visions, was worse than the waking hours;
and when the reason sank under a delirium which had its seat
in the brain, repose utterly forsook the patient's couch.
The progress of the fever within was marked by yellowish spots,
which spread over the surface of the body. If then,
a happy crisis came not, all hope was gone. Soon the breath
infected the air with a fetid odor, the lips were glazed,
despair painted itself in the eyes, and sobs, with long
intervals of silence, formed the only language. From each side
of the mouth, spread foam tinged with black and burnt blood.
Blue streaks mingled with the yellow all over the frame.
All remedies were useless. This was the yellow fever.
The disorder spread alarm and confusion throughout the city.
On an average more than four hundred died daily.
In the midst of disorder and confusion, death heaped victims
on victims. Friend followed friend in quick succession.
The sick were avoided from the fear of contagion,
and for the same reason the dead were left unburied.
Nearly two thousand dead bodies lay uncovered in the burial-ground,
with only here and there a little lime thrown over them,
to prevent the air becoming infected. The negro, whose home
is in a hot climate, was not proof against the disease.
Many plantations had to suspend their work for want of slaves
to take the places of those who had been taken off by the fever.

CHAPTER XXIII

MEETING OF THE COUSINS

THE clock in the hall had scarcely finished striking three when
Mr. Taylor entered his own dwelling, a fine residence in Camp Street,
New Orleans, followed by the slave-girl whom he had just purchased
at the negro-pen. Clotelle looked around wildly as she passed
through the hall into the presence of her new mistress.
Mrs. Taylor was much pleased with her servant's appearance,
and congratulated her husband on his judicious choice.

"But," said Mrs. Taylor, after Clotelle had gone into the kitchen,
"how much she looks like Miss Jane Morton."

"Indeed," replied the husband, "I thought, the moment I saw
her that she looked like the Mortons."

"I am sure I never saw two faces more alike in my life,
than that girl's and Jane Morton's," continued Mrs. Taylor.

Dr. Morton, the purchaser of Marion, the youngest daughter
of Agnes, and sister to Isabella, had resided in Camp Street,
near the Taylors, for more than eight years, and the families
were on very intimate terms, and visited each other frequently.
Every one spoke of Clotelle's close resemblance to the Mortons,
and especially to the eldest daughter. Indeed, two sisters
could hardly have been more alike. The large, dark eyes, black,
silk-like hair, tall, graceful figure, and mould of the face,
were the same.

The morning following Clotelle's arrival in her new home,
Mrs. Taylor was conversing in a low tone with her husband,
and both with their eyes following Clotelle as she passed
through the room.

"She is far above the station of a slave," remarked the lady.
"I saw her, last night, when removing some books, open on and stand
over it a moment as if she was reading; and she is as white as I am.
I am almost sorry you bought her."

At this juncture the front door-bell rang, and Clotelle hurried
through the room to answer it.

"Miss Morton," said the servant as she returned to the mistress' room.

"Ask her to walk in," responded the mistress.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "just look and see
if you do not notice a marked resemblance between the countenances
of Jane and Clotelle."

Miss Morton entered the room just as Mrs. Taylor ceased speaking.

"Have you heard that the Jamisons are down with the fever?"
inquired the young lady, after asking about the health
of the Taylors.

"No, I had not; I was in hopes it would not get into our street,"
replied Mrs. Taylor.

All this while Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were keenly scrutinizing
their visitor and Clotelle and even the two young women seemed to be conscious
that they were in some way the objects of more than usual attention.

Miss Morton had scarcely departed before Mrs. Taylor began
questioning Clotelle concerning her early childhood, and became
more than ever satisfied that the slave-girl was in some way
connected with the Mortons.

Every hour brought fresh news of the ravages of the fever,
and the Taylors commenced preparing to leave town.
As Mr. Taylor could not go at once, it was determined that his wife
should leave without him, accompanied by her new maid-servant.
Just as Mrs. Taylor and Clotelle were stepping into the carriage,
they were informed that Dr. Morton was down with the epidemic.

It was a beautiful day, with a fine breeze for the time of year,
that Mrs. Taylor and her servant found themselves in the cabin of the splendid
new steamer "Walk-in-the-Water," bound from New Orleans to Mobile.
Every berth in the boat was occupied by persons fleeing from the fearful
contagion that was carrying off its hundreds daily.

Late in the day, as Clotelle was standing at one of the windows
of the ladies' saloon, she was astonished to see near her,
and with eyes fixed intently upon her, the tall young stranger
whom she had observed in the slave-market a few days before.
She turned hastily away, but the heated cabin and the want
of fresh air soon drove her again to the window.
The young gentleman again appeared, and coming to the end
of the saloon, spoke to the slave-girl in broken English.
This confirmed her in her previous opinion that he was a foreigner,
and she rejoiced that she had not fallen into his hands.

"I want to talk with you," said the stranger.

"What do you want with me?" she inquired. "I am your friend," he answered.
"I saw you in the slave-market last week, and regretted that I did not speak
to you then. I returned in the evening, but you was gone."

Clotelle looked indignantly at the stranger, and was about leaving
the window again when the quivering of his lips and the trembling
of his voice struck her attention and caused her to remain.

"I intended to buy you and make you free and happy, but I
was too late," continued he.

"Why do you wish to make me free?" inquired the girl.

"Because I once had an only and lovely sister, who died three years
ago in France, and you are so much like her that had I not known
of her death I should certainly have taken you for her."

"However much I may resemble your sister, you are aware that I
am not she; why, then, take so much interest in one whom you
have never seen before and may never see again?"

"The love," said he, "which I had for my sister is transferred to you."

Clotelle had all along suspected that the man was a knave,
and this profession of love at once confirmed her in that belief.
She therefore immediately turned away and left him.

Hours elapsed. Twilight was just "letting down her curtain and pinning it
with a star," as the slave-girl seated herself on a sofa by the window,
and began meditating upon her eventful history, meanwhile watching the white
waves as they seemed to sport with each other in the wake of the noble vessel,
with the rising moon reflecting its silver rays upon the splendid scene,
when the foreigner once more appeared near the window. Although agitated
for fear her mistress would see her talking to a stranger, and be angry,
Clotelle still thought she saw something in the countenance of the young man
that told her he was sincere, and she did not wish to hurt his feelings.

"Why persist in your wish to talk with me?" she said, as he again
advanced and spoke to her.

"I wish to purchase you and make you happy," returned he.

"But I am not for sale now," she replied. "My present mistress
will not sell me, and if you wished to do so ever so much
you could not."

"Then," said he, "if I cannot buy you, when the steamer reaches Mobile,
fly with me, and you shall be free."

"I cannot do it," said Clotelle; and she was just leaving
the stranger when he took from his pocket a piece of paper
and thrust it into her hand.

After returning to her room, she unfolded the paper, and found,
to her utter astonishment that it contained a one hundred dollar note
on the Bank of the United States. The first impulse of the girl
was to return the paper and its contents immediately to the giver,
but examining the paper more closely, she saw in faint pencil-marks,
"Remember this is from one who loves you." Another thought was to give
it to her mistress, and she returned to the saloon for that purpose;
but on finding Mrs. Taylor engaged in conversation with some ladies,
she did not deem it proper to interrupt her.

Again, therefore, Clotelle seated herself by the window,
and again the stranger presented himself. She immediately
took the paper from her pocket, and handed it to him;
but he declined taking it, saying,--

"No, keep it; it may be of some service to you when I am far away."

"Would that I could understand you," said the slave.

"Believe that I am sincere, and then you will understand me,"
returned the young man. "Would you rather be a slave than be free?"
inquired he, with tears that glistened in the rays of the moon.

"No," said she, "I want my freedom, but I must live a virtuous life."

"Then, if you would be free and happy, go with me. We shall be in Mobile
in two hours, and when the passengers are going on shore, you take my arm.
Have your face covered with a veil, and you will not be observed.
We will take passage immediately for France; you can pass as my sister,
and I pledge you my honor that I will marry you as soon as we
arrive in France."

This solemn promise, coupled with what had previously been said,
gave Clotelle confidence in the man, and she instantly determined to go
with him. "But then," thought she, "what if I should be detected?
I would be forever ruined, for I would be sold, and in all probability
have to end my days on a cotton, rice, or sugar plantation."
However, the thought of freedom in the future outweighed this danger,
and her resolve was taken.

Dressing herself in some of her best clothes, and placing her veiled
bonnet where she could get it without the knowledge of her mistress,
Clotelle awaited with a heart filled with the deepest emotions and
anxiety the moment when she was to take a step which seemed so rash,
and which would either make or ruin her forever.

The ships which Mobile for Europe lie about thirty miles down the bay,
and passengers are taken down from the city in small vessels.
The "Walk-in-the-Water" had just made her lines fast, and the
passengers were hurrying on shore, when a tall gentleman with a lady
at his side descended the stage-plank, and stepped on the wharf.
This was Antoine Devenant and Clotelle.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM

THE death of Dr. Morton, on the third day of his illness,
came like a shock upon his wife and daughters.
The corpse had scarcely been committed to its mother earth
before new and unforeseen difficulties appeared to them.
By the laws of the Slave States, the children follow
the condition of their mother. If the mother is free,
the children are free; if a slave, the children are slaves.
Being unacquainted with the Southern code, and no one
presuming that Marion had any negro blood in her veins,
Dr. Morton had not given the subject a single thought.
The woman whom he loved and regarded as his wife was,
after all, nothing more than a slave by the laws of the State.
What would have been his feelings had he known that at his death
his wife and children would be considered as his property?
Yet such was the case. Like most men of means at that time,
Dr. Morton was deeply engaged in speculation, and though
generally considered wealthy, was very much involved in
his business affairs.

After the disease with which Dr. Morton had so suddenly died
had to some extent subsided, Mr. James Morton, a brother
of the deceased, went to New Orleans to settle up the estate.
On his arrival there, he was pleased with and felt proud
of his nieces, and invited them to return with him to Vermont,
little dreaming that his brother had married a slave,
and that his widow and daughters would be claimed as such.
The girls themselves had never heard that their mother had been
a slave, and therefore knew nothing of the danger hanging
over their heads.

An inventory of the property of the deceased was made out by Mr. Morton,
and placed in the hands of the creditors. These preliminaries
being arranged, the ladies, with their relative, concluded to leave
the city and reside for a few days on the banks of Lake Ponchartrain,
where they could enjoy a fresh air that the city did not afford.
As they were about taking the cars, however, an officer arrested
the whole party--the ladies as slaves, and the gentleman upon the charge
of attempting to conceal the property of his deceased brother.
Mr. Morton was overwhelmed with horror at the idea of his nieces being
claimed as slaves, and asked for time, that he might save them from
such a fate. He even offered to mortgage his little farm in Vermont
for the amount which young slave-women of their ages would fetch.
But the creditors pleaded that they were an "extra article,"
and would sell for more than common slaves, and must therefore
be sold at auction.

The uncle was therefore compelled to give them up to the officers of the law,
and they were separated from him. Jane, the oldest of the girls, as we
have before mentioned, was very handsome, bearing a close resemblance
to her cousin Clotelle. Alreka, though not as handsome as her sister,
was nevertheless a beautiful girl, and both had all the accomplishments
that wealth and station could procure.

Though only in her fifteen year, Alreka had become strongly attached
to Volney Lapie, a young Frenchman, a student in her father's office.
This attachment was reciprocated, although the poverty of the young man
and the extreme youth of the girl had caused their feelings to be kept
from the young lady's parents.

The day of sale came, and Mr. Morton attended, with the hope
that either the magnanimity of the creditors or his own little farm
in Vermont might save his nieces from the fate that awaited them.
His hope, however, was in vain. The feelings of all present
seemed to be lost in the general wish to become the possessor
of the young ladies, who stood trembling, blushing, and weeping
as the numerous throng gazed at them, or as the intended purchaser
examined the graceful proportions of their fair and beautiful frames.
Neither the presence of the uncle nor young Lapie could at all
lessen the gross language of the officers, or stay the rude hands
of those who wishes to examine the property thus offered for sale.
After a fierce contest between the bidders, the girls were sold,
one for two thousand three hundred, and the other for two thousand
three hundred and fifty dollars. Had these girls been bought
for servants only, they would in all probability have brought
not more than nine hundred or a thousand dollars each. Here were
two beautiful young girls, accustomed to the fondest indulgence,
surrounded by all the refinements of life, and with the timidity
and gentleness which such a life would naturally produce,
bartered away like cattle in the markets of Smithfield or New York.

The mother, who was also to have been sold, happily followed her husband
to the grave, and was spared the pangs of a broken heart.

The purchaser of the young ladies left the market in triumph,
and the uncle, with a heavy heart, started for his New England home,
with no earthly prospect of ever beholding his nieces again.

The seizure of the young ladies as slaves was the result
of the administrator's having found among Dr. Morton's papers
the bill-of-sale of Marion which he had taken when he purchased her.
He had doubtless intended to liberate her when he married her,
but had neglected from time to time to have the proper papers made out.
Sad was the result of this negligence.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FLIGHT

ON once gaining the wharf, Devenant and Clotelle found
no difficulty in securing an immediate passage to France.
The fine packet-ship Utica lay down the bay, and only
awaited the return of the lighter that night to complete
her cargo and list of passengers, ere she departed.
The young Frenchman therefore took his prize on board,
and started for the ship.

Daylight was just making its appearance the next morning when
the Utica weighed anchor and turned her prow toward the sea.
In the course of three hours, the vessel, with outspread sails,
was rapidly flying from land. Everything appeared to be auspicious.
The skies were beautifully clear, and the sea calm, with a sun
that dazzled the whole scene. But clouds soon began to chase
each other through the heavens, and the sea became rough.
It was then that Clotelle felt that there was hoped of escaping.
She had hitherto kept in the cabin, but now she expressed a wish
to come on deck. The hanging clouds were narrowing the horizon
to a span, and gloomily mingling with the rising surges.
The old and grave-looking seamen shook their weather-wise
heads as if foretelling a storm.

As Clotelle came on deck, she strained her eyes in vain to catch
a farewell view of her native land. With a smile on her countenance,
but with her eyes filled with tears, she said,--

"Farewell, farewell to the land of my birth, and welcome, welcome, ye dark
blue waves. I care not where I go, so it is

'Where a tyrant never trod,
Where a slave was never known,
But where nature worships God,
If in the wilderness alone.'"

Devenant stood by her side, seeming proud of his future wife,
with his face in a glow at his success, while over his noble brow
clustering locks of glossy black hair were hanging in careless ringlets.
His finely-cut, classic features wore the aspect of one possessed
with a large and noble heart.

Once more the beautiful Clotelle whispered in the ear of her lover,--

"Away, away, o'er land and sea,
America is now no home for me."

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