Clotelle; or The Colored Heroine

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The winds increased with nightfall, and impenetrable gloom surrounded
the ship. The prospect was too uncheering, even to persons in love.
The attention which Devenant paid to Clotelle, although she had been
registered on the ship's passenger list as his sister, caused more
than one to look upon his as an agreeable travelling companion.
His tall, slender figure and fine countenance bespoke for him
at first sight one's confidence. That he was sincerely and deeply
enamored of Clotelle all could see.

The weather became still more squally. The wind rushed through the white,
foaming waves, and the ship groaned with its own wild and ungovernable
labors, while nothing could be seen but the wild waste of waters.
The scene was indeed one of fearful sublimity.

Day came and went without any abatement of the storm.
Despair was now on every countenance. Occasionally a vivid
flash of lightning would break forth and illuminate the black
and boiling surges that surrounded the vessel, which was now
scudding before the blast under bare poles.

After five days of most intensely stormy weather, the sea settled
down into a dead calm, and the passengers flocked on deck.
During the last three days of the storm, Clotelle had been
so unwell as to be unable to raise her head. Her pale face and
quivering lips and languid appearance made her look as if every
pulsation had ceased. Her magnificent large and soft eyes,
fringed with lashes as dark as night, gave her an angelic appearance.
The unreserved attention of Devenant, even when sea-sick himself,
did much to increase the little love that the at first distrustful
girl had placed in him. The heart must always have some object
on which to centre its affections, and Clotelle having lost all hope
of ever again seeing Jerome, it was but natural that she should
now transfer her love to one who was so greatly befriending her.
At first she respected Devenant for the love he manifested for her,
and for his apparent willingness to make any sacrifice for her welfare.
True, this was an adventure upon which she had risked her all,
and should her heart be foiled in this search for hidden treasures,
her affections would be shipwrecked forever. She felt under
great obligations to the man who had thus effected her escape,
and that noble act alone would entitle him to her love.

Each day became more pleasant as the noble ship sped onward amid the
rippled spray. The whistling of the breeze through the rigging was music
to the ear, and brought gladness to the heart of every one on board.
At last, the long suspense was broken by the appearance of land,
at which all hearts leaped for joy. It was a beautiful morning in October.
The sun had just risen, and sky and earth were still bathed in his soft,
rosy glow, when the Utica hauled into the dock at Bordeaux.
The splendid streets, beautiful bridges, glittering equipages,
and smiling countenances of the people, gave everything a happy appearance,
after a voyage of twenty-nine days on the deep, deep sea.

After getting their baggage cleared from the custom-house and going
to a hotel, Devenant made immediate arrangements for the marriage.
Clotelle, on arriving at the church where the ceremony was
to take place, was completely overwhelmed at the spectacle.
She had never beheld a scene so gorgeous as this. The magnificent
dresses of the priests and choristers, the deep and solemn voices,
the elevated crucifix, the burning tapers, the splendidly decorated altar,
the sweet-smelling incense, made the occasion truly an imposing one.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, the loud and solemn peals of
the organ's swelling anthem were lost to all in the contemplation
of the interesting scene.

The happy couple set out at once for Dunkirk, the residence
of the bridegroom's parents. But their stay there was short,
for they had scarcely commenced visiting the numerous friends
of the husband ere orders came for him to proceed to India
to join that portion of the French army then stationed there.

In due course of time they left for India, passing through Paris and Lyons,
taking ship at Marseilles. In the metropolis of France, they spent a week,
where the husband took delight in introducing his wife to his brother officers
in the French army, and where the newly-married couple were introduced
to Louis Philippe, then King of France. In all of these positions,
Clotelle sustained herself in a most ladylike manner.

At Lyons, they visited the vast factories and other public works,
and all was pleasure with them. The voyage from Marseilles to
Calcutta was very pleasant, as the weather was exceedingly fine.
On arriving in India, Captain Devenant and lady were received
with honors--the former for his heroic bravery in more than
one battle, and the latter for her fascinating beauty and
pleasing manners, and the fact that she was connected with one
who was a general favorite with all who had his acquaintance.
This was indeed a great change for Clotelle. Six months had not
elapsed since her exposure in the slave-market of New Orleans.
This life is a stage, and we are indeed all actors.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE HERO OF A NIGHT

MOUNTED on a fast horse, with the Quaker's son for a guide,
Jerome pressed forward while Uncle Joseph was detaining
the slave-catchers at the barn-door, through which the fugitive
had just escaped. When out of present danger, fearing that
suspicion might be aroused if he continued on the road in open day,
Jerome buried himself in a thick, dark forest until nightfall.
With a yearning heart, he saw the splendor of the setting sun
lingering on the hills, as if loath to fade away and be lost
in the more sombre hues of twilight, which, rising from the east,
was slowly stealing over the expanse of heaven, bearing silence
and repose, which should cover his flight from a neighborhood
to him so full of dangers.

Wearily and alone, with nothing but the hope of safety
before him to cheer him on his way, the poor fugitive urged
his tired and trembling limbs forward for several nights.
The new suit of clothes with which he had provided himself
when he made his escape from his captors, and the twenty
dollars which the young Quaker had slipped into his hand,
when bidding him "Fare thee well," would enable him to appear
genteelly as soon as he dared to travel by daylight, and would
thus facilitate his progress toward freedom.

It was late in the evening when the fugitive slave arrived at a small
town on the banks of Lake Erie, where he was to remain over night.
How strange were his feelings! While his heart throbbed for that freedom
and safety which Canada alone could furnish to the whip-scarred slave,
on the American continent, his thoughts were with Clotelle.
Was she still in prison, and if so, what would be her punishment
for aiding him to escape from prison? Would he ever behold her again?
These were the thoughts that followed him to his pillow, haunted him
in his dreams, and awakened him from his slumbers.

The alarm of fire aroused the inmates of the hotel in which Jerome had sought
shelter for the night from the deep sleep into which they had fallen.
The whole village was buried in slumber, and the building was half consumed
before the frightened inhabitants had reached the scene of the conflagration.
The wind was high, and the burning embers were wafted like so many
rockets through the sky. The whole town was lighted up, and the cries
of women and children in the streets made the scene a terrific one.
Jerome heard the alarm, and hastily dressing himself, he went forth
and hastened toward the burning building.

"There,--there in that room in the second story, is my child!"
exclaimed a woman, wringing her hands, and imploring some one to go
to the rescue of her little one.

The broad sheets of fire were flying in the direction of the chamber in
which the child was sleeping, and all hope of its being saved seemed gone.
Occasionally the wind would life the pall of smoke, and show that the work
of destruction was not yet complete. At last a long ladder was brought,
and one end placed under the window of the room. A moment more and
a bystander mounted the ladder and ascended in haste to the window.
The smoke met him as he raised the sash, and he cried out, "All is lost!"
and returned to the ground without entering the room.

Another sweep of the wind showed that the destroying element had
not yet made its final visit to that part of the doomed building.
The mother, seeing that all hope of again meeting her child in this
world was gone, wrung her hands and seemed inconsolable with grief.

At this juncture, a man was seen to mount the ladder,
and ascend with great rapidity. All eyes were instantly
turned to the figure of this unknown individual as it
disappeared in the cloud of smoke escaping from the window.
Those who a moment before had been removing furniture, as well
as the idlers who had congregated at the ringing of the bells,
assembled at the foot of the ladder, and awaited with breathless
silence the reappearance of the stranger, who, regardless of his
own safety, had thus risked his life to save another's. Three
cheers broke the stillness that had fallen on the company,
as the brave man was seen coming through the window and slowly
descending to the ground holding under one arm the inanimate
form of the child. Another cheer and then another,
made the welkin ring, as the stranger, with hair burned and
eyebrows closely singed, fainted at the foot of the ladder.
But the child was saved.

The stranger was Jerome. As soon as he revived, he shrunk from every eye,
as if he feared they would take from him the freedom which he had gone
through so much to obtain.

The next day, the fugitive took a vessel, and the following
morning found himself standing on the free soil of Canada.
As his foot pressed the shore, he threw himself upon his face,
kissed the earth, and exclaimed, "O God! I thank thee that I
am a free man."

CHAPTER XXVII

TRUE FREEDOM

THE history of the African race is God's illuminated clock,
set in the dark steeple of time. The negro has been made the hewer
of wood and the drawer of water for nearly all other nations.
The people of the United States, however, will have an account
to settle with God, owing to their treatment of the negro,
which will far surpass the rest of mankind.

Jerome, on reaching Canada, felt for the first time that
personal freedom which God intended that all who bore his image
should enjoy. That same forgetfulness of self which had
always characterized him now caused him to think of others.
The thoughts of dear ones in slavery were continually in his mind,
and above all others, Clotelle occupied his thoughts.
Now that he was free, he could better appreciate her condition
as a slave. Although Jerome met, on his arrival in Canada,
numbers who had escaped from the Southern States, he nevertheless
shrank from all society, particularly that of females.
The soft, silver-gray tints on the leaves of the trees,
with their snow-spotted trunks, and a biting air,
warned the new-born freeman that he was in another climate.
Jerome sought work, and soon found it; and arranged with his employer
that the latter should go to Natchez in search of Clotelle.
The good Scotchman, for whom the fugitive was laboring,
freely offered to go down and purchase the girl,
if she could be bought, and let Jerome pay him in work.
With such a prospect of future happiness in view,
this injured descendent of outraged and bleeding Africa went
daily to his toil with an energy hitherto unknown to him.
But oh, how vain are the hopes of man!

CHAPTER XXVIII

FAREWELL TO AMERICA

THREE months had elapsed, from the time the fugitive commenced work
for Mr. Streeter, when that gentleman returned from his Southern research,
and informed Jerome that Parson Wilson had sold Clotelle, and that she
had been sent to the New Orleans slave-market.

This intelligence fell with crushing weight upon the heart of Jerome,
and he now felt that the last chain which bound him to his native
land was severed. He therefore determined to leave America forever.
His nearest and dearest friends had often been flogged in his very presence,
and he had seen his mother sold to the negro-trader. An only sister had been
torn from him by the soul-driver; he had himself been sold and resold,
and been compelled to submit to the most degrading and humiliating insults;
and now that the woman upon whom his heart doted, and without whom
life was a burden, had been taken away forever, he felt it a duty
to hate all mankind.

If there is one thing more than another calculated to make one hate and
detest American slavery, it is to witness the meetings between fugitives
and their friends in Canada. Jerome had beheld some of these scenes.
The wife who, after years of separation, had escaped from her
prison-house and followed her husband had told her story to him.
He had seen the newly-arrived wife rush into the arms of the husband,
whose dark face she had not looked upon for long, weary years.
Some told of how a sister had been ill-used by the overseer; others of a
husband's being whipped to death for having attempted to protect his wife.
He had sat in the little log-hut, by the fireside, and heard tales that
caused his heart to bleed; and his bosom swelled with just indignation
when he though that there was no remedy for such atrocious acts.
It was with such feelings that he informed his employer that he should
leave him at the expiration of a month.

In vain did Mr. Streeter try to persuade Jerome to remain with him; and late
in the month of February, the latter found himself on board a small vessel
loaded with pine-lumber, descending the St. Lawrence, bound for Liverpool.
The bark, though an old one, was, nevertheless, considered seaworthy,
and the fugitive was working his way out. As the vessel left the river
and gained the open sea, the black man appeared to rejoice at the prospect
of leaving a country in which his right to manhood had been denied him,
and his happiness destroyed.

The wind was proudly swelling the white sails, and the little
craft plunging into the foaming waves, with the land fast
receding in the distance, when Jerome mounted a pile
of lumber to take a last farewell of his native land.
With tears glistening in his eyes, and with quivering lips,
he turned his gaze toward the shores that were fast fading
in the dim distance, and said,--

"Though forced from my native land by the tyrants of the South,
I hope I shall some day be able to return. With all her faults,
I love my country still."

CHAPTER XXIX

A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND

THE rain was falling on the dirty pavements of Liverpool as Jerome left
the vessel after her arrival. Passing the custom-house, he took a cab,
and proceeded to Brown's Hotel, Clayton Square.

Finding no employment in Liverpool, Jerome determined to go into
the interior and seek for work. He, therefore, called for his bill,
and made ready for his departure. Although but four days at
the Albion, he found the hotel charges larger than he expected;
but a stranger generally counts on being "fleeced" in travelling
through the Old World, and especially in Great Britain.
After paying his bill, he was about leaving the room, when one
of the servants presented himself with a low bow, and said,--

"Something for the waiter, sir?"

"I thought I had paid my bill," replied the man, somewhat surprised
at this polite dun.

"I am the waiter, sir, and gets only what strangers see fit to give me."

Taking from his pocket his nearly empty purse, Jerome handed
the man a half-crown; but he had hardly restored it to his pocket,
before his eye fell on another man in the waiting costume.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Whatever your honor sees fit to give me, sir. I am the tother waiter."

The purse was again taken from the pocket, and another half-crown handed out.
Stepping out into the hall, he saw standing there a good-looking woman,
in a white apron, who made a very pretty courtesy.

"What's your business?" he inquired.

"I am the chambermaid, sir, and looks after the gentlemen's beds."

Out came the purse again, and was relieved of another half-crown;
whereupon another girl, with a fascinating smile, took the place
of the one who had just received her fee.

"What do you want?" demanded the now half-angry Jerome.

"Please, sir, I am the tother chambermaid."

Finding it easier to give shillings than half-crowns, Jerome handed
the woman a shilling, and again restored his purse to his pocket,
glad that another woman was not to be seen.

Scarcely had he commenced congratulating himself, however, before three men
made their appearance, one after another.

"What have *you* done for me?" he asked of the first.

"I am the boots, sir."

The purse came out once more, and a shilling was deposited
in the servant's hand.

"What do I owe you?" he inquired of the second.

"I took your honor's letter to the post, yesterday, sir."

Another shilling left the purse.

"In the name of the Lord, what am I indebted to you for?" demanded Jerome,
now entirely out of patience, turning to the last of the trio.

"I told yer vership vot time it vas, this morning."

"Well!" exclaimed the indignant man, "ask here who o'clock it is,
and you have got to pay for it."

He paid this last demand with a sixpence, regretting that he had not commenced
with sixpences instead of half-crowns.

Having cleared off all demands in the house, he started
for the railway station; but had scarcely reached the street,
before he was accosted by an old man with a broom in his hand,
who, with an exceedingly low bow, said,--

"I is here, yer lordship."

"I did not send for you; what is your business?" demanded Jerome.

"I is the man what opened your lordship's cab-door, when your lordship
came to the house on Monday last, and I know your honor won't allow
a poor man to starve."

Putting a sixpence in the old man's hand, Jerome once more started
for the depot. Having obtained letters of introduction to persons
in Manchester, he found no difficulty in getting a situation in a
large manufacturing house there. Although the salary was small,
yet the situation was a much better one than he had hoped to obtain.
His compensation as out-door clerk enabled him to employ a man to teach
him at night, and, by continued study and attention to business,
he was soon promoted.

After three years in his new home, Jerome was placed in a still higher
position, where his salary amounted to fifteen hundred dollars a year.
The drinking, smoking, and other expensive habits, which the clerks
usually indulged in, he carefully avoided.

Being fond of poetry, he turned his attention to literature.
Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," the writings of Dryden, Addison, Pope,
Clarendon, and other authors of celebrity, he read with attention.
The knowledge which he thus picked up during his leisure hours gave
him a great advantage over the other clerks, and caused his employers
to respect him far more than any other in their establishment.
So eager was he to improve the time that he determined to see how much
he could read during the unemployed time of night and morning,
and his success was beyond his expectations.

CHAPTER XXX

NEW FRIENDS

BROKEN down in health, after ten years of close confinement in his situation,
Jerome resolved to give it up, and thereby release himself from an employment
which seemed calculated to send him to a premature grave.

It was on a beautiful morning in summer that he started
for Scotland, having made up his mind to travel for his health.
After visiting Edinburgh and Glasgow, he concluded to spend
a few days in the old town of Perth, with a friend whose
acquaintance he had made in Manchester. During the second
day of his stay in Perth, while crossing the main street,
Jerome saw a pony-chaise coming toward him with great speed.
A lady, who appeared to be the only occupant of the vehicle,
was using her utmost strength to stop the frightened horses.
The footman, in his fright, had leaped from behind the carriage,
and was following with the crowd. With that self-forgetfulness
which was one of his chief characteristics, Jerome threw himself
before the horses to stop them; and, seizing the high-spirited
animals by the bit, as they dashed by him, he was dragged
several rods before their speed was checked, which was not
accomplished until one of the horses had fallen to the ground,
with the heroic man struggling beneath him.

All present were satisfied that this daring act alone had saved the
lady's life, for the chaise must inevitably have been dashed in pieces,
had the horses not been thus suddenly checked in their mad career.

On the morning following this perilous adventure, Col. G--
called at Jerome's temporary residence, and, after expressing
his admiration for his noble daring, and thanking him for having
saved his daughter's life, invited him to visit him at his
country residence. This invitation was promptly accepted
in the spirit in which it was given; and three days after,
Jerome found himself at the princely residence of the father
of the lady for whose safety he had risked his own life.
The house was surrounded by fine trees, and a sweet little
stream ran murmuring at the foot, while beds of flowers
on every hand shed their odors on the summer air.
It was, indeed, a pleasant place to spend the warm weather,
and the colonel and his family gave Jerome a most cordial welcome.
Miss G. showed especial attention to the stranger.
He had not intended remaining longer than the following day:
but the family insisted on his taking part in a fox-hunt
that was to come off on the morning of the third day.
Wishing to witness a scene as interesting as the chase usually
proves to be, he decided to remain.

Fifteen persons, five of whom were ladies, were on the ground
at the appointed hour. Miss G. was, of course, one of the party.
In vain Jerome endeavored to excuse himself from joining in the chase.
His plea of ill-health was only met by smiles from the young ladies,
and the reply that a ride would effect a cure.

Dressed in a scarlet coat and high boots, with the low,
round cap worn in the chase, Jerome mounted a high-spirited
horse, whip in hand, and made himself one of the party.
In America, riding is a necessity; in England, it is a pleasure.
Young men and women attend riding-school in our fatherland,
and consider that they are studying a science. Jerome was no rider.
He had not been on horseback for more than ten years,
and as soon as he mounted, every one saw that he was a novice,
and a smile was on the countenance of each member of the company.

The blowing of the horn, and assembling of the hounds, and finally the release
of the fox from his close prison, were the signals for the chase to commence.
The first half-mile the little animal took his course over a beautiful field
where there was neither hedge nor ditch. Thus far the chase was enjoyed
by all, even by the American rider, who was better fitted to witness the scene
than to take part in it.

We left Jerome in our last reluctantly engaged in the chase;
and though the first mile or so of the pursuit, which was over
smooth meadow-land, had had an exhilarating effect upon his mind,
and tended somewhat to relieve him of the embarrassment consequent upon
his position, he nevertheless still felt that he was far from being
in his proper element. Besides, the fox had now made for a dense
forest which lay before, and he saw difficulties in that direction
which to him appeared insurmountable.

Away went the huntsmen, over stone walls, high fences, and deep ditches.
Jerome saw the ladies even leading the gentlemen, but this could
not inspire him. They cleared the fences, four and five feet high
with perfect ease, showing they were quite at home in the saddle.
But alas for the poor American! As his fine steed came up to
the first fence, and was about to make the leap, Jerome pulled at
the bridle, and cried at the top of his voice, "Whoa! whoa! whoa!"
the horse at the same time capering about, and appearing determined
to keep up with the other animals.

Away dashed the huntsmen, following the hounds, and all
were soon lost to the view of their colored companion.
Jerome rode up and down the field looking for a gate or bars,
that he might get through without risking his neck.
Finding, however, that all hope of again catching up with the party
was out of the question, he determined to return to the house,
under a plea of sudden illness, and back he accordingly went.

"I hope no accident has happened to your honor," said the groom,
as he met our hero at the gate.

"A slight dizziness," was the answer.

One of the servants, without being ordered, went at once for
the family physician. Ashamed to own that his return was owing
to his inability to ride, Jerome resolved to feign sickness.
The doctor came, felt his pulse, examined his tongue,
and pronounced him a sick man. He immediately ordered a tepid bath,
and sent for a couple of leeches.

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