CLOTEL;

OR,

THE PRESIDENT'S DAUGHTER.




PREFACE

MORE than two hundred years have elapsed since the first cargo of
slaves was landed on the banks of the James River, in the colony
of Virginia, from the West coast of Africa.  From the introduction
of slaves in 1620, down to the period of the separation of the
Colonies from the British Crown, the number had increased to five
hundred thousand; now there are nearly four million.  In fifteen
of the thirty-one States, Slavery is made lawful by the
Constitution, which binds the several States into one
confederacy.

On every foot of soil, over which Stars and Stripes wave, the
Negro is considered common property, on which any white man may
lay his hand with perfect impunity.  The entire white population
of the United States, North and South, are bound by their oath to
the constitution, and their adhesion to the Fugitive Slaver Law,
to hunt down the runaway slave and return him to his claimant,
and to suppress any effort that may be made by the slaves to gain
their freedom by physical force.  Twenty-five millions of whites
have banded themselves in solemn conclave to keep four millions of
blacks in their chains.  In all grades of society are to be found
men who either hold, buy, or sell slaves, from the statesmen and
doctors of divinity, who can own their hundreds, down to the
person who can purchase but one.

Were it not for persons in high places owning slaves, and thereby
giving the system a reputation, and especially professed
Christians, Slavery would long since have been abolished.  The
influence of the great "honours the corruption, and chastisement
doth therefore hide his head."  The great aim of the true friends
of the slave should be to lay bare the institution, so that the
gaze of the world may be upon it, and cause the wise, the prudent,
and the pious to withdraw their support from it, and leave it to
its own fate.  It does the cause of emancipation but little good
to cry out in tones of execration against the traders, the
kidnappers, the hireling overseers, and brutal drivers, so long
as nothing is said to fasten the guilt on those who move in a
higher circle.

The fact that slavery was introduced into the American colonies,
while they were under the control of the British Crown, is a
sufficient reason why Englishmen should feel a lively interest in
its abolition; and now that the genius of mechanical invention has
brought the two countries so near together, and both having one
language and one literature, the influence of British public
opinion is very great on the people of the New World.

If the incidents set forth in the following pages should add
anything new to the information already given to the Public
through similar publications, and should thereby aid in bringing
British influence to bear upon American slavery, the main object
for which this work was written will have been accomplished.


W. WELLS BROWN

22, Cecil Street, Strand, London.




CONTENTS.


MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR

THE NEGRO SALE

GOING TO THE SOUTH

THE NEGRO CHASE

THE QUADROON'S HOME

THE SLAVE MASTER

THE RELIGIOUS TEACHER

THE POOR WHITES, SOUTH

THE SEPARATION

THE MAN OP HONOUR

THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN

THE PARSON POET

A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN

A SLAVE HUNT

A FREE WOMAN REDUCED TO SLAVERY

TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE

DEATH OF THE PARSON

RETALIATION

THE LIBERATOR

ESCAPE OF CLOTEL

A TRUE DEMOCRAT

THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH

A RIDE IN A STAGE COACH

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION

DEATH IS FREEDOM

THE ESCAPE

THE MYSTERY

THE HAPPY MEETING

CONCLUSION






CHAPTER I

THE NEGRO SALE

"Why stands she near the auction stand,
   That girl so young and fair?
What brings her to this dismal place,
   Why stands she weeping there?"

WITH the growing population of slaves in the Southern States of
America, there is a fearful increase of half whites, most of
whose fathers are slaveowners and their mothers slaves.  Society
does not frown upon the man who sits with his mulatto child upon
his knee, whilst its mother stands a slave behind his chair.  The
late Henry Clay, some years since, predicted that the abolition
of Negro slavery would be brought about by the amalgamation of
the races.  John Randolph, a distinguished slaveholder of
Virginia, and a prominent statesman, said in a speech in the
legislature of his native state, that "the blood of the first
American statesmen coursed through the veins of the slave of the
South."  In all the cities and towns of the slave states, the real
Negro, or clear black, does not amount to more than one in every
four of the slave population.  This fact is, of itself, the best
evidence of the degraded and immoral condition of the relation of
master and slave in the United States of America.  In all the
slave states, the law says:--"Slaves shall be deemed, sold [held],
taken, reputed, and adjudged in law to be chattels personal in the
hands of their owners and possessors, and their executors,
administrators and assigns, to all intents, constructions, and
purposes whatsoever.  A slave is one who is in the power of a
master to whom he belongs.  The master may sell him, dispose of
his person, his industry, and his labour.  He can do nothing,
possess nothing, nor acquire anything, but what must belong to
his master.  The slave is entirely subject to the will of his
master, who may correct and chastise him, though not with unusual
rigour, or so as to maim and mutilate him, or expose him to the
danger of loss of life, or to cause his death.  The slave, to
remain a slave, must be sensible that there is no appeal from his
master."  Where the slave is placed by law entirely under the
control of the man who claims him, body and soul, as property,
what else could be expected than the most depraved social
condition?  The marriage relation, the oldest and most sacred
institution given to man by his Creator, is unknown and
unrecognised in the slave laws of the United States.  Would that
we could say, that the moral and religious teaching in the slave
states were better than the laws; but, alas! we cannot.  A few
years since, some slaveholders became a little uneasy in their
minds about the rightfulness of permitting slaves to take to
themselves husbands and wives, while they still had others
living, and applied to their religious teachers for advice; and
the following will show how this grave and important subject was
treated:--

"Is a servant, whose husband or wife has been sold by his or her
master into a distant country, to be permitted to marry again?"

The query was referred to a committee, who made the following
report; which, after discussion, was adopted:--

"That, in view of the circumstances in which servants in this
country are placed, the committee are unanimous in the opinion,
that it is better to permit servants thus circumstanced to take
another husband or wife."

Such was the answer from a committee of the "Shiloh Baptist
Association;" and instead of receiving light, those who asked the
question were plunged into deeper darkness!  A similar question
was put to the "Savannah River Association," and the answer, as
the following will show, did not materially differ from the one
we have already given:--

"Whether, in a case of involuntary separation, of such a character
as to preclude all prospect of future intercourse, the parties
ought to be allowed to marry again."

Answer:--

"That such separation among persons situated as our slaves are, is
civilly a separation by death; and they believe that, in the
sight of God, it would be so viewed.  To forbid second marriages
in such cases would be to expose the parties, not only to stronger
hardships and strong temptation, but to church-censure for acting
in obedience to their masters, who cannot be expected to
acquiesce in a regulation at variance with justice to the slaves,
and to the spirit of that command which regulates marriage among
Christians.  The slaves are not free agents; and a dissolution by
death is not more entirely without their consent, and beyond their
control than by such separation."

Although marriage, as the above indicates, is a matter which the
slaveholders do not think is of any importance, or of any binding
force with their slaves; yet it would be doing that degraded
class an injustice, not to acknowledge that many of them do
regard it as a sacred obligation, and show a willingness to obey
the commands of God on this subject.  Marriage is, indeed, the
first and most important institution of human existence--the
foundation of all civilisation and culture--the root of church
and state.  It is the most intimate covenant of heart formed
among mankind; and for many persons the only relation in which
they feel the true sentiments of humanity.  It gives scope for
every human virtue, since each of these is developed from the
love and confidence which here predominate.  It unites all which
ennobles and beautifies life,--sympathy, kindness of will and
deed, gratitude, devotion, and every delicate, intimate feeling.
As the only asylum for true education, it is the first and last
sanctuary of human culture.  As husband and wife, through each
other become conscious of complete humanity, and every human
feeling, and every human virtue; so children, at their first
awakening in the fond covenant of love between parents, both of
whom are tenderly concerned for the same object, find an image of
complete humanity leagued in free love.  The spirit of love which
prevails between them acts with creative power upon the young
mind, and awakens every germ of goodness within it.  This
invisible and incalculable influence of parental life acts more
upon the child than all the efforts of education, whether by
means of instruction, precept, or exhortation.  If this be a true
picture of the vast influence for good of the institution of
marriage, what must be the moral degradation of that people to
whom marriage is denied?  Not content with depriving them of all
the higher and holier enjoyments of this relation, by degrading
and darkening their souls, the slaveholder denies to his victim
even that slight alleviation of his misery, which would result
from the marriage relation being protected by law and public
opinion.  Such is the influence of slavery in the United States,
that the ministers of religion, even in the so-called free
states, are the mere echoes, instead of the correctors, of public
sentiment.  We have thought it advisable to show that the present
system of chattel slavery in America undermines the entire social
condition of man, so as to prepare the reader for the following
narrative of slave life, in that otherwise happy and prosperous
country.

In all the large towns in the Southern States, there is a class
of slaves who are permitted to hire their time of their owners,
and for which they pay a high price.  These are mulatto women, or
quadroons, as they are familiarly known, and are distinguished
for their fascinating beauty.  The handsomest usually pays the
highest price for her time.  Many of these women are the
favourites of persons who furnish them with the means of paying
their owners, and not a few are dressed in the most extravagant
manner.  Reader, when you take into consideration the fact, that
amongst the slave population no safeguard is thrown around
virtue, and no inducement held out to slave women to be chaste,
you will not be surprised when we tell you that immorality and
vice pervade the cities of the Southern States in a manner
unknown in the cities and towns of the Northern States.  Indeed
most of the slave women have no higher aspiration than that of
becoming the finely-dressed mistress of some white man.  And at
Negro balls and parties, this class of women usually cut the
greatest figure.

At the close of the year, the following advertisement appeared in a
newspaper published in Richmond, the capital of the state of
Virginia:--"Notice: Thirty-eight Negroes will be offered for sale
on Monday, November 10th, at twelve o'clock, being the entire
stock of the late John Graves, Esq.  The Negroes are in good
condition, some of them very prime; among them are several
mechanics, able-bodied field hands, ploughboys, and women with
children at the breast, and some of them very prolific in their
generating qualities, affording a rare opportunity to any one who
wishes to raise a strong and healthy lot of servants for their
own use.  Also several mulatto girls of rare personal qualities:
two of them very superior.  Any gentleman or lady wishing to
purchase, can take any of the above slaves on trial for a week,
for which no charge will be made."  Amongst the above slaves to be
sold were Currer and her two daughters, Clotel and Althesa; the
latter were the girls spoken of in the advertisement as "very
superior."  Currer was a bright mulatto, and of prepossessing
appearance, though then nearly forty years of age.  She had hired
her time for more than twenty years, during which time she had
lived in Richmond.  In her younger days Currer had been the
housekeeper of a young slaveholder; but of later years had been a
laundress or washerwoman, and was considered to be a woman of
great taste in getting up linen.  The gentleman for whom she had
kept house was Thomas Jefferson, by whom she had two daughters.
Jefferson being called to Washington to fill a government
appointment, Currer was left behind, and thus she took herself to
the business of washing, by which means she paid her master, Mr.
Graves, and supported herself and two children.  At the time of the
decease of her master, Currer's daughters, Clotel and Althesa,
were aged respectively sixteen and fourteen years, and both, like
most of their own sex in America, were well grown.  Currer early
resolved to bring her daughters up as ladies, as she termed it,
and therefore imposed little or no work upon them.  As her
daughters grew older, Currer had to pay a stipulated price for
them; yet her notoriety as a laundress of the first class enabled
her to put an extra price upon her charges, and thus she and her
daughters lived in comparative luxury.  To bring up Clotel and
Althesa to attract attention, and especially at balls and
parties, was the great aim of Currer.  Although the term "Negro
ball" is applied to most of these gatherings, yet a majority of
the attendants are often whites.  Nearly all the Negro parties in
the cities and towns of the Southern States are made up of
quadroon and mulatto girls, and white men.  These are democratic
gatherings, where gentlemen, shopkeepers, and their clerks, all
appear upon terms of perfect equality.  And there is a degree of
gentility and decorum in these companies that is not surpassed by
similar gatherings of white people in the Slave States.  It was at
one of these parties that Horatio Green, the son of a wealthy
gentleman of Richmond, was first introduced to Clotel.  The young
man had just returned from college, and was in his twenty-second
year.  Clotel was sixteen, and was admitted by all to be the most
beautiful girl, coloured or white, in the city.  So attentive was
the young man to the quadroon during the evening that it was
noticed by all, and became a matter of general conversation;
while Currer appeared delighted beyond measure at her daughter's
conquest.  From that evening, young Green became the favourite
visitor at Currer's house.  He soon promised to purchase Clotel, as
speedily as it could be effected, and make her mistress of her
own dwelling; and Currer looked forward with pride to the time
when she should see her daughter emancipated and free.  It was a
beautiful moonlight night in August, when all who reside in
tropical climes are eagerly gasping for a breath of fresh air,
that Horatio Green was seated in the small garden behind Currer's
cottage, with the object of his affections by his side.  And it
was here that Horatio drew from his pocket the newspaper, wet from
the press, and read the advertisement for the sale of the slaves
to which we have alluded; Currer and her two daughters being of
the number.  At the close of the evening's visit, and as the young
man was leaving, he said to the girl, "You shall soon be free and
your own mistress."

As might have been expected, the day of sale brought an unusual
large number together to compete for the property to be sold.
Farmers who make a business of raising slaves for the market were
there; slave-traders and speculators were also numerously
represented; and in the midst of this throng was one who felt a
deeper interest in the result of the sale than any other of the
bystanders; this was young Green.  True to his promise, he was
there with a blank bank check in his pocket, awaiting with
impatience to enter the list as a bidder for the beautiful slave.
The less valuable slaves were first placed upon the auction
block, one after another, and sold to the highest bidder.
Husbands and wives were separated with a degree of indifference
that is unknown in any other relation of life, except that of
slavery.  Brothers and sisters were torn from each other; and
mothers saw their children leave them for the last time on this
earth.

It was late in the day, when the greatest number of persons were
thought to be present, that Currer and her daughters were brought
forward to the place of sale.--Currer was first ordered to ascend
the auction stand, which she did with a trembling step.  The slave
mother was sold to a trader.  Althesa, the youngest, and who was
scarcely less beautiful than her sister, was sold to the same
trader for one thousand dollars.  Clotel was the last, and, as was
expected, commanded a higher price than any that had been offered
for sale that day.  The appearance of Clotel on the auction block
created a deep sensation amongst the crowd.  There she stood, with
a complexion as white as most of those who were waiting with a
wish to become her purchasers; her features as finely defined as
any of her sex of pure Anglo-Saxon; her long black wavy hair done
up in the neatest manner; her form tall and graceful, and her
whole appearance indicating one superior to her position.  The
auctioneer commenced by saying, that "Miss Clotel had been
reserved for the last, because she was the most valuable.  How
much, gentlemen?  Real Albino, fit for a fancy girl for any one.
She enjoys good health, and has a sweet temper.  How much do you
say?"  "Five hundred dollars."  "Only five hundred for such a girl
as this?  Gentlemen, she is worth a deal more than that sum; you
certainly don't know the value of the article you are bidding
upon.  Here, gentlemen, I hold in my hand a paper certifying that
she has a good moral character."  "Seven hundred."  "Ah; gentlemen,
that is something like.  This paper also states that she is very
intelligent."  "Eight hundred."  "She is a devoted Christian, and
perfectly trustworthy."  "Nine hundred."  "Nine fifty."  "Ten."
"Eleven."  "Twelve hundred."  Here the sale came to a dead stand.
The auctioneer stopped, looked around, and began in a rough
manner to relate some anecdotes relative to the sale of slaves,
which, he said, had come under his own observation.  At this
juncture the scene was indeed strange.  Laughing, joking,
swearing, smoking, spitting, and talking kept up a continual hum
and noise amongst the crowd; while the slave-girl stood with
tears in her eyes, at one time looking towards her mother and
sister, and at another towards the young man whom she hoped would
become her purchaser.  "The chastity of this girl is pure; she has
never been from under her mother's care; she is a virtuous
creature."  "Thirteen."  "Fourteen."  "Fifteen."  "Fifteen hundred
dollars," cried the auctioneer, and the maiden was struck for
that sum.  This was a Southern auction, at which the bones,
muscles, sinews, blood, and nerves of a young lady of sixteen
were sold for five hundred dollars; her moral character for two
hundred; her improved intellect for one hundred; her
Christianity for three hundred; and her chastity and virtue for
four hundred dollars more.  And this, too, in a city thronged with
churches, whose tall spires look like so many signals pointing to
heaven, and whose ministers preach that slavery is a God-ordained
institution!  What words can tell the inhumanity, the atrocity,
and the immorality of that doctrine which, from exalted office,
commends such a crime to the favour of enlightened and Christian
people?  What indignation from all the world is not due to the
government and people who put forth all their strength and power
to keep in existence such an institution?  Nature abhors it; the
age repels it; and Christianity needs all her meekness to forgive
it.  Clotel was sold for fifteen hundred dollars, but her purchaser
was Horatio Green.  Thus closed a Negro sale, at which two
daughters of Thomas Jefferson, the writer of the Declaration of
American Independence, and one of the presidents of the great
republic, were disposed of to the highest bidder!

     "O God!  my every heart-string cries,
     Dost thou these scenes behold
     In this our boasted Christian land,
     And must the truth be told?

     "Blush, Christian, blush! for e'en the dark,
     Untutored heathen see
     Thy inconsistency; and, lo!
     They scorn thy God, and thee!"



CHAPTER II

GOING TO THE SOUTH

    "My country, shall thy honoured name,
     Be as a bye-word through the world?
     Rouse! for, as if to blast thy fame,
    This keen reproach is at thee hurled;
       The banner that above the waves,
   Is floating o'er three million slaves."

DICK WALKER, the slave speculator, who had purchased Currer and
Althesa, put them in prison until his gang was made up, and then,
with his forty slaves, started for the New Orleans market.  As
many of the slaves had been brought up in Richmond, and had
relations residing there, the slave trader determined to leave
the city early in the morning, so as not to witness any of those
scenes so common where slaves are separated from their relatives
and friends, when about departing for the Southern market.  This
plan was successful; for not even Clotel, who had been every day
at the prison to see her mother and sister, knew of their
departure.  A march of eight days through the interior of the
state, and they arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, where
they were all put on board a steamer, and then speedily sailed
for the place of their destination.

Walker had already advertised in the New Orleans papers, that he
would be there at a stated time with "a prime lot of able bodied
slaves ready for field service; together with a few extra ones,
between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five."  But, like most who
make a business of buying and selling slaves for gain, he often
bought some who were far advanced in years, and would always try
to sell them for five or ten years younger than they actually
were.  Few persons can arrive at anything like the age of a Negro,
by mere observation, unless they are well acquainted with the
race.  Therefore the slave-trader very frequently carried out this
deception with perfect impunity.  After the steamer had left the
wharf, and was fairly on the bosom of the Father of Waters,
Walker called his servant Pompey to him, and instructed him as to
"getting the Negroes ready for market."  Amongst the forty Negroes
were several whose appearance indicated that they had seen some
years, and had gone through some services.  Their grey hair and
whiskers at once pronounced them to be above the ages set down in
the trader's advertisement.  Pompey had long been with the trader,
and knew his business; and if he did not take delight in
discharging his duty, he did it with a degree of alacrity, so
that he might receive the approbation of his master.  "Pomp," as
Walker usually called him, was of real Negro blood, and would
often say, when alluding to himself, "Dis nigger is no countefit;
he is de genewine artekil."  Pompey was of low stature, round
face, and, like most of his race, had a set of teeth, which for
whiteness and beauty could not be surpassed; his eyes large, lips
thick, and hair short and woolly.  Pompey had been with Walker so
long, and had seen so much of the buying and selling of slaves,
that he appeared perfectly indifferent to the heartrending scenes
which daily occurred in his presence.  It was on the second day of
the steamer's voyage that Pompey selected five of the old slaves,
took them in a room by themselves, and commenced preparing them
for the market.  "Well," said Pompey, addressing himself to the
company, "I is de gentman dat is to get you ready, so dat you
will bring marser a good price in de Orleans market.  How old is
you?" addressing himself to a man who, from appearance, was not
less than forty.

"If I live to see next corn-planting time I will either be
forty-five or fifty-five, I don't know which."

"Dat may be," replied Pompey; "But now you is only thirty years
old; dat is what marser says you is to be."

"I know I is more den dat," responded the man.

"I knows nothing about dat," said Pompey; "but when you get in de
market, an anybody axe you how old you is, an you tell 'em
forty-five, marser will tie you up an gib you de whip like smoke.
But if you tell 'em dat you is only thirty, den he wont."

"Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey axe me,"
replied the chattel.

"What your name?" inquired Pompey.

"Geemes," answered the man.

"Oh, Uncle Jim, is it?"

"Yes."

"Den you must have off dem dare whiskers of yours, an when you
get to Orleans you must grease dat face an make it look shiney."
This was all said by Pompey in a manner which clearly showed that
he knew what he was about.

"How old is you?" asked Pompey of a tall, strong-looking man.

"I was twenty-nine last potato-digging time," said the man.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Tobias, but dey call me 'Toby.'"

"Well, Toby, or Mr. Tobias, if dat will suit you better, you is
now twenty-three years old, an no more.  Dus you hear dat?"

"Yes," responded Toby.

Pompey gave each to understand how old he was to be when asked by
persons who wished to purchase, and then reported to his master
that the "old boys" were all right.  At eight o'clock on the
evening of the third day, the lights of another steamer were seen
in the distance, and apparently coming up very fast.  This was a
signal for a general commotion on the Patriot, and everything
indicated that a steamboat race was at hand.  Nothing can exceed
the excitement attendant upon a steamboat race on the Mississippi
river.  By the time the boats had reached Memphis, they were side
by side, and each exerting itself to keep the ascendancy in point
of speed.  The night was clear, the moon shining brightly, and the
boats so near to each other that the passengers were calling out
from one boat to the other.  On board the Patriot, the firemen
were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with the wood, for
the purpose of raising the steam to its highest pitch.  The blaze,
mingled with the black smoke, showed plainly that the other boat
was burning more than wood.  The two boats soon locked, so that
the hands of the boats were passing from vessel to vessel, and
the wildest excitement prevailed throughout amongst both
passengers and crew.  At this moment the engineer of the Patriot
was seen to fasten down the safety-valve, so that no steam should
escape.  This was, indeed, a dangerous resort.  A few of the boat
hands who saw what had taken place, left that end of the boat for
more secure quarters.

The Patriot stopped to take in passengers, and still no steam was
permitted to escape.  At the starting of the boat cold water was
forced into the boilers by the machinery, and, as might have been
expected, one of the boilers immediately exploded.  One dense fog
of steam filled every part of the vessel, while shrieks, groans,
and cries were heard on every hand.  The saloons and cabins soon
had the appearance of a hospital.  By this time the boat had
landed, and the Columbia, the other boat, had come alongside to
render assistance to the disabled steamer.  The killed and scalded
(nineteen in number) were put on shore, and the Patriot, taken in
tow by the Columbia, was soon again on its way.

It was now twelve o'clock at night, and instead of the passengers
being asleep the majority were ambling in the saloons.  Thousands
of dollars change hands during a passage from Louisville or St.
Louis to New Orleans on a Mississippi steamer, and many men, and
even ladies, are completely ruined.

"Go call my boy, steward," said Mr. Smith, as he took his cards
one by one from the table.  In a few moments a fine looking,
bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently about fifteen years of age,
was standing by his master's side at the table.  "I will see you,
and five hundred dollars better," said Smith, as his servant
Jerry approached the table.

"What price do you set on that boy?" asked Johnson, as he took a
roll of bills from his pocket.

"He will bring a thousand dollars, any day, in the New Orleans
market," replied Smith.

"Then you bet the whole of the boy, do you?"

"Yes."

"I call you, then," said Johnson, at the same time spreading his
cards out upon the table.

"You have beat me," said Smith, as soon as he saw the cards.
Jerry, who was standing on top of the table, with the bank notes
and silver dollars round his feet, was now ordered to descend
from the table.

"You will not forget that you belong to me," said Johnson, as the
young slave was stepping from the table to a chair.

"No, sir," replied the chattel.

"Now go back to your bed, and be up in time to-morrow morning to
brush my clothes and clean my boots, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir," responded Jerry, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Smith took from his pocket the bill of sale and handed it to
Johnson; at the same time saying, "I claim the right of redeeming
that boy, Mr. Johnson.  My father gave him to me when I came of
age, and I promised not to part with him."

"Most certainly, sir, the boy shall be yours, whenever you hand me
over a cool thousand," replied Johnson.  The next morning, as the
passengers were assembling in the breakfast saloons and upon the
guards of the vessel, and the servants were seen running about
waiting upon or looking for their masters, poor Jerry was
entering his new master's stateroom with his boots.

"Who do you belong to?" said a gentleman to an old black man, who
came along leading a fine dog that he had been feeding.

"When I went to sleep last night, I belonged to Governor Lucas;
but I understand dat he is bin gambling all night, so I don't
know who owns me dis morning."  Such is the uncertainty of a
slave's position.  He goes to bed at night the property of the man
with whom he has lived for years, and gets up in the morning the
slave of some one whom he has never seen before!  To behold five
or six tables in a steamboat's cabin, with half-a-dozen men
playing at cards, and money, pistols, bowie-knives, all in
confusion on the tables, is what may be seen at almost any time
on the Mississippi river.

On the fourth day, while at Natchez, taking in freight and
passengers, Walker, who had been on shore to see some of his old
customers, returned, accompanied by a tall, thin-faced man,
dressed in black, with a white neckcloth, which immediately
proclaimed him to be a clergyman.  "I want a good, trusty woman
for house service," said the stranger, as they entered the cabin
where Walker's slaves were kept.

"Here she is, and no mistake," replied the trader.

"Stand up, Currer, my gal; here's a gentleman who wishes to see if
you will suit him."

Althesa clung to her mother's side, as the latter rose from her
seat.

"She is a rare cook, a good washer, and will suit you to a T, I am
sure."

"If you buy me, I hope you will buy my daughter too," said the
woman, in rather an excited manner.

"I only want one for my own use, and would not need another," said
the man in black, as he and the trader left the room.  Walker and
the parson went into the saloon, talked over the matter, the bill
of sale was made out, the money paid over, and the clergyman left,
with the understanding that the woman should be delivered to him
at his house.  It seemed as if poor Althesa would have wept
herself to death, for the first two days after her mother had
been torn from her side by the hand of the ruthless trafficker in
human flesh.  On the arrival of the boat at Baton Rouge, an
additional number of passengers were taken on board; and, amongst
them, several persons who had been attending the races.  Gambling
and drinking were now the order of the day.  Just as the ladies and
gentlemen were assembling at the supper-table, the report of a
pistol was heard in the direction of the Social Hall, which caused
great uneasiness to the ladies, and took the gentlemen to that
part of the cabin.  However, nothing serious had occurred.  A man
at one of the tables where they were gambling had been seen
attempting to conceal a card in his sleeve, and one of the party
seized his pistol and fired; but fortunately the barrel of the
pistol was knocked up, just as it was about to be discharged, and
the ball passed through the upper deck, instead of the man's
head, as intended.  Order was soon restored; all went on well the
remainder of the night, and the next day, at ten o'clock, the
boat arrived at New Orleans, and the passengers went to the
hotels and the slaves to the market!


   "Our eyes are yet on Afric's shores,
  Her thousand wrongs we still deplore;
   We see the grim slave trader there;
  We hear his fettered victim's prayer;
    And hasten to the sufferer's aid,
   Forgetful of our own 'slave trade.'

   "The Ocean 'Pirate's' fiend-like form
 Shall sink beneath the vengeance-storm;
  His heart of steel shall quake before
      The battle-din and havoc roar:
 The knave shall die, the Law hath said,
 While it protects our own 'slave trade.'

    "What earthly eye presumes to scan
     The wily Proteus-heart of man?--
    What potent hand will e'er unroll
   The mantled treachery of his soul!--
     O where is he who hath surveyed
  The horrors of our own 'slave trade?'

  "There is an eye that wakes in light,
    There is a hand of peerless might;
  Which, soon or late, shall yet assail
      And rend dissimulation's veil:
     Which will unfold the masquerade
 Which justifies our own 'slave trade.'"



CHAPTER III

THE NEGRO CHASE

WE shall now return to Natchez, where we left Currer in the hands
of the Methodist parson.  For many years, Natchez has enjoyed a
notoriety for the inhumanity and barbarity of its inhabitants,
and the cruel deeds perpetrated there, which have not been
equalled in any other city in the Southern States.  The following
advertisements, which we take from a newspaper published in the
vicinity, will show how they catch their Negroes who believe in
the doctrine that "all men are created free."

"NEGRO DOGS.--The undersigned, having bought the entire pack of
Negro dogs (of the Hay and Allen stock), he now proposes to catch
runaway Negroes.  His charges will be three dollars a day for
hunting, and fifteen dollars for catching a runaway.  He resides
three and one half miles north of Livingston, near the lower
Jones' Bluff Road.

"Nov. 6, 1845."



"NOTICE.--The subscriber, Lying on Carroway Lake, on Hoe's Bayou,
in Carroll parish, sixteen miles on the road leading from Bayou
Mason to Lake Providence, is ready with a pack of dogs to hunt
runaway Negroes at any time.  These dogs are well trained, and are
known throughout the parish.  Letters addressed to me at
Providence will secure immediate attention.  My terms are five
dollars per day for hunting the trails, whether the Negro is
caught or not.  Where a twelve hours' trail is shown, and the
Negro not taken, no charge is made.  For taking a Negro,
twenty-five dollars, and no charge made for hunting.

"Nov. 26, 1847."


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.  A slave hunt took
place near Natchez, a few days after Currer's arrival, which was
calculated to give her no favourable opinion of the people.  Two
slaves had run off owing to severe punishment.  The dogs were put
upon their trail.  The slaves went into the swamps, with the hope
that the dogs when put on their scent would be unable to follow
them through the water.  The dogs soon took to the swamp, which
lies between the highlands, which was now covered with water,
waist deep: here these faithful animals, swimming nearly all the
time, followed the zigzag course, the tortuous twistings and
windings of these two fugitives, who, it was afterwards
discovered, were lost; sometimes scenting the tree wherein they
had found a temporary refuge from the mud and water; at other
places where the deep mud had pulled off a shoe, and they had not
taken time to put it on again.  For two hours and a half, for four
or five miles, did men and dogs wade through this bushy, dismal
swamp, surrounded with grim-visaged alligators, who seemed to look
on with jealous eye at this encroachment of their hereditary
domain; now losing the trail--then slowly and dubiously taking it
off again, until they triumphantly threaded it out, bringing them
back to the river, where it was found that the Negroes had
crossed their own trail, near the place of starting.  In the
meantime a heavy shower had taken place, putting out the trail.
The Negroes were now at least four miles ahead.

It is well known to hunters that it requires the keenest scent and
best blood to overcome such obstacles, and yet these persevering
and sagacious animals conquered every difficulty.  The
slaves now made a straight course for the Baton Rouge and Bayou
Sara road, about four miles distant.

Feeling hungry now, after their morning walk, and perhaps
thirsty, too, they went about half a mile off the road, and ate a
good, hearty, substantial breakfast.  Negroes must eat, as well as
other people, but the dogs will tell on them.  Here, for a moment,
the dogs are at fault, but soon unravel the mystery, and bring
them back to the road again; and now what before was wonderful,
becomes almost a miracle.  Here, in this common highway--the
thoroughfare for the whole country around through mud and through
mire, meeting waggons and teams, and different solitary
wayfarers, and, what above all is most astonishing, actually
running through a gang of Negroes, their favourite game, who were
working on the road, they pursue the track of the two Negroes;
they even ran for eight miles to the very edge of the plain--the
slaves near them for the last mile.  At first they would fain
believe it some hunter chasing deer.  Nearer and nearer the
whimpering pack presses on; the delusion begins to dispel; all at
once the truth flashes upon them like a glare of light; their
hair stands on end; 'tis Tabor with his dogs.  The scent becomes
warmer and warmer.  What was an irregular cry, now deepens into
one ceaseless roar, as the relentless pack rolls on after its
human prey.  It puts one in mind of Actaeon and his dogs.  They
grow desperate and leave the road, in the vain hope of shaking
them off.  Vain hope, indeed!  The momentary cessation only adds
new zest to the chase.  The cry grows louder and louder; the yelp
grows short and quick, sure indication that the game is at hand.
It is a perfect rush upon the part of the hunters, while the
Negroes call upon their weary and jaded limbs to do their best,
but they falter and stagger beneath them.  The breath of the
hounds is almost upon their very heels, and yet they have a vain
hope of escaping these sagacious animals.  They can run no longer;
the dogs are upon them; they hastily attempt to climb a tree, and
as the last one is nearly out of reach, the catch-dog seizes him
by the leg, and brings him to the ground; he sings out lustily
and the dogs are called off.  After this man was secured, the one
in the tree was ordered to come down; this, however, he refused
to do, but a gun being pointed at him, soon caused him to change
his mind.  On reaching the ground, the fugitive made one more
bound, and the chase again commenced.  But it was of no use to run
and he soon yielded.  While being tied, he committed an
unpardonable offence: he resisted, and for that he must be made
an example on their arrival home.  A mob was collected together,
and a Lynch court was held, to determine what was best to be done
with the Negro who had had the impudence to raise his hand
against a white man.  The Lynch court decided that the Negro
should be burnt at the stake.  A Natchez newspaper, the Free
Trader, giving an account of it says,

"The body was taken and chained to a tree immediately on the banks
of the Mississippi, on what is called Union Point.  Faggots were
then collected and piled around him, to which he appeared quite
indifferent.  When the work was completed, he was asked what he had
to say.  He then warned all to take example by him, and asked the
prayers of all around; he then called for a drink of water, which
was handed to him; he drank it, and said, 'Now set fire--I am
ready to go in peace!'  The torches were lighted, and placed in
the pile, which soon ignited.  He watched unmoved the curling flame
that grew, until it began to entwine itself around and feed upon
his body; then he sent forth cries of agony painful to the ear,
begging some one to blow his brains out; at the same time surging
with almost superhuman strength, until the staple with which the
chain was fastened to the tree (not being well secured) drew out,
and he leaped from the burning pile.  At that moment the sharp
ringing of several rifles was heard: the body of the Negro fell a
corpse on the ground.  He was picked up by some two or three, and
again thrown into the fire, and consumed, not a vestige remaining
to show that such a being ever existed."

Nearly 4,000 slaves were collected from the plantations in the
neighbourhood to witness this scene.  Numerous speeches were made
by the magistrates and ministers of religion to the large
concourse of slaves, warning them, and telling them that the same
fate awaited them, if they should prove rebellious to their
owners.  There are hundreds of Negroes who run away and live in
the woods.  Some take refuge in the swamps, because they are less
frequented by human beings.  A Natchez newspaper gave the
following account of the hiding-place of a slave who had been
captured:--

"A runaway's den was discovered on Sunday, near the Washington
Spring, in a little patch of woods, where it had been for several
months so artfully concealed under ground, that it was detected
only by accident, though in sight of two or three houses, and near
the road and fields where there has been constant daily passing.
The entrance was concealed by a pile of pine straw, representing
a hog-bed, which being removed, discovered a trap-door and steps
that led to a room about six feet square, comfortably ceiled with
plank, containing a small fire-place, the flue of which was
ingeniously conducted above ground and concealed by the straw.
The inmates took the alarm, and made their escape; but Mr. Adams
and his excellent dogs being put upon the trail, soon run down
and secured one of them, which proved to be a Negro-fellow who
had been out about a year.  He stated that the other occupant was
a woman, who had been a runaway a still longer time.  In the den
was found a quantity of meal, bacon, corn, potatoes, &c. and
various cooking utensils and wearing apparel."--Vicksburg
Sentinel, Dec. 6th, 1838.

Currer was one of those who witnessed the execution of the slave
at the stake, and it gave her no very exalted opinion of the
people of the cotton growing district.



CHAPTER IV

THE QUADROON'S HOME

   "How sweetly on the hill-side sleeps
  The sunlight with its quickening rays!
 The verdant trees that crown the steeps,
  Grow greener in its quivering blaze."

ABOUT three miles from Richmond is a pleasant plain, with here and
there a beautiful cottage surrounded by trees so as scarcely to
be seen. Among them was one far retired from the public roads,
and almost hidden among the trees.  It was a perfect model of rural
beauty.  The piazzas that surrounded it were covered with clematis
and passion flower.  The pride of China mixed its oriental looking
foliage with the majestic magnolia, and the air was redolent with
the fragrance of flowers, peeping out of every nook and nodding
upon you with a most unexpected welcome.  The tasteful hand of art
had not learned to imitate the lavish beauty and harmonious
disorder of nature, but they lived together in loving amity, and
spoke in accordant tones.  The gateway rose in a gothic arch, with
graceful tracery in iron work, surmounted by a cross, round which
fluttered and played the mountain fringe, that lightest and most
fragile of vines.  This cottage was hired by Horatio Green for
Clotel, and the quadroon girl soon found herself in her new home.

The tenderness of Clotel's conscience, together with the care her
mother had with her and the high value she placed upon virtue,
required an outward marriage; though she well knew that a union
with her proscribed race was unrecognised by law, and
therefore the ceremony would give her no legal hold on Horatio's
constancy.  But her high poetic nature regarded reality rather
than the semblance of things; and when he playfully asked how she
could keep him if he wished to run away, she replied, "If the
mutual love we have for each other, and the dictates of your own
conscience do not cause you to remain my husband, and your
affections fall from me, I would not, if I could, hold you by a
single fetter."  It was indeed a marriage sanctioned by heaven,
although unrecognised on earth.  There the young couple lived
secluded from the world, and passed their time as happily as
circumstances would permit.  It was Clotel's wish that Horatio
should purchase her mother and sister, but the young man pleaded
that he was unable, owing to the fact that he had not come into
possession of his share of property, yet he promised that when he
did, he would seek them out and purchase them.  Their first-born
was named Mary, and her complexion was still lighter than her
mother.  Indeed she was not darker than other white children.
As the child grew older, it more and more resembled its mother.
The iris of her large dark eye had the melting mezzotints, which
remains the last vestige of African ancestry, and gives that
plaintive expression, so often observed, and so appropriate to
that docile and injured race.  Clotel was still happier after the
birth of her dear child; for Horatio, as might have been
expected, was often absent day and night with his friends in the
city, and the edicts of society had built up a wall of separation
between the quadroon and them.  Happy as Clotel was in Horatio's
love, and surrounded by an outward environment of beauty, so well
adapted to her poetic spirit, she felt these incidents with
inexpressible pain.  For herself she cared but little; for
she had found a sheltered home in Horatio's heart, which the world
might ridicule, but had no power to profane.  But when she looked
at her beloved Mary, and reflected upon the unavoidable and
dangerous position which the tyranny of society had awarded her,
her soul was filled with anguish.  The rare loveliness of the
child increased daily, and was evidently ripening into most
marvellous beauty.  The father seemed to rejoice in it with
unmingled pride; but in the deep tenderness of the mother's eye,
there was an indwelling sadness that spoke of anxious thoughts and
fearful foreboding.  Clotel now urged Horatio to remove to France
or England, where both her [sic] and her child would be free, and
where colour was not a crime.  This request excited but little
opposition, and was so attractive to his imagination, that he
might have overcome all intervening obstacles, had not "a change
come over the spirit of his dreams."  He still loved Clotel; but
he was now becoming engaged in political and other affairs which
kept him oftener and longer from the young mother; and ambition
to become a statesman was slowly gaining the ascendancy over him.

Among those on whom Horatio's political success most depended was
a very popular and wealthy man, who had an only daughter.  His
visits to the house were at first purely of a political nature;
but the young lady was pleasing, and he fancied he discovered in
her a sort of timid preference for himself.  This excited his
vanity, and awakened thoughts of the great worldly advantages
connected with a union.  Reminiscences of his first love kept
these vague ideas in check for several months; for with it was
associated the idea of restraint.  Moreover, Gertrude, though
inferior in beauty, was yet a pretty contrast to her rival.  Her
light hair fell in silken ringlets down her shoulders, her blue
eyes were gentle though inexpressive, and her healthy cheeks were
like opening rosebuds.  He had already become accustomed to the
dangerous experiment of resisting his own inward convictions; and
this new impulse to ambition, combined with the strong temptation
of variety in love, met the ardent young man weakened in moral
principle, and unfettered by laws of the land.  The change wrought
upon him was soon noticed by Clotel.



CHAPTER V

THE SLAVE MARKET

  "What! mothers from their children riven!
    What! God's own image bought and sold!
         Americans to market driven,
And barter'd as the brute for gold."--Whittier.

NOT far from Canal-street, in the city of New Orleans, stands a
large two story flat building surrounded by a stone wall twelve
feet high, the top of which is covered with bits of glass, and so
constructed as to prevent even the possibility of any one's
passing over it without sustaining great injury.  Many of the
rooms resemble cells in a prison.  In a small room near the
"office" are to be seen any number of iron collars, hobbles,
handcuffs, thumbscrews, cowhides, whips, chains, gags, and yokes.
A back yard inclosed by a high wall looks something like the
playground attached to one of our large New England schools, and
in which are rows of benches and swings.  Attached to the back
premises is a good-sized kitchen, where two old Negresses are at
work, stewing, boiling, and baking, and occasionally wiping the
sweat from their furrowed and swarthy brows.

The slave-trader Walker, on his arrival in New Orleans, took up
his quarters at this slave pen with his gang of human cattle: and
the morning after, at ten o'clock, they were exhibited for sale.
There, first of all, was the beautiful Althesa, whose pale
countenance and dejected look told how many sad hours she had
passed since parting with her mother at Natchez.  There was a poor
woman who had been separated from her husband and five children.
Another woman, whose looks and manner were expressive of deep
anguish, sat by her side.  There, too, was "Uncle Geemes," with his
whiskers off, his face shaved clean, and the grey hair plucked
out, and ready to be sold for ten years younger than he was.  Toby
was also there, with his face shaved and greased, ready for
inspection.  The examination commenced, and was carried on in a
manner calculated to shock the feelings of any one not devoid of
the milk of human kindness.  "What are you wiping your eyes for?"
inquired a fat, red-faced man, with a white hat set on one side
of his head, and a cigar in his mouth, of a woman who sat on one
of the stools.  "I s'pose I have been crying."  "Why do you cry?"
"Because I have left my man behind."  "Oh, if I buy you I will
furnish you with a better man than you left.  I have lots of young
bucks on my farm."  "I don't want, and will never have, any other
man," replied the woman.  "What's your name?" asked a man in a
straw hat of a tall Negro man, who stood with his arms folded
across his breast, and leaning against the wall.  "My name is
Aaron, sir."  "How old are you?"  "Twenty-five."  "Where were you
raised?"  "In old Virginny, sir."  "How many men have owned you?"
"Four."  "Do you enjoy good health?"  "Yes, sir."  "How long did you
live with your first owner?"  "Twenty years."  "Did you ever run
away?"  "No, sir."  "Did you ever strike your master?"  "No, sir."
"Were you ever whipped much?"  "No, sir, I s'pose I did not
deserve it."  "How long did you live with your second master?"
"Ten years, sir."  "Have you a good appetite?"  "Yes, sir."  "Can
you eat your allowance?"  "Yes, sir, when I can get it."  "What were
you employed at in Virginia?"  "I worked in de terbacar feel."  "In
the tobacco field?"  "Yes, sir."  "How old did you say you were?"
"I will be twenty-five if I live to see next sweet potater digging
time."  "I am a cotton planter, and if I buy you, you will have to
work in the cotton field.  My men pick one hundred and fifty
pounds a day, and the women one hundred and forty, and those who
fail to pick their task receive five stripes from the cat for
each pound that is wanting.  Now, do you think you could keep up
with the rest of the bands?"  "I don't know, sir, I 'spec I'd have
to."  "How long did you live with your third master?"  "Three
years, sir."  "Why, this makes you thirty-three, I thought you told
me you was only twenty five?"  Aaron now looked first at the
planter, then at the trader, and seemed perfectly bewildered.  He
had forgotten the lesson given him by Pompey as to his age, and
the planter's circuitous talk (doubtless to find out the slave's
real age) had the Negro off his guard.  "I must see your back, so
as to know how much you have been whipped, before I think of
buying," said the planter.  Pompey, who had been standing by
during the examination, thought that his services were now
required, and stepping forward with a degree of officiousness,
said to Aaron, "Don't you hear de gentman tell you he want to
zamon your limbs.  Come, unharness yeself, old boy, an don't be
standing dar."  Aaron was soon examined and pronounced "sound";
yet the conflicting statement about the age was not satisfactory.

Fortunate for Althesa she was spared the pain of undergoing such
an examination.  Mr. Crawford, a teller in one of the banks, had
just been married, and wanted a maid-servant for his wife; and
passing through the market in the early part of the day, was
pleased with the young slave's appearance and purchased her, and
in his dwelling the quadroon found a much better home than often
falls to the lot of a slave sold in the New Orleans market.  The
heartrending and cruel traffic in slaves which has been so often
described, is not confined to any particular class of persons.  No
one forfeits his or her character or standing in society, by
buying or selling slaves; or even raising slaves for the market.
The precise number of slaves carried from the slave-raising to the
slave-consuming states, we have no means of knowing.  But it must
be very great, as more than forty thousand were sold and taken
out of the state of Virginia in one year.  Known to God only is
the amount of human agony and suffering which sends its cry from
the slave markets and Negro pens, unheard and unheeded by man, up
to his ear; mothers weeping for their children, breaking the
night-silence with the shrieks of their breaking hearts.  From
some you will hear the burst of bitter lamentation, while from
others the loud hysteric laugh, denoting still deeper agony.
Most of them leave the market for cotton or rice plantations,

 "Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
     Where the noisome insect stings,
       Where the fever demon-strews
      Poison with the falling dews,
     Where the sickly sunbeams glare
     Through the hot and misty air."



CHAPTER VI

THE RELIGIOUS TEACHER

        "What! preach and enslave men?
 Give thanks--and rob thy own afflicted poor?
    Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then
  Bolt hard the captive's door."--Whittier.

THE Rev. John Peck was a native of the state of Connecticut, where
he was educated for the ministry, in the Methodist persuasion.
His father was a strict follower of John Wesley, and spared no
pains in his son's education, with the hope that he would one day
be as renowned as the great leader of his sect.  John had scarcely
finished his education at New Haven, when he was invited by an
uncle, then on a visit to his father, to spend a few months at
Natchez in the state of Mississippi.  Young Peck accepted his
uncle's invitation, and accompanied him to the South.  Few young
men, and especially clergymen, going fresh from a college to the
South, but are looked upon as geniuses in a small way, and who
are not invited to all the parties in the neighbourhood.  Mr. Peck
was not an exception to this rule.  The society into which he was
thrown on his arrival at Natchez was too brilliant for him not to
be captivated by it; and, as might have been expected, he
succeeded in captivating a plantation with seventy slaves, if not
the heart of the lady to whom it belonged.  Added to this, he
became a popular preacher, had a large congregation with a snug
salary.  Like other planters, Mr. Peck confided the care of his
farm to Ned Huckelby, an overseer of high reputation in his
way.  The Poplar Farm, as it was called, was situated in a
beautiful valley nine miles from Natchez, and near the river
Mississippi.  The once unshorn face of nature had given way, and
now the farm blossomed with a splendid harvest, the neat cottage
stood in a grove where Lombardy poplars lift their tufted tops
almost to prop the skies; the willow, locust, and horse-chestnut
spread their branches, and flowers never cease to blossom.  This
was the parson's country house, where the family spent only two
months during the year.

The town residence was a fine villa, seated upon the brow of a
hill at the edge of the city.  It was in the kitchen of this house
that Currer found her new home.  Mr. Peck was, every inch of him,
a democrat, and early resolved that his "people," as he called his
slaves, should be well fed and not overworked, and therefore laid
down the law and gospel to the overseer as well as the slaves.

"It is my wish," said he to Mr. Carlton, an old school-fellow, who
was spending a few days with him, "it is my wish that a new
system be adopted on the plantations in this estate.  I believe
that the sons of Ham should have the gospel, and I intend that my
Negroes shall.  The gospel is calculated to make mankind better,
and none should be without it."  "What say you," replied Carlton,
"about the right of man to his liberty?"  "Now, Carlton, you have
begun again to harp about man's rights; I really wish you could
see this matter as I do.  I have searched in vain for any authority
for man's natural rights; if he had any, they existed before the
fall.  That is, Adam and Eve may have had some rights which God
gave them, and which modern philosophy, in its pretended reverence
for the name of God, prefers to call natural rights.  I can
imagine they had the right to eat of the fruit of the trees of
the garden; they were restricted even in this by the
prohibition of one.  As far as I know without positive assertion,
their liberty of action was confined to the garden.  These were
not 'inalienable rights,' however, for they forfeited both them
and life with the first act of disobedience.  Had they, after
this, any rights?  We cannot imagine them; they were condemned
beings; they could have no rights, but by Christ's gift as king.
These are the only rights man can have as an independent isolated
being, if we choose to consider him in this impossible position,
in which so many theorists have placed him.  If he had no rights,
he could suffer no wrongs.  Rights and wrongs are therefore
necessarily the creatures of society, such as man would establish
himself in his gregarious state.  They are, in this state, both
artificial and voluntary.  Though man has no rights, as thus
considered, undoubtedly he has the power, by such arbitrary rules
of right and wrong as his necessity enforces."  "I regret I cannot
see eye to eye with you," said Carlton.  "I am a disciple of
Rousseau, and have for years made the rights of man my study; and
I must confess to you that I can see no difference between white
men and black men as it regards liberty."  "Now, my dear Carlton,
would you really have the Negroes enjoy the same rights with
ourselves?"  "I would, most certainly.  Look at our great
Declaration of Independence; look even at the constitution of our
own Connecticut, and see what is said in these about liberty."  "I
regard all this talk about rights as mere humbug.  The Bible is
older than the Declaration of Independence, and there I take my
stand.  The Bible furnishes to us the armour of proof, weapons of
heavenly temper and mould, whereby we can maintain our ground
against all attacks.  But this is true only when we obey its
directions, as well as employ its sanctions.  Our rights
are there established, but it is always in connection with our
duties.  If we neglect the one we cannot make good the other.  Our
domestic institutions can be maintained against the world, if we
but allow Christianity to throw its broad shield over them.  But
if we so act as to array the Bible against our social economy,
they must fall.  Nothing ever yet stood long against Christianity.
Those who say that religious instruction is inconsistent with our
peculiar civil polity, are the worst enemies of that polity.  They
would drive religious men from its defence.  Sooner or later, if
these views prevail, they will separate the religious portion of
our community from the rest, and thus divided we shall become an
easy prey.  Why, is it not better that Christian men should hold
slaves than unbelievers?  We know how to value the bread of life,
and will not keep it from our slaves."

"Well, every one to his own way of thinking," said Carlton, as he
changed his position.  "I confess," added he, "that I am no great
admirer of either the Bible or slavery.  My heart is my guide: my
conscience is my Bible.  I wish for nothing further to satisfy me
of my duty to man.  If I act rightly to mankind, I shall fear
nothing."  Carlton had drunk too deeply of the bitter waters of
infidelity, and had spent too many hours over the writings of
Rousseau, Voltaire, and Thomas Paine, to place that appreciation
upon the Bible and its teachings that it demands.  During this
conversation there was another person in the room, seated by the
window, who, although at work upon a fine piece of lace, paid
every attention to what was said.  This was Georgiana, the only
daughter of the parson.  She had just returned from Connecticut,
where she had finished her education.  She had had the opportunity
of contrasting the spirit of Christianity and liberty in New
England with that of slavery in her native state, and had
learned to feel deeply for the injured Negro.  Georgiana was in
her nineteenth year, and had been much benefited by a residence
of five years at the North.  Her form was tall and graceful; her
features regular and well defined; and her complexion was
illuminated by the freshness of youth, beauty, and health.  The
daughter differed from both the father and his visitor upon the
subject which they had been discussing, and as soon as an
opportunity offered, she gave it as her opinion, that the Bible
was both the bulwark of Christianity and of liberty.  With a smile
she said, "Of course, papa will overlook my differing from him,
for although I am a native of the South, I am by education and
sympathy, a Northerner."  Mr. Peck laughed and appeared pleased,
rather than otherwise, at the manner in which his daughter had
expressed herself.

From this Georgiana took courage and said, "We must try the
character of slavery, and our duty in regard to it, as we should
try any other question of character and duty.  To judge justly of
the character of anything, we must know what it does.  That which
is good does good, and that which is evil does evil.  And as to
duty, God's designs indicate his claims.  That which accomplishes
the manifest design of God is right; that which counteracts it,
wrong.  Whatever, in its proper tendency and general effect,
produces, secures, or extends human welfare, is according to the
will of God, and is good; and our duty is to favour and promote,
according to our power, that which God favours and promotes by
the general law of his providence.  On the other hand, whatever in
its proper tendency and general effect destroys, abridges, or
renders insecure, human welfare, is opposed to God's will, and is
evil.  And as whatever accords with the will of God, in any
manifestation of it should be done and persisted in, so
whatever opposes that will should not be done, and if done, should
be abandoned.  Can that then be right, be well doing--can that obey
God's behest, which makes a man a slave? which dooms him and all
his posterity, in limitless Generations, to bondage, to unrequited
toil through life?  'Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.'
This single passage of Scripture should cause us to have respect
to the rights of the slave.  True Christian love is of an
enlarged, disinterested nature.  It loves all who love the Lord
Jesus Christ in sincerity, without regard to colour or condition."
"Georgiana, my dear, you are an abolitionist; your talk is
fanaticism," said Mr. Peck in rather a sharp tone; but the
subdued look of the girl, and the presence of Carlton, caused the
father to soften his language.  Mr. Peck having lost his wife by
consumption, and Georgiana being his only child, he loved her too
dearly to say more, even if he felt displeased.  A silence followed
this exhortation from the young Christian.  But her remarks had
done a noble work.  The father's heart was touched; and the
sceptic, for the first time, was viewing Christianity in its true
light.

"I think I must go out to your farm," said Carlton, as if to break
the silence.  "I shall be pleased to have you go," returned Mr.
Peck. "I am sorry I can't go myself, but Huckelby will show you
every attention; and I feel confident that when you return to
Connecticut, you will do me the justice to say, that I am one who
looks after my people, in a moral, social, and religious point of
view."  "Well, what do you say to my spending next Sunday there?"
"Why, I think that a good move; you will then meet with Snyder,
our missionary."  "Oh, you have missionaries in these parts, have
you?"  "Yes," replied Mr. Peck; "Snyder is from New York, and is
our missionary to the poor, and preaches to our 'people' on
Sunday; you will no doubt like him; he is a capital
fellow."  "Then I shall go," said Carlton, "but only wish I had
company."  This last remark was intended for Miss Peck, for whom
he had the highest admiration.

It was on a warm Sunday morning, in the month of May, that Miles
Carlton found himself seated beneath a fine old apple tree, whose
thick leaves entirely shaded the ground for some distance round.
Under similar trees and near by, were gathered together all the
"people" belonging to the plantation.  Hontz Snyder was a man of
about forty years of age, exceedingly low in stature, but of a
large frame.  He had been brought up in the Mohawk Valley, in the
state of New York, and claimed relationship with the oldest Dutch
families in that vicinity.  He had once been a sailor, and had all
the roughness of character that a sea-faring man might expect to
possess; together with the half-Yankee, half-German peculiarities
of the people of the Mohawk Valley.  It was nearly eleven o'clock
when a one-horse waggon drove up in haste, and the low squatty
preacher got out and took his place at the foot of one of the
trees, where a sort of rough board table was placed, and took his
books from his pocket and commenced.

"As it is rather late," said he, "we will leave the singing and
praying for the last, and take our text, and commence
immediately.  I shall base my remarks on the following passage of
Scripture, and hope to have that attention which is due to the
cause of God:--'All things whatsoever ye would that men should do
unto you, do ye even so unto them'; that is, do by all mankind
just as you would desire they should do by you, if you were in
their place and they in yours.

"Now, to suit this rule to your particular circumstances, suppose
you were masters and mistresses, and had servants under you, would
you not desire that your servants should do their business
faithfully and honestly, as well when your back was turned as while
you were looking over them?  Would you not expect that they should
take notice of what you said to them? that they should behave
themselves with respect towards you and yours, and be as careful of
everything belonging to you as you would be yourselves?  You are
servants: do, therefore, as you would wish to be done by, and you
will be both good servants to your masters and good servants to God,
who requires this of you, and will reward you well for it, if you do
it for the sake of conscience, in obedience to his commands.

"You are not to be eye-servants.  Now, eye-servants are such as
will work hard, and seem mighty diligent, while they think
anybody is taking notice of them; but, when their masters' and
mistresses' backs are turned they are idle, and neglect their
business.  I am afraid there are a great many such eye-servants
among you, and that you do not consider how great a sin it is to
be so, and how severely God will punish you for it.  You may easily
deceive your owners, and make them have an opinion of you that
you do not deserve, and get the praise of men by it; but remember
that you cannot deceive Almighty God, who sees your wickedness
and deceit, and will punish you accordingly.  For the rule is,
that you must obey your masters in all things, and do the work
they set you about with fear and trembling, in singleness of
heart as unto Christ; not with eye-service, as men-pleasers, but
as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart;
with good-will doing service as to the Lord, and not as to men.

"Take care that you do not fret or murmur, grumble or repine at
your condition; for this will not only make your life
uneasy, but will greatly offend Almighty God.  Consider that it
is not yourselves, it is not the people that you belong to, it is
not the men who have brought you to it, but it is the will of God
who hath by his providence made you servants, because, no doubt,
he knew that condition would be best for you in this world, and
help you the better towards heaven, if you would but do your duty
in it.  So that any discontent at your not being free, or rich, or
great, as you see some others, is quarrelling with your heavenly
Master, and finding fault with God himself, who hath made you
what you are, and hath promised you as large a share in the
kingdom of heaven as the greatest man alive, if you will but
behave yourself aright, and do the business he hath set you about
in this world honestly and cheerfully.  Riches and power have
proved the ruin of many an unhappy soul, by drawing away the
heart and affections from God, and fixing them on mean and sinful
enjoyments; so that, when God, who knows our hearts better than
we know them ourselves, sees that they would be hurtful to us,
and therefore keeps them from us, it is the greatest mercy and
kindness he could show us.

"You may perhaps fancy that, if you had riches and freedom, you
could do your duty to God and man with greater pleasure than you
can now.  But pray consider that, if you can but save your souls
through the mercy of God, you will have spent your time to the
best of purposes in this world; and he that at last can get to
heaven has performed a noble journey, let the road be ever so
rugged and difficult.  Besides, you really have a great advantage
over most white people, who have not only the care of their daily
labour upon their hands, but the care of looking forward and
providing necessaries for to-morrow and next day, and of clothing
and bringing up their children, and of getting food and raiment
for as many of you as belong to their families, which
often puts them to great difficulties, and distracts their minds
so as to break their rest, and take off their thoughts from the
affairs of another world.  Whereas you are quite eased from all
these cares, and have nothing but your daily labour to look
after, and, when that is done, take your needful rest. Neither is
it necessary for you to think of laying up anything against old
age, as white people are obliged to do; for the laws of the
country have provided that you shall not be turned off when you
are past labour, but shall be maintained, while you live, by
those you belong to, whether you are able to work or not.

"There is only one circumstance which may appear grievous, that I
shall now take notice of, and that is correction.

"Now, when correction is given you, you either deserve it, or you
do not deserve it. But whether you really deserve it or not, it
is your duty, and Almighty God requires that you bear it
patiently.  You may perhaps think that this is hard doctrine; but,
if you consider it right, you must needs think otherwise of it.
Suppose, then, that you deserve correction, you cannot but say
that it is just and right you should meet with it.  Suppose you do
not, or at least you do not deserve so much, or so severe a
correction, for the fault you have committed, you perhaps have
escaped a great many more, and are at last paid for all.  Or
suppose you are quite innocent of what is laid to your charge,
and suffer wrongfully in that particular thing, is it not possible
you may have done some other bad thing which was never
discovered, and that Almighty God who saw you doing it would not
let you escape without punishment one time or another?  And ought
you not, in such a case, to give glory to him, and be thankful
that he would rather punish you in this life for your
wickedness than destroy your souls for it in the next
life?  But suppose even this was not the case (a case hardly to be
imagined), and that you have by no means, known or unknown,
deserved the correction you suffered, there is this great comfort
in it, that, if you bear it patiently, and leave your cause in
the hands of God, he will reward you for it in heaven, and the
punishment you suffer unjustly here shall turn to your exceeding
great glory hereafter.

"Lastly, you should serve your masters faithfully, because of
their goodness to you.  See to what trouble they have been on your
account.  Your fathers were poor ignorant and barbarous creatures
in Africa, and the whites fitted out ships at great trouble and
expense and brought you from that benighted land to Christian
America, where you can sit under your own vine and fig tree and
no one molest or make you afraid.  Oh, my dear black brothers and
sisters, you are indeed a fortunate and a blessed people.  Your
masters have many troubles that you know nothing about.  If the
banks break, your masters are sure to lose something.  If the
crops turn out poor, they lose by it.  If one of you die, your
master loses what he paid for you, while you lose nothing.  Now let
me exhort you once more to be faithful."

Often during the delivery of the sermon did Snyder cast an anxious
look in the direction where Carlton was seated; no doubt to see
if he had found favour with the stranger.  Huckelby, the
overseer, was also there, seated near Carlton.  With all Snyder's
gesticulations, sonorous voice, and occasionally bringing his
fist down upon the table with the force of a sledge hammer, he
could not succeed in keeping the Negroes all interested: four or
five were fast asleep, leaning against the trees; as many more
were nodding, while not a few were stealthily cracking, and
eating hazelnuts.  "Uncle Simon, you may strike up a
hymn," said the preacher as he closed his Bible.  A moment more,
and the whole company (Carlton excepted) had joined in the well
known hymn, commencing with

     "When I can read my title clear
         To mansions in the sky."

After the singing, Sandy closed with prayer, and the following
questions and answers read, and the meeting was brought to a
close.

"Q. What command has God given to servants concerning obedience to
their masters?--A. 'Servants, obey in all things your masters
according to the flesh, not with eye-service as men-pleasers,
but in singleness of heart, fearing God.'

"Q. What does God mean by masters according to the flesh?--A.
'Masters in this world.'

"Q. What are servants to count their masters worthy of?-- A. 'All
honour.'

"Q. How are they to do the service of their masters?--A. 'With good
will, doing service as unto the Lord, and not unto men.'

"Q. How are they to try to please their masters?--A. 'Please him
well in all things, not answering again.'

"Q. Is a servant who is an eye-servant to his earthly master an
eye-servant to his heavenly master?--A. 'Yes.'

"Q. Is it right in a servant, when commanded to do any thing, to
be sullen and slow, and answer his master again?--A. 'No.'

"Q. If the servant professes to be a Christian, ought he not to be
as a Christian servant, an example to all other servants of love
and obedience to his master?--A. 'Yes.'

"Q. And, should his master be a Christian also, ought he not on
that account specially to love and obey him?--A. 'Yes.'

"Q. But suppose the master is hard to please, and threatens and
punishes more than he ought, what is the servant to do?--A. 'Do
his best to please him.'

"Q. When the servant suffers wrongfully at the hands of his
master, and, to please God, takes it patiently, will God reward
him for it?--A. 'Yes.'

"Q. Is it right for the servant to run away, or is it right to
harbour a runaway?--A. 'No.'

"Q. If a servant runs away, what should be done with him?--A. 'He
should be caught and brought back.'

"Q. When he is brought back, what should be done with him?--
A. 'Whip him well.'

"Q. Why may not the whites be slaves as well as the blacks?--
A. 'Because the Lord intended the Negroes for slaves.'

"Q. Are they better calculated for servants than the whites?--
A. 'Yes, their hands are large, the skin thick and tough, and they
can stand the sun better than the whites.'

"Q. Why should servants not complain when they are whipped?--
A. 'Because the Lord has commanded that they should be whipped.'

"Q. Where has He commanded it?--A. 'He says, He that knoweth his
master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many
stripes.'

"Q. Then is the master to blame for whipping his servant?--A. 'Oh,
no! he is only doing his duty as a Christian.'"

Snyder left the ground in company with Carlton and Huckelby, and
the three dined together in the overseer's dwelling.  "Well," said
Joe, after the three white men were out of hearing, "Marser
Snyder bin try hesef to-day."  "Yes," replied Ned; "he want to show
de strange gentman how good he can preach."  "Dat's a new sermon
he gib us to-day," said Sandy.  "Dees white fokes is de very
dibble," said Dick; "and all dey whole study is to try to fool de
black people."  "Didn't you like de sermon?" asked Uncle Simon.
"No," answered four or five voices.  "He rared and pitched enough,"
continued Uncle Simon.

Now Uncle Simon was himself a preacher, or at least he thought so,
and was rather pleased than otherwise, when he heard others
spoken of in a disparaging manner.  "Uncle Simon can beat dat
sermon all to pieces," said Ned, as he was filling his
mouth with hazelnuts.  "I got no notion of dees white fokes, no
how," returned Aunt Dafney.  "Dey all de time tellin' dat de Lord
made us for to work for dem, and I don't believe a word of it."
"Marser Peck give dat sermon to Snyder, I know," said Uncle
Simon.  "He jest de one for dat," replied Sandy.  "I think de people
dat made de Bible was great fools," said Ned.  "Why?" Uncle Simon.
"'Cause dey made such a great big book and put nuttin' in it, but
servants obey yer masters."  "Oh," replied Uncle Simon, "thars more
in de Bible den dat, only Snyder never reads any other part to
us; I use to hear it read in Maryland, and thar was more den what
Snyder lets us hear."  In the overseer's house there was another
scene going on, and far different from what we have here described.



CHAPTER VII

THE POOR WHITES, SOUTH

"No seeming of logic can ever convince the American people, that
thousands of our slave-holding brethren are not excellent,
humane, and even Christian men, fearing God, and keeping His
commandments."--Rev. Dr. Joel Parker.

"You like these parts better than New York," said Carlton to
Snyder, as they were sitting down to dinner in the overseer's
dwelling.  "I can't say that I do," was the reply; "I came here
ten years ago as missionary, and Mr. Peck wanted me to stay, and I
have remained.  I travel among the poor whites during the week and
preach for the niggers on Sunday."  "Are there many poor whites in
this district?"  "Not here, but about thirty miles from here, in
the Sand Hill district; they are as ignorant as horses.  Why it
was no longer than last week I was up there, and really you would
not believe it, that people were so poor off.  In New England,
and, I may say, in all the free states, they have free schools,
and everybody gets educated.  Not so here.  In Connecticut there is
only one out of every five hundred above twenty-one years that
can neither read nor write.  Here there is one out of every eight
that can neither read nor write.  There is not a single newspaper
taken in five of the counties in this state.  Last week I was at
Sand Hill for the first time, and I called at a farmhouse.  The
man was out.  It was a low log-hut, and yet it was the best house
in that locality.  The woman and nine children were there, and the
geese, ducks, chickens, pigs, and children were all
running about the floor.  The woman seemed scared at me when I
entered the house.  I inquired if I could get a little dinner, and
my horse fed.  She said, yes, if I would only be good enough to
feed him myself, as her 'gal,' as she called her daughter, would
be afraid of the horse.  When I returned into the house again from
the stable, she kept her eyes upon me all the time.  At last she
said, 'I s'pose you ain't never bin in these parts afore?'  'No,'
said I.  'Is you gwine to stay here long?'  'Not very long,' I
replied.  'On business, I s'pose.'  'Yes,' said I, 'I am hunting up
the lost sheep of the house of Israel.'  'Oh,' exclaimed she,
'hunting for lost sheep is you?  Well, you have a hard time to find
'em here.  My husband lost an old ram last week, and he ain't found
him yet, and he's hunted every day.'  'I am not looking for
four-legged sheep,' said I, 'I am hunting for sinners.'  'Ah'; she
said, 'then you are a preacher.'  'Yes,' said I.  'You are the
first of that sort that's bin in these diggins for many a day.'
Turning to her eldest daughter, she said in an excited tone, 'Clar
out the pigs and ducks, and sweep up the floor; this is a
preacher.'  And it was some time before any of the children would
come near me; one remained under the bed (which, by the by, was
in the same room), all the while I was there.  'Well,' continued
the woman, 'I was a tellin' my man only yesterday that I would
like once more to go to meetin' before I died, and he said as he
should like to do the same.  But as you have come, it will save us
the trouble of going out of the district.'"  "Then you found some
of the lost sheep," said Carlton.  "Yes," replied Snyder, "I did
not find anything else up there.  The state makes no provision for
educating the poor: they are unable to do it themselves, and they
grow up in a state of ignorance and degradation.  The men hunt and
the women have to go in the fields and labour."  "What is
the cause of it?" inquired Carlton.  "Slavery," answered Snyder,
slavery,--and nothing else.  Look at the city of Boston; it pays
more taxes for the support of the government than this entire
state.  The people of Boston do more business than the whole
population of Mississippi put together.  I was told some very
amusing things while at Sand Hill.  A farmer there told me a story
about an old woman, who was very pious herself.  She had a husband
and three sons, who were sad characters, and she had often prayed
for their conversion but to no effect.  At last, one day while
working in the corn-field, one of her sons was bitten by a
rattlesnake.  He had scarce reached home before he felt the poison,
and in his agony called loudly on his Maker.

"The pious old woman, when she heard this, forgetful of her son's
misery, and everything else but the glorious hope of his
repentance, fell on her knees, and prayed as follows--'Oh! Lord,
I thank thee, that thou hast at last opened Jimmy's eyes to the
error of his ways; and I pray that, in thy Divine mercy, thou
wilt send a rattlesnake to bite the old man, and another to bite
Tom, and another to bite Harry, for I am certain that nothing but
a rattlesnake, or something of the kind, will ever turn them from
their sinful ways, they are so hard-headed.'  When returning home,
and before I got out of the Sand Hill district, I saw a funeral,
and thought I would fasten my horse to a post and attend.  The
coffin was carried in a common horse cart, and followed by fifteen
or twenty persons very shabbily dressed, and attended by a man
whom I took to be the religious man of the place.  After the
coffin had been placed near the grave, he spoke as follows,--

"'Friends and neighbours! you have congregated to see this lump
of mortality put into a hole in the ground.  You all
know the deceased--a worthless, drunken, good-for-nothing
vagabond.  He lived in disgrace and infamy, and died in
wretchedness.  You all despised him--you all know his brother Joe,
who lives on the hill?  He's not a bit better though he has
scrap'd together a little property by cheating his neighbours.  His
end will be like that of this loathsome creature, whom you will
please put into the hole as soon as possible.  I won't ask you to
drop a tear, but brother Bohow will please raise a hymn while we
fill up the grave.'"

"I am rather surprised to hear that any portion of the whites in
this state are in so low a condition."  "Yet it is true," returned
Snyder.

"These are very onpleasant facts to be related to ye, Mr.
Carlton," said Huckelby; "but I can bear witness to what Mr.
Snyder has told ye."  Huckelby was from Maryland, where many of
the poor whites are in as sad a condition as the Sand Hillers of
Mississippi.  He was a tall man, of iron constitution, and could
neither read nor write, but was considered one of the best
overseers in the country.  When about to break a slave in, to do a
heavy task, he would make him work by his side all day; and if
the new hand kept up with him, he was set down as an able bodied
man.  Huckelby had neither moral, religious, or political
principles, and often boasted that conscience was a matter that
never "cost" him a thought.  "Mr. Snyder ain't told ye half about
the folks in these parts," continued he; "we who comes from more
enlightened parts don't know how to put up with 'em down here.
I find the people here knows mighty little indeed; in fact, I may
say they are univarsaly onedicated.  I goes out among none on 'em,
'cause they ain't such as I have been used to 'sociate with.  When
I gits a little richer, so that I can stop work, I tend to go
back to Maryland, and spend the rest of my days."  "I wonder the
Negroes don't attempt to get their freedom by physical force."  "It
ain't no use for 'em to try that, for if they do, we puts 'em
through by daylight," replied Huckelby.  "There are some desperate
fellows among the slaves," said Snyder.  "Indeed," remarked
Carlton.  "Oh, yes," replied the preacher.  "A case has just taken
place near here, where a neighbour of ours, Mr. J. Higgerson,
attempted to correct a Negro man in his employ, who resisted, drew
a knife, and stabbed him (Mr. H.) in several places.  Mr. J. C.
Hobbs (a Tennessean) ran to his assistance.  Mr. Hobbs stooped to
pick up a stick to strike the Negro, and, while in that position,
the Negro rushed upon him, and caused his immediate death.  The
Negro then fled to the woods, but was pursued with dogs, and soon
overtaken.  He had stopped in a swamp to fight the dogs, when the
party who were pursuing him came upon him, and commanded him to
give up, which he refused to do.  He then made several efforts to
stab them.  Mr. Roberson, one of the party, gave him several blows
on the head with a rifle gun; but this, instead of subduing, only
increased his desperate revenge.  Mr. R. then discharged his gun
at the Negro, and missing him, the ball struck Mr. Boon in the
face, and felled him to the ground.  The Negro, seeing Mr. Boon
prostrated, attempted to rush up and stab him, but was prevented
by the timely interference of some one of the party.  He was then
shot three times with a revolving pistol, and once with a rifle,
and after having his throat cut, he still kept the knife firmly
grasped in his hand, and tried to cut their legs when they
approached to put an end to his life.  This chastisement was given
because the Negro grumbled, and found fault with his master for
flogging his wife."  "Well, this is a bad state of affairs indeed,
and especially the condition of the poor whites," said Carlton.
"You see," replied Snyder, "no white man is respectable in
these slave states who works for a living.  No community
can be prosperous, where honest labour is not honoured.  No
society can be rightly constituted, where the intellect is not
fed.  Whatever institution reflects discredit on industry,
whatever institution forbids the general culture of the
understanding, is palpably hostile to individual rights, and to
social well-being.  Slavery is the incubus that hangs over the
Southern States."  "Yes," interrupted Huckelby; "them's just my
sentiments now, and no mistake.  I think that, for the honour of
our country, this slavery business should stop.  I don't own any,
no how, and I would not be an overseer if I wern't paid for it."



CHAPTER VIII

THE SEPARATION

         "In many ways does the full heart reveal
        The presence of the love it would conceal;
      But in far more the estranged heart lets know
 The absence of the love, which yet it fain would show."

AT length the news of the approaching marriage of Horatio met the
ear of Clotel.  Her head grew dizzy, and her heart fainted within
her; but, with a strong effort at composure, she inquired all the
particulars, and her pure mind at once took its resolution.
Horatio came that evening, and though she would fain have met him
as usual, her heart was too full not to throw a deep sadness over
her looks and tones.  She had never complained of his decreasing
tenderness, or of her own lonely hours; but he felt that the mute
appeal of her heart-broken looks was more terrible than words.  He
kissed the hand she offered, and with a countenance almost as sad
as her own, led her to a window in the recess shadowed by a
luxuriant passion flower.  It was the same seat where they had
spent the first evening in this beautiful cottage, consecrated to
their first loves.  The same calm, clear moonlight looked in
through the trellis.  The vine then planted had now a luxuriant
growth; and many a time had Horatio fondly twined its sacred
blossoms with the glossy ringlets of her raven hair.  The rush of
memory almost overpowered poor Clotel; and Horatio felt too much
oppressed and ashamed to break the long deep silence.  At length,
in words scarcely audible, Clotel said: "Tell me, dear
Horatio, are you to be married next week?"  He dropped her hand as
if a rifle ball had struck him; and it was not until after long
hesitation, that he began to make some reply about the necessity
of circumstances.  Mildly but earnestly the poor girl begged him
to spare apologies.  It was enough that he no longer loved her, and
that they must bid farewell.  Trusting to the yielding tenderness
of her character, he ventured, in the most soothing accents, to
suggest that as he still loved her better than all the world, she
would ever be his real wife, and they might see each other
frequently.  He was not prepared for the storm of indignant
emotion his words excited.  True, she was his slave; her bones,
and sinews had been purchased by his gold, yet she had the heart
of a true woman, and hers was a passion too deep and absorbing to
admit of partnership, and her spirit was too pure to form a
selfish league with crime.

At length this painful interview came to an end.  They stood
together by the Gothic gate, where they had so often met and
parted in the moonlight.  Old remembrances melted their souls.
"Farewell, dearest Horatio," said Clotel.  "Give me a parting
kiss."  Her voice was choked for utterance, and the tears flowed
freely, as she bent her lips toward him.  He folded her
convulsively in his arms, and imprinted a long impassioned kiss on
that mouth, which had never spoken to him but in love and
blessing.  With efforts like a death-pang she at length raised her
head from his heaving bosom, and turning from him with bitter
sobs, "It is our last.  To meet thus is henceforth crime.  God
bless you.  I would not have you so miserable as I am.  Farewell.
A last farewell."  "The last?" exclaimed he, with a wild shriek.
"Oh God, Clotel, do not say that"; and covering his face with his
hands, he wept like a child.  Recovering from his
emotion, he found himself alone.  The moon looked down upon him
mild, but very sorrowfully; as the Madonna seems to gaze upon her
worshipping children, bowed down with consciousness of sin.  At
that moment he would have given worlds to have disengaged himself
from Gertrude, but he had gone so far, that blame, disgrace, and
duels with angry relatives would now attend any effort to obtain
his freedom.  Oh, how the moonlight oppressed him with its
friendly sadness!  It was like the plaintive eye of his forsaken
one, like the music of sorrow echoed from an unseen world.  Long
and earnestly he gazed at that cottage, where he had so long
known earth's purest foretaste of heavenly bliss.  Slowly he
walked away; then turned again to look on that charmed spot, the
nestling-place of his early affections.  He caught a glimpse of
Clotel, weeping beside a magnolia, which commanded a long view of
the path leading to the public road.  He would have sprung toward
her but she darted from him, and entered the cottage.  That
graceful figure, weeping in the moonlight, haunted him for years.
It stood before his closing eyes, and greeted him with the
morning dawn.  Poor Gertrude, had she known all, what a dreary lot
would hers have been; but fortunately she could not miss the
impassioned tenderness she never experienced; and Horatio was the
more careful in his kindness, because he was deficient in love.
After Clotel had been separated from her mother and sister, she
turned her attention to the subject of Christianity, and received
that consolation from her Bible that is never denied to the
children of God.  Although it was against the laws of Virginia,
for a slave to be taught to read, Currer had employed an old free
Negro, who lived near her, to teach her two daughters to read and
write.  She felt that the step she had taken in resolving
never to meet Horatio again would no doubt expose her to his
wrath, and probably cause her to be sold, yet her heart was too
guileless for her to commit a crime, and therefore she had ten
times rather have been sold as a slave than do wrong.  Some months
after the marriage of Horatio and Gertrude their barouche rolled
along a winding road that skirted the forest near Clotel's
cottage, when the attention of Gertrude was suddenly attracted by
two figures among the trees by the wayside; and touching Horatio's
arm, she exclaimed, "Do look at that beautiful child."  He turned
and saw Clotel and Mary.  His lips quivered, and his face became
deadly pale.  His young wife looked at him intently, but said
nothing.  In returning home, he took another road; but his wife
seeing this, expressed a wish to go back the way they had come.
He objected, and suspicion was awakened in her heart, and she
soon after learned that the mother of that lovely child bore the
name of Clotel, a name which she had often heard Horatio murmur in
uneasy slumbers.  From gossiping tongues she soon learned more
than she wished to know.  She wept, but not as poor Clotel had
done; for she never had loved, and been beloved like her, and her
nature was more proud: henceforth a change came over her feelings
and her manners, and Horatio had no further occasion to assume a
tenderness in return for hers.  Changed as he was by ambition, he
felt the wintry chill of her polite propriety, and sometimes, in
agony of heart, compared it with the gushing love of her who was
indeed his wife.  But these and all his emotions were a sealed
book to Clotel, of which she could only guess the contents.  With
remittances for her and her child's support, there sometimes came
earnest pleadings that she would consent to see him again; but
these she never answered, though her heart yearned to do so.
She pitied his young bride, and would not be tempted to
bring sorrow into her household by any fault of hers.  Her earnest
prayer was, that she might not know of her existence.  She had not
looked on Horatio since she watched him under the shadow of the
magnolia, until his barouche passed her in her rambles some months
after.  She saw the deadly paleness of his countenance, and had he
dared to look back, he would have seen her tottering with
faintness.  Mary brought water from a rivulet, and sprinkled her
face.  When she revived, she clasped the beloved child to her
heart with a vehemence that made her scream.  Soothingly she
kissed away her fears, and gazed into her beautiful eyes with a
deep, deep sadness of expression, which poor Mary never forgot.
Wild were the thoughts that passed round her aching heart, and
almost maddened her poor brain; thoughts which had almost driven
her to suicide the night of that last farewell.  For her child's
sake she had conquered the fierce temptation then; and for her
sake, she struggled with it now.  But the gloomy atmosphere of
their once happy home overclouded the morning of Mary's life.
Clotel perceived this, and it gave her unutterable pain.

    "Tis ever thus with woman's love,
   True till life's storms have passed;
   And, like the vine around the tree,
       It braves them to the last."



CHAPTER IX

THE MAN OF HONOUR

"My tongue could never learn sweet soothing words,
But now thy beauty is propos'd, my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak."

Shakespeare.


JAMES CRAWFORD, the purchaser of Althesa, was from the green
mountains of Vermont, and his feelings were opposed to the
holding of slaves.  But his young wife persuaded him into the idea
that it was no worse to own a slave than to hire one and pay the
money to another.  Hence it was that he had been induced to
purchase Althesa.  Henry Morton, a young physician from the same
state, and who had just commenced the practice of his profession
in New Orleans, was boarding with Crawford when Althesa was
brought home.  The young physician had been in New Orleans but a
few weeks, and had seen very little of slavery.  In his own
mountain home he had been taught that the slaves of the Southern
states were Negroes, if not from the coast of Africa, the
descendants of those who had been imported.  He was unprepared to
behold with composure a beautiful young white girl of fifteen in
the degraded position of a chattel slave.  The blood chilled in
his young heart as he heard Crawford tell how, by bartering with
the trader, he had bought her for two hundred dollars less than
he first asked.  His very looks showed that the slave girl had the
deepest sympathy of his heart.  Althesa had been brought up by her
mother to look after the domestic concerns of her cottage in
Virginia, and knew well the duties imposed upon her.  Mrs.
Crawford was much pleased with her new servant, and often made
mention of her in the presence of Morton.  The young man's
sympathy ripened into love, which was reciprocated by the
friendless and injured child of sorrow.  There was but one course
left; that was, to purchase the young girl and make her his wife,
which he did six months after her arrival in Crawford's family.
The young physician and his wife immediately took lodgings in
another part of the city; a private teacher was called in, and
the young wife taught some of those accomplishments which are
necessary for one's taking a position in society.  Dr. Morton soon
obtained a large practice in his profession, and with it
increased in wealth--but with all his wealth he never would own a
slave.  Mrs. Morton was now in a position to seek out and redeem
her mother, whom she had not heard of since they parted at
Natchez.  An agent was immediately despatched to hunt out the
mother and to see if she could be purchased.  The agent had no
trouble in finding out Mr. Peck: but all overtures were
unavailable; he would not sell Currer.  His excuse was, that she
was such a good housekeeper that he could not spare her.  Poor
Althesa felt sad when she found that her mother could not be
bought.  However, she felt a consciousness of having done her duty
in the matter, yet waited with the hope that the day might come
when she should have her mother by her side.



CHAPTER X

THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN

"Here we see God dealing in slaves; giving them to his own
favourite child [Abraham], a man of superlative worth, and as a
reward for his eminent goodness."--Rev. Theodore Clapp, of New
Orleans.

ON Carlton's return the next day from the farm, he was overwhelmed
with questions from Mr. Peck, as to what he thought of the
plantation, the condition of the Negroes, Huckelby and Snyder;
and especially how he liked the sermon of the latter.  Mr. Peck was
a kind of a patriarch in his own way.  To begin with, he was a man
of some talent.  He not only had a good education, but was a man
of great eloquence, and had a wonderful command of language.  He
too either had, or thought he had, poetical genius; and was often
sending contributions to the Natchez Free Trader, and other
periodicals.  In the way of raising contributions for foreign
missions, he took the lead of all others in his neighbourhood.
Everything he did, he did for the "glory of God," as he said: he
quoted Scripture for almost everything he did.  Being in good
circumstances, he was able to give to almost all benevolent
causes to which he took a fancy.  He was a most loving father, and
his daughter exercised considerable influence over him, and owing
to her piety and judgment, that influence had a beneficial effect.
Carlton, though a schoolfellow of the parson's, was nevertheless
nearly ten years his junior; and though not an avowed infidel,
was, however, a freethinker, and one who took no note of
to-morrow.  And for this reason Georgiana took peculiar interest
in the young man, for Carlton was but little above thirty and
unmarried.  The young Christian felt that she would not be living
up to that faith that she professed and believed in, if she did
not exert herself to the utmost to save the thoughtless man from
his downward career; and in this she succeeded to her most
sanguine expectations.  She not only converted him, but in placing
the Scriptures before him in their true light, she redeemed those
sacred writings from the charge of supporting the system of
slavery, which her father had cast upon them in the discussion
some days before.

Georgiana's first object, however, was to awaken in Carlton's
breast a love for the Lord Jesus Christ.  The young man had often
sat under the sound of the gospel with perfect indifference.  He
had heard men talk who had grown grey bending over the Scriptures,
and their conversation had passed by him unheeded; but when a
young girl, much younger than himself, reasoned with him in that
innocent and persuasive manner that woman is wont to use when she
has entered with her whole soul upon an object, it was too much
for his stout heart, and he yielded.  Her next aim was to vindicate
the Bible from sustaining the monstrous institution of slavery.
She said, "God has created of one blood all the nations of men,
to dwell on all the face of the earth.  To claim, hold, and treat a
human being as property is felony against God and man.  The
Christian religion is opposed to slaveholding in its spirit and
its principles; it classes menstealers among murderers; and it is
the duty of all who wish to meet God in peace, to discharge that
duty in spreading these principles.  Let us not deceive ourselves
into the idea that slavery is right, because it is profitable to
us.  Slaveholding is the highest possible violation of
the eighth commandment.  To take from a man his earnings, is theft;
but to take the earner is a compound, life-long theft; and we who
profess to follow in the footsteps of our Redeemer, should do our
utmost to extirpate slavery from the land.  For my own part, I
shall do all I can.  When the Redeemer was about to ascend to the
bosom of the Father, and resume the glory which he had with him
before the world was, he promised his disciples that the power of
the Holy Ghost should come upon them, and that they should be
witnesses for him to the uttermost parts of the earth.  What was
the effect upon their minds?  'They all continued with one accord
in prayer and supplication with the women.'  Stimulated by the
confident expectation that Jesus would fulfil his gracious
promise, they poured out their hearts in fervent supplications,
probably for strength to do the work which he had appointed them
unto, for they felt that without him they could do nothing, and
they consecrated themselves on the altar of God, to the great and
glorious enterprise of preaching the unsearchable riches of
Christ to a lost and perishing world.  Have we less precious
promises in the Scriptures of truth?  May we not claim of our God
the blessing promised unto those who consider the poor: the Lord
will preserve them and keep them alive, and they shall be blessed
upon the earth?  Does not the language, 'Inasmuch as ye did it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me,'
belong to all who are rightly engaged in endeavouring to
unloose the bondman's fetters?  Shall we not then do as the
apostles did?  Shall we not, in view of the two millions of
heathen in our very midst, in view of the souls that are going
down in an almost unbroken phalanx to utter perdition, continue
in prayer and supplication, that God will grant us the
supplies of his Spirit to prepare us for that work which he has
given us to do?  Shall not the wail of the mother as she
surrenders her only child to the grasp of the ruthless kidnapper,
or the trader in human blood, animate our devotions?  Shall not the
manifold crimes and horrors of slavery excite more ardent
outpourings at the throne of grace to grant repentance to our
guilty country, and permit us to aid in preparing the way for the
glorious second advent of the Messiah, by preaching deliverance
to the captives, and the opening of the prison doors to those who
are bound?"

Georgiana had succeeded in riveting the attention of Carlton
during her conversation, and as she was finishing her last
sentence, she observed the silent tear stealing down the cheek of
the newly born child of God.  At this juncture her father entered,
and Carlton left the room.  "Dear papa," said Georgiana, "will you
grant me one favour; or, rather, make me a promise?"  "I can't
tell, my dear, till I know what it is," replied Mr. Peck.  "If it
is a reasonable request, I will comply with your wish," continued
he.  "I hope, my dear," answered she, "that papa would not think
me capable of making an unreasonable request."  "Well, well,"
returned he; "tell me what it is."  "I hope," said she, "that in
your future conversation with Mr. Carlton, on the subject of
slavery, you will not speak of the Bible as sustaining it."  "Why,
Georgiana, my dear, you are mad, ain't you?" exclaimed he, in an
excited tone.  The poor girl remained silent; the father saw in a
moment that he had spoken too sharply; and taking her hand in his
he said, "Now, my child, why do you make that request?"
"Because," returned she, "I think he is on the stool of
repentance, if he has not already been received among the elect.
He, you know, was bordering upon infidelity, and if the
Bible sanctions slavery, then he will naturally enough say that
it is not from God; for the argument from internal evidence is
not only refuted, but actually turned against the Bible.  If the
Bible sanctions slavery, then it misrepresents the character of
God.  Nothing would be more dangerous to the soul of a young
convert than to satisfy him that the Scriptures favoured such a
system of sin."  "Don't you suppose that I understand the
Scriptures better than you?  I have been in the world longer."
"Yes," said she, "you have been in the world longer, and amongst
slaveholders so long that you do not regard it in the same light
that those do who have not become so familiar with its every-day
scenes as you.  I once heard you say, that you were opposed to the
institution, when you first came to the South."  "Yes," answered
he, "I did not know so much about it then."  "With great deference
to you, papa," replied Georgiana, "I don't think that the Bible
sanctions slavery.  The Old Testament contains this explicit
condemnation of it, 'He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or
if he be found in his band, he shall surely be put to death'; and
'Woe unto him that buildeth his house by unrighteousness, and his
chambers by wrong; that useth his neighbour's service without
wages, and giveth him not for his work'; when also the New
Testament exhibits such words of rebuke as these, 'Behold the hire
of the labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of
you kept back by fraud, crieth; and the cries of them who have
reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.'  'The
law is not made for a righteous man, but for the lawless and
disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and
profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for
manslayers, for whoremongers, for them that defile themselves
with mankind, for menstealers, for liars, for perjured
persons.'  A more scathing denunciation of the sin in question is
surely to be found on record in no other book.  I am afraid,"
continued the daughter, "that the acts of the professed friends of
Christianity in the South do more to spread infidelity than the
writings of all the atheists which have ever been published.  The
infidel watches the religious world.  He surveys the church, and,
lo! thousands and tens of thousands of her accredited members
actually hold slaves.  Members 'in good and regular standing,'
fellowshipped throughout Christendom except by a few anti-slavery
churches generally despised as ultra and radical, reduce their
fellow men to the condition of chattels, and by force keep them in
that state of degradation.  Bishops, ministers, elders, and
deacons are engaged in this awful business, and do not consider
their conduct as at all inconsistent with the precepts of either
the Old or New Testaments.  Moreover, those ministers and churches
who do not themselves hold slaves, very generally defend the
conduct of those who do, and accord to them a fair Christian
character, and in the way of business frequently take mortgages
and levy executions on the bodies of their fellow men, and in
some cases of their fellow Christians.  "Now is it a wonder that
infidels, beholding the practice and listening to the theory of
professing Christians, should conclude that the Bible inculcates
a morality not inconsistent with chattelising human beings?  And
must not this conclusion be strengthened, when they hear ministers
of talent and learning declare that the Bible does sanction
slaveholding, and that it ought not to be made a disciplinable
offence in churches?  And must not all doubt be dissipated, when
one of the most learned professors in our theological seminaries
asserts that the Bible recognises that the relation may still
exist, salva fide et salva ecclesia' (without injury to
the Christian faith or church) and that only 'the abuse of it is
the essential and fundamental wrong?'  Are not infidels bound to
believe that these professors, ministers, and churches understand
their own Bible, and that, consequently, notwithstanding solitary
passages which appear to condemn slaveholding, the Bible
sanctions it?  When nothing can be further from the truth.  And as
for Christ, his whole life was a living testimony against slavery
and all that it inculcates.  When he designed to do us good, he
took upon himself the form of a servant.  He took his station at
the bottom of society.  He voluntarily identified himself with the
poor and the despised.  The warning voices of Jeremiah and Ezekiel
were raised in olden time, against sin.  Let us not forget what
followed.  'Therefore, thus saith the Lord--ye have not harkened
unto me in proclaiming liberty every one to his brother, and
every one to his neighbour--behold I proclaim a liberty for you,
saith the Lord, to the sword, to the pestilence, and to the
famine.'  Are we not virtually as a nation adopting the same
impious language, and are we not exposed to the same tremendous
judgments?  Shall we not, in view of those things, use every
laudable means to awaken our beloved country from the slumbers of
death, and baptize all our efforts with tears and with prayers,
that God may bless them?  Then, should our labour fail to
accomplish the end for which we pray, we shall stand acquitted at
the bar of Jehovah, and although we may share in the national
calamities which await unrepented sins, yet that blessed approval
will be ours--'Well done, good and faithful servants, enter ye into
the joy of your Lord.'"

"My dear Georgiana," said Mr. Peck, "I must be permitted to
entertain my own views on this subject, and to exercise my own
judgment."

"Believe me, dear papa," she replied, "I would not be understood
as wishing to teach you, or to dictate to you in the least; but
only grant my request, not to allude to the Bible as sanctioning
slavery, when speaking with Mr. Carlton."

"Well," returned he, "I will comply with your wish."

The young Christian had indeed accomplished a noble work; and
whether it was admitted by the father, or not, she was his
superior and his teacher.  Georgiana had viewed the right to enjoy
perfect liberty as one of those inherent and inalienable rights
which pertain to the whole human race, and of which they can
never be divested, except by an act of gross injustice.  And no
one was more able than herself to impress those views upon the
hearts of all with whom she came in contact.  Modest and
self-possessed, with a voice of great sweetness, and a most
winning manner, she could, with the greatest ease to herself,
engage their attention.



CHAPTER XI

THE PARSON POET

"Unbind, unbind my galling chain,
    And set, oh! set me free:
 No longer say that I'll disdain
      The gift of liberty."

THROUGH the persuasion of Mr. Peck, and fascinated with the
charms of Georgiana, Carlton had prolonged his stay two months
with his old school-fellow.  During the latter part of the time he
had been almost as one of the family.  If Miss Peck was invited
out, Mr. Carlton was, as a matter of course.  She seldom rode
out, unless with him.  If Mr. Peck was absent, he took the head of
the table; and, to the delight of the young lady, he had on
several occasions taken part in the family worship.  "I am glad,"
said Mr.  Peck, one evening while at the tea table, "I am glad,
Mr. Carlton, that my neighbour Jones has invited you to visit him
at his farm.  He is a good neighbour, but a very ungodly man; I
want that you should see his people, and then, when you return to
the North, you can tell how much better a Christian's slaves are
situated than one who does nothing for the cause of Christ."  "I
hope, Mr. Carlton," said Georgiana, "that you will spend the
Sabbath with him, and have a religious interview with the
Negroes."  "Yes," replied the parson, "that's well thought of,
Georgy."  "Well, I think I will go up on Thursday next, and stay
till Monday," said Carlton; "and I shall act upon your
suggestion, Miss Peck," continued he; "and try to get a
religious interview with the blacks.  By-the-by," remarked
Carlton, "I saw an advertisement in the Free Trader to-day that
rather puzzled me.  Ah, here it is now; and, drawing the paper
from his pocket, "I will read it, and then you can tell me what
it means:

'To PLANTERS AND OTHERS.--Wanted fifty Negroes.  Any person having
sick Negroes, considered incurable by their respective
physicians, (their owners of course,) and wishing to dispose of
them, Dr. Stillman will pay cash for Negroes affected with
scrofula or king's evil, confirmed hypochondriacism, apoplexy, or
diseases of the brain, kidneys, spleen, stomach and intestines,
bladder and its appendages, diarrhoea, dysentery, &c.  The highest
cash price will be paid as above.'

When I read this to-day I thought that the advertiser must be a
man of eminent skill as a physician, and that he intended to cure
the sick Negroes; but on second thought I find that some of the
diseases enumerated are certainly incurable.  What can he do with
these sick Negroes?"  "You see," replied Mr. Peck, laughing, "that
he is a doctor, and has use for them in his lectures.  The doctor
is connected with a small college.  Look at his prospectus, where
he invites students to attend, and that will explain the matter
to you."  Carlton turned to another column, and read the
following:

"Some advantages of a peculiar character are connected with this
institution, which it may be proper to point out.  No place in the
United States offers as great opportunities for the acquisition
of anatomical knowledge.  Subjects being obtained from among the
coloured population in sufficient numbers for every purpose, and
proper dissections carried on without offending any individuals in
the community!"

"These are for dissection, then?" inquired Carlton with a
trembling voice.  "Yes," answered the parson.  "Of course they wait
till they die before they can use them."  "They keep them on
hand, and when they need one they bleed him to death," returned
Mr. Peck.  "Yes, but that's murder."  "Oh, the doctors are licensed
to commit murder, you know; and what's the difference, whether
one dies owing to the loss of blood, or taking too many pills?
For my own part, if I had to choose, I would rather submit to the
former."  "I have often heard what I considered hard stories in
abolition meetings in New York about slavery; but now I shall
begin to think that many of them are true."  "The longer you
remain here the more you will be convinced of the iniquity of the
institution," remarked Georgiana.  "Now, Georgy, my dear, don't
give us another abolition lecture, if you please," said Mr. Peck.
"Here, Carlton," continued the parson, "I have written a short
poem for your sister's album, as you requested me; it is a
domestic piece, as you will see."  "She will prize it the more for
that," remarked Carlton; and taking the sheet of paper, he
laughed as his eyes glanced over it.  "Read it out, Mr. Carlton,"
said Georgiana, "and let me hear what it is; I know papa gets off
some very droll things at times."  Carlton complied with the young
lady's request, and read aloud the following rare specimen of
poetical genius:

                  "MY LITTLE NIG.

        "I have a little nigger, the blackest thing alive,
    He'll be just four years old if he lives till forty-five;
 His smooth cheek hath a glossy hue, like a new polished boot,
 And his hair curls o'er his little head as black as any soot.
 His lips bulge from his countenance--his little ivories shine--
 His nose is what we call a little pug, but fashioned very fine:
       Although not quite a fairy, he is comely to behold,
And I wouldn't sell him, 'pon my word, for a hundred all in gold.

     "He gets up early in the morn, like all the other nigs,
 And runs off to the hog-lot, where he squabbles with the pigs--
   And when the sun gets out of bed, and mounts up in the sky,
     The warmest corner of the yard is where my nig doth lie.
      And there extended lazily, he contemplates and dreams,
     (I cannot qualify to this, but plain enough it seems;)
 Until 'tis time to take in grub, when you can't find him there,
      For, like a politician, he has gone to hunt his share.

     "I haven't said a single word concerning my plantation,
 Though a prettier, I guess, cannot be found within the nation;
   When he gets a little bigger, I'll take and to him show it,
 And then I'll say, 'My little nig, now just prepare to go it!'
   I'll put a hoe into his hand--he'll soon know what it means,
 And every day for dinner, he shall have bacon and greens."



CHAPTER XII

A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN

      "And see the servants met,
      Their daily labour's o'er;
 And with the jest and song they set
       The kitchen in a roar."

MR. PECK kept around him four servants besides Currer, of whom we
have made mention: of these, Sam was considered the first.  If a
dinner-party was in contemplation, or any company to be invited
to the parson's, after all the arrangements had been talked over
by the minister and his daughter, Sam was sure to be consulted
upon the subject by "Miss Georgy," as Miss Peck was called by the
servants.  If furniture, crockery, or anything else was to be
purchased, Sam felt that he had been slighted if his opinion had
not been asked.  As to the marketing, he did it all.  At the
servants' table in the kitchen, he sat at the head, and was
master of ceremonies.  A single look from him was enough to
silence any conversation or noise in the kitchen, or any other
part of the premises.  There is, in the Southern States, a great
amount of prejudice against colour amongst the Negroes
themselves.  The nearer the Negro or mulatto approaches to the
white, the more he seems to feel his superiority over those of a
darker hue.  This is, no doubt, the result of the prejudice that
exists on the part of the whites towards both mulattoes and
blacks.  Sam was originally from Kentucky, and through the
instrumentality of one of his young masters whom he had to take
to school, he had learned to read so as to be well understood;
and, owing to that fact, was considered a prodigy among the
slaves, not only of his own master's, but those of the town who
knew him.  Sam had a great wish to follow in the footsteps of his
master, and be a poet; and was, therefore, often heard singing
doggerels of his own composition.  But there was one great drawback
to Sam, and that was his colour.  He was one of the blackest of
his race.  This he evidently regarded as a great misfortune.
However, he made up for this in his dress.  Mr. Peck kept his
house servants well dressed; and as for Sam, he was seldom seen
except in a ruffled shirt.  Indeed, the washerwoman feared him
more than all others about the house.

Currer, as we have already stated, was chief of the kitchen
department, and had a general supervision of the household
affairs.  Alfred the coachman, Peter, and Hetty made up the
remainder of the house servants.  Besides these, Mr. Peck owned
eight slaves who were masons.  These worked in the city.  Being
mechanics, they were let out to greater advantage than to keep
them on the farm.  However, every Sunday night, Peck's servants,
including the bricklayers, usually assembled in the kitchen, when
the events of the week were freely discussed and commented on.
It was on a Sunday evening, in the month of June, that there was
a party at Mr. Peck's, and, according to custom in the Southern
States, the ladies had their maid-servants with them.  Tea had
been served in "the house," and the servants, including the
strangers, had taken their seats at the tea table in the kitchen.
Sam, being a "single gentleman," was usually attentive to the
"ladies" on this occasion.  He seldom or ever let the day pass
without spending at least an hour in combing and brushing up his
"hair."  Sam had an idea that fresh butter was better for his hair
than any other kind of grease; and therefore, on churning days,
half a pound of butter had always to be taken out before it was
salted.  When he wished to appear to great advantage, he would
grease his face, to make it "shiny."  On the evening of the party
therefore, when all the servants were at the table, Sam cut a
big figure.  There he sat with his wool well combed and buttered,
face nicely greased, and his ruffles extending five or six inches
from his breast.  The parson in his own drawing-room did not make
a more imposing appearance than did his servant on this occasion.
"I jist bin had my fortune told last Sunday night," said Sam, as
he helped one of the girls to some sweet hash.  "Indeed," cried
half-a-dozen voices.  "Yes," continued he; "Aunt Winny teld me I
is to hab de prettiest yaller gal in town, and dat I is to be
free."  All eyes were immediately turned toward Sally Johnson, who
was seated near Sarn.  "I speck I see somebody blush at dat
remark," said Alfred.  "Pass dem pancakes and molasses up dis way,
Mr. Alf, and none of your insinawaysion here," rejoined Sam.  "Dat
reminds me," said Currer, "dat Doreas Simpson is gwine to git
married."  "Who to, I want to know?" inquired Peter.  "To one of
Mr. Darby's field-hands," answered Currer.  "I should tink dat dat
gal would not trow hersef away in dat manner," said Sally.  "She
good enough looking to get a house servant, and not to put up wid
a fiel' nigger," continued she.  "Yes," said Sam, "dat's a wery
insensible remark of yours, Miss Sally.  I admire your judgment
wery much, I assure you.  Dah's plenty of suspectible and
well-dressed house servants dat a gal of her looks can get, wid
out taken up wid dem common darkies."  "Is de man black or a
mulatto?" inquired one of the company.  "He's nearly white,"
replied Currer. "Well den, dat's some exchuse for her,"
remarked Sam; "for I don't like to see dis malgemation of blacks
and mulattoes."  "No mulatto?" inquired one of the corn-how.
Continued Sam, "If I had my rights I would be a mulatto too, for
my mother was almost as light-coloured as Miss Sally," said he.
Although Sam was one of the blackest men living, he nevertheless
contended that his mother was a mulatto, and no one was more
prejudiced against the blacks than he.  A good deal of work, and
the free use of fresh butter, had no doubt done wonders for his
"hare" in causing it to grow long, and to this he would always
appeal when he wished to convince others that he was part of an
Anglo-Saxon.  "I always thought you was not clear black, Mr. Sam,"
said Agnes.  "You are right dahr, Miss Agnes.  My hare tells what
company I belong to," answered Sam.  Here the whole company joined
in the conversation about colour, which lasted for some time,
giving unmistakeable evidence that caste is owing to ignorance.
The evening's entertainment concluded by Sam's relating a little
of his own experience while with his first master in old
Kentucky.

Sam's former master was a doctor, and had a large practice among
his neighbours, doctoring both masters and slaves.  When Sam was
about fifteen years of age, his old master set him to grinding up
the ointment, then to making pills.  As the young student grew
older and became more practised in his profession, his services
were of more importance to the doctor.  The physician having a
good business, and a large number of his patients being slaves,
the most of whom had to call on the doctor when ill, he put Sam
to bleeding, pulling teeth, and administering medicine to the
slaves.  Sam soon acquired the name amongst the slaves of the
"Black Doctor."  With this appellation he was delighted, and no
regular physician could possibly have put on more airs than did
the black doctor when his services were required.  In bleeding, he
must have more bandages, and rub and smack the arm more than the
doctor would have thought of.  We once saw Sam taking out a tooth
for one of his patients, and nothing appeared more amusing.  He
got the poor fellow down on his back, and he got astraddle of the
man's chest, and getting the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, he shut
both eyes and pulled for his life.  The poor man screamed as loud
as he could, but to no purpose.  Sam had him fast.  After a great
effort, out came the sound grinder, and the young doctor saw his
mistake; but consoled himself with the idea that as the wrong
tooth was out of the way, there was more room to get at the right
one.  Bleeding and a dose of calomel was always considered
indispensable by the "Old Boss"; and, as a matter of course, Sam
followed in his footsteps.

On one occasion the old doctor was ill himself, so as to be unable
to attend to his patients.  A slave, with pass in hand, called to
receive medical advice, and the master told Sam to examine him
and see what he wanted.  This delighted him beyond measure, for
although he had been acting his part in the way of giving out
medicine as the master ordered it, he had never been called upon
by the latter to examine a patient, and this seemed to convince
him that, after all, he was no sham doctor.  As might have been
expected, he cut a rare figure in his first examination, placing
himself directly opposite his patient, and folding his arms
across his breast, and looking very knowingly, he began, "What's
de matter wid you?"  "I is sick."  "Where is you sick?"  "Here,"
replied the man, putting his hand upon his stomach.  "Put out your
tongue," continued the doctor.  The man ran out his tongue at full
length.  "Let me feel your pulse," at the same time taking his
patient's hand in his, placing his fingers on his pulse, he said,
"Ah, your case is a bad one; if I don't do something for you, and
dat pretty quick, you'll be a gone coon, and dat's sartin."  At
this the man appeared frightened, and inquired what was the matter
with him: in answer, Sam said, "I done told you dat your case is
a bad one, and dat's enough."  On Sam's returning to his master's
bedside, the latter said, "Well, Sam, what do you think is the
matter with him?"  "His stomach is out of order, sir," he replied.
"What do you think had best be done for him?"  "I think I better
bleed him and give him a dose of calomel," returned Sam.  So to
the latter's gratification the master let him have his own way.
We need not further say, that the recital of Sam's experience as a
physician gave him a high position amongst the servants that
evening, and made him a decided favourite with the ladies, one of
whom feigned illness, when the black doctor, to the delight of
all, and certainly to himself, gave medical advice.  Thus ended
the evening amongst the servants in the parson's kitchen.



CHAPTER XIII

A SLAVE HUNTING PARSON

  "'Tis too much prov'd--that with devotion's visage,
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er the devil himself."

--Shakespeare.


"You will, no doubt, be well pleased with neighbour Jones," said
Mr. Peck, as Carlton stepped into the chaise to pay his promised
visit to the "ungodly man."  "Don't forget to have a religious
interview with the Negroes, remarked Georgiana, as she gave the
last nod to her young convert.  "I will do my best," returned
Carlton, as the vehicle left the door.  As might have been
expected, Carlton met with a cordial reception at the hands of
the proprietor of the Grove Farm.  The servants in the "Great
House" were well dressed, and appeared as if they did not want
for food.  Jones knew that Carlton was from the North, and a
non-slaveholder, and therefore did everything in his power to
make a favourable impression on his mind.  "My Negroes are well
clothed, well fed, and not over worked," said the slaveholder to
his visitor, after the latter had been with him nearly a week.
"As far as I can see your slaves appear to good advantage,"
replied Carlton.  "But," continued he, "if it is a fair question,
do you have preaching among your slaves on Sunday, Mr. Jones?"
"No, no," returned he, "I think that's all nonsense; my Negroes
do their own preaching."  "So you do permit them to have
meetings."  "Yes, when they wish.  There's some very intelligent
and clever chaps among them."  "As to-morrow is the Sabbath,"
said Carlton, "if you have no objection, I will attend meeting
with them."  "Most certainly you shall, if you will do the
preaching," returned the planter.  Here the young man was about
to decline, but he remembered the parting words of Georgiana, and
he took courage and said, "Oh, I have no objection to give the
Negroes a short talk."  It was then understood that Carlton was to
have a religious interview with the blacks the next day, and the
young man waited with a degree of impatience for the time.

In no part of the South are slaves in a more ignorant and degraded
state than in the cotton, sugar, and rice districts.

If they are permitted to cease labour on the Sabbath, the time is
spent in hunting, fishing, or lying beneath the shade of a tree,
resting for the morrow.  Religious instruction is unknown in the
far South, except among such men as the Rev. C. C. Jones, John
Peck, and some others who regard religious instruction, such as
they impart to their slaves, as calculated to make them more
trustworthy and valuable as property.  Jones, aware that his
slaves would make rather a bad show of intelligence if questioned
by Carlton, resolved to have them ready for him, and therefore
gave his driver orders with regard to their preparation.
Consequently, after the day's labour was over, Dogget, the
driver, assembled the Negroes together and said, "Now, boys and
gals, your master is coming down to the quarters to-morrow with
his visitor, who is going to give you a preach, and I want you
should understand what he says to you.  Now many of you who came
of Old Virginia and Kentuck, know what preaching is, and others
who have been raised in these parts do not.  Preaching is to tell
you that you are mighty wicked and bad at heart.  This, I suppose,
you all know.  But if the gentleman should ask you who
made you, tell him the Lord; if he ask if you wish to go to
heaven, tell him yes.  Remember that you are all Christians, all
love the Lord, all want to go to heaven, all love your masters,
and all love me.  Now, boys and gals, I want you to show
yourselves smart to-morrow: be on your p's and q's, and, Monday
morning, I will give you all a glass of whiskey bright and
early."  Agreeable to arrangement the slaves were assembled
together on Sunday morning under the large trees near the great
house, and after going through another drilling from the driver,
Jones and Carlton made their appearance.  "You see," said Jones to
the Negroes, as he approached them, you see here's a gentleman
that's come to talk to you about your souls, and I hope you 'ill
all pay that attention that you ought."  Jones then seated himself
in one of the two chairs placed there for him and the stranger.

Carlton had already selected a chapter in the Bible to read to
them, which he did, after first prefacing it with some remarks of
his own.  Not being accustomed to speak in public, he determined,
after reading the Bible, to make it more of a conversational
meeting than otherwise.  He therefore began asking them questions.
"Do you feel that you are a Christian?" asked he of a
full-blooded Negro that sat near him.  "Yes, sir," was the
response.  "You feel, then, that you shall go to heaven."  "Yes,
sir."  "Of course you know who made you?"  The man put his hand to
his head and began to scratch his wool; and, after a little
hesitation, answered, "De overseer told us last night who made
us, but indeed I forgot the gentmun's name."  This reply was
almost too much for Carlton, and his gravity was not a little
moved.  However, he bit his tongue, and turned to another man,
who appeared, from his looks, to be more intelligent.  "Do you
serve the Lord?" asked he.  "No, sir, I don't serve anybody but
Mr. Jones.  I neber belong to anybody else."  To hide his feelings
at this juncture, Carlton turned and walked to another part of
the grounds, to where the women were seated, and said to a
mulatto woman who had rather an anxious countenance, "Did you
ever hear of John the Baptist?"  "Oh yes, marser, John de Baptist;
I know dat nigger bery well indeed; he libs in Old Kentuck, where
I come from."  Carlton's gravity here gave way, and he looked at
the planter and laughed right out.  The old woman knew a slave
near her old master's farm in Kentucky, and was ignorant enough
to suppose that he was the John the Baptist inquired about.
Carlton occupied the remainder of the time in reading Scripture
and talking to them.  "My niggers ain't shown off very well
to-day," said Jones, as he and his visitor left the grounds.
"No," replied Carlton.  "You did not get hold of the bright ones,"
continued the planter.  "So it seems," remarked Carlton.  The
planter evidently felt that his neighbour, Parson Peck, would
have a nut to crack over the account that Carlton would give of
the ignorance of the slaves, and said and did all in his power to
remove the bad impression already made; but to no purpose.  The
report made by Carlton, on his return, amused the parson very
much.  It appeared to him the best reason why professed Christians
like himself should be slave-holders.  Not so with Georgiana.  She
did not even smile when Carlton was telling his story, but seemed
sore at heart that such ignorance should prevail in their midst.
The question turned upon the heathen of other lands, and the
parson began to expatiate upon his own efforts in foreign
missions, when his daughter, with a child-like simplicity, said,


   "Send Bibles to the heathen;
     On every distant shore,
From light that's beaming o'er us,
   Let streams increasing pour
  But keep it from the millions
    Down-trodden at our door.

   "Send Bibles to the heathen,
   Their famished spirits feed;
Oh! haste, and join your efforts,
   The priceless gift to speed;
  Then flog the trembling Negro
   If he should learn to read."

"I saw a curiosity while at Mr. Jones's that I shall not forget
soon," said Carlton.  "What was it?" inquired the parson.  "A
kennel of bloodhounds; and such dogs I never saw before.  They
were of a species between the bloodhound and the foxhound, and
were ferocious, gaunt, and savage-looking animals.  They were part
of a stock imported from Cuba, he informed me.  They were kept in
an iron cage, and fed on Indian corn bread.  This kind of food, he
said, made them eager for their business.  Sometimes they would
give the dogs meat, but it was always after they had been chasing
a Negro."  "Were those the dogs you had, papa, to hunt Harry?"
asked Georgiana.  "No, my dear," was the short reply: and the
parson seemed anxious to change the conversation to something
else.  When Mr. Peck had left the room, Carlton spoke more freely
of what he had seen, and spoke more pointedly against slavery;
for he well knew that Miss Peck sympathised with him in all he
felt and said.

"You mentioned about your father hunting a slave," said Carlton,
in an undertone.  "Yes," replied she: "papa went with some
slave-catchers and a parcel of those nasty Negro-dogs, to hunt
poor Harry.  He belonged to papa and lived on the farm.  His wife
lives in town, and Harry had been to see her, and did not return
quite as early as he should; and Huckelby was flogging him, and
he got away and came here.  I wanted papa to keep him in town, so
that he could see his wife more frequently; but he said they
could not spare him from the farm, and flogged him again, and
sent him back.  The poor fellow knew that the overseer would
punish him over again, and instead of going back he went into the
woods."  "Did they catch him?" asked Carlton.  "Yes," replied she.
"In chasing him through the woods, he attempted to escape by
swimming across a river, and the dogs were sent in after him, and
soon caught him.  But Harry had great courage and fought the dogs
with a big club; and papa seeing the Negro would escape from the
dogs, shot at him, as he says, only to wound him, that he might
be caught; but the poor fellow was killed."  Overcome by relating
this incident, Georgiana burst into tears.

Although Mr. Peck fed and clothed his house servants well, and
treated them with a degree of kindness, he was, nevertheless, a
most cruel master.  He encouraged his driver to work the
field-hands from early dawn till late at night; and the good
appearance of the house-servants, and the preaching of Snyder to
the field Negroes, was to cause himself to be regarded as a
Christian master.  Being on a visit one day at the farm, and
having with him several persons from the Free States, and wishing
to make them believe that his slaves were happy, satisfied, and
contented, the parson got out the whiskey and gave each one a
dram, who in return had to drink the master's health, or give a
toast of some kind.  The company were not a little amused at some
of the sentiments given, and Peck was delighted at every
indication of contentment on the part of the blacks.  At last it
came to Jack's turn to drink, and the master expected something
good from him, because he was considered the cleverest and most
witty slave on the farm.

"Now," said the master, as he handed Jack the cup of whiskey;
"now, Jack, give us something rich.  You know," continued he, "we
have raised the finest crop of cotton that's been seen in these
parts for many a day.  Now give us a toast on cotton; come, Jack,
give us something to laugh at."  The Negro felt not a little
elated at being made the hero of the occasion, and taking the
whiskey in his right hand, put his left to his head and began to
scratch his wool, and said,

       "The big bee flies high,
    The little bee make the honey;
  The black folks makes the cotton,
 And the white folks gets the money."



CHAPTER XIV

A FREE WOMAN REDUCED TO SLAVERY

ALTHESA found in Henry Morton a kind and affectionate husband;
and his efforts to purchase her mother, although unsuccessful,
had doubly endeared him to her.  Having from the commencement
resolved not to hold slaves, or rather not to own any, they were
compelled to hire servants for their own use.  Five years had
passed away, and their happiness was increased by two lovely
daughters.  Mrs. Morton was seated, one bright afternoon, busily
engaged with her needle, and near her sat Salome, a servant that
she had just taken into her employ.  The woman was perfectly
white; so much so, that Mrs. Morton had expressed her
apprehensions to her husband, when the woman first came, that she
was not born a slave.  The mistress watched the servant, as the
latter sat sewing upon some coarse work, and saw the large silent
tear in her eye.  This caused an uneasiness to the mistress, and
she said, "Salome, don't you like your situation here?"  "Oh yes,
madam," answered the woman in a quick tone, and then tried to
force a smile.  "Why is it that you often look sad, and with tears
in your eyes?"  The mistress saw that she had touched a tender
chord, and continued, "I am your friend; tell me your sorrow,
and, if I can, I will help you."  As the last sentence was
escaping the lips of the mistress, the slave woman put her check
apron to her face and wept.  Mrs. Morton saw plainly that there
was cause for this expression of grief, and pressed the woman
more closely.  "Hear me, then," said the woman calming herself:
"I will tell you why I sometimes weep.  I was born in Germany, on
the banks of the Rhine.  Ten years ago my father came to this
country, bringing with him my mother and myself.  He was poor, and
I, wishing to assist all I could, obtained a situation as nurse
to a lady in this city.  My father got employment as a labourer on
the wharf, among the steamboats; but he was soon taken ill with
the yellow fever, and died.  My mother then got a situation for
herself, while I remained with my first employer.  When the hot
season came on, my master, with his wife, left New Orleans until
the hot season was over, and took me with them.  They stopped at a
town on the banks of the Mississippi river, and said they should
remain there some weeks.  One day they went out for a ride, and
they had not been one more than half an hour, when two men came
into the room and told me that they had bought me, and that I was
their slave.  I was bound and taken to prison, and that night put
on a steamboat and taken up the Yazoo river, and set to work on a
farm.  I was forced to take up with a Negro, and by him had three
children.  A year since my master's daughter was married, and I
was given to her.  She came with her husband to this city, and I
have ever since been hired out."

"Unhappy woman," whispered Althesa, "why did you not tell me this
before?"  "I was afraid," replied Salome, "for I was once severely
flogged for telling a stranger that I was not born a slave."  On
Mr. Morton's return home, his wife communicated to him the story
which the slave woman had told her an hour before, and begged
that something might be done to rescue her from the situation she
was then in.  In Louisiana as well as many others of the slave
states, great obstacles are thrown in the way of persons who have
been wrongfully reduced to slavery regaining their freedom.  A
person claiming to be free must prove his right to his liberty.
This, it will be seen, throws the burden of proof upon the slave,
who, in all probability, finds it out of his power to procure
such evidence.  And if any free person shall attempt to aid a
freeman in re-gaining his freedom, he is compelled to enter into
security in the sum of one thousand dollars, and if the person
claiming to be free shall fail to establish such fact, the
thousand dollars are forfeited to the state.  This cruel and
oppressive law has kept many a freeman from espousing the cause
of persons unjustly held as slaves.  Mr. Morton inquired and found
that the woman's story was true, as regarded the time she had
lived with her present owner; but the latter not only denied that
she was free, but immediately removed her from Morton's.  Three
months after Salome had been removed from Morton's and let out to
another family, she was one morning cleaning the door steps, when
a lady passing by, looked at the slave and thought she recognised
some one that she had seen before.  The lady stopped and asked the
woman if she was a slave.  "I am," said she.  "Were you born a
slave?"  "No, I was born in Germany."  "What's the name of the ship
in which you came to this country?"  inquired the lady.  "I don't
know," was the answer.  "Was it the Amazon?"  At the sound of
this name, the slave woman was silent for a moment, and then the
tears began to flow freely down her careworn cheeks.  "Would you
know Mrs. Marshall, who was a passenger in the Amazon, if you
should see her?" inquired the lady.  At this the woman gazed at
the lady with a degree of intensity that can be imagined better
than described, and then fell at the lady's feet.  The lady was
Mrs. Marshall.  She had crossed the Atlantic in the same ship with
this poor woman.  Salome, like many of her countrymen, was a
beautiful singer, and had often entertained Mrs. Marshall and the
other lady passengers on board the Amazon.  The poor woman was
raised from the ground by Mrs. Marshall, and placed upon the door
step that she had a moment before been cleaning.  "I will do my
utmost to rescue you from the horrid life of a slave," exclaimed
the lady, as she took from her pocket her pencil, and wrote down
the number of the house, and the street in which the German woman
was working as a slave.

After a long and tedious trial of many days, it was decided that
Salome Miller was by birth a free woman, and she was set at
liberty.  The good and generous Althesa had contributed some of
the money toward bringing about the trial, and had done much to
cheer on Mrs. Marshall in her benevolent object.  Salome Miller
is free, but where are her three children?  They are still slaves,
and in all human probability will die as such.

This, reader, is no fiction; if you think so, look over the files
of the New Orleans newspapers of the years 1845-6, and you will
there see reports of the trial.



CHAPTER XV

TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE

    "I promised thee a sister tale
     Of man's perfidious cruelty;
Come, then, and hear what cruel wrong
  Befell the dark ladie."--Coleridge.

LET us return for a moment to the home of Clotel.  While she was
passing lonely and dreary hours with none but her darling child,
Horatio Green was trying to find relief in that insidious enemy
of man, the intoxicating cup.  Defeated in politics, forsaken in
love by his wife, he seemed to have lost all principle of honour,
and was ready to nerve himself up to any deed, no matter how
unprincipled.  Clotel's existence was now well known to Horatio's
wife, and both her [sic] and her father demanded that the
beautiful quadroon and her child should be sold and sent out of
the state.  To this proposition he at first turned a deaf ear; but
when he saw that his wife was about to return to her father's
roof, he consented to leave the matter in the hands of his
father-in-law.  The result was, that Clotel was immediately sold
to the slave-trader, Walker, who, a few years previous, had taken
her mother and sister to the far South.  But, as if to make her
husband drink of the cup of humiliation to its very dregs, Mrs.
Green resolved to take his child under her own roof for a
servant.  Mary was, therefore, put to the meanest work that could
be found, and although only ten years of age, she was often
compelled to perform labour, which, under ordinary circumstances,
would have been thought too hard for one much older.  One
condition of the sale of Clotel to Walker was, that she should be
taken out of the state, which was accordingly done.  Most
quadroon women who are taken to the lower countries to be sold
are either purchased by gentlemen for their own use, or sold for
waiting-maids; and Clotel, like her sister, was fortunate enough
to be bought for the latter purpose.  The town of Vicksburgh
stands on the left bank of the Mississippi, and is noted for the
severity with which slaves are treated.  It was here that Clotel
was sold to Mr. James French, a merchant.

Mrs. French was severe in the extreme to her servants.  Well
dressed, but scantily fed, and overworked were all who found a
home with her.  The quadroon had been in her new home but a short
time ere she found that her situation was far different from what
it was in Virginia.  What social virtues are possible in a
society of which injustice is the primary characteristic? in a
society which is divided into two classes, masters and slaves?
Every married woman in the far South looks upon her husband as
unfaithful, and regards every quadroon servant as a rival.  Clotel
had been with her new mistress but a few days, when she was
ordered to cut off her long hair.  The Negro, constitutionally, is
fond of dress and outward appearance.  He that has short, woolly
hair, combs it and oils it to death.  He that has long hair, would
sooner have his teeth drawn than lose it.  However painful it was
to the quadroon, she was soon seen with her hair cut as short as
any of the full-blooded Negroes in the dwelling.

Even with her short hair, Clotel was handsome.  Her life had been
a secluded one, and though now nearly thirty years of age, she
was still beautiful.  At her short hair, the other servants
laughed, "Miss Clo needn't strut round so big, she got short
nappy har well as I," said Nell, with a broad grin that showed
her teeth.  "She tinks she white, when she come here wid dat long
har of hers," replied Mill.  "Yes," continued Nell; "missus make
her take down her wool so she no put it up to-day."

The fairness of Clotel's complexion was regarded with envy as well
by the other servants as by the mistress herself.  This is one of
the hard features of slavery.  To-day the woman is mistress of her
own cottage; to-morrow she is sold to one who aims to make her
life as intolerable as possible.  And be it remembered, that the
house servant has the best situation which a slave can occupy.
Some American writers have tried to make the world believe that
the condition of the labouring classes of England is as bad as
the slaves of the United States.

The English labourer may be oppressed, he may be cheated,
defrauded, swindled, and even starved; but it is not slavery
under which he groans.  He cannot be sold; in point of law he is
equal to the prime minister.  "It is easy to captivate the
unthinking and the prejudiced, by eloquent declamation about the
oppression of English operatives being worse than that of
American slaves, and by exaggerating the wrongs on one side and
hiding them on the other.  But all informed and reflecting minds,
knowing that bad as are the social evils of England, those of
Slavery are immeasurably worse."  But the degradation and harsh
treatment that Clotel experienced in her new home was nothing
compared with the grief she underwent at being separated from her
dear child.  Taken from her without scarcely a moment's warning,
she knew not what had become of her.  The deep and heartfelt
grief of Clotel was soon perceived by her owners, and fearing
that her refusal to take food would cause her death, they
resolved to sell her.  Mr. French found no difficulty in getting a
purchaser for the quadroon woman, for such are usually the most
marketable kind of property.  Clotel was sold at private sale to a
young man for a housekeeper; but even he had missed his aim.



CHAPTER XVI

DEATH OF THE PARSON

CARLTON was above thirty years of age, standing on the last legs
of a young man, and entering on the first of a bachelor.  He had
never dabbled in matters of love, and looked upon all women
alike.  Although he respected woman for her virtues, and often
spoke of the goodness of heart of the sex, he had never dreamed
of marriage.  At first he looked upon Miss Peck as a pretty young
woman, but after she became his religious teacher, he regarded
her in that light, that every one will those whom they know to be
their superiors.  It was soon seen, however, that the young man not
only respected and reverenced Georgiana for the incalculable
service she had done him, in awakening him to a sense of duty to
his soul, but he had learned to bow to the shrine of Cupid.  He
found, weeks after he had been in her company, that when he met
her at table, or alone in the drawing room, or on the piazza, he
felt a shortness of breath, a palpitating of the heart, a kind of
dizziness of the head; but he knew not its cause.

This was love in its first stage.  Mr. Peck saw, or thought he
saw, what would be the result of Carlton's visit, and held out
every inducement in his power to prolong his stay.  The hot season
was just commencing, and the young Northerner was talking of his
return home, when the parson was very suddenly taken ill.  The
disease was the cholera, and the physicians pronounced the case
incurable.  In less than five hours John Peck was a corpse.  His
love for Georgiana, and respect for her father, had induced
Carlton to remain by the bedside of the dying man, although
against the express orders of the physician.  This act of kindness
caused the young orphan henceforth to regard Carlton as her best
friend.  He now felt it his duty to remain with the young woman
until some of her relations should be summoned from Connecticut.
After the funeral, the family physician advised that Miss Peck
should go to the farm, and spend the time at the country seat;
and also advised Carlton to remain with her, which he did.

At the parson's death his Negroes showed little or no signs of
grief.  This was noticed by both Carlton and Miss Peck, and caused
no little pain to the latter.  "They are ungrateful," said
Carlton, as he and Georgiana were seated on the piazza.  "What,"
asked she, "have they to be grateful for?"  "Your father was kind,
was he not?"  "Yes, as kind as most men who own slaves; but the
kindness meted out to blacks would be unkindness if given to
whites.  We would think so, should we not?"  "Yes," replied he.
"If we would not consider the best treatment which a slave receives
good enough for us, we should not think he ought to be grateful
for it.  Everybody knows that slavery in its best and mildest form
is wrong.  Whoever denies this, his lips libel his heart.  Try him!
Clank the chains in his ears, and tell him they are for him; give
him an hour to prepare his wife and children for a life of
slavery; bid him make haste, and get ready their necks for the
yoke, and their wrists for the coffle chains; then look at his
pale lips and trembling knees, and you have nature's testimony
against slavery."

"Let's take a walk," said Carlton, as if to turn the
conversation.  The moon was just appearing through the tops of
the trees, and the animals and insects in an adjoining wood kept
up a continued din of music.  The croaking of bull-frogs, buzzing
of insects, cooing of turtle-doves, and the sound from a thousand
musical instruments, pitched on as many different keys, made the
welkin ring.  But even all this noise did not drown the singing of
a party of the slaves, who were seated near a spring that was
sending up its cooling waters.  "How prettily the Negroes sing,"
remarked Carlton, as they were wending their way towards the
place from whence the sound of the voices came.  "Yes," replied
Georgiana; "master Sam is there, I'll warrant you: he's always on
hand when there's any singing or dancing.  We must not let them
see us, or they will stop singing."  "Who makes their songs for
them?" inquired the young man.  "Oh, they make them up as they
sing them; they are all impromptu songs."  By this time they were
near enough to hear distinctly every word; and, true enough,
Sam's voice was heard above all others.  At the conclusion of each
song they all joined in a hearty laugh, with an expression of
"Dats de song for me;"  "Dems dems."

"Stop," said Carlton, as Georgiana was rising from the log upon
which she was seated; "stop, and let's hear this one."  The piece
was sung by Sam, the others joining in the chorus, and was as
follows:

                       Sam.

   "Come, all my brethren, let us take a rest,
   While the moon shines so brightly and clear;
     Old master is dead, and left us at last,
        And has gone at the Bar to appear.
   Old master has died, and lying in his grave,
     And our blood will awhile cease to flow;
He will no more trample on the neck of the slave;
     For he's gone where the slaveholders go.

                     Chorus.

         "Hang up the shovel and the hoe
        Take down the fiddle and the bow--
  Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
     He has gone where they all ought to go.

                       Sam.

   "I heard the old doctor say the other night,
       As he passed by the dining-room door
 'Perhaps the old man may live through the night,
       But I think he will die about four.'
 Young mistress sent me, at the peril of my life,
      For the parson to come down and pray,
For says she, 'Your old master is now about to die,'
     And says I, 'God speed him on his way.'

             "Hang up the shovel, &c.

  "At four o'clock at morn the family was called
         Around the old man's dying bed;
   And oh! but I laughed to myself when I heard
       That the old man's spirit had fled.
     Mr. Carlton cried, and so did I pretend;
       Young mistress very nearly went mad;
And the old parson's groans did the heavens fairly rend;
        But I tell you I felt mighty glad.

             "Hang up the shovel, &c.

 "We'll no more be roused by the blowing of his horn,
        Our backs no longer he will score;
He no more will feed us on cotton-seeds and corn;
     For his reign of oppression now is o'er.
  He no more will hang our children on the tree,
  To be ate by the carrion crow;
   He no more will send our wives to Tennessee;
     For he's gone where the slaveholders go.

         "Hang up the shovel and the hoe,

        Take down the fiddle and the bow,
              We'll dance and sing,
            And make the forest ring,
       With the fiddle and the old banjo."

The song was not half finished before Carlton regretted that he
had caused the young lady to remain and hear what to her must be
anything but pleasant reflections upon her deceased parent.  "I
think we will walk," said he, at the same time extending his arm
to Georgiana.  "No," said she; "let's hear them out.  It is from
these unguarded expressions of the feelings of the Negroes, that
we should learn a lesson."  At its conclusion they walked towards
the house in silence: as they were ascending the steps, the young
man said, "They are happy, after all.  The Negro, situated as yours
are, is not aware that he is deprived of any just rights."  "Yes,
yes," answered Georgiana: "you may place the slave where you
please; you may dry up to your utmost the fountains of his
feelings, the springs of his thought; you may yoke him to your
labour, as an ox which liveth only to work, and worketh only to
live; you may put him under any process which, without destroying
his value as a slave, will debase and crush him as a rational
being; you may do this, and the idea that he was born to be free
will survive it all.  It is allied to his hope of immortality; it
is the ethereal part of his nature, which oppression cannot
reach; it is a torch lit up in his soul by the hand of Deity, and
never meant to be extinguished by the hand of man."

On reaching the drawing-room, they found Sam snuffing the
candles, and looking as solemn and as dignified as if he had
never sung a song or laughed in his life.  "Will Miss Georgy have
de supper got up now?" asked the Negro.  "Yes," she replied.
"Well," remarked Carlton, "that beats anything I ever met with.
Do you think that was Sam we heard singing?" "I am sure of it,"
was the answer. "I could not have believed that that fellow was
capable of so much deception," continued he.  "Our system of
slavery is one of deception; and Sam, you see, has only been a
good scholar.  However, he is as honest a fellow as you will find
among the slave population here.  If we would have them more
honest, we should give them their liberty, and then the
inducement to be dishonest would be gone.  I have resolved that
these creatures shall all be free."  "Indeed!" exclaimed Carlton.
"Yes, I shall let them all go free, and set an example to those
about me."  "I honour your judgment," said he.  "But will the state
permit them to remain?"  "If not, they can go where they can live
in freedom.  I will not be unjust because the state is."



CHAPTER XVII

RETALIATION

    "I had a dream, a happy dream;
    I thought that I was free:
 That in my own bright land again
    A home there was for me."

WITH the deepest humiliation Horatio Green saw the daughter of
Clotel, his own child, brought into his dwelling as a servant.
His wife felt that she had been deceived, and determined to
punish her deceiver.  At first Mary was put to work in the kitchen,
where she met with little or no sympathy from the other slaves,
owing to the fairness of her complexion.  The child was white,
what should be done to make her look like other Negroes, was the
question Mrs. Green asked herself.  At last she hit upon a plan:
there was a garden at the back of the house over which Mrs. Green
could look from her parlour window.  Here the white slave-girl was
put to work, without either bonnet or handkerchief upon her head.
A hot sun poured its broiling rays on the naked face and neck of
the girl, until she sank down in the corner of the garden, and
was actually broiled to sleep.  "Dat little nigger ain't working a
bit, missus," said Dinah to Mrs. Green, as she entered the
kitchen.

"She's lying in the sun, seasoning; she will work better by and
by," replied the mistress.  "Dees white niggers always tink dey
sef good as white folks," continued the cook.  "Yes, but we will
teach them better; won't we, Dinah?"  "Yes, missus, I don't like
dees mularter niggers, no how: dey always want to set dey sef up
for something big."  The cook was black, and was not without that
prejudice which is to be found among the Negroes, as well as
among the whites of the Southern States.  The sun had the desired
effect, for in less than a fortnight Mary's fair complexion had
disappeared, and she was but little whiter than any other mulatto
children running about the yard.  But the close resemblance
between the father and child annoyed the mistress more than the
mere whiteness of the child's complexion.  Horatio made
proposition after proposition to have the girl sent away, for
every time he beheld her countenance it reminded him of the happy
days he had spent with Clotel.  But his wife had commenced, and
determined to carry out her unfeeling and fiendish designs.  This
child was not only white, but she was the granddaughter of Thomas
Jefferson, the man who, when speaking against slavery in the
legislature of Virginia, said,

"The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual
exercise of the most boisterous passions; the most unremitting
despotism on the one part, and degrading submission on the other.
With what execration should the statesman be loaded who,
permitting one half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of
the other, transforms those into despots and these into enemies,
destroys the morals of the one part, and the amor patriae of the
other!  For if the slave can have a country in this world, it must
be any other in preference to that in which he is born to live
and labour for another; in which he must lock up the faculties of
his nature, contribute as far as depends on his individual
endeavours to the evanishment of the human race, or entail his
own miserable condition on the endless generations proceeding
from him.  And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure
when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the
minds of the people that these liberties are the gift of God?
that they are not to be violated but with his wrath?  Indeed, I
tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just; that his
justice cannot sleep for ever; that, considering numbers, nature,
and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of fortune, an
exchange of situation, is among possible events; that it may
become probable by supernatural interference!  The Almighty has no
attribute which can take side with us in such a contest.

"What an incomprehensible machine is man!  Who can endure toil,
famine, stripes, imprisonment, and death itself, in vindication
of his own liberty, and the next moment be deaf to all those
motives, whose power supported him through his trial, and inflict
on his fellow-men a bondage, one hour of which is fraught with
more misery than ages of that which he rose in rebellion to
oppose!  But we must wait with patience the workings of an
overruling Providence, and hope that that is preparing the
deliverance of these our suffering brethren.  When the measure of
their tears shall be full--when their tears shall have involved
heaven itself in darkness--doubtless a God of justice will awaken
to their distress, and by diffusing light and liberality among
their oppressors, or at length by his exterminating thunder,
manifest his attention to things of this world, and that they are
not left to the guidance of blind fatality."

The same man, speaking of the probability that the slaves might
some day attempt to gain their liberties by a revolution, said,

"I tremble for my country, when I recollect that God is just, and
that His justice cannot sleep for ever.  The Almighty has no
attribute that can take sides with us in such a struggle."

But, sad to say, Jefferson is not the only American statesman who
has spoken high-sounding words in favour of freedom, and then
left his own children to die slaves.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE LIBERATOR

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created
free and equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with
certain inalienable rights; among these are life, liberty, and
the pursuit of happiness."--Declaration of American Independence.

THE death of the parson was the commencement of a new era in the
history of his slaves.  Only a little more than eighteen years of
age, Georgiana could not expect to carry out her own wishes in
regard to the slaves, although she was sole heir to her father's
estate.  There were distant relations whose opinions she had at
least to respect.  And both law and public opinion in the state
were against any measure of emancipation that she might think of
adopting; unless, perhaps, she might be permitted to send them to
Liberia.  Her uncle in Connecticut had already been written to, to
come down and aid in settling up the estate.  He was a Northern
man, but she knew him to be a tight-fisted yankee, whose whole
counsel would go against liberating the Negroes.  Yet there was
one way in which the thing could be done.  She loved Carlton, and
she well knew that he loved her; she read it in his countenance
every time they met, yet the young man did not mention his wishes
to her.  There were many reasons why he should not.  In the first
place, her father was just deceased, and it seemed only right
that he should wait a reasonable time.  Again, Carlton was poor,
and Georgiana was possessed of a large fortune; and his high
spirit would not, for a moment, allow him to place himself in a
position to be regarded as a fortune-hunter.  The young girl
hinted, as best she could, at the probable future; but all to no
purpose.  He took nothing to himself.  True, she had read much of
"woman's rights;" and had even attended a meeting, while at the
North, which had been called to discuss the wrongs of woman; but
she could not nerve herself up to the point of putting the
question to Carlton, although she felt sure that she should not
be rejected.  She waited, but in vain.  At last, one evening, she
came out of her room rather late, and was walking on the piazza
for fresh air.  She passed near Carlton's room, and heard the
voice of Sam.  The negro had just come in to get the young man's
boots, and had stopped, as he usually did, to have some talk.  "I
wish," said Sam, "dat Marser Carlton an Miss Georgy would get
married; den, speck, we'd have good times."  "I don't think your
mistress would have me," replied the young man.  "What make tink
dat, Marser Carlton?"  "Your mistress would marry no one, Sam,
unless she loved them."  "Den I wish she would lub you, cause I tink
we have good times den.  All our folks is de same 'pinion like
me," returned the Negro, and then left the room with the boots in
his hands.  During the conversation between the Anglo-Saxon and
the African, one word had been dropped by the former that haunted
the young lady the remainder of the night--"Your mistress would
marry no one unless she loved them."  That word awoke her in the
morning, and caused her to decide upon this import subject.  Love
and duty triumphed over the woman's timid nature, and that day
Georgiana informed Carlton that she was ready to become his wife.
The young man, with grateful tears, accepted and
kissed the hand that was offered to him.  The marriage of Carlton
and Miss Peck was hailed with delight by both the servants in the
house and the Negroes on the farm.  New rules were immediately
announced for the working and general treatment of the slaves on
the plantation.  With this, Huckelby, the overseer, saw his reign
coming to an end; and Snyder, the Dutch preacher, felt that his
services would soon be dispensed with, for nothing was more
repugnant to the feelings of Mrs. Carlton than the sermons
preached by Snyder to the slaves.  She regarded them as something
intended to make them better satisfied with their condition, and
more valuable as pieces of property, without preparing them for
the world to come.  Mrs. Carlton found in her husband a congenial
spirit, who entered into all her wishes and plans for bettering
the condition of their slaves.  Mrs. Carlton's views and
sympathies were all in favour of immediate emancipation; but then
she saw, or thought she saw, a difficulty in that.  If the slaves
were liberated, they must be sent out of the state.  This, of
course, would incur additional expense; and if they left the
state, where had they better go?  "Let's send them to Liberia,"
said Carlton.  "Why should they go to Africa, any more than to the
Free States or to Canada?" asked the wife.  "They would be in
their native land," he answered.  "Is not this their native land?
What right have we, more than the Negro, to the soil here, or to
style ourselves native Americans?  Indeed it is as much their home
as ours, and I have sometimes thought it was more theirs.  The
Negro has cleared up the lands, built towns, and enriched the
soil with his blood and tears; and in return, he is to be sent to
a country of which he knows nothing.  Who fought more bravely for
American independence than the blacks? A negro, by the
name of Attucks, was the first that fell in Boston at the
commencement of the revolutionary war; and throughout the whole
of the struggles for liberty in this country, the Negroes have
contributed their share.  In the last war with Great Britain, the
country was mainly indebted to the blacks in New Orleans for the
achievement of the victory at that place; and even General
Jackson, the commander in chief, called the Negroes together at
the close of the war, and addressed them in the following
terms:--

'Soldiers!--When on the banks of the Mobile I called you to take up
arms, inviting you to partake the perils and glory of your white
fellow citizens, I expected much from you; for I was not ignorant
that you possess qualities most formidable to an invading enemy.  I
knew with what fortitude you could endure hunger and thirst, and
all the fatigues of a campaign.  I knew well how you loved your
native country, and that you, as well as ourselves, had to defend
what man holds most dear--his parents, wife, children, and
property.  You have done more than I expected.  In addition to the
previous qualities I before knew you to possess, I found among
you a noble enthusiasm, which leads to the performance of great
things.

'Soldiers!  The President of the United States shall hear how
praiseworthy was your conduct in the hour of danger, and the
representatives of the American people will give you the praise
your exploits entitle you to.  Your general anticipates them in
appauding your noble ardour.'

"And what did these noble men receive in return for their
courage, their heroism?  Chains and slavery.  Their good deeds have
been consecrated only in their own memories.  Who rallied with
more alacrity in response to the summons of danger?  If in that
hazardous hour, when our homes were menaced with the horrors of
war, we did not disdain to call upon the Negro to assist in
repelling invasion, why should we, now that the danger is past,
deny him a home in his native land?"  "I see," said Carlton, "you
are right, but I fear you will have difficulty in persuading
others to adopt your views."  "We will set the example," replied
she, "and then hope for the best; for I feel that the people of
the Southern States will one day see their error.  Liberty has
always been our watchword, as far as profession is concerned.
Nothing has been held so cheap as our common humanity, on a
national average.  If every man had his aliquot proportion of the
injustice done in this land, by law and violence, the present
freemen of the northern section would many of them commit suicide
in self-defence, and would court the liberties awarded by Ali
Pasha of Egypt to his subjects.  Long ere this we should have
tested, in behalf of our bleeding and crushed American brothers
of every hue and complexion, every new constitution, custom, or
practice, by which inhumanity was supposed to be upheld, the
injustice and cruelty they contained, emblazoned before the great
tribunal of mankind for condemnation; and the good and available
power they possessed, for the relief, deliverance and elevation
of oppressed men, permitted to shine forth from under the cloud,
for the refreshment of the human race."

Although Mr. and Mrs. Carlton felt that immediate emancipation
was the right of the slave and the duty of the master, they
resolved on a system of gradual emancipation, so as to give them
time to accomplish their wish, and to prepare the Negro for
freedom.  Huckelby was one morning told that his services would
no longer be required.  The Negroes, ninety-eight in number, were
called together and told that the whip would no longer be used,
and that they would be allowed a certain sum for every bale of
cotton produced.  Sam, whose long experience in the cotton-field
before he had been taken into the house, and whose general
intelligence justly gave him the first place amongst the Negroes
on the Poplar Farm, was placed at their head.  They were also
given to understand that the money earned by them would be placed
to their credit; and when it amounted to a certain sum, they
should all be free.

The joy with which this news was received by the slaves, showed
their grateful appreciation of the boon their benefactors were
bestowing upon them.  The house servants were called and told that
wages would be allowed them, and what they earned set to their
credit, and they too should be free.  The next were the
bricklayers.  There were eight of these, who had paid their master
two dollars per day, and boarded and clothed themselves.  An
arrangement was entered into with them, by which the money they
earned should be placed to their credit; and they too should be
free, when a certain amount should be accumulated; and great was
the change amongst all these people.  The bricklayers had been to
work but a short time, before their increased industry was
noticed by many.  They were no longer apparently the same people.
A sedateness, a care, an economy, an industry, took possession of
them, to which there seemed to be no bounds but in their physical
strength.  They were never tired of labouring, and seemed as
though they could never effect enough.  They became temperate,
moral, religious, setting an example of innocent, unoffending
lives to the world around them, which was seen and admired by
all.  Mr. Parker, a man who worked nearly forty slaves at the same
business, was attracted by the manner in which these Negroes
laboured.  He called on Mr. Carlton, some weeks after they had
been acting on the new system, and offered 2,000 dollars for the
head workman, Jim.  The offer was, of course, refused.  A few days
after the same gentleman called again, and made an offer of
double the sum that he had on the former occasion.  Mr. Parker,
finding that no money would purchase either of the Negroes, said,
"Now, Mr. Carlton, pray tell me what it is that makes your
Negroes work so?  What kind of people are they?"  "I suppose,"
observed Carlton, "that they are like other people, flesh and
blood."  "Why, sir," continued Parker, "I have never seen such
people; building as they are next door to my residence, I see and
have my eye on them from morning till night.  You are never there,
for I have never met you, or seen you once at the building.  Why,
sir, I am an early riser, getting up before day; and do you think
that I am not awoke every morning in my life by the noise of
their trowels at work, and their singing and noise before day;
and do you suppose, sir, that they stop or leave off work at
sundown?  No, sir, but they work as long as they can see to lay a
brick, and then they carry tip brick and mortar for an hour or
two afterward, to be ahead of their work the next morning.  And
again, sir, do you think that they walk at their work?  No, sir,
they run all day.  You see, sir, those immensely long, ladders,
five stories in height; do you suppose they walk up them?  No,
sir, they run up and down them like so many monkeys all day long.
I never saw such people as these in my life.  I don't know what to
make of them.  Were a white man with them and over them with a
whip, then I should see and understand the cause of the running
and incessant labour; but I cannot comprehend it; there is
something in it, sir.  Great man, sir, that Jim; great man; I
should like to own him."  Carlton here informed Parker that their
liberties depended upon their work; when the latter replied, "If
niggers can work so for the promise of freedom, they ought to be
made to work without it."  This last remark was in the true spirit
of the slaveholder, and reminds us of the fact that, some years
since, the overseer of General Wade Hampton offered the
niggers under him a suit of clothes to the one that picked the
most cotton in one day; and after that time that day's work was
given as a task to the slaves on that plantation; and, after a
while, was adopted by other planters.

The Negroes on the farm, under "Marser Sam," were also working in
a manner that attracted the attention of the planters round
about.  They no longer feared Huckelby's whip, and no longer slept
under the preaching of Snyder.  On the Sabbath, Mr. and Mrs.
Carlton read and explained the Scriptures to them; and the very
great attention paid by the slaves showed plainly that they
appreciated the gospel when given to them in its purity.  The death
of Currer, from yellow fever, was a great trial to Mrs. Carlton;
for she had not only become much attached to her, but had heard
with painful interest the story of her wrongs, and would, in all
probability, have restored her to her daughter in New Orleans.



CHAPTER XIX

ESCAPE OF CLOTEL

  "The fetters galled my weary soul--
 A soul that seemed but thrown away;
 I spurned the tyrant's base control,
 Resolved at least the man to play."

No country has produced so much heroism in so short a time,
connected with escapes from peril and oppression, as has occurred
in the United States among fugitive slaves, many of whom show
great shrewdness in their endeavours to escape from this land of
bondage.  A slave was one day seen passing on the high road from a
border town in the interior of the state of Virginia to the Ohio
river.  The man had neither hat upon his head or coat upon his
back.  He was driving before him a very nice fat pig, and appeared
to all who saw him to be a labourer employed on an adjoining
farm.  "No Negro is permitted to go at large in the Slave States
without a written pass from his or her master, except on business
in the neighbourhood."  "Where do you live, my boy?" asked a white
man of the slave, as he passed a white house with green blinds.
"Jist up de road, sir," was the answer.  "That's a fine pig."
"Yes, sir, marser like dis choat berry much."  And the Negro drove
on as if he was in great haste.  In this way he and the pig
travelled more than fifty miles before they reached the Ohio
river.  Once at the river they crossed over; the pig was sold; and
nine days after the runaway slave passed over the Niagara river,
and, for the first time in his life, breathed the air of freedom.
A few weeks later, and, on the same road, two slaves were seen
passing; one was on horseback, the other was walking before him
with his arms tightly bound, and a long rope leading from the man
on foot to the one on horseback.  "Oh, ho, that's a runaway
rascal, I suppose," said a farmer, who met them on the road.
"Yes, sir, he bin runaway, and I got him fast.  Marser will tan
his jacket for him nicely when he gets him."  "You are a
trustworthy fellow, I imagine," continued the farmer.  "Oh yes,
sir; marser puts a heap of confidence in dis nigger."  And the
slaves travelled on.  When the one on foot was fatigued they would
change positions, the other being tied and driven on foot.  This
they called "ride and tie."  After a journey of more than two
hundred miles they reached the Ohio river, turned the horse
loose, told him to go home, and proceeded on their way to Canada.
However they were not to have it all their own way.  There are men
in the Free States, and especially in the states adjacent to the
Slave States, who make their living by catching the runaway
slave, and returning him for the reward that may be offered.  As
the two slaves above mentioned were travelling on towards the
land of freedom, led by the North Star, they were set upon by
four of these slave-catchers, and one of them unfortunately
captured.  The other escaped.  The captured fugitive was put under
the torture, and compelled to reveal the name of his owner and
his place of residence.  Filled with delight, the kidnappers
started back with their victim.  Overjoyed with the prospect of
receiving a large reward, they gave themselves up on the third
night to pleasure.  They put up at an inn.  The Negro was chained
to the bed-post, in the same room with his captors.  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
the white men were fast asleep.  The brandy punch had done its
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, and reach
the ground by one of the posts that supported the piazza.  The
sleeper's 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 undressed
himself, took the clothes of one of the men, dressed himself in
them, and escaped through the window, and, a moment more, he was
on the high road to Canada.  Fifteen days later, and the writer of
this gave him a passage across Lake Erie, and saw him safe in her
Britannic Majesty's dominions.

We have seen Clotel sold to Mr. French in Vicksburgh, her hair
cut short, and everything done to make her realise her position
as a servant.  Then we have seen her re-sold, because her owners
feared she would die through grief.  As yet her new purchaser
treated her with respectful gentleness, and sought to win her
favour by flattery and presents, knowing that whatever he gave
her he could take back again.  But she dreaded every moment lest
the scene should change, and trembled at the sound of every
footfall.  At every interview with her new master Clotel stoutly
maintained that she had left a husband in Virginia, and would
never think of taking another.  The gold watch and chain, and
other glittering presents which he purchased for her, were all
laid aside by the quadroon, as if they were of no value to her.
In the same house with her was another servant, a man, who had
from time to time hired himself from his master.  William was his
name.  He could feel for Clotel, for he, like her, had been
separated from near and dear relatives, and often tried to
console the poor woman. One day the quadroon observed to him that
her hair was growing out again.  "Yes," replied William, "you look
a good deal like a man with your short hair."  "Oh," rejoined she,
"I have often been told that I would make a better looking man
than a woman.  If I had the money," continued she, "I would bid
farewell to this place."  In a moment more she feared that she had
said too much, and smilingly remarked, "I am always talking
nonsense."  William was a tall, full-bodied Negro, whose very
countenance beamed with intelligence.  Being a mechanic, he had,
by his own industry, made more than what he paid his owner; this
he laid aside, with the hope that some day he might get enough to
purchase his freedom.  He had in his chest one hundred and fifty
dollars.  His was a heart that felt for others, and he had again
and again wiped the tears from his eyes as he heard the story of
Clotel as related by herself.  "If she can get free with a little
money, why not give her what I have?" thought he, and then he
resolved to do it.  An hour after, he came into the quadroon's
room, and laid the money in her lap, and said, "There, Miss
Clotel, you said if you had the means you would leave this place;
there is money enough to take you to England, where you will be
free.  You are much fairer than many of the white women of the
South, and can easily pass for a free white lady."  At first
Clotel feared that it was a plan by which the Negro wished to try
her fidelity to her owner; but she was soon convinced by his
earnest manner, and the deep feeling with which he spoke, that he
was honest.  "I will take the money only on one condition," said
she; "and that is, that I effect your escape as well as my own."
"How can that be done?" he inquired.  "I will assume the disguise
of a gentleman and you that of a servant, and we will take
passage on a steamboat and go to Cincinnati, and thence to
Canada."  Here William put in several objections to the plan.  He
feared detection, and he well knew that, when a slave is once
caught when attempting to escape, if returned is sure to be worse
treated than before.  However, Clotel satisfied him that the plan
could be carried out if he would only play his part.

The resolution was taken, the clothes for her disguise procured,
and before night everything was in readiness for their departure.
That night Mr. Cooper, their master, was to attend a party, and
this was their opportunity.  William went to the wharf to look out
for a boat, and had scarcely reached the landing ere he heard the
puffing of a steamer.  He returned and reported the fact.  Clotel
had already packed her trunk, and had only to dress and all was
ready.  In less than an hour they were on board the boat.  Under
the assumed name of "Mr. Johnson," Clotel went to the clerk's
office and took a private state room for herself, and paid her
own and servant's fare.  Besides being attired in a neat suit of
black, she had a white silk handkerchief tied round her chin, as
if she was an invalid.  A pair of green glasses covered her eyes;
and fearing that she would be talked to too much and thus render
her liable to be detected, she assumed to be very ill.  On the
other hand, William was playing his part well in the servants'
hall; he was talking loudly of his master's wealth.  Nothing
appeared as good on the boat as in his master's fine mansion.
"I don't like dees steam-boats no how," said William; "I hope when
marser goes on a journey agin he will take de carriage and de
hosses."  Mr. Johnson (for such was the name by which Clotel now
went) remained in his room, to avoid, as far as possible,
conversation with others.  After a passage of seven days they
arrived at Louisville, and put up at Gough's Hotel.  Here they had
to await the departure of another boat for the North.  They were
now in their most critical position.  They were still in a slave
state, and John C. Calhoun, a distinguished slave-owner, was a
guest at this hotel.  They feared, also, that trouble would attend
their attempt to leave this place for the North, as all persons
taking Negroes with them have to give bail that such Negroes are
not runaway slaves.  The law upon this point is very stringent:
all steamboats and other public conveyances are liable to a fine
for every slave that escapes by them, besides paying the full
value for the slave.  After a delay of four hours, Mr. Johnson
and servant took passage on the steamer Rodolph, for Pittsburgh.
It is usual, before the departure of the boats, for an officer to
examine every part of the vessel to see that no slave secretes
himself on board.  "Where are you going?" asked the officer of
William, as he was doing his duty on this occasion.  "I am going
with marser," was the quick reply.  "Who is your master?"  "Mr.
Johnson, sir, a gentleman in the cabin."  "You must take him to
the office and satisfy the captain that all is right, or you
can't go on this boat."  William informed his master what the
officer had said.  The boat was on the eve of going, and no time
could be lost, yet they knew not what to do.  At last they went to
the office, and Mr. Johnson, addressing the captain, said, "I am
informed that my boy can't go with me unless I give security that
he belongs to me.  "Yes," replied the captain, "that is the law."
"A very strange law indeed," rejoined Mr. Johnson, "that one
can't take his property with him."  After a conversation of some
minutes, and a plea on the part of Johnson that he did not wish
to be delayed owing to his illness, they were permitted to take
their passage without farther trouble, and the boat was soon on
its way up the river.  The fugitives had now passed the Rubicon,
and the next place at which they would land would be in a Free
State.  Clotel called William to her room, and said to him, "We
are now free, you can go on your way to Canada, and I shall go to
Virginia in search of my daughter."  The announcement that she was
going to risk her liberty in a Slave State was unwelcome news to
William.  With all the eloquence he could command, he tried to
persuade Clotel that she could not escape detection, and was only
throwing her freedom away.  But she had counted the cost, and made
up her mind for the worst.  In return for the money he had
furnished, she had secured for him his liberty, and their
engagement was at an end.

After a quick passage the fugitives arrived at Cincinnati, and
there separated.  William proceeded on his way to Canada, and
Clotel again resumed her own apparel, and prepared to start in
search of her child.  As might have been expected, the escape of
those two valuable slaves created no little sensation in
Vicksburgh.  Advertisements and messages were sent in every
direction in which the fugitives were thought to have gone.  It was
soon, however, known that they had left the town as master and
servant; and many were the communications which
appeared in the newspapers, in which the writers thought, or
pretended, that they had seen the slaves in their disguise.  One
was to the effect that they had gone off in a chaise; one as
master, and the other as servant.  But the most probable was an
account given by a correspondent of one of the Southern
newspapers, who happened to be a passenger in the same steamer in
which the slaves escaped, and which we here give:--

"One bright starlight night, in the month of December last, I
found myself in the cabin of the steamer Rodolph, then lying in
the port of Vicksburgh, and bound to Louisville.  I had gone early
on board, in order to select a good berth, and having got tired of
reading the papers, amused myself with watching the appearance of
the passengers as they dropped in, one after another, and I being
a believer in physiognomy, formed my own opinion of their
characters.

"The second bell rang, and as I yawningly returned my watch to my
pocket, my attention was attracted by the appearance of a young
man who entered the cabin supported by his servant, a strapping
Negro.

"The man was bundled up in a capacious overcoat; his face was
bandaged with a white handkerchief, and its expression entirely
hid by a pair of enormous spectacles.

"There was something so mysterious and unusual about the young man
as he sat restless in the corner, that curiosity led me to
observe him more closely.

"He appeared anxious to avoid notice, and before the steamer had
fairly left the wharf, requested, in a low, womanly voice, to be
shown his berth, as he was an invalid, and must retire early: his
name he gave as Mr. Johnson.  His servant was called, and he was
put quietly to bed.  I paced the deck until Tyhee light grew dim
in the distance, and then went to my berth.

"I awoke in the morning with the sun shining in my face; we were
then just passing St. Helena.  It was a mild beautiful morning,
and most of the passengers were on deck, enjoying the freshness
of the air, and stimulating their appetites for breakfast.  Mr.
Johnson soon made his appearance, arrayed as on the night before,
and took his seat quietly upon the guard of the boat.

"From the better opportunity afforded by daylight, I found that
he was a slight build, apparently handsome young man, with black
hair and eyes, and of a darkness of complexion that betokened
Spanish extraction.  Any notice from others seemed painful to him;
so to satisfy my curiosity, I questioned his servant, who was
standing near, and gained the following information.

"His master was an invalid--he had suffered for a long time under a
complication of diseases, that had baffled the skill of the best
physicians in Mississippi; he was now suffering principally with
the 'rheumatism,' and he was scarcely able to walk or help himself
in any way.  He came from Vicksburgh, and was now on his way to
Philadelphia, at which place resided his uncle, a celebrated
physician, and through whose means he hoped to be restored to
perfect health.

"This information, communicated in a bold, off-hand manner,
enlisted my sympathies for the sufferer, although it occurred to
me that he walked rather too gingerly for a person afflicted with
so many ailments."

After thanking Clotel for the great service she had done him in
bringing him out of slavery, William bade her farewell. The
prejudice that exists in the Free States against coloured
persons, on account of their colour, is attributable solely to
the influence of slavery, and is but another form of slavery
itself.  And even the slave who escapes from the Southern
plantations, is surprised when he reaches the North, at the
amount and withering influence of this prejudice.  William applied
at the railway station for a ticket for the train going to
Sandusky, and was told that if he went by that train he would
have to ride in the luggage-van.  "Why?" asked the astonished
Negro.  "We don't send a Jim Crow carriage but once a day, and
that went this morning."  The "Jim Crow" carriage is the one in
which the blacks have to ride.  Slavery is a school in which its
victims learn much shrewdness, and William had been an apt
scholar.  Without asking any more questions, the Negro took his
seat in one of the first-class carriages.  He was soon seen and
ordered out.  Afraid to remain in the town longer, he resolved to
go by that train; and consequently seated himself on a goods' box
in the luggage van.  The train started at its proper time, and all
went on well.  Just before arriving at the end of the journey, the
conductor called on William for his ticket.  "I have none," was
the reply.  "Well, then, you can pay your fare to me," said the
officer.  "How much is it?" asked the black man.  "Two dollars."
"What do you charge those in the passenger-carriage?"  "Two
dollars."  "And do you charge me the same as you do those who ride
in the best carriages?" asked the Negro.  "Yes," was the answer.
"I shan't pay it," returned the man.  "You black scamp, do you
think you can ride on this road without paying your fare?"  "No, I
don't want to ride for nothing; I only want to pay what's right."
"Well, launch out two dollars, and that's right."  "No, I shan't;
I will pay what I ought, and won't pay any more."  "Come, come,
nigger, your fare and be done with it," said the conductor, in a
manner that is never used except by Americans to blacks.  "I won't
pay you two dollars, and that enough," said William.  "Well, as
you have come all the way in the luggage-van, pay me a dollar and
a half and you may go."  "I shan't do any such thing."  "Don't you
mean to pay for riding?"  "Yes, but I won't pay a dollar and a
half for riding up here in the freight-van.  If you had let me
come in the carriage where others ride, I would have paid you two
dollars."  "Where were you raised?  You seem to think yourself as
good as white folks."  "I want nothing more than my rights."
"Well, give me a dollar, and I will let you off."  "No, sir, I
shan't do it."  "What do you mean to do then, don't you wish to pay
anything?"  "Yes, sir, I want to pay you the full price."  "What do
you mean by full price?"  "What do you charge per hundred-weight
for goods?" inquired the Negro with a degree of gravity that
would have astonished Diogenes himself.  "A quarter of a dollar
per hundred," answered the conductor.  "I weigh just one hundred
and fifty pounds," returned William, "and will pay you three
eighths of a dollar."  "Do you expect that you will pay only
thirty-seven cents for your ride?"  "This, sir, is your own price.
I came in a luggage-van, and I'll pay for luggage."  After a vain
effort to get the Negro to pay more, the conductor took the
thirty-seven cents, and noted in his cash-book, "Received for one
hundred and fifty pounds of luggage, thirty seven cents."  This,
reader, is no fiction; it actually occurred in the railway above
described.

Thomas Corwin, a member of the American Congress, is one of the
blackest white men in the United States.  He was once on his way
to Congress, and took passage in one of the Ohio river steamers.
As he came just at the dinner hour, he immediately went into the
dining saloon, and took his seat at the table.  A gentleman with
his whole party of five ladies at once left the table.  "Where is
the captain?" cried the man in an angry tone.  The captain soon
appeared, and it was sometime before he could satisfy the old
gent, that Governor Corwin was not a nigger.  The newspapers often
have notices of mistakes made by innkeepers and others who
undertake to accommodate the public, one of which we give below.

On the 6th inst., the Hon. Daniel Webster and family entered
Edgartown, on a visit for health and recreation.  Arriving at the
hotel, without alighting from the coach, the landlord was sent
for to see if suitable accommodation could be had.  That dignitary
appearing, and surveying Mr. Webster, while the hon. senator
addressed him, seemed woefully to mistake the dark features of
the traveller as he sat back in the corner of the carriage, and
to suppose him a coloured man, particularly as there were two
coloured servants of Mr. W. outside.  So he promptly declared that
there was no room for him and his family, and he could not be
accommodated there at the same time suggesting that he might
perhaps find accommodation at some of the huts up back, to which
he pointed.  So deeply did the prejudice of looks possess him,
that he appeared not to notice that the stranger introduced
himself to him as Daniel Webster, or to be so ignorant as not to
have heard of such a personage; and turning away, he expressed to
the driver his astonishment that he should bring black people
there for him to take in.  It was not till he had been repeatedly
assured and made to understand that the said Daniel Webster was a
real live senator of the United States, that he perceived his
awkward mistake and the distinguished honour which he and his
house were so near missing.

In most of the Free States, the coloured people are disfranchised
on account of their colour.  The following scene, which we take
from a newspaper in the state of Ohio, will give some idea of the
extent to which this prejudice is carried.

"The whole of Thursday last was occupied by the Court of Common
Pleas for this county in trying to find out whether one Thomas
West was of the VOTING COLOUR, as some had very constitutional
doubts as to whether his colour was orthodox, and whether his
hair was of the official crisp!  Was it not a dignified business?
Four profound judges, four acute lawyers, twelve grave jurors,
and I don't know how many venerable witnesses, making in all
about thirty men, perhaps, all engaged in the profound,
laborious, and illustrious business, of finding out whether a man
who pays tax, works on the road, and is an industrious farmer,
has been born according to the republican, Christian constitution
of Ohio--so that he can vote!  And they wisely, gravely, and
'JUDGMATICALLY' decided that he should not vote!  What wisdom--what
research it must have required to evolve this truth!  It was left
for the Court of Common Pleas for Columbian county, Ohio, in the
United States of North America, to find out what Solomon never
dreamed of--the courts of all civilised, heathen, or Jewish
countries, never contemplated.  Lest the wisdom of our courts
should be circumvented by some such men as might be named, who
are so near being born constitutionally that they might be taken
for white by sight, I would suggest that our court be invested
with SMELLING powers, and that if a man don't exhale the
constitutional smell, he shall not vote!  This would be an
additional security to our liberties."

William found, after all, that liberty in the so-called Free
States was more a name than a reality; that prejudice followed
the coloured man into every place that he might enter.  The
temples erected for the worship of the living God are no
exception.  The finest Baptist church in the city of Boston has
the following paragraph in the deed that conveys its seats to
pewholders:

"And it is a further condition of these presents, that if the
owner or owners of said pew shall determine hereafter to sell the
same, it shall first be offered, in writing, to the standing
committee of said society for the time being, at such price as
might otherwise be obtained for it; and the said committee shall
have the right, for ten days after such offer, to purchase said
pew for said society, at that price, first deducting therefrom
all taxes and assessments on said pew then remaining unpaid.  And
if the said committee shall not so complete such purchase within
said ten days, then the pew may be sold by the owner or owners
thereof (after payment of all such arrears) to any one
respectable white person, but upon the same conditions as are
contained in this instrument; and immediate notice of such sale
shall be given in writing, by the vendor, to the treasurer of
said society."

Such are the conditions upon which the Rowe Street Baptist
Church, Boston, disposes of its seats.  The writer of this is able
to put that whole congregation, minister and all, to flight, by
merely putting his coloured face in that church.  We once visited
a church in New York that had a place set apart for the sons of
Ham.  It was a dark, dismal looking place in one corner of the
gallery, grated in front like a hen-coop, with a black border
around it.  It had two doors; over one was B. M.--black men; over
the other B. W.--black women.



CHAPTER XX

A TRUE DEMOCRAT

      "Who can, with patience, for a moment see
         The medley mass of pride and misery,
     Of whips and charters, manacles and rights,
       Of slaving blacks and democratic whites,
        And all the piebald policy that reigns
      In free confusion o'er Columbia's plains?
     To think that man, thou just and gentle God!
    Should stand before thee with a tyrant's rod,
  O'er creatures like himself, with souls from thee,
 Yet dare to boast of perfect liberty!"--Thomas Moore.

EDUCATED in a free state, and marrying a wife who had been a
victim to the institution of slavery, Henry Morton became
strongly opposed to the system.  His two daughters, at the age of
twelve years, were sent to the North to finish their education,
and to receive that refinement that young ladies cannot obtain in
the Slave States.  Although he did not publicly advocate the
abolition of slavery, he often made himself obnoxious to private
circles, owing to the denunciatory manner in which he condemned
the "peculiar institution."  Being one evening at a party, and
hearing one of the company talking loudly of the glory and
freedom of American institutions, he gave it as his opinion that,
unless slavery was speedily abolished, it would be the ruin of
the Union.  "It is not our boast of freedom," said he, "that will
cause us to be respected abroad.  It is not our loud talk in
favour of liberty that will cause us to be regarded as friends of
human freedom; but our acts will be scrutinised by the people of
other countries.  We say much against European despotism; let us
look to ourselves.  That government is despotic where the rulers
govern subjects by their own mere will--by decrees and laws
emanating from their uncontrolled will, in the enactment and
execution of which the ruled have no voice, and under which they
have no right except at the will of the rulers.  Despotism does
not depend upon the number of the rulers, or the number of the
subjects.  It may have one ruler or many.  Rome was a despotism
under Nero; so she was under the triumvirate.  Athens was a
despotism under Thirty Tyrants; under her Four Hundred Tyrants;
under her Three Thousand Tyrants.  It has been generally observed
that despotism increases in severity with the number of despots;
the responsibility is more divided, and the claims more numerous.
The triumvirs each demanded his victims.  The smaller the number
of subjects in proportion to the tyrants, the more cruel the
oppression, because the less danger from rebellion.  In this
government, the free white citizens are the rulers--the
sovereigns, as we delight to be called.  All others are subjects.
There are, perhaps, some sixteen or seventeen millions of
sovereigns, and four millions of subjects.

"The rulers and the ruled are of all colours, from the clear
white of the Caucasian tribes to the swarthy Ethiopian.  The
former, by courtesy, are all called white, the latter black.  In
this government the subject has no rights, social, political, or
personal.  He has no voice in the laws which govern him.  He can
hold no property.  His very wife and children are not his.  His
labour is another's.  He, and all that appertain to him, are the
absolute property of his rulers.  He is governed, bought, sold,
punished, executed, by laws to which he never gave his assent,
and by rulers whom he never chose.  He is not a serf merely, with
half the rights of men like the subjects of despotic Russia; but
a native slave, stripped of every right which God and nature gave
him, and which the high spirit of our revolution declared
inalienable which he himself could not surrender, and which man
could not take from him.  Is he not then the subject of despotic
sway?

"The slaves of Athens and Rome were free in comparison.  They had
some rights--could acquire some property; could choose their own
masters, and purchase their own freedom; and, when free, could
rise in social and political life.  The slaves of America, then,
lie under the most absolute and grinding despotism that the world
ever saw.  But who are the despots?  The rulers of the country--the
sovereign people!  Not merely the slaveholder who cracks the lash.
He is but the instrument in the hands of despotism.  That
despotism is the government of the Slave States, and the United
States, consisting of all its rulers all the free citizens.  Do
not look upon this as a paradox, because you and I and the
sixteen millions of rulers are free.  The rulers of every despotism
are free.  Nicholas of Russia is free.  The grand Sultan of Turkey
is free.  The butcher of Austria is free.  Augustus, Anthony, and
Lepidus were free, while they drenched Rome in blood.  The Thirty
Tyrants--the Four Hundred--the Three Thousand, were free while they
bound their countrymen in chains.  You, and I, and the sixteen
millions are free, while we fasten iron chains, and rivet
manacles on four millions of our fellowmen--take their wives and
children from them--separate them--sell them, and doom them to
perpetual, eternal bondage.  Are we not then despots--despots such
as history will brand and God abhor?

"We, as individuals, are fast losing our reputation for honest
dealing.  Our nation is losing its character.  The loss of a firm
national character, or the degradation of a nation's honour, is
the inevitable prelude to her destruction.  Behold the once proud
fabric of a Roman empire--an empire carrying its arts and arms
into every part of the Eastern continent; the monarchs of mighty
kingdoms dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots; her
eagle waving over the ruins of desolated countries; where is her
splendour, her wealth, her power, her glory?  Extinguished for
ever.  Her mouldering temples, the mournful vestiges of her former
grandeur, afford a shelter to her muttering monks.  Where are her
statesmen, her sages, her philosophers, her orators, generals?
Go to their solitary tombs and inquire.  She lost her national
character, and her destruction followed.  The ramparts of her
national pride were broken down, and Vandalism desolated her
classic fields.  Then let the people of our country take warning
ere it is too late.  But most of us say to ourselves,

    "'Who questions the right of mankind to be free?
     Yet, what are the rights of the Negro to me?
   I'm well fed and clothed, I have plenty of pelf--
 I'll care for the blacks when I turn black myself.'

"New Orleans is doubtless the most immoral place in the United
States.  The theatres are open on the Sabbath.  Bull-fights,
horse-racing, and other cruel amusements are carried on in this
city to an extent unknown in any other part of the Union.  The most
stringent laws have been passed in that city against Negroes, yet
a few years since the State Legislature passed a special act to
enable a white man to marry a coloured woman, on account of her
being possessed of a large fortune.  And, very recently, the
following paragraph appeared in the city papers:--

"'There has been quite a stir recently in this city, in
consequence of a marriage of a white man, named Buddington, a
teller in the Canal Bank, to the Negro daughter of one of the
wealthiest merchants.  Buddington, before he could be married
was obliged to swear that he had Negro blood in his veins, and
to do this he made an incision in his arm, and put some of her
blood in the cut.  The ceremony was performed by a Catholic
clergyman, and the bridegroom has received with his wife a fortune
of fifty or sixty thousand dollars.'

"It seems that the fifty or sixty thousand dollars entirely
covered the Negro woman's black skin, and the law prohibiting
marriage between blacks and whites was laid aside for the
occasion."

Althesa felt proud, as well she might, at her husband's taking
such high ground in a slaveholding city like New Orleans.



CHAPTER XXI

THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH

   "O weep, ye friends of freedom weep!
 Your harps to mournful measures sweep."

ON the last day of November, 1620, on the confines of the Grand
Bank of Newfoundland, lo! we behold one little solitary
tempest-tost and weather-beaten ship; it is all that can be seen
on the length and breadth of the vast intervening solitudes, from
the melancholy wilds of Labrador and New England's ironbound
shores, to the western coasts of Ireland and the rock defended
Hebrides, but one lonely ship greets the eye of angels or of men,
on this great throughfare of nations in our age.  Next in moral
grandeur, was this ship, to the great discoverer's: Columbus
found a continent; the May-flower brought the seedwheat of states
and empire.  That is the May-flower, with its servants of the
living God, their wives and little ones, hastening to lay the
foundations of nations in the accidental lands of the
setting-sun.  Hear the voice of prayer to God for his protection,
and the glorious music of praise, as it breaks into the wild
tempest of the mighty deep, upon the ear of God.  Here in this
ship are great and good men.  Justice, mercy, humanity, respect
for the rights of all; each man honoured, as he was useful to
himself and others; labour respected, law-abiding men,
constitution-making and respecting men; men, whom no tyrant could
conquer, or hardship overcome, with the high commission sealed by
a Spirit divine, to establish religious and political liberty for
all.  This ship had the embryo elements of all that is useful,
great, and grand in Northern institutions; it was the great type
of goodness and wisdom, illustrated in two and a quarter
centuries gone by; it was the good genius of America.

But look far in the South-east, and you behold on the same day, in
1620, a low rakish ship hastening from the tropics, solitary and
alone, to the New World.  What is she?  She is freighted with the
elements of unmixed evil.  Hark! hear those rattling chains, hear
that cry of despair and wail of anguish, as they die away in the
unpitying distance.  Listen to those shocking oaths, the crack of
that flesh-cutting whip.  Ah! it is the first cargo of slaves on
their way to Jamestown, Virginia.  Behold the May-flower anchored
at Plymouth Rock, the slave-ship in James River.  Each a parent,
one of the prosperous, labour-honouring, law-sustaining
institutions of the North; the other the mother of slavery,
idleness, lynch-law, ignorance, unpaid labour, poverty, and
duelling, despotism, the ceaseless swing of the whip, and the
peculiar institutions of the South.  These ships are the
representation of good and evil in the New World, even to our day.
When shall one of those parallel lines come to an end?

The origin of American slavery is not lost in the obscurity of
by-gone ages.  It is a plain historical fact, that it owes its
birth to the African slave trade, now pronounced by every
civilised community the greatest crime ever perpetrated against
humanity.  Of all causes intended to benefit mankind, the
abolition of chattel slavery must necessarily be placed amongst
the first, and the Negro hails with joy every new advocate that
appears in his cause.  Commiseration for human suffering and human
sacrifices awakened the capacious mind, and brought into action
the enlarged benevolence, of Georgiana Carlton.  With respect to
her philosophy--it was of a noble cast.  It was, that all men are
by nature equal; that they are wisely and justly endowed by the
Creator with certain rights, which are irrefragable; and that,
however human pride and human avarice may depress and debase,
still God is the author of good to man--and of evil, man is the
artificer to himself and to his species.  Unlike Plato and
Socrates, her mind was free from the gloom that surrounded
theirs; her philosophy was founded in the school of Christianity;
though a devoted member of her father's church, she was not a
sectarian.

We learn from Scripture, and it is a little remarkable that it is
the only exact definition of religion found in the sacred volume,
that "pure religion and undefiled before God, even the Father, is
this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and
to keep oneself unspotted from the world."  "Look not every man on
his own things, but every man also on the things of others."
"Remember them that are in bonds as bound with them."  "Whatsoever
ye would that others should do to you, do ye even so to them."

This was her view of Christianity, and to this end she laboured
with all her energies to convince her slaveholding neighbours
that the Negro could not only take care of himself, but that he
also appreciated liberty, and was willing to work and redeem
himself.  Her most sanguine wishes were being realized when she
suddenly fell into a decline.  Her mother had died of consumption,
and her physician pronounced this to be her disease.  She was
prepared for this sad intelligence, and received it with the
utmost composure.  Although she had confidence in her husband that
he would carry out her wishes in freeing the Negroes after her
death, Mrs. Carlton resolved upon their immediate liberation.
Consequently the slaves were all summoned before the noble woman,
and informed that they were no longer bondsmen.  "From this
hour," said she, "you are free, and all eyes will be fixed upon
you.  I dare not predict how far your example may affect the
welfare of your brethren yet in bondage.  If you are temperate,
industrious, peaceable, and pious, you will show to the world
that slaves can be emancipated without danger.  Remember what a
singular relation you sustain to society.  The necessities of the
case require not only that you should behave as well as the
whites, but better than the whites; and for this reason: if you
behave no better than they, your example will lose a great
portion of its influence.  Make the Lord Jesus Christ your refuge
and exemplar.  His is the only standard around which you can
successfully rally.  If ever there was a people who needed the
consolations of religion to sustain them in their grievous
afflictions, you are that people.  You had better trust in the
Lord than to put confidence in man.  Happy is that people whose
God is the Lord.  Get as much education as possible for
yourselves and your children.  An ignorant people can never occupy
any other than a degraded station in society; they can never be
truly free until they are intelligent.  In a few days you will
start for the state of Ohio, where land will be purchased for
some of you who have families, and where I hope you will all
prosper.  We have been urged to send you to Liberia, but we think
it wrong to send you from your native land.  We did not wish to
encourage the Colonization Society, for it originated in hatred
of the free coloured people.  Its pretences are false, its
doctrines odious, its means contemptible.  Now, whatever may be
your situation in life, 'Remember those in bonds as bound with
them.'  You must get ready as soon as you can for your journey to
the North."

Seldom was there ever witnessed a more touching scene than this.
There sat the liberator, pale, feeble, emaciated, with death
stamped upon her countenance, surrounded by the sons and
daughters of Africa; some of whom had in former years been
separated from all that they had held near and dear, and the most
of whose backs had been torn and gashed by the Negro whip.  Some
were upon their knees at the feet of their benefactress; others
were standing round her weeping.  Many begged that they might be
permitted to remain on the farm and work for wages, for some had
wives and some husbands on other plantations in the neighbourhood,
and would rather remain with them.

But the laws of the state forbade any emancipated Negroes
remaining, under penalty of again being sold into slavery.  Hence
the necessity of sending them out of the state.  Mrs. Carlton was
urged by her friends to send the emancipated Negroes to Africa.
Extracts from the speeches of Henry Clay, and other distinguished
Colonization Society men, were read to her to induce her to adopt
this course.  Some thought they should he sent away because the
blacks are vicious; others because they would be missionaries to
their brethren in Africa.  "But," said she, "if we send away the
Negroes because they are profligate and vicious, what sort of
missionaries will they make?  Why not send away the vicious among
the whites for the same reason, and the same purpose?"

Death is a leveller, and neither age, sex, wealth, nor usefulness
can avert when he is permitted to strike.  The most beautiful
flowers soon fade, and droop, and die; this is also the case with
man; his days are uncertain as the passing breeze.  This hour he
glows in the blush of health and vigour, but the next he may be
counted with the number no more known on earth.

Although in a low state of health, Mrs. Carlton had the pleasure
of seeing all her slaves, except Sam and three others, start for
a land of freedom.  The morning they were to go on board the
steamer, bound for Louisville, they all assembled on the large
grass plot, in front of the drawing-room window, and wept while
they bid their mistress farewell.  When they were on the boat,
about leaving the wharf, they were heard giving the charge to
those on shore--"Sam, take care of Misus, take care of Marser, as
you love us, and hope to meet us in de Hio (Ohio), and in heben;
be sure and take good care of Misus and Marser."

In less than a week after her emancipated people had started for
Ohio, Mrs. Carlton was cold in death.  Mr. Carlton felt deeply, as
all husbands must who love their wives, the loss of her who had
been a lamp to his feet, and a light to his path.  She had
converted him from infidelity to Christianity; from the mere
theory of liberty to practical freedom.  He had looked upon the
Negro as an ill-treated distant link of the human family; he now
regarded them as a part of God's children.  Oh, what a silence
pervaded the house when the Christian had been removed.  His
indeed was a lonesome position.

  "'Twas midnight, and he sat alone
       The husband of the dead,
That day the dark dust had been thrown
        Upon the buried head."

In the midst of the buoyancy of youth, this cherished one had
drooped 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.

Oh what a chill creeps through the breaking heart when we look
upon the insensible form, and feel that it no longer contains the
spirit we so dearly loved!  How difficult to realise that the eye
which always glowed with affection and intelligence; that the ear
which had so often listened to the sounds of sorrow and gladness;
that the voice whose accents had been to us like sweet music, and
the heart, the habitation of benevolence and truth, are now
powerless and insensate as the bier upon which the form rests.
Though faith be strong enough to penetrate the cloud of gloom
which hovers near, and to behold the freed spirit safe, for ever,
safe in its home in heaven, yet the thoughts will linger sadly
and cheerlessly upon the grave.

Peace to her ashes! she fought the fight, obtained the Christian's
victory, and wears the crown.  But if it were that departed
spirits are permitted to note the occurrences of this world, with
what a frown of disapprobation would hers view the effort being
made in the United States to retard the work of emancipation for
which she laboured and so wished to see brought about.

In what light would she consider that hypocritical priesthood who
gave their aid and sanction to the infamous "Fugitive Slave Law."
If true greatness consists in doing good to mankind, then was
Georgiana Carlton an ornament to human nature.  Who can think of
the broken hearts made whole, of sad and dejected countenances
now beaming with contentment and joy, of the mother offering her
free-born babe to heaven, and of the father whose cup of joy
seems overflowing in the presence of his family, where none can
molest or make him afraid.  Oh, that God may give more such persons
to take the whip-scarred Negro by the hand, and raise
him to a level with our common humanity!  May the professed lovers
of freedom in the new world see that true liberty is freedom for
all! and may every American continually hear it sounding in his
ear:--



 "Shall every flap of England's flag
  Proclaim that all around are free,
From 'farthest Ind' to each blue crag
  That beetles o'er the Western Sea?
And shall we scoff at Europe's kings,
 When Freedom's fire is dim with us,
 And round our country's altar clings
The damning shade of Slavery's curse?"



CHAPTER XXII

A RIDE IN A STAGE-COACH

WE shall now return to Cincinnati, where we left Clotel preparing
to go to Richmond in search of her daughter.  Tired of the
disguise in which she had escaped, she threw it off on her
arrival at Cincinnati.  But being assured that not a shadow of
safety would attend her visit to a city in which she was well
known, unless in some disguise, she again resumed men's apparel
on leaving Cincinnati.  This time she had more the appearance of an
Italian or Spanish gentleman.  In addition to the fine suit of
black cloth, a splendid pair of dark false whiskers covered the
sides of her face, while the curling moustache found its place
upon the upper lip.  From practice she had become accustomed to
high-heeled boots, and could walk without creating any suspicion
as regarded her sex.  It was a cold evening that Clotel arrived at
Wheeling, and took a seat in the coach going to Richmond.  She was
already in the state of Virginia, yet a long distance from the
place of her destination.

A ride in a stage-coach, over an American road, is unpleasant
under the most favourable circumstances.  But now that it was
winter, and the roads unusually bad, the journey was still more
dreary.  However, there were eight passengers in the coach, and I
need scarcely say that such a number of genuine Americans could
not be together without whiling away the time somewhat
pleasantly.  Besides Clotel, there was an elderly gentleman with
his two daughters--one apparently under twenty years, the other a
shade above.  The pale, spectacled face of another slim, tall man,
with a white neckerchief, pointed him out as a minister.  The
rough featured, dark countenance of a stout looking man, with a
white hat on one side of his head, told that he was from the
sunny South.  There was nothing remarkable about the other two,
who might pass for ordinary American gentlemen.  It was on the eve
of a presidential election, when every man is thought to be a
politician.  Clay, Van Buren, and Harrison were the men who
expected the indorsement of the Baltimore Convention.  "Who does
this town go for?" asked the old gent with the ladies, as the
coach drove up to an inn, where groups of persons were waiting
for the latest papers.  "We are divided," cried the rough voice of
one of the outsiders.  "Well, who do you think will get the
majority here?" continued the old gent.  "Can't tell very well; I
go for 'Old Tip,'" was the answer from without.  This brought up
the subject fairly before the passengers, and when the coach
again started a general discussion commenced, in which all took a
part except Clotel and the young ladies.  Some were for Clay, some
for Van Buren, and others for "Old Tip."  The coach stopped to
take in a real farmer-looking man, who no sooner entered than he
was saluted with "Do you go for Clay?"  "No," was the answer.  "Do
you go for Van Buren?"  "No."  "Well, then, of course you will go
for Harrison."  "No."  "Why, don't you mean to work for any of them
at the election?"  "No."  "Well, who will you work for?" asked
one of the company.  "I work for Betsy and the children, and I
have a hard job of it at that," replied the farmer, without a
smile.  This answer, as a matter of course, set the new
corner down as one upon whom the rest of the passengers could
crack their jokes with the utmost impunity.  "Are you an Odd
Fellow?" asked one.  "No, sir, I've been married more than a
month."  "I mean, do you belong to the order of Odd Fellows?"
"No, no; I belong to the order of married men."  "Are you a mason?"
"No, I am a carpenter by trade."  "Are you a Son of Temperance?"
"Bother you, no; I am a son of Mr. John Gosling."  After a hearty
laugh in which all joined, the subject of Temperance became the
theme for discussion.  In this the spectacled gent was at home.
He soon showed that he was a New Englander, and went the whole
length of the "Maine Law."  The minister was about having it all
his own way, when the Southerner, in the white hat, took the
opposite side of the question.  "I don't bet a red cent on these
teetotlars," said he, and at the same time looking round to see
if he had the approbation of the rest of the company.  "Why?"
asked the minister.  "Because they are a set who are afraid to
spend a cent.  They are a bad lot, the whole on 'em."  It was
evident that the white hat gent was an uneducated man.  The
minister commenced in full earnest, and gave an interesting
account of the progress of temperance in Connecticut, the state
from which he came, proving, that a great portion of the
prosperity of the state was attributable to the disuse of
intoxicating drinks.  Every one thought the white hat had got the
worst of the argument, and that he was settled for the remainder
of the night.  But not he; he took fresh courage and began again.
"Now," said he, "I have just been on a visit to my uncle's in
Vermont, and I guess I knows a little about these here
teetotlars.  You see, I went up there to make a little stay of a
fortnight.  I got there at night, and they seemed glad to see
me, but they didn't give me a bit of anything to drink.
Well, thinks I to myself, the jig's up: I sha'n't get any more
liquor till I get out of the state."  We all sat up till twelve
o'clock that night, and I heard nothing but talk about the
'Juvinal Temperence Army,' the 'Band of Hope,' the 'Rising
Generation,' the 'Female Dorcas Temperance Society,' 'The None
Such,' and I don't know how many other names they didn't have.
As I had taken several pretty large 'Cock Tails' before I entered
the state, I thought upon the whole that I would not spite for
the want of liquor.  The next morning, I commenced writing back to
my friends, and telling them what's what.  Aunt Polly said, 'Well,
Johnny, I s'pose you are given 'em a pretty account of us all
here.'  'Yes,' said I; I am tellin' 'em if they want anything to
drink when they come up here, they had better bring it with 'em.'
'Oh,' said aunty, 'they would search their boxes; can't bring any
spirits in the state.'  Well, as I was saying, jist as I got my
letters finished, and was going to the post office (for uncle's
house was two miles from the town), aunty says, 'Johnny, I s'pose
you'll try to get a little somethin' to drink in town won't you?'
Says I, 'I s'pose it's no use.  'No,' said she, 'you can't; it
ain't to be had no how, for love nor money.'  So jist as I was
puttin' on my hat, 'Johnny,' cries out aunty, 'What,' says I.
'Now I'll tell you, I don't want you to say nothin' about it, but
I keeps a little rum to rub my head with, for I am troubled with
the headache; now I don't want you to mention it for the world,
but I'll give you a little taste, the old man is such a
teetotaller, that I should never hear the last of it, and I would
not like for the boys to know it, they are members of the "Cold
Water Army."'

"Aunty now brought out a black bottle and gave me a cup, and told
me to help myself, which I assure you I did.  I now felt ready to
face the cold.  As I was passing the barn I heard uncle thrashing
oats, so I went to the door and spoke to him. 'Come in, John,'
says he.  'No,' said I; 'I am goin' to post some letters,' for I
was afraid that he would smell my breath if I went too near to
him.  'Yes, yes, come in.'  So I went in, and says he, 'It's now
eleven o'clock; that's about the time you take your grog, I
s'pose, when you are at home.'  'Yes,' said I.  'I am sorry for
you, my lad; you can't get anything up here; you can't even get
it at the chemist's, except as medicine, and then you must let
them mix it and you take it in their presence.'  'This is indeed
hard,' replied I; 'Well, it can't be helped,' continued he: 'and
it ought not to be if it could.  It's best for society; people's
better off without drink.  I recollect when your father and I,
thirty years ago, used to go out on a spree and spend more than
half a dollar in a night.  Then here's the rising generation;
there's nothing like settin' a good example.  Look how healthy
your cousins are there's Benjamin, he never tasted spirits in his
life.  Oh, John, I would you were a teetotaller.'  'I suppose,'
said I, 'I'll have to be one till I leave the state.'  'Now,' said
he, 'John, I don't want you to mention it, for your aunt would go
into hysterics if she thought there was a drop of intoxicating
liquor about the place, and I would not have the boys to know it
for anything, but I keep a little brandy to rub my joints for the
rheumatics, and being it's you, I'll give you a little dust.'  So
the old man went to one corner of the barn, took out a brown jug
and handed it to me, and I must say it was a little the best
cognac that I had tasted for many a day.  Says I, 'Uncle, you are
a good judge of brandy.'  'Yes,' said he, 'I learned when I was
young.'  So off I started for the post office. In returnin' I
thought I'd jist go through the woods where the boys were chopping
wood, and wait and go to the house with them when they went to
dinner.  I found them hard at work, but as merry as crickets.
'Well, cousin John, are you done writing?'  'Yes,' answered I.
'Have you posted them?'  'Yes.'  'Hope you didn't go to any place
inquiring for grog.'  'No, I knowed it was no good to do that.'
'I suppose a cock-tail would taste good now.'  'Well, I
guess it would,' says I.  The three boys then joined in a hearty
laugh.  'I suppose you have told 'em that we are a dry set up
here?'  'Well, I ain't told em anything else.'  'Now, cousin John,'
said Edward, 'if you wont say anything, we will give you a small
taste.  For mercy's sake don't let father or mother know it; they
are such rabid teetotallers, that they would not sleep a wink
to-night if they thought there was any spirits about the place.'
'I am mum,' says I.  And the boys took a jug out of a hollow
stump, and gave me some first-rate peach brandy.  And during the
fortnight that I was in Vermont, with my teetotal relations, I
was kept about as well corned as if I had been among my hot water
friends in Tennessee."

This narrative, given by the white hat man, was received with
unbounded applause by all except the pale gent in spectacles,
who showed, by the way in which he was running his fingers
between his cravat and throat, that he did not intend to "give it
up so."  The white hat gent was now the lion of the company.

"Oh, you did not get hold of the right kind of teetotallers,"
said the minister.  "I can give you a tale worth a dozen of yours,
continued he.  "Look at society in the states where temperance
views prevail, and you will there see real happiness.  The people
are taxed less, the poor houses are shut up for want of
occupants, and extreme destitution is unknown.  Every one who
drinks at all is liable to become an habitual drunkard.  Yes, I
say boldly, that no man living who uses intoxicating drinks, is
free from the danger of at least occasional, and if of
occasional, ultimately of habitual excess.  There seems to be no
character, position, or circumstances that free men from the
danger.  I have known many young men of the finest promise, led by
the drinking habit into vice, ruin, and early death.  I have known
many tradesmen whom it has made bankrupt.  I have known Sunday
scholars whom it has led to prison-teachers, and even
superintendents, whom it has dragged down to profligacy.  I have
known ministers of high academic honours, of splendid eloquence,
nay, of vast usefulness, whom it has fascinated, and hurried over
the precipice of public infamy with their eyes open, and gazing
with horror on their fate.  I have known men of the strongest and
clearest intellect and of vigorous resolution, whom it has made
weaker than children and fools--gentlemen of refinement and taste
whom it has debased into brutes--poets of high genius whom it has
bound in a bondage worse than the galleys, and ultimately cut
short their days.  I have known statesmen, lawyers, and judges
whom it has killed--kind husbands and fathers whom it has turned
into monsters.  I have known honest men whom it has made villains;
elegant and Christian ladies whom it has converted into bloated
sots."

"But you talk too fast," replied the white hat man.  "You don't
give a feller a chance to say nothin'."

"I heard you," continued the minister, "and now you hear me out.
It is indeed wonderful how people become lovers of strong drink.
Some years since, before I became a teetotaller I kept spirits
about the house, and I had a servant who was much addicted to
strong drink.  He used to say that he could not make my boots
shine, without mixing the blacking with whiskey.  So to satisfy
myself that the whiskey was put in the blacking, one morning I
made him bring the dish in which he kept the blacking, and poured
in the whiskey myself.  And now, sir, what do you think?"  "Why, I
s'pose your boots shined better than before," replied the white
hat.  "No," continued the minister. "He took the blacking out, and
I watched him, and he drank down the whiskey, blacking, and all."

This turned the joke upon the advocate of strong drink, and he
began to put his wits to work for arguments.  "You are from
Connecticut, are you?" asked the Southerner.  "Yes, and we are an
orderly, pious, peaceable people.  Our holy religion is respected,
and we do more for the cause of Christ than the whole Southern
States put together."  "I don't doubt it," said the white hat
gent.  "You sell wooden nutmegs and other spurious articles enough
to do some good.  You talk of your 'holy religion'; but your
robes' righteousness are woven at Lowell and Manchester; your
paradise is high per centum on factory stocks; your palms of
victory and crowns of rejoicing are triumphs over a rival party
in politics, on the questions of banks and tariffs.  If you could,
you would turn heaven into Birmingham, make every angel a weaver,
and with the eternal din of looms and spindles drown all the
anthems of the morning stars.  Ah! I know you Connecticut people
like a book.  No, no, all hoss; you can't come it on me."  This
last speech of the rough featured man again put him in the
ascendant, and the spectacled gent once more ran his fingers
between his cravat and throat.  "You live in Tennessee, I think,"
said the minister.  "Yes," replied the Southerner, "I used
to live in Orleans, but now I claim to be a Tennessean."
"Your people of New Orleans are the most ungodly set in the
United States," said the minister.  Taking a New Orleans newspaper
from his pocket he continued, "Just look here, there are not less
than three advertisements of bull fights to take place on the
Sabbath.  You people of the Slave States have no regard for the
Sabbath, religion, morality or anything else intended to, make
mankind better."  Here Clotel could have borne ample testimony, had
she dared to have taken sides with the Connecticut man.  Her
residence in Vicksburgh had given her an opportunity of knowing
something of the character of the inhabitants of the far South.
"Here is an account of a grand bull fight that took place in New
Orleans a week ago last Sunday. I will read it to you."  And the
minister read aloud the following:

"Yesterday, pursuant to public notice, came off at Gretna,
opposite the Fourth District, the long heralded fight between the
famous grizzly bear, General Jackson (victor in fifty battles),
and the Attakapas bull, Santa Anna.

"The fame of the coming conflict had gone forth to the four winds,
and women and children, old men and boys, from all parts of the
city, and from the breezy banks of Lake Pontchartrain and Borgne,
brushed up their Sunday suit, and prepared to ace the fun.  Long
before the published hour, the quiet streets of the rural Gretna
were filled with crowds of anxious denizens, flocking to the
arena, and before the fight commenced, such a crowd had collected
as Gretna had not seen, nor will be likely to see again.

"The arena for the sports was a cage, twenty feet square, built
upon the ground, and constructed of heavy timbers and iron bars.
Around it were seats, circularly placed, and intended to
accommodate many thousands.  About four or five-thousand persons
assembled, covering the seats as with a Cloud, and crowding down
around the cage, were within reach of the bars.

"The bull selected to sustain the honour and verify the pluck of
Attakapas on this trying occasion was a black animal from the
Opelousas, lithe and sinewy as a four year old courser, and with
eyes like burning coals.  His horns bore the appearance of
having been filed at the tips, and wanted that keen and slashing
appearance so common with others of his kith and kin; otherwise
it would have been 'all day' with Bruin--at the first pass, and
no mistake.

"The bear was an animal of note, and called General Jackson, from
the fact of his licking up everything that came in his way, and
taking 'the responsibility' on all occasions.  He was a wicked
looking beast, very lean and unamiable in aspect, with hair all
standing the wrong way.  He had fought some fifty bulls (so they
said), always coming out victorious, but that neither one of the
fifty had been an Attakapas bull, the bills of the performances
did not say.  Had he tackled Attakapas first it is likely his
fifty battles would have remained unfought.

"About half past four o'clock the performances commenced.

"The bull was first seen, standing in the cage alone, with head
erect, and looking a very monarch in his capacity.  At an
appointed signal, a cage containing the bear was placed
alongside the arena, and an opening being made, bruin stalked into
the battle ground--not, however, without sundry stirrings up with
a ten foot pole, he being experienced in such matters, and
backwards in raising a row.

"Once on the battle-field, both animals stood, like wary
champions, eyeing each other, the bear cowering low, with head
upturned and fangs exposed, while Attakapas stood wondering, with
his eye dilated, lashing his sides with his long and bushy tail,
and pawing up the earth in very wrath.

"The bear seemed little inclined to begin the attack, and the
bull, standing a moment, made steps first backward and then
forward, as if measuring his antagonist, and meditating where to
plant a blow.  Bruin wouldn't come to the scratch no way, till one
of the keepers, with an iron rod, tickled his ribs and made him
move.  Seeing this, Attakapas took it as a hostile demonstration,
and, gathering his strength, dashed savagely at the enemy,
catching him on the points of his horns, and doubling him up like
a sack of bran against the bars.  Bruin 'sung out' at this, 'and
made a dash for his opponent's nose.'

"Missing this, the bull turned to the 'about face,' and the bear
caught him by the ham, inflicting a ghastly wound.  But Attakapas
with a kick shook him off, and renewing the attack, went at him
again, head on and with a rush.  This time he was not so fortunate,
for the bear caught him above the eye, burying his fangs in the
tough hide, and holding him as in a vice.  It was now
the bull's turn to 'sing out,' and he did it, bellowing forth with
a voice more hideous than that of all the bulls of Bashan.  Some
minutes stood matters thus, and the cries of the bull, mingled
with the hoarse growls of the bear, made hideous music, fit only
for a dance of devils.  Then came a pause (the bear having
relinquished his hold), and for a few minutes it was doubtful
whether the fun was not up.  But the magic wand of the keeper (the
ten foot pole) again stirred up bruin, and at it they went, and
with a rush.

"Bruin now tried to fasten on the bull's back, and drove his tusks
in him in several places, making the red blood flow like wine
from the vats of Luna.  But Attakapas was pluck to the back bone,
and, catching bruin on the tips of his horns, shuffled him up
right merrily, making the fur fly like feathers in a gale of
wind.  Bruin cried 'Nuff' (in bear language), but the bull
followed up his advantage, and, making one furious plunge full at
the figure head of the enemy, struck a horn into his eye, burying
it there, and dashing the tender organ into darkness and atoms.
Blood followed the blow, and poor bruin, blinded, bleeding, and
in mortal agony, turned with a howl to leave, but Attakapas
caught him in the retreat, and rolled him over like a ball.  Over
and over again this rolling over was enacted, and finally, after
more than an hour, bruin curled himself up on his back, bruised,
bloody, and dead beat.  The thing was up with California, and
Attakapas was declared the victor amidst the applause of the
multitude that made the heavens ring."

"There," said he, "can you find anything against Connecticut equal
to that?"  The Southerner had to admit that he was beat by the
Yankee.  During all this time, it must not be supposed that the
old gent with the two daughters, and even the young ladies
themselves, had been silent.  Clotel and they had not only given
their opinions as regarded the merits of the discussion, but that
sly glance of the eye, which is ever given where the young of
both sexes meet, had been freely at work.  The American ladies are
rather partial to foreigners, and Clotel had the appearance of a
fine Italian.  The old gentleman was now near his home,
and a whisper from the eldest daughter, who was unmarried but
marriageable, induced him to extend to "Mr. Johnson" an invitation
to stop and spend a week with the young ladies at their family
residence.  Clotel excused herself upon various grounds, and at
last, to cut short the matter, promised that she would pay them a
visit on her return.  The arrival of the coach at Lynchburgh
separated the young ladies from the Italian gent, and the coach
again resumed its journey.



CHAPTER XXIII

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION

      "Is the poor privilege to turn the key
      Upon the captive, freedom?  He's as far
     From the enjoyment of the earth and air
 Who watches o'er the chains, as they who wear."

DURING certain seasons of the year, all tropical climates are
subject to epidemics of a most destructive nature.  The
inhabitants of New Orleans look with as much certainty for the
appearance of the yellow-fever, small-pox, or cholera, in the hot
season, as the Londoner does for fog in the month of November.  In
the summer of 1831, the people of New Orleans were visited with
one of these epidemics.  It appeared in a form unusually repulsive
and deadly.  It seized persons who were in health, without any
premonition.  Sometimes death was the immediate consequence.  The
disorder began in the brain, by an oppressive pain accompanied or
followed by fever.  The patient was devoured with burning thirst.
The stomach, distracted by pains, in vain sought relief in efforts
to disburden itself.  Fiery veins streaked the eye; the face was
inflamed, and dyed of a dark dull red colour; 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 a 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 heat
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 odour, 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 400 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 2000 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 carried off by the fever.
Henry Morton and wife were among the thirteen thousand swept away
by the raging disorder that year.  Like too many, Morton had been
dealing extensively in lands and stocks; and though apparently in
good circumstances was, in reality, deeply involved in debt.
Althesa, although as white as most white women in a southern
clime, was, as we already know, born a slave.  By the laws of all
the Southern States the children follow the condition of the
mother.  If the mother is free the children are free; if a slave,
they are slaves.  Morton was unacquainted with the laws
of the land; and although he had married Althesa, it was a
marriage which the law did not recognise; and therefore she whom
he thought to be his wife was, in fact, nothing more than his
slave.  What would have been his feelings had he known this, and
also known that his two daughters, Ellen and Jane, were his
slaves?  Yet such was the fact.  After the disappearance of the
disease with which Henry Morton had so suddenly been removed, his
brother went to New Orleans to give what aid he could in settling
up the affairs.  James Morton, on his arrival in New Orleans, felt
proud of his nieces, and promised them a home with his own family
in Vermont; little dreaming that his brother had married a slave
woman, and that his nieces were slaves.  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 was made out by James Morton, and placed in the
hands of the creditors; and the young ladies, with their uncle,
were about leaving the city to reside for a few days on the banks
of Lake Pontchartrain, where they could enjoy a fresh air that
the city could not afford.  But just as they were about taking the
train, an officer arrested the whole party; the young ladies as
slaves, and the uncle upon the charge of attempting to conceal the
property of his deceased brother.  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.  They were given up, but neither ate nor slept,
nor separated from each other, till they were taken into the New
Orleans slave market, where they were offered to the highest
bidder.  There they stood, trembling, blushing, and weeping;
compelled to listen to the grossest language, and shrinking from
the rude hands that examined the graceful proportions of their
beautiful frames.

After a fierce contest between the bidders, the young ladies were
sold, one for 2,300 dollars, and the other for 3,000 dollars.  We
need not add that had those young girls been sold for mere house
servants or field hands, they would not have brought one half the
sums they did.  The fact that they were the grand-daughters of
Thomas Jefferson, no doubt, increased their value in the market.
Here were two of the softer sex, accustomed to the fondest
indulgence, surrounded by all the refinements of life, and with
all the timidity that such a life could produce, bartered away
like cattle in Smithfield market.  Ellen, the eldest, was sold to
an old gentleman, who purchased her, as he said, for a
housekeeper.  The girl was taken to his residence, nine miles from
the city.  She soon, however, knew for what purpose she had been
bought; and an educated and cultivated mind and taste, which made
her see and understand how great was her degradation, now armed
her hand with the ready means of death.  The morning after her
arrival, she was found in her chamber, a corpse.  She had taken
poison.  Jane was purchased by a dashing young man, who had just
come into the possession of a large fortune.  The very appearance
of the young Southerner pointed him out as an unprincipled
profligate; and the young girl needed no one to tell her of her
impending doom.  The young maid of fifteen was immediately removed
to his country seat, near the junction of the
Mississippi river with the sea.  This was a most singular spot,
remote, in a dense forest spreading over the summit of a cliff
that rose abruptly to a great height above the sea; but so grand
in its situation, in the desolate sublimity which reigned around,
in the reverential murmur of the waves that washed its base, that,
though picturesque, it was a forest prison.  Here the young lady
saw no one, except an old Negress who acted as her servant.  The
smiles with which the young man met her were indignantly spurned.
But she was the property of another, and could hope for justice
and mercy only through him.

Jane, though only in her fifteenth year, had become strongly
attached to Volney Lapuc, a young Frenchman, a student in her
father's office.  The poverty of the young man, and the youthful
age of the girl, had caused their feelings to be kept from the
young lady's parents.  At the death of his master, Volney had
returned to his widowed mother at Mobile, and knew nothing of the
misfortune that had befallen his mistress, until he received a
letter from her.  But how could he ever obtain a sight of her,
even if he wished, locked up as she was in her master's mansion?
After several days of what her master termed "obstinacy" on her
part, the young girl was placed in an upper chamber, and told
that that would be her home, until she should yield to her
master's wishes.  There she remained more than a fortnight, and
with the exception of a daily visit from her master, she saw no
one but the old Negress who waited upon her.  One bright moonlight
evening as she was seated at the window, she perceived the figure
of a man beneath her window.  At first, she thought it was her
master; but the tall figure of the stranger soon convinced her
that it was another.  Yes, it was Volney!  He had no sooner
received her letter, than he set out for New Orleans;
and finding on his arrival there, that his mistress had been
taken away, resolved to follow her.  There he was; but how could
she communicate with him?  She dared not trust the old Negress with
her secret, for fear that it might reach her master.  Jane wrote a
hasty note and threw it out of the window, which was eagerly
picked up by the young man, and he soon disappeared in the woods.
Night passed away in dreariness to her, and the next morning she
viewed the spot beneath her window with the hope of seeing the
footsteps of him who had stood there the previous night.  Evening
returned, and with it the hope of again seeing the man she loved.
In this she was not disappointed; for daylight had scarcely
disappeared, and the moon once more rising through the tops of
the tall trees, when the young man was seen in the same place as
on the previous night.  He had in his hand a rope ladder.  As soon
as Jane saw this, she took the sheets from her bed, tore them
into strings, tied them together, and let one end down the side of
the house.  A moment more, and one end of the rope ladder was in
her hand, and she fastened it inside the room.  Soon the young
maiden was seen descending, and the enthusiastic lover, with his
arms extended, waiting to receive his mistress.  The planter had
been out on an hunting excursion, and returning home, saw his
victim as her lover was receiving her in his arms.  At this moment
the sharp sound of a rifle was heard, and the young man fell
weltering in his blood, at the feet of his mistress.  Jane fell
senseless by his side.  For many days she had a confused
consciousness of some great agony, but knew not where she was, or
by whom surrounded.  The slow recovery of her reason settled into
the most intense melancholy, which gained at length the
compassion even of her cruel master.  The beautiful
bright eyes, always pleading in expression, were now so
heart-piercing in their sadness, that he could not endure their
gaze.  In a few days the poor girl died of a broken heart, and was
buried at night at the back of the garden by the Negroes; and no
one wept at the grave of her who had been so carefully cherished,
and so tenderly beloved.

This, reader, is an unvarnished narrative of one doomed by the
laws of the Southern States to be a slave.  It tells not only its
own story of grief, but speaks of a thousand wrongs and woes
beside, which never see the light; all the more bitter and
dreadful, because no help can relieve, no sympathy can mitigate,
and no hope can cheer.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE ARREST

"The fearful storm--it threatens lowering,
     Which God in mercy long delays;
Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!"

--Carter.


IT was late in the evening when the coach arrived at Richmond, and
Clotel once more alighted in her native city.  She had intended to
seek lodging 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, when she
recognised 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 Clotel to visit a place from
which she could scarcely hope to escape, to attempt the rescue of
a beloved child, demonstrate that overwillingness of woman to
carry out the promptings of the finer feelings of her heart.  True
to woman's nature, she had risked her own liberty for another.

She remained in the hotel during the night, and the next morning,
under the plea of illness, she 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 she had so
often pressed with her feet, 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.  Clotel 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 had passed away, and Clotel still remained in the hotel
at which she had first put up; and yet she had got no tidings of
her child.  Unfortunately for Clotel, a disturbance had just
broken out amongst the slave population in the state of Virginia,
and all strangers were eyed with suspicion.

The evils consequent on slavery are not lessened by the incoming
of one or two rays of light.  If the slave only becomes aware of
his condition, and conscious of the injustice under which he
suffers, if he obtains but a faint idea of these things, he will
seize the first opportunity to possess himself of what he
conceives to belong to him.  The infusion of Anglo-Saxon with
African blood has created an insurrectionary feeling among the
slaves of America hitherto unknown.  Aware of their blood
connection with their owners, these mulattoes labour under the
sense of their personal and social injuries; and tolerate, if
they do not encourage in themselves, low and vindictive passions.
On the other hand, the slave owners are aware of their critical
position, and are ever watchful, always fearing an outbreak among
the slaves.

True, the Free States are equally bound with the Slave States to
suppress any insurrectionary movement that may take place among
the slaves.  The Northern freemen are bound by their
constitutional obligations to aid the slaveholder in keeping his
slaves in their chains.  Yet there are, at the time we
write, four millions of bond slaves in the United States.  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
twang of the driver's whip, and saw the warm blood streaming from
the Negro's body; he had witnessed the separation of parents and
children, and was made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave
could expect no justice at the hand of the slave owner.  He went by
the name of "Nat Turner."  He was a preacher amongst the Negroes,
and distinguished for his eloquence, respected by the whites, and
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 thousands of 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 from 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; this was their home.  His
name was Picquilo.  His only weapon was a sword, made from the
blade of a scythe, which he had stolen from a neighbouring
plantation.  His dress, his character, his manners, 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 revenge imbrued his hands in the blood of all
the whites he could meet.  Hunger, thirst, fatigue, 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 leaders in the
Southampton insurrection.  All Negroes were arrested who were
found beyond their master's threshhold, and all strange whites
watched with a great degree of alacrity.

Such was the position in which Clotel found affairs when she
returned to Virginia in search of her Mary.  Had not the
slaveowners 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 the officers were therefore on the look-out for
the runaway slave.  It was on the third day, as the quadroon was
seated in her room at the inn, still in the disguise of a
gentleman, that two of the city officers entered the room, and
informed her that they were authorised 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 woman's apparel in the box, which raised
their curiosity, and caused a further investigation that resulted
in the arrest of Clotel 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 were
to 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 their owners' plantations: the
Negroes, in return, set fire to houses, and put those to death
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; their dead 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 put in this dismal place to hunt out the
remaining revolters.  Among the captured Negroes was one of whom we
shall hereafter make mention.



CHAPTER XXV

DEATH IS FREEDOM

        "I asked but freedom, and ye gave
 Chains, and the freedom of the grave."--Snelling.

THERE are, in the district of Columbia, several slave prisons, or
"Negro pens," as they are termed.  These prisons are mostly
occupied by persons to keep their slaves in, when collecting
their gangs together for the New Orleans market.  Some of them
belong to the government, and one, in particular, is noted for
having been the place where a number of free coloured persons
have been incarcerated from time to time.  In this district is
situated the capital of the United States.  Any free coloured
persons visiting Washington, if not provided with papers
asserting and proving their right to be free, may be arrested and
placed in one of these dens.  If they succeed in showing that they
are free, they are set at liberty, provided they are able to pay
the expenses of their arrest and imprisonment; if they cannot pay
these expenses, they are sold out.  Through this unjust and
oppressive law, many persons born in the Free States have been
consigned to a life of slavery on the cotton, sugar, or rice
plantations of the Southern States.  By order of her master,
Clotel was removed from Richmond and placed in one of these
prisons, to await the sailing of a vessel for New Orleans.  The
prison in which she was put stands midway between the capitol at
Washington and the President's house.  Here the fugitive saw
nothing but slaves brought in and taken out, to be placed in
ships and sent away to the same 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 hope of
seeing her now had fled.  If she was carried back to New Orleans,
she could expect no mercy from her master.

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, she
suddenly darted past her keeper, and ran for her life.  It is 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
Place, occupied by that distinguished relative and descendant of
the immortal Washington, Mr. George W. Custis.  Thither the poor
fugitive directed her flight.  So unexpected was her escape, that
she had quite a number of rods the start before the keeper had
secured the other prisoners, and rallied his assistants in
pursuit.  It was at an hour when, and in a part of the city where,
horses could not be readily obtained for the chase; no
bloodhounds were at hand to run down the flying woman; and for
once it seemed as though there was to be a fair trial of speed and
endurance between the slave and the slave-catchers.  The keeper
and his forces raised the hue and cry on her pathway 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 mass in pursuit (as many a one did that night), to raise
an anxious prayer to heaven, as they refused to join in the
pursuit, 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 improbable, and already
did her heart begin to beat high with the hope of success.  She
had only to pass three-fourths of a mile across the bridge, and
she could bury herself in a vast forest, just at 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
determined that an appalling tragedy should be enacted that
night, within plain sight of the President's house and the
capitol of the Union, which should be an evidence wherever it
should be known, of the unconquerable love of liberty the 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
crossed the high draw for the passage of sloops, 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, whom they proclaimed a runaway
slave.  True to their Virginian instincts as she came near, they
formed in line across the narrow bridge, and prepared to seize
her.  Seeing escape 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 foamy
waters of the Potomac, and before and behind the rapidly
approaching step and noisy voices of pursuers, showing
how vain would be any further effort for freedom.  Her resolution
was taken.  She clasped her hands convulsively, and raised them, as
she at the same time raised her eyes towards heaven, and begged
for that mercy and compassion there, which had been denied her on
earth; and then, with a single bound, she vaulted over the
railings of the bridge, and sunk for ever beneath the waves of
the river!

Thus died Clotel, the daughter of Thomas Jefferson, a president of
the United States; a man distinguished as the author of the
Declaration of American Independence, and one of the first
statesmen of that country.

Had Clotel escaped from oppression in any other land, in the
disguise in which she fled from the Mississippi to Richmond, and
reached the United States, no honour within the gift of the
American people would have been too good to have been heaped upon
the heroic woman.  But she was a slave, and therefore out of the
pale of their sympathy.  They have tears to shed over Greece and
Poland; they have an abundance of sympathy for "poor Ireland";
they can furnish a ship of war to convey the Hungarian refugees
from a Turkish prison to the "land of the free and home of the
brave."  They boast that America is the "cradle of liberty"; if it
is, I fear they have rocked the child to death.  The body of
Clotel was picked up from the bank of the river, where it had been
washed by the strong current, a hole dug in the sand, and there
deposited, without either inquest being held over it, or
religious service being performed.  Such was the life and such the
death of a woman whose virtues and goodness of heart would have
done honour to one in a higher station of life, and who, if she
had been born in any other land but that of slavery, would have
been honoured and loved.  A few days after the death of Clotel,
the following poem appeared in one of the newspapers:

"Now, rest for the wretched! the long day is past,
   And night on yon prison descendeth at last.
  Now lock up and bolt!  Ha, jailor, look there!
Who flies like a wild bird escaped from the snare?
       A woman, a slave-up, out in pursuit.
         While linger some gleams of day!
     Let thy call ring out!--now a rabble rout
           Is at thy heels--speed away!


   "A bold race for freedom!--On, fugitive, on!
Heaven help but the right, and thy freedom is won.
 How eager she drinks the free air of the plains;
Every limb, every nerve, every fibre she strains;
        From Columbia's glorious capitol,
            Columbia's daughter flees
         To the sanctuary God has given--
           The sheltering forest trees.


"Now she treads the Long Bridge--joy lighteth her eye--
     Beyond her the dense wood and darkening sky--
Wild hopes thrill her heart as she neareth the shore:
   O, despair! there are men fast advancing before!
 Shame, shame on their manhood! they hear, they heed
             The cry, her flight to stay,
  And like demon forms with their outstretched arms,
            They wait to seize their prey!


 "She pauses, she turns!  Ah, will she flee back?
Like wolves, her pursuers howl loud on their track;
    She lifteth to Heaven one look of despair--
  Her anguish breaks forth in one hurried prayer
 Hark! her jailor's yell! like a bloodhound's bay
 On the low night wind it sweeps!
Now, death or the chain! to the stream she turns,
         And she leaps! O God, she leaps!


    "The dark and the cold, yet merciful wave,
   Receives to its bosom the form of the slave:
 She rises--earth's scenes on her dim vision gleam,
Yet she struggleth not with the strong rushing stream:
 And low are the death-cries her woman's heart gives,
          As she floats adown the river,
  Faint and more faint grows the drowning voice,
       And her cries have ceased for ever!


 "Now back, jailor, back to thy dungeons, again,
    To swing the red lash and rivet the chain!
The form thou would'st fetter--returned to its God;
     The universe holdeth no realm of night
           More drear than her slavery--
More merciless fiends than here stayed her flight--
          Joy! the hunted slave is free!

"That bond-woman's corpse--let Potomac's proud wave
   Go bear it along by our Washington's grave,
  And heave it high up on that hallowed strand,
   To tell of the freedom he won for our land.
  A weak woman's corpse, by freemen chased down;
         Hurrah for our country! hurrah!
To freedom she leaped, through drowning and death--
                 Hurrah for our country! hurrah!"



CHAPTER XXVI

THE ESCAPE

      "No refuge is found on our unhallowed ground,
      For the wretched in Slavery's manacles bound;
  While our star-spangled banner in vain boasts to wave
  O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!"

WE left Mary, the daughter of Clotel, in the capacity of a servant
in her own father's house, where she had been taken by her
mistress for the ostensible purpose of plunging her husband into
the depths of humiliation.  At first the young girl was treated
with great severity; but after finding that Horatio Green had
lost all feeling for his child, Mrs. Green's own heart became
touched for the offspring of her husband, and she became its
friend.  Mary had grown still more beautiful, and, like most of
her sex in that country, was fast coming to maturity.

The arrest of Clotel, while trying to rescue her daughter, did not
reach the ears of the latter till her mother had been removed
from Richmond to Washington.  The mother had passed from time to
eternity before the daughter knew that she had been in the
neighbourhood.  Horatio Green was not in Richmond at the time of
Clotel's arrest; had he been there, it is not probable but he
would have made an effort to save her.  She was not his slave, and
therefore was beyond his power, even had he been there and
inclined to aid her.  The revolt amongst the slaves had been
brought to an end, and most of the insurgents either put to death
or sent out of the state.  One, however, remained in
prison.  He was the slave of Horatio Green, and had been a servant
in his master's dwelling.  He, too, could boast that his father
was an American statesman.  His name was George.  His mother had
been employed as a servant in one of the principal hotels in
Washington, where members of Congress usually put up.  After
George's birth his mother was sold to a slave trader, and he to an
agent of Mr. Green, the father of Horatio.  George was as white as
most white persons.  No one would suppose that any African blood
coursed through his veins.  His hair was straight, soft, fine, and
light; his eyes blue, nose prominent, lips thin, his head well
formed, forehead high and prominent; and he was often taken for a
free white person by those who did know him.  This made his
condition still more intolerable; for one so white seldom ever
receives fair treatment at the hands of his fellow slaves; and the
whites usually regard such slaves as persons who, if not often
flogged, and otherwise ill treated, to remind them of their
condition, would soon "forget" that they were slaves, and "think
themselves as good as white folks."  George's opportunities were
far greater than most slaves.  Being in his master's house, and
waiting on educated white people, he had become very familiar
with the English language.  He had heard his master and visitors
speak of the down-trodden and oppressed Poles; he heard them talk
of going to Greece to fight for Grecian liberty, and against the
oppressors of that ill-fated people.  George, fired with the love
of freedom, and zeal for the cause of his enslaved countrymen,
joined the insurgents, and with them had been defeated and
captured.  He was the only one remaining of these unfortunate
people, and he would have been put to death with them but for a
circumstance that occurred some weeks before the
outbreak.  The court house had, by accident, taken fire, and was
fast consuming.  The engines could not be made to work, and all
hope of saving the building seemed at an end.  In one of the upper
chambers there was a small box containing some valuable deeds
belonging to the city; a ladder was placed against the house,
leading from the street to the window of the room in which the
box stood.  The wind blew strong, and swept the flames in that
direction.  Broad sheets of fire were blown again and again over
that part of the building, and then the wind would lift the pall
of smoke, which showed that the work of destruction was not yet
accomplished.  While the doomed building was thus exposed, and
before the destroying element had made its final visit, as it did
soon after, George was standing by, and hearing that much
depended on the contents of the box, and seeing no one disposed
to venture through the fiery element to save the treasure,
mounted the ladder and made his way to the window, entered the
room, and was soon seen descending with the much valued box.  Three
cheers rent the air as the young slave fell from the ladder when
near the ground; the white men took him up in their arms, to see
if he had sustained any injury.  His hair was burnt, eyebrows
closely singed, and his clothes smelt strongly of smoke; but the
heroic young slave was unhurt.  The city authorities, at their
next meeting, passed a vote of thanks to George's master for the
lasting benefit that the slave had rendered the public, and
commanded the poor boy to the special favour of his owner.  When
George was on trial for participating in the revolt, this
"meritorious act," as they were pleased to term it, was brought
up in his favour.  His trial was put off from session to session,
till he had been in prison more than a year.  At last, however, he
was convicted of high treason, and sentenced to be
hanged within ten days of that time.  The judge asked the slave if
he had anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed
on him.  George stood for a moment in silence, and then said, "As
I cannot speak as I should wish, I will say nothing."  "You may
say what you please," said the judge.  "You had a good master,"
continued he, "and still you were dissatisfied; you left your
master and joined the Negroes who were burning our houses and
killing our wives."  "As you have given me permission to speak,"
remarked George, "I will tell you why I joined the revolted
Negroes.  I have heard my master read in the Declaration of
Independence 'that all men are created free and equal,' and this
caused me to inquire of myself why I was a slave.  I also heard him
talking with some of his visitors about the war with England, and
he said, all wars and fightings for freedom were just and right.
If so, in what am I wrong?  The grievances of which your fathers
complained, and which caused the Revolutionary War, were trifling
in comparison with the wrongs and sufferings of those who were
engaged in the late revolt.  Your fathers were never slaves, ours
are; your fathers were never bought and sold like cattle, never
shut out from the light of knowledge and religion, never
subjected to the lash of brutal task-masters.  For the crime of
having a dark skin, my people suffer the pangs of hunger, the
infliction of stripes, and the ignominy of brutal servitude.  We
are kept in heathenish darkness by laws expressly enacted to make
our instruction a criminal offence.  What right has one man to the
bones, sinews, blood, and nerves of another?  Did not one God make
us all?  You say your fathers fought for freedom; so did we.  You
tell me that I am to be put to death for violating the
laws of the land.  Did not the American revolutionists violate the
laws when they struck for liberty?  They were revolters, but their
success made them patriots--We were revolters, and our failure
makes us rebels.  Had we succeeded, we would have been patriots
too.  Success makes all the difference.  You make merry on the 4th
of July; the thunder of cannon and ringing of bells announce it
as the birthday of American independence.  Yet while these cannons
are roaring and bells ringing, one-sixth of the people of this
land are in chains and slavery.  You boast that this is the 'Land
of the Free'; but a traditionary freedom will not save you.  It
will not do to praise your fathers and build their sepulchres.
Worse for you that you have such an inheritance, if you spend it
foolishly and are unable to appreciate its worth.  Sad if the
genius of a true humanity, beholding you with tearful eyes from
the mount of vision, shall fold his wings in sorrowing pity, and
repeat the strain, 'O land of Washington, how often would I have
gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood
under her wings, and ye would not; behold your house is left unto
you desolate.'  This is all I have to say; I have done."  Nearly
every one present was melted to tears; even the judge seemed
taken by surprise at the intelligence of the young slave.  But
George was a slave, and an example must be made of him, and
therefore he was sentenced.  Being employed in the same house with
Mary, the daughter of Clotel, George had become attached to her,
and the young lovers fondly looked forward to the time when they
should be husband and wife.

After George had been sentenced to death, Mary was still more
attentive to him, and begged and obtained leave of her mistress
to visit him in his cell.  The poor girl paid a daily
visit to him to whom she had pledged her heart and hand.  At one of
these meetings, and only four days from the time fixed for the
execution, while Mary was seated in George's cell, it occurred to
her that she might yet save him from a felon's doom.  She revealed
to him the secret that was then occupying her thoughts, viz.
that George should exchange clothes with her, and thus attempt his
escape in disguise.  But he would not for a single moment listen
to the proposition.  Not that he feared detection; but he would
not consent to place an innocent and affectionate girl in a
position where she might have to suffer for him.  Mary pleaded,
but in vain.  George was inflexible.  The poor girl left her lover
with a heavy heart, regretting that her scheme had proved
unsuccessful.

Towards the close of the next day, Mary again appeared at the
prison door for admission, and was soon by the side of him whom
she so ardently loved.  While there the clouds which had overhung
the city for some hours broke, and the rain fell in torrents amid
the most terrific thunder and lightning.  In the most persuasive
manner possible, Mary again importuned George to avail himself of
her assistance to escape from an ignominious death.  After assuring
him that she, not being the person condemned, would not receive
any injury, he at last consented, and they began to exchange
apparel.  As George was of small stature, and both were white,
there was no difficulty in his passing out without detection; and
as she usually left the cell weeping, with handkerchief in hand,
and sometimes at her face, he had only to adopt this mode and his
escape was safe.  They had kissed each other, and Mary had told
George where he would find a small parcel of provisions which she
had placed in a secluded spot, when the prison-keeper
opened the door and said, "Come, girl, it is time for you to go."
George again embraced Mary, and passed out of the jail.  It was
already dark, and the street lamps were lighted, so that our hero
in his new dress had no dread of detection.  The provisions were
sought out and found, and poor George was soon on the road
towards Canada.  But neither of them had once thought of a change
of dress for George when he should have escaped, and he had
walked but a short distance before he felt that a change of his
apparel would facilitate his progress.  But he dared not go amongst
even his coloured associates for fear of being betrayed.  However,
he made the best of his way on towards Canada, hiding in the
woods during the day, and travelling by the guidance of the North
Star at night.

With the poet he could truly say,

  "Star of the North! while blazing day
  Pours round me its full tide of light,
   And hides thy pale but faithful ray,
  I, too, lie hid, and long for night."

One morning, George arrived on the banks of the Ohio river, and
found his journey had terminated, unless he could get some one to
take him across the river in a secret manner, for he would not be
permitted to cross in any of the ferry boats, it being a penalty
for crossing a slave, besides the value of the slave.  He
concealed himself in the tall grass and weeds near the river, to
see if he could embrace an opportunity to cross.  He had been in
his hiding place but a short time, when he observed a man in a
small boat, floating near the shore, evidently fishing.  His first
impulse was to call out to the man and ask him to take him over
to the Ohio side, but the fear that the man was a slaveholder, or
one who might possibly arrest him, deterred him from it.  The
man after rowing and floating about for some time
fastened the boat to the root of a tree, and started to a
neighbouring farmhouse.

This was George's moment, and he seized it.  Running down the bank,
he unfastened the boat, jumped in, and with all the expertness of
one accustomed to a boat, rowed across the river and landed on
the Ohio side.

Being now in a Free State, he thought he might with perfect safety
travel on towards Canada.  He had, however, gone but a very few
miles when he discovered two men on horseback coming behind him.
He felt sure that they could not be in pursuit of him, yet he did
not wish to be seen by them, so he turned into another road
leading to a house near by.  The men followed, and were but a
short distance from George, when he ran up to a farmhouse, before
which was standing a farmer-looking man, in a broad-brimmed hat
and straight-collared coat, whom he implored to save him from the
"slave-catchers."  The farmer told him to go into the barn near
by; he entered by the front door, the farmer following, and
closing the door behind George, but remaining outside, and gave
directions to his hired man as to what should be done with
George.  The slaveholders by this time had dismounted, and were
in front of the barn demanding admittance, and charging the
farmer with secreting their slave woman, for George was still in
the dress of a woman.  The Friend, for the farmer proved to be a
member of the Society of Friends, told the slave-owners that if
they wished to search his barn, they must first get an officer
and a search warrant.  While the parties were disputing, the farmer
began nailing up the front door, and the hired man served the
back door in the same way.  The slaveholders, finding that they
could not prevail on the Friend to allow them to get the slave,
determined to go in search of an officer.  One was left
to see that the slave did not escape from the barn, while the
other went off at full speed to Mount Pleasant, the nearest town.
George was not the slave of either of these men, nor were they in
pursuit of him, but they had lost a woman who had been seen in
that vicinity, and when they saw poor George in the disguise of a
female, and attempting to elude pursuit, they felt sure they were
close upon their victim.  However, if they had caught him,
although he was not their slave, they would have taken him back
and placed him in jail, and there he would have remained until his
owner arrived.

After an absence of nearly two hours, the slave-owner returned
with an officer and found the Friend still driving large nails
into the door.  In a triumphant tone and with a corresponding
gesture, he handed the search-warrant to the Friend, and said,
"There, sir, now I will see if I can't get my nigger."  "Well,"
said the Friend, "thou hast gone to work according to law, and
thou canst now go into my barn."  "Lend me your hammer that I may
get the door open," said the slaveholder.  "Let me see the warrant
again."  And after reading it over once more, he said, "I see
nothing in this paper which says I must supply thee with tools to
open my door; if thou wishest to go in, thou must get a hammer
elsewhere."  The sheriff said, "I will go to a neighbouring farm
and borrow something which will introduce us to Miss Dinah;" and
he immediately went in search of tools.  In a short time the
officer returned, and they commenced an assault and battery upon
the barn door, which soon yielded; and in went the slaveholder
and officer, and began turning up the hay and using all other
means to find the lost property; but, to their astonishment, the
slave was not there.  After all hope of getting Dinah was gone,
the slave-owner in a rage said to the Friend, "My nigger
is not here."  "I did not tell thee there was any one here."  "Yes,
but I saw her go in, and you shut the door behind her, and if she
was not in the barn, what did you nail the door for?"  "Can't I do
what I please with my own barn door?  Now I will tell thee; thou
need trouble thyself no more, for the person thou art after
entered the front door and went out at the back door, and is a
long way from here by this time.  Thou and thy friend must be
somewhat fatigued by this time; won't thou go in and take a little
dinner with me?"  We need not say that this cool invitation of the
good Quaker was not accepted by the slaveholders.  George in the
meantime had been taken to a friend's dwelling some miles away,
where, after laying aside his female attire, and being snugly
dressed up in a straight collared coat, and pantaloons to match,
was again put on the right road towards Canada.

The fugitive now travelled by day, and laid by during night.  After
a fatiguing and dreary journey of two weeks, the fugitive arrived
in Canada, and took up his abode in the little town of St.
Catherine's, and obtained work on the farm of Colonel Street.  Here
he attended a night-school, and laboured for his employer during
the day.  The climate was cold, and wages small, yet he was in a
land where he was free, and this the young slave prized more than
all the gold that could be given to him.  Besides doing his best
to obtain education for himself, he imparted what he could to
those of his fellow-fugitives about him, of whom there were many.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE MYSTERY

GEORGE, however, did not forget his promise to use all the means
in his power to get Mary out of slavery.  He, therefore, laboured
with all his might to obtain money with which to employ some one
to go back to Virginia for Mary.  After nearly six months' labour
at St. Catherine's, he employed an English missionary to go and
see if the girl could be purchased, and at what price.  The
missionary went accordingly, but returned with the sad
intelligence that, on account of Mary's aiding George to escape,
the court had compelled Mr. Green to sell her out of the state,
and she had been sold to a Negro trader, and taken to the New
Orleans market.  As all hope of getting the girl was now gone,
George resolved to quit the American continent for ever.  He
immediately took passage in a vessel laden with timber, bound for
Liverpool, and in five weeks from that time he was standing on
the quay of the great English seaport.  With little or no
education, he found many difficulties in the way of getting a
respectable living.  However he obtained a situation as porter in
a large house in Manchester, where he worked during the day, and
took private lessons at night.  In this way he laboured for three
years, and was then raised to the situation of clerk.  George was
so white as easily to pass for a white man, and being somewhat
ashamed of his African descent, he never once mentioned the fact
of his having been a slave.  He soon became a partner in
the firm that employed him, and was now on the road to wealth.

In the year 1842, just ten years after George Green (for he
adopted his master's name) arrived in England, he visited France,
and spent some days at Dunkirk.  It was towards sunset, on a warm
day in the month of October, that Mr. Green, after strolling some
distance from the Hotel de Leon, entered a burial ground, and
wandered along, alone among the silent dead, gazing upon the many
green graves and marble tombstones of those who once moved on the
theatre of busy life, and whose sounds of gaiety once fell upon
the ear of man.  All nature around was hushed in silence, and
seemed to partake of the general melancholy which hung over the
quiet resting-place of departed mortals.  After tracing the varied
inscriptions which told the characters or conditions of the
departed, and viewing the mounds beneath which the dust of
mortality slumbered, he had now reached a secluded spot, near to
where an aged weeping willow bowed its thick foliage to the
ground, as though anxious to hide from the scrutinising gaze of
curiosity the grave beneath it.  Mr. Green seated himself upon a
marble tomb, and began to read Roscoe's Leo X., a copy of which
he had under his arm.  It was then about twilight, and he had
scarcely gone through half a page, when he observed a lady in
black, leading a boy, some five years old, up one of the paths;
and as the lady's black veil was over her face, he felt somewhat
at liberty to eye her more closely.  While looking at her, the
lady gave a scream, and appeared to be in a fainting position,
when Mr. Green sprang from his seat in time to save her from
falling to the ground.  At this moment, an elderly gentleman was
seen approaching with a rapid step, who, from his appearance, was
evidently the lady's father, or one intimately connected with
her.  He came up, and, in a confused manner, asked what
was the matter.  Mr. Green explained as well as he could.  After
taking up the smelling bottle which had fallen from her hand, and
holding it a short time to her face, she soon began to revive.
During all this time the lady's veil had so covered her face, that
Mr. Green had not seen it.  When she had so far recovered as to be
able to raise her head, she again screamed, and fell back into
the arms of the old man.  It now appeared quite certain, that
either the countenance of George Green, or some other object, was
the cause of these fits of fainting; and the old gentleman,
thinking it was the former, in rather a petulant tone said, "I
will thank you, sir, if you will leave us alone."  The child whom
the lady was leading, had now set up a squall; and amid the
death-like appearance of the lady, the harsh look of the old man,
and the cries of the boy, Mr. Green left the grounds, and
returned to his hotel.

Whilst seated by the window, and looking out upon the crowded
street, with every now and then the strange scene in the
grave-yard vividly before him, Mr. Green thought of the book he
had been reading, and, remembering that he had left it on the
tomb, where he had suddenly dropped it when called to the
assistance of the lady, he immediately determined to return in
search of it.  After a walk of some twenty minutes, he was again
over the spot where he had been an hour before, and from which he
had been so unceremoniously expelled by the old man.  He looked in
vain for the book; it was nowhere to be found: nothing save the
bouquet which the lady had dropped, and which lay half-buried in
the grass from having been trodden upon, indicated that any one
had been there that evening.  Mr. Green took up the
bunch of flowers, and again returned to the hotel.

After passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six,
he dropped into a sweet sleep, from which he did not awaken until
roused by the rap of a servant, who, entering his room, handed
him a note which ran as follows:--"Sir,--I owe you an apology for
the inconvenience to which you were subjected last evening, and
if you will honour us with your presence to dinner to-day at four
o'clock, I shall be most happy to give you due satisfaction.  My
servant will be in waiting for you at half-past three.  I am,
sir, your obedient servant, J. Devenant.  October 23.  To George
Green, Esq."

The servant who handed this note to Mr. Green, informed him that
the bearer was waiting for a reply.  He immediately resolved to
accept the invitation, and replied accordingly.  Who this person
was, and how his name and the hotel where he was stopping had been
found out, was indeed a mystery.  However, he waited impatiently
for the hour when he was to see this new acquaintance, and get
the mysterious meeting in the grave-yard solved.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HAPPY MEETING

  "Man's love is of man's life, a thing apart;
      'Tis woman's whole existence."--Byron.

THE clock on a neighbouring church had scarcely ceased striking
three, when the servant announced that a carriage had called for
Mr. Green.  In less than half an hour he was seated in a most
sumptuous barouche, drawn by two beautiful iron greys, and
rolling along over a splendid gravel road completely shaded by
large trees, which appeared to have been the accumulating growth
of many centuries.  The carriage soon stopped in front of a low
villa, and this too was embedded in magnificent trees covered
with moss.  Mr. Green alighted and was shown into a superb drawing
room, the walls of which were hung with fine specimens from the
hands of the great Italian painters, and one by a German artist
representing a beautiful monkish legend connected with "The Holy
Catherine," an illustrious lady of Alexandria.  The furniture had
an antique and dignified appearance.  High backed chairs stood
around the room; a venerable mirror stood on the mantle shelf;
rich curtains of crimson damask hung in folds at either side of
the large windows; and a rich Turkey carpet covered the floor.
In the centre stood a table covered with books, in the midst of
which was an old-fashioned vase filled with fresh flowers, whose
fragrance was exceedingly pleasant.  A faint light, together with
the quietness of the hour, gave beauty beyond description to the
whole scene.

Mr. Green had scarcely seated himself upon the sofa, when the
elderly gentleman whom he had met the previous evening made his
appearance, followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as
Mr. Devenant.  A moment more, and a lady--a beautiful
brunette--dressed in black, with long curls of a chestnut colour
hanging down her cheeks, entered the room.  Her eyes were of a
dark hazel, and her whole appearance indicated that she was a
native of a southern clime.  The door at which she entered was
opposite to where the two gentlemen were seated.  They immediately
rose; and Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing her to Mr.
Green, when he observed that the latter had sunk back upon the
sofa, and the last word that he remembered to have heard was, "It
is her."  After this, all was dark and dreamy: how long he
remained in this condition it was for another to tell.  When he
awoke, he found himself stretched upon the sofa, with his boots
off, his neckerchief removed, shirt collar unbuttoned, and his
head resting upon a pillow.  By his side sat the old man, with the
smelling bottle in the one hand, and a glass of water in the
other, and the little boy standing at the foot of the sofa.  As
soon as Mr. Green had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he
said, "Where am I, and what does this mean?"  "Wait a while,"
replied the old man, "and I will tell you all."  After a lapse of
some ten minutes he rose from the sofa, adjusted his apparel, and
said, "I am now ready to hear anything you have to say."  "You
were born in America?" said the old man.  "Yes," he replied.  "And
you were acquainted with a girl named Mary?" continued the old
man.  "Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other."  "The lady
whom you met so mysteriously last evening is Mary,"
replied Mr. Devenant.  George Green was silent, but the fountains
of mingled grief and joy stole out from beneath his eyelashes,
and glistened like pearls upon his pale and marble-like cheeks.  At
this juncture the lady again entered the room.  Mr. Green sprang
from the sofa, and they fell into each other's arms, to the
surprise of the old man and little George, and to the amusement
of the servants who had crept up one by one, and were hid behind
the doors, or loitering in the hall.  When they had given vent to
their feelings, they resumed their seats, and each in turn
related the adventures through which they had passed.  "How did
you find out my name and address?" asked Mr. Green.  "After you had
left us in the grave-yard, our little George said, 'O, mamma, if
there aint a book!' and picked it up and brought it to us.  Papa
opened it, and said, 'The gentleman's name is written in it, and
here is a card of the Hotel de Leon, where I suppose he is
stopping.'  Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was all a
fancy of mine that I had ever seen you before, but I was
perfectly convinced that you were my own George Green.  Are you
married?"  "No, I am not."  "Then, thank God!" exclaimed Mrs.
Devenant.  "And are you single now?" inquired Mr. Green.  "Yes,"
she replied.  "This is indeed the Lord's doings," said Mr. Green,
at the same time bursting into a flood of tears.  Mr. Devenant was
past the age when men should think upon matrimonial subjects, yet
the scene brought vividly before his eyes the days when he was a
young man, and had a wife living.  After a short interview, the
old man called their attention to the dinner, which was then
waiting.  We need scarcely add, that Mr. Green and Mrs. Devenant
did very little towards diminishing the dinner that day.

After dinner the lovers (for such we have to call them) gave their
experience from the time that George left the jail dressed in
Mary's clothes.  Up to that time Mr. Green's was substantially as
we have related it.  Mrs. Devenant's was as follows:--"The night
after you left the prison," said she, "I did not shut my eyes in
sleep.  The next morning, about eight o'clock, Peter the gardener
came to the jail to see if I had been there the night before, and
was informed that I had, and that I had left a little after dark.
About an hour after, Mr. Green came himself, and I need not say
that he was much surprised on finding me there, dressed in your
clothes.  This was the first tidings they had of your escape."
"What did Mr. Green say when he found that I had fled?"  "Oh!"
continued Mrs. Devenant, "he said to me when no one was near, I
hope George will get off, but I fear you will have to suffer in
his stead.  I told him that if it must be so I was willing to die
if you could live."  At this moment George Green burst into tears,
threw his arms around her neck, and exclaimed, "I am glad I have
waited so long, with the hope of meeting you again."  Mrs.
Devenant again resumed her story:--"I was kept in jail three days,
during which time I was visited by the magistrates, and two of the
judges.  On the third day I was taken out, and master told me that
I was liberated, upon condition that I should be immediately sent
out of the state.  There happened to be just at the time in the
neighbourhood a Negro-trader, and he purchased me, and I was taken
to New Orleans.  On the steamboat we were kept in a close room,
where slaves are usually confined, so that I saw nothing of the
passengers on board, or the towns we passed.  We arrived at New
Orleans, and were all put into the slave-market for sale.  I was
examined by many persons, but none seemed willing to
purchase me, as all thought me too white, and said I would run
away and pass as a free white woman.  On the second day, while in
the slave-market, and while planters and others were examining
slaves and making their purchases, I observed a tall young man,
with long black hair, eyeing me very closely, and then talking to
the trader.  I felt sure that my time had now come, but the day
closed without my being sold.  I did not regret this, for I had
heard that foreigners made the worst of masters, and I felt
confident that the man who eyed me so closely was not an
American.

"The next day was the Sabbath.  The bells called the people to the
different places of worship.  Methodists sang, and Baptists
immersed, and Presbyterians sprinkled, and Episcopalians read
their prayers, while the ministers of the various sects preached
that Christ died for all; yet there were some twenty-five or
thirty of us poor creatures confined in the 'Negro Pen,'
awaiting the close of the holy Sabbath, and the dawn of another
day, to be again taken into the market, there to be examined like
so many beasts of burden.  I need not tell you with what anxiety
we waited for the advent of another day.  On Monday we were again
brought out and placed in rows to be inspected; and, fortunately
for me, I was sold before we had been on the stand an hour.  I was
purchased by a gentleman residing in the city, for a waiting-maid
for his wife, who was just on the eve of starting for Mobile, to
pay a visit to a near relation.  I was then dressed to suit the
situation of a maid-servant; and upon the whole, I thought that,
in my new dress, I looked as much the lady as my mistress.

"On the passage to Mobile, who should I see among the passengers
but the tall, long-haired man that had eyed me so closely in the
slave-market a few days before.  His eyes were again on
me, and he appeared anxious to speak to me, and I as reluctant to
be spoken to.  The first evening after leaving New Orleans, soon
after twilight had let her curtain down, and pinned it with a
star, and while I was seated on the deck of the boat near the
ladies' cabin, looking upon the rippled waves, and the reflection
of the moon upon the sea, all at once I saw the tall young man
standing by my side.  I immediately rose from my seat, and was in
the act of returning to the cabin, when he in a broken accent
said, 'Stop a moment; I wish to have a word with you.  I am your
friend.'  I stopped and looked him full in the face, and he said,
'I saw you some days since in the slavemarket, and I intended to
have purchased you to save you from the condition of a slave.  I
called on Monday, but you had been sold and had left the market.
I inquired and learned who the purchaser was, and that you had to
go to Mobile, so I resolved to follow you.  If you are willing I
will try and buy you from your present owner, and you shall be
free.'  Although this was said in an honest and off-hand manner, I
could not believe the man to be sincere in what he said.  'Why
should you wish to set me free?' I asked.  'I had an only sister,'
he replied, 'who died three years ago in France, and you are so
much like her that had I not known of her death, I would most
certainly have taken you for her.'  'However much I may resemble
your sister, you are aware that I am not her, and why take so
much interest in one whom you never saw before?'  'The love,' said
he, 'which I had for my sister is transferred to you.'  I had all
along suspected that the man was a knave, and this profession of
love confirmed me in my former belief, and I turned away and left
him.

"The next day, while standing in the cabin and looking
through the window, the French gentleman (for such he was) came
to the window while walking on the guards, and again commenced as
on the previous evening.  He took from his pocket a bit of paper
and put it into my hand, at the same time saying, 'Take this, it
may some day be of service to you; remember it is from a friend,'
and left me instantly.  I unfolded the paper, and found it to be a
100 dollars bank note, on the United States Branch Bank, at
Philadelphia.  My first impulse was to give it to my mistress, but,
upon a second thought, I resolved to seek an opportunity, and to
return the hundred dollars to the stranger.

"Therefore I looked for him, but in vain; and had almost given up
the idea of seeing him again, when he passed me on the guards of
the boat and walked towards the stem of the vessel.  It being now
dark, I approached him and offered the money to him.  He declined,
saying at the same time, 'I gave it to you keep it.'  'I do not
want it,' I said.  'Now,' said he, 'you had better give your
consent for me to purchase you, and you shall go with me to
France.'  'But you cannot buy me now,' I replied, 'for my master is
in New Orleans, and he purchased me not to sell, but to retain in
his own family.'  'Would you rather remain with your present
mistress than be free?'  'No,' said I.  'Then fly with me tonight;
we shall be in Mobile in two hours from this, and when the
passengers are going on shore, you can take my arm, and you can
escape unobserved.  The trader who brought you to New Orleans
exhibited to me a certificate of your good character, and one from
the minister of the church to which you were attached in
Virginia; and upon the faith of these assurances, and the love I
bear you, I promise before high heaven that I will marry you as
soon as it can be done.'  This solemn promise, coupled
with what had already transpired, gave me confidence in the man;
and rash as the act may seem, I determined in an instant to go
with him.  My mistress had been put under the charge of the
captain; and as it would be past ten o'clock when the steamer
would land, she accepted an invitation of the captain to remain
on board with several other ladies till morning.  I dressed myself
in my best clothes, and put a veil over my face, and was ready on
the landing of the boat.  Surrounded by a number of passengers, we
descended the stage leading to the wharf, and were soon lost in
the crowd that thronged the quay.  As we went on shore we
encountered several persons announcing the names of hotels, the
starting of boats for the interior, and vessels bound for Europe.
Among these was the ship Utica, Captain Pell, bound for Havre.
'Now,' said Mr. Devenant, 'this is our chance.'  The ship was to
sail at twelve o'clock that night, at high tide; and following
the men who were seeking passengers, we went immediately on
board.  Devenant told the captain of the ship that I was his
sister, and for such we passed during the voyage.  At the hour of
twelve the Utica set sail, and we were soon out at sea.

"The morning after we left Mobile, Devenant met me as I came from
my state-room, and embraced me for the first time.  I loved him,
but it was only that affection which we have for one who has done
us a lasting favour: it was the love of gratitude rather than that
of the heart.  We were five weeks on the sea, and yet the passage
did not seem long, for Devenant was so kind.  On our arrival at
Havre we were married and came to Dunkirk, and I have resided
here ever since."

At the close of this narrative, the clock struck ten, when the old
man, who was accustomed to retire at an early hour,
rose to take leave, saying at the same time, "I hope you will
remain with us to-night."  Mr. Green would fain have excused
himself, on the ground that they would expect him and wait at the
hotel, but a look from the lady told him to accept the
invitation.  The old man was the father of Mrs. Devenant's deceased
husband, as you will no doubt long since have supposed.  A
fortnight from the day on which they met in the grave-yard, Mr.
Green and Mrs. Devenant were joined in holy wedlock; so that
George and Mary, who had loved each other so ardently in their
younger days, were now husband and wife.

A celebrated writer has justly said of woman, "A woman's whole
life is a history of the affections.  The heart is her world; it
is there her ambition strives for empire; it is there her avarice
seeks for hidden treasures.  She sends forth her sympathies on
adventure; she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of
affection; and, if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless, for it is a
bankruptcy of the heart."

Mary had every reason to believe that she would never see George
again; and although she confesses that the love she bore him was
never transferred to her first husband, we can scarcely find
fault with her for marrying Mr. Devenant.  But the adherence of
George Green to the resolution never to marry, unless to his
Mary, is, indeed, a rare instance of the fidelity of man in the
matter of love.  We can but blush for our country's shame when we
recall to mind the fact, that while George and Mary Green, and
numbers of other fugitives from American slavery, can receive
protection from any of the governments of Europe, they cannot
return to their native land without becoming slaves.



CHAPTER XXIX

CONCLUSION

MY narrative has now come to a close.  I may be asked, and no doubt
shall, Are the various incidents and scenes related founded in
truth?  I answer, Yes.  I have personally participated in many of
those scenes.  Some of the narratives I have derived from other
sources; many from the lips of those who, like myself, have run
away from the land of bondage.  Having been for nearly nine years
employed on Lake Erie, I had many opportunities for helping the
escape of fugitives, who, in return for the assistance they
received, made me the depositary of their sufferings and wrongs.
Of their relations I have made free use.  To Mrs. Child, of New
York, I am indebted for part of a short story.  American
Abolitionist journals are another source from whence some of the
characters appearing in my narrative are taken.  All these
combined have made up my story.  Having thus acknowledged my
resources, I invite the attention of my readers to the following
statement, from which I leave them to draw their own
conclusions:--"It is estimated that in the United States, members
of the Methodist church own 219,363 slaves; members of the
Baptist church own 226,000 slaves; members of the Episcopalian
church own 88,000 slaves; members of the Presbyterian church own
77,000 slaves; members of all other churches own 50,000 slaves;
in all, 660,563 slaves owned by members of the Christian church
in this pious democratic republic!"

May these facts be pondered over by British Christians, and at the
next anniversaries of the various religious denominations in
London may their influence be seen and felt!  The religious
bodies of American Christians will send their delegates to these
meetings.  Let British feeling be publicly manifested.  Let British
sympathy express itself in tender sorrow for the condition of my
unhappy race.  Let it be understood, unequivocally understood, that
no fellowship can be held with slaveholders professing the same
common Christianity as yourselves.  And until this stain from
America's otherwise fair escutcheon be wiped away, let no
Christian association be maintained with those who traffic in the
blood and bones of those whom God has made of one flesh as
yourselves.  Finally, let the voice of the whole British nation be
heard across the Atlantic, and throughout the length and breadth
of the land of the Pilgrim Fathers, beseeching their descendants,
as they value the common salvation, which knows no distinction
between the bond and the free, to proclaim the Year of Jubilee.
Then shall the "earth indeed yield her increase, and God, even
our own God, shall bless us; and all the ends of the earth shall
fear Him."