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Clotel; or, The President's Daughter: A Narrative of Slave Life in the United States is an 1853 novel by United States author and playwright William Wells Brown about Clotel and her sister, fictional slave daughters of Thomas Jefferson. full text https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/346-clotel-from-william-wells-brown/ The Project Gutenberg eBook of Clotel; Or, The President's Daughter This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Clotel; Or, The President's Daughter Author: William Wells Brown Release date: January 1, 2000 [eBook #2046] Most recently updated: April 3, 2015 Language: English *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLOTEL; OR, THE PRESIDENT'S DAUGHTER *** 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 am*zon?" 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 am*zon, 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 am*zon. 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." *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLOTEL; OR, THE PRESIDENT'S DAUGHTER *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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Le Mulâtre from Victor Séjour "Le Mulâtre" ("The Mulatto") is a short story by Victor Séjour, a free person of color and Creole of color born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was written in French, Séjour's first language, and published in the Paris abolitionist journal Revue des Colonies in 1837. It is the earliest extant work of fiction by an African-American author. It was noted as such when it was first translated in English, appearing in the first edition of the Norton Anthology of African American Literature in 1997 full text https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/347-le-mulâtre-from-victor-séjour/ Le Mulâtre Victor Séjour Revue des Colonies, mars 1837, pp. 376-392. Les premiers rayons de l’aurore blanchissaient à peine la cime noire des montagnes, quand je partis du Cap pour me rendre à Saint Marc, petite ville de St-Domingue, aujourd’hui la république d’Haïti. J’avais tant vu de belles campagnes, de forêts hautes et profondes, qu’en vérité je me croyais blasé de ces beautés mâles de la création. Mais, à l’aspect de cette dernière ville, avec sa végétation pittoresque, sa nature neuve et bizarre, je fus étonné et confondu devant la diversité sublime de l’ œuvre de Dieu. Aussitôt mon arrivée, je fus accosté par un vieillard nègre, déjà septuagénaire ; ses pas étaient fermes, sa tête haute, sa taille imposante et vigoureuse ; rien ne trahissait son grand âge, sinon la blancheur remarquable de ses cheveux crépus. Selon la coutume du pays, il était coiffé d’un grand chapeau de paille, et vêtu d’un large pantalon en toile grise et d’une espèce de camisole en batiste écrue — Bonjour maître, me dit-il en se découvrant. — Ah ! vous voilà…, et je lui tendis la main, qu’il pressa avec reconnaissance. — Maître, dit-il, c’est d’un noble cœur ce que vous faites là… ; mais ne savez-vous pas qu’un nègre est aussi vil qu’un chien… ; la société le repousse ; les hommes le détestent ; les lois le maudissent… Ah ! c’est un être bien malheureux, qui n’a pas même la consolation d’ être toujours vertueux… Qu’il naisse bon, noble, généreux ; que Dieu lui donne une âme loyale et grande ; malgré cela, bien souvent il descend dans la tombe les mains teintes de sang, et le cœur avide encore de vengeance ; car plus d’une fois il a vu détruire ses rêves de jeune homme ; car l’expérience lui a appris que ses bonnes actions n’étaient pas comptées, et qu’il ne devait aimer ni sa femme, ni ses fils ; car un jour la première sera séduite par le maître, et son sang vendu au loin malgré son désespoir. Alors, que voulez-vous qu’il devienne ?… Se brisera-t-il le crâne contre le pavé de la rue ?… Tuera-t-il son bourreau ?… Ou croyez-vous que le cœur humain puisse se façonner à de telles infortunes ?… Le vieux nègre se tut un instant comme pour attendre ma réponse. Insensé qui le pense, reprit-il avec chaleur. S’il vit, c’est pour la vengeance ; car bientôt il se lève… et, du jour où il secoue sa servilité , il vaudrait mieux au maître entendre le tigre affamé hurler à ses côtés, que de le rencontrer face à face… Pendant que le vieillard parlait, son front s’illuminait, ses yeux étincelaient, et son cœur battait avec force. Je ne croyais pas trouver autant d’ énergie sous une aussi vieille enveloppe. Profitant de cette espèce d’exaltation : — Antoine, lui dis-je, vous m’aviez promis l’histoire de votre ami Georges. — Voulez-vous m’ écouter à cette heure ? — Volontiers… Nous nous assîmes, lui sur ma malle de voyage, et moi sur ma valise. Voici ce qu’il me raconta : « Voyez-vous cet édifice qui s’ élève si gracieusement vers le ciel, et qui semble se mirer dans la mer ; cet édifice qui ressemble, par son originalité , à un temple, et par sa coquetterie, à quelque palais, c’est la maison St-M*** . Dans une des pièces de ce bâtiment, se réunissent chaque jour les flâneurs, les rentiers et les grands planteurs. Les deux premiers jouent au billard, ou fument le délicieux cigare de la Havane ; tandis que les derniers achètent des nègres ; c’est-à -dire des hommes libres, arrachés par la ruse ou par la force de leur patrie, et devenus, par la violence, le bien, la propriété de leurs semblables… Ici, on livre le mari sans la femme ; là , la sœur sans le frère ; plus loin, la mère sans les enfans. Vous frémissez ? cependant ces ventes infâmes se renouvellent à toute heure. Mais bientôt on y propose une jeune sénégalaise, si belle qu’une même exclamation s’ échappe de toutes les bouches… « Qu’elle est jolie ! » Chacun la voudrait pour en faire sa maîtresse ; mais nul n’ose lutter contre le jeune Alfred, un des plus riches planteurs de ce pays, âgé alors de vingt-deux ans. — Combien demandez-vous de cette femme ? — Quinze cents piastres, répondit le vendeur. — Quinze cents piastres, répéta machinalement Alfred. — Oui, Monsieur. — Au juste ? — Au juste. — C’est horriblement cher. — Cher… répartit le vendeur avec un signe d’ étonnement ; mais vous ne voyez donc pas comme elle est jolie, comme sa peau est luisante, comme sa chair est ferme. Elle a dix-huit ans au plus… Tout en parlant, il promenait ses mains impudiques sur les formes puissantes et demi-nues de la belle Africaine. — Elle est garantie, dit Alfred, après un moment de réflexion ? — Aussi pure que la rosée du ciel, répondit le vendeur ; mais, au reste, vous pouvez la faire... — Non, non… c’est inutile, reprit Alfred en l’interrompant, j’ai confiance en vous. — Je n’ai jamais vendu de mauvaises marchandises, répartit le vendeur, en relevant ses favoris d’un air triomphant. Quand l’acte de vente fut signé et toutes les formalités remplis, le vendeur s’approcha de la jeune esclave : — Cet homme est maintenant ton maître, lui dit-il, en désignant Alfred. — Je le sais, répondit froidement la négresse. — En es-tu contente ? — Que m’importe… lui ou un autre… — Mais cependant — balbutia le vendeur, en cherchant une réponse. — Mais cependant quoi ? reprit l’Africaine avec humeur, et s’il ne me convenait pas ? — Ma foi, ce serait un malheur ; car tout est terminé… — Alors, je garde ma pensée pour moi. Dix minutes après, la nouvelle esclave d’Alfred monta dans un tombereau qui prit le chemin des guêpes, route assez commode qui mène à ces délicieuses campagnes, groupées autour de Saint-Marc comme de jeunes vierges au pied de l’autel. Une sombre mélancolie enveloppait son âme ; elle pleurait. Le conducteur comprenait trop bien ce qui se passait en elle, pour essayer de la distraire ; mais quand il vit la blanche habitation d’Alfred se dessiner dans le lointain, il se pencha involontairement vers la pauvre infortunée, et d’une voix pleine de larmes, il lui dit : — Sœur, quel est ton nom ? — Laïsa, répondit-elle, sans lever la tête. — À ce nom, le conducteur frissonna, mais maîtrisant son émotion, il reprit : — Ta mère ? — Elle est morte… — Ton père ? — Il est mort… — Pauvre enfant, murmura-t-il… — De quel pays es-tu, Laïsa ? — Du Sénégal… Les larmes lui vinrent aux yeux ; il venait de rencontrer une compatriote. — Sœur, reprit-il, en s’essuyant les yeux, tu connais sans doute le vieux Chambo et sa fille… — Pourquoi, répondit la jeune fille en relevant vivement la tête ? — Pourquoi, continua le conducteur avec angoisse ; mais le vieux Chambo est mon père, et… — Mon Dieu, s’ écria l’orpheline, sans lui laisser le temps d’achever ; tu es ?… — Jacques Chambo. — Mon frère ! — Laïsa !… Ils se jetèrent dans les bras l’un de l’autre. Ils étaient encore entrelacés, quand le tombereau entra dans la partie principale de l’habitation d’Alfred. Le gérant y était… Qu’est-ce que je vois, s’ écria-t-il, en déroulant un fouet immense, qu’il portait toujours pendu à sa ceinture, Jacques qui embrasse à mes yeux la nouvelle venue… quelle impertinence !… Sur ce, des coups de fouet tombèrent sur le malheureux, et des flots de sang jaillirent de son visage. II. Alfred était peut-être bon, humain, loyal avec ses égaux ; mais, à coup sûr, c’ était un homme dur, méchant, envers ses esclaves. Je ne vous dirai pas tout ce qu’il fit pour posséder Laïsa ; car celle-ci fut presque violée. Pendant près d’une année, elle partagea la couche de son maître ; mais déjà Alfred commençait à s’en lasser ; il la trouvait laide, froide, insolente. Vers ce temps, la pauvre femme accoucha d’un fils qu’elle nomma Georges. Alfred le méconnut, chassa la mère de sa présence, et la fit reléguer dans la plus mauvaise cabane de son habitation, quoique convaincu, autant qu’on peut l’ être, qu’il était le père de cet enfant. Georges avait grandi sans jamais entendre nommer le nom de son père ; et s’il essayait parfois de percer le mystère qui enveloppait sa naissance, il trouvait sa mère inflexible et muette à ses questions. Une fois seulement elle lui dit : — Mon fils, tu ne sauras son nom qu’ à ta vingt-cinquième année ; car alors tu seras un homme ; tu seras plus capable de garder un pareil secret. Tu ne sais donc pas qu’il m’a défendu de te parler de lui, sous peine de te haïr… et vois-tu, Georges… la haine de cet homme, c’est la mort. — Qu’importe, s’ écriait impétueusement Georges ; je pourrais du moins lui reprocher sa conduite infâme… — Tais-toi… tais-toi, Georges… les murs ont des oreilles, et les broussailles savent parler, murmurait la pauvre mère en tremblant… Quelques années après, cette malheureuse mourut, laissant pour tout héritage à Georges, son fils unique, un petit sac en peau de daim, dans lequel se trouvait le portrait de son père ; mais à la seule promesse de ne l’ouvrir qu’ à sa vingt-cinquième année. Puis elle l’embrassa, et sa tête retomba sur l’oreiller… elle était morte… Le cri de douleur que jeta l’orphelin attira les autres esclaves… Ils se mirent à pleurer, à frapper leur poitrine, à arracher leurs cheveux de désespoir. Après ces premières marques de douleur, ils lavèrent le corps de la défunte, et l’exposèrent sur une espèce de table longue, soutenue par les tréteaux. La morte est couchée sur le dos, le visage tourné vers l’Orient, vêtue de ses meilleurs habits, et les mains croisées sur sa poitrine. À ses pieds se trouve une petite coupe pleine d’eau bénite, sur laquelle surnage une branche de jasmin ; enfin, aux quatre coins de la couche mortuaire, s’ élèvent des flambeaux… Chacun, après avoir béni les restes de la défunte, s’agenouille et prie car la plupart des races nègres, malgré leur fétichisme, croient profondément à l’existence de Dieu. Cette première cérémonie terminée, une autre non moins singulière commence… ce sont des cris, des pleurs, des chants ; puis des danses funèbres !… III. Georges avait toutes les dispositions nécessaires à devenir un très honnête homme ; mais c’ était une de ces volontés hautaines et tenaces, une de ces organisations orientales qui, poussées loin du chemin de la vertu, marchent sans s’effrayer dans la route du crime. Il aurait donné dix ans de sa vie pour connaître le nom de son père ; mais il n’osait violer la promesse solennelle faite à sa mère mourante. Comme si la nature le poussait vers Alfred ; il l’aimait, autant que l’on puisse aimer un homme : tandis que celui-ci l’estimait, mais de cette estime que l’ écuyer porte au plus beau et au plus vigoureux de ses coursiers. À cette époque, une horde de brigands portaient la désolation dans ces lieux ; déjà plus d’un colon avait été leur victime. Une nuit, je ne sais par quel hasard, Georges fut instruit de leur projet. Ils avaient juré d’assassiner Alfred. Aussitôt l’esclave court chez son maître. — Maître, maître, s’ écria-t-il… au nom du ciel, suivez-moi. Alfred fronça les sourcils. — Oh ! venez, venez, maître, continua le mulâtre avec intérêt. — Par le ciel, répondit Alfred ; je crois que tu me commandes. — Pardon, maître… pardon… je suis si troublé… je ne sais ce que je dis… mais, au nom du ciel, venez, suivez-moi… car… — T’expliqueras-tu, dit Alfred, d’un ton colère… Le mulâtre hésita. — Je le veux ; je l’ordonne, reprit Alfred, en se levant d’un air menaçant. — Maître, on doit vous assassiner cette nuit. — Sainte Vierge, tu mens… — Maître, ils en veulent à votre vie. — Qui ? — Les bandits. — Qui te l’a dit ? — Maître, c’est mon secret… dit le mulâtre d’une voix soumise. — Es-tu armé , reprit Alfred, après un moment de silence ? Le mulâtre repoussa quelques haillons qui le couvraient, et laissa voir une hache et une paire de pistolets. — C’est bien, dit Alfred en s’armant précipitamment. — Maître, êtes-vous prêt ? — Partons… — Partons, répéta le mulâtre en faisant un pas vers la porte… Alfred le retint par le bras. — Mais, où allons-nous ? — Chez le plus près de vos amis, M. Arthur. Ils allaient sortir, lorsque la porte cria sur ses gonds. — Enfer, murmura le mulâtre, il est trop tard… — Que dis-tu ? Ils sont là , répondit Georges en montrant la porte… — Ah !… — Maître, qu’avez-vous ? — Rien… un malaise… — Ne craignez rien, maître, avant d’arriver à vous, ils me marcheront sur le corps, dit l’esclave d’un air calme et résigné . Cet air calme, ce noble dévouement étaient susceptibles de rassurer le mortel le plus lâche. Cependant, à ces dernières paroles, Alfred trembla davantage ; car une horrible idée l’accablait : il se figurait que le généreux Georges était le complice de ses assassins. Tels sont les tyrans ; ils croient le reste des hommes incapables d’un sentiment élevé , d’un dévouement sans bornes ; car leurs âmes sont étroites et perfides… C’est une terre inculte, où ne croissent que la ronce et le lierre. La porte trembla violemment… Cette fois, Alfred ne put maîtriser sa lâcheté , il venait de voir sourire le mulâtre ; était-ce de joie ou de colère ? Il ne se fit pas cette question. — Misérable ! s’ écria-t-il, en s’ élançant dans une pièce voisine ; tu voulais me faire assassiner ; mais ton attente sera trompée, et il disparut... Georges se mordait les lèvres de rage ; mais il ne put faire aucune réflexion, car la porte s’ouvrit tout à coup, et quatre hommes se dressèrent sur le seuil. Aussi prompt que l’ éclair, le mulâtre arma ses pistolets, et s’accola contre le mur, en criant d’une voix de stentor : — Infâmes ! que voulez-vous ? — Nous voulons te parler en face, répondit l’un d’eux, en tirant Georges à bout portant. — Bien tiré , murmura convulsivement celui-ci. La balle lui avait fracassé le bras gauche. Il lâcha son coup. Le brigand tourna trois fois sur lui-même et tomba raide mort. Un second le suivit de près. Alors, comme un lion furieux harcelé par des chasseurs, Georges, la hache au poing et le poignard entre les dents, se précipite sur ses adversaires… Une lutte affreuse s’engage… Les combattants se pressent… se heurtent… s’entrelacent… La hache brille… le sang coule… le poignard, fidèle à la main qui le pousse, laboure la poitrine de l’ennemi… Mais pas un cri… pas un mot… pas un souffle ne s’ échappe de ces trois bouches d’hommes qui se ruent entre des cadavres comme au sein d’une enivrante orgie… À les voir ainsi, pâles et sanglants, muets et désespérés, on se figure trois fantômes qui se heurtent et s’entre-déchirent au fond d’un tombeau… Cependant Georges est couvert de blessures ; il se soutient à peine… Oh ! c’en est fait de l’intrépide mulâtre ; la hache tranchante se lève sur sa tête… Tout à coup deux détonations se font entendre, et les deux brigands tombent en blasphémant Dieu. Au même moment, Alfred rentre, suivi d’un jeune nègre. Il fait transporter le blessé dans sa cabane, et ordonne de lui amener son médecin. Pendant ce temps, apprenez comment Georges fut sauvé par le même homme qui l’accusait de trahison. À peine éloigné, Alfred entend le bruit d’une arme à feu, et le cliquetis du fer ; rougissant de sa lâcheté , il réveille son valet de chambre, et vole au secours de son libérateur. — J’avais oublié de vous dire que Georges avait une femme, nommée Zélie, qu’il aimait de toute la puissance de son âme ; c’ était une mulâtresse de dix-huit à vingt ans, à la taille cambrée, aux cheveux noirs, au regard plein d’amour et de volupté . Georges resta douze jours entre la vie et la mort. Alfred l’allait voir souvent ; poussé par je ne sais quelle fatalité , il s’ éprit de Zélie ; mais, malheureusement pour lui, ce n’ était pas une de ces femmes qui vendent leur amour, ou qui en font hommage à leur maître. Elle repoussa avec une humble dignité les propositions d’Alfred ; car elle n’oubliait pas que c’ était le maître qui parlait à l’esclave. — Au lieu d’en être touché de cette vertu si rare parmi les femmes, surtout parmi celles qui, comme Zélie, sont esclaves, et qui voient chaque jour leurs impudiques compagnes se prostituer aux colons, et alimenter leur libertinage ; au lieu d’en être; touché, dis-je, Alfred s’irrita… Quoi ! lui, le despote, le bey, le sultan des Antilles, se voir méprisé par une esclave… quelle ironie !… Aussi a-t-il fait le serment de la posséder… Quelques jours avant la convalescence de Georges, Alfred fit demander Zélie dans sa chambre. Alors, n’écoutant que ses désirs criminels, il l’enlace de ses bras, et dépose sur sa joue un brûlant baiser ; la jeune esclave prie, supplie, résiste ; mais en vain… Déjà il l’entraîne vers la couche adultère ; déjà… Alors, la vertueuse esclave, pleine d’une noble indignation, le repousse par un dernier effort, mais si brusque, mais si puissant, qu’Alfred perdit l’ équilibre et se fracassa la tête en tombant. À cette vue, Zélie s’arracha les cheveux de désespoir, et pleura de rage, car elle avait compris, la malheureuse, que la mort l’attendait pour avoir fait couler le sang d’un être aussi vil. Quand elle eut bien pleuré , elle se rendit près de son mari. — Celui-ci rêvait sans doute d’elle ; car il avait le sourire sur les lèvres. — Georges… Georges… s’ écria-t-elle avec angoisse. Le mulâtre ouvrit les yeux ; le premier besoin qu’il sentit fut de sourire à sa bien aimée. Zélie lui conta ce qui vient de se passer. Il ne voulut rien y croire ; mais bientôt il fut convaincu de son malheur ; car des hommes entrèrent dans sa cabane et garrottèrent sa femme qui pleurait… Georges fit un effort pour se lever ; mais trop faible encore, il retomba sur la couche, les yeux hagards, les mains crispées, la bouche haletante. IV. Dix jours après deux petits créoles blancs jouaient au milieu de la rue. — Charles, disait l’un d’eux : on dit que cette mulâtresse qui voulait tuer son maître sera pendue demain ? — À huit heures, répondit l’autre. — Iras-tu ? — Sans doute. — Ce sera gentil de la voir pirouetter entre ciel et terre reprit le premier, et ils s’ éloignèrent en riant. Cela vous étonne d’entendre deux enfants de dix ans s’entretenir si gaiement de la mort d’autrui ; c’est une conséquence peut-être fatale de leur éducation. Dès leur bas-âge on leur répète que nous sommes nés pour les servir, cré és pour leurs caprices, et qu’ils ne doivent nous considérer ni plus ni moins qu’un chien… Or que leur importent notre agonie, et nos souffrances ? ne voient-ils pas souvent mourir leurs meilleurs chevaux ? Ils ne les pleurent pas, car ils sont riches, demain ils en achèteront d’autres… Pendant que ces deux enfants parlaient, Georges était aux genoux de son maître. — Maître, grâce… grâce… s’ écria-t-il en pleurant… ayez pitié d’elle… maître, sauvez-la… Oh ! oui sauvez-la, car vous le pouvez… oh ! parlez… vous n’avez qu’un mot à dire… un seul… et elle vivra. Alfred ne répondit pas. — Oh ! par pitié… maître… par pitié dites-moi que vous lui pardonnez… oh ! parlez… répondez-moi, maître… n’est-ce pas que vous lui pardonnez… et le malheureux se tordait de douleur… Alfred, toujours impassible, détourna la tête… — Oh ! reprit Georges en suppliant, répondez-moi… un seul mot… mais répondez donc ; vous ne voyez pas que votre silence me torture le cœur… me tue… — Je ne puis rien y faire, répondit enfin Alfred d’un ton glacé . Le mulâtre essuya ses pleurs, et se releva de toute sa hauteur. — Maître, continua-t-il d’une voix creuse, vous souvenez-vous de ce que vous me disiez, quand je me tordais sur mon lit d’agonie. — Non… — Eh bien ! moi je m’en souviens… le maître dit à l’esclave : tu m’as sauvé la vie, que veux-tu pour récompense ? veux-tu ta liberté… ? maître, répondit l’esclave, je ne puis être libre, quand mon fils et ma femme sont esclaves. Alors le maître reprit : si jamais tu me pries, je jure que tes vœux seront exaucés ; et l’esclave ne pria point, car il était heureux d’avoir sauvé la vie à son maître… mais aujourd’hui qu’il sait que dans dix-huit heures sa femme ne vivra plus, il court se jeter à vos pieds, et vous crier : maître, au nom de Dieu, sauvez ma femme. Et le mulâtre, les mains jointes, le regard suppliant, se remit à genoux et pleura des flots de larmes… Alfred détourna la tête… — Maître… maître… par pitié répondez-moi… oh ! dites que vous voulez qu’elle vive… au nom de Dieu… de votre mère… grâce… miséricorde… et le mulâtre baisait la poussière de ses pieds. Alfred garda le silence. — Mais parlez au moins à ce pauvre homme qui vous supplie, reprit-il en sanglotant. Alfred ne répondit rien. — Mon Dieu… mon Dieu ! que je suis malheureux… et il se roulait sur le plancher, et s’arrachait les cheveux de désespoir. Enfin Alfred se décida à parler : — Je vous ai déjà dit que ce n’ était plus à moi à pardonner. — Maître, murmura Georges toujours en pleurant, elle sera probablement condamnée ; car vous et moi, seuls, savons qu’elle est innocente. À cette dernière parole du mulâtre, le rouge monta à la figure d’Alfred et la colère à son cœur… Georges comprit qu’il n’ était plus temps de prier, car il avait soulevé le voile qui cachait le crime de son maître ; or, il se leva d’un air résolu. — Sortez… va-t-en, lui cria Alfred. Au lieu de sortir le mulâtre se croisa les bras sur la poitrine, et d’un regard farouche, il toisa son maître du pied à la tête. — Va-t-en… va-t-en, te dis-je, reprit Alfred dont la colère croissait. — Je ne sortirai pas, répondit Georges : — Tu me braves, misérable. Il fit un mouvement pour le frapper, mais sa main resta collée à sa cuisse, tant il y avait de fierté et de haine dans le regard de Georges. — Quoi ! vous pourrez la laisser tuer, égorger, assassiner, dit le mulâtre, quand vous la savez innocente… quand vous avez voulu lâchement la séduire. — Insolent, que dis-tu ? — Je dis que ce serait une infamie de la laisser mourir… — Georges… Georges… — Je dis que tu es un scélérat, hurla Georges en laissant cours à sa colère, et en saisissant Alfred par le bras… ah ! elle mourra… elle mourra parce qu’elle ne s’est pas prostituée à toi… à toi parce que tu es blanc… à toi parce que tu es son maître… infâme suborneur… — Georges, prends garde, répondit Alfred en essayant de prendre un ton assuré . Prends garde qu’au lieu d’une victime demain le bourreau en trouve deux. — Tu parles de victime et de bourreau, misérable, hurla Georges… cela veut donc dire qu’elle mourra… elle… ma Zélie… mais tu ne sais pas que ta vie est attachée à la sienne. — Georges ! — Mais tu ne sais pas que ta tête ne tiendra sur tes épaules qu’autant qu’elle vivra. — Georges… Georges ! — Mais tu ne sais pas que je te tuerai… que je boirai ton sang si jamais on arrache un cheveux de sa tête. Et pendant tout ce temps le mulâtre secouait Alfred de toute la force de son bras. — Lâchez-moi, criait Alfred. — Ah ! elle mourra… elle mourra, hurla le mulâtre en délire. — Georges, lâchez-moi ! — Tais-toi… tais-toi, misérable… ah ! elle mourra… eh bien, que le bourreau touche aux jours de ma femme… continua-t-il avec un sourire affreux. Alfred était si troublé , qu’il ne vit point sortir Georges. Celui-ci se rendit aussitôt à sa cabane, où , dans un léger berceau en liane dormait un jeune enfant de deux ans, il le prit et disparut. Pour bien comprendre ce qui va suivre, sachez que de l’habitation d’Alfred on n’avait qu’une petite rivière à traverser pour se trouver au milieu de ces forêts épaisses, qui semblent étreindre le nouveau-monde. Depuis six bonnes heures Georges marchait sans relâche ; enfin il s’arrêta à quelques pas d’une cabane, bâtie au plus épais de la forêt ; vous comprendrez cette espèce de joie qui brille dans ses yeux quand vous saurez que cette cabane toute petite, tout isolée, qu’elle est, est le camp des nègres marrons, c’est-à -dire des esclaves qui fuient la tyrannie de leurs maîtres. En ce moment toute la cabane était en rumeur, on venait d’entendre la forêt tressaillir, et le chef avait juré que ce bruit n’ était causé par aucun animal, or il arma son fusil et sortit… Tout à coup les broussailles se courbent devant lui, et il se trouve face à face avec un étranger. — Par ma liberté , s’ écria-t-il, en ajustant l’inconnu, tu connaissais trop bien notre niche. — Afrique et liberté , répondit Georges sans s’ émouvoir, mais en repoussant de côté le canon du fusil… je suis des vôtres. — Ton nom. — Georges, esclave d’Alfred. Ils se tendirent la main, et s’embrassèrent. Le lendemain la foule se pressait autour d’une potence, à laquelle était suspendu le corps d’une jeune mulâtresse… Lorsqu’elle fut bien morte, le bourreau descendit son cadavre dans un cercueil en sapin et dix minutes après on jeta corps et cercueil dans une fosse creusée à l’entrée de la forêt. Ainsi cette femme pour avoir été trop vertueuse est morte du supplice des infâmes ; croyez-vous que ce seul fait ne suffit pas à rendre l’homme le plus doux, méchant et sanguinaire ? V. Trois ans s’ étaient écoulés depuis la mort de la vertueuse Zélie. Alfred dans les premiers temps fut très tourmenté ; le jour, il croyait voir à toute heure une main vengeresse s’abaisser sur son front, il tremblait la nuit, car elle lui apportait des songes affreux et terribles ; mais bientôt chassant de son âme, et le souvenir pénible de la martyre, et la terrible menace de Georges, il se maria, devint père… Oh ! qu’il fut heureux, quand on vint lui dire que ses vœux étaient exaucés, lui qui chaque soir baisait humblement le pavé du temple, en priant la Sainte Vierge de douleur de lui accorder un fils. Georges eut aussi sa part de bonheur de la venue au monde de cet enfant ; car s’il avait espéré trois ans sans savoir frapper le bourreau de sa femme ; s’il avait passé tant de nuits sans sommeil, la fureur dans le cœur, et la main sur son poignard, c’est qu’il attendait qu’Alfred eût, comme lui, une femme et un fils ; c’est qu’il ne voulait le tuer qu’au moment où des liens chers et précieux le retiendraient en ce monde… Georges avait toujours entretenu des relations intimes avec un des esclaves d’Alfred, il l’allait même voir toutes les semaines ; or cet esclave n’eut rien de plus pressé que de lui annoncer l’existence du nouveau-né… Aussitôt il vole vers la demeure de son ennemi, rencontre sur son chemin une négresse qui portait une tasse de bouillon à madame Alfred ; il l’arrête, lui dit quelques paroles insignifiantes, et s’ éloigne… Après bien des difficultés, il parvient à se glisser comme une couleuvre dans la chambre à coucher d’Alfred… là , caché derrière la ruelle du lit, il attendit son maître… Alfred rentra un instant après en chantant ; il ouvrit son secrétaire, y prit un superbe écrin en diamant qu’il avait promis à sa femme, si celle-ci lui donnait un fils ; mais pénétré de joie et de bonheur, il s’assit la tête entre les deux mains, comme un homme qui ne peut croire à un bonheur inattendu ; mais quand il releva la tête, il vit devant lui une espèce d’ombre immobile, les bras croisés sur la poitrine, et deux yeux ardents qui avaient toute la férocité du tigre qui s’apprête à déchirer sa proie. Alfred fit un mouvement pour se lever, mais une main puissante le retint sur la chaise. — Que me voulez-vous, accentua Alfred d’une voix tremblante. — Te complimenter de la naissance de ton fils, répondit une voix qui semblait sortir de la tombe. Alfred frissonna du pied à la tête, ses cheveux se hérissèrent, et une sueur froide inonda ses membres. — Je ne vous connais pas, murmura faiblement Alfred… — Je m’appelle Georges. — Vous… — Tu me croyais mort n’est-ce pas, dit le mulâtre avec un rire convulsif. — Au secours…au secours, cria Alfred… — Qui te secourra, reprit le mulâtre… n’as-tu pas renvoyé tes domestiques, fermé toutes tes portes, pour être plus seul avec ta femme… tu vois donc que tes cris sont inutiles… ainsi recommande ton âme à Dieu. Alfred s’ était peu à peu relevé de sa chaise, mais à cette dernière parole, il y retomba pâle et tremblant. — Oh ! pitié , Georges… ne me tuez pas aujourd’hui. Georges haussa les épaules. — Maître, n’est-ce pas que c’est horrible de mourir quand on est heureux ; de se coucher dans la tombe au moment où l’on voit ses rêves les plus chers se réaliser… oh ! n’est-ce pas que c’est affreux, dit le mulâtre avec un rire infernal… — Grâce, Georges… — Cependant, reprit-il, telle est ta destinée… tu mourras aujourd’hui, à cette heure, dans une minute, sans dire à ta femme un dernier adieu… — Pitié…pitié… — Sans embrasser une seconde fois ton fils qui vient de naître… — Oh ! grâce… grâce. — Je crois ma vengeance digne de la tienne… j’aurais vendu mon âme à Satan, s’il m’avait promis cet instant. — Oh ! grâce… miséricorde, dit Alfred en se jetant aux genoux du mulâtre. Georges haussa les épaules, et leva sa hache. — Oh !… une heure encore de vie ! — Pour embrasser ta femme n’est-ce pas ? — Une minute… — Pour revoir ton fils, n’est-ce pas ? — Oh ! par pitié… — Il vaudrait mieux prier le tigre affamé de lâcher sa proie. — Au nom de Dieu, Georges. — Je n’y crois plus. — Au nom de votre père… À ce mot la colère de Georges tomba. — Mon père…mon père, dit le mulâtre la larme à l’ œil, vous le connaissez… oh ! dites-moi son nom… comment s’appelle-t-il… oh ! dites, dites-moi son nom… je vous bénirai… je vous pardonnerai. Et le mulâtre était prêt à se mettre à genoux devant son maître. Mais tout à coup des cris aigus se font entendre… — Juste ciel… c’est la voix de ma femme, s’ écria Alfred en s’ élançant du côté d’où partaient les cris… Comme rappelé à lui-même, le mulâtre se souvint qu’il était venu chez son maître, non pour savoir le nom de son père, mais pour lui demander compte du sang de sa femme. Retenant aussitôt Alfred, il lui dit avec un ricanement horrible : — Arrête, maître, ce n’est rien. — Jésus-Maria, tu n’entends pas qu’elle demande du secours. — Ce n’est rien, te dis-je. — Lâchez-moi… lâchez-moi… c’est la voix de ma femme. — Non… c’est le râle d’une mourante. — Misérable, tu mens. — Je l’ai empoisonnée. — Oh !… — Entends-tu ces plaintes… ce sont les siennes. — Enfer… — Entends-tu ces cris… ce sont les siens… — Malédiction… Et pendant tout ce temps, Alfred s’efforçait d’ échapper des mains du mulâtre ; mais celui-ci l’ étreignait de plus en plus ; car lui aussi sa tête s’exaltait, son cœur bondissait ; il se faisait à son terrible rôle. — Alfred… au secours… de l’eau… je m’ étouffe… cria une femme en s’ élançant au milieu de la chambre. Elle était pâle et défaite, ses yeux sortaient de sa tête, ses cheveux étaient en désordre. — Alfred, Alfred… au nom du ciel, secourez-moi… un peu d’eau… un peu d’eau… mon sang me brûle… mon cœur se crispe, oh ! de l’eau, de l’eau… Alfred faisait des efforts inouïs pour la secourir ; mais Georges le retenait de son poignet de fer, et ricanant comme un damné , il lui criait : non pas, maître…non pas…je veux que cette femme meure… là… à tes yeux… devant toi… comprends-tu, maître, devant toi, te disant de l’eau, de l’air, sans que tu puisses la secourir. — O malheur… malheur à toi, hurlait Alfred en se débattant comme un forcené . — Tu auras beau maudire, blasphémer, répondit le mulâtre, il faut que cela soit ainsi. — Alfred, murmura de nouveau la mourante, adieu… adieu… je meurs… — Regarde, reprit le mulâtre toujours en ricanant… regarde… elle râle… eh bien ! une seule goutte de cette eau la ramènerait à la vie. Il lui montrait un petit flacon. — Toute ma fortune pour cette goutte d’eau… cria Alfred. — Es-tu fou, maître… — Ah ! cette eau… cette eau… ne vois-tu pas qu’elle se meurt… Donnez… donnez donc… — Tiens… et le mulâtre brisa le flacon contre le mur. — Soyez maudit, hurla Alfred, en saisissant Georges par le cou… oh ! ma vie entière, mon âme pour un poignard… Georges se débarrassa des mains d’Alfred. — Maintenant qu’elle est morte, à ton tour, maître, dit-il en levant sa hache. Frappe, bourreau… frappe… après l’avoir empoisonnée, tu peux bien tuer ton pè… La hache s’abaissa, et la tête d’Alfred roula sur le plancher, mais la tête en roulant murmura distinctement la dernière syllabe re… Georges croyait avoir mal entendu, mais le mot père. comme le glas funèbre, tintait à son oreille ; or pour s’en assurer, il ouvrit le sac fatal…ah ! s’écria-t-il, je suis maudit… une détonation se fit entendre ; le lendemain on trouva près du cadavre d’Alfred celui du malheureux Georges. Retour à la bibliothèque Tintamarre ESSAY ON THE BOOK Seeds of Rebellion in Plantation Fiction: Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto" Ed Piacentino High Point University Article Published August 28, 2007 Overview This essay examines Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto" (1837), a short story acknowledged as the first fictional work by an African American. Through its representation of physical and psychological effects, Séjour's story, a narrative of slavery in Saint-Domingue, also inaugurated the literary delineation of slavery's submission-rebellion binary. The enslaved raconteur in "The Mulatto" voices protest and appeals to social consciousness and sympathy, anticipating the embedded narrators in works of later writers throughout the Plantation Americas. Introduction A little-known story first translated into English in 1995 by Philip Barnard for The Norton Anthology of African American Literature, "Le Mulâtre" ("The Mulatto") by Victor Séjour (1817–1874), a New Orleans free man of color, was initially published in the March 1837 issue of Cyrille Bisette's Parisian abolitionist journal La Revue des Colonies. La Revue was a monthly periodical of "Colonial Politics, Administration, Justice, Education and Customs" owned and sponsored by a "society of men of color." A recent immigrant to Paris, Séjour was in an amenable environment among kindred spirits who shared his sentiments about slavery. La Revue's cover, according to Charles E. O'Neill, Séjour's biographer, features a "black slave in chains, with palms and waterfall in the background; kneeling on one knee, hands clasped in petition [and] ask[ing] 'Am I not a man and your brother?'" This illustration accentuates the journal's anti-slavery intent: to expose the "dissatisfaction with the slow, evasive parliamentary handling of poverty and oppression in the colonies" (O'Neill 14). In this iconic image, the slave expresses his humanity although secured by chains and kneeling in supplication.1 The slave proffers a plea for personhood and liberation that evokes the plight of the enslaved throughout the Plantation Americas, a zone, as George Handley notes, "of perplexing but compelling commonality among Caribbean nations, the Caribbean coasts of Central and South America and Brazil, and the US South...." (Handley 25). "Am I not a man and your brother?" Illustration on the cover of La Revue des Colonies 3 (1837): 376–392. The story was originally published in this volume by Victor Séjour as "Le Mulâtre." As a native of New Orleans and resident of the French Quarter, Séjour spoke French, attended private school, and was free but not white. When Séjour resided in New Orleans, free persons of color (gens de couleur) were numerous and did not enjoy political rights equal to those of whites (O'Neill 1). At nineteen, Séjour became an expatriate by choice, moving to Paris to continue his education and find work, and eventually joining forces with Cyrille Bisette, publisher of La Revue, and other members of the Parisian literary elite who helped him to start a formal writing career. In Paris, Séjour, a colonial mulatto, found a more open-minded milieu with less racial prejudice where he could exercise liberties not allowed in antebellum New Orleans. In 1837, a black man living in the United States could not have published as stark and haunting an antislavery revenge narrative as "The Mulatto." With this publication, the first African-American fictional narrative and the first of Séjour's works to appear in print, he launched a popular and successful literary career, with twenty of his plays produced on the Paris stage between the 1840s and 1860s. "The Mulatto" is not set in the continental United States, but its location, Saint-Domingue (present-day Haiti) in the West Indies, is an important site of slavery and revolution in the African diaspora where plantation slaves experienced barbarous conditions eliciting comparison to Louisiana sugar plantations.2 Designating Louisiana as an "appendage of the French and Spanish West Indies," Thomas Marc Fiehrer perceives significant links between the two, including "shar[ing] the socio-economic expreience of the larger circum-Caribbean culture, (3–4), and Louisiana's becoming a major sugar producer as Saint-Domingue had formerly been. Louisiana, like Cuba, also experienced the "same cycle of expansion and intensification of slavery after 1800 which had occurred in Saint-Domingue between 1750 and 1794," and many planters, refugees, and free persons of color (many of who had migrated to Cuba first) found Louisiana a "politically desirable point of relocation . . . , afford[ing] . . . an ecosystem comparable to that of the [Caribbean] islands" (4). With the expansion of sugar-plantation slavery came familiar atrocities (10). Title pages to Harriet Jacobs's Incidents in the Life of Slave Girl, William Wells Brown's Clotel or; The President's Daughter, and Hannah Crafts's The Bondwoman's Narrative. Images are in public domain. Although little known in its era, "The Mulatto" presents the binary of submission and rebellion that became a motif in US based slave narratives and novelized autobiographies treating racialized sexual harassment and/or exploitation of mulattas such as Harriet Jacobs's Incidents in the Life of Slave Girl, antislavery novels such as William Wells Brown's Clotel or; The President's Daughter and Hannah Crafts's The Bondwoman's Narrative, and even late nineteenth-century southern local color stories with embedded former slave storytellers, such as Charles Waddell Chesnutt's Uncle Julius. In exposing the brutality of the slave system, such as the impact of miscegenation on persons of mixed race; the sexual violation of enslaved persons; and the physical and psychological brutalities of slavery — particularly the devastating effects on family life of whites as well as on blacks — "The Mulatto" deploys strategies for antislavery protest writing that will appear in antebellum slave narratives and anti-slavery novels and in postbellum fiction about slavery. Liberated Narrative Voice "The Mulatto" features a frame narrator, a white man who functions as a sympathetic and tolerant sounding board to whom Antoine, an old man still presumably a slave and the story's embedded narrator, freely recounts a harrowing narrative of his friend Georges, a mulatto slave whose master is also his biological father.3 It is Georges's master-father, Alfred, against whom Georges directs retributive justice, killing him for allowing Georges's wife to be put to death for spurning Alfred's sexual advances. After poisoning Alfred's wife, Georges beheads his master with an ax and then takes his own life upon discovering that he has murdered his own father. Séjour's tragic narrative reveals that the slave, like his master, has succumbed to evil as his depravity stems from the corrupting effects of slavery. "The Mulatto" family tree and frame narrative structure. Illustration courtesy of the author. Séjour's character, Antoine, a proud, imposing, elderly slave raconteur, creates a narrative that exposes the psychological tensions and physical violence brought about by the violation of the humanity of black slaves and which affects slave owners as well as their bondpersons. Antoine comfortably and confidently addresses a nameless white listener, an individual about whom he feels no rigid class or race barriers. Moreover, this man, who serves as the frame narrator, gives us Antoine's story of Georges apparently as it was told to him, an uncensored, melodramatic tale of the tragedy spawned by slavery, with his primary focus being on the victims of its inhumanities. Antoine's story of Georges, which evokes sympathy for the innocent black slave characters suffering under white oppression, exemplifies racial melodrama, anticipating the form that Linda Williams examines in Playing the Race Card: Melodramas in Black and White, From Uncle Tom to O. J. Simpson. Williams, who views melodrama as typifying "popular American narrative . . . when it seeks to engage with moral questions," notes that the "moral legibility" of actions within racial melodramas depends upon the representation of victimized innocents who acquire virtue through suffering, a script intended to evoke the social consciences and emotions of readers (12, 17). Title page to William Gilmore Simms's The Yemassee: A Romance of Carolina, New York, 1844. Published by Harper & Brothers. Image is in public domain. In Antoine's embedded narrative, the master Alfred is depicted as a vain, hideous and merciless villain and the slaves whom he exploits physically and emotionally—Laïsa, Georges's mother; Georges, his unacknowledged son; and Zelia, Georges's wife—all become lost innocents, unnecessary victims of the white man. As Antoine begins to talk, prefacing the story, it becomes clear that he can vent his discontent/ and outrage blatantly and speak honestly to the authorial narrator, even to the extent of adopting a cynically editorializing voice and using ideological discourse. In his encounter with this white man, Antoine's effectiveness as a functional mouthpiece and as a credible and reliable character is not diminished by such annoyances as dialect and and humiliatingly submissive behavior in his encounter with this white man, especially for today's readers who are knowledgeable of black portraiture in nineteenth-century American white-authored texts such as John Pendleton Kennedy's Swallow Barn (1832), William Gilmore Simms's The Yemassee (1835), and Joel Chandler Harris's Uncle Remus tales. Antoine preserves his dignity, consequently escaping reduction to a stereotype. After shaking hands with the white man, who treats him with dignity, Antoine receives a reaffirmation, an invitation to voice his stark, bitter recollections of the dehumanizing effects of slavery. Antoine's monologue begins with an undiluted tirade precipitated by his thoughts of the story he is about to tell of the ill-fated Georges and his master-father: "But you know, do you not, that a negro's as vile as a dog; society rejects him; men detest him; the laws curse him. . . . Yes, he's a most unhappy being, who hasn't even the consolation of always being virtuous. . . . He may be born good, noble, and generous; God may grant him a great and loyal soul; but despite all that, he often goes to his grave with bloodstained hands, and a heart hungering after yet more vengeance. For how many times has seen the dreams of his youth destroyed? How many times has experience taught him that his good deeds count for nothing, and that he should love neither his wife nor his son; for one day the former will be seduced by the master, and his own flesh and blood will be sold and transported away despite his despair. What, then, can you expect him to become? Shall he smash his skull against the paving stones? Shall he kill his torturer? Or do you believe the human heart can find a way to bear such misfortune?" "You'd have to be mad to believe that," he continued, heatedly. "If he continues to live it can only be for vengeance; for soon he shall rise. . . and, from the day he shakes off his servility, the master would do better to have a starving tiger raging beside him than to meet that man face to face." (354) Antoine's sobering revelation foreshadows the story of Georges, his mother, his wife, his master Alfred, and his master's wife, establishing a credible basis for the traumas both of slaves who have experienced the victimization and abuses of bondage, and of white masters depraved by unchecked power. Restricted Space American slave narratives, largely published after Séjour's story, appealed to readers by emphasizing enslaved humanity. These illustrations, from Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Henry Bibb, an American Slave, Written by Himself (1847), construct a portrait of slave emotion expressed within and constrained by a system of power and family separation similar to the system depicted by Séjour earlier in "The Mulatto" (described above). Through Antoine, Séjour interjects commentary that accentuates that his narrative's hortatory intent. In this way, Séjour controls how he wants his dour tale to affect his readers. Georges is the product of a rape. His father is his white master Alfred, and his mother Laïsa is a young Senegalese woman whom Alfred purchases at a slave auction for his personal sexual gratification. Antoine emphasizes Laïsa's humanity, a humanity often violated or repressed because of her own helplessness in the institution of slavery. As his property, Alfred exploits Laïsa sexually. She retains no control over her body or her life's course. For example, just after she has been purchased, a tearful and frightened Laïsa unexpectedly encounters her brother Jacques Chambo from whom she had been separated and excitedly embraces him. The reunion of brother and sister, both orphans, and the sentiments connected with it are short lived when a cruel overseer lashes Jacques, forcefully separating him from Laïsa. Slaves evinced their humanity when they exhibited genuine emotions before their white oppressors, but white slaveholders who regarded their slaves as commodities, viewed such displays of feeling as subversive—a form of rebellion. These emotional outbursts had to be suppressed in order to force slaves to recognize their white-imposed, non-human status. Dysfunctional family relationships are representative of the place of fathers and mothers in slave societies. Both black slave women and men such as Séjour's Laïsa and Jacques become constructs of the white slave-holding patriarchy, which, in enslaving them, Hortense J. Spillers notes, "sever[s] . . . the captive body from its motive will, its active desire" (67). In further addressing the effects on the slave's identity, Spiller points out: 1) the captive body becomes the source of an irresistible, destructive sensuality; 2) at the same time—; in stunning contradiction —the captive body reduces to a thing, becoming being for the captor; 3) in this absence from a subject position, the captured sexualities provide a physical and biological expression of "otherness" ; 4) as a category of "otherness," the captive body translates into a potential for pornotroping and embodies sheer physical powerlessness that slides into a more general "powerlessness," resonating through various centers of human and social meaning. (67) Blank Family Record: Before the War and Since the War, ca. 1880. Chromolithograph by Krebs Lithographing Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, loc.gov/pictures/item/91721220. This lack of human acknowledgement is also seen in Georges, Laïsa's son, a mulatto who does not know who his father is and who consequently feels a sense of emptiness. While Georges likes his master "as much as one can like a man," and his master "esteem[s] him, but with that esteem that the horseman bears for the most handsome and vigorous of his chargers" (357), their dynamic is a consequence of the black-white binary dictated by the systemic structure of slavery. As a result, Georges experiences intense remorse, the result of being denied the identity of his own father, an identity his dying mother Laïsa refuses to disclose to him. After Laïsa's death, Georges, like his mother and her brother Jacques, is, in a figurative sense, an orphan. Although Georges is seriously wounded saving his master's life from would-be murderers, Alfred tries to seduce Georges's wife, Zelia, during his convalescence. She resists Alfred's overtures, refusing to compromise her virtue for her master. As Antoine explains, Alfred, "instead of being moved by this display of a virtue that is so rare among women, above all among those who, like Zelia, are slaves, and who, every day, see their shameless companions prostitute themselves to the colonists, thereby only feeding more licentiousness" (359), allows his lustful desires to govern his actions. Zelia repeatedly resists him—a testament of the strength of Zelia's humanity and of her love for her husband— and causes Alfred, in his last desperate effort to seduce her, to lose his balance, striking his head as he falls. Tragically for Zelia, colonial laws dictated that the slave must be blamed and executed for her master's injury.4 Zelia's action, deemed rebellious within the dictates of the system of slavery, proves for the slave doubly devastating, resulting in her death as well as the destruction of her family. Georges pleads persistently and passionately to Alfred to spare his wife. When that fails, Georges angrily condemns his master as a "scoundrel," even threatening his life if Zelia is executed. Alfred, however, remains adamant. He shows no mercy. Alfred's recalcitrance precipitates his own murder and the murder of his wife at the hand of the vengeful Georges three years later. Only in the interval, after securing his two-year-old son and running away from his master, to a free space, "those thick forests that seem to hold the new world in their arms" and living among the Maroons, slaves, who, like Georges, "have fled the tyranny of their masters" (361), does Georges savor a semblance of what freedom means. In Séjour's bleak story, there are no winners, for Georges also kills himself, since he apparently cannot live with the guilt and remorse. In avenging Zelia's death, Georges has also killed his own father, completing the destruction of his family. The story's concluding scene is strikingly symbolic. Georges severs his father's head with an ax just as Alfred tries to tell him that he is his father (364). The word "father" is severed, broken in two, a reminder that in a slave society normal paternal connections could not exist with slave children. Georges's action results in two children, one mulatto (his son) and the other white (Alfred and his wife's son), being orphaned. For both the slave boy and the free white boy of "The Mulatto," family is destroyed. Yet Alfred's child, by token of his race and class, will likely reap the benefits from his dissolved family. As Hortense Spillers comments, "the vertical transfer of bloodline, of a patronymic, of titles and entitlements, of real estate and the prerogatives of 'cold cash,' from fathers to sons and in the supposedly free exchange of affectional ties between a male and female of his choice—becomes the mythically revered privilege of a free and freed community" (74), of which the white child is beneficiary. Yet for the slave this takes on a different, constricted meaning: Georges and Zelia's orphan son will, as long as he remains in bondage, enjoy no privileges. Séjour conflates magistricide and patricide, so that in killing his master and father, Georges has killed part of himself. In terms of the rebellion-submission binary, Georges's act of ultimate rebellion is equated to his ultimate self-submission as an enslaved man. In other words, Georges's submission is the result of the oppressive and destructive effect of his enslavement on his mind and his spirit. For Georges, submission and rebellion as possibilities for manhood are inextricably linked, if irreconcilable. While this situation, perpetuated by the systemic structure of slavery, is dismal for Georges, there exists a third alternative in Antoine, the narrator. Having lived for seventy-plus years, Antoine has succumbed to neither magistricide nor suicide as a response to slavery; instead, he tells stories about slavery. These stories provide an outlet for voicing commentary as a counterpoint to the tragic outcome of Georges's master-slave story. The narrator's stories also alert his white listener, and Séjour's readers, to the destructive consequences of slavery. Clotel's Rebellion William Wells Brown, ca. 1852. Illustration by unknown artist. Originally published in William Wells Brown's Three Years in Europe (Charles Gilpin, 1852). Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Image is in public domain. The submission-rebellion binary that Séjour employed in "The Mulatto" illuminates one consequence of the racial double standard as exercised in the sexual violation of enslaved persons and its corrosive effect on family life. This binary also appears, with some modifications, in subsequent African-American slave narratives and anti-slavery novels of the antebellum period. Examples abound in literature of mixed-race women as victims of racialized sexual exploitation, typically stemming from the systemic structure of slavery. One example is found in William Wells Brown's novel Clotel; or, the President's Daughter (1853). In Clotel, the authorial narrator bitterly protests the separation of members of a slave family. Clotel, who is a quadroon and can pass for white, is separated from her family, her mother Currer and her sister Althesa, and is sold at auction to a white man desiring her for his mistress. The notion of family unity and cohesiveness is violated as each of these three female slaves is sent to different places under different sets of circumstances. As in Laïsa's case, the auctioneer promotes Clotel as a highly desirable object, emphasizing her beauty, purity, and nobility of character as her principal selling points, traits making her marketable as a sexual commodity. As a slave, Clotel, like Laïsa and Georges's wife, Zelia, has no rights, no choice regarding how she is treated, where she will live, or what will happen to her. Although her white master Horatio Green seems fond of Clotel, making her his mistress, and moving her to an apparently idyllic space in Virginia, and although the couple has a daughter during their relationship, Green, who marries a wealthy white woman from a prominent family, succumbs to his wife's jealousy and his father-in-law's demands that he sell Clotel. In placing his social and political aspirations above the love he may feel for Clotel, Green acts expediently, allowing his father-in-law to sell his slave mistress. Her sale forces her from her former refuge and separates her from her beloved daughter. Clotel's tenuous security continues to be threatened, as she is sold two additional times. Her second new master attempts to seduce her with "glittering presents" and the likelihood of ensuing rape should she resist. Like Zelia in "The Mulatto," Clotel rebels against the space in which her humanity remains in jeopardy. Facing sexual exploitation, Clotel flees. In Chapter XIX, Clotel's rebellion becomes a successful, albeit momentary, escape in which, although ably impersonating a white invalid gentleman, she gives in to her maternal instincts. She forgoes her autonomy by returning to Virginia, intending to reunite with her daughter. Clotel has returned to a space where she is regarded as property, without control over how she will be used. While Clotel's escape—her rebellion against her master— has been skillfully executed, she feels that she cannot live a life of freedom in a place removed from her dear daughter. Her rebellion, if she continued to pursue her freedom, then, would become the equivalent of her family's destruction. "The Death of Clotel." Illustration by unknown artist. Originally published in William Wells Brown's Clotel; or, the President's Daughter (Partridge & Oakey, 1853). Image is in public domain. Zelia succumbs to the systemic structure of slavery that makes rebellion against the master the equivalent of self-immolation. In contrast, Clotel temporarily escapes this fate by rejecting her freedom and returning to Virginia in hopes of a mother and child reunion. Clotel risks re-enslavement, a return to oppressive conditions in place where, if recaptured, she will be forced back into bondage. Yet Clotel's actions do not bring about reunion. Recaptured and incarcerated in the District of Columbia — the seat of national government symbolizing the liberties that slaves are denied — Clotel confronts her imminent sale in the New Orleans market. There, she will likely be sexually exploited and never see her daughter again. Her rebellion suppressed, Clotel escapes once more, but when faced with recapture, chooses to jump to her death off a Potomac bridge. Local Color Top, Joel Chandler Harris, ca. 1895. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Image is in public domain. Middle, Charles Chesnutt, 1898. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Image is in public domain. Bottom, Cover of Charles W. Chesnutt's The Conjure Woman, containing his collected Uncle Julius stories, "The Goophered Grapevine," "Po' Sandy," "The Conjurer's Revenge," and "Mars Jeems's Nightmare," 1899. Image is in public domain. Another variation in fictional depictions of the effects of oppression on slaves emerged during the postbellum period, the heyday of the local color story. Often, local color set in the Mid and Deep South employed a frame and an embedded narrative, the latter recounted by an elderly African-American male and former slave. In this raconteur, we find a more restrictive binary pattern than Séjour used in "The Mulatto." Local color stories generally follow two patterns. Derived from stories slaves told, they can be allegorical beast fables, treating power struggles and survival under an oppressive system comparable to slavery. These stories are predicated on an inequitable double standard, with the power structure under the control of predacious animals. Examples are the Uncle Remus stories of Joel Chandler Harris. A second type presents a more direct rendering of slavery's brutalities and exploitation, such as Charles Chesnutt's conjure stories as told by the loquacious Uncle Julius. Chesnutt's "The Goophered Grapevine" (1887) features a multi-dimensional and affable storyteller in Uncle Julius, who still resides in the same place where he had been a slave. Uncle Julius speaks in quaint and comical dialect, creating an impression quite different from Séjour's straightforward, serious, and outspoken Antoine. In the conciliatory, non-controversial conventions of local color, Chesnutt portrays Uncle Julius as polyvocal, assuming competing poses and agendas. Julius is an entertainingly imaginative raconteur whose story involves the supernatural, folkloric, amusing, and outlandish descriptions. He is a cunning con artist and economic opportunist, a simple primitive, and a subdued social critic—contradictory postures reflecting amiability and rebelliousness. Like Séjour's Antoine, Julius, in telling his story of imagined spaces, works within the binaries of rebellion and submission, white and black, domination and abjection. Through him, Chesnutt dilutes and mellows the underlying serious social implications of Julius's embedded tale, establishing a comfort zone distancing the story's enslaved characters from implied readers. While Julius's story of Henry, the victimized slave, does focus on a dehumanizing aspect of slavery (Henry is economically exploited by his greedy master who commodifies him in his restricted space as a slave), the manner in which Julius tells the story is divertingly entertaining. Julius's narrative focuses principally on Henry's predicament rather than on the slave's interior self. It neither engages the sensibility nor arouses the moral consciousness of the frame narrator, a man from Ohio seeking to purchase the former plantation to whom Julius relates his story, or that of the implied reader. Chesnutt used the rebellion-submission binary in several other conjure tales. In "Po' Sandy," Julius's story gains him temporary use of the old schoolhouse, a space for religious services. In "The Conjurer's Revenge," Julius gains power within his present space, shrewdly employing a tale to circumvent his white employer's buying a mule, and to set up a scam where he purchases a defective horse instead. In "Mars Jeems's Nightmare," Julius again makes a small gain, winning his white female listener's sympathy so that she gives his unreliable grandson a second chance to continue to work for her family. The outcomes of these tales exemplify Chesnutt's manipulation of frame plots, creating opportunities within imagined spaces. Julius, although gaining some material advantage, remains oppressed. Moreover, the subtexts of his embedded narratives prove ineffectual in inciting understanding and empathy. Conclusion Victor Séjour, the earliest known author of fiction by an African-American, ca. 1850. Illustration by Étienne Carjat. Originally published in weekly journal Le Diogène. Image is in public domain. With its early publication date and its tragic portrait of slavery's atrocities and effects in the plantation space of the French West Indies, Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto," is an important literary text. Séjour depicts African bondage in Saint-Domingue, a subject that would become a major concern in nineteenth- and twentieth-century writing. At nineteen, Séjour's parents sent him to Paris to further his education, pursue broader opportunities, and cultivate his talents. Assimilated into French society and the Parisian literary culture and living without the race-based constraints of his native New Orleans, Séjour passed the rest of his life in France, distinguishing himself as a dramatist. In "The Mulatto," his only short story, Séjour tapped into the subject of African bondage, possibly inspired by his father, Juan Francois Louis Séjour Marcou's Haitian experience and that of other free men of color and former slaves from the French West Indies. In "The Mulatto," Séjour wrote of submission and rebellion in Saint-Domingue. He wrote in the language of his newly-adopted country, employed an embedded black slave narrator to recount the grim story-within-the-story, and published his fictional account in a Parisian anti-slavery journal sponsored by free men of color like himself. "The Mulatto" anticipated renditions of grisly and melodramatic scripts featured in abolitionist narratives (autobiographical, fictional, or some combination of the two), but Séjour's story was all but unknown in the US before Philip Barnard's English translation appeared in 1995 in the Norton Anthology of American Literature. The new publication of "The Mulatto" places it amid African Diasporic, post-colonial, US southern, and New World Studies. These fields of scholarship have encouraged the discovery and reappraisal of writers with origins in various locales, but who, like Séjour, adopted new nationalities and loyalties even as they were forgotten in their native countries. This analysis of "The Mulatto" suggests the connections among African bondage texts that cross cultures and societies, texts that expose the effects of slavery, of submission and rebellion, as they narrate this history. Map of Saint Domingue (present day Haiti and the Dominican Republic), 1772. Map by Jean Lattre. Courtesy of the David Rumsey Historical Map Collection. Image is in public domain. About the Author: Ed Piacentino, a professor of English at High Point University in North Carolina, has published widely on the literature and culture of the American South. His numerous essays and reviews appear in such journals as the Southern Literary Journal, Southern Quarterly, Mississippi Quarterly, American Literature, Southern Studies, Studies in American Humor, American Quarterly, and Studies in Short Fiction. Professor Piacentino has authored or edited three books—T. S. Stribling: Pioneer Realist in Modern Southern Literature (1988); The Humor of the Old South, which he co-edited with M. Thomas Inge; and The Enduring Legacy of Old Southwest Humor (2006). He also serves as associate editor of Studies in American Humor. His current projects include an edition of the dialect letters of C. M. Haile, antebellum journalist and humorist and an anthology of antebellum southern humor, which he is co-editing with M. Thomas Inge. Note: The date of Philip Barnard's translation referenced in the conclusion of this essay was corrected from 1997 to 1995 and three resources were added to this essay's "Recommended Resources" on November 26, 2013. Media updated and two resources added to this essay's "Recommended Resources" on December 13, 2016. THE BOOK VARIANT "The Mulatto" by Victor Séjour Courtesy of Philip Barnard, translated 1995. Section I The first rays of dawn were just beginning to light the black mountaintops when I left the Cape for Saint-Marc, a small town in St. Domingue, now known as Haiti. I had seen so many exquisite landscapes and thick, tall forests that, truth to tell, I had begun to believe myself indifferent to these virile beauties of creation. But at the sight of this town, with its picturesque vegetation, its bizarre and novel nature, I was stunned; I stood dumb-struck before the sublime diversity of God's works. The moment I arrived, I was accosted by an old negro, at least seventy years of age; his step was firm, his head held high, his form imposing and vigorous; save the remarkable whiteness of his curly hair, nothing betrayed his age. As is common in that country, he wore a large straw hat and was dressed in trousers of coarse gray linen, with a kind of jacket made from plain batiste. "Good day, Master," he said, tipping his hat when he saw me. "Ah! There you are . . .," and I offered him my hand, which he shook in return. "Master," he said, "that's quite noble-hearted of you . . . . But you know, do you not, that a negro's as vile as a dog; society rejects him; men detest him; the laws curse him. . . . Yes, he's a most unhappy being, who hasn't even the consolation of always being virtuous. . . . He may be born good, noble, and generous; God may grant him a great and loyal soul; but despite all that, he often goes to his grave with bloodstained hands, and a heart hungering after yet more vengeance. For how many times has he seen the dreams of his youth destroyed? How many times has experience taught him that his good deeds count for nothing, and that he should love neither his wife nor his son; for one day the former will be seduced by the master, and his own flesh and blood will be sold and transported away despite his despair. What, then, can you expect him to become? Shall he smash his skull against the paving stones? Shall he kill his torturer? Or do you believe the human heart can find a way to bear such misfortune?" The old negro fell silent a moment, as if awaiting my response. "You'd have to be mad to believe that," he continued, heatedly. "If he continues to live, it can only be for vengeance; for soon he shall rise . . . and, from the day he shakes off his servility, the master would do better to have a starving tiger raging beside him than to meet that man face to face." While the old man spoke, his face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and his heart pounded forcefully. I would not have believed one could discover that much life and power beneath such an aged exterior. Taking advantage of this moment of excitement, I said to him: "Antoine, you promised you'd tell me the story of your friend Georges." "Do you want to hear it now?" "Certainly . . ." We sat down, he on my trunk, myself on my valise. Here is what he told me: "Do you see this edifice that rises so graciously toward the sky and whose reflection seems to rise from the sea; this edifice that in its peculiarity resembles a temple and in its pretense a palace? This is the house of Saint-M*** . Each day, in one of this building's rooms, one finds an assemblage of hangers-on, men of independent means, and the great plantation owners. The first two groups play billiards or smoke the delicious cigars of Havana, while the third purchases negroes; that is, free men who have been torn from their country by ruse or by force, and who have become, by violence, the goods, the property of their fellow men. . . . Over here we have the husband without the wife; there, the sister without the brother; farther on, the mother without the children. This makes you shudder? Yet this loathsome commerce goes on continuously. Soon, in any case, the offering is a young Senegalese woman, so beautiful that from every mouth leaps the exclamation: 'How pretty!' Everyone there wants her for his mistress, but not one of them dares dispute the prize with the young Alfred, now twenty-one years old and one of the richest planters in the country. "'How much do you want for this woman?' "'Fifteen hundred piasters,' replied the auctioneer. "'Fifteen hundred piasters,' Alfred rejoined dryly. "'Yes indeed, Sir.' "'That's your price?' "'That's my price.' "'That's awfully expensive.' "'Expensive?' replied the auctioneer, with an air of surprise. 'But surely you see how pretty she is; how clear her skin is, how firm her flesh is. She's eighteen years old at the most. . . .' Even as he spoke, he ran his shameless hands all over the ample and half-naked form of the beautiful African. "'Is she guaranteed?' asked Alfred, after a moment of reflection. "'As pure as the morning dew,' the auctioneer responded. But, for that matter, you yourself can. . . .' "'No no, there's no need,' said Alfred, interrupting him. 'I trust you.' "'I've never sold a single piece of bad merchandise,' replied the vendor, twirling his whiskers with a triumphant air. When the bill of sale had been signed and all formalities resolved, the auctioneer approached the young slave. This man is now your master,' he said, pointing toward Alfred. "'I know it,' the negress answered coldly. "'Are you content?' "'What does it matter to me…him or some other . . .' "'But surely.. ..' stammered the auctioneer, searching for some answer. " 'But surely what?' said the African, with some humor. 'And if he doesn't suit me?' "'My word, that would be unfortunate, for everything is finished. . . .' "'Well then, I'll keep my thoughts to myself.' "Ten minutes later, Alfred's new slave stepped into a carriage that set off along the chemin des quepes, a well-made road that leads out into those delicious fields that surround Saint-Marc like young virgins at the foot of the altar. A somber melancholy enveloped her soul, and she began to weep. The driver understood only too well what was going on inside her, and thus made no attempt to distract her. But when he saw Alfred's white house appear in the distance, he involuntarily leaned down toward the unfortunate girl and, with a voice full of tears, said to her: 'Sister, what's your name?' "'Laïsa, ' she answered, without raising her head. "At the sound of this name, the driver shivered. Then, gaining control of his emotions, he asked: 'Your mother?' "'She's dead. . . .' "'Your father?' "'He's dead. . . .' "'Poor child,' he murmured. 'What country are you from, Laïsa?' "'From Senegal. . . .' "Tears rose in his eyes; she was a fellow countrywoman. "'Sister,' he said, wiping his eyes, 'perhaps you know old Chambo and his daughter. . . .' "'Why?' answered the girl, raising her head quickly. "'Why?' continued the driver, in obvious discomfort, 'well, old Chambo is my father, and . . . ' "'My God,' cried out the orphan, cutting off the driver before he could finish. 'You are?' "'Jacques Chambo.' "'You're my brother!' "Laïsa!' "They threw themselves into each other's arms. They were still embracing when the carriage passed through the main entrance to Alfred's property. The overseer was waiting. . . . 'What's this I see,' he shouted, uncoiling an immense whip that he always carried on his belt; 'Jacques kissing the new arrival before my very eyes. . What impertinence!' With this, lashes began to fall on the unhappy man, and spurts of blood leaped from his face. " Section II "Alfred may have been a decent man, humane and loyal with his equals; but you can be certain he was a hard, cruel man toward his slaves. I won't tell you everything he did in order to possess Laïsa; for in the end she was virtually raped. For almost a year, she shared her master's bed. But Alfred was already beginning to tire of her; he found her ugly, cold, and insolent. About this time the poor woman gave birth to a boy and gave him the name Georges. Alfred refused to recognize him, drove the mother from his presence, and relegated her to the most miserable hut on his lands, despite the fact that he knew very well, as well as one can, that he was the child's father. "'Georges grew up without ever hearing the name of his father; and when, at times, he attempted to penetrate the mystery surrounding his birth, his mother remained inflexible, never yielding to his entreaties. On one occasion only, she said to him: 'My son, you shall learn your name only when you reach twenty-five, for then you will be a man; you will be better able to guard its secret. You don't realize that he has forbidden me to speak to you about him and threatens you if I do. . . . And Georges, don't you see, this man's hatred would be your death.' "'What does that matter,' Georges shouted impetuously. 'At least I could reproach him for his unspeakable conduct.' "'Hush. . . . Hush, Georges. The walls have ears and someone will talk,' moaned the poor mother as she trembled." A few years later this unhappy woman died, leaving to Georges, her only son, as his entire inheritance, a small leather pouch containing a portrait of the boy's father. But she exacted a promise that the pouch not be opened until his twenty-fifth year; then she kissed him, and her head fell back onto the pillow. . . . She was dead. The painful cries that escaped the orphan drew the other slaves around him. . . . They all set to crying, they beat their chests, they tore their hair in agony. Following these gestures of suffering, they bathed the dead woman's body and laid it out on a kind of long table, raised on wooden supports. The dead woman is placed on her back, her face turned to the East, dressed in her finest clothing, with her hands folded on her chest. At her feet is a bowl filled with holy water, in which a sprig of jasmine is floating; arid, finally, at the four corners of this funereal bed, the flames of torches rise up. . . . Each of them, having blessed the remains of the deceased, kneels and prays; for most of the negro races, despite their fetishism, have profound faith in the existence of God. When this first ceremony is finished, another one, no less singular, commences. . . . There are shouts, tears, songs, and then funeral dances!" Section III "Georges had all the talents necessary for becoming a well-regarded gentleman; yet he was possessed of a haughty, tenacious, willful nature; he had one of those oriental sorts of dispositions, the kind that, once pushed far enough from the path of virtue, will stride boldly down the path of crime. He would have given ten years of his life to know the name of his father, but he dared not violate the solemn oath he had made to his dying mother. It was as if nature pushed him toward Alfred; he liked him, as much as one can like a man; and Alfred esteemed him, but with that esteem that the horseman bears for the most handsome and vigorous of his chargers. In those days, a band of thieves was spreading desolation through the region; already several of the settlers had fallen victim to them. One night, by what chance I know not, Georges learned of their plans. They had sworn to murder Alfred. The slave ran immediately to his master's side. "'Master, master,' he shouted. . . . 'In heaven's name, follow me.' "Alfred raised his eyebrows. "'Please! come, come, master,' the mulatto insisted passionately. " 'Good God,' Alfred replied, 'I believe you're commanding me.' "'Forgive me, master . . . forgive me . . . I'm beside myself . . . I don't know what I'm saying . . . but in heaven's name, come, follow me, because. . . .' "'Explain yourself,' said Alfred, in an angry tone. . . . "The mulatto hesitated. "'At once; I order you,' continued Alfred, as he rose menacingly. "'Master, you're to be murdered tonight.' "'By the Virgin, you're lying. . . .' "'Master, they mean to take your life.' "'Who?' "'The bandits.' "'Who told you this?' "'Master, that's my secret. . . .' said the mulatto in a submissive voice. "'Do you have weapons?' rejoined Alfred, after a moment of silence. "The mulatto pulled back a few of the rags that covered him, revealing an axe and a pair of pistols. "'Good,' said Alfred, hastily arming himself. "'Master, are you ready?' "'Let's go. . . .' "'Let's go,' repeated the mulatto as he stepped toward the door. "Alfred held him back by the arm. "'But where to?' "'To your closest friend, Monsieur Arthur.' "As they were about to leave the room, there was a ferocious pounding at the door. "'The devil,' exclaimed the mulatto, 'it's too late. . . .' "'What say you?' "'They're here,' replied Georges, pointing at the door. . . . "'Master, what's wrong?' "'Nothing . .. a sudden pain. . . .' "'Don't worry, master, they'll have to walk over my body before they get to you,' said the slave with a calm and resigned air. "This calm, this noble devotion, were calculated to reassure the most cowardly of men. Yet at these last words, Alfred trembled even more, overwhelmed by a horrible thought. He reckoned that Georges, despite his generosity, was an accomplice of the murderers. Such is the tyrant: he believes all other men incapable of elevated sentiments or selfless dedication, for they must be small-minded, perfidious souls . . . . Their souls are but uncultivated ground, where nothing grows but thorns and weeds. The door shook violently. At this point, Alfred could no longer control his fears; he had just seen the mulatto smiling, whether from joy or anger he knew not. "'Scoundrel!' he shouted, dashing into the next room; 'you're trying to have me murdered, but your plot will fail'—upon which he disappeared. Georges bit his lips in rage, but had no time to think, for the door flew open and four men stood in the threshold. Like a flash of lightning, the mulatto drew his pistols and pressed his back to the wall, crying out in a deep voice: "'Wretches! What do you want?' "'We want to have a talk with you,' rejoined one of them, firing a bullet at Georges from point-blank range. "'A fine shot,' muttered Georges, shaking. "The bullet had broken his left arm. Georges let off a shot. The brigand whirled three times about and fell stone dead. A second followed instantly. At this point, like a furious lion tormented by hunters, Georges, with his axe in his fist and his dagger in his teeth, threw himself upon his adversaries. . . . A hideous struggle ensues. . . . The combatants grapple . . . collide again. . . . they seem bound together. . . . The axe blade glistens. . . . The dagger, faithful to the hand that guides it, works its way into the enemy's breast. . . . But never a shout, not a word . . . not a whisper escapes the mouths of these three men, wallowing among the cadavers as if at the heart of some intoxicating orgy. . . . To see them thus, pale and blood-spattered, silent and full of desperation, one must imagine three phantoms throwing themselves against each other, tearing themselves to pieces, in the depths of a grave. . . . Meanwhile, Georges is covered with wounds; he can barely hold himself up. . . . Oh! the intrepid mulatto has reached his end; the severing axe is lifted above his head... . Suddenly two explosions are heard, and the two brigands slump to the floor, blaspheming God as they drop. At the same moment, Alfred returns, followed by a young negro. He has the wounded man carried to his hut, and instructs his doctor to attend to him. Now, how is it that Georges was saved by the same man who had just accused him of treachery? As he ran off, Alfred heard the sound of a gun, and the clash of steel; blushing at his own cowardice, he awoke his valet de chambre and flew to the aid of his liberator. Ah, I've forgotten to tell you that Georges had a wife, by the name Zelia, whom he loved with every fiber of his being; she was a mulatto about eighteen or twenty years old, standing very straight and tall, with black hair and a gaze full of tenderness and love. Georges lay for twelve days somewhere between life and death. Alfred visited him often; and, driven on by some fateful chance, he became enamored of Zelia. But, unfortunately for him, she was not one of these women who sell their favors or use them to pay tribute to their master. She repelled Alfred's propositions with humble dignity; for she never forgot that this was a master speaking to a slave. Instead of being moved by this display of a virtue that is so rare among women, above all among those who, like Zelia, are slaves, and who, every day, see their shameless companions prostitute themselves to the colonists, thereby only feeding more licentiousness; instead of being moved, as I said, Alfred flew into a rage. . What!—him, the despot, the Bey, the Sultan of the Antilles, being spurned by a slave . . . how ironic! Thus he swore he would possess her. . . . A few days before Georges was recovered, Alfred summoned Zelia to his chamber. Then, attending to nothing but his criminal desires, he threw his arms around her and planted a burning kiss on her face. The young slave begged, pleaded, resisted; but all in vain. . . . Already he draws her toward the adulterous bed; already. . . . Then, the young slave, filled with a noble indignation, repulses him with one final effort, but one so sudden, so powerful, that Alfred lost his balance and struck his head as he fell. . . . At this sight, Zelia began to tear her hair in despair, crying tears of rage; for she understood perfectly, the unhappy girl, that death was her fate for having drawn the blood of a being so vile. After crying for some time, she left to be at her husband's side. He must have been dreaming about her, for there was a smile on his lips. "'Georges . . . Georges. . . .' she cried out in agony. "The mulatto opened his eyes; and his first impulse was to smile at the sight of his beloved. Zelia recounted for him everything that had happened. He didn't want to believe it, but soon he was convinced of his misfortune; for some men entered his hut and tied up his wife while she stood sobbing. . . . Georges made an effort to rise up; but, still weakened, he fell back onto his bed, his eyes haggard, his hands clenched, his mouth gasping for air." Section IV "Ten days later, two white creole children were playing in the street. "'Charles, 'one said to the other: 'is it true that the mulatto woman who wanted to kill her master is to be hung tomorrow?' "'At eight o'clock,' answered the other. "'Will you go?' "'Oh yes, certainly.' "'Won't that be fine, to see her pirouetting between the earth and the sky,' rejoined the first, laughing as they walked off. "Does it surprise you to hear two children, at ten years of age, conversing so gayly on the death of another? This is, perhaps, an inevitable consequence of their education. From their earliest days, they have heard it ceaselessly repeated, that we were born to serve them, that we were created to attend to their whims, and that they need have no more or less consideration for us than for a dog. . . . Indeed, what is our agony and suffering to them? Have they not, just as often, seen their best horses die? They don't weep for them, for they're rich, and tomorrow they'll buy others.. . . While these two children were speaking, Georges was at the feet of his master. "'Master, have mercy . . . mercy. . . .' he cried out,. weeping. . . . 'Have pity on her . . Master, pardon her. . . . Oh! yes, pardon her, it is in your power . . . oh! speak ... you have only to say the word . . . just one word . . . and she will live.' "Alfred made no answer. "'Oh! for pity's sake . . . master . . . for pity's sake, tell me you pardon her . . . oh! speak . . . answer me, master . . . won't you pardon her. . . .' The unhappy man was bent double with pain. . . . "Alfred remained impassive, turning his head aside. . . "'Oh!' continued Georges, begging, 'please answer . . . just one word . . . please say something; you see how your silence is tearing my heart in two . . . it's killing me . . . "'There's nothing I can do,' Alfred finally answered, in an icy tone. "The mulatto dried his tears, and raised himself to his full height. "'Master,' he continued in a hollow voice, 'do you remember what you said to me, as I lay twisting in agony on my bed?' "'No. . . .' "'Well! I can remember . . . the master said to the slave: you saved my life; what can I grant you in return? Do you want your freedom? 'Master,' answered the slave, 'I can never be free, while my son and my wife are slaves.' To which the master replied: 'If ever you ask me, I swear that your wishes shall be granted'; and the slave did not ask, for he was content/ that he had saved his master's life . . . but today, today when he knows that, in eighteen hours, his wife will no longer be among the living, he flies to throw himself at your feet, and to call out to you: master, in God's name, save my wife.' And the mulatto, his hands clasped, with a supplicating gaze, fell to his knees and began to cry, his tears falling like rain. . . . "Alfred turned his head away. . . . " 'Master . . . master . . . for pity, give me an answer. . . . Oh! say that you want her to live . . . in God's name . . . in your mother's name . . . mercy . . . have mercy upon us. . . .' and the mulatto kissed the dust at his feet. "Alfred stood silent. "'But speak, at least, to this poor man who begs you,' he said, sobbing. "Alfred said nothing. "'My God . . . my God! how miserable I am . . .' and he rolled on the floor, pulling at his hair in torment. "Finally, Alfred decided to speak: 'I have already told you that it is no longer up to me to pardon her.' "'Master,' murmured Georges, still crying, 'she will probably be condemned; for only you and I know that she is innocent.' "At these words from the mulatto, the blood rose to Alfred's face, and fury to his heart. . . . "Georges understood that it was no longer time to beg, for he had raised the veil that covered his master's crime; thus he stood up resolutely. "'Leave . . . get out,' Alfred shouted at him. "Instead of leaving, the mulatto crossed his arms on his chest and, with a fierce look, eyed his master scornfully from head to foot. "'Get out! get out, I say,' continued Alfred, more and more angrily. "'I'm not leaving,' answered Georges. "'This is defiance, you wretch.' He made a motion to strike him, but his hand remained at his side, so full of pride and hatred was George's gaze. "'What! you can leave her to be killed, to have her throat cut, to be murdered,' said the mulatto, 'when you know her to be innocent . . . when, like a coward, you wanted to seduce her?' "'Insolent! What are you saying?' "'I'm saying that it would be an infamous deed to let her die. . . . "'Georges . . . Georges. . . "'I am saying that you're a scoundrel,' screamed Georges, giving full rein to his anger, and seizing Alfred by the arm . . . 'ah! she'll die . . . she will die because she didn't prostitute herself to you . . . because you're white ... because you're her master . . . you lying coward.' "'Careful, Georges,' replied Alfred, trying to take a tone of assurance. `Be careful that instead of one victim tomorrow, the executioner does not find two.' "'You talk of victim and executioner, wretch,' shouted Georges. . . . 'So that means she dies . . . her . . . my Zelia ... but you should know that her life is linked to your own.' "'Georges!' "'You should know that your head will remain on your shoulders only so long as she lives.' "'Georges. . . Georges!' "'You should know that I will kill you, that I'll drink your blood, if even a hair on her head is harmed.' "During all this time, the mulatto was shaking Alfred with all his strength. "'Let me go,' cried Alfred. "'Ah! she's dying . . . she's dying' . . . the mulatto screamed deliriously. " 'Georges, let me go!' "'Shut your mouth . . . shut it, you scoundrel . . . ah! she's dying . . . well then, should the executioner put an end to my wife . . .' he continued with a hideous smile. "Alfred was so agitated he didn't even know that Georges had left. He went directly to his hut, where his child of two years was sleeping in a light cradle made from lianas; taking up the child, he slipped away. In order to understand what follows, you must know that there was only a small river to cross from Alfred's home before one arrives in the midst of those thick forests that seem to hold the new world in their arms. "For six long hours, Georges walked without a rest; at last he stopped, a few steps from a hut built in the deepest heart of the forest; you'll understand the joy that shone in his eyes when you realize that this tiny hut, isolated as it is, is the camp of the Maroons; that is, of slaves who have fled the tyranny of their masters. At this moment the hut was filled with murmurs; for a rustling had been heard in the forest, and the leader, swearing that the noise was not that of any animal, had taken his rifle and gone out. . . . Suddenly the underbrush parted before him and he found himself face to face with a stranger. "'By my freedom,' he cried, looking over the newcomer, 'you found our recess all too easily.' "'Africa and freedom,' Georges replied calmly, as he pushed aside the barrel of the rifle. . . . I'm one of you.' "'Your name.' "'Georges, slave of Alfred.' "They shook hands and embraced. "The next day the crowd clamored round a scaffold, from which hung the body of a young mulatto woman. . . . When she had expired, the executioner let her corpse down into a pine coffin and, ten minutes later, body and coffin were thrown into a ditch that was opened at the edge of the forest. "Thus this woman, for having been too virtuous, died the kind of death meted out to the vilest criminal. Would this alone not suffice to render the gentlest of men dangerous and bloodthirsty?" Section V "Three years had passed since the death of the virtuous Zelia. For a time, Alfred was in extreme torment; by day, he seemed to see a vengeful hand descending toward his head; he trembled at night because the darkness brought him hideous, frightful dreams. Soon, however, he banished from his thoughts both the painful memory of the martyr and the terrible threat Georges had made; he married and became a father. . . . Oh! how gratified he felt, when he was told that his prayers were answered, he who had humbly kissed the church floor each evening, beseeching the Virgin of Sorrows to grant him a son. "For Georges also, there was happiness in this child's arrival. For if he had hoped for three years without attempting to strike back at his wife's executioner; if he had lain sleepless so many nights, with fury in his heart and a hand on his dagger, it was because he was waiting for Alfred to find himself, like Georges, with a wife and a son. It was because he wished to kill him only when dear and precious bonds linked him to this world. . . . Georges had always maintained close ties with one of Alfred's slaves; indeed, he visited him each week; and that slave had never given Georges any news more important than that of the newborn's arrival. . . . He immediately set out for the house of his enemy. On his way he met a negress who was bringing a cup of broth to Madame Alfred; he stopped her, exchanged a few insignificant words, and went on. . . . After many difficulties, he managed to slip his way, like a snake, into Alfred's rooms; once there, hidden in the space between the bed and the wall, he awaited his master. . . . A moment later, Alfred entered the room, humming a tune; he opened his secretary and took out a superb jewel box, set with diamonds, that he had promised his wife, should she give him a son; but, filled with joy and happiness, he sat down and put his head between his hands, like a man who can't believe his unexpected good fortune. Then, on raising his head, he saw before him a kind of motionless shadow, with arms crossed on its breast and two burning eyes that possessed all the ferocity of a tiger preparing to tear its prey to pieces. Alfred made a motion to stand, but a powerful arm held him down in his chair. "'What do you want with me,' Alfred whispered, in a trembling voice. "'To compliment you on the birth of your child,' answered a voice that seemed to emerge from the tomb. "Alfred shook from head to toe, his hair stood on end, and a cold sweat poured over his limbs. "'I don't know you,' Alfred muttered weakly. . . . "'Georges is the name.' "'You. . . "'You thought I was dead, I suppose,' said the mulatto with a convulsive laugh. "'Help . . . help,' cried Alfred. "'Who will help you,' rejoined the mulatto . . . haven't you dismissed your servants, haven't you closed your doors, to be alone with your wife . . . so you see, your cries are useless . . . you should commend your soul to God.' "Alfred had begun to rise from his chair, but at these last words he fell back, pale and trembling. "'Oh! have pity, Georges ... don't kill me, not today.' "Georges shrugged his shoulders. 'Master, isn't it horrible to die when you're happy; to lie down in the grave at the moment you see your fondest dreams coming true . . . oh! it's horrible, isn't it,' said the mulatto with an infernal laugh. . . . "'Mercy, Georges. . . "'And yet,' he continued, 'such is your destiny . . . you shall die today, this hour, this minute, without giving your wife your last farewell. . . " 'Have pity . . . pity. . .' "'Without kissing your newborn son a second time. . . "'Oh! mercy . . . mercy.' "'I think my vengeance is worthy of your own . . . I would have sold my soul to the Devil, had he promised me this moment.' "'Oh! mercy . . . please take pity on me,' said Alfred, throwing himself at the feet of the mulatto. "Georges shrugged his shoulders and raised his axe. "'Oh! one more hour of life!' "'To embrace your wife, is that it?' "'One minute. . . .' "'To see your son again, right?' "'Oh! have pity. . . .' "'You might as well plead with the starving tiger to let go his prey.' "'In God's name, Georges.' "'I don't believe in that any longer.' "'In the name of your father. . . .' "At this, Georges's fury subsided. "'My father . . . my father,' repeated the mulatto, tears in his eyes. `Do you know him . . . oh! tell me his name. . . . What's his name . . . oh! tell me, tell me his name . . . I'll pardon you . . . I'll bless you.' "And the mulatto nearly fell on his knees before his master. But suddenly, sharp cries were heard. . . "'Good heavens ... that's my wife's voice,' cried Alfred, dashing toward the sounds. . . . "As if he were coming back to his senses, the mulatto remembered that he had come to the house of his master, not to learn the name of his father, but to settle accounts with him for his wife's blood. Holding Alfred back, he told him with a hideous grin: 'Hold on, master; it's nothing.' "'Jesus and Mary ... don't you hear her calling for help.' "'It's nothing, I tell you.' "'Let me go . . . let me go . . . it's my wife's voice.' "'No, it's the gasps of a dying woman.' "'Wretch, you're lying. . . .' "'I poisoned her. . . .' "'Oh!' "'Do you hear those cries . . . they're hers.' "'The Devil. . . .' "'Do you hear those screams . . . they're hers.' "'A curse. . . .' "During all this time, Alfred had been trying to shake free of the mulatto's grip; but he held him fast, tighter and tighter. As he did, his head rose higher, his heart beat fiercely, he steadied himself for his awful task. "'Alfred . . . help . . . water . . . I'm suffocating,' shouted a woman, as she threw herself into the middle of the room. She was pale and disheveled, her eyes were starting out of her head, her hair was in wild disarray. "'Alfred, Alfred . . . for heaven's sake, help me . . . some water . . . I need water . . . my blood is boiling . . . my heart is twitching . . . oh! water, water. . .' "Alfred struggled mightily to help her, but Georges held him fast with an iron hand. Laughing like one of the damned, he cried out: 'No, master . . . I'm afraid not . . . I want your wife to die ... right there. . . before your eyes . . . right in front of you . . . do you understand, master; right in front of you, asking you for water, for air, while you can do nothing to help her.' "'Damnation . . . may you be damned,' howled Alfred, as he struggled like a madman. "'You can curse and blaspheme all you want,' answered the mulatto . . . 'this is the way it's going to be. . .' "'Alfred,' the dying woman moaned again, 'good-bye . . . good-bye . I'm dying. . . "'Look well,' responded the mulatto, still laughing. . . . 'Look . . . she's gasping . . . goodness! a single drop of this water would restore her to life.' He showed him a small vial. "'My entire fortune for that drop of water. . . .' cried Alfred. "'Have you gone mad, master. . .' "'Ah! that water . . . that water . . . don't you see she's dying . . . give it to me . . . please give it to me. . .' "'Here . . .' and the mulatto flung the vial against the wall. "'Accursed,' screamed Alfred, seizing Georges by the neck. 'Oh! my entire life, my soul, for a dagger. . .' "Georges released Alfred's hands. "'Now that she's dead, it's your turn, master,' he said as he lifted his axe. "'Strike, executioner . . . strike . . . after poisoning her, you might as well kill your own fa—.' The ax fell, and Alfred's head rolled across the floor, but, as it rolled, the head distinctly pronounced the final syllable, '-ther . . . ' Georges at first believed he had misheard, but the word father, like a funeral knell, rang in his ears. To be certain, he opened the fateful pouch. . . . 'Ah!' he cried out, 'I'm cursed. . . .' An explosion was heard; and the next day, near the corpse of Alfred, was discovered the corpse of the unhappy Georges. . . ." 1837 BIBLIOGRAPHY- recommended resources Text Bonner, Thomas. "Victor Séjour (Juan Victor Séjour Marcou et Ferrand)." In Afro-American Writers Before the Harlem Renaissance, edited by Trudier Harris and Thadious M. Davis, 237–241. Detroit: Gale, 1986. (Dictionary of Literary Biography, vol. 50) Brickhouse, Anna. Transamerican Literary Relations and the Nineteenth-Century Public Sphere. Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Brown, William Wells. Clotel; or, The President’s Daughter. New York: Penguin, 2003. (Originally published in 1853.) Chesnutt, Charles W. "The Goophered Grapevine." Charles W. Chesnutt: Selected Writing. Ed. SallyAnn H. Ferguson. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2001: 118–28. Daut, Marlene. "'Sons of White Fathers': Mulatto Vengeance and the Haitian Revolution in Victor Sejour's 'The Mulatto.'" Nineteenth-Century Literature 65, no. 1 (2010): 1–37. Dayan, Joan. Haiti, History and the Gods. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Dessens, Nathalie. From Saint-Domingue to New Orleans: Migration and Influences. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2007. Fiehrer, Thomas Marc. "The African Presence in Colonial Louisiana: An Essay on the Continuity of Caribbean Culture." In Louisiana's Black Heritage, edited by Robert R. MacDonald, John R. Kemp, and Edward F. Haas. New Orleans: Louisiana State Museum, 1979: 3–31. Geggus, David Patrick. The Impact of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2001. Handley, George B. "A New World of Oblivion." In Look Away! The U. S. South in New World Studies, edited by Jon Smith and Deborah Cohn. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004: 25–51. Lowe, John Wharton. Calypso Magnolia: The Crosscurrents of Caribbean and Southern Literature. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2016. O'Neill, Charles E. Séjour: Parisian Playwright from Louisiana. Lafayette, LA: Center for Louisiana Studies, 1995. Piacentino, Edward J. "Slavery through the White-Tinted Lens of an Embedded Black Narrator: Sejour's 'The Mulatto' and Chesnutt's 'Dave's Neckliss' as Intertexts." Southern Literary Journal 44, no. 1 (2011): 121–143. Séjour, Victor. "The Mulatto." Translated by Philip Barnard. In The Norton Anthology of African American Literature, 2nd Edition, edited by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and Nellie Y. McKay. New York: Norton, 2004: 353–65. (Originally published as: "Le Mulâtre." La Revue des Colonies 3 (1837): 376–392.) Smith, Jon and Deborah Cohn. "Introduction: Uncanny Hybridities." In Look Away! The U.S. South in New World Studies, edited by John Smith and Deborah Cohn. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004. Spillers, Hortense J. "Mama's Baby, Papa's Maybe: An American Grammar Book." Diacritics 17 no. 2 (1987): 64–81. Williams, Linda. Playing the Race Card: Melodramas in Black and White, From Uncle Tom to O. J. Simpson. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001. Yellin, Jean Fagan. Women & Sisters: The Antislavery Feminists in American Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989 Web Bob Corbett. "The Haitian Revolution of 1791–1803: An Historical Essay in Four Parts." Webster University. http://www.webster.edu/~corbetre/haiti/history/revolution/revolution1.htm. John R. Nemmers. A Guide to the Slavery and Plantations in Saint Domingue Collection. 2004. University of Florida Smathers Libraries. http://web.uflib.ufl.edu/spec/manuscript/guides/stdomingue.htm. Haitian Immigration: Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. http://www.inmotionaame.org/print.cfm?migration=5&bhcp=1. URL https://southernspaces.org/2007/seeds-rebellion-plantation-fiction-victor-sejours-mulatto/ Calendar URL https://aalbc.com/tc/events/event/414-le-mulâtre-from-victor-séjour-two-versions-split-by-an-essay/

Weekly Anglo-African and The Pine and Palm Excerpts from 1861–1862 ARTICLE Content Weekly Anglo-African and The Pine and Palm (1861-1862) Spring 2018 – No. 4 Edited and introduced by Brigitte Fielder, Cassander Smith, and Derrick R. Spires Introduction Resolved, That we firmly, flatly, uncompromisingly oppose, condemn and denounce as unfair and unjust, as unwise and as unchristian, the fleeing, colonizing efforts urged by James Redpath, the white, seconded by George Lawrence, Jr., the black, who is employed by him. Resolved, That we do not deny the right of Mr. James Redpath and a Boston firm of white gentlemen to give eleven hundred dollars for the “Anglo-African,” and for Mr. Redpath to bind Mr. Thomas Hamilton, the late proprietor thereof, not to issue another paper for circulation among the colored people; but we do declare that he is not justified in the deceptive policy of placing at the head of the paper, like the figure-head of a ship, the name of George Lawrence, Jr., a colored man, although he has him in his employ; nor is he justified as a professed anti-slavery man, in closing the columns of the paper to a discussion of matters of public and general interest to the colored people, neither in making personal attacks upon individuals without permitting a reply. –The Christian Recorder, May 25, 1861 Image from The Weekly Anglo-African The Pine and Palm (1861-1862) is not a perfect example of a black newspaper, but rather a concentrated case study of all of the fault lines invoked in the terms “black press,” “black print culture,” and “black community.” In a way, the transition from the Weekly Anglo-African (1859-1861) to the Pine and Palm helped a contentious black print community (made up of newspapers, activists, readers, writers, and subscription agents) coalesce against a common enemy: James Redpath (1833-1891) and Haitian emigration. At the same time, this transition speaks to the precariousness of newspaper funding, as Thomas Hamilton (1823-1865) was forced to sell the Weekly Anglo-African to James Redpath, who then rebranded the Weekly for a new purpose. It speaks to the interracial and international character of the newspaper business more broadly and the importance of tracing financing. Hamilton, for instance sought funding for the Weekly Anglo-African from a wide range of sources: white abolitionist supporters such as John Jay, Jr, black activists such as James McCune Smith, selling books out of his offices, and borrowing against a life insurance policy he took out on himself for that purpose.[1] Throughout these efforts, no one questioned Hamilton’s status as the paper’s proprietor or the paper’s status as a black newspaper. As the resolution published in the Christian Recorder suggests, the Pine and Palm is more difficult to pin down. The Haitian government financed the paper, Redpath, a Scottish-American abolitionist, was its proprietor, George Lawrence, Jr., was (nominal) editor and wrote many of the editorials out of New York, and the paper was printed out of Boston in the same building that housed Garrison’s Liberator. Despite its funding and Lawrence’s editorial presence, however, black activists questioned its legitimacy as a black paper, from its first issues. Was Lawrence, as the resolution suggests, simply a figurehead for Redpath’s paper, a black presence to give his plan and position with Haiti legitimacy? Had Redpath duped the Haitian government into trusting him? Or, did Lawrence seize an opportunity to establish a paper that could speak to his own disaffection with the United States and interest in building a “negro nationality.” Or did Haitian President, Guillaume Fabre Nicolas Geffrard, simply find in Redpath a well-positioned vector into the U.S. print public? While these are all important questions, a closer look at the resolutions suggests a still another path focused less on who ran and financed the paper and more on how they ran it. The resolution invokes a ranging black public that saw in the Weekly Anglo-African an open space for debate, less a director of the public opinion and more a venue for “discussion[s] of matters of public and general interest to the colored people.” Staunch and vocal support from not just black individuals, but also black papers (Christian Recorder, Frederick Douglass’s Paper, and Provincial Freeman chief among them) speak to the importance they saw in the Weekly Anglo-African as a project not connected to a single individual or religious institution and their collective professional respect for Hamilton. The resolution suggests, and attempts to make real in the act of suggestion, that the Weekly Anglo-African had begun succeeding in doing something black activists had been attempting to do since the early days of the National Colored Convention Movement: create a unified black press that allowed black readers and writers of all stripes speak to and collective participate in creating a black print community. In this context, personal attacks were not an issue—the Weekly Anglo-African had published its fair share of them—instead, the committee took issue with the new editor’s not giving space for responses, as had been Hamilton’s practice. They wanted the paper to succeed as a space for open debate, and they saw the Redpath, Lawrence, and Pine and Palm as a threat to this ethos. Yet, the Pine and Palm also reminds us that these communities were not bound to, nor necessarily centered on, the United States. The Pine and Palm was as much a Haitian paper as it was an “African American” paper. Its critics rightly noted the paper’s emigrationist shift. Through visual images, historical accounts, and an array of correspondences and literature, the paper shifts attempts to create a print community of a different sort. The character of that community, as the pages we reproduce here suggest, was and remains up for debate. Lawrence, Redpath, and Haitian officials each had a slightly different vision of African Americans’ relation to Haiti and Haiti’s role in the Atlantic world even as they agreed on one point: a strong Haiti would be vital to toppling the slave power and white supremacy. The transition from Weekly Anglo-African to Pine and Palm, then, invites us to think about how black print communities envisioned themselves and the dynamics of responsibility and responsiveness—of ownership—they drew between themselves and black newspapers. The Weekly Anglo-African– Pine and Palm moment offers a play-by-play account of a seismic shift in African America that had ramifications for the broader print culture and for the way we read it. These periodicals don’t suggest a world of hope or impending civil war; we see instead a world deep in existential crisis. Writers seem aware that they are on a threshold, and they were attempting, collectively, to determine not only the flow of events, but also their next moves within that flow. Transition and Rebranding from the Weekly Anglo to the Pine and Palm Thomas Hamilton (1823-1865) founded the Weekly Anglo-African on July 23, 1859, out of his Beekman Street offices in New York as a weekly counterpart to the monthly Anglo-African Magazine, which had begun publication in January of that year. Hamilton described the Weekly as “a paper in which to give vent to our opinions and feelings, in which to compare notes with each other, in which to discuss the best plans to pursue, to sympathize if suffering come, to rejoice if victory come,” and his editorial practices reflected this sense of an open forum (December 15, 1860). The paper’s first year provided precisely that: an intense debate over the relation of “Anglo-Africans” to the United States, the ever-present mandate to end the enslavement, and the potential of political sovereignty in other lands. The debate featured a who’s who of black activism (James McCune Smith, Henry Highland Garnet, Lizzie Hart, Martin R. Delany, James W. C. Pennington, etc.) along with “Letters from the People” from across the country that challenged their leadership at every turn. The battle was as much over how to define a nation-state and who could participate in this process as over whether emigration was feasible and advisable. And it did, indeed, turn ugly. Though personally opposed to emigration, however, Hamilton restrained himself (and the paper) from siding with one group or the other. The effect was a sense of a vibrant (or acrimonious), geographically diverse, black American intellectual community. Under Hamilton’s editorship, then, the paper provided a virtual (and circulating) communal hub if not a home even as its contributors debated about how a political and, as importantly, cultural, home might look. Even as the debate around emigration suggested an existential crisis the paper’s cultural production catalogued regenerative creativity and ongoing literary cultural histories. The paper gave space to reports from literary societies such as the Banneker Institute of Philadelphia and literature, including the full run of William Wells Brown’s novel, Miralda, his first serialized revision of Clotel. Indeed, Hamilton’s muted editorial voice made the Weekly Anglo-African a unique space that cultivated critical debate and a robust black expressive culture. The paper reveals a print community frantically searching for answers, but also a community defining itself through the contentiousness, not despite it. Hamilton was well-suited for this task. As he noted in his January 1859 introduction for the Anglo-African Magazine: he had been “‘brought up’ among Newspapers, Magazines, &c.,” and, as a result, “he understands the business thoroughly.” His father, William (1773-1836), had been a fixture in New York black politics and the early National Colored Convention movement in the 1820s and 1830s. The Hamilton household was a hub of activist activity, and Thomas and his brother Robert, followed closely in their father’s footsteps. Both were students in New York’s Free African School. Thomas began a career the newspaper business as early as 1837, when he began working for the Colored American. His first paper, The People’s Press, began publication in 1841. This background may have given Hamilton a degree of credibility as a professional editor among his peers that even Frederick Douglass couldn’t rival. The Anglo-African Magazine demonstrates the amount of cultural capital he had amassed by 1859. The magazine burst at the seams with a who’s-who of black cultural production: Frances Harper (including her first short story, “The Two Offers”), Martin Delany (including installments of Blake), Sarah M. Douglass, James McCune Smith, William J. Wilson, James T. Holly, and the list goes on. Yet, like many nineteenth-century newspapers publishers, Thomas and Robert struggled to keep the publications viable. In Thomas’s case, ill-health compounded the financial struggles. As a result, the magazine ceased publication three issues into its second volume, and Hamilton was forced to sell the Weekly Anglo-African to James Redpath. As Benjamin Fagan documents, he did so with the understanding that Redpath would maintain the paper’s impartial character, and Hamilton would not start a rival paper. The transition from Weekly Anglo-African to Pine and Palm, and from impartial venue to emigrationist organ, began in the March 16, 1861 issue of the Weekly Anglo-African, when George Lawrence, Jr., an African American newspaperman, announced his taking over editorial and managerial duties for the paper. Like the Hamiltons, George Lawrence was part of the second generation of black activism in New York. His father, George, Sr., had been a trustee of St. Philip’s Episcopal Church and was active in New York activists circles, including the state convention movement. There are also early print connections between Lawrence and Hamilton. Among George, Jr.’s, early publications is the poem, “Lines to Cinque,” which appeared in the February 11, 1842 issue of The Liberator. The poem praised Joseph Cinque, the leader of the 1839 Amistad uprising and first appeared in Hamilton’s The People’s Press. By 1861, he had become the New York agent for the Bureau of Haitian Emigration. Lawrence’s first editorial for the Weekly Anglo-African declared that he would not continue Hamilton’s “rather ominous silence” and would instead “define our position on every question that arises in which the welfare of our people is involved” (March 23, 1861). Over the next few issues, the paper’s content shifted from a debate format to a more overtly polemical tone as correspondences and letters gave way to reprinted speeches on Haiti, James Redpath’s reports on the Haitian economy and politics, and increasingly strident denunciations of the United States as an irredeemable nation. The April 13, 1861 issue (appearing a day after the attack on Fort Sumter) featured an article calling for volunteers, not for the Union effort, but rather for emigration: We require a government that can not only catch slave-dealers and slaveholders, but will hang them so surely as they are caught.… We can make of Hayti the nucleus of a power that shall be to the black, what England has been to the white races, the hope of progress and the guarantee of permanent civilization…. From that centre let but the fire of Freedom radiate until it shall enkindle, in the whole of that vast area, the sacred flame of liberty upon the altar of every black man’s heart, and you effect at once the abolition of slavery and the regeneration of our race. Here, as elsewhere, we can also see the complicated relationship between Lawrence, would be African American emigrants, and Haiti. Lawrence frames the venture as founding a new republic and generates a mythical, but attainable utopian landscape for African American appropriation. This approach was likely a great recruitment pitch to African Americans, but it also removes Haiti from its own history. By April 27th of that year, Lawrence’s editorials (reproduced here) began appearing under a U.S. flag with the ribbon, “Emancipation or Extermination.” In the first, he argued: “the American flag is our flag; for we are Americans,” but, he continued, the creed behind the flag is so vile that “Withered forever be the hand, and paralyzed the arm of the colored American who lifts up either in support of the Federal Flag.” The next week, Lawrence announced that the paper was financially solvent (but did not mention Redpath’s purchase) and in the next sentence, renounced the name Anglo-African, for, “An Anglo-African is an Englishman of African decent, not a colored American at all.” (Lawrence was not the first to make a quip about the term; it had been a running joke of sorts in the Anglo-African Magazine since 1859.) Finally, on May 11th, Lawrence announced the paper’s new name: The Pine and Palm, which would appear the next week with a “supplement containing Wendell Phillips’ oration on Toussaint L’Ouverture.” What we have here is a prolonged rebranding effort, as Lawrence found his voice as an editor (however briefly), and as he paved the way for the transition to James Redpath and full-throated advocacy for Haitian emigration. But even this shift is complicated. As McKivigan has noted, Redpath either dictated or strongly influenced at least some of Lawrence’s editorial work.[2] At the same time, Lawrence clearly supported Haitian emigration, and the ideas articulated in these early editorials differ tonally from those printed in the Pine and Palm, raising questions about the extent to which Lawrence was negotiating between his own vision and Redpath’s. Nevertheless, the shift, while appearing calculated in hindsight, must have appeared an abrupt betrayal of trust from the perspective of the Weekly Anglo-African’s readers. Masthead of The Pine and Palm When the paper appeared under its new masthead it listed Redpath, Lawrence, and Richard J. Hinton (British immigrant and Redpath associate) as its editors.[3] Redpath had already appeared in the columns of the Weekly Anglo-African as an advocate of Haitian emigration. Beyond that, readers might have recognized him as the “roving editor” for the National Anti-Slavery Standard, writing of his travels in the slave states under the pseudonym, John Ball, Jr., and he wrote for a wide range of newspapers across the 1850s, including features on John Brown and the Kansas-Nebraska crisis. After Harper’s Ferry, Redpath published The Life of Captain John Brown (1860), which Hamilton sold out of his New York offices, and Echoes of Harper’s Ferry (1860), an edited collection praising Brown that included a letter from Frances Harper to Brown’s wife.[4] Redpath made several extended trips to Haiti during this time, and by 1860, he had been named Commissioner for Haitian Emigration from the United States and Canada. Once Redpath took the helm officially, he moved the paper’s printing operations from New York to Boston, occupying the same 221 Washington Street offices that printed the Liberator.[5] The move likely leveraged Redpath’s connections to Garrison and the Liberator, but also would have given him more control over the final product. Under Redpath’s ownership, the Pine and Palm’s primary purpose was recruitment for the Haitian Immigration Bureau, but Redpath had much broader plans for the paper and the hemisphere. In his first editorial, Redpath laid out his vision for a “Cosmopolitan Government of the Future.” He weaves a familiar narrative of the redeemer or “chosen” (to borrow Benjamin Fagan’s term) empire into a utopian telos, not ending with the return of a Messianic Savior, but rather with “the Cosmopolitan Government of the Future”: Yet we will not forget that, while the creation of a great Negro Commonwealth in the Antilles is necessary for the elevation of the African race here, and while the formation, also, of free tropical Confederacies is indispensable for the arraying of the physical forces of freedom against physical slavery, there is a higher possibility for humanity still—to which the world is tending, which America must inaugurate—the Cosmopolitan Government of the Future, which, superseding Nationalities and rendering war unnecessary, shall establish and secure forever, the ‘reign of peace on earth and good will to men.’” The paper symbolized this hemispheric union, the connections between the “Pines” of North America and the “Palms” of the Antilles. The first issue featured an engraving of Toussaint L’Ouverture, the next of General Joseph Lamothe, Secretary of State of the General Police of Hayti (included here). Subsequent issues carried images of Haitian currency and biographical sketches by William Wells Brown of “Celebrated Colored Americans,” such as Madison Washington, who led a rebellion aboard the ship Creole in 1841. And throughout, the paper reprinted debates in Congress over recognition of Hayti and Liberia as sovereign states. Taken as a whole, the paper continued the Anglo-African’s dedication to probing configurations of empire and the nation-state in terms of how variously configured black empires could dismantle the slave power, but the Pine and Palm unmoored this project from U.S. soil. Haiti would provide the basis for a hemispheric revolution that would not only result in immediate emancipation, but would also change the nature of government and politics in the hemisphere as a whole. Neither the Pine and Palm nor its vision of emigration to Haiti lasted long, however. Most of the roughly 1600 African Americans who were part of the initial wave of immigrants returned, because of a combination of under-preparedness, political instability, and the changing scene at home. The start of the Civil War changed the landscape. Douglass, who had intended to visit Haiti to ascertain the viability of emigration, disavowed the movement. The War saw even the staunchest black supporters of emigration (Delany, Henry Highland Garnet, and Mary Ann Shadd Cary among them) advocating for black enlistment and making sure the nation understood that the Civil War would be a war to free enslaved people, whether the North and South wanted it to be or not. On the Haitian front, questions of corruption and fraud swirled continuously around Redpath until he resigned as Emigration Commissioner and closed the Pine and Palm on September 4, 1862. Geffrard’s regime had never been as stable as Redpath and Lawrence’s writing suggested. He faced several conflicts in the decade, until he was finally overthrown in 1867. At the same time, a revived Anglo-African returned with a vengeance. Thomas and Robert Hamilton saw Redpath’s sharp turn to emigration as a breach of their original agreement. They brought the Anglo-African back in July 1861 with funding from James McCune Smith, Martin R. Delany, and others. The new paper joined Frederick Douglass’s Paper and the Provincial Freeman in levelling a full-throated assault on Redpath and emigration. Hamilton founded the Weekly Anglo-African as a black paper, run by black Americans for black Americans. Lawrence and Redpath produced a black paper, owned by a white agent, and financed by the Haitian government. Its articles and iconography centered Haiti, not the United States; its sense of citizenship was based in region, not a nation-state as such. Beyond the facts of publication, however, the swirl of events and writing surrounding the Weekly Anglo-African and Pine and Palm provide fruitful questions for the study of black periodicals, African American emigration movements, and black politics around the Civil War. Emigration Movements in African American Politics and Culture In its transition and rebranding, The Pine and Palm took up as one of its quintessential concerns black American emigration, but this was not the first time African Americans had taken up emigration in general or emigration to Haiti in particular. By 1861 there had been several African American emigration movements. One of the earliest occurred in the wake of the American Revolutionary War and was spearheaded by English abolitionists such as Granville Sharp and Thomas Clarkson. After the war, England experienced a migratory influx of formerly enslaved black Americans, those loyalists who had fought on the side of the British and had been promised their freedom for doing so. Many of those new immigrants struggled to find work. They turned up homeless and destitute on the streets of London in the 1780s. Among the proposals bandied about by English philanthropists was the idea of creating a colony on the coast of what is today Sierra Leone where the population they termed the “Black Poor” could start over with land and opportunity. Canada also experienced an influx of black Americans. Again, after the Revolutionary War, some black Loyalists opted to relocate to Nova Scotia, where they experienced similar hardships as their counterparts in London. In the 1790s, many of them made their way to Sierra Leone. By the mid-19th century, the British had succeeded in constructing a viable space for black Americans to relocate – and extend their imperial reach. In 1816, in the United States, the American Colonization Society (ACS) formed. Although the members of the organization had widely different reasons for supporting black emigration (some racist in nature), they eyed Sierra Leone as a potential space for relocating free-born and newly manumitted black Americans. Despite protests from some free-born black Americans, Paul Cuffee, the famed mixed-race Quaker and sea merchant, transported nearly 40 black American emigrants to Sierra Leone in 1816 with the intention of transporting more in subsequent years.[6] Ultimately, the ACS in 1822 chose to create its own colonies south of Sierra Leone that would become the independent country of Liberia 25 years later. Throughout the early nineteenth century many black activists who had contemplated emigration previous to the founding of the ACS, including Richard Allen, vehemently protested emigration afterward, because the ACS premised emigration on the assumption that African descended people were inferior to and incompatible with the burgeoning white republic. David Walker famously dissected this logic in his 1829 Appeal to the Colored Citizens of the World, and the first Colored Conventions of the 1830s took the ACS as one of their primary targets. Nevertheless, Alexander Crummell, Mary Shadd Cary, and others found emigration to Liberia, Canada, and elsewhere a more promising alternative to hoping that the United States would abolish slavery. The passage of the 1850 Fugitive Slave Act accelerated emigration to Canada, and by the mid 1850s, both Martin R. Delany and Henry Highland Garnet had become vocal advocates of emigration even as they vehemently repudiated the ACS’s racist assumptions. Delany organized a National Emigration Convention in Cleveland, OH, in 1854 and led an expedition into Central Africa, while Garnet explored Jamaica as a potential new home before founding the African Civilization Society in 1858. Though its acronym was unfortunate, the African Civilization Society advocated for both emigration to and missionary work in Africa. In contrast to emigration movements in Canada and West Africa, the advertisements, editorials, short stories, and circulars that filled the pages of The Pine and Palm focused almost exclusively on Haiti.[7] By 1861, Haiti had been an independent, majority-black nation for more than half a century, the first in the Western hemisphere. For those advocating emigration, Haiti was an ideal location for a number of reasons. Among them was its proximity to the United States. Black Americans would not have to travel far. Proponents also touted its natural resources. In their opening statement about the emigration question, The Pine and Palm editors describe Haiti as “the most fertile island in the New World” (2). They go on to call it a “natural paradise,” that needs only labor to “develop its exhaustless resources” (2). In a sense, they resurrected the rhetoric of New World “discovery” initiated by the likes of Christopher Columbus. Haiti, comprising half of the island that Columbus named Hispaniola (which also includes the Dominican Republic), was among the very first of those lands Columbus encountered and claimed on behalf of Spain in 1492. In his diary, Columbus describes Hispaniola as filled with “lofty and beautiful mountains, large cultivated tracts, woods, fertile fields, and every thing adapted to the purposes of agriculture.”[8] Although Columbus imagined Hispaniola as a glittering jewel for Spain, the French actually capitalized on the region’s natural resources after usurping control in 1660. Over the course of more than two centuries, Haiti was the most lucrative of France’s American colonies, with extensive slave plantations that produced sugar, coffee, and cotton. The revolution that ended French domination of the island began in 1791 and concluded in 1804 with the emergence of the Republic of Haiti. For many onlookers, especially those black Africans scattered throughout the African Diaspora, the Haitian Revolution symbolized the potential for black African liberation, especially in the Western hemisphere. Haiti was a mother-country, the Queen of the Antilles beckoning her black children unto her liberatory bosom. In Haiti, black populations could enjoy in equal measure fertile land and liberty. “The Coins of Hayti” from The Pine and Palm Haitian emigration, though, was more than a call for a black nationalism. For some proponents, like Redpath and Lawrence, a successful all-black self-governing nation was a means – not an end unto itself – to dismantle racism and enslavement. For Redpath, the success of an independent Haiti would combat notions about the inferiority of black Africans and illustrate their intellectual, rational capacities. Europe and the United States would see this, he rationalized, and accept black Africans as racial equals. Beyond that, as Lawrence rationalized, Haiti’s economic influence could undercut the dominance of the U.S. cotton industry. To entice black Americans to move to Haiti, in 1859 the Haitian government, with the support of agents (Redpath and Lawrence among them) and other advocates in the United States, provided a number of incentives. For example, they offered farmers and skilled workers deferred fares for their ship passage. If they stayed in Haiti for a minimum of three years and lived without government subsidies, their passage was free. Even the unskilled could get assistance with passage fare and their “first necessities” upon arrival in Haiti. Would-be emigrants were offered allotments of land and assistance with housing. All were promised paths to citizenship, or naturalization, within one year (16). Of course, the question of emigration to Haiti did not begin with The Pine and Palm. Throughout the first half of the 19th century, black Americans contemplated and/or enacted emigration plans, especially in the 1820s when Haiti was under the rule of Jean-Pierre Boyer, who was president of Haiti from 1818 to 1843.[9] Two years after the Revolution ended and as a result of the assassination of the infant country’s first ruler, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, Haiti split into halves with the Kingdom of Haiti in the north and the Republic, or State, of Haiti in the south, led by King Henri (Christophe) I and President Alexandre Pétion, respectively. Upon the deaths of these leaders, both of whom had been key figures in the Revolution, Boyer assumed power and unified the country under one rule in 1821.[10] As president, he welcomed the immigration of black Americans to Haiti. In 1824, he collaborated with the American Colonization Society to transport some 6,000 black Americans, most of them free-born, to Haiti. The plan met with mixed success as many of those who migrated chose to return to the United States in a matter of years. They did so for a number of reasons, which included economic instability in Haiti and the fact that many black Americans identified with the United States and ultimately gravitated back toward their native homes. These same reasons made emigration a debatable point, rather than a foregone conclusion, in the pages of The Pine and Palm in 1861. Black Heroism and Haiti in the Pine and Palm With its emigrationist orientation, The Pine and Palm sought to keep its readers abreast of the current efforts of the Haytian Bureau of Emigration, sanctioned by President Guillaume Fabre Nicolas Geffrard and headed by Redpath. We can see that Redpath, himself, continued to have a prominent voice in the pages of the newspaper. Circulars of the Emigration Bureau and Laws on emigration and naturalization appear in our selections here, as well as a call for emigration penned by Haiti’s Secretary of State of Justice, François-Élie Dubois. Frederick Douglass’s proposed trip to Haiti was significant and Douglass’ prominence as a black intellectual makes his appearance in The Pine and Palm unsurprising. As The Pine and Palm celebrated Haiti, it also highlighted the nation’s revolutionary history and its founding. In a context in which black accomplishment was seldom celebrated, documented, or taught by mainstream white educators, nineteenth-century African American writers were foundational authors of early black history. Biographies of famous black people appeared throughout the black press, and Toussaint L’Ouverture was a popularly-featured icon. William Wells Brown’s 1863 The Black Man: His Antecedents, His Genius, and His Achievement and 1867 The Negro in the American Rebellion are examples of early black histories detailing “Celebrated Colored Americans.” Before then, his sketches of L’Ouverture and Madison Washington appeared in the Pine and Palm. Both entries, when contextualized in the Pine and Palm, connect Haiti and emigration to Haiti to a long black revolutionary tradition. As with the need for written histories, the need for other kinds of black representation was evident in a landscape in which black people more often appeared in white-created derogatory representations that caricatured black people. Educator and activist William J. Wilson imagined a gallery of black-created art in the “Afric-American Picture Gallery,” a series published in seven installments in the Anglo-African Magazine in 1859.[11] Wilson’s imagine gallery included busts of famous black leaders, including L’Ouverture. Also responding to this need for a non-derogatory “picture gallery” of black people, the portraits that appeared on the front pages of The Pine and Palm for May 18 and 25 and June 15, 1861 offer visual representations of prominent black military and political icons, a new set of “founding fathers.” The editors called the first of these, a portrait of Toussaint L’Ouverture, “the only correct likeness of him ever published in America.” This image was taken from an engraving Redpath may have gathered during his time in the country.[12] Other images reproduced in the selections here included Geffrard and General Joseph Lamothe. In addition to Haitian dignitaries, the front page of the June 8, 1861 issue also provided images of Haitian currency. These images and narratives, then, were both edificatory and educational: raising a black nationalist consciousness even as it educated readers on Haitian history and governance and economics. Poetry and Fiction: The Literary “Parlor” and Literature in the Black Press In addition to their political and historical importance, the Weekly Anglo-African and Pine and Palm offer case studies for thinking about the centrality of periodicals to the production and dissemination of literature. Nineteenth-century newspapers often contained a variety of genres, from news stories, essays, and editorials, to brief histories, biographical sketches, and advice columns, to short stories, serialized novels, and poetry. Newspapers published well-known and celebrated authors’ work as well as pieces that appeared under pseudonyms and sometimes anonymously. Periodicals of the era also practiced what Meredith McGill has called a “culture of reprinting,” widely circulating texts beyond their original venues, sometimes with and sometimes without attributing their original sources.[13] Occasionally, a piece’s first publication would be noted by a phrase such as “Written for The Pine and Palm.” Such is the case with Harper’s “Household Words” and Brown’s sketch of Madison Washington. Like other nineteenth-century U.S. periodicals, African American periodicals of the era published a breadth of genres and participated in the culture of reprinting texts from other publications. Black newspapers, including the Pine and Palm and Weekly Anglo-African, also sometimes reprinted white-authored texts, offering interesting recontextualizations of these when considered in the context of African American print culture.[14] Still, early African American newspapers like the Weekly Anglo-African and The Pine and Palm were dedicated to highlighting the work of black writers. Authors such as William Wells Brown and Frances Ellen Watkins Harper would have been well-known to readers of the black press at this time. The literature that appeared in the Weekly Anglo-African and The Pine and Palm represents some of the most important African American literature of the nineteenth century. In part due to its short form and the ease of including it in the pages of a newspaper, poetry appeared regularly in early African American newspapers and in nineteenth-century newspapers, more generally. While many poems were published anonymously, others included the by-lines of well-known poets.[15] Harper was the best known African American poet of the century. Her work was widely circulated in the black press and elsewhere. Longer-form literature like novels also frequently appeared, in serialized form. Not all novels that were serialized in nineteenth-century newspapers were subsequently published in monograph book form. Some serialized novels appeared as monographs only much later, as such work was “recovered” or “rediscovered” by later readers, sometimes by academics who produced scholarly editions of such texts for classroom teaching in the twentieth- and twenty-first centuries. Because well-funded libraries and archives that collected newspapers were usually white-run and collectors did not value black newspapers in the same ways that they valued white publications, there are not complete archived runs of many nineteenth-century African American newspapers, including the Christian Recorder, the Weekly Anglo-African, and The Pine and Palm. As a result, some novels that were published in serialized form (like Frances Harper’s novels published in the Christian Recorder) are missing chapters that appeared in the issues we no longer have. This is the case for Martin Delany’s novel, Blake, or the Huts of America, which was serialized in the Anglo-African Magazine in 1859 and the revived Anglo-African between 1861 and 1862 and was not published in book form until 1970. William Wells Brown’s novel, Miralda; or, the Beautiful Quadroon, was serialized in the Weekly Anglo-African from December 15, 1860, to March 16, 1861. Miralda was a revision of Brown’s 1853 novel, Clotel; or the President’s Daughter, which he also revised in two other monograph editions, published in 1864 and 1867.[16] At the time of this writing, Miralda still does not exist in monograph form. Periodicals also provide a wealth of writing by women and children’s literature for which we have yet to fully account. Many nineteenth-century newspapers included “Parlor” or “Women’s Corner” sections, with content specifically aimed at women readers. Such sections might include advice columns, religious writing, fiction, poetry, news stories, discussions of domestic concerns, or writing intended for children. The call, by women, for such a section to be created in The Pine and Palm is therefore fitting with other newspapers’ practices of the time. Selections provided here include such calls from women writing in to The Pine and Palm, and they invite us to think about the ways women framed and organized themselves in print communities. Women-authored contributions, however, were not simply relegated to “women’s” or “parlor” portions of the paper, however, even in newspapers that designated such sections. As a single copy of the newspaper would be shared by several members of a household or even across households, reading practices most definitely resulted in readers’ consumption of various content even from sections of the paper not explicitly intended or framed for them based on assumptions about gender or age. * * * The histories of the first iteration of the Weekly Anglo-African and the Pine and Palm remind us that newspaper publication was (and continues to be) a messy business, and we need not smooth out that messiness. Rather than reconcile these tensions—in editorship, mission, financing, politics, articulations of blackness, etc.—the selections we offer here invite us to probe them for what they can teach us about an intensely active and highly collaborative black print public. Further Reading On African Americans and Emigration Movements Dillon, Elizabeth Maddock and Michael J. Drexler, eds. The Haitian Revolution and the Early United States: Histories, Textualities, Geographies. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016. Dixon, Chris. African America and Haiti: Emigration and Black Nationalism in the Nineteenth Century. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2000. Durrance, Ashley; Hannah Harkins; Nicholas Palombo; Leslie Rewis; Melanie Berry; Christy Hutcheson; Eli Jones; and Morgan Shaffer; Curators. “To Stay or Go: The National Emigration Convention of 1854.” Taught by Benjamin Fagan. Edited by Samantha Q. de Vera, Simone Austin, and Sarah Patterson. Colored Conventions: Bringing Nineteenth-Century Black Organizing to Digital Life. Fall 2016. http://coloredconventions.org/exhibits/show/conventions-black-press. Fanning, Sara. Caribbean Crossing: African Americans and the Haitian Emigration Movement. New York: New York University Press, 2015. McKivigan, John. Forgotten Firebrand: James Redpath and the Making of Nineteenth-Century America. Cornell University Press, 2008. Power-Greene, Ousmane K. Against the Wind and Tide: The African American Struggle Against the Colonization Movement. New York: New York University Press, 2014. On Haiti, the Haitian Revolution, and Early African American Literature Bernier, Celeste-Marie. Characters of Blood: Black Heroism In The Transatlantic Imagination. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2012. Clavin, Matthew J. Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and Peril of a Second Haitian Revolution. Philadelphia: Pennsylvania University Press, 2010. Daut, Marlene Tropics of Haiti: Race and the Literary History of the Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World, 1789-1865. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2015. Dayan, Colin (Joan). Haiti, History, and the Gods. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Dubois, Laurent. Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005. —. A Colony Of Citizens: Revolution & Slave Emancipation In The French Caribbean, 1787-1804. Chapel Hill: University Of North Carolina Press, 2004. Foster, Frances Smith. “How do you Solve a Problem Like ‘Theresa?’” African American Review 40.4 (Winter 2006): 631-645. Levine, Robert S. Dislocating Race and Nation: Episodes in Nineteenth-Century American Literary Nationalism. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008. Nwankwo, Ifeoma. Black Cosmopolitanism: Racial Consciousness and Transnational Identity in the Nineteenth-Century Americas. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005. On the Weekly Anglo-African, the Hamilton Brothers, and Early African American Periodicals Bacon, Jacqueline. Freedom’s Journal: The First African American Newspaper. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2007. Bullock, Penelope L. The Afro-American Periodical Press, 1838-1909. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1981. Capshaw, Katharine and Anna Mae Duane, eds. Who Writes for Black Children? African American Children’s Literature before 1900. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017. Chiles, Katy. “Within and without the Raced Nation: Intratextuality, Martin Delany, and Blake; or the Huts of America.” American Literature 80 no. 2 (2008): 323-352. Clifton, James. The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988. Ernest, John. Liberation Historiography: African American Writers and the Challenge of History, 1794-1861. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004. Gardner, Eric. Black Print Unbound: The Christian Recorder, African American Literature, and Periodical Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. —. Unexpected Places: Relocating Nineteenth-Century African American Literature. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2009. Jackson, Debra. “A Black Journalist in Civil War Virginia: Robert Hamilton and the ‘Anglo- African.’”Virginia Magazine of History and Biography 116.1 (2008): 42–72. —. “‘A Cultural Stronghold’: The Anglo-African Newspaper and the Black Community of New York.” New York History 85.4 (Fall 2004): 331-357. Penn, I. Garland. The Afro-American Press and Its Editors. Salem, New Hampshire: Ayer Company, Publishers, 1891. Pride, Amistead S. and Clint C. Wilson. A History of the Black Press. Washington, DC: Howard Univ Press, 1987. Soderberg, Laura. “One More Time with Feeling: Repetition, Reparation, and the Sentimental Subject in William Wells Brown’s Rewritings of Clotel,”American Literature 88.2 (June 2016): 241-267. Tripp, Bernell E. “Like Father, Like Son: The Antislavery Legacy of William Hamilton,” Seeking a Voice: Images of Race and Gender in the 19th Century Press. Edited by David B. Sachsman et. Al. Purdue University press, 2009: 97-106. Wilson, Ivy G. “The Brief Wondrous Life of the Anglo- African Magazine: Or, Antebellum African American Editorial Practice and Its Afterlives.” Publishing Blackness: Textual Constructions of Race since 1850. Eds. George Hutchinson and John K. Young. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2013: 18–38. Bullock, Penelope L. The Afro-American Periodical Press, 1838–1909. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1981. Fagan, Benjamin. The Black Newspaper and the Chosen Nation. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2016. Primary Sources American Society of Free Persons of Colour (1830: Philadelphia, PA), “Constitution of the American Society of Free Persons of Colour, for improving their condition in the United States; for purchasing lands; and for the establishment of a settlement in upper Canada, also, The Proceedings of the Convention with their Address to Free Persons of Colour in the United States,” ColoredConventions.org, accessed April 4, 2018, http://coloredconventions.org/items/show/70. Brown, William Wells. 1863. The Black Man, His Antecedents, His Genius, and His Achievements. New York: Thomas Hamilton. Documenting the American South. Chapel Hill: University Library, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1999. http://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/brownww/brown.html. Delany, Martin R. Condition, Elevation, Emigration, and Destiny of the Colored People in the United States Politically Considered. Philadelphia: King and Laird, 1852. National Emigration Convention of Colored People (1854: Cleveland, OH), “Proceedings of the National Emigration Convention of Colored People Held at Cleveland, Ohio, On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, The 24th, 25th, and 26th of August, 1854,” ColoredConventions.org, accessed May 24, 2018, http://coloredconventions.org/items/show/314. Redpath, James. A Guide to Hayti. Boston: Haytian Bureau of Emigration, 1861. —. The Roving Editor, Or, Talks with Slaves in the Southern States[1859], ed. John R. McKivigan. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996. “To Emigrate or Remain at Home? 1773-1833” in Early Negro Writing, 1760-1837, edited by Dorothy Porter, 249-307. Baltimore: Black Classic Press, 1995. [1] See Thomas Hamilton to John Jay, 27 May 1859, Black Abolitionist Papers, ed. C. Peter Ripley (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press), 26-27; and Fagan, Black Newspaper, 122-125. [2] McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 69. [3] This triumvirate might be deceptive in its representation of a collaborative relationship, though. John McKivigan’s biography of Redpath suggests that Redpath was dictatorial in approach to his correspondents—an apparent polar opposite to Hamilton. His biography is the best source of information on Redpath. See McKivigan, Forgotten Firebrand, 69-82. [4] Redpath’s publisher was Thayer and Eldridge, who also published the 1860/61 edition of Leaves of Grass. [5] George T. Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison’s brother, likely printed both papers. [6] Cuffee died a year later. The ACS, while it managed to convince several thousand black Africans to migrate to Liberia over a 20-year period, failed ultimately to effect its mass colonization plan. Many African Americans were skeptical and cynical about black emigration and colonization, among them the abolitionist-writer David Walker and, later, Frederick Douglass. [7] This makes sense because, as mentioned earlier, the newspaper was an outlet for the Haitian Emigration Bureau. [8] See Columbus’s Personal Narrative of the First voyage of Columbus to America. (Boston: Thomas B. Wait and Son, 1827), 243. [9] As one example, when the former slave and merchant Denmark Vesey plotted a slave revolt in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1822, the plot included the mass emigration of the city’s black population to Haiti. Vesey assumed the country would welcome them as refugees. The revolt failed and Vesey was executed. [10] For a brief period, beginning in 1822, he unified all of Hispaniola, including present-day Dominican Republic. [11] Ethiop (William J. Wilson), “Afric-American Picture Gallery,” Just Teach One: Early African American Print no. 2 (Fall 2015), edited and introduced by Leif Eckstrom and Britt Rusert. [12] Matthew J. Clavin, Toussaint Louverture and the American Civil War: The Promise and Peril of a Second Haitian Revolution, (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania University Press, 2010), 46. [13] See Meredith McGill. American Literature and the Culture of Reprinting, 1834-53. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003). [14] Eric Gardner examines this phenomenon with relation to material reprinted in the “children” and “family” sections of the African Methodist Episcopal Church’s weekly newspaper, the Christian Recorder. See Eric Gardner, “Children’s Literature in the Christian Recorder: An Initial Comparative Bibliography for May 1862 and April 1873” in Who Writes for Black Children: African American Children’s Literature before 1900. Ed. Katharine Capshaw and Anna Mae Duane (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017), 225-245. [15] On poetry in nineteenth-century American newspapers, see Ryan Cordell and Abby Mullen, ““Fugitive Verses”: The Circulation of Poems in Nineteenth-Century American Newspapers.” American Periodicals: A Journal of History & Criticism, vol. 27 no. 1 (2017): 29-52. Project MUSE, muse.jhu.edu/article/652267. [16] For a comparison of these editions, see Samantha Marie Sommers, “A Tangled Text: William Wells Brown’s Clotel (1853, 1860, 1864, 1867).” Undergraduate Thesis, Wesleyan University, 2009 and Clotel: An Electronic Scholarly Edition, Ed. Christopher Mulvey, (University of Virginia Press, 2006.) URL https://jtoaa.americanantiquarian.org/welcome-to-just-teach-one-african-american/weekly-anglo-african-and-the-pine-and-palm/ Referral https://www.digitalcommonwealth.org/collections/commonwealth:5712sv871 PDF VERSION PUBLIC VERSION IN CASE URL FAILS BELOW https://1drv.ms/b/c/ea9004809c2729bb/ERiMnpkOy3NAjaToX84CZl0BxAX4Q2WT6fXbpN4AgOD0zQ?e=YPp8TV URL https://jtoaa.americanantiquarian.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Weekly-Anglo-African-and-Pine-and-Palm-for-JTO-EAAP.pdf CITATIONS Library of Congress https://www.loc.gov/item/sn87055554/ Virginia Historical Society https://web.archive.org/web/20130501152449/http://vahistorical.org/publications/abstract_jackson.htm Blake; or The Huts of America: A Tale of the Mississippi Valley, the Southern United States, and Cuba is a two part novel by Martin Delany, The first was published in 1859 by The Anglo-African , and the second part was published in 1861-62 by the Weekly Anglo-African Magazine [ publication from 1859 to December 1865, the anglo african was the first name of the publication, the weekly anglo african magazine was the second name and a magazine called the "pine and the palm" was added] The May 1862 issue is missing so it is incomplete The parts known with additions from other authors https://www.hup.harvard.edu/books/9780674088726 Blake; or, The Huts of America, By Martin R. Delany (1859-1862; rpt. ed. Floyd J. Miller [Boston: Beacon Press, 1970]). PART ONE Content CHAPTER 1 The Project On one of those exciting occasions during a contest for the presidency of the United States, a number of gentlemen met in the city of Baltimore. They were few in number, and appeared little concerned about the affairs of the general government. Though men of intelligence, their time and attention appeared to be entirely absorbed in an adventure of self-interest. They met for the purpose of completing arrangements for refitting the old ship “Merchantman,” which then lay in the harbor near Fell's Point. Colonel Stephen Franks, Major James Armsted, Captain Richard Paul, and Captain George Royer composed those who represented the American side—Captain Juan Garcia and Captain Jose Castello, those of Cuban interest. Here a conversation ensued upon what seemed a point of vital importance to the company; it related to the place best suited for the completion of their arrangements. The Americans insisted on Baltimore as affording the greatest facilities, and having done more for the encouragement and protection of the trade than any other known place, whilst the Cubans, on the other side, urged their objections on the ground that the continual increase of liberal principles in the various political parties, which were fast ushering into existence, made the objection beyond a controversy. Havana was contended for as a point best suited for adjusting their arrangements, and that too with many apparent reasons; but for some cause, the preference for Baltimore prevailed. Subsequently to the adjustment of their affairs by the most complete arrangement for refitting the vessel, Colonel Franks took leave of the party for his home in the distant state of Mississippi. CHAPTER 2 Colonel Franks at Home On the return of Colonel Stephen Franks to his home at Natchez, he met there Mrs. Arabella, the wife of Judge Ballard, an eminent jurist of one of the Northern States. She had arrived but a day before him, on a visit to some relatives, of whom Mrs. Franks was one. The conversation, as is customary on the meeting of Americans residing in such distant latitudes, readily turned on the general policy of the country. Mrs. Ballard possessed the highest intelligence, and Mrs. Maria Franks was among the most accomplished of Southern ladies. “Tell me, Madam Ballard, how will the North go in the present issue?” enquired Franks. “Give yourself no concern about that, Colonel,” replied Mrs. Ballard, “you will find the North true to the country.” “What you consider true, may be false—that is, it might be true to you, and false to us,” continued he. “You do not understand me, Colonel,” she rejoined, “we can have no interests separate from yours; you know the time-honored motto, 'united we stand,' and so forth, must apply to the American people under every policy in every section of the Union.” “So it should, but amidst the general clamor in the contest for ascendancy, may you not lose sight of this important point?” “How can we? You, I'm sure, Colonel, know very well that in our country commercial interests have taken precedence of all others, which is a sufficient guarantee of our fidelity to the South.” “That may be, madam, but we are still apprehensive.” “Well, sir, we certainly do not know what more to do to give you assurance of our sincerity. We have as a plight of faith yielded Boston, New York, and Philadelphia—the intelligence and wealth of the North—in carrying out the Compromise measures for the interests of the South; can we do more?” “True, Madam Ballard, true! I yield the controversy. You have already done more than we of the South expected. I now remember that the Judge himself tried the first case under the Act, in your city, by which the measures were tested.” 5 “He did, sir, and if you will not consider me unwomanly by telling you, desired me, on coming here, to seek every opportunity to give the fullest assurance that the judiciary are sound on that question. Indeed, so far as an individual might be concerned, his interests in another direction—as you know—place him beyond suspicion,” concluded Mrs. Ballard. “I am satisfied, madam, and by your permission, arrest the conversation. My acknowledgements, madam!” bowed the Colonel, with true Southern courtesy. “Maria, my dear, you look careworn; are you indisposed?” inquired Franks of his wife, who during conversation sat silent. “Not physically, Colonel,” replied she, “but——” Just at this moment a servant, throwing open the door, announced dinner. Besides a sprightly black boy of some ten years of age, there was in attendance a prepossessing, handsome maidservant, who generally kept, as much as the occasion would permit, behind the chair of her mistress. A mutual attachment appeared to exist between them, the maid apparently disinclined to leave the mistress, who seemed to keep her as near her person as possible. Now and again the fat cook, Mammy Judy, would appear at the door of the dining room bearing a fresh supply for the table, who with a slight nod of the head, accompanied with an affectionate smile and the word “Maggie,” indicated a tie much closer than that of mere fellow servants. Maggie had long been the favorite maidservant of her mistress, having attained the position through merit. She was also nurse and foster mother to the two last children of Mrs. Franks, and loved them, to all appearance, as her own. The children reciprocated this affection, calling her “Mammy.” Mammy Judy, who for years had occupied this position, ceded it to her daughter; she preferring, in consequence of age, the less active life of the culinary department. The boy Tony would frequently cast a comic look upon Mrs. Ballard, then imploringly gaze in the face of his mistress. So intent was he in this, that twice did his master admonish him by a nod of the head. “My dear,” said the Colonel, “you are dull today; pray tell me what makes you sad?” 6 “I am not bodily afflicted, Colonel Franks, but my spirit is heavy,” she replied. “How so? What is the matter?” “That will be best answered at another time and place, Colonel.” Giving his head an unconscious scratch accompanied with a slight twitch of the corner of the mouth, Franks seemed to comprehend the whole of it. On one of her Northern tours to the watering places—during a summer season some two years previous, having with her Maggie the favorite—Mrs. Franks visited the family of the Judge, at which time Mrs. Ballard first saw the maid. She was a dark mulatto of a rich, yellow, autumnlike complexion, with a matchless, cushionlike head of hair, neither straight nor curly, but handsomer than either. Mrs. Franks was herself a handsome lady of some thirty-five summers, but ten years less in appearance, a little above medium height, between the majestic and graceful, raven-black hair, and dark, expressive eyes. Yet it often had been whispered that in beauty the maid equalled if not excelled the mistress. Her age was twenty-eight. The conduct of Mrs. Franks toward her servant was more like that of an elder sister than a mistress, and the mistress and maid sometimes wore dresses cut from the same web of cloth. Mrs. Franks would frequently adjust the dress and see that the hair of her maid was properly arranged. This to Mrs. Ballard was as unusual as it was an objectionable sight, especially as she imagined there was an air of hauteur in her demeanor. It was then she determined to subdue her spirit. Acting from this impulse, several times in her absence, Mrs. Ballard took occasion to administer to the maid severities she had never experienced at the hands of her mistress, giving her at one time a severe slap on the cheek, calling her an “impudent jade.” At this, Mrs. Franks, on learning, was quite surprised; but on finding that the maid gave no just cause for it, took no further notice of it, designedly evading the matter. But before leaving, Mrs. Ballard gave her no rest until she gave her the most positive assurance that she would part with the maid on her next visit to Natchez. And thus she is found pressing her suit at the residence of the Mississippi planter. CHAPTER 3 The Fate of Maggie After dinner Colonel Franks again pressed the inquiry concerning the disposition of his lady. At this time the maid was in the culinary department taking her dinner. The children having been served, she preferred the company of her old mother whom she loved, the children hanging around, and upon her lap. There was no servant save the boy Tony present in the parlor. “I can't, I won't let her go! she's a dear good girl!” replied Mrs. Franks. “The children are attached to her, and so am I; let Minny or any other of them go—but do not, for Heaven's sake, tear Maggie from me!” “Maria, my dear, you've certainly lost your balance of mind! Do try and compose yourself,” admonished the Colonel. “There's certainly no disposition to do contrary to your desires; try and be a little reasonable.” “I'm sure, cousin, I see no cause for your importunity. No one that I know of designs to hurt the Negro girl. I'm sure it's not me!” impatiently remarked Mrs. Ballard. During this, the boy had several times gone into the hall, looking toward the kitchen, then meaningly into the parlor as if something unusual were going on. Mammy Judy becoming suspicious, went into the hall and stood close beside the parlor door, listening at the conversation. “Cousin, if you will listen for a moment, I wish to say a word to you,” said Mrs. Ballard. “The Judge, as you know, has a countryseat in Cuba near the city of Havana, where we design making every year our winter retreat. As we cannot take with us either free Negroes or white servants, on account of the existing restrictions, I must have a slave, and of course I prefer a well-trained one, as I know all yours to be. The price will be no object; as I know it will be none to you, it shall be none to me.” “I will not consent to part with her, cousin Arabella, and it is useless to press the matter any further!” emphatically replied Mrs. Franks. “I am sure, cousin Maria, it was well understood between the Colonel and the Judge, that I was to have one of your best-trained maidservants!” continued Mrs. Ballard. 8 “The Colonel and the Judge! If any such understanding exist, it is without my knowledge and consent, and ——” “It is true, my dear,” interposed the Colonel, “but ——” “Then,” replied she, “heaven grant that I may go too! from——” “Pah, pah! cousin Maria Franks, I'm really astonished at you to take on so about a Negro girl! You really appear to have lost your reason. I would not behave so for all the Negroes in Mississippi.” “My dear,” said Franks, “I have been watching the conduct of that girl for some time past; she is becoming both disobedient and unruly, and as I have made it a rule of my life never to keep a disobedient servant, the sooner we part with her the better. As I never whip my servants, I do not want to depart from my rule in her case.” Maggie was true to her womanhood, and loyal to her mistress, having more than once communicated to her ears facts the sounds of which reflected no credit in his. For several repulses such as this, it was that she became obnoxious to her master. “Cousin Maria, you certainly have forgotten; I'm sure, when last at the North, you promised in presence of the girl, that I was to have her, and I'm certain she's expecting it,” explained Mrs. Ballard. “This I admit,” replied Mrs. Franks, “but you very well know, cousin Arabella, that that promise was a mere ruse, to reconcile an uneasiness which you informed me you discovered in her, after over-hearing a conversation between her and some free Negroes, at Saratoga Springs.” “Well, cousin, you can do as you please,” concluded Mrs. Ballard. “Colonel, I'm weary of this conversation. What am I to expect?” enquired Mrs. Franks. “It's a settled point, my dear, she must be sold!” decisively replied Franks. “Then I must hereafter be disrespected by our own slaves! You know, Colonel, that I gave my word to Henry, her husband, your most worthy servant, that his wife should be here on his return. He had some misgiving that she was to be taken to Cuba before his return, when I assured him that she should be here. How can I bear to meet this poor creature, who places every confidence in what we tell him? He'll surely be frantic.” “Nonsense, cousin, nonsense,” sneered Mrs. Ballard. “Frantic, indeed! Why you speak of your Negro slaves as if speaking of equals. 9 Make him know that whatever you order, he must be contented with.” “I'll soon settle the matter with him, should he dare show any feelings about it!” interposed Franks. “When do you look for him, Maria?” “I'm sure, Colonel, you know more about the matter than I do. Immediately after you left, he took the horses to Baton Rouge, where at the last accounts he was waiting the conclusion of the races. Judge Dilbreath had entered them according to your request—one horse for each day's races. I look for him every day. Then there are more than him to reconcile. There's old Mammy Judy, who will run mad about her. You know, Colonel, she thought so much of her, that she might be treated tenderly the old creature gave up her situation in the house as nurse and foster mother to our children, going into the kitchen to do the harder work.” “Well, my dear, we'll detain your cousin till he comes. I'll telegraph the Judge that, if not yet left, to start him home immediately.” “Colonel, that will be still worse, to let him witness her departure; I would much rather she'd leave before his return. Poor thing!” she sighed. “Then she may go!” replied he. “And what of poor old mammy and his boy?” “I'll soon settle the matter with old Judy.” Mrs. Franks looking him imploringly in the face, let drop her head, burying her face in the palms of her hands. Soon it was found necessary to place her under the care of a physician. Old Mammy Judy had long since beckoned her daughter, where both stood in breathless silence catching every word that passed. At the conclusion, Maggie, clasping her hands, exclaimed in suppressed tones, “O mammy, O mammy! what shall I do? O, is there no hope for me? Can't you beg master—can't you save me!” “Look to de Laud, my chile! Him ony able to bring yeh out mo' nah conkeh!” was the prayerful advice of the woe-stricken old mother. Both, hastening into the kitchen, falling upon their knees, invoked aloud the God of the oppressed. Hearing in that direction an unusual noise, Franks hastened past the kitchen door, dropping his head, and clearing his throat as he went along. This brought the slaves to an ordinary mood, who trembled at his approach. CHAPTER 4 Departure of Maggie The countryseat of Franks, or the “great house” of the cotton plantation, was but a short distance from the city. Mrs. Franks, by the advice of her physician, was removed there to avoid the disturbance of the town, when at the same time Mrs. Ballard left with her slave Maggie en route for Baltimore, whither she designed leaving her until ready to sail for Cuba. “Fahwell, my chile! fahwell; may God A'mighty be wid you!” were the parting words of the poor old slave, who with streaming eyes gazed upon her parting child for the last time. “O mammy! Can't you save me? O Lord, what shall I do? O my husband! O my poor child! O my! O my!” were the only words, the sounds of which died upon the breeze, as the cab hastily bore her to a steamer then lying at the wharf. Poor old Mammy Judy sat at the kitchen door with elbows resting upon her knee, side of the face resting in the palm of the hand, tears streaming down, with a rocking motion, noticing nothing about her, but in sorrow moaning just distinctly enough to be understood: “Po' me! Po' me! Po' me!” The sight was enough to move the heart of anyone, and it so affected Franks that he wished he had “never owned a Negro.” Daddy Joe, the husband of Mammy Judy, was a field hand on the cotton place, visiting his wife at the town residence every Saturday night. Colonel Franks was a fine, grave, senatorial-looking man, of medium height, inclined to corpulency, black hair, slightly grey, and regarded by his slaves as a good master, and religiously as one of the best of men. On their arrival at the great house, those working nearest gathered around the carriage, among whom was Daddy Joe. “Wat a mautta wid missus?” was the general inquiry of the gang. “Your mistress is sick, boys,” replied the master. “Maus, whah's Margot?” enquired the old man, on seeing his mistress carried into the house without the attendance of her favorite maidservant. “She's in town, Joe,” replied Franks. 11 “How's Judy, seh?” “Judy is well.” “Tank'e seh!” politely concluded the old man, with a bow, turning away in the direction of his work—with a countenance expressive of anything but satisfaction—from the interview. The slaves, from their condition, are suspicious; any evasion or seeming design at suppressing the information sought by them frequently arouses their greatest apprehension. Not unfrequently the mere countenance, a look, a word, or laugh of the master, is an unerring foreboding of misfortune to the slave. Ever on the watch for these things, they learn to read them with astonishing precision. This day was Friday, and the old slave consoled himself with the thought that on the next evening he would be able to see and know for himself the true state of things about his master's residence in town. The few hours intervening were spent with great anxiety, which was even observed by his fellow slaves. At last came Saturday evening and with it, immediately after sunset, Daddy Joe made his appearance at the hall door of the great house, tarrying only long enough to inquire “How's missus?” and receive the reply, “she's better,” when a few moments found him quite out of sight, striding his way down the lane toward the road to the city. The sudden and unexpected fate of Maggie had been noised among the slaves throughout the entire neighborhood; many who had the opportunity of doing so, repairing to the house to learn the facts. In the lower part of the town, bordering on the river there is a depot or receptacle for the slave gangs brought by professional traders. This part of the town is known as “Natchez-under-the-Hill.” It is customary among the slaves when any of their number are sold, to say that they are gone “under the hill,” and their common salutation through the day was that “Franks' Mag had gone under the hill.” As with quickened steps Daddy Joe approached the town, his most fearful apprehensions became terribly realized when meeting a slave who informed him that “Margot had gone under the hill.” Falling upon his knees, in the fence corner, the old man raised his voice in supplication of Divine aid: “O Laud! dow has promis' in dine own wud, to be a fadah to de fadaless, an' husban to de widah! O Laud, let dy wud run an' be glorify! Sof'en de haud haut ob de presseh, an' let my po' chile cum back! an'——” 12 “Stop that noise there, old nigger!” ordered a patrol approaching him. “Who's boy are you?” “Sahvant, mausta!” saluted the old slave, “I b'long to cunel Frank, seh!” “Is this old Joe?” “Dis is me maus Johnny.” “You had better trudge along home then, as it's likely old Judy wants to see you about this time.” “Tank'e seh,” replied the old man, with a bow, feeling grateful that he was permitted to proceed. “Devilish good, religious old Negro,” he remarked to his associates, as the old man left them in the road. A few minutes more, and Daddy Joe entered the kitchen door at his master's residence. Mammy Judy, on seeing him, gave vent afresh to bitter wailing, when the emotion became painfully mutual. “O husban'! Husban! Onah po' chile is gone!” exclaimed the old woman, clasping him around the neck. “Laud! dy will be done!” exclaimed he. “Ole umin, look to de Laud! as he am suffishen fah all tings”; both, falling on their knees, breathed in silence their desires to God. “How long! How long! O Laud how long!” was the supplicating cry of the old woman being overcome with devotion and sorrow. Taking the little grandchild in his arms, “Po' chile,” said the old man, “I wish yeh had nebeh been baun!” impressing upon it kisses whilst it slept. After a fervant and earnest prayer to God for protection to themselves, little grandson Joe, the return of his mother their only child, and blessings upon their master and the recovery of their mistress, the poor old slaves retired to rest for the evening, to forget their sorrows in the respite of sleep. CHAPTER 5 A Vacancy This morning the sun rose with that beauty known to a Southern sky in the last month of autumn. The day was Sabbath, and with it was ushered in every reminiscence common to the customs of that day and locality. That she might spend the day at church for the diversion of her mind, Mrs. Franks was brought in to her city residence; and Natchez, which is usually gay, seemed more so on this day than on former occasions. When the bells began to signal the hour of worship, the fashionable people seemed en masse to crowd the streets. The carriages ran in every direction, bearing happy hearts and cheerful faces to the various places of worship—there to lay their offerings on the altar of the Most High for the blessings they enjoyed, whilst peering over every gate, out of every alley, or every kitchen door, could be seen the faithful black servants who, staying at home to prepare them food and attend to other domestic duties, were satisfied to look smilingly upon their masters and families as they rode along, without for a moment dreaming that they had a right to worship the same God, with the same promise of life and salvation. “God bless you, missus! Pray fah me,” was the honest request of many a simplehearted slave who dared not aspire to the enjoyment of praying for himself in the Temple of the living God. But amidst these scenes of gaiety and pleasure, there was one much devoted to her church who could not be happy that day, as there to her was a seeming vacancy which could not be filled—the seat of her favorite maidservant. The Colonel, as a husband and father, was affectionate and indulgent; but his slave had offended, disobeyed his commands, and consequently, had to be properly punished, or he be disrespected by his own servants. The will of the master being absolute, his commands should be enforced, let them be what they may, and the consequences what they would. If slavery be right, the master is justifiable in enforcing obedience to his will; deny him this, and you at once deprive him of the right to hold a slave—the one is a 14 necessary sequence of the other. Upon this principle Colonel Franks acted, and the premise justified the conclusion. When the carriage drove to the door, Mrs. Franks wept out most bitterly, refusing to enter because her favorite maid could not be an incumbent. Fears being entertained of seriousness in her case, it was thought advisable to let her remain quietly at home. Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy were anxious spectators of all that transpired at the door of the mansion, and that night, on retiring to their humble bed, earnestly petitioned at the altar of Grace that the Lord would continue upon her his afflictions until their master, convinced of his wrongs, would order the return of their child. This the Colonel would have most willingly done without the petition of Joe or Judy, but the case had gone too far, the offense was too great, and consequently there could be no reconsideration. “Poor things,” muttered Mrs. Franks in a delirium, “she served him right! And this her only offense! Yes, she was true to me!” Little Joe, the son of Maggie, in consequence of her position to the white children—from whom her separation had been concealed—had been constantly with his grandmother, and called her “mammy.” Accustomed to being without her, he was well satisfied so long as permitted to be with the old woman Judy. So soon as her condition would permit, Mrs. Franks was returned to her countryseat to avoid the contingencies of the city. CHAPTER 6 Henry's Return Early on Monday morning, a steamer was heard puffing up the Mississippi. Many who reside near the river, by custom can tell the name of every approaching boat by the peculiar sound of the steampipe, the one in the present instance being the “Sultana.” Daddy Joe had risen and just leaving for the plantation, but stopped a moment to be certian. “Hush!” admonished Mammy Judy. “Hush! Sho chile, do'n yeh heah how she hollah? Sholy dat's de wat's name! wat dat yeh call eh? 'Suckana,' wat not; sho! I ain' gwine bautha my head long so—sho! See, ole man see! Dah she come! See dat now! I tole yeh so, but yeh 15 uden bleve me!” And the old man and woman stood for some minutes in breathless silence, although the boat must have been some five miles distant, as the escape of steam can be heard on the western waters a great way off. The approach toward sunrise admonished Daddy Joe of demands for him at the cotton farm, when after bidding “good monin' ole umin,” he hurried to the daily task which lay before him. Mammy Judy had learned—by the boy Tony—that Henry was expected on the “Sultana,” and at the approach of every steamer, her head had been thrust out of the door or window to catch a distinct sound. In motionless attitude after the departure of her husband this morning, the old woman stood awaiting the steamer, when presently the boat arrived. But then to be certain that it was the expected vessel—now came the suspense. The old woman was soon relieved from this most disagreeable of all emotions, by the cry of newsboys returning from the wharf: “'Ere's the 'Picayune,' 'Atlas,' 'Delta'! Lates' news from New Orleans by the swift steamer 'Sultana'!” “Dah now!” exclaimed Mammy Judy in soliloquy. “Dah now! I tole yeh so!—de wat's name come!” Hurrying into the kitchen, she waited with anxiety the arrival of Henry. Busying about the breakfast for herself and other servants about the house—the white members of the family all being absent—Mammy Judy for a time lost sight of the expected arrival. Soon however, a hasty footstep arrested her attention, when on looking around it proved to be Henry who came smiling up the yard. “How'd you do, mammy! How's Mag' and the boy?” inquired he, grasping the old woman by the hand. She burst into a flood of tears, throwing herself upon him. “What is the matter!” exclaimed Henry. “Is Maggie dead?” “No chile,” with increased sobs she replied, “much betteh she wah.” “My God! Has she disgraced herself?” “No chile, may be betteh she dun so, den she bin heah now an' not sole. Maus Stephen sell eh case she!—I dun'o, reckon dat's da reason.” “What!—Do you tell me, mammy, she had better disgraced herself than been sold! By the——!” “So, Henry! yeh ain't gwine swah! hope yeh ain' gwine lose yeh 'ligion? Do'n do so; put yeh trus' in de Laud, he is suffishen fah all!” 16 “Don't tell me about religion! What's religion to me? My wife is sold away from me by a man who is one of the leading members of the very church to which both she and I belong! Put my trust in the Lord! I have done so all my life nearly, and of what use is it to me? My wife is sold from me just the same as if I didn't. I'll——” “Come, come, Henry, yeh mus'n talk so; we is po' weak an' bline cretehs, an' cah see de way uh da Laud. He move' in a mystus way, his wundahs to puhfaum.” “So he may, and what is all that to me? I don't gain anything by it, and——” “Stop, Henry, stop! Ain' de Laud bless yo' soul? Ain' he take yeh foot out de miah an' clay, an' gib yeh hope da uddah side dis vale ub teahs?” “I'm tired looking the other side; I want a hope this side of the vale of tears. I want something on this earth as well as a promise of things in another world. I and my wife have been both robbed of our liberty, and you want me to be satisfied with a hope of heaven. I won't do any such thing; I have waited long enough on heavenly promises; I'll wait no longer. I——” “Henry, wat de mauttah wid yeh? I neveh heah yeh talk so fo'—yeh sin in de sight ub God; yeh gone clean back, I reckon. De good Book tell us, a tousan' yeahs wid man, am but a day wid de Laud. Boy, yeh got wait de Laud own pinted time.” “Well, mammy, it is useless for me to stand here and have the same gospel preached into my ears by you, that I have all my life time heard from my enslavers. My mind is made up, my course is laid out, and if life last, I'll carry it out. I'll go out to the place today, and let them know that I have returned.” “Sho boy! What yeh gwine do, bun house down? Bettah put yeh trus' in de Laud!” concluded the old woman. “You have too much religion, mammy, for me to tell you what I intend doing,” said Henry in conclusion. After taking up his little son, impressing on his lips and cheeks kisses for himself and tears for his mother, the intelligent slave left the abode of the careworn old woman, for that of his master at the cotton place. Henry was a black—a pure Negro—handsome, manly and intelligent, in size comparing well with his master, but neither so fleshy nor heavy 17 built in person. A man of good literary attainments—unknown to Colonel Franks, though he was aware he could read and write—having been educated in the West Indies, and decoyed away when young. His affection for wife and child was not excelled by Colonel Franks's for his. He was bold, determined and courageous, but always mild, gentle and courteous, though impulsive when an occasion demanded his opposition. Going immediately to the place, he presented himself before his master. Much conversation ensued concerning the business which had been entrusted to his charge, all of which was satisfactorily transacted, and full explanations concerning the horses, but not a word was uttered concerning the fate of Maggie, the Colonel barely remarking “your mistress is unwell.” After conversing till a late hour, Henry was assigned a bed in the great house, but sleep was far from his eyes. He turned and changed upon his bed with restlessness and anxiety, impatiently awaiting a return of the morning. CHAPTER 7 Master and Slave Early on Tuesday morning, in obedience to his master's orders, Henry was on his way to the city to get the house in readiness for the reception of his mistress, Mrs. Franks having improved in three or four days. Mammy Judy had not yet risen when he knocked at the door. “Hi Henry! yeh heah ready! huccum yeh git up so soon; arter some mischif I reckon? Do'n reckon yeh arter any good!” saluted Mammy Judy. “No, mammy,” replied he, “no mischief, but like a good slave such as you wish me to be, come to obey my master's will, just what you like to see.” “Sho boy! none yeh nonsens'; huccum I want yeh bey maus Stephen? Git dat nonsens' in yeh head las' night long so, I reckon! Wat dat yeh gwine do now?” “I have come to dust and air the mansion for their reception. They have sold my wife away from me, and who else would do her work?” This reply excited the apprehension of Mammy Judy. 18 “Wat yeh gwine do, Henry? Yeh arter no good; yeh ain' gwine 'tack maus Stephen, is yeh?” “What do you mean, mammy, strike him?” “Yes! Reckon yeh ain' gwine hit 'im?” “Curse——!” “Henry, Henry, membeh wat ye 'fess! Fah de Laud sake, yeh ain' gwine take to swahin?” interupted the old woman. “I make no profession, mammy. I once did believe in religion, but now I have no confidence in it. My faith has been wrecked on the stony hearts of such pretended Christians as Stephen Franks, while passing through the stormy sea of trouble and oppression! And——” “Hay, boy! yeh is gittin high! Yeh call maussa 'Stephen'?” “Yes, and I'll never call him 'master' again, except when compelled to do so.” “Bettah g'long ten' t' de house fo' wite folks come, an' nebeh mine talkin' 'bout fightin' 'long wid maus Stephen. Wat yeh gwine do wid white folks? Sho!” “I don't intend to fight him, Mammy Judy, but I'll attack him concerning my wife, if the words be my last! Yes, I'll——!” and, pressing his lips to suppress the words, the outraged man turned away from the old slave mother with such feelings as only an intelligent slave could realize. The orders of the morning were barely executed when the carriage came to the door. The bright eyes of the footboy Tony sparkled when he saw Henry approaching the carriage. “Well, Henry! Ready for us?” enquired his master. “Yes, sir,” was the simple reply. “Mistress!” he saluted, politely bowing as he took her hand to assist her from the carriage. “Come, Henry my man, get out the riding horses,” ordered Franks after a little rest. “Yes, sir.” A horse for the Colonel and lady each was soon in readiness at the door, but none for himself, it always having been the custom in their morning rides, for the maid and manservant to accompany the mistress and master. “Ready, did you say?” enquired Franks on seeing but two horses standing at the stile. “Yes, sir.” 19 “Where's the other horse?” “What for, sir?” “What for? Yourself, to be sure!” “Colonel Franks!” said Henry, looking him sternly in the face. “When I last rode that horse in company with you and lady, my wife was at my side, and I will not now go without her! Pardon me—my life for it, I won't go!” “Not another word, you black imp!” exclaimed Franks, with an uplifted staff in a rage, “or I'll strike you down in an instant!” “Strike away if you will, sir, I don't care—I won't go without my wife!” “You impudent scoundrel! I'll soon put an end to your conduct! I'll put you on the auction block, and sell you to the Negro-traders.” “Just as soon as you please sir, the sooner the better, as I don't want to live with you any longer!” “Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll cut it out of your head! You ungrateful black dog! Really, things have come to a pretty pass when I must take impudence off my own Negro! By gracious!—God forgive me for the expression—I'll sell every Negro I have first! I'll dispose of him to the hardest Negro-trader I can find!” said Franks in a rage. “You may do your mightiest, Colonel Franks. I'm not your slave, nor never was and you know it! And but for my wife and her people, I never would have stayed with you till now. I was decoyed away when young, and then became entangled in such domestic relations as to induce me to remain with you; but now the tie is broken! I know that the odds are against me, but never mind!” “Do you threaten me, sir! Hold your tongue, or I'll take your life instantly, you villain!” “No, sir, I don' threaten you, Colonel Franks, but I do say that I won't be treated like a dog. You sold my wife away from me, after always promising that she should be free. And more than that, you sold her because——! And now you talk about whipping me. Shoot me, sell me, or do anything else you please, but don't lay your hands on me, as I will not suffer you to whip me!” Running up to his chamber, Colonel Franks seized a revolver, when Mrs. Franks, grasping hold of his arm, exclaimed, “Colonel! what does all this mean?” “Mean, my dear? It's rebellion! A plot—this is but the shadow of a 20 could that's fast gathering around us! I see it plainly, I see it!” responded the Colonel, starting for the stairs. “Stop, Colonel!” admonished his lady. “I hope you'll not be rash. For Heaven's sake, do not stain your hands in blood!” “I do not mean to, my dear! I take this for protection!” Franks hastening down stairs, when Henry had gone into the back part of the premises. “Dah now! Dah now!” exclaimed Mammy Judy as Henry entered the kitchen. “See wat dis gwine back done foh yeh! Bettah put yo' trus' in de Laud! Henry, yeh gone clean back t' de wuhl ghin, yeh knows it!” “You're mistaken, Mammy; I do trust the Lord as much as ever, but I now understand him better than I use to, that's all. I dont intend to be made a fool of any longer by false preaching.” “Henry!” interrogated Daddy Joe—who, apprehending difficulties in the case, had managed to get back to the house. “Yeh gwine lose all yo' 'ligion? Wat yeh mean, boy!” “Religion!” replied Henry rebukingly. “That's always the cry with black people. Tell me nothing about religion when the very man who hands you the bread at communion has sold your daughter away from you!” “Den yeh 'fen' God case man 'fen' yeh! Take cah, Henry, take cah! mine wat yeh 'bout; God is lookin' at yeh, an' if yeh no' willin' trus' 'im, yeh need'n call on 'im in time o' trouble.” “I dont intend, unless He does more for me then than He has done before. 'Time of need!' If ever man needed His assistance, I'm sure I need it now.” “Yeh do'n know wat yeh need; de Laud knows bes'. On'y trus' in 'im, an' 'e bring yeh out mo' nah conkah. By de help o' God I's heah dis day, to gib yeh cumfut!” “I have trusted in Him, Daddy Joe, all my life, as I told Mammy Judy this morning, but——” “Ah boy, yeh's gwine back! Dat on't do Henry, dat on't do!” “Going back from what? My oppressor's religion! If I could only get rid of his inflictions as easily as I can his religion, I would be this day a free man, when you might then talk to me about 'trusting.' ” “Dis, Henry, am one uh de ways ob de Laud; 'e fus 'flicks us an' den he bless us.” 21 “Then it's a way I don't like.” “Mine how yeh talk, boy! 'God moves in a myst'us way His wundahs to pehfaum,' an——” “He moves too slow for me, Daddy Joe; I'm tired waiting so——” “Come Henry, I hab no sich talk like dat! yeh is gittin' rale weaked; yeh gwine let de debil take full 'session on yeh! Take cah boy, mine how yeh talk!” “It is not wickedness, Daddy Joe; you don't understand these things at all. If a thousand years with us is but a day with God, do you think that I am required to wait all that time?” “Don't, Henry, don't! De wud say 'stan' still an' see de salbation.' ” “That's no talk for me, Daddy Joe; I've been 'standing still' long enough—I'll 'stand still' no longer.” “Den yeh no call t' bey God wud? Take cah boy, take cah!” “Yes I have, and I intend to obey it, but that part was intended for the Jews, a people long since dead. I'll obey that intended for me.” “How yeh gwine bey it?” “ 'Now is the accepted time, today is the day of salvation.' So you see, Daddy Joe, this is very different to standing still.” “Ah boy, I's feahd yeh's losen yeh 'ligion!” “I tell you once for all, Daddy Joe, that I'm not only 'losing' but I have altogether lost my faith in the religion of my oppressors. As they are our religious teachers, my estimate of the thing they give is no greater than it is for those who give it.” With elbows upon his knees, and face resting in the palms of his hands, Daddy Joe for some time sat with his eyes steadily fixed on the floor, whilst Ailcey who for a part of the time had been an auditor to the conversation, went into the house about her domestic duties. “Never mind, Henry! I hope it will not always be so with you. You have been kind and faithful to me and the Colonel, and I'll do anything I can for you!” sympathetically said Mrs. Franks, who, having been a concealed spectator of the interview between Henry and the old people, had just appeared before them. Wiping away the emblems of grief which stole down his face, with a deep-toned voice upgushing from the recesses of a more than iron-pierced soul, he enquired, “Madam, what can you do! Where is my wife?” To this, Mrs. Franks gave a deep sigh. “Never mind, never mind!” continued he, “yes, I will mind, and by——!” 22 “O! Henry, I hope you've not taken to swearing! I do hope you will not give over to wickedness! Our afflictions should only make our faith the stronger.” “ 'Wickedness.' Let the righteous correct the wicked, and the Christian condemn the sinner!” “That is uncharitable in you, Henry! As you know I have always treated you kindly, and God forbid that I should consider myself any less than a Christian! And I claim as much at least for the Colonel, though like frail mortals he is liable to err at times.” “Madam!” said he with suppressed emotion—starting back a pace or two—“Do you think there is anything either in or out of hell so wicked, as that which Colonel Franks has done to my wife, and now about to do to me? For myself I care not—my wife!” “Henry!” said Mrs. Franks, gently placing her hand upon his shoulder. “There is yet a hope left for you, and you will be faithful enough, I know, not to implicate any person. It is this: Mrs. Van Winter, a true friend of your race, is shortly going to Cuba on a visit, and I will arrange with her to purchase you through an agent on the day of your sale, and by that means you can get to Cuba, where probably you may be fortunate enough to get the master of your wife to become your purchaser.” “Then I have two chances!” replied Henry. Just then Ailcey, thrusting her head in the door, requested the presence of her mistress in the parlor. CHAPTER 8 The Sale “Dah now, dah now!” exclaimed Mammy Judy. “Jis wat ole man been tellin' on yeh! Yeh go out yandah, yeh kick up yeh heel, git yeh head clean full proclamation an' sich like dat, an' let debil fool yeh, den go fool long wid wite folks long so, sho! Bettah go 'bout yeh bisness; been sahvin' God right, yeh no call t'do so eh reckon!” “I don't care what comes! my course is laid out and my determination fixed, and nothing they can do can alter it. So you and Daddy 23 Joe, mammy, had just as well quit your preaching to me the religion you have got from your oppressors.” “Soul-driveh git yeh, yeh cah git way fom dem eh doh recken! Sho chile, yeh ain' dat mighty!” admonished Mammy Judy. “Henry, my chile, look to de Laud! Look to de Laud! Case 'e 'lone am able t' bah us up in ouah trouble! An——” “Go directly sir, to Captain John Harris' office and ask him to call immediately to see me at my house!” ordered Franks. Politely bowing, Henry immediately left the premises on his errand. “Laud a' messy maus Stephen!” exclaimed Mammy Judy, on hearing the name of John Harris the Negro-trader. “Hope yeh arteh no haum! Gwine sell all on us to de tradehs?” “Hoot-toot, hoot-toot! Judy, give yourself no uneasiness about that till you have some cause for it. So you and Joe may rest contented, Judy,” admonished Franks. “Tank'e maus Stephen! Case ah heahn yeh tell Henry dat yeh sell de las' nig——” “Hush, ole umin, hush! Yeh tongue too long! Put yeh trus' in de Laud!” interrupted Daddy Joe. “I treat my black folks well,” replied Franks, “and all they have to——” Here the doorbell having been rung, he was interrupted with a message from Ailcey, that a gentleman awaited his presence in the parlor. At the moment which the Colonel left the kitchen, Henry stepped over the stile into the yard, which at once disclosed who the gentleman was to whom the master had been summoned. Henry passed directly around and behind the house. “See, ole man, see! Reckon 'e gwine dah now!” whispered Mammy Judy, on seeing Henry pass through the yard without going into the kitchen. “Whah?” enquired Daddy Joe. “Dun'o out yandah, whah 'e gwine way from wite folks!” she replied. The interview between Franks and the trader Harris was not over half an hour duration, the trader retiring, Franks being prompt and decisive in all of his transactions, making little ceremony. 24 So soon as the front door was closed, Ailcey smiling bore into the kitchen a half-pint glass of brandy, saying that her master had sent it to the old people. The old man received it with compliments to his master, pouring it into a black jug in which there was both tansy and garlic, highly recommending it as a “bitters” and certain antidote for worms, for which purpose he and the old woman took of it as long as it lasted, though neither had been troubled with that particular disease since the days of their childhood. “Wat de gwine do wid yeh meh son?” enquired Mammy Judy as Henry entered the kitchen. “Sell me to the soul-drivers! what else would they do?” “Yeh gwin 'tay 'bout till de git yeh?” “I shant move a step! and let them do their——” “Maus wants to see yeh in da front house, Henry,” interrupted Ailcey, he immediately obeying the summons. “Heah dat now!” said mammy Judy, as Henry followed the maid out of the kitchen. “Carry this note, sir, directly to Captain Jack Harris!” ordered Franks, handing to Henry a sealed note. Receiving it, he bowed politely, going out of the front door, directly to the slave prison of Harris. “Eh heh! I see,” said Harris on opening the note, “Colonel Frank's boy; walk in here,” passing through the office into a room which proved to be the first department of the slave prison. “No common Negro, I see! You're a shade higher. A pretty deep shade too! Can read, write, cipher; a good religious fellow, and has a Christian and sir name. The devil you say! Who's your father? Can you preach?” “I have never tried,” was the only reply. “Have you ever been a member of Congress?” continued Harris with ridicule. To this Henry made no reply. “Wont answer, hey! Beneath your dignity. I understand that you're of that class of gentry who dont speak to common folks! You're not quite well enough dressed for a gentleman of your cloth. Here! Mr. Henry, I'll present you with a set of ruffles: give yourself no trouble sir, as I'll dress you! I'm here for that purpose,” said Harris, fastening upon the wrists of the manly bondman a heavy pair of handcuffs. 25 “You hurt my wrist!” admonished Henry. “New clothing will be a little tight when first put on. Now sir!” continued the trader, taking him to the back door and pointing into the yard at the slave gang there confined. “As you have been respectably dressed, walk out and enjoy yourself among the ladies and gentlemen there; you'll find them quite a select company.” Shortly after this the sound of the bellringer's voice was heard—a sound which usually spread terror among the slaves: “Will be sold this afternoon at three o'clock by public outcry, at the slave prison of Captain John Harris, a likely choice Negro fellow, the best trained body servant in the state, trained to the business by the most accomplished lady and gentleman Negro-trainers in the Mississippi Valley. Sale positive without a proviso.” “Dah, dah! Did'n eh tell yeh so? Ole man, ole man! heah dat now! Come heah. Dat jis what I been tellin on im, but 'e uden bleve me!” ejaculated old Mammy Judy on hearing the bell ring and the handbill read. Falling upon their knees, the two old slaves prayed fervently to God, thanking him that it was as “well with them” as it was. “Bless de Laud! My soul is happy!” cried out Mammy Judy being overcome with devotion, clapping her hands. “Tang God, fah wat I feels in my soul!” responded Daddy Joe. Rising from their knees with tears trickling down their cheeks, the old slaves endeavored to ease their troubled souls by singing, Oh, when shall my sorrows subside, And when shall my troubles be ended; And when to the bosom of Christ be conveyed, To the mansions of joy and bliss; To the mansions of joy and bliss! “Wuhthy to be praise! Blessed be de name uh de Laud! Po' black folks, de Laud o'ny knows sats t' come ob us!” exclaimed Mammy Judy. “Look to de Laud ole umin, 'e's able t' bah us out mo' neh conkeh. Keep de monin' stah in sight!” advised Daddy Joe. “Yes, ole man, yes, dat I done dis many long day, an' ah ain' gwine lose sight uh it now! No, God bein' my helpeh, I is gwine keep my eyes right on it, dat I is!” 26 As the hour of three drew near, many there were going in the direction of the slave prison, a large number of persons having assembled at the sale. “Draw near, gentlemen, draw near!” cried Harris. “The hour of sale is arrived: a positive sale with no proviso, cash down, or no sale at all!” A general laugh succeeded the introduction of the auctioneer. “Come up here my lad!” continued the auctioneer, wielding a long red rawhide. “Mount this block, stand beside me, an' let's see which is the best looking man! We have met before, but I never had the pleasure of introducing you. Gentlemen one and all, I take pleasure in introducing to you Henry—pardon me, sir—Mr. Henry Holland, I believe—am I right, sir?—Mr. Henry Holland, a good looking fellow you will admit. “I am offered one thousand dollars; one thousand dollars for the best looking Negro in all Mississippi! If all the negro boys in the state was as good looking as him, I'd give two thousand dollars for 'em all myself!” This caused another laugh. “Who'll give me one thousand five——” Just then a shower of rain came on. “Gentlemen!” exclaimed the auctioneer. “Without a place can be obtained large enough to shelter the people here assembled, the sale will have to be postponed. This is a proviso we couldn't foresee, an' therefore is not responsible for it.” There was another hearty laugh. A whisper went through the crowd, when presently a gentleman came forward, saying that those concerned had kindly tendered the use of the church which stood nearby, in which to continue the sale. “Here we are again, gentlemen! Who bids five hundred more for the likely Negro fellow? I am offered fifteen hundred dollars for the finest Negro servant in the state! Come, my boy, bestir yourself an' don't stan' there like a statute; can't you give us a jig? whistle us a song! I forgot, the Negro fellow is religious; by the by, an excellent recommendation, gentlemen. Perhaps he'll give us a sermon. Say, git up there old fellow, an' hold forth. Can't you give us a sermon on Abolition? I'm only offered fifteen hundred dollars for the likely Negro boy! Fifteen, sixteen, sixteen hundred, just agoing at—eighteen, eighteen, nineteen hundred, nineteen hundred! Just agoing at nineteen hundred dollars for the best body servant in the state; just agoing at nineteen and without a better bid I'll——Going! Going! Go——!” Just at this point a note was passed up the aisle to the auctioneer, 27 who after reading it said, “Gentlemen! Circumstances beyond my control make it necessary that the sale be postponed until one day next week; the time of continuance will be duly announced,” when, bowing, he left the stand. “That's another proviso not in the original bill!” exclaimed a voice as the auctioneer left the stand, at which there were peals of laughter. To secure himself against contingency, Harris immediately delivered Henry over to Franks. There were present at the sale, Crow, Slider, Walker, Borbridge, Simpson, Hurst, Spangler and Williams, all noted slave traders, eager to purchase, some on their return home, and some with their gangs en route for the Southern markets. The note handed the auctioneer read thus: CAPT. HARRIS:—Having learned that there are private individuals at the sale, who design purchasing my Negro man, Harry, for his own personal advantage, you will peremptorily postpone the sale—making such apology as the occasion demands—and effect a private sale with Richard Crow, Esq., who offers me two thousand dollars for him. Let the boy return to me. Believe me to be, Very Respectfully, STEPHEN FRANKS Capt. John Harris. Natchez, Nov. 29th, 1852. “Now, sir,” said Franks to Henry, who had barely reached the house from the auction block, “take this pass and go to Jackson and Woodville, or anywhere else you wish to see your friends, so that you be back against Monday afternoon. I ordered a postponement of the sale, thinking that I would try you awhile longer, as I never had cause before to part with you. Now see if you can't be a better boy!” Eagerly taking the note, thanking him with a low bow, turning away, Henry opened the paper, which read: Permit the bearer my boy Henry, sometimes calling himself Henry Holland—a kind of negro pride he has—to pass and repass wherever he wants to go, he behaving himself properly. STEPHEN FRANKS To all whom it may concern. Natchez, Nov. 29th, 1852. 28 Carefully depositing the charte volante in his pocket wallet, Henry quietly entered the hut of Mammy Judy and Daddy Joe. CHAPTER 9 The Runaway “De Laud's good—bless his name!” exclaimed Mammy Judy wringing her hands as Henry entered their hut. “ 'e heahs de prahs ob 'is chilen. Yeh hab reason t' tang God yeh is heah dis day!” “Yes Henry, see wat de Laud's done fah yeh. Tis true's I's heah dis day! Tang God fah dat!” added Daddy Joe. “I think,” replied he, after listening with patience to the old people, “I have reason to thank our Ailcey and Van Winter's Biddy; they, it seems to me, should have some credit in the matter.” “Sho boy, g'long whah yeh gwine! Yo' backslidin' gwine git yeh in trouble ghin eh reckon?” replied Mammy Judy. Having heard the conversation between her mistress and Henry, Ailcey, as a secret, informed Van Winter's Derba, who informed her fellow servant Biddy, who imparted it to her acquaintance Nelly, the slave of esquire Potter, Nelly informing her mistress, who told the 'Squire, who led Franks into the secret of the whole matter. “Mus'n blame me, Henry!” said Ailcey in an undertone. “I did'n mean de wite folks to know wat I tole Derba, nor she di'n mean it nuther, but dat devil, Pottah's Nell! us gals mean da fus time we ketch uh out, to duck uh in da rivah! She's rale wite folk's nigga, dat's jus' wat she is. Nevah mine, we'll ketch her yit!” “I don't blame you Ailcey, nor either of Mrs. Van Winter's girls, as I know that you are my friends, neither of whom would do anything knowingly to injure me. I know Ailcey that you are a good girl, and believe you would tell me——” “Yes Henry, I is yo' fren' an' come to tell yeh now wat da wite folks goin' to do.” “What is it Ailcey; what do you know?” 29 “Wy dat ugly ole devil Dick Crow—God fah gim me! But I hate 'im so, case he nothin' but po' wite man, no how—I know 'im he come from Fagina on——” “Never mind his origin, Ailcey, tell me what you know concerning his visit in the house.” “I is goin' to, but da ugly ole devil, I hates 'im so! Maus Stephen had 'im in da pahla, an' 'e sole yeh to 'im, dat ugly ole po' wite devil, fah—God knows how much—a hole heap a money; 'two' somethin.” “I know what it was, two thousand dollars, for that was his selling price to Jack Harris.” “Yes, dat was da sum, Henry.” “I am satisfied as to how much he can be relied on. Even was I to take the advice of the old people here, and become reconciled to drag out a miserable life of degradation and bondage under them, I would not be permitted to do so by this man, who seeks every opportunity to crush out my lingering manhood, and reduce my free spirit to the submission of a slave. He cannot do it, I will not submit to it, and I defy his power to make me submit.” “Laus a messy, Henry, yeh free man! huccum yeh not tell me long'o? Sho boy, bettah go long whah yeh gwine, out yandah, an' not fool long wid wite folks!” said Mammy Judy with surprise, “wat bring yeh heah anyhow?” “That's best known to myself, mammy.” “Wat make yeh keep heah so long den, dat yeh ain' gone fo' dis?” “Your questions become rather pressing, mammy; I can't tell you that either.” “Laud, Laud, Laud! So yeh free man? Well, well, well!” “Once for all, I now tell you old people what I never told you before, nor never expected to tell you under such circumstances; that I never intend to serve any white man again. I'll die first!” “De Laud a' messy on my po' soul! An' huccum yeh not gone befo'?” “Carrying out the principles and advice of you old people 'standing still, to see the salvation.' But with me, 'now is the accepted time, today is the day of salvation.' ” “Well, well, well!” sighed Mammy Judy. “I am satisfied that I am sold, and the wretch who did it seeks to 30 conceal his perfidy by deception. Now if ever you old people did anything in your lives, you must do it now.” “Wat dat yeh want wid us?” “Why, if you'll go, I'll take you on Saturday night, and make our escape to a free country.” “Wat place yeh call dat?” “Canada!” replied Henry, with emotion. “How fah yeh gwine take me?” earnestly enquired the old woman. “I can't just now tell the distance, probably some two or three thousand miles from here, the way we'd have to go.” “De Laus a messy on me! An' wat yeh gwine do wid little Joe; ain gwine leave 'im behine?” “No, Mammy Judy, I'd bury him in the bottom of the river first! I intend carrying him in a bundle on my back, as the Indians carry their babies.” “Wat yeh gwine do fah money; yeh ain' gwine rob folks on de road?” “No mammy, I'll starve first. Have you and Daddy Joe saved nothing from your black-eye peas and poultry selling for many years?” “Ole man, how much in dat pot undeh de flo' dah; how long since yeh count it?” “Don'o,” replied Daddy Joe, “las' time ah count it, da wah faughty guinea* uh sich a mauttah, an' ah put in some six-seven guinea mo' since dat.” “Then you have some two hundred and fifty dollars in money.” “Dat do yeh?” enquired Mammy Judy. “Yes, that of itself is enough, but——” “Den take it an' go long whah yeh gwine; we ole folks too ole fah gwine headlong out yandah an' don'o whah we gwine. Sho boy! take de money an' g'long!” decisively replied the old woman after all her inquisitiveness. “If you don't know, I do, mammy, and that will answer for all.” “Dat ain' gwine do us. We ole folks ain' politishon an' undestan' de graumma uh dese places, an' w'en we git dah den maybe do'n like it an cahn' git back. Sho chile, so long whah yeh gwine!” 31 “What do you say, Daddy Joe? Whatever you have to say, must be said quick, as time with me is precious.” “We is too ole dis time a day, chile, t'go way out yauah de Laud knows whah; bettah whah we is.” “You'll not be too old to go if these whites once take a notion to sell you. What will you do then?” “Trus' to de Laud!” “Yes, the same old slave song—'Trust to the Lord.' Then I must go, and——” “Ain' yeh gwine take de money, Henry?” interrupted the old woman. “No, mammy, since you will not go, I leave it for you and Daddy Joe, as you may yet have use for it, or those may desire to use it who better understand what use to make of it than you and Daddy Joe seem willing to be instructed in.” “Den yeh 'ont have de money?” “I thank you and Daddy most kindly, Mammy Judy, for your offer, and only refuse because I have two hundred guineas about me.” “Sho boy, yeh got all dat, no call t'want dat little we got. Whah yeh git all dat money? Do'n reckon yeh gwine tell me! Did'n steal from maus Stephen, do'n reckon?” “No, mammy, I'm incapable of stealing from any one, but I have, from time to time, taken by littles, some of the earnings due me for more than eighteen years' service to this man Franks, which at the low rate of two hundred dollars a year, would amount to sixteen hundred dollars more than I secured, exclusive of the interest, which would have more than supplied my clothing, to say nothing of the injury done me by degrading me as a slave. 'Steal' indeed! I would that when I had an opportunity, I had taken fifty thousand instead of two. I am to understand you old people as positively declining to go, am I?” “No, no, chile, we cahn go! We put ouh trus' in de Laud, he bring us out mo' nah conkah.” “Then from this time hence, I become a runaway. Take care of my poor boy while he's with you. When I leave the swamps, or where I'll go, will never be known to you. Should my boy be suddenly missed, and you find three notches cut in the bark of the big willow tree, on the side away from your hut, then give yourself no uneasiness; but if you don't find these notches in the tree, then I know nothing about 32 him. Goodbye!” And Henry strode directly for the road to Woodville. “Fahwell me son, fahwell, an' may God a'mighty go wid you! May de Laud guide an' 'tect yeh on de way!” The child, contrary to his custom, commenced crying, desiring to see Mamma Maggie and Dadda Henry. Every effort to quiet him was unavailing. This brought sorrow to the old people's hearts and tears to their eyes, which they endeavored to soothe in a touching lamentation: See wives and husbands torn apart, Their children's screams, they grieve my heart. They are torn away to Georgia! Come and go along with me— They are torn away to Georgia! Go sound the Jubilee! CHAPTER 10 Merry Making The day is Saturday, a part of which is given by many liberal masters to their slaves, the afternoon being spent as a holiday, or in vending such little marketable commodities as they might by chance possess. As a token of gratitude, it is customary in many parts of the South for the slaves to invite their masters to their entertainments. This evening presented such an occasion on the premises of Colonel Stephen Franks. This day Mammy Judy was extremely busy, for in addition to the responsibility of the culinary department, there was her calico habit to be done up—she would not let Potter's Milly look any better than herself—and an old suit of the young master George's clothes had to be patched and darned a little before little Joe could favorably compare with Craig's Sooky's little Dick. And the cast-off linen given to her husband for the occasion might require a “little doing up.” “Wat missus sen' dis shut heah wid de bres all full dis debilment an' nonsense fah?” said Mammy Judy, holding up the garment, looking at 33 the ruffles. “Sho! Missus mus' be crack, sen' dis heah! Ole man ain' gwine sen' he soul to de ole boy puttin' on dis debilment!” And she hastened away with the shirt, stating to her mistress her religious objections. Mrs. Franks smiled as she took the garment, telling her that the objections could be easily removed by taking off the ruffles. “Dat look sumphen like!” remarked the old woman, when Ailcey handed her the shirt with the ruffles removed. “Sen' dat debilment an' nonsense heah! Sho!” And carrying it away smiling, she laid it upon the bed. The feast of the evening was such as Mammy Judy was capable of preparing when in her best humor, consisting of all the delicacies usually served up on the occasion of corn huskings in the graingrowing region. Conscious that he was not entitled to their gratitude, Colonel Franks declined to honor the entertainment, though the invitation was a ruse to deceive him, as he had attempted to deceive them. The evening brought with it much of life's variety, as may be seen among the slave population of the South. There were Potter's slaves, and the people of Mrs. Van Winter, also those of Major Craig, and Dr. Denny, all dressed neatly, and seemingly very happy. Ailcey was quite the pride of the evening, in an old gauze orange dress of her mistress, and felt that she deserved to be well thought of, as proving herself the friend of Henry, the son-in-law of Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy, the heads of the entertainment. Mammy Judy and Potter's Milly were both looking matronly in their calico gowns and towlinen aprons, and Daddy Joe was the honored and observed of the party, in an old black suit with an abundance of surplus. “He'p yeh se'f, chilen!” said Mammy Judy, after the table had been blessed by Daddy Joe. “Henry ain' gwine be heah, 'e gone to Woodville uh some whah dah, kick'n up 'e heel. Come, chilen, eat haughty, mo' whah dis come f'om. He'p yeh se'f now do'n——” “I is, Aun' Judy; I likes dis heah kine a witals!” drawled out Potter's Nelse, reaching over for the fifth or sixth time. “Dis am good shaut cake!” “O mammy, look at Jilson!” exclaimed Ailcey, as a huge, rough field hand—who refused to go to the table with the company, but sat sulkily by himself in one corner—was just walking away, with two whole “cakes” of bread under his arm. 34 “Wat yeh gwine do wid dat bread, Jilson?” enquired the old woman. “I gwine eat it, dat wat I gwine do wid it! I ain' had no w'eat bread dis two hauvest!” he having come from Virginia, where such articles of food on harvest occasion were generally allowed the slave. “Big hog, so 'e is!” rebukingly said Ailcey, when she saw that Jilson was determined in his purpose. “Nebeh mine dat childen, plenty mo!” responded Mammy Judy. “Ole umin, dat chile in de way dah; de gals haudly tu'n roun,” suggested Daddy Joe, on seeing the pallet of little Joe crowded upon as the girls were leaving the table, seating themselves around the room. “Ailcey, my chile, jes' run up to de hut wid 'im, 'an lay 'im in de bed; ef yeh fuhd, Van Wintah' Ben go wid yeh; ah knows 'e likes to go wid de gals,” said Mammy Judy. Taking up his hat with a bland smile, Ben obeyed orders without a demur. The entertainment was held at the extreme end of a two-acre lot in the old slave quarters, while the hut of Mammy Judy was near the great house. Ailcey thought she espied a person retreat into the shrubbery and, startled, she went to the back door of the hut, but Ben hooted at the idea of any person out and about on such an occasion, except indeed it was Jilson with his bread. The child being carefully placed in bed, Ailcey and her protector were soon mingled with the merry slaves. There were three persons generally quite prominent among the slaves of the neighborhood, missed on this occasion; Franks' Charles, Denny's Sam, and Potter's Andy; Sam being confined to bed by sickness. “Ailcey, whah's Chaules—huccum 'e not heah?” enquired Mammy Judy. “Endeed, I dun'o mammy.” “Huccum Pottah's Andy ain' heah muddah?” “Andy a' home tonight, Aun' Judy, an' uh dun'o whah 'e is,” replied Winny. “Gone headlong out yandah, arteh no good, uh doh reckon, an' Chaules 'e gone dah too,” replied the old woman. “Da ain' nothin' mattah wid dis crowd, Aun' Judy,” complimented Nelse as he sat beside Derba. At this expression Mammy Judy gave a deep sigh, on the thought of her absent daughter. “Come, chilen,” suggested Mammy Judy, “yeh all eat mighty hauty, 35 an' been mighty merry, an' 'joy yehse'f much; we now sing praise to de Laud fah wat 'e done fah us,” raising a hymn in which all earnestly joined: Oh! Jesus, Jesus is my friend, He'll be my helper to the end,... “Young folk, yeh all bettah git ready now an' go, fo' de patrollas come out. Yeh all 'joy yeh se'f much, now time yeh gone. Hope yeh all sauv God Sunday. Ole man fo' de all gone, hab wud uh prah,” advised the old woman; the following being sung in conclusion: The Lord is here, and the Lord is all around us; Canaan, Canaan's a very happy home— O, glory! O, glory! O, glory! God is here, when the gathering dispersed, the slaves going cheerfully to their homes. “Come ole man, yeh got mautch? light sum dem shavens dah, quick. Ah cah fine de chile heah on dis bed!” said Mammy Judy, on entering the hut and feeling about in the dark for little Joe. “Ailcey, wat yeh done wid de chile?” “E's dah, Mammy Judy, I lain 'im on de bed, ah spose 'e roll off.” The shavings being lit, here was no child to be found. “My Laud, ole man! whah's de chile? Wat dis mean! O, whah's my po' chile gone; my po' baby!” exclaimed Mammy Judy, wringing her hands in distress. “Stay, ole 'umin! De tree! De tree!” When, going out in the dark, feeling the trunk of the willow, three notches in the bark were distinct to the touch. “Ole 'umin!” exclaimed Daddy Joe in a suppressed voice, hastening into the hut. “It am he, it am Henry got 'im!” “Tang God, den my po' baby safe!” responded Mammy Judy, when they raised their voices in praise of thankfulness: 'O, who's like Jesus! Hallelujah! praise ye the Lord; O, who's like Jesus! Hallelujah! love and serve the Lord!' 36 Falling upon their knees, the old man offered an earnest, heartful prayer to God, asking his guardianship through the night, and protection through the day, especially upon their heartbroken daughter, their runaway son-in-law, and the little grandson, when the two old people retired to rest with spirits mingled with joy, sorrow, hope, and fear; Ailcey going into the great house. CHAPTER 11 A Shadow “Ah, boys! Here you are, true to your promise,” said Henry, as he entered a covert in the thicket adjacent the cotton place, late on Sunday evening, “have you been waiting long?” “Not very,” replied Andy, “not mo' dan two-three ouahs.” “I was fearful you would not come, or if you did before me, that you would grow weary, and leave.” “Yeh no call to doubt us Henry, case yeh fine us true as ole steel!” “I know it,” answered he, “but you know, Andy, that when a slave is once sold at auction, all respect for him——” “O pshaw! we ain' goin' to heah nothin' like dat a tall! case——” “No!” interrupted Charles, “all you got to do Henry, is to tell we boys what you want, an' we're your men.” “That's the talk for me!” “Well, what you doin' here?” enquired Charles. “W'at brought yeh back from Jackson so soon?” further enquired Andy. “How did you get word to meet me here?” “By Ailcey; she give me the stone, an' I give it to Andy, an' we both sent one apiece back. Didn't you git 'em?” “Yes, that's the way I knew you intended to meet me,” replied Henry. “So we thought,” said Charles, “but tell us, Henry, what you want us to do.” “I suppose you know all about the sale, that they had me on the auction block, but ordered a postponement, and——” “That's the very pint we can't understand, although I'm in the same family with you,” interrupted Charles. 37 “But tell us Henry, what yeh doin' here?” impatiently enquired Andy. “Yes,” added Charles, “we want to know.” “Well, I'm a runaway, and from this time forth, I swear—I do it religiously—that I'll never again serve any white man living!” “That's the pint I wanted to git at before,” explained Charles, “as I can't understan' why you run away, after your release from Jack Harris, an'——” “Nah, I nuthah!” interrupted Andy. “It seems to me,” continued Charles, “that I'd 'ave went before they 'tempted to sell me, an' that you're safer now than before they had you on the block.” “Dat's da way I look at it,” responded Andy. “The stopping of the sale was to deceive his wife, mammy, and Daddy Joe, as he had privately disposed of me to a regular soul-driver by the name of Crow.” “I knows Dick Crow,” said Andy, “'e come f'om Faginy, whah I did, da same town.” “So Ailcey said of him. Then you know him without any description from me,” replied Henry. “Yes 'n deed! an' I knows 'im to be a inhuman, mean, dead-po' white man, dat's wat I does.” “Well, I was privately sold to him for two thousand dollars, then ordered back to Franks, as though I was still his slave, and by him given a pass, and requested to go to Woodville where there were arrangements to seize me and hold me, till Crow ordered me, which was to have been on Tuesday evening. Crow is not aware of me having been given a pass; Franks gave it to deceive his wife, in case of my not returning, to make the impression that I had run away, when in reality I was sold to the trader.” “Then our people had their merrymaking all for nothin',” said Charles, “an' Franks got what 'e didn't deserve—their praise.” “No, the merrymaking was only to deceive Franks, that I might have time to get away. Daddy Joe, Mammy Judy, and Ailcey knew all about it, and proposed the feast to deceive him.” “Dat's good! Sarve 'im right, da 'sarned ole scamp!” rejoined Andy. “It couldn't be better!” responded Charles. “Henry uh wish we was in yo' place an' you none da wus by it,” said Andy. 38 “Never mind, boys, give yourselves no uneasiness, as it wont be long before we'll all be together.” “You think so, Henry?” asked Charles. “Well uh hope so, but den body can haudly 'spect it,” responded Andy. “Boys,” said Henry, with great caution and much emotion, “I am now about to approach an important subject and as I have always found you true to me—and you can only be true to me by being true to yourselves—I shall not hesitate to impart it! But for Heaven's sake!—perhaps I had better not!” “Keep nothin' back, Henry,” said Charles, “as you know that we boys 'll die by our principles, that's settled!” “Yes, I wants to die right now by mine; right heah, now!” sanctioned Andy. “Well it is this—close, boys! close!” when they gathered in a huddle, beneath an underbush, upon their knees, “you both go with me, but not now. I——” “Why not now?” anxiously enquired Charles. “Dat's wat I like to know!” responded Andy. “Stop, boys, till I explain. The plans are mine and you must allow me to know more about them than you. Just here, for once, the slave-holding preacher's advice to the black man is appropriate, 'Stand still and see the salvation.”' “Then let us hear it, Henry,” asked Charles. “Fah God sake!” said Andy, “let us heah w'at it is, anyhow, Henry; yeh keep a body in 'spence so long, till I's mose crazy to heah it. Dat's no way!” “You shall have it, but I approach it with caution! Nay, with fear and trembling, at the thought of what has been the fate of all previous matters of this kind. I approach it with religious fear, and hardly think us fit for the task; at least, I know I am not. But as no one has ever originated, or given us anything of the kind, I suppose I may venture.” “Tell it! tell it!” urged both in a whisper. “Andy,” said Henry, “let us have a word of prayer first!” when they bowed low, with their heads to the ground, Andy, who was a preacher of the Baptist pursuasion among his slave brethren, offering a solemn and affecting prayer, in whispers to the Most High, to give them knowledge and courage in the undertaking, and success in the effort. 39 Rising from their knees, Andy commenced an anthem, by which he appeared to be much affected, in the following words: About our future destiny, There need be none debate— Whilst we ride on the tide, With our Captain and his mate. Clasping each other by the hand, standing in a band together, as a plight of their union and fidelity to each other, Henry said, “I now impart to you the secret, it is this: I have laid a scheme, and matured a plan for a general insurrection of the slaves in every state, and the successful overthrow of slavery!” “Amen!” exclaimed Charles. “God grant it!” responded Andy. “Tell us, Henry, how's dis to be carried out?” enquired Andy. “That's the thing which most concerns me, as it seems that it would be hard to do in the present ignorant state of our people in the slave States,” replied Charles. “Dat's jis wat I feah!” said Andy. “This difficulty is obviated. It is so simple that the most stupid among the slaves will understand it as well as if he had been instructed for a year.” “What!” exclaimed Charles. “Let's heah dat again!” asked Andy. “It is so just as I told you! So simple is it that the trees of the forest or an orchard illustrate it; flocks of birds or domestic cattle, fields of corn, hemp, or sugar cane; tobacco, rice, or cotton, the whistling of the wind, rustling of the leaves, flashing of lightning, roaring of thunder, and running of streams all keep it constantly before their eyes and in their memory, so that they can't forget it if they would.” “Are we to know it now?” enquired Charles. “I'm boun' to know it dis night befo' I goes home, 'case I been longin' fah ole Pottah dis many day, an' uh mos' think uh got 'im now!” “Yes boys, you've to know it before we part, but——” “That's the talk!” said Charles. “Good nuff talk fah me!” responded Andy. 40 “As I was about to say, such is the character of this organization, that punishment and misery are made the instruments for its propagation, so——” “I can't understan' that part——” “You know nothing at all about it Charles, and you must——” “Stan' still an' see da salvation!” interrupted Andy. “Amen!” responded Charles. “God help you so to do, brethren!” admonished Henry. “Go on Henry tell us! give it to us!” they urged. “Every blow you receive from the oppressor impresses the organization upon your mind, making it so clear that even Whitehead's Jack could understand it as well as his master.” “We are satisfied! The secret, the secret!” they importuned. “Well then, first to prayer, and then to the organization. Andy!” said Henry, nodding to him, when they again bowed low with their heads to the ground, whilst each breathed a silent prayer, which was ended with “Amen” by Andy. Whilst yet upon their knees, Henry imparted to them the secrets of his organization. “O, dat's da thing!” exclaimed Andy. “Capital, capital!” responded Charles. “What fools we was that we didn't know it long ago!” “I is mad wid myse'f now!” said Andy. “Well, well, well! Surely God must be in the work,” continued Charles. “'E's heah; Heaven's nigh! Ah feels it! It's right heah!” responded Andy, placing his hand upon his chest, the tears trickling down his cheeks. “Brethren,” asked Henry, “do you understand it?” “Understand it? Why, a child could understand, it's so easy!” replied Charles. “Yes,” added Andy, “ah not only undestan' myse'f, but wid da knowledge I has uv it, ah could make Whitehead's Jack a Moses!” “Stand still, then, and see!” said he. “Dat's good Bible talk!” responded Andy. “Well, what is we to do?” enquired Charles. “You must now go on and organize continually. It makes no difference when, nor where you are, so that the slaves are true and 41 trustworthy, as the scheme is adapted to all times and places.” “How we gwine do Henry, 'bout gittin' da things 'mong da boys?” enquired Andy. “All you have to do, is to find one good man or woman—I don't care which, so that they prove to be the right person—on a single plantation, and hold a seclusion and impart the secret to them, and make them the organizers for their own plantation, and they in like manner impart it to some other next to them, and so on. In this way it will spread like smallpox among them.” “Henry, you is fit fah leadah ah see,” complimentingly said Andy. “I greatly mistrust myself, brethren, but if I can't command, I can at least plan.” “Is they anything else for us to do Henry?” enquired Charles. “Yes, a very important part of your duties has yet to be stated. I now go as a runaway, and will be suspected of lurking about in the thickets, swamps and caves; then to make the ruse complete, just as often as you think it necessary, to make a good impression, you must kill a shoat, take a lamb, pig, turkey, goose, chickens, ham of bacon from the smoke house, a loaf of bread or crock of butter from the spring house, and throw them down into the old waste well at the back of the old quarters, always leaving the heads of the fowls lying about and the blood of the larger animals. Everything that is missed dont hesitate to lay it upon me, as a runaway, it will only cause them to have the less suspicion of your having such a design.” “That's it—the very thing!” said Charles. “An it so happens that they's an ole waste well on both Franks' and Potter's places, one for both of us.” “I hope Andy, you have no religious objections to this?” “It's a paut ah my 'ligion Henry, to do whateveh I bleve right, an' shall sholy do dis, God being my helpah!” “Now he's talkin!” said Charles. “You must make your religion subserve your interests, as your oppressors do theirs!” advised Henry. “They use the Scriptures to make you submit, by preaching to you the texts of 'obedience to your masters' and 'standing still to see the salavation,' and we must now begin to understand the Bible so as to make it of interest to us.” “Dat's gospel talk,” sanctioned Andy. “Is da anything else yeh want tell us boss—I calls 'im boss, 'case 'e aint nothing else but 'boss'—so we 42 can make 'ase an' git to wuck? 'case I feels like goin' at 'em now, me!” “Having accomplished our object, I think I have done, and must leave you tomorrow.” “When shall we hear from you, Henry?” enquired Charles. “Not until you shall see me again; when that will be, I don't know. You may see me in six months, and might not not in eighteen. I am determined, now that I am driven to it, to complete an organization in every slave state before I return, and have fixed two years as my utmost limit.” “Henry, tell me before we part, do you know anything about little Joe?” enquired Charles. “I do!” “Wha's da chile?” enquired Andy. “He's safe enough, on his way to Canada!” at which Charles and Andy laughed. “Little Joe is on 'is way to Canada?” said Andy. “Mighty young travelah!” “Yes,” replied Henry with a smile. “You're a-joking Henry?” said Charles, enquiringly. “I am serious, brethren,” replied he. “I do not joke in matters of this kind. I smiled because of Andy's surprise.” “How did 'e go?” further enquired Andy. “In company with his 'mother' who was waiting on her 'mistress!' ” replied he quaintly. “Eh heh!” exclaimed Andy. “I knows all 'bout it now; but whah'd da 'mammy' come from?” “I found one!” “Aint 'e high!” said Andy. “Well, brethren, my time is drawing to a close,” said Henry, rising to his feet. “O!” exclaimed Andy. “Ah like to forgot, has yeh any money Henry?” “Have either of you any?” “We has.” “How much?” “I got two-three hundred dollahs!” replied Andy. “An' so has I, Henry!” added Charles. “Then keep it, as I have two thousand dollars now around my waist, and you'll find use for all you've got, and more, as you will before 43 long have an opportunity of testing. Keep this studiously in mind and impress it as an important part of the scheme of organization, that they must have money, if they want to get free. Money will obtain them everything necessary by which to obtain their liberty. The money is within all of their reach if they only knew it was right to take it. God told the Egyptian slaves to 'borrow from their neighbors'—meaning their oppressors—'all their jewels;' meaning to take their money and wealth wherever they could lay hands upon it, and depart from Egypt. So you must teach them to take all the money they can get from their masters, to enable them to make the strike without a failure. I'll show you when we leave for the North, what money will do for you, right here in Mississippi. Bear this in mind; it is your certain passport through the white gap, as I term it.” “I means to take all ah can git; I bin doin' dat dis some time. Ev'ry time ole Pottah leave 'is money pus, I borrys some, an' e' all'as lays it on Miss Mary, but 'e think so much uh huh, dat anything she do is right wid 'im. Ef 'e 'spected me, an' Miss Mary say 'twant me, dat would be 'nough fah 'im.” “That's right!” said Henry. “I see you have been putting your own interpretation on the Scriptures, Andy, and as Charles will now have to take my place, he'll have still a much better opportunity than you, to “borrow from his master.' ” “You needn't fear, I'll make good use of my time!” replied Charles. The slaves now fell upon their knees in silent communion, all being affected to the shedding of tears, a period being put to their devotion by a sorrowful trembling of Henry's voice singing to the following touching words: Farewell, farewell, farewell! My loving friends farewell! Farewell old comrades in the cause, I leave you here, and journey on; And if I never more return, Farewell, I'm bound to meet you there! “One word before we part,” said Charles. “If we never should see you again, I suppose you intend to push on this scheme?” “Yes!” 44 “Insurrection shall be my theme! My watchword 'Freedom or the grave!' Until from Rappahannock's stream, To where the Cuato* waters lave, One simultaneous war cry Shall burst upon the midnight air! And rouse the tyrant but to sigh— Mid sadness, wailing, and despair!” Grasping each eagerly by the hand, the tears gushing from his eyes, with an humble bow, he bid them finally “farewell!” and the runaway was off through the forest. CHAPTER 12 The Discovery “It can't be; I won't believe it!” said Franks at the breakfast table on Sunday morning, after hearing that little Joe was missed. “He certainly must be lost in the shrubbery.” After breakfast a thorough search was made, none being more industrious than Ailcey in hunting the little fugitive, but without success. “When was he last seen?” enquired Franks. “He wah put to bed las' night while we wuh at de suppeh seh!” replied Ailcey. “There's something wrong about this thing, Mrs. Franks, and I'll be hanged if I don't ferret out the whole before I'm done with it!” said the Colonel. “I hope you don't suspect me as——” “Nonsense! my dear, not at all—nothing of the sort, but I do suspect respectable parties in another direction.” “Gracious, Colonel! Whom have you reference to? I'm sure I can't imagine.” “Well, well, we shall see! Ailcey, call Judy.” 45 “Maus Stephen, yeh sen' fah me?” enquired the old woman, puffing and blowing. “Yes, Judy. Do you know anything about little Joe? I want you to tell me the truth!” sternly enquired Franks. “Maus Stephen! I cah lie! so long as yeh had me, yu nah missus neveh knows me tell lie. No, bless de Laud! Ah sen' my soul to de ole boy dat way? No maus Stephen, ah uhdn give wat I feels in my soul——” “Well never mind, Judy, about your soul, but tell us about——” “Ah! maus Stephen, ah 'spects to shout wen de wul's on fiah! an——” “Tell us about the boy, Judy, and we'll hear about your religion another time.” “If you give her a little time, Colonel, I think she'll be able to tell about him!” suggested Mrs. Franks on seeing the old woman weeping. “Sho, mammy!” said Ailcey in a whisper with a nudge, standing behind her, “wat yeh stan' heah cryin' befo' dese ole wite folks fah!” “Come, come, Judy! what are you crying about! let us hear quickly what you've got to say. Don't be frightened!” “No maus Stephen, I's not feahed; ah could run tru troop a hosses an' face de debil! My soul's happy, my soul's on fiah! Whoo! Blessed Jesus! Ride on, King!” when the old woman tossed and tumbled about so dexterously, that the master and mistress considered themselves lucky in getting out of the way. “The old thing's crazy! We'll not be able to get anything out of her, Mrs. Franks.” “No maus Stephen, blessed be God a'mighty! I's not crazy, but sobeh as a judge! An——” “Then let us hear about little Joe, as you can understand so well what is said around you, and let us have no more of your whooping and nonsense, distracting the neighborhood!” “Blessed God! Blessed God! Laud sen' a nudah gale! O, fah a nudah showeh!” “I really believe she's crazy! We've now been here over an hour, and no nearer the information than before.” “I think she's better now!” said Mrs. Franks. “Judy, can you compose yourself long enough to answer my questions?” enquired Franks. 46 “O yes, mausta! ah knows wat I's 'bout, but w'en mausta Jesus calls, ebry body mus' stan' back, case 'e's 'bove all!” “That's all right, Judy, all right; but let us hear about little Joe—do you know anything about him, where he is, or how he was taken away?” “ 'E wah dah Sattiday night, maus Stephen.” “What time, Judy, on Saturday evening was he there?” “W'en da wah eatin suppeh, seh.” “How do you know, when you were at the lower quarters, and he in your hut?” “ 'E wah put to bed den.” “Who put him to bed—you?” “No, seh, Ailcey.” “Ailcey—who went with her, any one?” “Yes seh, Van Wintah Ben went wid uh.” “Van Winter's Ben! I thought we'd get at the thieves presently; I knew I'd ferret it out! Well now, Judy, I ask you as a Christian, and expect you to act with me as one Christian with another—has not Mrs. Van Winter been talking to you about this boy?” “No seh, nebeh!” “Nor to Henry?” “No seh!” “Did not she, to your knowledge, send Ben there that night to steal away little Joe?” “No, seh!” “Did you not hear Ailcey tell some one, or talking in her sleep, say that Mrs. Van Winter had something to do with the abduction of that boy?” “Maus Stephen, ah do'n undehstan' dat duckin uh duckshun, dat w'at yeh call it—dat big wud!” “O! 'abduction' means stealing away a person, Judy.” “Case ah waun gwine tell nothin 'bout it.” “Well, what do you know, Judy?” “As dah's wud a troof in me, ah knows nothin' 'bout it.” “Well, Judy, you can go now. She's an honest old creature, I believe!” said Franks, as the old fat cook turned away. “Yes, poor old black fat thing! She's religious to a fault,” replied Mrs. Franks. “Well, Ailcey, what do you know about it?” enquired the master. 47 “Nothin' seh, o'ny Mammy Judy ask me toat 'im up to da hut an' put 'im in bed.” “Well, did you do it?” “Yes, seh!” “Did Ben go with you?” “Yes, seh!” “Did he return with you to the lower quarters?” “Yes, seh!” “Did he not go back again, or did he remain in the house?” “ 'E stay in.” “Did you not see some one lurking about the house when you took the boy up to the hut?” “Ah tot ah heahn some un in da bushes, but Ben say 'twan no one.” “Now Ailcey, don't you know who that was?” “No, seh!” “Was'nt it old Joe?” “No, seh, lef' 'im in de low quahteh.” “Was it Henry?” “Dun no, seh!” “Wasn't it Mrs. Van Winter's——” “Why Colonel!” exclaimed Mrs. Franks with surprise. “Negroes, I mean! You didn't let me finish the sentence, my dear!” explained he, correcting his error. “Ah dun'o, seh!” “Now tell me candidly, my girl, who and what you thought it was at the time?” “Ah do'n like to tell!” replied the girl, looking down. “Tell, Ailcey! Who do you think it was, and what they were after?” enquired Mrs. Franks. “Ah do'n waun tell, missus!” “Tell, you goose you! did you see any one?” continued Franks. “Ah jis glance 'em.” “Was the person close to you?” further enquired Mrs. Franks. “Yes, um, da toched me on da shouldeh an' run.” “Well, why don't you tell then, Ailcey, who you thought it was, and what they were after, you stubborn jade you, speak!” stormed Franks, stamping his foot. “Don't get out of temper, Colonel! make some allowance for her 48 under the circumstances. Now tell, Ailcey, what you thought at the time?” mildly asked Mrs. Franks. “Ah tho't t'wah maus Stephen afteh me.” “Well, if you know nothing about it, you may go now!” gruffly replied her master. “These Negroes are not to be trusted. They will endeavor to screen each other if they have the least chance to do so. I'll sell that girl!” “Colonel, don't be hasty in this matter, I beg of you!” said Mrs. Franks earnestly. “I mean to let her go to the man she most hates, that's Crow.” “Why do you think she hates Crow so badly?” “By the side looks she gives him when he comes into the house.” “I pray you then, Colonel, to attempt no more auction sales, and you may avoid unpleasant association in that direction.” “Yes, by the by, speaking of the auction, I really believe Mrs. Van Winter had something to do with the abduction of that little Negro.” “I think you do her wrong, Colonel Franks; she's our friend, and aside from this, I don't think her capable of such a thing.” “Such friendship is worse than open enmity, my dear, and should be studiously shunned.” “I must acquit her, Colonel, of all agency in this matter.” “Well, mark what I tell you, Mrs. Franks, you'll yet hear more of it, and that too at no distant day.” “Well it may be, but I can't think so.” “'May be'! I'm sure so. And more: I believe that boy has been induced to take advantage of my clemency, and run away. I'll make an example of him, because what one Negro succeeds in doing, another will attempt. I'll have him at any cost. Let him go on this way and there won't be a Negro in the neighborhood presently.” “Whom do you mean, Colonel?” “I mean that ingrate Henry, that's who.” “Henry gone!” “I have no doubt of it at all, as he had a pass to Woodville and Jackson; and now that the boy is stolen by someone, I've no doubt himself. I might have had some leniency towards him had he not committed a theft, a crime of all others the most detestable in my estimation.” “And Henry is really gone?” with surprise again enquired Mrs. Franks. 49 “He is, my dear, and you appear to be quite inquisitive about it!” remarked Franks as he thought he observed a concealed smile upon her lips. “I am inquisitive, Colonel, because whatever interests you should interest me.” “By Monday evening, hanged if I don't know all about this thing. Ailcey, call Charles to get my saddle horse!” “Charles ain' heah, maus Stephen.” “Where's old Joe?” “At de hut, seh.” “Tell him to saddle Oscar immediately, and bring him to the door.” “Yes, seh!” replied the girl, lightly tripping away. The horse was soon at the door, and with his rider cantering away. “Tony, what is Mammy Judy about?” enquired Mrs. Franks as evening approached. “She's sif'en meal, missus, to make mush fah ouah suppah.” “You must tell mammy not to forget me, Tony, in the distribution of her mush and milk.” “Yes, missus, ah tell uh right now!” when away ran Tony bearing the message, eager as are all children to be the agents of an act of kindness. Mammy Judy, smiling, received the message with the assurance of “Yes, dat she shall hab much as she want!” when, turning about, she gave strict orders that Ailcey neglect not to have a china bowl in readiness to receive the first installment of the hasty pudding. The hut of Mammy Judy served as a sort of headquarters on Saturday and Sunday evenings for the slaves from the plantation, and those in town belonging to the “estate,” who this evening enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of Daddy Joe. Slaves are not generally supplied with light in their huts; consequently, except from the fat of their meat and that gathered about the kitchen with which they make a “lamp,” and the use of pinewood tapers, they eat and do everything about their dwellings in the dark. Hasty pudding for the evening being the bill of fare, all sat patiently awaiting the summon of Mammy Judy, some on blocks, some on logs of wood, some on slab benches, some on inverted buckets and half-barrel wash tubs, and whatever was convenient, while many of the girls and other young people were seated on the floor around against the wall. 50 “Hush, chilen!” admonished Mammy Judy, after carefully seeing that each one down to Tony had been served with a quota from the kettle. “Laud, make us truly tankful fah wat we 'bout to 'ceive!” petitioned Daddy Joe with uplifted hands. “Top dah wid yo' nause an' nonsense ole people cah heah deh yeahs to eat!” admonished the old man as he took the pewter dish between his knees and commenced an earnest discussion of its contents. “Do'n yeh heah me say hush dah? Do'n yeh heah!” “Joe!” was the authoritative voice from without. “Sah!” “Take my horse to the stable!” “Yes, sah!” responded the old man, sitting down his bowl of mush and milk on the hearth in the corner of the jam. “Do'n any on yeh toch dat, yeh heah?” “We ain gwine to, Daddy Joe,” replied the young people. “Huccum de young folks, gwine eat yo' mush and milk? Sho, ole man, g'long whah yeh gwine, ad' let young folk 'lone!” retorted Mammy Judy. On returning from the stable, in his hurry the old man took up the bowl of a young man who sat it on his stool for the moment. “Yoheh, Daddy Joe, dat my mush!” said the young man. “Huccum dis yone?” replied the old man. “Wy, ah put it dah; yeh put yone in de chimbly connoh.” “Ah! Dat eh did!” exclaimed he, taking up the bowl eating heartily. “Wat dat yeh all been doin' heah? Some on yeh young folks been prankin' long wid dis mush an' milk!” continued the old man, champing and chewing in a manner which indicated something more solid than mush and milk. “Deed we did'n, Daddy Joe; did'n do nothin' to yo' mush an' milk, so we did'n!” replied Ailcey, whose word was always sufficient with the old people. “Hi, what dis in heah! Sumpen mighty crisp!” said Daddy Joe, still eating heartily and now and again blowing something from his mouth like coarse meal husks. “Sumpen heah mighty crisp, ah tells yeh! Ole umin, light dat pine knot dah; so dahk yeh cah'n see to talk. Git light dah quick ole umin! Sumpen heah mighty crisp in dis mush an' milk!—Mighty crisp!” 51 “Good Laud! see dah now! Ah tole yeh so!” exclaimed Mammy Judy when, on producing a light, the bowl was found to be partially filled with large black house roaches. “Reckon Daddy Joe do'n tank'im fah dat!” said little Tony, referring to the blessing of the old man; amidst an outburst of tittering and snickering among the young people. Daddy Joe lost his supper, when the slaves retired for the evening. CHAPTER 13 Perplexity Early on Monday morning Colonel Franks arose to start for Woodville and Jackson in search of the fugitive. “My dear, is Ailcey up? Please call Tony,” said Mrs. Franks, the boy soon appearing before his mistress. “Tony, call Ailcey,” continued she, “your master is up and going to the country.” “Missus Ailcey ain' dah!” replied the boy, returning in haste from the nursery. “Certainly she is; did you go into the nursery?” “Yes, um!” “Are the children there?” “Yes, um, boph on 'em.” “Then she can't be far—she'll be in presently.” “Missus, she ain' come yit,” repeated the boy after a short absence. “Did you look in the nursery again?” “Yes, um!” “Are the children still in bed?” “Yes, um, boph sleep, only maus George awake.” “You mean one asleep and the other awake!” said Mrs. Franks, smiling. “Yes um boph wake!” replied the boy. “Didn't you tell me, Tony, that your master George only was awake?” asked the mistress. “Miss Matha sleep fus, den she wake up and talk to maus George,” explained the boy, his master laughing, declared that a Negro's skull was too thick to comprehend anything. 52 “Don't mistake yourself, Colonel!” replied Mrs. Franks. “That boy is anything but a blockhead, mind that!” “My dear, can't you see something about that girl?” said the Colonel. “Run quickly, Tony, and see if Ailcey is in the hut,” bade Mrs. Franks. “Dear me,” continued she, “since the missing of little Joe, she's all gossip, and we needn't expect much of her until the thing has died away.” “She'll not gossip after today, my dear!” replied the Colonel decisively, “as I'm determined to put her in my pocket in time, before she is decoyed away by that ungrateful wretch, who is doubtless ready for anything, however vile, for revenge.” Ailcey was a handsome black girl, graceful and intelligent, but having been raised on the place, had not the opportunity of a house maid for refinement. The Colonel, having had a favorable opinion of her as a servant, frequently requested that she be taken from the field, long before it had been done. This had not the most favorable impression upon the mind of his lady, who since the morning of the interview, the day before, had completely turned against the girl. Mrs. Franks was an amiable lady and lenient mistress, but did a slave offend, she might be expected to act as a mistress; and still more, she was a woman; but concerning Ailcey she was mistaken, as a better and more pure-hearted female slave there was not to be found; and as true to her mistress and her honor, as was Maggie herself. “Missus, she ain't dare nudder! aun' Judy ain seed 'er from las' night!” said the boy who came running up the stairs. “Then call Charles immediately!” ordered she; when away went he and shortly came Charles. “Servant, mist'ess!” saluted Charles, as he entered her presence. “Charles, do you know anything of Ailcey?” enquired she. “No mist'ess I don't.” “When did you see her last?” “Last night, ma'm.” “Was she in company with anyone?” “Yes ma'm, Potter's Rachel.” “What time in the evening was it, Charles?” “After seven o'clock, ma'm.” 53 “O, she was home after that and went to bed in the nursery, where she has been sleeping for several nights.” “My dear, this thing must be probed to the bottom at once! things are taking such a strange course, that we don't know whom to trust. I'll be hanged if I understand it!” The carriage being ordered, they went directly down to 'squire Potter's. “Good morning Mrs. Potter!—you will pardon us for the intrusion at so early an hour, but as the errand may concern us all, I'll not stop to be ceremonious—do I find the 'squire in?” The answer being in the affirmative, a servant being in attendance, the old gentleman soon made his appearance. “Good morning, Colonel and Madam Franks!” saluted he. “Good morning, 'squire! I shan't be ceremonious, and to give you a history of my errand, and to make a short story of a long one, we'll 'make a lump job of it,' to use a homely phrase.” “I know the 'squire will be interested!” added Mrs. Franks. “No doubt of it at all, ma'm!” replied Mrs. Potter, who seemed to anticipate them. “It is this,” resumed the Colonel. “On Friday I gave my boy Henry verbal permission to go to the country, when he pretended to leave. On Saturday evening during the Negro-gathering at the old quarters, my little Negro boy Joe was stolen away, and on last evening, our Negro girl Ailcey the nurse, cleared out, and it seems was last seen in company with your Negro girl Rachel.” “Titus, call Rachel there! No doubt but white men are at the bottom of it,” said Potter. “Missus, heah I is!” drawled the girl awkwardly, with a curtsy. “Speak to your master there; he wants you,” ordered Mrs. Potter. “Mausta!” saluted the girl. “Rachel, my girl, I want you to tell me, were you with Colonel Franks' black girl Ailcey on last evening?” “Yes seh, I wah.” “Where, Rachel?” continued the master. “Heah seh, at ouah house.” “Where did you go to?” “We go down to docteh Denny.” “What for—what took you down to Dr. Denny's, Rachel?” “Went 'long wid Ailcey.” 54 “What did Ailcey go there for—do you know?” “Went dah to see Craig' Polly.” “Craig's Polly, which of Mr. Craig's Negro girls is that?” “Dat un w'ot mos' white.” “Well, was Polly there?” “She waun dah w'en we go, but she soon come.” “Why did you go to Dr. Denny's to meet Polly?” “Ailcey say Polly go'n to meet uh dah.” “Well, did they leave there when you did?” “Yes, seh.” “Where did you go to then?” “I come home, seh.” “Where did they go?” “Da say da go'n down undah da Hill.” “Who else was with them besides you?” “No un, seh.” “Was there no man with them, when they left for under the Hill?” “No, seh.” “Did you see no man about at all, Rachel?” “No, seh.” “Now don't be afraid to tell: was there no white person at all spoke to you when together last night?” “None but some white gent'men come up an' want walk wid us, same like da al'as do we black girls w'en we go out.” “Did the girls seem to be acquainted and glad to see them?” “No seh, the girls run, and da gent'men cus——” “Never mind that, Rachel, you can go now,” concluded her master. “Well, 'squire, hanged if this thing mus'nt be stopped! Four slaves in less than that many days gone from under our very eyes, and we unable to detect them! It's insufferable, and I believe whites to be at the head of it! I have my suspicions on a party who stands high in the community, and——” “Now Colonel, if you please!” interrupted Mrs. Franks. “Well, I suppose we'll have for the present to pass that by,” replied he. “Indeed, something really should be done!” said the 'squire. “Yes, and that quickly, if we would keep our Negroes to prevent us from starving.” 55 “I think the thing should at once be seen into; what say you, Colonel?” “As I have several miles to ride this morning,” said Franks, looking at his watch, it now being past nine o'clock, “I must leave so as to be back in the evening. Any steps that may be taken before my return, you have the free use of my name. Good morning!” A few minutes and the Colonel was at his own door, astride of a horse, and on his way to Woodville. CHAPTER 14 Gad and Gossip This day the hut of Mammy Judy seemed to be the licensed resort for all the slaves of the town; and even many whites were seen occasionally to drop in and out, as they passed along. Everyone knew the residence of Colonel Franks, and many of the dusky inhabitants of the place were solely indebted to the purse-proud occupants of the “great house” for their introduction to that part of Mississippi. For years he and Major Armsted were the only reliable traders upon whom could be depended for a choice gang of field Negroes and other marketable people. And not only this section, but the whole Mississippi Valley to some extent was to them indebted. First as young men the agents of Woolford, in maturer age their names became as household words and known as the great proprietary Mississippi or Georgia Negro-traders. Domestic service seemed for the time suspended, and little required at home to do, as the day was spent as a kind of gala-day, in going about from place to place talking of everything. Among the foremost of these was Mammy Judy, for although she partially did, and was expected to stay and be at home today, and act as an oracle, yet she merely stole a little time to run over to Mrs. Van Winter's, step in at 'squire Potter's to speak a word to Milly, drop by Dr. Denny's, and just poke in her head at Craig's a moment. “Ah been tellin' on 'em so! All along ah been tellin' on 'em, but da uden bleve me!” soliloquized Mammy Judy, when the first dash of news through the boy Tony reached her, that Ailcey had gone and 56 taken with her some of 'squire Potter's people, several of Dr. Denny's, a gang of Craig's, and half of Van Winter's. “Dat jis wat ah been tellin' on 'em all along, but da uden bleve me!” concluded she. “Yeah heah de news!” exclaimed Potter's Minney to Van Winter's Biddy. “I heah dat Ailcey gone!” replied Biddy. “Dat all; no mo?” enquired the girl with a high turban of Madras on her head. “I heahn little Joe go too!” “Didn yeh heah dot Denny' Sookey, an' Craig' Polly, took a whole heap uh Potteh' people an' clah'd out wid two po' white mens, an' dat da all seen comin' out Van Winteh de old ablish'neh, soon in de monin' fo' day?” “No!” replied the good-natured, simple-hearted Biddy, “I did'n!” “Yes, sho's yeh baun dat true, case uhly dis monin' cunel Frank' an' lady come see mausta—and yeh know 'e squiah an' make de law—an' mauster ghin 'em papehs, an' da go arter de Judge to put heh in jail!” “Take who to jail?” “Wy, dat ole ablish'neh, Miss Van Winteh! Ah wish da all dead, dese ole ablish'nehs, case da steal us an' sell us down souph to haud maustas, w'en we got good places. Any how she go'n to jail, an' I's glad!” Looking seriously at her, Biddy gave a long sigh, saying nothing to commit herself, but going home, communicated directly to her mistress that which she heard, as Mrs. Van Winter was by all regarded as a friend to the Negro race, and at that time the subject of strong suspicion among the slaveholders of the neighborhood. Eager to gad and gossip, from place to place the girl Minney passed about relating the same to each and all with whom she chanced to converse, they imparting to others the same strange story, until reaching the ears of intelligent whites who had heard no other version, it spread through the city as a statement of fact. Learning as many did by sending to the house, that the Colonel that day had gone in search of his slaves, the statement was confirmed as having come from Mrs. Franks, who was known to be a firm friend of Mrs. Van Winter. “Upon my word!” said Captain Grason on meeting Sheriff Hughes. “Sheriff, things are coming to a pretty pass!” 57 “What's that, Captain?” enquired the Sheriff. “Have you not heard the news yet, concerning the Negroes?” “Why, no! I've been away to Vicksburg the last ten days, and just getting back.” “O, Heavens! we're no longer safe in our own houses. Why, sir, we're about being overwhelmed by an infamous class of persons who live in our midst, and eat at our tables!” “You surprise me, Captain! what's the matter?” “Sir, it would take a week to relate the particulars, but our slaves are running off by wholesale. On Sunday night a parcel of Colonel Franks' Negroes left, a lot of Dr. Denny's, some of 'squire Potter's, and a gang of Craig's, aided by white men, whom together with the Negroes were seen before day in the morning coming out of the widow Van Winters, who was afterwards arrested, and since taken before the judge on a writ of habeas corpus, but the circumstances against her being so strong she was remanded for trial, which so far strengthens the accusation. I know not where this thing will end!” “Surprising indeed, sir!” replied Hughes. “I had not heard of it before, but shall immediately repair to her house, and learn all the facts in the case. I am well acquainted with Mrs. Van Winter—in fact she is a relation of my wife—and must hasten. Good day, sir!” On ringing the bell, a quick step brought a person to the door, when on being opened, the Sheriff found himself in the warm embraces of the kind-hearted and affectionate Mrs. Van Winter herself. After the usual civilities, she was the first to introduce the subject, informing him of their loss by their mutual friends Colonel Franks and lady, with others, and no surprise was greater than that on hearing the story current concerning herself. Mammy Judy was as busy as she well could be, in hearing and telling news among the slaves who continually came and went through the day. So overwhelmed with excitement was she, that she had little else to say in making a period, then “All a long ah been tellin' on yeh so, but yeh uden bleve me!” Among the many who thronged the hut was Potter's Milly. She in person is black, stout and fat, bearing a striking resemblance to the matronly old occupant Mammy Judy. For two hours or more letting a number come in, gossip, and pass out, only to be immediately succeeded by another; who like the old country woman who for the 58 first time in visiting London all day stood upon the sidewalk of the principal thoroughfare waiting till the crowd of people and cavalcade of vehicles passed, before she made the attempt to cross the street; she sat waiting till a moment would occur by which in private to impart a secret to her friend alone. That moment did at last arrive. “Judy!” said the old woman in a whisper. “Ah been waitin' all day long to see yeh fah sumpen' ticlar!” “W'at dat, Milly?” whispered Mammy Judy scarcely above her breath. “I's gwine too!” and she hurried away to prepare supper for the white folks, before they missed her, though she had been absent full two hours and a half, another thirty minutes being required for the fat old woman to reach the house. “Heah dat now!” whispered Mammy Judy. “Ah tole yeh so!” “Well, my dear, not a word of that graceless dog, the little Negro, nor that girl,” said Franks who had just returned from the country, “but I am fully compensated for the disappointment, on learning of the arrest and imprisonment of that——!” “Who, Colonel?” interrupted his wife. “I hope after this you'll be willing to set some estimation on my judgment—I mean your friend Mrs. Van Winter the abolitionist!” “I beg your pardon, Colonel, as nothing is farther from the truth! From whom did you receive that intelligence?” “I met Captain Grason on his way to Woodville, who informed me that it was current in town, and you had corroborated the statement. Did you see him?” “Nothing of the kind, sir, and it has not been more than half an hour since Mrs. Van Winter left here, who heartily sympathizes with us, though she has her strange notions that black people have as much right to freedom as white.” “Well, my dear, we'll drop the subject!” concluded the Colonel with much apparent disappointment. The leading gentlemen of the town and neighborhood assembled inaugurating the strictest vigilant police regulations, when after free and frequent potations of brandy and water, of which there was no scarcity about the Colonel's mansion, the company separated, being much higher spirited, if not better satisfied, than when they met in council. 59 This evening Charles and Andy met each other in the street, but in consequence of the strict injunction on the slaves by the patrol law recently instituted, they only made signs as they passed, intending to meet at a designated point. But the patrol reconnoitred so closely in their track, they were driven entirely from their purpose, retiring to their homes for the night. CHAPTER 15 Interchange of Opinion The landing of a steamer on her downward trip brought Judge Ballard and Major Armsted to Natchez. The Judge had come to examine the country, purchase a cotton farm, and complete the arrangements of an interest in the “Merchantman.” Already the proprietor of a large estate in Cuba, he was desirous of possessing a Mississippi cotton place. Disappointed by the absence of his wife abroad, he was satisfied to know that her object was accomplished. Major Armsted was a man of ripe intelligence, acquired by years of rigid experience and close observation, rather than literary culture, though his educational attainments as a business man were quite respectable. He for years had been the partner in business with Colonel Stephen Franks. In Baltimore, Washington City, Annapolis, Richmond, Norfolk, Charlestown, and Winchester, Virginia, a prison or receptacle for coffle-gangs of slaves purchased and sold in the market, comprised their principal places of business in the slaveowning states of the Union. The Major was a great jester, full of humor, and fond of a good joke, ever ready to give and take such even from a slave. A great common sense man, by strict attention to men and things, and general observation, had become a philosopher among his fellows. “Quite happy to meet you, Judge, in these parts!” greeted Franks. “Wonder you could find your way so far south, especially at such a period, these being election times!” “Don't matter a bit, as he's not up for anything I believe just now, except for Negro-trading! And in that he is quite a proselyte, and heretic to the teachings of his Northern faith!” jocosely remarked Armsted. 60 “Don't mistake me, gentlemen, because it was the incident of my life to be born in a nonslaveholding state. I'm certain that I am not at all understood as I should be on this question!” earnestly replied the Judge. “The North has given you a bad name, Judge, and it's difficult to separate yourself now from it, holding the position that you do, as one of her ablest jurists,” said Armsted. “Well, gentlemen!” seriously replied the Judge. “As regards my opinion of Negro slavery, the circumstances which brought me here, my large interest and responsibility in the slave-labor products of Cuba, should be, I think, sufficient evidence of my fidelity to Southern principles, to say nothing of my official records, which modesty should forbid my reference to.” “Certainly, certainly, Judge! The Colonel is at fault. He has lost sight of the fact that you it was who seized the first runaway Negro by the throat and held him by the compromise grasp until we Southern gentlemen sent for him and had him brought back!” “Good, good, by hookie!” replied the Colonel, rubbing his hands together. “I hope I'm understood, gentlemen!” seriously remarked the Judge. “I think so, Judge, I think so!” replied Armsted, evidently designing a full commitment on the part of the Judge. “And if not, a little explanation will set us right.” “It is true that I have not before been engaged in the slave trade, because until recently I had conscientious scruples about the thing—and I suppose I'm allowed the right of conscience as well as other folks,” smilingly said the Judge, “never having purchased but for peopling my own plantation. But a little sober reflection set me right on that point. It is plain that the right to buy implies the right to hold, also to sell; and if there be right in the one, there is in the other; the premise being right, the conclusion follows as a matter of course. I have therefore determined, not only to buy and hold, but buy and sell also. As I have heretofore been interested for the trade I will become interested in it.” “Capital, capital, by George! That's conclusive. Charles! A pitcher of cool water here; Judge, take another glass of brandy.” “Good, very good!” said Armsted. “So far, but there is such a thing as feeding out of two cribs—present company, you know, and so— 61 ahem!—therefore we should like to hear the Judge's opinion of equality, what it means anyhow. I'm anxious to learn some of the doctrines of human rights, not knowing how soon I may be called upon to practice them, as I may yet marry some little Yankee girl, full of her Puritan notions. And I'm told an old bachelor 'can't come it' up that way, except he has a 'pocket full of rocks,' and can talk philanthropy like old Wilberforce.” “Here, gentlemen, I beg to make an episode, before replying to Major Armsted,” suggested the Judge. “His jest concerning the Yankee girl reminds me—and I hope it may not be amiss in saying so—that my lady is the daughter of a clergyman, brought up amidst the sand of New England, and I think I'll not have to go from the present company to prove her a good slaveholder. So the Major may see that we northerners are not all alike.” “How about the Compromise measures, Judge? Stand up to the thing all through, and no flinching.” “My opinion, sir, is a matter of record, being the first judge before whom a case was tested, which resulted in favor of the South. And I go further than this; I hold as a just construction of the law, that not only has the slaveholder a right to reclaim his slave when and wherever found, but by its provision every free black in the country, North and South, are liable to enslavement by any white person. They are freemen by sufferance or slaves-at-large, whom any white person may claim at discretion. It was a just decision of the Supreme Court—though I was in advance of it by action—that persons of African descent have no rights that white men are bound to respect!” “Judge Ballard, with this explanation, I am satisfied; indeed as a Southern man I would say, that you've conceded all that I could ask, and more than we expected. But this is a legal disquisition; what is your private opinion respecting the justice of the measures?” “I think them right, sir, according to our system of government.” “But how will you get away from your representative system, Judge? In this your blacks are either voters, or reckoned among the inhabitants.” “Very well, sir, they stand in the same relation as your Negroes. In some of the states they are permitted to vote, but can't be voted for, and this leaves them without any political rights at all. Suffrage, sir, is one thing, franchisement another; the one a mere privilege—a thing 62 permitted—the other a right inherent, that which is inviolable—cannot be interfered with. And my good sir, enumeration is a national measure, for which we are not sectionally responsible.” “Well, Judge, I'm compelled to admit that you are a very good Southerner; upon the whole, you are severe upon the Negroes; you seem to allow them no chance.” “I like Negroes well enough in their place!” “How can you reconcile yourself to the state of things in Cuba, where the blacks enter largely into the social system?” “I don't like it at all, and never could become reconciled to the state of things there. I consider that colony as it now stands, a moral pestilence, a blighting curse, and it is useless to endeavor to disguise the fact; Cuba must cease to be a Spanish colony, and become American territory. Those mongrel Creoles are incapable of self-government, and should be compelled to submit to the United States.” “Well, Judge, admit the latter part of that, as I rather guess we are all of the same way of thinking—how do you manage to get on with society when you are there?” “I cannot for a moment tolerate it! One of the hateful customs of the place is that you must exchange civilities with whomsoever solicits it, consequently, the most stupid and ugly Negro you meet in the street may ask for a 'light' from your cigar.” “I know it, and I invariably comply with the request. How do you act in such cases?” “I invariably comply, but as invariably throw away my cigar! If this were all, it would not be so bad, then the idea of meeting Negroes and mulattoes at the levees of the Captain General is intolerable! It will never do to permit this state of things so near our own shores.” “Why throw away the cigar, Judge? What objection could there be to it because a negro took a light from it?” “Because they are certain to take hold of it with their black fingers!” “Just as I've always heard, Judge Ballard. You Northerners are a great deal more fastidious about Negroes than we of the South, and you'll pardon me if I add, 'more nice than wise,' to use a homily. Did ever it occur to you that black fingers made that cigar, before it entered your white lips!—all tobacco preparations being worked by 63 Negro hands in Cuba—and very frequently in closing up the wrapper, they draw it through their lips to give it tenacity.” “The deuce! Is that a fact, Major!” “Does that surprise you, Judge? I'm sure the victuals you eat is cooked by black hands, the bread kneaded and made by black hands, and the sugar and molasses you use, all pass through black hands, or rather the hands of Negroes pass through them; at least you could not refrain from thinking so, had you seen them as I have frequently, with arms full length immersed in molasses.” “Well, Major, truly there are some things we are obliged to swallow, and I suppose these are among them.” “Though a Judge, Your Honor, you perceive that there are some things you have not learned.” “True, Major, true; and I like the Negro well enough in his place, but there is a disposition peculiar to the race, to shove themselves into the notice of the whites.” “Not peculiar to them, Judge, but common to mankind. The black man desires association with the white, because the latter is regarded his superior. In the South it is the poor white man with the wealthy, and in Europe the common with the gentlefolks. In the North you have not made these distinctions among the whites, which prevents you from noticing this trait among yourselves.” “Tell me, Major, as you seem so well to understand them, why a Negro swells so soon into importance?” “Simply because he's just like you, Judge, and I! It is simply a manifestation of human nature in an humble position, the same as that developed in the breast of a conqueror. Our strictures are not just on this unfortunate race, as we condemn in them that which we approve in ourselves. Southerner as I am, I can joke with a slave just because he is a man; some of them indeed, fine warmhearted fellows, and intelligent, as was the Colonel's Henry.” “I can't swallow that, Major! Joking with a Negro is rather too large a dose for me!” “Let me give you an idea of my feeling about these things: I have on my place two good-natured black fellows, full of pranks and jokes—Bob and Jef. Passing along one morning Jef was approaching me, when just as we met and I was about to give him the time of day, he made a sudden halt, placing himself in the attitude of a pugilist, 64 grasping the muscle of his left arm, looking me full in the eyes exclaimed, 'Maus Army, my arm aches for you!' when stepping aside he gave the path for me to pass by.” “Did you not rebuke him for the impudence?” “I laid my hand upon his shoulders as we passed, and gave him a laugh instead. At another time, passing along in company, Bob was righting up a section of fence, when Jef came along. 'How is yeh, Jef?' saluted Bob, without a response. Supposing he had not seen me, I halloed out: 'How are you Jef!' but to this, he made no reply. A gentleman in company with me who enjoyed the joke, said: 'Why Jef, you appear to be above speaking to your old friends!' Throwing his head slightly down with a rocking motion in his walk, elongating his mouth after the manner of a sausage—which by the way needed no improvement in that direction—in a tone of importance still looking down he exclaimed, 'I totes a meat!' He had indeed, a fine gammon on his shoulder from which that evening, he doubtless intended a good supper with his wife, which made him feel important, just as Judge Ballard feels, when he receives the news that 'sugar is up,' and contemplates large profits from his crop of that season.” “I'll be plagued, Major, if your love of the ludicrous don't induce you to give the freest possible license to your Negroes! I wonder they respect you!” “One thing, Judge, I have learned by my intercourse with men, that pleasantry is the life and soul of the social system; and good treatment begets more labor from the slave than bad. A smile from the master is better than cross looks, and one crack of a joke with him is worth a hundred cracks of the whip. Only confide in him, and let him be satisfied that you respect him as a man, he'll work himself to death to prove his worthiness.” “After all, Major, you still hold them as slaves, though you claim for them the common rights of other people!” “Certainly! And I would just as readily hold a white as a black in slavery, were it the custom and policy of the country to do so. It is all a matter of self-interest with me; and though I am morally opposed to slavery, yet while the thing exists, I may as well profit by it, as others.” “Well, Major,” concluded the Judge, “let us drop the subject, and I 65 hope that the free interchange of opinion will prove no detriment to our future prospects and continued friendship.” “Not at all, sir, not at all!” concluded the Major with a smile. CHAPTER 16 Solicitude and Amusement Mrs. Franks sought the earliest opportunity for an interview with the Major concerning her favorite, Maggie. The children now missed her, little George continued fretful, and her own troubled soul was pressed with anxiety. On conversing with the Major, to her great surprise she learned that the maid had been sold to a stranger, which intelligence he received from Mrs. Ballard herself, whom he met on the quay as he left Havana. The purchaser was a planter formerly of Louisiana, a bachelor by the name of Peter Labonier. This person resided twelve miles from Havana, the proprietor of a sugar estate. The apprehension of Mrs. Franks, on learning these facts, were aroused to a point of fearful anxiety. These fears were mitigated by the probable chance, in her favor by a change of owners, as his first day's possession of her, turned him entirely against her. He would thus most probably part with her, which favored the desires of Mrs. Franks. She urged upon the Major as a favor to herself, to procure the release of Maggie, by his purchase and enfranchisement with free papers of unconditional emancipation. To this Major Armsted gave the fullest assurance, at the earliest possible opportunity. The company were to meet at no distant day, when he hoped to execute the orders. “How did you leave cousin Arabella, Judge?” enquired Mrs. Franks, as he and the Colonel entered the parlor directly from the back porch, where they had been engaged for the last two hours in close conversation. “Very well, Maria, when last heard from; a letter reaching me just before I left by the kindness of our mutual friend the Major. By the way, your girl and she did not get on so well, I be——!” 66 An admonitory look from Franks arrested the subject before the sentence was completed. Every reference to the subject was carefully avoided, though the Colonel ventured to declare that henceforth towards his servants, instead of leniency, he intended severity. They were becoming every day more and more troublesome, and less reliable. He intended, in the language of his friend the Judge, to “lay upon them a heavy hand” in future. “I know your sentiments on this point,” he said in reply to an admonition from Armsted, “and I used to entertain the same views, but experience has taught me better.” “I shall not argue the point Colonel, but let you have your own way!” replied Armsted. “Well, Judge, as you wish to become a Southerner; you must first 'see the sights,' as children say, and learn to get used to them. I wish you to ride out with me to Captain Grason's, and you'll see some rare sport; the most amusing thing I ever witnessed,” suggested Franks. “What is it?” enquired the Major. “The effect is lost by previous knowledge of the thing,” replied he. “This will suit you, Armsted, as you're fond of Negro jokes.” “Then, Colonel, let's be off,” urged the Major. “Off it is!” replied Franks, as he invited the gentlemen to take a seat in the carriage already at the door. “Halloo, halloo, here you are, Colonel! Why Major Armsted, old fellow, 'pon my word!” saluted Grason, grasping Armsted by the hand as they entered the porch. “Judge Ballard, sir,” said Armsted. “Just in time for dinner, gentlemen! Be seated,” invited he, holding the Judge by the hand. “Welcome to Mississippi, Sir! What's up, gentlemen?” “We've come out to witness some rare sport the Colonel has been telling us about,” replied the Major. “Blamed if I don't think the Colonel will have me advertised as a showman presently! I've got a queer animal here; I'll show him to you after dinner,” rejoined Grason. “Gentlemen, help yourself to brandy and water.” Dinner over, the gentlemen walked into the pleasure grounds, in the rear of the mansion. 67 “Nelse, where is Rube? Call him!” said Grason to a slave lad, brother to the boy he sent for. Shortly there came forward, a small black boy about eleven years of age, thin visage, projecting upper teeth, rather ghastly consumptive look, and emaciated condition. The child trembled with fear as he approached the group. “Now gentlemen,” said Grason, “I'm going to show you a sight!” having in his hand a long whip, the cracking of which he commenced, as a ringmaster in the circus. The child gave him a look never to be forgotten; a look beseeching mercy and compassion. But the decree was made, and though humanity quailed in dejected supplication before him, the command was imperative, with no living hand to stay the pending consequences. He must submit to his fate, and pass through the ordeal of training. “Wat maus gwine do wid me now? I know wat maus gwine do,” said this miserable child, “he gwine make me see sights!” when going down on his hands and feet, he commenced trotting around like an animal. “Now gentlemen, look!” said Grason. “He'll whistle, sing songs, hymns, pray, swear like a trooper, laugh, and cry, all under the same state of feelings.” With a peculiar swing of the whip, bringing the lash down upon a certain spot on the exposed skin, the whole person being prepared for the purpose, the boy commenced to whistle almost like a thrush; another cut changed it to a song, another to a hymn, then a pitiful prayer, when he gave utterance to oaths which would make a Christian shudder, after which he laughed outright; then from the fullness of his soul he cried: “O maussa, I's sick! Please stop little!” casting up gobs of hemorrhage.* Franks stood looking on with unmoved muscles. Armsted stood aside whittling a stick; but when Ballard saw, at every cut the flesh turn open in gashes streaming down with gore, till at last in agony he appealed for mercy, he involuntarily found his hand with a grasp on the whip, arresting its further application. “Not quite a Southerner yet Judge, if you can't stand that!” said Franks on seeing him wiping away the tears. 68 “Gentlemen, help yourself to brandy and water. The little Negro don't stand it nigh so well as formerly. He used to be a trump!” “Well, Colonel,” said the Judge, “as I have to leave for Jackson this evening, I suggest that we return to the city.” The company now left Grason's, Franks for the enjoyment of home, Ballard and Armsted for Jackson, and the poor boy Reuben, from hemorrhage of the lungs, that evening left time for eternity. CHAPTER 17 Henry at Large On leaving the plantation carrying them hanging upon his arm, thrown across his shoulders, and in his hands Henry had a bridle, halter, blanket, girt, and horsewhip, the emblems of a faithful servant in discharge of his master's business. By shrewdness and discretion—such was his management as he passed along—that he could tell the name of each place and proprietor long before he reached them. Being a scholar, he carefully kept a record of the plantations he had passed, that when accosted by a white, as an overseer or patrol, he invariably pretended to belong to a back estate, in search of his master's racehorse. If crossing a field, he was taking a near cut; but if met in a wood, the animal was in the forest, as being a great leaper no fence could debar him, though the forest was fenced and posted. The blanket, a substitute for a saddle, was in reality carried for a bed. With speed unfaltering and spirits unflinching, his first great strive was to reach the Red River, to escape from his own state as quickly as possible. Proceeding on in the direction of the Red River country, he met with no obstruction except in one instance, when he left his assailant quietly upon the earth. A few days after an inquest was held upon the body of a deceased overseer—verdict of the Jury, “By hands unknown.” On approaching the river, after crossing a number of streams, as the Yazoo, Ouchita, and such, he was brought to sad reflections. A dread came over him, difficulties lay before him, dangers stood staring him in the face at every step he took. Here for the first time since his 69 maturity of manhood responsibilities rose up in a shape of which he had no conception. A mighty undertaking, such as had never before been ventured upon, and the duty devolving upon him, was too much for a slave with no other aid than the aspirations of his soul panting for liberty. Reflecting upon the peaceful hours he once enjoyed as a professing Christian, and the distance which slavery had driven him from its peaceful portals, here in the wilderness, determining to renew his faith and dependence upon Divine aid, when falling upon his knees he opened his heart to God, as a tenement of the Holy Spirit. “Arm of the Lord, awake! Renew my faith, confirm my hope, perfect me in love. Give strength, give courage, guide and protect my pathway, and direct me in my course!” Springing to his feet as if a weight had fallen from him, he stood up a new man. The river is narrow, the water red as if colored by iron rust, the channel winding. Beyond this river lie his hopes, the broad plains of Louisiana with a hundred thousand bondsmen seeming anxiously to await him. Standing upon a high bank of the stream, contemplating his mission, a feeling of humbleness and a sensibility of unworthiness impressed him, and that religious sentiment which once gave comfort to his soul now inspiring anew his breast, Henry raised in solemn tones amidst the lonely wilderness: Could I but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er; Not Jordan's streams, nor death's cold flood, Could drive me from the shore! To the right of where he stood was a cove, formed by the washing of the stream at high water, which ran quite into the thicket, into which the sun shone through a space among the high trees. While thus standing and contemplating his position, the water being too deep to wade, and on account of numerous sharks and alligators, too dangerous to swim, his attention was attracted by the sound of a steamer coming up the channel. Running into the cove to shield himself, a singular noise disturbed him, when to his terror he found himself amidst a squad of huge alligators, which sought the advantages of the sunshine. 70 His first impulse was to surrender himself to his fate and be devoured, as in the rear and either side the bank was perpendicular, escape being impossible except by the way he entered, to do which would have exposed him to the view of the boat, which could not have been avoided. Meantime the frightful animals were crawling over and among each other, at a fearful rate. Seizing the fragment of a limb which lay in the cove, beating upon the ground and yelling like a madman, giving them all possible space, the beasts were frightened at such a rate, that they reached the water in less time than Henry reached the bank. Receding into the forest, he thus escaped the observation of the passing steamer, his escape serving to strengthen his fate in a renewed determination of spiritual dependence. While gazing upon the stream in solemn reflection for Divine aid to direct him, logs came floating down, which suggested a proximity to the raft with which sections of that stream is filled, when going but a short distance up, he crossed in safety to the Louisiana side. His faith was now fully established, and thenceforth, Henry was full of hope and confident of success. Reaching Alexandria with no obstruction, his first secret meeting was held in the hut of aunt Dilly. Here he found them all ready for an issue. “An dis you, chile?” said the old woman, stooping with age, sitting on a low stool in the chimney corner. “Dis many day, I heahn on yeh!” though Henry had just entered on his mission. From Alexandria he passed rapidly on to Latuer's, making no immediate stops, prefering to organize at the more prominent places. This is a mulatto planter, said to have come from the isle of Guadaloupe. Riding down the road upon a pony at a quick gallop was a mulatto youth, a son of the planter, an old black man on foot keeping close to the horse's heels. “Whose boy are you?” enquired the young mulatto, who had just dismounted, the old servant holding his pony. “I'm in search of master's race horse.” “What is your name?” further enquired the young mulatto. “Gilbert, sir.” “What do you want?” “I am hungry, sir.” 71 “Dolly,” said he to an old black woman at the woodpile, “show this man into the Negro quarter, and give him something to eat; give him a cup of milk. Do you like milk, my man?” “Yes, sir, I have no choice when hungry; anything will do.” “Da is none heah but claubah, maus Eugene,” replied the old cook. “Give him that,” said the young master. “You people like that kind of stuff I believe; our Negroes like it.” “Yes, sir,” replied Henry when the lad left. “God knows 'e needn' talk 'bout wat we po' black folks eat, case da don' ghin us nothin' else but dat an' caun bread,” muttered the old woman. “Don't they treat you well, aunty?” enquired Henry. “God on'y knows, my chile, wat we suffeh.” “Who was that old man who ran behind your master's horse?” “Dat Nathan, my husban'.” “Do they treat him well, aunty?” “No, chile, wus an' any dog, da beat 'im foh little an nothin'.” “Is uncle Nathan religious?” “Yes, chile, ole man an' I's been sahvin' God dis many day, fo yeh baun! Wen any one on 'em in de house git sick, den da sen foh 'uncle Nathan' come pray foh dem; 'uncle Nathan' mighty good den!” “Do you know that the Latuers are colored people?” “Yes, chile; God bless yeh soul yes! Case huh mammy ony dead two-three yehs, an' she black as me.” “How did they treat her?” “Not berry well; she nus da childen; an eat in a house arter all done.” “What did Latuer's children call her?” “Da call huh 'mammy' same like wite folks childen call de nus.” “Can you tell me, aunty, why they treat you people so badly, knowing themselves to be colored, and some of the slaves related to them?” “God bless yeh, hunny, de wite folks, dese plantehs make 'em so; da run heah, an' tell 'em da mus'n treat deh niggers well, case da spile 'em.” “Do the white planters frequently visit here?” “Yes, hunny, yes, da heah some on 'em all de time eatin' an' drinkin' long wid de old man; da on'y tryin' git wat little 'e got, dat 72 all! Da 'tend to be great frien' de ole man; but laws a massy, hunny, I doh mine dese wite folks no how!” “Does your master ever go to their houses and eat with them?” “Yes, chile, some time 'e go, but den half on 'em got nothin' fit to eat; da hab fat poke an' bean, caun cake an' sich like, dat all da got, some on 'em.” “Does Mr. Latuer give them better at his table?” “Laws, hunny, yes; yes'n deed, chile! 'E got mutton—some time whole sheep mos'—fowl, pig, an' ebery tum ting a nuddeh, 'e got so much ting dah, I haudly know wat cook fus.” “Do the white planters associate with the family of Latuer?” “One on 'em, ten 'e coatin de dahta; I don't recon 'e gwine hab heh. Da cah fool long wid 'Toyeh's gals dat way.” “Whose girls, Metoyers?” “Yes, chile.” “Do you mean the wealthy planters of that name?” “Dat same, chile.' “Well, I want to understand you; you don't mean to say that they are colored people?” “Yes, hunny, yes; da good culed folks anybody. Some five-six boys' an five-six gals on 'em; da all rich.” “How do they treat their slaves?” “Da boys all mighty haud maustas, de gals all mighty good; sahvants all like 'em.” “You seem to understand these people very well, aunty. Now please tell me what kind of masters there are generally in the Red River country.” “Haud 'nough, chile, haud 'nough, God on'y knows!” “Do the colored masters treat theirs generally worse than the whites?” “No, hunny, 'bout da same.” “That's just what I want to know. What are the usual allowances for slaves?” “Da 'low de fiel' han' two suit a yeah; foh umin one long linen coat,* make suit; an' foh man, pantaloon an' jacket.” “How about eating?” “Half-peck meal ah day foh family uh fo!” 73 “What about weekly privileges? Do you have Saturday to yourselves?” “Laud, honny, no! No, chile, no! Da do'n 'low us no time, 'tall. Da 'low us ebery uddeh Sunday wash ouh close; dat all de time we git.” “Then you don't get to sell anything for yourselves?” “No, hunny, no. Da don' 'low pig, chicken, tucky, goose, bean, pea, tateh, nothin' else.” “Well, aunty. I'm glad to meet you, and as evening's drawing nigh, I must see your husband a little, then go.” “God bless yeh, chile, whah ebeh yeh go! Yeh ain' arteh no racehos, dat yeh ain't.” “You got something to eat, my man, did you?” enquired the lad Eugene, at the conclusion of his interview with uncle Nathan. “I did, sir, and feasted well!” replied Henry in conclusion. “Good bye!” and he left for the next plantation suited to his objects. “God bless de baby!” said old aunt Dolly as uncle Nathan entered the hut, referring to Henry. “Ah, chile!” replied the old man with tears in his eyes; “my yeahs has heahn dis day!” CHAPTER 18 Fleeting Shadows In high spirits Henry left the plantation of Latuer, after sowing seeds from which in due season, he anticipated an abundant harvest. He found the old man Nathan all that could be desired, and equal to the task of propagating the scheme. His soul swelled with exultation on receiving the tidings, declaring that though nearly eighty years of age, he never felt before an implied meaning, in the promise of the Lord. “Now Laud!” with uplifted hand exclaimed he at the conclusion of the interview. “My eyes has seen, and meh yeahs heahn, an' now Laud! I's willin' to stan' still an' see dy salvation!” On went Henry to Metoyers, visiting the places of four brothers, having taken those of the white planters intervening, all without detection or suspicion of being a stranger. Stopping among the people of Colonel Hopkins at Grantico summit, here as at Latuer's and all intermediate places, he found the people 74 patiently looking for a promised redemption. Here a pet female slave, Silva, espied him and gave the alarm that a strange black was lurking among the Negro quarters, which compelled him to retirement sooner than intended. Among the people of Dickson at Pine Bluff, he found the best of spirits. There was Newman, a young slave man born without arms, who was ready any moment for a strike. “How could you fight?” said Henry. “You have no arms!” “I am compelled to pick with my toes, a hundred pound of cotton a day,* and I can sit on a stool and touch off a cannon!” said this promising young man whose heart panted with an unsuppressed throb for liberty. Heeley's, Harrison's, and Hickman's slaves were fearfully and pitiably dejected. Much effort was required to effect a seclusion, and more to stimulate them to action. The continual dread “that maus wont let us!” seemed as immovably fixed as the words were constantly repeated; and it was not until an occasion for another subject of inquest, in the person of a pest of an old black slave man, that an organization was effected. Approaching Crane's on Little River, the slaves were returning from the field to the gin. Many—being females, some of whom were very handsome—had just emptied their baskets. So little clothing had they, and so loosely hung the tattered fragments about them, that they covered themselves behind the large empty baskets tilted over on the side, to shield their person from exposure. The overseer engaged in another direction, the master absent, and the family at the great house, a good opportunity presented for an inspection of affairs. “How do you do, young woman?” saluted Henry. “How de do, sir!” replied a sprightly, comely young mulatto girl, who stood behind her basket with not three yards of cloth in the tattered relic of the only garment she had on. “Who owns this place?” “Mr. Crane, sir,” she politely replied with a smile. “How many slaves has he?” “I don'o, some say five 'a six hunded.” “Do they all work on this place?” 75 “No, sir, he got two-three places.” “How many on this place?” “Oveh a hundred an' fifty.” “What allowances have you?” “None, sir.” “What! no Saturday to yourselves?” “No, sir.” “They allow you Sundays, I suppose.” “No, sir, we work all day ev'ry Sunday.” “How late do you work?” “Till we can' see to pick no mo' cotton; but w'en its moon light we pick till ten o'clock at night.” “What time do you get to wash your clothes?” “None, sir; da on'y 'low us one suit ev'ry New Yehs day,* an' us gals take it off every Satady night aftah de men all gone to bed and wash it fah Sunday.” “Why do you want clean clothes on Sunday, if you have to work on that day?” “It's de Laud's day, an' we wa to be clean, and we feel betteh.” “How do the men do for clean clothes?” “We wash de men's clothes afteh da go to bed.” “And you say you are only allowed one suit a year? Now, young woman, I don't know your name but——” “Nancy, sir.” “Well, Nancy, speak plainly, and dont be backward; what does your one suit consist of?” “A frock, sir, made out er coarse tow linen.” “Only one piece, and no underclothes at all?” “Dat's all, sir!” replied she modestly looking down and drawing the basket, which sufficiently screened her, still closer to her person. “Is that which you have on a sample of the goods your clothes are made of?” “Yes, sir, dis is da kine.” “I would like to see some other of your girls.” “Stop, sir, I go call Susan!” when, gathering up and drawing around and before her a surplus of the back section, the only remaining sound remnant of the narrow tattered garment that she wore, off she ran 76 behind the gin, where lay in the sun, a number of girls to rest themselves during their hour of “spell.” “Susan!” she exclaimed rather loudly. “I do'n want you gals!” she pleasantly admonished, as the whole twelve or fifteen rose from their resting place, and came hurriedly around the building, Nancy and Susan in the lead. They instinctively as did Nancy, drew their garments around and about them, on coming in sight of the stranger. Standing on the outside of the fence, Henry politely bowed as they approached. “Dis is Susan, sir!” said Nancy, introducing her friend with bland simplicity. “How de do, sir!” saluted she, a modest and intelligent, very pretty young black girl, of good address. “Well, Susan!” replied Henry. “I don't want anything but to see you girls; but I will ask you this question: how many suits of clothes do they give you a year?” “One, sir.” “How many pieces make a suit?” “Jus' one frock,” and they simultaneously commenced drawing still closer before, the remnant of coarse garment, which hung in tatters about them. “Don't you have shoes and stockings in winter?” “We no call foh shoes, case 'taint cole much; on'y some time little fros'.” “How late in the evening do you work?” “Da fiel' han's dah,” pointing to those returning to the field, “da work till bedtime, but we gals heah, we work in de gin, and spell each other ev'ey twelve ouahs.” “You're at leisure now; who fills your places?” “Nutha set a' han's go to work, fo' you come.” “How much cotton do they pick for a task?” “Each one mus' pick big basket full, an' fetch it in f'om da fiel' to de gin, else da git thirty lashes.” “How much must the women pick as a task?” “De same as de men.” “That can't be possible!” said Henry, looking over the fence down upon their baskets. “How much do they hold?” “I dis membeh sir, but good 'eal.” 77 “I see on each basket marked 225 pounds; is that the quantity they hold?” “Yes, sir, dat's it.” “All mus' be in gin certain ouah else da git whipped; sometime de men help 'em.” “How can they do this when they have their own to carry?” “Da put derse on de head, an' ketch holt one side de women basket. Sometimes they leave part in de fiel', an' go back afteh it.” “Do you get plenty to eat?” “No, sir, da feeds us po'ly; sometime, we do'n have mo'n half nough!” “Did you girls ever work in the field?” “O yes, sir! all uv us, on'y we wan't strong nough to fetch in ouh cotton, den da put us in de gin.” “Where would you rather; in the gin or in the field?” “If 'twant foh carryin' cotton, we'a rather work in de fiel'.” “Why so, girls?” “Case den da would'n be so many ole wite plantehs come an' look at us, like we was show!” “Who sees that the tasks are all done in the field?” “Da Driveh.” “Is he a white man?” “No sir, black.” “Is he a free man?” “No, sir, slave.” “Have you no white overseer?” “Yes, sir, Mr. Dorman.” “Where is Dorman when you are at work.” “He out at de fiel too.” “What is he doing there?” “He watch Jesse, da drivah.” “Is Jesse a pretty good fellow?” “No, sir, he treat black folks like dog, he all de time beat 'em, when da no call to do it.” “How did he treat you girls when you worked in the field?” “He beat us if we jist git little behind de rest in pickin'! Da wite folks make 'im bad.” “Point him out to me and after tonight, he'll never whip another.” 78 “Now, girls, I see that you are smart intelligent young women, and I want you to tell me why it is, that your master keeps you all here at work in the gin, when he could get high prices for you, and supply your places with common cheap hands at half the money?” “Case we gals won' go! Da been mo'n a dozen plantehs heah lookin' at us, an' want to buy us foh house keepehs, an' we wont go; we die fus!” said Susan with a shudder. “Yes,” repeated Nancy, with equal emotion, “we die fus!” “How can you prevent it, girls; won't your master sell you against your will?” “Yes, sir, he would, but da plantehs da don't want us widout we willin' to go.” “I see! Well girls, I believe I'm done with you; but before leaving let me ask you, is there among your men, a real clever good trusty man? I don't care either old or young, though I prefer an old or middle-aged man.” “O yes, sir,” replied Nancy, “da is some mong 'em.” “Give me the name of one,” said Henry, at which request Nancy and Susan looked hesitatingly at each other. “Don't be backward,” admonished he, “as I shan't make a bad use of it.” But still they hesitated, when after another admonition Nancy said, “Dare's uncle Joe——” “No, uncle Moses, uncle Moses!” in a suppressed tone interrupted the other girls. “Who is uncle Moses?” enquired Henry. “He' my fatha,” replied Susan, “an——” “My uncle!” interrupted Nancy. “Then you two are cousins?” “Yes, sir, huh fatha an my motha is brotha an sisteh,” replied Nancy. “Is he a religious man, girls?” “Yes, sir, he used to preach but'e do'n preach now,” explained Susan. “Why?” “Case da 'ligions people wo'n heah im now.” “Who, colored people?” “Yes, sir.” 79 “When did they stop hearing him preach?” “Good while ago.” “Where at?” “Down in da bush meetin', at da Baptism.” “He's a Baptist then—what did he do?” Again became Susan and Nancy more perplexed than before, the other girls in this instance failing to come to their relief. “What did he do girls? Let me know it quick, as I must be off!” “Da say—da say—I do'n want tell you!” replied Susan hesitating, with much feeling. “What is it girls, can't some of you tell me?” earnestly enquired Henry. “Da say befo' 'e come heah way down in Fagina, he kill a man, ole po' wite ovehseeah!” “Is that it, girls?” enquired he. “Yes, sir!” they simultaneously replied. “Then he's the very man I want to see!” said Henry. “Now don't forget what I say to you; tell him that a man will meet him tonight below here on the river side, just where the carcass of an ox lies in the verge of the thicket. Tell him to listen and when I'm ready, I'll give the signal of a runaway—the screech of the panther*—when he must immediately obey the summons. One word more, and I'll leave you. Every one of you as you have so praiseworthily concluded, die before surrendering to such base purposes as that for which this man who holds you wishes to dispose of you. Girls, you will see me no more. Fare——” “Yo' name sir, yo' name!” they all exclaimed. “My name is—Farewell, girls, farewell!”——when Henry darted in the thickest of the forest, leaving the squad of young maiden slaves in a state of bewildering inquiry concerning the singular black man. The next day Jesse the driver was missed, and never after heard of. On inquiry being made of the old man Moses concerning the stranger, all that could be elicited was, “Stan' still child'en, and see da salvation uv da Laud!” CHAPTER 19 Come What Will Leaving the plantation of Crane with high hopes and great confidence in the integrity of uncle Moses and the maiden gang of cotton girls, Henry turned his course in a retrograde direction so as again to take the stream of Red River, Little River, where he then was, being but a branch of that water. Just below its confluence with the larger stream, at the moment when he reached the junction, a steam cotton trader hove in view. There was no alternative but to stand like a freeman, or suddenly escape into the forest, thus creating suspicions and fears, as but a few days previous a French planter of the neighborhood lost a desperate slave, who became a terror to the country around. The master was compelled to go continually armed, as also other white neighbors, and all were afraid after nightfall to pass out the threshold of their own doors. Permission was given to every white man to shoot him if ever seen within rifle shot, which facts having learned the evening before, Henry was armed with this precaution. His dress being that of a racegroom—small leather cap with long front piece, neat fitting roundabout, high boots drawn over the pantaloon legs, with blanket, girth, halter, whip and bridle—Henry stood upon the shore awaiting the vessel. “Well boy!” hailed the captain as the line was thrown out, which he caught, making fast at the root of a tree. “Do you wish to come aboard?” “Good man!” approvingly cried the mate, at the expert manner which he caught the line and tied the sailor knot. “Have you ever steamboated, my man?” continued the captain. “Yes, sir,” replied Henry. “Where?” “On the Upper and Lower Mississippi, sir.” “Whom do you know as masters of steamers on the Upper Mississippi?” “Captains Thogmorton, Price, Swan, and ——” “Stop, stop! That'll do,” interrupted the captain, “you know the master of every steamer in the trade, I believe. Now who in the Lower trade?” 81 “Captains Scott, Hart, and——” “What's Captain Hart's Christian name?” interrupted the captain. “Jesse, sir.” “That'll do, by George you know everybody! Do you want to ship?” “No, sir.” “What are you doing here?” “I'm hunting master's stray racehorse.” “Your master's race horse! Are you a slave boy?” “Yes, sir.” “How did you come to be on the Mississippi River?” “I hired my time, sir.” “Yes, yes, boy, I see!” “Who is your master?” “Colonel Sheldon; I used to belong to Major Gilmore.” “Are you the boy Nepp, the great horse trainer the Major used to own?” “No, sir, I'm his son.” “Are you as good at training horses as the old chap?” “They call me better, sir.” “Then you're worth your weight in gold. Will your master sell you?” “I don't know, sir.” “How did your horse come to get away?” “He was bought from the Major by Colonel Sheldon to run at the great Green Wood Races, Texas, and while training he managed to get away, leaping the fences, and taking to the forest.” “Then you're Major Tom's race rider Gilbert! You're a valuable boy; I wonder the Major parted with you.” The bell having rung for dinner, the captain left, Henry going to the deck. Among those on deck was a bright mulatto young man, who immediately recognized Henry as having seen him on the Upper Mississippi, he being a free man. On going up to him, Henry observed that he was laden with heavy manacles. “Have I not seen you somewhere before?” enquired he. “Yes; my name is Lewis Grimes, you saw me on the Upper Mississippi,” replied the young man. “Your name is Henry Holland!” 82 “What have you been doing?” enquired Henry, on seeing the handcuffs. “Nothing at all!” replied he with eyes flashing resentment and suffused with tears. “What does this mean?” continued he, pointing at the handcuffs. “I am stolen and now being taken to Texas, where I am to be enslaved for life!” replied Lewis sobbing aloud. “Who did this vile deed?” continued Henry in a low tone of voice, pressing his lips to suppress his feelings. “One Dr. Johns of Texas, now a passenger on this boat!” “Was that the person who placed a glass to your lips which you refused, just as I came aboard?” “Yes, that's the man.” “Why don't you leave him instantly?” said Henry, his breast heaving with emotion. “Because he always handcuffs me before the boat lands, keeping me so during the time she lies ashore.” “Why don't you jump overboard when the boat is under way?” “Because he guards me with a heavy loaded rifle, and I can't get a chance.” “He 'guards' you! 'You can't get a chance!' Are there no nights, and does he never sleep?” “Yes, but he makes me sleep in the stateroom with him, keeping his rifle at his bedside.” “Are you never awake when he's asleep?” “Often, but I'm afraid to stir lest he wakens.” “Well don't you submit, die first if thereby you must take another into eternity with you! Were it my case and he ever went to sleep where I was, he'd never waken in this world!” “I never thought of that before, I shall take your advice the first opportunity. Good-bye sir!” hastily said the young man, as the bell tapped a signal to start, and Henry stepped on shore. “Let go that line!” sternly commanded the captain, Henry obeying orders on the shore, when the boat glided steadily up the stream, seemingly in unison with the lively though rude and sorrowful song of the black firemen— I'm a-goin' to Texas—O! O-O-O! I'm a-goin' to Texas—O! O-O-O! 83 Having in consequence of the scarcity of spring houses and larders along his way in so level and thinly settled country, Henry took in his pouch from the cook of the boat an ample supply of provisions for the suceeding four or five days. Thus provided for, standing upon the bank for a few minutes, with steady gaze listening to the sad song of his oppressed brethren as they left the spot, and reflecting still more on the miserable fate of the young mulatto freeman Lewis Grimes held by the slave-holder Dr. Johns of Texas, he, with renewed energy, determined that nothing short of an interference by Divine Providence should stop his plans and progress. In soliloquy said Henry, “Yes! If every foe stood martialed in the van, I'd fight them single combat, man to man!” and again he started with a manly will, as fixed and determined in his purpose as though no obstructions lay in his pathway. From plantation to plantation did he go, sowing the seeds of future devastation and ruin to the master and redemption to the slave, an antecedent more terrible in its anticipation than the warning voice of the destroying Angel in commanding the slaughter of the firstborn of Egypt. Himself careworn, distressed and hungry, who just being supplied with nourishment for the system, Henry went forth a welcome messenger, casting his bread upon the turbid waters of oppression, in hopes of finding it after many days. Holding but one seclusion on each plantation, his progress was consequently very rapid, in whatever direction he went. With a bold stride from Louisiana, he went into Texas. Here he soon met with the man of his wishes. This presented in the person of Sampson, on the cotton place of proprietor Richardson. The master here, though represented wealthy, with an accomplished and handsome young daughter, was a silly, stupid old dolt, an inordinate blabber and wine bibber. The number of his slaves was said to be great and he the owner of three plantations, one in Alabama, and the others in Texas. Sampson was a black, tall, stoutly built, and manly, possessing much general intelligence, and a good-looking person. His wife a neat, intelligent, handsome little woman, the complexion of himself, was the mother of a most interesting family of five pretty children, three boys 84 and two girls. This family entered at once into the soul of his mission, seeming to have anticipated it. With an amply supply of means,* buried in a convenient well-marked spot, he only awaited a favorable opportunity to effect his escape from slavery. With what anxiety did that wife gaze smilingly in his face, and a boy and girl cling tightly each to a knee, as this husband and father in whispers recounted his plans and determination of carrying them out. The scheme of Henry was at once committed to his confidence, and he requested to impart them wherever he went. Richardson was a sportsman and Sampson his body servant, they traveled through every part of the country, thus affording the greatest opportunity for propagating the measures of the secret organization. From Portland in Maine to Galveston in Texas, Sampson was as familiar as a civil engineer. “Sampson, Sampson, stand by me! Stand by me, my man; stand at your master's back!” was the language of this sottish old imbecile he kept continually reveling at a gambling table, and who from excessive fatigue would sometimes squat or sit down upon the floor behind him. “Sampson, Sampson! are you there? Stand by your master, Sampson!” again would he exclaim, so soon as the tall commanding form of his black protector was missed from his sight. Sampson and his wife were both pious people, believing much in the Providence of God, he, as he said, having recently had it “shown to” him—meaning a presentiment—that a messenger would come to him and reveal the plan of deliverance. “I am glad to see that you have money,” said Henry, “you are thereby well qualified for your mission. With money you may effect your escape almost at any time. Your most difficult point is an elevated obstruction, a mighty hill, a mountain; but through that hill there is a gap, and money is your passport through that White Gap to freedom. Mark that! It is the great range of White mountains and White river which are before you, and the White Gap that you must pass through to reach the haven of safety. Money alone will carry you through the White mountains or across the White river to liberty.” “Brother, my eyes is open, and my way clear!” responded Sampson to this advice. 85 “Then,” said Henry, “you are ready to 'rise and shine' for——” “My light has come!—” interrupted Sampson. “But——” “The glory of God is not yet shed abroad!”* concluded Henry, who fell upon Sampson's neck with tears of joy in meeting unexpectedly one of his race so intelligent in that region of country. Sampson and wife Dursie, taking Henry by the hand wept aloud, looking upon him as the messenger of deliverance foreshown to them. Kneeling down a fervent prayer was offered by Sampson for Henry's protection by the way, and final success in his “mighty plans,” with many Amens and “God grants,” by Dursie. Partaking of a sumptuous fare on 'ash cake and sweet milk—a dainty diet with many slaves—and bidding with a trembling voice and tearful eye a final “Farewell!” in six hours he had left the state of Texas to the consequences of a deep-laid scheme for a terrible insurrection. CHAPTER 20 Advent Among the Indians From Texas Henry went into the Indian Nation near Fort Towson, Arkansas. “Make yourself at home, sir,” invited Mr. Culver, the intelligent old Chief of the United Nation, “and Josephus will attend to you,” referring to his nephew Josephus Braser, an educated young chief and counselor among his people. “You are slaveholders, I see, Mr. Culver!” said Henry. “We are, sir, but not like the white men,” he replied. “How many do you hold?” “About two hundred on my two plantations.” “I can't well understand how a man like you can reconcile your principles with the holding of slaves and——” “We have had enough of that!” exclaimed Dr. Donald, with a tone of threatening authority. “Hold your breath, sir, else I'll stop it!” in a rage replied the young chief. “Sir,” responded the Doctor, “I was not speaking to you, but only speaking to that Negro!” 86 “You're a fool!” roared Braser, springing to his feet. “Come, come, gentlemen!” admonished the old Chief. “I think you are both going mad! I hope you'll behave something better.” “Well, uncle, I can't endure him! he assumes so much authority!” replied he. “He'll make the Indians slaves just now, then Negroes will have no friends.” Donald was a white man, married among the Indians a sister of the old Chief and aunt to the young, for the sake of her wealth and a home. A physician without talents, he was unable to make a business and unwilling to work. “Mr. Bras——” “I want nothing more of you,” interrupted Braser, “and don't——” “Josephus, Josephus!” interrupted the old chief. “You will surely let the Doctor speak!” Donald stood pale and trembling before the young Choctaw born to command, when receiving no favor he left the company muttering “nigger!” “Now you see,” said Mr. Culver as the Doctor left the room, “the difference between a white man and Indian holding slaves. Indian work side by side with black man, eat with him, drink with him, rest with him and both lay down in shade together; white man even won't let you talk! In our Nation Indian and black all marry together. Indian like black man very much, ony he don't fight 'nough. Black man in Florida fight much, and Indian like 'im heap!” “You make, sir, a slight mistake about my people. They would fight if in their own country they were united as the Indians here, and not scattered thousands of miles apart as they are. You should also remember that the Africans have never permitted a subjugation of their country by foreigners as the Indians have theirs, and Africa today is still peopled by Africans, whilst America, the home of the Indian—who is fast passing away—is now possessed and ruled by foreigners.” “True, true!” said the old Chief, looking down reflectingly. “Too true! I had not thought that way before. Do you think the white man couldn't take Africa if he wanted?” “He might by a combination, and I still am doubtful whether then he could if the Africans were determined as formerly to keep him out. You will also remember, that the whites came in small numbers to 87 America, and then drove the Indians from their own soil, whilst the blacks got in Africa as slaves, are taken by their own native conquerors, and sold to white men as prisoners of war.” “That is true, sir, true!” sighed the old Chief. “The Indian, like game before the bow, is passing away before the gun of the white man!” “What I now most wish to learn is, whether in case that the blacks should rise, they may have hope or fear from the Indian?” asked Henry. “I'm an old mouthpiece, been puffing out smoke and talk many seasons for the entertainment of the young and benefit of all who come among us. The squaws of the great men among the Indians in Florida were black women, and the squaws of the black men were Indian women. You see the vine that winds around and holds us together. Don't cut it, but let it grow till bimeby, it git so stout and strong, with many, very many little branches attached, that you can't separate them. I now reach to you the pipe of peace and hold out the olive-branch of hope! Go on young man, go on. If you want white man to love you, you must fight im!” concluded the intelligent old Choctaw. “Then, sir, I shall rest contented, and impart to you the object of my mission,” replied Henry. “Ah hah!” exclaimed the old chief after an hour's seclusion with him. “Ah hah! Indian have something like that long-go. I wonder your people ain't got it before! That what make Indian strong; that what make Indian and black man in Florida hold together. Go on young man, go on! may the Great Spirit make you brave!” exhorted Mr. Culver, when the parties retired for the evening, Henry rooming with the young warrior Braser. By the aid of the young Chief and kindness of his uncle the venerable old brave, Henry was conducted quite through the nation on a pony placed at his service, affording to him an ample opportunity of examining into the condition of things. He left the settlement with the regrets of the people, being the only instance in which his seclusions were held with the master instead of the slave. CHAPTER 21 What Not Leaving the United Nation of Chickasaw and Choctaw Indians, Henry continued his travel in this the roughest, apparently, of all the states. Armed with bowie knives and revolvers openly carried belted around the person, he who displays the greatest number of deadly weapons seems to be considered the greatest man. The most fearful incivility and absence of refinement was apparent throughout this region. Neither the robes of state nor gown of authority is sufficient to check the vengeance of awakened wrath in Arkansas. Law is but a fable, its ministration a farce, and the pillars of justice but as stubble before the approach of these legal invaders. Hurriedly passing on in the darkness of the night, Henry suddenly came upon a procession in the wilderness, slowly and silently marching on, the cortege consisting principally of horsemen, there being but one vehicle, advanced by four men on horseback. Their conversation seemed at intervals of low, muttering, awestricken voices. The vehicle was closely covered, and of a sad, heavy sound by the rattling of the wheels upon the unfinished path of the great Arkansas road. Here he sat in silence listening, waiting for the passage of the solemn procession, but a short distance from whence in the thicket stood the hut of the slave to whom he was sent. “Ole umin! done yeh heah some 'un trampin' round de house? Hush! evedroppehs 'bout!” admonished Uncle Jerry. “Who dat?” enquired Aunt Rachel, as Henry softly rapped at the back window. “A friend!” was the reply. “What saut frien' dat go sneak roun' people back windah stid comin' to de doh!” “Hush, ole umin, yeh too fas'! how yeh know who 'tis? Frien', come roun' to de doh,” said the old man. Passing quickly around, the door was opened, a blazing hot fire shining full in his face, the old man holding in his hand a heavy iron poker in the attitude of defence. “Is dis you, my frien'?” enquired Uncle Jerry, to whom Henry was an entire stranger. “Yes, uncle, this is me,” replied he. 89 “God bless yeh, honey! come in; we didn know 'twos you, chile! God bless de baby!” added Aunt Rachel. “Ole man, heah yeh comin' an' we been lookin' all day long. Dis evenin' I git some suppeh, an' I don'o if yeh come uh no.” “How did you know I was coming, aunty?” “O! honey, da tell us,” replied she. “Who told you?” “De folks up dah.” “Up where?” “Up dah, 'mong de Injins, chile.” “Indians told you?” “No, honey; some de black folks, da all'as gwine back and for'ard, and da lahn heap from dem up dah; an' da make 'ase an' tell us.” “Can you get word from each other so far apart, that easy?” “Yes 'ndeed, honey! some on 'em all de time gwine; wite folks know nothin' 'bout it. Some time some on 'em gone two-three day, an' ain miss; white folks tink da in the woods choppin'.” “Why, that's the very thing! you're ahead of all the other states. You folks in Arkansas must be pretty well organized already.” “Wat dat yeh mean, chile, dat 'organ' so?” “I mean by that, aunty, a good general secret understanding among yourselves.” “Ah, chile! dat da is. Da comin' all de time, ole man hardly time to eat mou'full wen 'e come in de hut night.” “Tell me, aunty, why people like you and uncle here, who seem to be at the head of these secrets, are not more cautious with me, a stranger?” “Ole umin, I lisenin at yeh!” said Uncle Jerry, after enough had been told to betray them; but the old people well understood each other, Aunt Rachel by mutual consent being the mouthpiece. “How we knows you!” rejoined the old woman. “Wy, chile, yeh got mahk dat so soon as we put eye on yeh, we knows yeh. Huccum yeh tink we gwine tell yeh so much wen we don'o who yeh is? Sho, chile, we ain't dat big fool!” “Then you know my errand among you, aunty?” “Yes, meh son, dat we does, an' we long been waitin' foh some sich like you to come 'mong us. We thang God dis night in ouh soul! We long been lookin' foh ye, chile!” replied Uncle Jerry. “You are closely watched in this state, I should think, uncle.” 90 “Yes, chile, de patrolas da all de time out an' gwine in de quahtehs an' huntin' up black folks wid der 'nigga-dogs' as da call 'em.” “I suppose you people scarcely ever get a chance to go anywhere, then?” “God bless yeh, honey, da blacks do'n mine dem noh der 'niggadogs' nutha. Patrolas feahd uh de black folks, an' da black folks charm de dogs, so da cahn heht 'em,” said Aunt Rachel. “I see you understand yourselves! Now, what is my best way to get along through the state?” “Keep in de thicket, chile, as da patrolas feahd to go in de woods, da feahd runaway ketch 'em! Keep in da woods, chile, an' da ain' goin' dah bit! Da talk big, and sen' der dog, but da ain' goin' honey!” continued the old woman. “Ah spose, meh son, yeh know how to chaum dogs?” enquired Uncle Jerry. “I understand the mixed bull, but not the full-bred Cuba dog,” replied Henry. “Well, chile, da keep boph kine heah, de bull dog an' bloodhoun' an' fo' yeh go, I lahn yeh how to fix 'em all! Da come sneakin' up to yeh! da cahn bite yeh!” “Thank you, Uncle Jerry! I'll try and do as much for you in some way.” “Yeh no call foh dat, meh son; it ain' nothin' mo' nah onh——” “Hush! ole man; ain' dat dem?” admonished Aunt Rachel, in a whisper, as she went to the door, thrusting out her head in the dark. “Who? Patrols?” with anxiety enquired Henry. “No, chile, de man da kill down yondah; all day long da been lookin' foh 'em to come.” “A procession passed just before I came to your door, which I took for a funeral.” “Yes, chile, dat's it, da kill im down dah.' On enquiry, it appeared that in the senate a misunderstanding on the rules of order and parliamentary usage occurred, when the Speaker, conceiving himself insulted by the senator who had the floor, deliberately arose from his chair, when approaching the senator, drove a bowie knife through his body from the chest, which laid him a corpse upon the senate floor. “There he is! There he is!” stormed the assassin, pointing with 91 defiance at the lifeless body, his hand still reeking with blood. “I did it!” slapping his hand upon his own breast in triumph of his victory. They had just returned with the body of the assassinated statesman to the wretched home of his distracted family, some ten miles beyond the hut of Uncle Jerry. “Is this the way they treat each other, aunty?” “Yes, chile, wus den dat! da kill one-notha in cole blood, sometime at de table eatin'. Da all'as choppin' up some on 'em.” “Then you black people must have a poor chance among them, if this is the way they do each other!” “Mighty po', honey; mighty po' indeed!” replied Uncle Jerry. “Well, uncle, it's now time I was doing something; I've been here some time resting. Aunty, see to your windows and door; are there any cracks in the walls!” “No, honey, da dob good!” whispered the old woman as a wellpatched, covering quilt to shield the door was hung, covering nearly one side of the hut, and a thickly-patched linsey gown fully shielded the only window of four eight-by-ten lights. These precautions taken, they drew together in a corner between the head of the bed and well-daubed wall to hold their seclusion. “Laud!” exclaimed Uncle Jerry, after the secrets were fully imparted to them. “Make beah dine all-conquering ahm! strike off de chains dat dy people may go free! Come, Laud, a little nigh, eh!” “Honah to 'is name!” concorded Aunt Rachel. “Wuthy all praise! Tang God fah wat I seen an' heahn dis night! dis night long to be membed! Meh soul feels it! It is heah!” pressing her hand upon her breast, exclaimed she. “Amen! Laud heah de cry uh dy children! Anseh prah!” responded the old man, in tears; when Aunt Rachel in a grain of sorrowful pathos, sung to the expressive words in the slaves' lament: “In eighteen hundred and twenty-three They said their people should be free! It is wrote in Jeremiah, Come and go along with me! It is wrote in Jeremiah, Go sound the Jubilee!” 92 At the conclusion of the last line, a sudden sharp rap at the door startled them, when the old woman, hastening, took down the quilt, enquiring, “Who dat?” “Open the door, Rachel!” was the reply, in an authoritative tone from a posse of patrols, who on going their evening rounds were attracted to the place by the old people's devotion, and stood sometime listening around the hut. “You seem to be happy here, Jerry,” said Ralph Jordon, the head of the party. “What boy is this you have here?” “Major Morgan's sir,” replied Henry, referring to the proprietor of the next plantation above. “I don't remember seeing you before, boy,” continued Jordon. “No, sir; lately got me,” explained Henry. “Aye, aye, boy; a preacher, I suppose.” “No, sir.” “No, Maus Rafe, dis brotheh no preacheh; but 'e is 'logious, and come to gib us little comfit, an' bless God I feels it now; dat I does, blessed be God!” said the old woman. “Well, Rachel, that's all right enough; but, my boy, its high time that you were getting towards home. You've not yet learned our rules here; where are you from?” “Louisiana, sir.” “Yes, yes, that explains it. Louisiana Negroes are permitted to go out at a much later hour than our Negroes.” “Maus Rafe, ah hope yah let de brotheh eat a mouph'l wid us fo' go?” “O yes, Rachel! give the boy something to eat before he goes; I suppose the 'laborer is worthy of his hire,' ” looking with a smile at his comrades. “Yes 'ndeed, seh, dat he is!” replied the old woman with emphasis. “Rachel, I smell something good! What have you here, spare rib?” enquired Ralph Jordon, walking to the table and lifting up a clean check apron which the old woman had hurriedly thrown over it to screen her homely food from the view of the gentlemen patrols. “Good! spare rib and ash cake, gentlemen! What's better? Rachel, give us some seats here!” continued Ralph. Hurrying about, the old woman made out to seat the uninvited 93 guests with a half barrel tub, an old split bottom chair, and a short slab bench, which accommodated two. “By gum! This is fine,” said Ralph Jordon, smacking his mouth, and tearing at a rib. “Gentlemen, help yourselves to some spirits,” setting on the table a large flask of Jamaica rum, just taken from his lips. “Nothing better,” replied Tom Hammond; “give me at any time the cooking in the Negro quarters before your great-house dainties.” “So say I,” sanctioned Zack Hite, champing like a hungry man. “The Negroes live a great deal better than we do.” “Much better, sir, much better,” replied Ralph. “Rachel, don't you nor Jerry ever take any spirits?” “No, Maus Rafe, not any,” replied the old woman. “May be your friend there will take a little.” “I don't drink, sir,” said Henry. Rising from the homely meal at the humble board of Aunt Rachel and Uncle Jerry, they emptied their pockets of crackers, cold biscuits and cheese, giving the old man a plug of honey-cured tobacco, to be divided between himself and wife, in lieu of what they had, without invitation, taken the liberty of eating. The patrol this evening were composed of the better class of persons, principally business men, two of whom, being lawyers who went out that evening for a mere “frolic among the Negroes.” Receiving the parting hand, accompanied with a “good bye, honey!” and “God bless yeh, meh son!” from the old people, Henry left the hut to continue his course through the forest. Hearing persons approaching, he stepped aside from the road to conceal himself, when two parties at the junction of two roads met each other, coming to a stand. “What's up tonight, Colonel?” enquired one. “Nothing but the raffle.” “Are you going?” “Yes, the whole party here; won't you go?” “I dun'o; what's the chances?” “Five dollars only.” “Five dollars a chance! What the deuce is the prize!” “Oh, there's several for the same money.” “What are they?” 94 “That fine horse and buggy of Colonel Sprout, a mare and colt, a little Negro girl ten years of age, and a trail of four of the finest Negro-dogs in the state.” “Hallo! all them; why, how many chances, in the name of gracious, are there?” “Only a hundred and fifty.” “Seven hundred and fifty dollars for the whole; that's cheap. But, then, all can't win, and it must be a loss to somebody.” “Will you go, Cap'n?” “Well, I don't care—go it is!” when the parties started in the direction of the sport, Henry following to reconnoiter them. On approaching the tavern, the rafflers, who waited the rest of the company to gather, could be seen and heard through the uncurtained windows and the door, which was frequently opened, standing around a blazing hot fire, and in groups over the barroom floor, amusing themselves with jests and laughter. Henry stood in the verge of the forest in a position to view the whole of their proceedings. Presently there was a rush out of doors with glee and merriment. Old Colonel Sprout was bringing out his dogs, to test their quality previous to the raffle. “Now, gentlemen!” exclaimed he, “them is the best trained dogs in this part of the state. Be dad, they's the bes' dogs in the country. When you say 'nigger,' you needn't fear they'll ever go after anything but a nigger.” “Come, Colonel, give them a trial; we must have something going on to kill time,” suggested one of the party. “But what will he try 'em on?” said another; “there's no niggers to hunt.” “Send them out, and let them find one, be George; what else would you have them do?” replied a third. “Where the deuce will they get one?” rejoined a fourth. “Just as a hunting dog finds any other game,” answered a fifth; “where else?” “O, by golly, gentlemen, you need's give yourselves no uneasiness about the game. They'll find a nigger, once started if they have to break into some Negro quarter and drag 'm out o' bed. No mistake 'bout them, I tell you, gentlemen,” boasted Sprout. 95 “But won't a nigger hurt 'em when he knows he's not a runaway?” enquired Richard Rester Rutherford. “What, a nigger hurt a bloodhound! By, gracious, they're fearder of a bloodhound than they is of the devil himself! Them dogs is dogs, gentlemen, an' no mistake; they is by gracious!” declared Sprout. “Well, let them loose, Colonel, and let's have a little sport, at any rate!” said Ralph Jordon, the patrol, who had just arrived; “we're in for a spree tonight, anyhow.” “Here, Caesar, Major, Jowler, here Pup! Niggers about! Seek out!” hissed the Colonel, with a snap of the finger, pointing toward the thicket, in the direction of which was Henry. With a yelp which sent a shudder through the crowd, the dogs started in full chase for the forest. “By George, Colonel, that's too bad! Call them back!” said Ralph Jordon, as the savage brutes bounded in search of a victim. “By thunder, gentlemen, it's too late! they'll have a nigger before they stop. They'll taste the blood of some poor black devil before they git back!” declared Sprout. Having heard every word that passed between them, in breathless silence Henry waited the approach of the animals. The yelping now became more anxious and eager, until at last it was heard as a short, impatient, fretful whining, indicating a near approach to their prey, when growing less and less, they ceased entirely to be heard. “What the Harry does it mean! the dogs has ceased to bay!” remarked Colonel Sprout. “Maybe they caught a nigger,” replied John Spangler. “It might be a Tartar!” rejoined Ralph Jordon. “Maybe a nigger caught them!” said the Sheriff of the county, who was present to superintend the raffle, and receive the proceeds of the hazard. “What!” exclaimed the old gentleman, to enhance the value of the prizes. “What! My Caesar, Major, Jowler, and Pup, the best dogs in all Arkansas!—A nigger kill them! No, gentlemen, once let loose an' on their trail, an' they's not a gang o' niggers to be found out at night they couldn't devour! Them dogs! Hanged if they didn't eat a nigger quicker as they'd swaller a piece o' meat!” “Then they're the dogs for me!” replied the Sheriff. 96 “And me,” added Spangle, a noted agent for catching runaway slaves. “The raffle, the raffle!” exclaimed several voices eager for a chance, estimating at once the value of the dogs above the aggregate amount of the stakes. “But the dogs, the dogs, gentlemen! They're not here! Give us the dogs first,” suggested an eager candidate for competition in the prizes. “No matter, gentlemen; be sartin,” said the Colonel, “when they's done they'll come back agin.” “But how will they be managed in attacking strange Negroes?” enquired Ralph Jordon. “O, the command of any white man is sufficient to call 'em off, an' they's plenty o' them all'as wherever you find niggers.” “Then, Colonel, we're to understand you to mean, that white men can't live without niggers.” “I'll be hanged, gentlemen, if it don't seem so, for wherever you find one you'll all'as find tother, they's so fully mixed up with us in all our relations!” peals of laughter following the explanation. “Come, Colonel, I'll be hanged if we stand that, except you stand treat!” said Ralph. “Stand what? Let us understand you; what'd I say?” “What did you say? why, by George, you tell us flatly that we are related to niggers!” “Then, gentlemen, I'll stand treat; for on that question I'll be consarned if some of us don't have to knock under!” at which there were deafening roars of laughter, the crowd rushing into the barroom, crying, “Treat! Treat!! That's too good to be lost!” Next day after the raffle, the winners having presented the prizes back to their former owner, it was whispered about that the dogs had been found dead in the woods, the mare and colt were astray, the little slave girl was in a pulmonary decline, the buggy had been upset and badly worsted the day before the raffle, and the horse had the distemper; upon which information the whole party met at a convenient place on a fixed day, going out to his house in a body, who ate, drank, and caroused at his expense during the day and evening. “Sprout,” said Ralph Jordon, “with your uniform benevolence, generosity and candor, how did you ever manage to depart so far from your old principles and rule of doing things? I can't understand it.” 97 “How so? Explain yourself,” replied Sprout. “Why you always give rather than take advantage, your house and means always being open to the needy, even those with whom you are unacquainted.” “I'm sure I ain't departed one whit from my old rule,” said Sprout; “I saw you was all strangers to the thing, an' I took you in; I'm blamed if I didn't!” the crowd shouting with laughter. “One word, Sprout,” said Jordon. “When the dogs ceased baying, didn't you suspect something wrong?” “I know'd at once when they stopped that they was defeated; but I thought they'd pitched headlong into a old wellhole some sixty foot deep, where the walls has tumbled in, an' made it some twenty foot wide at the top. I lis'ened every minute 'spectin' to hear a devil of a whinin' 'mong 'em' but I was disapinted.” “Well, its a blamed pity, anyhow, that such fine animals were killed; and no clue as yet, I believe, to the perpetration of the deed,” said the Sheriff. “They was, indeed,” replied Sprout, “as good a breed o' dogs as ever was, an' if they'd a been trained right, nothin' could a come up with them; but consarn their picters, it serves 'em right, as they wos the cussedest cowards I ever seed! 'Sarn them, if a nigger ony done so— jis' made a pass at 'em, an' I'll be hanged if they didn't yelp like wild cats, an almost kill 'emselves runin' away!” at which explanation the peals of laughter were deafening. “Let's stay a week, stay a week, gentlemen!” exclaimed Ralph Jordon, in a convulsion of laughter. “Be gracious, gentlemen!” concluded Sprout. “If you stay till eternity it won't alter the case one whit; case, the mare an' colt's lost, the black gal's no use to anybody, the buggy's all smashed up, the hos' is got the distemper, and the dogs is dead as thunder!” With a boisterous roar, the party, already nearly exhausted with laughter, commenced gathering their hats and cloaks, and left the premises declaring never again to be caught at a raffling wherein was interested Colonel Joel Sprout. The dogs were the best animals of the kind, and quickly trailed out their game; but Henry, with a well-aimed weapon, slew each ferocious beast as it approached him, leaving them weltering in their own blood instead of feasting on his, as would have been the case had he not 98 overpowered them. The rest of the prizes were also valuable and in good order, and the story which found currency depreciating them, had its origin in the brain and interest of Colonel Sprout, which resulted, as designed, entirely in his favor. Hastening on to the Fulton landing Henry reached it at half-past two o'clock in the morning, just in time to board a steamer on the downward trip, which barely touched the shore to pick up a package. Knowing him by reputation as a great horse master, the captain received him cheerfully, believing him to have been, from what he had learned, to the Texas races with horses for his master. Being now at ease, and faring upon the best the vessel could afford, after a little delay along the cotton trading coast, Henry was safely landed in the portentous city of New Orleans. CHAPTER 22 New Orleans The season is the holidays, it is evening, and the night is beautiful. The moon, which in Louisiana is always an object of impressive interest, even to the slave as well as those of enlightened and scientific intelligence, the influence of whose soft and mellow light seems ever like the enchanting effect of some invisible being, to impart inspiration—now being shed from the crescent of the first day of the last quarter, appeared more interesting and charming than ever. Though the cannon at the old fort in the Lower Faubourg had fired the significant warning, admonishing the slaves as well as free blacks to limit their movement, still there were passing to and fro with seeming indifference Negroes, both free and slaves, as well as the whites and Creole quadroons, fearlessly along the public highways, in seeming defiance of the established usage of Negro limitation. This was the evening of the day of Mardi Gras, and from long-established and time-honored custom, the celebration which commenced in the morning was now being consummated by games, shows, exhibitions, theatrical performances, festivals, masquerade balls, and numerous entertainments and gatherings in the evening. It 99 was on this account that the Negroes had been allowed such unlimited privileges this evening. Nor were they remiss to the utmost extent of its advantages. The city which always at this season of the year is lively, and Chartier street gay and fashionable, at this time appeared more lively, gay and fashionable than usual. This fashionable thoroughfare, the pride of the city, was thronged with people, presenting complexions of every shade and color. Now could be seen and realized the expressive description in the popular song of the vocalist Cargill: I suppose you've heard how New Orleans Is famed for wealth and beauty; There's girls of every hue, it seems, From snowy white to sooty. The extensive shops and fancy stores presented the presence behind their counters as saleswomen in attendance of numerous females, black, white, mulatto and quadroon, politely bowing, curtsying, and rubbing their hands, in accents of broken English inviting to purchase all who enter the threshold, or even look in at the door: “Wat fa you want something? Walk in, sire, I vill sell you one nice present fa one young lady.” And so with many who stood or sat along the streets and at the store doors, curtsying and smiling they give the civil banter: “Come, sire, I sell you one pretty ting.” The fancy stores and toy shops on this occasion were crowded seemingly to their greatest capacity. Here might be seen the fashionable young white lady of French or American extraction, and there the handsome, and frequently beautiful maiden of African origin, mulatto, quadroon, or sterling black, all fondly interchanging civilities, and receiving some memento or keepsake from the hand of an acquaintance. Many lively jests and impressive flings of delicate civility noted the greetings of the passersby. Freedom seemed as though for once enshielded by her sacred robes and crowned with cap and wand in hand, to go forth untrammeled through the highways of the town. Along the private streets, sitting under the verandas, in the doors with half-closed jalousies, or promenading unconcernedly the public ways, mournfully humming in solace or chanting in lively 100 glee, could be seen and heard many a Creole, male or female, black, white or mixed race, sometimes in reverential praise of Father, Son and Holy Ghost— Madonna, and the Heavenly Host! in sentimental reflection on some pleasant social relations, or the sad reminiscence of ill-treatment or loss by death of some loved one, or worse than death, the relentless and insatiable demands of slavery. In the distance, on the levee or in the harbor among the steamers, the songs of the boatmen were incessant. Every few hours landing, loading and unloading, the glee of these men of sorrow was touchingly appropriate and impressive. Men of sorrow they are in reality; for if there be a class of men anywhere to be found, whose sentiments of song and words of lament are made to reach the sympathies of others, the black slave-boatmen of the Mississippi river is that class. Placed in positions the most favorable to witness the pleasures enjoyed by others, the tendency is only to augment their own wretchedness. Fastened by the unyielding links of the iron cable of despotism, reconciling themselves to a lifelong misery, they are seemingly contented by soothing their sorrows with songs and sentiments of apparently cheerful but in reality wailing lamentations. The most attracting lament of the evening was sung to words, a stanza of which is presented in pathos of delicate tenderness, which is but a spray from the stream which gushed out in insuppressible jets from the agitated fountains of their souls, as if in unison with the restless current of the great river upon which they were compelled to toil, their troubled waters could not be quieted. In the capacity of leader, as is their custom, one poor fellow in pitiful tones led off the song of the evening: Way down upon the Mobile river, Close to Mobile bay; There's where my thoughts is running ever, All through the livelong day: There I've a good and fond old mother, Though she is a slave; 101 There I've a sister and a brother, Lying in their peaceful graves. Then in chorus joined the whole company— O, could I somehow a'nother, Drive these tears way; When I think about my poor old mother, Down upon the Mobile bay. Standing in the midst of and contemplating such scenes as these, it was that Henry determined to finish his mission in the city and leave it by the earliest conveyance over Pontchartrain for Alabama—Mobile being the point at which he aimed. Swiftly as the current of the fleeting Mississippi was time passing by, and many states lay in expanse before him, all of which, by the admonishing impulses of the dearest relations, he was compelled to pass over as a messenger of light and destruction. Light, of necessity, had to be imparted to the darkened region of the obscure intellects of the slaves, to arouse them from their benighted condition to one of moral responsibility, to make them sensible that liberty was legitimately and essentially theirs, without which there was no distinction between them and the brute. Following as a necessary consequence would be the destruction of oppression and ignorance. Alone and friendless, without a home, a fugitive from slavery, a child of misfortune and outcast upon the world, floating on the cold surface of chance, now in the midst of a great city of opulence, surrounded by the most despotic restrictions upon his race, with renewed determination Henry declared that nothing short of an unforeseen Providence should impede his progress in the spread of secret organization among the slaves. So aroused, he immediately started for a house in the Lower Faubourg. “My frien', who yeh lookin' foh?” kindly enquired a cautious black man, standing concealed in the shrubbery near the door of a low, tile-covered house standing back in the yard. “A friend,” replied Henry. 102 “Wat's 'is name?” continued the man. “I do not rightly know.” “Would yeh know it ef yeh heahed it, my fren'?” “I think I would.” “Is it Seth?” “That's the very name!” said Henry. “Wat yeh want wid 'im, my fren'?” “I want to see him.” “I spose yeh do, fren'; but dat ain' answer my questin' yet. Wat yeh want wid 'em?” “I would rather see him, then I'll be better able to answer.” “My fren',” replied the man, meaningly, “ah see da is somethin' in yeh; come in!” giving a significant cough before placing his finger on the latchstring. On entering, from the number and arrangement of the seats, there was evidence of an anticipated gathering; but the evening being that of the Mardi Gras, there was nothing remarkable in this. Out from another room came a sharp, observing, shrewd little dark brown-skin woman, called in that community a griffe. Bowing, sidling and curtsying, she smilingly came forward. “Wat brotha dis, Seth?” enquired she. “Ah don'o,” carelessly replied he with a signal of caution, which was not required in her case. “Ah!” exclaimed Henry. “This is Mr. Seth! I'm glad to see you.” After a little conversation, in which freely participated Mrs. Seth, who evidently was deservingly the leading spirit of the evening, they soon became reconciled to the character and mission of their unexpected and self-invited guest. “Phebe, go tell 'em,” said Seth; when lightly tripping away she entered the door of the other room, which after a few moments' delay was partially opened, and by a singular and peculiar signal, Seth and the stranger were invited in. Here sat in one of the most secret and romantic-looking rooms, a party of fifteen, the representatives of the heads of that many plantations, who that night had gathered for the portentious purpose of a final decision on the hour to strike the first blow. On entering, Henry stood a little in check. “Trus' 'em!” said Seth. “Yeh fine 'em da right saut uh boys—true to deh own color! Da come fom fifteen diffent plantation.” 103 “They're the men for me!” replied Henry, looking around the room. “Is the house all safe?” “Yes brotha, all safe an' soun', an' a big dog in da yahd, so dat no one can come neah widout ouah knowin' it.” “First, then, to prayer, and next to seclusion,” said Henry, looking at Seth to lead in prayer. “Brotha, gib us wud a' prah,” said Seth to Henry, as the party on their knees bowed low their heads to the floor. “I am not fit, brother, for a spiritual leader; my warfare is not Heavenly, but earthly; I have not to do with angels, but with men; not with righteousness, but wickedness. Call upon some brother who has more of the grace of God than I. If I ever were a Christian, slavery has made me a sinner; if I had been an angel, it would have made me a devil! I feel more like cursing than praying—may God forgive me! Pray for me, brethren!” “Brotha Kits, gib us wud a prah, my brotha!” said Seth to an athletic, powerful black man. “Its not fah ouah many wuds, noah long prah—ouah 'pinion uh ouah self, nah sich like, dat Dou anseh us; but de 'cerity ob ouah hahts an ouah 'tentions. Bless de young man dat come 'mong us; make 'im fit fah 'is day, time, an' genration! Dou knows, Laud, dat fah wat we 'semble; anseh dis ouah 'tition, an' gib us token ob Dine 'probation!” petitioned Kits, slapping his hand at the conclusion down upon and splitting open a pine table before him. “Amen,” responded the gathering. “Let da wud run an' be glorify!” exclaimed Nathan Seth. The splitting of the table was regarded as ominous, but of doubtful signification, the major part considering it as rather unfavorable. Making no delay, lest a despondency ensue through fear and superstition, Henry at once entered into seclusion, completing an organization. “God sen' yeh had come along dis way befo'!” exclaimed Phebe Seth. “God grant 'e had!” responded Nathan. “My Laud! I feels like a Sampson! ah feels like gwine up to take de city mehself!” cried out Kits, standing erect in the floor with fists clenched, muscles braced, eyes shut, and head thrown back. “Yes, yes!” exclaimed Phebe. “Blessed be God, brotha Kits, da King is in da camp!” 104 “Powah, powah!” responded Seth. “Da King is heah!” “Praise 'is name!” shouted Phebe clapping and rubbing her hands. “Fah wat I feels an' da knowledge I has receive dis night! I been all my days in darkness till now! I feels we shall be a people yit! Thang' God, thang God!” when she skidded over the floor from side to side, keeping time with a tune sung to the words— “We'll honor our Lord and Master; We'll honor our Lord and King; We'll honor our Lord and Master, And bow at His command! O! brothers, did you hear the news? Lovely Jesus is coming! If ever I get to the house of the Lord, I'll never come back any more.” “It's good to be heah!” shouted Seth. “Ah! dat it is, brotha Seth!” responded Kits. “Da Laud is nigh, dat 'e is! 'e promise whahsomeveh two-three 'semble, to be in da mids' and dat to bless 'em, an' 'is promise not in vain, case 'e heah tonight!” At the moment which Phebe took her seat, nearly exhausted with exercise, a loud rap at the door, preceded by the signal for the evening, alarmed the party. “Come in, brotha Tib—come quick, if yeh comin!” bade Seth, in a low voice hastily, as he partially opened the door, peeping out into the other room. “O, pshaw!” exclaimed Phebe, as she and her husband yet whispered; “I wish he stay away. I sho nobody want 'em! he all'as half drunk anyhow. Good ev'nin', brotha Tib. How yeh been sense we see yeh early paut da night?” “Reasable, sistah—reasable, thang God. Well, what yeh all 'cided on? I say dis night now au neveh!” said Tib, evidently bent on mischief. “Foolishness, foolishness!” replied Phebe. “It make me mad see people make fool uh demself! I wish 'e stay home an' not bothen heah!” “Ah, 'spose I got right to speak as well as da rest on yeh! Yeh all ain' dat high yit to keep body fom talkin', ah 'spose. Betta wait tell yeh git free fo' ye 'temp' scrow oveh people dat way! I kin go out yeh 105 house!” retorted the mischievous man, determined on distracting their plans. “Nobody odeh yeh out, but I like see people have sense, specially befo' strangehs! an' know how behave demself!” “I is gwine out yeh house,” gruffly replied the man. “My friend,” said Henry, “listen a moment to me. You are not yet ready for a strike; you are not yet ready to do anything effective. You have barely taken the first step in the matter, and ——” “Strangeh!” interrupted the distracter. “Ah don'o yeh name, yeh strangeh to me—I see yeh talk 'bout 'step'; how many step man got take fo' 'e kin walk? I likes to know dat! Tell me that fus, den yeh may ax me what yeh choose!” “You must have all the necessary means, my brother,” persuasively resumed Henry, “for the accomplishment of your ends. Intelligence among yourself on everything pertaining to your designs and project. You must know what, how, and when to do. Have all the instrumentalities necessary for an effective effort, before making the attempt. Without this, you will fail, utterly fail!” “Den ef we got wait all dat time, we neveh be free!” gruffly replied he. “I goes in foh dis night! I say dis night! Who goes——” “Shet yo' big mouth! Sit down! Now make a fool o' yo'self!” exclaimed several voices with impatience, which evidently only tended to increase the mischief. “Dis night, dis night au neveh!” boisterously yelled the now infuriated man at the top of his voice. “Now's da time!” when he commenced shuffling about over the floor, stamping and singing at the top of his voice— Come all my brethren, let us take a rest, While the moon shines bright and clear; Old master died and left us all at last, And has gone at the bar to appear! Old master's dead and lying in his grave; And our blood will now cease to flow; He will no more tramp on the neck of the slave, For he's gone where slaveholders go! Hang up the shovel and the hoe—o—o—o! I don't care whether I work or no! 106 Old master's gone to the slaveholders rest— He's gone where they all ought to go! pointing down and concluding with an expression which indicated anything but a religious feeling. “Shame so it is dat he's lowed to do so! I wish I was man foh 'im, I'd make 'im fly!” said Phebe much alarmed, as she heard the great dog in the yard, which had been so trained as to know the family visitors, whining and manifesting an uneasiness unusual with him. On going to the back door, a person suddenly retreated into the shrubbery, jumping the fence, and disappearing. Soon, however, there was an angry low heavy growling of the dog, with suppressed efforts to bark, apparently prevented by fear on the part of the animal. This was succeeded by cracking in the bushes, dull heavy footsteps, cautious whispering, and stillness. “Hush! Listen!” admonished Phebe. “What is dat? Wy don't Tyger bark? I don't understan' it! Seth, go out and see, will you? Wy don't some you men make dat fool stop? I wish I was man, I'd break 'is neck, so I would!” during which the betrayer was shuffling, dancing, and singing at such a pitch as to attract attention from without. Seth seizing him from behind by a firm grasp of the collar with both hands, Tib sprang forward, slipping easily out of it, leaving the overcoat suspended in his assailant's hands, displaying studded around his waist a formidable array of deathly weapons, when rushing out of the front door, he in terrible accents exclaimed— “Insurrection! Insurrection! Death to every white!” With a sudden spring of their rattles, the gendarmes, who in cloisters had surrounded the house, and by constant menacing gestures with their maces kept the great dog, which stood back in a corner, in a snarling position in fear, arrested the miscreant, taking him directly to the old fort calaboose. In the midst of the confusion which necessarily ensued, Henry, Seth, and Phebe, Kits and fellow-leaders from the fifteen plantations, immediately fled, all having passes for the day and evening, which fully protected them in any part of the city away from the scene of disturbance. Intelligence soon reached all parts of the city, that an extensive plot for rebellion of the slaves had been timely detected. The place was at once thrown into a state of intense excitement, the military called 107 into requisition, dragoons flying in every direction, cannon from the old fort sending forth hourly through the night, thundering peals to give assurance of their sufficiency, and the infantry on duty traversing the streets, stimulating with martial air with voluntary vocalists, who readily joined in chorus to the memorable citing words in the Southern States of— Go tell Jack Coleman, The Negroes are arising! Alarm and consternation succeeded pleasure and repose, sleep for the time seemed to have departed from the eyes of the inhabitants, men, women and children ran every direction through the streets, seeming determined if they were to be massacred, that it should be done in the open highways rather than secretly in their own houses. The commotion thus continued till the morning; meanwhile editors, journalists, reporters, and correspondents, all were busily on the alert, digesting such information as would form an item of news for the press, or a standing reminiscence for historical reference in the future. CHAPTER 23 The Rebel Blacks For the remainder of the night secreting themselves in Conti and Burgundi streets, the rebel proprietors of the house in which was laid the plot for the destruction of the city were safe until the morning, their insurrectionary companions having effected a safe retreat to the respective plantations to which they belonged that evening. Jason and Phebe Seth were the hired slaves of their own time from a widower master, a wealthy retired attorney at Baton Rouge, whose only concern about them was to call every ninety days at the counter of the Canal Bank of New Orleans, and receive the price of their hire, which was there safely deposited to his credit by the industrious and faithful servants. The house in which the rebels met had been hired for the occasion, being furnished rooms kept for transient accommodation. 108 On the earliest conveyance destined for the City of Mobile, Henry left, who, before he fled, admonished as his parting counsel, to “stand still and see the salvation”; the next day being noted by General Ransom, as an incident in his history, to receive a formal visit of a fortnight's sojourn, in the person of his slaves Jason and Phebe Seth. The inquisition held in the case of the betrayer Tib developed fearful antecedents of extensive arrangements for the destruction of the city by fire and water, thereby compelling the white inhabitants to take refuge in the swamps, whilst the blacks marched up the coast, sweeping the plantations as they went. Suspicions were fixed upon many, among whom was an unfortunate English schoolteacher, who was arrested and imprisoned, when he died, to the last protesting his innocence. Mr. Farland was a good and bravehearted man, disdaining to appeal for redress to his country, lest it might be regarded as the result of cowardice. Taking fresh alarm at this incident, the municipal regulations have been most rigid in a system of restriction and espionage toward Negroes and mulattoes, almost destroying their self-respect and manhood, and certainly impairing their usefulness. CHAPTER 24 A Flying Cloud Safely in Mobile Henry landed without a question, having on the way purchased of a passenger who was deficient of means to bear expenses, a horse by which he made a daring entry into the place. Mounting the animal which was fully caparisoned, he boldly rode to the principal livery establishment, ordering for it the greatest care until his master's arrival. Hastening into the country he readily found a friend and seclusion in the hut of Uncle Cesar, on the plantation of Gen. Audly. Making no delay, early next morning he returned to the city to effect a special object. Passing by the stable where the horse had been left, a voice loudly cried out: “There's that Negro boy, now! Hallo, there, boy! didn't you leave a horse here?” Heeding not the interrogation, but speedily turning the first corner, Henry hastened away and was soon lost among the inhabitants. 109 “How yeh do, me frien'?” saluted a black man whom he met in a by-street. “Ar' yeh strangeh?” “Why?” enquired Henry. “O, nothin'! On'y I hearn some wite men talkin'j's now, an' da say some strange nigga lef' a hoss dar, an' da blev 'e stole 'em, an' da gwine ketch an' put 'em in de jail.” “If that's all, I live here. Good morning!” rejoined he who soon was making rapid strides in the direction of Georgia. Every evening found him among the quarters of some plantations, safely secreted in the hut of some faithful, trustworthy slave, with attentive, anxious listeners, ready for an issue. So, on he went with flying haste, from plantation to plantation, till Alabama was left behind him. In Georgia, though the laws were strict, the Negroes were equally hopeful. Like the old stock of Maryland and Virginia blacks from whom they were descended, they manifested a high degree of intelligence for slaves. Receiving their messenger with open arms, the aim of his advent among them spread like fire in a stubble. Everywhere seclusions were held and organizations completed, till Georgia stands like a city at the base of a burning mountain, threatened with destruction by an overflow of the first outburst of lava from above. Clearing the state without an obstruction, he entered that which of all he most dreaded, the haughty South Carolina. Here the most relentless hatred appears to exist against the Negro, who seems to be regarded but as an animated thing of convenience or a domesticated animal, reared for the service of his master. The studied policy of the whites evidently is to keep the blacks in subjection and their spirits below a sentiment of self-respect. To impress the Negro with a sense of his own inferiority is a leading precept of their social system; to be white is the only evidence necessary to establish a claim to superiority. To be a “master” in South Carolina is to hold a position of rank and title, and he who approaches this the nearest is heightened at least in his own estimation. These feelings engendered by the whites have been extensively incorporated with the elements of society among the colored people, giving rise to the “Brown Society” an organized association of mulattos, created by the influence of the whites, for the purpose of preventing pure-blooded Negroes from entering the social circle, or holding intercourse with them. 110 Here intelligence and virtue are discarded and ignored, when not in conformity with these regulations. A man with the prowess of Memnon, or a woman with the purity of the “black doves” of Ethiopia and charms of the “black virgin” of Solomon, avails them nothing, if the blood of the oppressor, engendered by wrong, predominates not in their veins. Oppression is the author of all this, and upon the heads of the white masters let the terrible responsibility of this miserable stupidity and ignorance of their mulatto children rest; since to them was left the plan of their social salvation, let upon their consciences rest the penalties of their social damnation. The transit of the runaway through this state was exceedingly difficult, as no fabrication of which he was capable could save him from the penalties of arrest. To assume freedom would be at once to consign himself to endless bondage, and to acknowledge himself a slave was at once to advertise for a master. His only course of safety was to sleep through the day and travel by night, always keeping to the woods. At a time just at the peep of day when making rapid strides the baying of hounds and soundings of horns were heard at a distance. Understanding it to be the sport of the chase, Henry made a hasty retreat to the nearest hiding place which presented, in the hollow of a log. On attempting to creep in a snarl startled him, when out leaped the fox, having counterrun his track several times, and sheltered in a fallen sycamore. Using his remedy for distracting dogs, he succeeded the fox in the sycamore, resting in safety during the day without molestation, though the dogs bayed within thirty yards of him, taking a contrary course by the distraction of their scent. For every night of sojourn in the state he had a gathering, not one of which was within a hut, so closely were the slaves watched by patrol, and sometimes by mulatto and black overseers. These gatherings were always held in the forest. Many of the confidants of the seclusions were the much-dreaded runaways of the woods, a class of outlawed slaves, who continually seek the lives of their masters. One day having again sought retreat in a hollow log where he lay sound asleep, the day being chilly, he was awakened by a cold application to his face and neck, which proved to have been made by a rattlesnake of the largest size, having sought the warmth of his bosom. 111 Henry made a hasty retreat, ever after declining the hollow of a tree. With rapid movements and hasty action, he like a wind cloud flew through the State of South Carolina, who like “a thief in the night” came when least expected. Henry now entered Charleston, the metropolis, and head of the “Brown Society,” the bane and dread of the blacks in the state, an organization formed through the instrumentality of the whites to keep the blacks and mulattos at variance. To such an extent is the error carried, that the members of the association, rather than their freedom would prefer to see the blacks remain in bondage. But many most excellent mulattos and quadroons condemn with execration this auxiliary of oppression. The eye of the intelligent world is on this “Brown Society”; and its members when and wherever seen are scanned with suspicion and distrust. May they not be forgiven for their ignorance when proving by repentance their conviction of wrong? Lying by till late next morning, he entered the city in daylight, having determined boldly to pass through the street, as he might not be known from any common Negro. Coming to an extensive wood-yard he learned by an old black man who sat at the gate that the proprietors were two colored men, one of whom he pointed out, saying: “Dat is my mausta.” Approaching a respectable-looking mulatto gentleman standing in conversation with a white, his foot resting on a log: “Do you wish to hire help, sir?” enquired Henry respectfully touching his cap. “Take off your hat, boy!” ordered the mulatto gentleman. Obeying the order, he repeated the question. “Who do you belong to?” enquired the gentleman. “I am free, sir!” replied he. “You are a free boy? Are you not a stranger here?” “Yes, sir.” “Then you lie, sir,” replied the mulatto gentleman, “as you know that no free Negro is permitted to enter this state. You are a runaway, and I'll have you taken up!” at the same time walking through his office looking out at the front door as if for an officer. Making a hasty retreat, in less than an hour he had left the city, 112 having but a few minutes tarried in the hut of an old black family on the suburb, one of the remaining confidentials and adherents of the memorable South Carolina insurrection, when and to whom he imparted his fearful scheme. “Ah!” said the old man, throwing his head in the lap of his old wife, with his hands around her neck, both of whom sat near the chimney with the tears coursing down their furrowed cheeks. “Dis many a day I been prayin' dat de Laud sen' a nudder Denmark 'mong us! De Laud now anseh my prar in dis young man! Go on, my son—go on—an' may God A'mighty bress yeh!” North Carolina was traversed mainly in the night. When approaching the region of the Dismal Swamp, a number of the old confederates of the noted Nat Turner were met with, who hailed the daring young runaway as the harbinger of better days. Many of these are still long-suffering, hard-laboring slaves on the plantations; and some bold, courageous, and fearless adventurers, denizens of the mystical, antiquated, and almost fabulous Dismal Swamp, where for many years they have defied the approach of their pursuers. Here Henry found himself surrounded by a different atmosphere, an entirely new element. Finding ample scope for undisturbed action through the entire region of the Swamp, he continued to go scattering to the winds and sowing the seeds of a future crop, only to take root in the thick black waters which cover it, to be grown in devastation and reaped in a whirlwind of ruin. “I been lookin' fah yeh dis many years,” said old Gamby Gholar, a noted high conjurer and compeer of Nat Turner, who for more than thirty years has been secluded in the Swamp, “an' been tellin' on 'em dat yeh 'ood come long, but da 'ooden' heah dat I tole 'em! Now da see! Dis many years I been seein' on yeh! Yes, 'ndeed, chile, dat I has!” and he took from a gourd of antiquated appearance which hung against the wall in his hut, many articles of a mysterious character, some resembling bits of woollen yarn, onionskins, oystershells, finger and toenails, eggshells, and scales which he declared to be from very dangerous serpents, but which closely resembled, and were believed to be those of innocent and harmless fish, with broken iron nails. These he turned over and over again in his hands, closely inspecting them through a fragment of green bottle glass, which he claimed to be a mysterious and precious “blue stone” got at a peculiar and unknown 113 spot in the Swamp, whither by a special faith he was led—and ever after unable to find the same spot—putting them again into the gourd, the end of the neck being cut off so as to form a bottle, he rattled the “goombah,” as he termed it, as if endeavoring to frighten his guest. This process ended, he whispered, then sighted into the neck, first with one eye, then with the other, then shook, and so alternately whispering, sighting and shaking, until apparently getting tired, again pouring them out, fumbling among them until finding a forked breast-bone of a small bird, which, muttering to himself, he called the “charm bone of a treefrog.” “Ah,” exclaimed Gamby as he selected out the mystic symbol handing it to Henry, “got yeh at las'. Take dis, meh son, an' so long as yeh keep it, da can' haum yeh, dat da can't. Dis woth money, meh son; da ain't many sich like dat in de Swamp! Yeh never want for nothin' so long as yeh keep dat!” In this fearful abode for years of some of Virginia and North Carolina's boldest black rebels, the names of Nat Turner, Denmark Veezie, and General Gabriel were held by them in sacred reverence; that of Gabriel as a talisman. With delight they recounted the many exploits of whom they conceived to be the greatest men who ever lived, the pretended deeds of whom were fabulous, some of the narrators claiming to have been patriots in the American Revolution. “Yeh offen hearn on Maudy Ghamus,” said an old man stooped with age, having the appearance of a centenarian. “Dat am me—me heah!” continued he, touching himself on the breast. “I's de frien' on Gamby Gholar; an' I an' Gennel Gabel fit in de Malution wah, an' da want no sich fightin' dare as dat in Gabel wah!” “You were then a soldier in the Revolutionary War for American independence, father?” enquired Henry. “Gau bress yeh, hunny. Yes, 'ndeed, chile, long 'for yeh baun; dat I did many long day go! Yes, chile, yes!” “And General Gabriel, too, a soldier of the American Revolution?” replied Henry. “Ah, chile, dat 'e did fit in de Molution wah, Gabel so, an' 'e fit like mad dog! Wen 'e sturt, chile, da can't stop 'im; da may as well let 'im go long, da can't do nuffin' wid 'im.” Henry subscribed to his eminent qualifications as a warrior, assuring him that those were the kind of fighting men they then needed among 114 the blacks. Maudy Ghamus to this assented, stating that the Swamp contained them in sufficient number to take the whole United States; the only difficulty in the way being that the slaves in the different states could not be convinced of their strength. He had himself for years been an emissary; also, Gamby Gholar, who had gone out among them with sufficient charms to accomplish all they desired, but could not induce the slaves to a general rising. “Take plenty goomba an' fongosa 'long wid us, an' plant mocasa all along, an' da got nuffin' fah do but come, an' da 'ooden come!” despairingly declared Maudy Ghamus. Gamby Gholar, Maudy Ghamus, and others were High Conjurors, who as ambassadors from the Swamp, were regularly sent out to create new conjurers, lay charms, take off “spells” that could not be reached by Low Conjurors, and renew the art of all conjurors of seven years existence, at the expiration of which period the virtue was supposed to run out; holding their official position by fourteen years appointments. Through this means the revenue is obtained for keeping up an organized existence in this much-dreaded morass—the Dismal Swamp. Before Henry left they insisted upon, and anointed him a priest of the order of High Conjurors, and amusing enough it was to him who consented to satisfy the aged devotees of a time-honored superstition among them. Their supreme executive body called the “Head” consists in number of seven aged men, noted for their superior experience and wisdom. Their place of official meeting must be entirely secluded, either in the forest, a gully, secluded hut, an underground room, or a cave. The seven old men who, with heightened spirits, hailed his advent among them, led Henry to the door of an ample cave—their hollow—at the door of which they were met by a large sluggish, lazily-moving serpent, but so entirely tame and petted that it wagged its tail with fondness toward Maudy as he led the party. The old men, suddenly stopping at the approach of the reptile, stepping back a pace, looked at each other mysteriously shaking their heads: “Go back!” exclaimed Maudy waving his hand. “Go back, my chile! 'e in terrible rage! 'e got seben long toof, any on 'em kill yeh like flash!” tapping it slightly on the head with a twig of grapevine which he carried in his hand. 115 Looking at the ugly beast, Henry had determined did it approach to harm, to slay it; but instead, it quietly coiled up and lay at the door as if asleep, which reminded him of queer and unmeaning sounds as they approached, uttered by Gholar, which explained that the animal had been trained to approach when called as any other pet. The “Head” once in session, they created him conjuror of the highest degree known to their art.* With this qualification he was licensed with unlimited power—a power before given no one—to go forth and do wonders. The “Head” seemed, by the unlimited power given him, to place greater reliance in the efforts of Henry for their deliverance than in their own seven heads together. “Go, my son,” said they, “an' may God A'mighty hole up yo' han's an' grant us speedy 'liverence!” Being now well refreshed—having rested without the fear of detection—and in the estimation of Gholar, Ghamus and the rest of the “Heads,” well qualified to prosecute his project amidst the prayers, blessings, wishes, hopes, fears, pow-wows and promises of a never failing conjuration, and tears of the cloudy inhabitants of this great seclusion, among whom were the frosty-headed, bowed-down old men of the Cave, Henry left that region by his usual stealthy process, reaching Richmond, Virginia, in safety. CHAPTER 25 Like Father, Like Son With his usual adroitness, early in the morning, Henry entered Richmond boldly walking through the streets. This place in its municipal regulations, the customs and usages of society, the tastes and assumptious pride of the inhabitants, much resembles Charleston, South Carolina, the latter being a modified model of the former. The restrictions here concerning Negroes and mulattos are less rigid, as they may be permitted to continue in social or religious gatherings after nine o'clock at night provided a white person be present to 116 inspect their conduct; and may ride in a carriage, smoke a cigar in daylight, or walk with a staff at night. According to an old-existing custom said to have originated by law, a mulatto or quadroon who proved a white mother were themselves regarded as white: and many availing themselves of the fact, took advantage of it by leaving their connections with the blacks and turning entirely over to the whites. Their children take further advantage of this by intermarrying with the whites, by which their identity becomes extinct, and they enter every position in society both social and political. Some of the proudest American statesmen in either House of the Capital, receive their poetic vigor of imagination from the current of Negro blood flowing in their veins. Like those of Charleston, some of the light mixed bloods of Richmond hold against the blacks and pure-blooded Negroes the strongest prejudice and hatred, all engendered by the teachings of their Negro-fearing master-fathers. All of the terms and epithets of disparagement commonly used by the whites toward the blacks are as readily applied to them by this class of the mixed bloods. Shy of the blacks and fearful of the whites, they go sneaking about with the countenance of a criminal, of one conscious of having done wrong to his fellows. Spurned by the one and despised by the other, they are the least happy of all the classes. Of this class was Mrs. Pierce, whose daughter stood in the hall door, quite early enjoying the cool air this morning. “Miss,” enquired Henry of the young quadroon lady, “can you inform me where I'll find the house of Mr. Norton, a colored family in this city?” politely raising his cap as he approached her. With a screech she retreated into the house, exclaiming, that a black Negro at the door had given her impudence. Startled at this alarm so unexpected to him—though somewhat prepared for such from his recent experience in Charleston—Henry made good a most hasty retreat before the father, with a long red “hide” in his hand, could reach the door. The man grimaced, declaring, could he have his way, every black in the country would be sold away to labor. Finding the house of his friend, he was safely secluded until evening, when developing his scheme, the old material extinguished and left to mould and rot after the demonstration at Southampton, was immediately rekindled, never again to be suppressed until the slaves stood up the equal of the masters. Southampton—the name of Southampton to them was like an electric shock. 117 “Ah, Laud!” replied Uncle Medly, an old man of ninety-four years, when asked whether or not he would help his brethren in a critical time of need. “Dat I would. Ef I do noffin' else, I pick up dirt an' tro' in der eye!” meaning in that of their masters. “Glory to God!” exclaimed his wife, an old woman of ninety years. “Hallelujah!” responded her daughter, the wife of Norton, the man of the house. “Blessed be God's eternal name!” concluded the man himself. “I've long been praying and looking, but God has answered me at last.” “None could answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” replied the wife. “None would answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” responded the husband. “None did answer it, but a prayer-hearing God!” exclaimed the woman. “Glory to God! Glory to God! 'Tis none but He can deliver!” They fell on their knees to pray, when fervent was their devotion; after which Henry left, but on account of a strict existing patrol regulation, was obliged for three days to be in the wood, so closely watched was he. The fourth evening he effected most adroitly an escape from his hiding place, passing through a strong guard of patrol all around him, entering the District of Columbia at early dawn, soon entering the City of Washington. The slave prison of Williams and Brien conspicuously stood among the edifices; high in the breeze from the flagstaff floated defiantly the National Colors, stars as the pride of the white man, and stripes as the emblem of power over the blacks. At this the fugitive gave a passing glance, but with hurried steps continued his course, not knowing whither he would tarry. He could only breathe in soliloquy, “How long, O Lord of the oppressed, how long shall this thing continue?” Passing quietly along, gazing in at every door, he came to a stop on the corner of Pennsylvania avenue and Sixth Street. On entering, looking into the establishment, his eye unexpectedly caught that of a person who proved to be a mulatto gentleman, slowly advancing toward the door. His first impulse was to make a retreat, but fearing the effort would be fatal, bracing his nerves, he stood looking the person full in the face. “Do you want anything, young man?” enquired the mulatto gentleman, who proved to be the proprietor. “I am hungry, sir!” Henry quickly replied. 118 “You're a stranger, then, in the city?” “I am, sir.” “Never here before?” “Never before, sir.” “Have you no acquaintance in the place?” “None at all, sir.” “Then, sir, if you'll come in, I'll see if I can find as much as you can eat.” replied the goodhearted man. Setting him down to a comfortable breakfast, the wife and niece of the proprietor kindly attended upon him, filling his pouch afterwards with sufficient for the day's travel. Giving him a parting hand, Henry left with, “God Almighty bless the family!” clearing the city in a short time. “I understand it all,” replied the gentleman in response, “and may the same God guide and protect you by the way!” justly regarding him as a fugitive. The kindness received at the hands of this family* brought tears of gratitude to the eyes of the recipient, especially when remembering his treatment from the same class in Charleston and Richmond. About the same time that Henry left the city, the slave of a distinguished Southern statesman also left Washington and the comforts of home and kindness of his master forever. From Washington taking a retrograde course purposely to avoid Maryland, where he learned they were already well advised and holding gatherings, the margin of Virginia was cut in this hasty passage, so as to reach more important points for communication. Stealing through the neighborhood and swimming the river, a place was reached called Mud Fort, some four miles distant from Harper's Ferry, situated on the Potomac. Seeing a white man in a field near by, he passed on as if unconscious of his presence, when the person hailing him in broken English questioned his right to pass. “I am going to Charleston, sir.” replied Henry. “Vat fahr?” inquired the Dutchman. “On business,” replied he. 119 “You nagher, you! dat ish not anzer mine question! I does ax you vat fahr you go to Charleston, and you anzer me dat!” “I told you, sir, that I am going on business.” “You ish von zaucy nagher, andt I bleve you one runaway! Py ching, I vill take you pack!” said the man instantly climbing the fence to get into the road where the runaway stood. “That will do,” exclaimed Henry, “you are near enough—I can bring you down there,” at the same time presenting a well-charged six-barrel weapon of death; when the affrighted Dutchman fell on the opposite side of the fence unharmed, and Henry put down his weapon without a fire. Having lurked till evening in a thicket near by, Charleston was entered near the depot, just at the time when the last train was leaving for Washington. Though small, this place was one of the most difficult in which to promote his object, as the slaves were but comparatively few, difficult to be seen, and those about the depot and house servants, trained to be suspicious and mistrustful of strange blacks, and true and faithful to their masters. Still, he was not remiss in finding a friend and a place for the seclusion. This place was most admirably adapted for the gathering, being held up a run or little stream, in a bramble thicket on a marshy meadow of the old Brackenridge estate, but a few minutes walk from the town. This evening was that of a strict patrol watch, their headquarters for the night being in Worthington's old mills, from which ran the race, passing near which was the most convenient way to reach the place of gathering for the evening. While stealthily moving along in the dark, hearing a cracking in the weeds and a soft tramping of feet, Henry secreted himself in a thick high growth of Jamestown weeds along the fence, when he slightly discerned a small body of men as if reconnoitering the neighborhood. Sensible of the precariousness of his condition, the fugitive lie as still as death, lest by dint he might be discovered, as much fear and apprehension then prevaded the community. Charleston, at best, was a hard place for a Negro, and under the circumstances, had he been discovered, no plea would have saved him. Breathlessly crouched beneath the foliage and thorns of the fetid weed, he was startled by a voice suddenly exclaiming— “Hallo there! who's that?” which provided to be that of one of the patrol, the posse having just come down the bank of the race from the mill. 120 “Sahvant, mausta!” was the humble reply. “Who are you?” further enquired the voice. “Zack Parker, sir.” “Is that you, old Zack?” “Yes, mausta—honner bright.” “Come, Zack, you must go with us! Don't you know that Negroes are not allowed to be out at night alone, these times? Come along!” said Davy Hunter. “Honner bright, maus Davy—honner bright!” continued the old black slave of Colonel Davenport, quietly walking beside them along the mill race, the water of which being both swift and deep. “Maus Davy, I got some mighty good rum here in dis flas'—you gentmen hab some? Mighty good! Mine I tells you, maus Davy—mighty good!” “Well, Zack, we don't care to take a little,” replied Bob Flagg. “Have you had your black mouth to this flask?” “Honner bright, maus Bobby—honner bright!” replied the old man. Hunter raised the flask to his mouth, the others gathering around, each to take a draught in turn, when instantly a plunge in the water was heard, and the next moment old Zack Parker was swinging his hat in triumph on the opposite bank of the channel, exclaiming, “Honner bright, gentmen! Honner bright! Happy Jack an' no trouble!”—the last part of the sentence being a cant phrase commonly in use in that part of the country, to indicate a feeling free from all cares. In a rage the flask was thrown in the dark, and alighted near his feet upright in the tufts of grass, when the old man in turn seizing the vessel, exclaiming aloud, “Yo' heath, gentmen! Yo' good heath!” Then turning it up to his mouth, the sound heard across the stream gave evidence of his enjoyment of the remainder of the contents. “Thank'e, gentmen—good night!” when away went Zack to the disappointment and even amusement of the party. Taking advantage of this incident, Henry, under a guide, found a place of seclusion, and a small number of good willing spirits ready for the counsel. “Mine, my chile!” admonished old Aunt Lucy. “Mine hunny, how yeh go long case da all'as lookin' arter black folks.” Taking the nearest course through Worthington's woods, he reached in good time that night the slave quarters of Captain Jack Briscoe and 121 Major Brack Rutherford. The blacks here were united by the confidential leaders of Moore's people, and altogether they were rather a superior gathering of slaves to any yet met with in Virginia. His mission here soon being accomplished, he moved rapidly on to Slaughter's, Crane's and Washington's old plantations, where he caused a glimmer of light, which until then had never been thought of, much less seen, by them. The night rounds of the patrol of the immediate neighborhood, caused a hurried retreat from Washington's—the last place at which he stopped—and daybreak the next morning found him in near proximity to Winchester, when he sought and obtained a hiding place in the woods of General Bell. The people here he found ripe and ready for anything that favored their redemption. Taylor's, Logan's, Whiting's and Tidball's plantations all had crops ready for the harvest. “An' is dis de young man,” asked Uncle Talton, stooped with the age of eighty-nine years, “dat we hearn so much ob, dat's gwine all tru de country 'mong de black folks? Tang God a'mighty for wat I lib to see!” and the old man straightened himself up to his greatest height, resting on his staff, and swinging himself around as if whirling on the heel as children sometimes do, exclaimed in the gladness of his heart and the bouyancy of his spirits at the prospect of freedom before him: “I dont disagard none on 'em,” referring to the whites. “We have only 'regarded' them too long, father,” replied Henry with a sigh of sorrow, when he looked upon the poor old time and care-worn slave, whose only hope for freedom rested in his efforts. “I neber 'spected to see dis! God bless yeh, my son! May God 'long yeh life!” continued the old man, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Amen!” sanctioned Uncle Ek. “God grant it!” replied Uncle Duk. “May God go wid yeh, my son, wheresomeber yeh go!” exclaimed the old slaves present; when Henry, rising from the block of wood upon which he sat, being moved to tears, reaching out his hand, said, “Well, brethren, mothers, and fathers! My time with you is up, and I must leave you—farewell!” when this faithful messenger of his oppressed brethren, was soon in the woods, making rapid strides towards Western Virginia. 122 Wheeling, in the extreme Western part of Virginia, was reached by the fugitive, where the slaves, already restless and but few in number in consequence of their close proximity to a free state—Ohio being on the opposite side of the river, on the bank of which the town is situated—could never thereafter become contented. The “Buckeye State” steamer here passed along on a downward trip, when boarding her as a black passenger, Cincinnati in due season was reached, when the passengers were transferred to the “Telegraph No. 2,” destined for Louisville, Kentucky. Here crowding in with the passengers, he went directly to Shippenport, a small place but two miles below—the rapids or falls preventing the large class of steamers from going thence except at the time of high water—the “Crystal Palace,” a beautiful packet, was boarded, which swiftly took him to Smithland, at the confluence of the Cumberland and Ohio rivers. From this point access up the Cumberland was a comparatively easy task, and his advent into Nashville, Tennessee, was as unexpected at this time to the slaves, as it was portentous and ominous to the masters. There was no difficulty here in finding a seclusion, and the introduction of his subject was like the application of fire to a drought-seasoned stubble field. The harvest was ripe and ready for the scythe, long before the reaper and time for gathering came. In both town and country the disappointment was sad, when told by Henry that the time to strike had not yet come; that they for the present must “Stand still and see the salvation!” “How long, me son, how long we got wait dis way?” asked Daddy Luu, a good old man and member of a Christian church for upwards of forty years. “I can't tell exactly, father, but I suppose in this, as in all other good works, the Lord's own annointed time!” replied he. “An' how long dat gwine be, honey? case I's mighty ti'ed waitin' dis way!” earnestly responded the old man. “I can't tell you how long, father; God knows best.” “An' how we gwine know w'en 'E is ready?” “When we are ready, He is ready, and not till then is His time.” “God sen we was ready, now den!” concluded the old man, blinded with tears, and who, from the reverence they had for his age and former good counsel among them, this night was placed at the head of the Gathering. 123 Carrying with him the prayers and blessings of his people here, Henry made rapid strides throughout this state, sowing in every direction seeds of the crop of a future harvest. From Tennessee Henry boldly strode into Kentucky, and though there seemed to be a universal desire for freedom, there were few who were willing to strike. To run away, with them, seemed to be the highest conceived idea of their right to liberty. This they were doing, and would continue to do on every favorable opportunity, but their right to freedom by self-resistance, to them was forbidden by the Word of God. Their hopes were based on the long-talked-of promised emancipation in the state. “What was your dependence,” inquired he of an old man verging on the icy surface of ninety winters' slippery pathways, “before you had this promise of emancipation?” “Wy, dar war Guvneh Metcalf, I sho 'e good to black folks,” replied Uncle Winson. “Well, uncle, tell me, supposing he had not been so, what would you have then done?” “Wy, chile, I sho 'e raise up dat time 'sides dem maus Henry and maus John.” “But what good have they ever done you? I don't see that you are any better off than had they never lived.” “Ah, chile! Da good to we black folks,” continued the old man, with a fixed belief that they were emancipationists and the day of freedom, to the slaves drew near. Satisfied that self-reliance was the furthest from their thoughts, but impressing them with new ideas concerning their rights, the great-hearted runaway bid them “Good bye, and may God open your eyes to see your own condition!” when in a few minutes Lexington was relieved of an enemy, more potent than the hostile bands of red men who once defied the military powers of Kentucky. In a few days this astonishing slave was again on the smooth waters of the beautiful Ohio, making speed as fast as the steamer “Queen of the West” could carry him down stream towards Grand Gulf on the great river of the Southwest. CHAPTER 26 Return to Mississippi The evening, for the season, was very fine; the sky beautiful; the stars shining unusually bright; while Henry, alone on the hurricane deck of the “Queen of the West,” stood in silence abaft the wheel-house, gazing intently at the golden orbs of Heaven. Now shoots a meteor, then seemingly shot a comet, again glistened a brilliant planet which almost startled the gazer; and while he yet stood motionless in wonder looking into the heavens, a blazing star whose scintillations dazzled the sight, and for the moment bewildered the mind, was seen apparently to vibrate in a manner never before observed by him. At these things Henry was filled with amazement, and disposed to attach more than ordinary importance to them, as having an especial bearing in his case; but the mystery finds interpretation in the fact that the emotions were located in his own brain, and not exhibited by the orbs of Heaven. Through the water plowed the steamer, the passengers lively and mirthful, sometimes amusingly noisy, whilst the adventurous and heart-stricken fugitive, without a companion or friend with whom to share his grief and sorrows, and aid in untangling his then deranged mind, threw himself in tribulation upon the humble pallet assigned him, there to pour out his spirit in communion with the Comforter of souls on high. The early rising of the passengers aroused him from apparently an abridged night of intermitting sleep, when creeping away into a by-place, he spent the remainder of the day. Thus by sleeping through the day, and watching in the night—induced by the proximity to his old home—did the runaway spend the time during the first two days of his homeward journey. Falling into a deep sleep early on the evening of the third day, he was suddenly aroused about eleven o'clock by the harsh singing of the black firemen on the steamer: Natchez under the Hill! Natchez under the Hill! sung to an air with which they ever on the approach of a steamer, 125 greet the place, as seemingly a sorrowful reminiscence of their ill-fated brethren continually sold there; when springing to his feet and hurrying upon deck, he found the vessel full upon the wharf boat stationed at the Natchez landing. Taking advantage of the moment—passing from the wheelhouse down the ladder to the lower deck—thought by many to have gone forever from the place, Henry effected without detection an easy transit to the wharf, and from thence up the Hill, where again he found himself amid the scenes of his saddest experience, and the origination and organization of the measures upon which were based his brightest hopes and expectations for the redemption of his race in the South. CHAPTER 27 A Night of Anxiety On Saturday evening, about half past seven, was it that Henry dared again to approach the residence of Colonel Franks. The family had not yet retired, as the lights still burned brilliantly in the great house, when, secreted in the shrubbery contiguous to the hut of Mammy Judy and Daddy Joe, he lay patiently awaiting the withdrawal in the mansion. “There's no use in talkin,' Andy, he's gittin' suspicious of us all,” said Charles, “as he threatens us all with the traders; an' if Henry don't come soon, I'll have to leave anyhow! But the old people, Andy, I can't think of leavin' them!” “Do you think da would go if da had a chance, Charles?” “Go? yes 'ndeed, Andy, they'd go this night if they could git off. Since the sellin' of Maggie, and Henry's talkin' to 'em, and his goin' an' takin' little Joe, and Ailcey, an' Cloe, an' Polly an' all clearin' out, they altered their notion about stayin' with ole Franks.” “Wish we could know when Henry's comin' back. Wonder what 'e is,” said Andy. “Here!” was the reply in a voice so cautiously suppressed, and so familiarly distinct that they at once recognized it to be that of their long-absent and most anxiously looked-for friend. Rushing upon him, they mutually embraced, with tears of joy and anxiety. 126 “How have you been anyhow, Henry?” exclaimed Charles in a suppressed tone. “I's so glad to see yeh, dat I ain't agwine to speak to yeh, so I ain't!” added Andy. “Come, brethren, to the woods!” said Henry; when the three went directly to the forest, two and half miles from the city. “Well now, Henry, tell us all about yourself. What you been doin'?” inquired Charles. “I know of nothing about myself worth telling,” replied he. “Oh, pshaw! wot saut a way is dat, Henry; yeh wont tell a body nothin'. Pshaw, dats no way,” grumbled Andy. “Yes, Andy, I've much to tell you; but not of myself; 'tis about our poor oppressed people everywhere I've been! But we have not now time for that.” “Why, can't you tell us nothin'?” “Well, Andy, since you must have something, I'll tell you this much: I've been in the Dismal Swamp among the High Conjurors, and saw the heads, old Maudy Ghamus and Gamby Gholar.” “Hoop! now 'e's a talkin'! Ef 'e wasn't I wouldn't tell yeh so! An' wat da sa to yeh, Henry?” “They welcomed me as the messenger of their deliverance; and as a test of their gratitude, made me a High Conjuror after their own order.” “O pshaw, Henry! Da done what? Wy, ole feller, yeh is high sho 'nough!” “What good does it do, Henry, to be a conjuror?” inquired Charles. “It makes the more ignorant slaves have greater confidence in, and more respect for, their headmen and leaders.” “Oh yes, I see now! Because I couldn't see why you would submit to become a conjuror if it done no good.” “That's it, Charles! As you know, I'll do anything not morally wrong, to gain our freedom; and to effect this, we must take the slaves, not as we wish them to be, but as we really find them to be.” “You say it gives power, Henry; is there any reality in the art of conjunction?” “It only makes the slaves afraid of you if you are called a conjuror, that's all!” “Oh, I understand it well enough now!” concluded Charles. “I undehstood well 'nough fuss, but I want to know all I could, dat's all!” added Andy. “Ole Maudy's a high feller, aint 'e, Henry?” 127 “Oh yes! he's the Head,” replied Charles. “No,” explained Henry, “he's not now Head, but Gamby Gholar, who has for several years held that important position among them. Their Council consists of Seven, called the 'Heads,' and their Chief is called 'the Head.' Everything among them, in religion, medicine, laws, or politics, of a public character, is carried before the Head in Council to be settled and disposed of.” “Now we understan',” said Andy, “but tell us, Henry, how yeh get 'long 'mong de folks whar yeh bin all dis time?” “Very well; everywhere except Kentucky, and there you can't move them toward a strike!” “Kentucky!” rejoined Andy. “I all'as thought dat de slaves in dat state was de bes' treated uv any, an' dat da bin all 'long spectin' to be free.” “That's the very mischief of it, Andy! 'Tis this confounded 'good treatment' and expectation of getting freed by their oppressors, that has been the curse of the slave. All shrewd masters, to keep their slaves in check, promise them their freedom at their, the master's death, as though they were certain to die first. This contents the slave, and makes him obedient and willing to serve and toil on, looking forward to the promised redemption. This is just the case precisely now in Kentucky. It was my case. While Franks treated me well, and made promises of freedom to my wife”—and he gave a deep sigh—“I would doubtless have been with him yet; but his bad treatment—his inhuman treatment of my wife—my poor, poor wife!—poor Maggie! was that which gave me courage, and made me determined to throw off the yoke, let it cost me what it would. Talk to me of a good master! A 'good master' is the very worst of masters. Were they all cruel and inhuman, or could the slaves be made to see their treatment aright, they would not endure their oppression for a single hour!” “I sees it, I sees it!” replied Andy. “An' so do I,” added Charles, “who couldn't see that?” “I tells yeh, Henry, it was mighty haud for me to make up my mine to leave ole Potteh; but even sence you an' Chaules an' me made de vow togedder, I got mo' an' mo' to hate 'im. I could chop 'is head off sometime, I get so mad. I bleve I could chop off Miss Mary' head; an' I likes hur; she mighty good to we black folks.” “Pshaw! yes 'ndeed' ole Frank's head would be nothin' for me to 128 chop off; I could chop off mistess head, an' you know she's a good woman; but I mus' be mighty mad fus'!” said Charles. “That's it, you see. There is no danger that a 'good' master or mistress will ever be harmed by the slaves. There's neither of you, Andy, could muster up courage enough to injure a 'good master' or mistress. And even I now could not have the heart to injure Mrs. Franks,” said Henry. “Now me,” replied Charles. “Yes, 'ndeed, dats a fac', case I knows I couldn' hurt Miss Mary Potteh. I bleve I'd almos' chop off anybody's head if I see 'em 'tempt to hurt 'e!” added Andy; when they heartily laughed at each other. “Just so!” said Henry. “A slave has no just conception of his own wrongs. Had I dealt with Franks as he deserved, for doing that for which he would have taken the life of any man had it been his case—tearing my wife from my bosom!—the most I could take courage directly to do, was to leave him, and take as many from him as I could induce to go. But maturer reflection drove me to the expedient of avenging the general wrongs of our people, by inducing the slave, in his might, to scatter red ruin throughout the region of the South. But still, I cannot find it in my heart to injure an individual, except in personal conflict.” “An has yeh done it, Henry?” earnestly inquired Andy. “Yes, Andy; yes, I have done it! and I thank God for it! I have taught the slave that mighty lesson: to strike for Liberty. 'Rather to die as freemen, than live as slaves!' ” “Thang God!” exclaimed Charles. “Amen!” responded Andy. “Now, boys, to the most important event of your lives!” said Henry. “Wat's dat?” asked Andy. “Why, get ready immediately to leave your oppressors tonight!” replied he. “Glory to God!” cried Andy. “Hallelujah!” responded Charles. “Quietly! Softly! Easy, boys, easy!” admonished Henry, when the party in breathless silence, on tiptoe moved off from the thicket in which they were then seated, toward the city. It was now one o'clock in the night, and Natchez shrouded in 129 darkness and quiet, when the daring and fearless runaway with his companions, entered the enclosure of the great house grounds, and approaced the door of the hut of Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy. “Who dat! Who dat, I say? Ole man, don' yeh hear some un knockin' at de doh?” with fright said Mammy Judy in a smothered tone, hustling and nudging the old man, who was in a deep sleep, when Henry rapped softly at the door. “Wat a mautta, ole umin?” after a while inquired the old man, rubbing his eyes. “Some un at de doh!” she replied. “Who dar?” inquired Daddy Joe. “A friend!” replied Henry with suppressed voice. “Ole man, open de doh quick! I bleve in me soul dat Henry! Open de doh!” said mammy. On the door being opened, the surprise and joy of the old woman was only equalled by the emotion of her utterance. “Dar! dar now, ole man! I tole 'em so, but da 'uden bleve me! I tole 'em 'e comin', but da 'uden lis'en to me! Did yeh git 'er, me son? Little Joe cum too? O Laud! whar's my po' chile! What's Margot?” To evade further inquiry, Henry replied that they were all safe, and hoping to see her and the old man. “How yeh bin, my chile? I'se glad to see yeh, but mighty sorry eh cum back; case de wite folks say, da once git der hands on yeh da neber let yeh go 'g'in! Potteh, Craig, Denny, and all on 'em, da tryin' to fine whar yeh is, hunny!” “I am well, mammy, and come now to see what is to be done with you old people,” said Henry. “We 'ont to be hear long, chile; de gwine sell us all to de traders!” replied mammy with a deep sigh. “Yes chile,” added Daddy Joe, “we all gwine to de soul-driveh!” “You'll go to no soul-drivers!” replied Henry, the flash of whose eyes startled Mammy Judy. “How yeh gwine help it, chile?” kindly asked Daddy Joe. “I'll show you. Come, come, mammy! You and daddy get ready, as I've come to take you away, and must be at the river before two o'clock,” said Henry, who with a single jerk of a board in the floor of the hut, had reached the hidden treasure of the old people. “Who gwine wid us, chile?” inquired Mammy Judy. 130 “Charles, Andy, and his female friend, besides some we shall pick up by the way!” replied Henry. “Now he's a-talkin'!” jocosely said Charles, looking at Andy with a smile, at the mention of his female friend. “'E ain' doin' nothin' else!” replied Andy. “Wat become o' po' little Tony! 'E sleep here tonight case he not berry well. Po' chile!” sighed the old woman. “We'll take him too, of course; and I would that I could take every slave in Natchez!” replied Henry. “It is now half-past one,” said he, looking at his watch, “and against two we must be at the river. Go Andy, and get your friend, and meet us at the old burnt sycamore stump above the ferry. Come mammy and daddy, not a word for your lives!” admonished Henry, when taking their package on his back, and little Tony by the hand, they left forever the great house premises of Colonel Stephen Franks in Natchez. On approaching the river a group was seen, which proved to consist of Andy, Clara (to whom his integrity was plighted), and the faithful old stump, their guidepost for the evening. Greeting each other with tears of joy and fearful hearts, they passed down to the water's edge, but a few hundred feet below. The ferry boat in this instance was a lightly built yawl, commanded by a white man; the ferry one of many such selected along the shore, expressly for such occasions. “Have you a pass?” demanded the boatman as a ruse, lest he might be watched by a concealed party. “Let me see it!” “Here, sir,” said Henry, presenting to him by the light of a match which he held in his hand for the purpose, the face of a half eagle. “Here is seven of you, an' I can't do it for that!” in an humble undertone supplicating manner, said the man. “I axes that for one!” The weight of seven half eagles dropped into his hand, caused him eagerly to seize the oars, making the quickest possible time to the opposite side of the river. CHAPTER 28 Studying Head Work “Now Henry,” said Andy, after finding themselves in a safe place some distance from the landing, “you promise' w'en we stauted to show us de Noth Star—which is it?” On looking up the sky was too much obscured with clouds. “I can't show it to you now, but when we stop to refresh, I'll then explain it to you,” replied he. “It high time now, chil'en, we had a mou'full to eat ef we got travel dis way!” suggested Mammy Judy, breaking silence for the first time since they left the great house. “Yes,” replied Andy, “Clara and little Tony mus' wan' to eat, an' I knows wat dis chile wants!” touching himself on the breast. The runaways stopped in the midst of an almost impenetrable thicket, kindled a fire to give them light, where to take their fare of cold meat, bread and butter, and cheese, of which the cellar and pantry of Franks, to which Mammy Judy and Charles had access, afforded an ample supply. Whilst the others were engaged in refreshing, Henry, aside of a stump, was busily engaged with pencil and paper. “Whar's Henry, dat 'e ain't hear eatin?” inquired Mammy Judy, looking about among the group. “I sho, ole umin, 'e's oveh dar by de stump,” replied Daddy Joe. “Wat dat boy doin' dar? Henry, wat yeh doin'? Mus' be studyin' headwuck, I reckon! Sho boy! betteh come 'long an' git a mou'full to eat. Yeh ain' hungry I reckon,” said the old woman. “Henry, we dun eatin' now. You mos' ready to tell us 'bout de Noth Star?” said Andy. “Yes, I will show you,” said Henry, walking forward and setting himself in the center of the group. “You see these seven stars which I've drawn on this piece of paper—numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7? From the peculiarity of the shape of their relative position to each other, the group is called the 'Dipper,' because to look at them they look like a dipper or a vessel with a long handle. “I see it; don't you see dat, Chaules?” said Andy. “Certainly, anybody could see that,” replied Charles. 132 “Ole umin,” said Daddy Joe, “don' yeh see it?” “Sho', ole man! Ain't I lookin!” replied the old woman. “You all see it then, do you?” inquired Henry. “Yes, yes!” was the response. “Now then,” continued Henry; “for an explanation by which you can tell the North Star, when or from whatever place you may see it. The two stars of the Dipper, numbered 6 and 7, are called the pointers, because they point directly to the North Star, a very small, bright star, far off from the pointers, generally seeming by itself, especially when the other stars are not very bright. “The star numbered 8, above the pointer, a little to the left, is a dim, small star, which at first sight would seem to be in a direct line with it; but by drawing a line through 7 to 8, leaves a space as you see between the star 6 and lower part of the line; or forms an angle (as the 'book men' call it, Andy) of ten degrees. The star number 9 in the distance, and a little to the right, would also seem to be directly opposite the pointers; but by drawing a line through 7 to 9, there is still a space left between the lower end of the line and 6. Now trace the dotted line from 6 through the center of 7, and it leads directly to 10. This is the North Star, the slave's great Guide to Freedom! Do you all now understand it?” “See it!” replied Andy. “Anybody can't see dat, ain' got sense' 'nuff to run away, an' no call to be free, dat's all! I knows all about it. I reckon I a'mos' know it betteh dan you, Henry!” “Dar, dar, I tole yeh so! I tole yeh dat boy studyin' head wuck, an yeh 'uden bleve me! 'E run about yendeh so much an' kick up 'e heel dat'e talk so much gramma an' wot not, dat body haudly undehstan'! I knows dat 'e bin 'splainin do. Ole man, yeh understan' im?” said Mammy Judy. “Ah, ole umin, dat I does! An' I' been gone forty years 'ago, I' know'd dis much 'bout it!” replied Daddy Joe. “Above number 2 the second star of the handle of the Dipper, close to it, you will see by steadily looking, a very small star, which I call the knob or thumb-holt of the handle. You may always tell the Dipper by the knob of the handle; and the North star by the Dipper. The Dipper, during the night you will remember, continues to change its position in relation to the earth, so that it sometimes seems quite upside down.” 133 “See here, Henry, does you know all——” “Stop, Andy, I've not done yet!” interrupted he. “Uh, heh!” said Andy. “When the North star cannot be seen,” continued Henry, “you must depend alone upon nature for your guide. Feel, in the dark, around the trunks or bodies of trees, especially oak, and whenever you feel moss on the bark, that side on which the moss grows is always to the north. One more explanation and then we'll go. Do you see this little round metallic box? This is called a——” “Wat dat you call 'talic, Henry? Sho, boy! yeh head so full ob gramma an' sich like dat yeh don' know how to talk!” interrupted Mammy Judy. “That only means iron or brass, or some hard thing like that, mammy,” explained he. “The little box of which I was speaking has in it what is called a compass. It has a face almost like a clock or watch, with one straight hand which reaches entirely across the face, and turns or shakes whenever you move the box. This hand or finger is a piece of metal called 'loadstone' or 'magnet,' and termed the needle of the compass; and this end with the little cross on it, always points in one direction, and that is to the north. See; it makes no difference which way it is moved, this point of the needle turns back and points that way.” “An mus' ye al'as go de way it pints, Henry?” inquired Andy. “No; not except you are running away from the South to Canada, or the free States; because both of these places are in the north. But when you know which way the north is, you can easily find any other direction you wish. Notice this, all of you.” “When your face is to the north, your back is to the south; your right hand to the east, and your left to the west. Can you remember this?” “O yes, easy!” replied Andy. “Then you will always know which way to go, by the compass showing you which is north,” explained Henry. “What does dese letters roun' hear mean, Henry?” further inquired Andy. “Only what I have already explained; meaning north, east, west, and south, with their intermediate——” “Dar!” interrupted Mammy Judy. “'E gone into big talk g'in! Sho!” 134 “Intermediate means between, mammy,” explained Henry. “Den ef dat's it, I lis'en at yeh; case I want gwine bautheh my head wid you' jography an' big talk like dat!” replied the old woman. “What does a compass cost?” inquired Charles, who had been listening with intense interest and breathless silence at the information given by their much-loved fellow bondman. “One-half a dollar, or four bits, as we call it, so that every slave who will, may get one. Now, I've told you all that's necessary to guide you from a land of slavery and long suffering, to a land of liberty and future happiness. Are you now all satisfied with what you have learned?” “Chauls, aint 'e high! See here, Henry, does yeh know all dat yeh tell us? Wy, ole feller, you is way up in de hoobanahs! Wy, you is conjure sho'nuff. Ef I only know'd dis befo', ole Potteh neven keep me a day. O, pshaw! I bin gone long 'go!” “He'll do!” replied Charles. “Well, well, well!” apostrophized Mammy Judy. “Dat beats all! Sence I was baun, I nebber hear de like. All along I been tellen on yeh, dat 'e got 'is head chuck cleanfull ob cumbustable, an' all dat, but yeh 'ud'n bleve me! Now yeh see!” “Ole umin, I 'fess dat's all head wuck! Dat beats Punton! dat boy's nigh up to Maudy Ghamus! Dat boy's gwine to be mighty!” with a deep sigh replied Daddy Joe. “Come, now, let's go!” said Henry. On rising from where they had all been sitting with fixed attention upon their leader and his instruction, the sky was observed through the only break in the thicket above their heads, when suddenly they simultaneously exclaimed: “There's the Dipper! there's the North Star!” all pointing directly to the Godlike beacon of liberty to the American slave. Leaving Mammy Judy and Daddy Joe, Clara and little Tony, who had quite recovered from his indisposition the early part of the night, in charge of a friend who designedly met them on the Louisiana side of the river, with heightened spirits and a new impulse, Henry, Charles and Andy, started on their journey in the direction of their newly described guide, the North Star. 135 Star of the North thou art not bigger, Than the diamond in my ring; Yet every black star-gazing nigger, Looks up to thee as some great thing! was the apostrophe of an American writer to the sacred orb of Heaven, which in this case was fully verified. During the remainder of the night and next day, being Sabbath, they continued their travel, only resting when overcome wth fatigue. Continuing in Louisiana by night, and resting by day, Wednesday morning, before daybreak, brought them to the Arkansas river. At first they intended to ford, but like the rivers generally of the South, its depth and other contingencies made it necessary to seek some other means. After consultation in a canebreak, day beginning to dawn, walking boldly up to a man just loosening a skiff from its fastenings, they demanded a passage across the river. This the skiffman refused peremptorily on any pretext, rejecting the sight of a written pass. “I want none of yer nigger passes!” angrily said he. “They ain't none uv 'em good 'or nothin', no how! It's no use to show it to me, ye's can't git over!” First looking meaningly and determinedly at Charles and Andy—biting his lips—then addressing himself to the man, Henry said: “Then I have one that will pass us!” presenting the unmistaking evidence of a shining gold eagle, at the sight of which emblem of his country's liberty, the skiffman's patriotism was at once awakened, and their right to pass as American freemen indisputable. A few energetic muscular exertions with the oars, and the sturdy boatman promptly landed his passengers on the other side of the river. “Now, gentlm'n, I done the clean thing, didn't I, by jingo! Show me but half a chance an' I'll ack the man clean out. I dont go in for this slaveholding o' people in these Newnited States uv the South, nohow, so I don't. Dog gone it, let every feller have a fair shake!” Dropping into his hand the ten-dollar gold piece, the man bowed earnestly, uttering— “I hope ye's good luck, gent'men! Ye'll al'as fine me ready when ye's come 'long this way!” CHAPTER 29 The Fugitives With much apprehension, Henry and comrades passed hastily through the State of Arkansas, he having previously traversed it partly, had learned sufficient to put him on his guard. Traveling in the night, to avoid the day, the progress was not equal to the emergency. Though Henry carried a pocket compass, they kept in sight of the Mississippi river, to take their chance of the first steamer passing by. The third night out, being Monday, at daybreak in the morning, their rest for the day was made at a convenient point within the verge of a forest. Suddenly Charles gave vent to hearty laughter, at a time when all were supposed to be serious, having the evening past, been beset by a train of three Negro-dogs, which, having first been charmed, they slew at the instant; the dogs probably not having been sent on trail of them, but, after the custom of the state, baying on a general round to intimidate the slaves from clandestinely venturing out, and to attack such runaways as might by chance be found in their track. “Wat's da mauttah, Chauls?” enquired Andy. “I was just thinking,” replied he, “of the sight of three High Conjurers, who if Ghamus and Gholar be true, can do anything they please, having to escape by night, and travel in the wild woods, to evade the pursuit of white men, who do not pretend to know anything about such things.” “Dat's a fack,” added Andy, “an' little, scronny triflin' weak, white men at dat—any one uv us heah, ought to whip two or three uv 'em at once. Dares Hugh's a little bit a feller, I could take 'im in one han' an' throw 'im oveh my head, an' ole Pottah, for his pant, he so ole an' good foh nothin, I could whip wid one hand half a dozen like 'im.” “Now you see, boys,” said Henry, “how much conjuration and such foolishness and stupidity is worth to the slaves in the South. All that it does, is to put money into the pockets of the pretended conjurer, give him power over others by making them afraid of him; and even old Gamby Gholar and Maudy Ghamus and the rest of the Seven Heads, with all of the High Conjurors in the Dismal Swamp, are 137 depending more upon me to deliver them from their confinement as prisoners in the Swamp and runaway slaves, than all their combined efforts together. I made it a special part of my mission, wherever I went, to enlighten them on this subject.” “I wandah you didn't fend 'em,” replied Andy. “No danger of that, since having so long, to no purpose, depended upon such persons and nonsense, they are sick at heart of them, and waiting willing and ready, for anything which may present for their aid, even to the destruction of their long cherished, silly nonsense of conjuration.” “Thang God foh dat!” concluded Andy. Charles having fallen asleep, Andy became the sentinel of the party, as it was the arrangement for each one alternately, every two hours during rest, to watch while the other two slept. Henry having next fallen into a doze, Andy heard a cracking among the bushes, when on looking around, two men approached them. Being fatigued, drowsy, and giddy, he became much alarmed, arousing his comrades, all springing to their feet. The men advanced, who, to their gratification proved to be Eli and Ambrose, two Arkansas slaves, who having promised to meet Henry on his return, had effected their escape immediately after first meeting him, lurking in the forest in the direction which he had laid out to take. Eli was so fair as to be taken, when first seen, to be a white man. Throwing their arms about Henry, they bestowed upon him their blessing and thanks, for his advent into the state as the means of their escape. While thus exchanging congratulations, the approach upstream of a steamer was heard, and at once Henry devised the expedient, and determined boldly to hail her and demand a passage. Putting Eli forward as the master, Ambrose carrying the portmanteaus which belonged to the two, and the others with bundles in their hands, all rushed to the bank of the river on the verge of the thicket; Eli held up a handkerchief as a signal. The bell tolled, and the yawl immediately lowered, made for the shore. It was agreed that Eli should be known as Major Ely, of Arkansas. Seeing that blacks were of the company, when the yawl approached, the mate stood upon her forecastle. “What's the faction here?” cried out the sturdy mate. 138 “Where are you bound?” enquired Eli. “For St. Louis.” “Can I get a passage for myself and four Negroes?” “What's the name, sir?” “Major Ely, of Arkansas,” was the reply. “Aye, aye, sir, come aboard,” said the mate; when, pulling away, the steamer was soon reached, the slaves going to the deck, and the master to the cabin. On application for a stateroom, the clerk, on learning the name, desired to know his destination. “The State of Missouri, sir,” said Eli, “between the points of the mouth of the Ohio and St. Genevieve.” “Ely,” repeated the clerk, “I've heard that name before—it's a Missouri name—any relation to Dr. Ely, Major?” “Yes, a brother's son,” was the prompt reply. “Yes, yes, I thought I knew the name,” replied the clerk. “But the old fellow wasn't quite of your way of thinking concerning Negroes, I believe?” “No, he is one man, and I'm another, and he may go his way, and I'll go mine,” replied Eli. “That's the right feeling, Major,” replied the clerk, “and we would have a much healthier state of politics in the country, if men generally would only agree to act on that principle.” “It has ever been my course,” said Eli. “Peopling a new farm I reckon, Major?” “Yes, sir.” The master, keeping a close watch upon the slaves, was frequently upon deck among them, and requested that they might be supplied with more than common fare for slaves, he sparing no expense to make them comfortable. The slaves, on their part, appeared to be particularly attached to him, always smiling when he approached, apparently regretting when he left for the cabin. Meanwhile, the steamer gracefully plowing up the current, making great headway, reached the point desired, when the master and slaves were safely transferred from the steamer to the shore of Missouri. CHAPTER 30 The Pursuit The absence of Mammy Judy, Daddy Joe, Charles, and little Tony, on the return early Monday morning of Colonel Franks and lady from the country, unmistakably proved the escape of their slaves, and the further proof of the exit of 'squire Potter's Andy and Beckwith's Clara, with the remembrance of the stampede a few months previously, required no further confirmation of the fact, when the neighborhood again was excited to ferment. The advisory committee was called into immediate council, and ways and means devised for the arrest of the recreant slaves recently left, and to prevent among them the recurrence of such things; a pursuit was at once commenced, which for the three succeeding days was carried in the wrong direction—towards Jackson, whither, it was supposed in the neighborhood, Henry had been lurking previous to the last sally upon their premises, as he had certainly been seen on Saturday evening, coming from the landing. No traces being found in that direction, the course was changed, the swiftest steamer boarded in pursuit for the Ohio river. This point being reached but a few hours subsequent to that of the fugitives, when learning of their course, the pursuers proceeded toward the place of their destination, on the Mississippi river. This point being the southern part of Missouri but a short distance above the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi, the last named river had, of necessity, to be passed, being to the fugitives only practicable by means of a ferry. The ferryman in this instance commanded a horse-boat, he residing on the opposite side of the river. Stepping up to him—a tall, raw-boned athletic, rough looking, bearded fellow—Eli saluted: “We want to cross the river, sir!” “Am yers free?” enquired the ferryman. “Am I free! Are you free?” rejoined Eli. “Yes, I be's a white man!” replied the boatman. “And so am I!” retorted Eli. “And you dare not tell me I'm not.” “I'll swong, stranger, yer mus' 'scuse me, as I did n' take notice on yez! But I like to know if them air black folks ye got wey yer am free, cause if they arn't, I be 'sponsible for 'em 'cording to the new law, 140 called, I 'bleve the Nebrasky Complimize Fugintive Slave Act, made down at Californy, last year,” apologized and explained the somewhat confused ferryman. “Yes,” replied Henry, “we are free, and if we were not, I do'nt think it any part of your business to know. I thought you were here to carry people across the river.” “But frien',” rejoined the man, “yer don't understan' it. This are a law made by the Newnited States of Ameriky, an' I be 'bliged to fulfill it by ketchin' every fugintive that goes to cross this way, or I mus' pay a thousand dollars, and go to jail till the black folks is got, if that be's never. Yer see yez can't blame me, as I mus' 'bey the laws of Congress I'll swong it be's hardly a fair shake nuther, but I be 'bliged to 'bey the laws, yer know.” “Well sir,” replied Henry, “we want to cross the river.” “Let me see yez papers frien'?” asked the ferryman. “My friend,” said Henry, “are you willing to make yourself a watch dog for slaveholders, and do for them that which they would not do for themselves, catch runaway slaves? Don't you know that this is the work which they boast on having the poor white men at the North do for them? Have you not yet learned to attend to your own interests instead of theirs? Here are our free papers,” holding out his open hand, in which lay five half eagle pieces. “Jump aboard!” cried the ferryman. “Quick, quick!” shouted he, as the swift feet of four hourses were heard dashing up the road. Scarcely had the boat moved from her fastenings, till they had arrived; the riders dismounted, who presenting revolvers, declared upon the boatman's life, instantly, if he did not change the direction of his boat and come back to the Missouri shore. Henry seized a well-charged rifle belonging to the boatman, his comrades each with a well-aimed six-barreled weapon. “Shoot if you dare!” exclaimed Henry, the slaveholders declining their arms—when, turning to the awestricken ferryman, handing him the twenty-five dollars, said, “your cause is a just one, and your reward is sure; take this money, proceed and you are safe—refuse, and you instantly die!” “Then I be to do right,” declared the boatman, “if I die by it,” when applying the whip to the horses, in a few moments landed them on the Illinois shore. 141 This being the only ferry in the neighborhood, and fearing a bribe or coercion by the people on the Illinois side, or the temptation of a high reward from the slave-catchers, Henry determined on eluding, if possible, every means of pursuit. “What are your horses worth?” enquired he. “They can't be no use to your frien' case they is both on 'em bline, an' couldn't travel twenty miles a day, on a stretch!” “Have you any other horses?” “They be all the horses I got; I gineraly feed a spell this side. I lives over here—this are my feedin' trip,” drawled the boatman. “What will you take for them?” “Well, frien', they arn't wuth much to buy, no how, but wuth good lock to me for drawin' the boat over, yer see.” “What did they cost you in buying them?” “Well, I o'ny giv six-seven dollars apiece, or sich a maiter for 'em' when I got 'em, an' they cos me some two-three dollars, or sich a matter, more to get 'em in pullin' order, yer see.” “Will you sell them to me?” “I hadn't ort to part wey 'em frien', as I do good lock o' bisness hereabouts wey them air nags, bline as they be.” “Here are thirty dollars for your horses,” said Henry, putting into his hand the money in gold pieces, when, unhitching them from their station, leading them out to the side of the boat, he shot them, pushing them over into the river. “Farewell, my friend,” saluted Henry, he and comrades leaving the astonished ferryman gazing after them, whilst the slaveholders on the other shore stood grinding their teeth, grimacing their faces, shaking their fists, with various gesticulations of threat, none of which were either heard, heeded or cared for by the fleeting party, or determined ferryman. Taking a northeasterly course of Indiana, Andy being an accustomed singer, commenced, in lively glee and cheerful strains, singing to the expressive words: We are like a band of pilgrims, In a strange and foreign land, With our knapsacks on our shoulders, And our cudgels in our hands, 142 We have many miles before us. But it lessens not our joys, We will sing a merry chorus, For we are the tramping boys. Then joined in chorus the whole party— We are all jogging, Jog, jog, jogging, And we're all jogging, We are going to the North! The Wabash river becoming the next point of obstruction, a ferry, as in the last case, had also to be crossed, the boatman residing on the Indiana side. “Are you free?” enquired the boatman, as the party of blacks approached. “We are,” was the reply of Henry. “Where are you from?” continued he. “We are from home, sir,” replied Charles, “and the sooner you take us across the river, just so much sooner will we reach it.” Still doubting their right to pass he asked for their papers, but having by this time become so conversant with the patriotism and fidelity of these men to their country, Charles handing the Indianan a five dollar piece, who on seeing the outstretched wings of the eagle, desired no further evidence of their right to pass, conveying them into the state, contrary to the statutes of the Commonwealth. On went the happy travelers without hinderance, or molestation, until the middle of the week next ensuing. CHAPTER 31 The Attack, Resistance, Arrest The travel for the last ten days had been pleasant, save the necessity in the more southern part of the state, of lying-by through the day and traveling at night—the fugitives cheerful and full of hope, nothing transpiring to mar their happiness, until approaching a village in the center of northern Indiana. 143 Supposing their proximity to the British Provinces made them safe, with an imprudence not before committed by the discreet runaways, when nearing a blacksmith's shop a mile and a half from the village, Andy in his usual manner, with stentorian voice, commenced the following song: I'm on my way to Canada, That cold and dreary land: The dire effects of slavery, I can no longer stand. My soul is vexed within me so, To think that I'm a slave, I've now resolved to strike the blow, For Freedom or the grave. All uniting in the chorus, O, righteous Father Wilt thou not pity me; And aid me on to Canada, Where fugitives are free? I heard old England plainly say, If we would all forsake, Our native land of Slavery, And come across the lake. “There, Ad'line! I golly, don't you hear that?” said Dave Starkweather, the blacksmith, to his wife, both of whom on hearing the unusual noise of singing, thrust their heads out of the door of a little log hut, stood patiently listening to the song, every word of which they distinctly caught. “Them's fugertive slaves, an' I'll have 'em tuck up; they might have passed, but for their singin' praise to that darned Queen! I can't stan' that no how!” “No,” replied Adaline, “I'm sure I don't see what they sing to her for; she's no 'Merican. We ain't under her now, as we Dave?” “No we ain't, Ad'line, not sence the battle o' Waterloo, an' I golly, we wouldn't be if we was. The 'Mericans could whip her a darned sight easier now than what they done when they fit her at Waterloo.” 144 “Lah me, Dave, you could whip 'er yourself, she ai'nt bigger nor tother wimin is she?” said Mrs. Starkweather. “No she ain't, not a darn' bit!” replied he. “Dave, ask em in the shop to rest,” suggested the wife in a hurried whisper, elbowing her husband as the party advanced, having ceased singing so soon as they saw the faces of white persons. “Travlin', I reckon?” interrogated the blacksmith. “Little tired, I spose?” “Yes sir, a little so,” replied Henry. “Didn't come far, I 'spect?” continued he. “Not very,” carelessly replied Henry. “Take seat there, and rest ye little,” pointing to a smoothly-worn log, used by the visitors of the shop. “Thank you,” said Henry, “we will,” all seating themselves in a row. “Take little somethin?” asked he; stepping back to a corner, taking out a caddy in the wall, a rather corpulent green bottle, turning it up to his mouth, drenching himself almost to strangulation. “We don't drink, sir,” replied the fugitives. “Temperance, I reckon?” enquired the smith. “Rather so,” replied Henry. “Kind o' think we'll have a spell o' weather?” “Yes,” said Andy, “dat's certain; we'll have a spell a weatheh!” On entering the shop, the person at the bellows, a tall, able-bodied young man, was observed to pass out at the back door, a number of persons of both sexes to come frequently look in, and depart, succeeded by others; no import being attached to this, supposing themselves to be an attraction, partly from their singing, and mainly from their color being a novelty in the neighborhood. During conversation with the blacksmith, he after eyeing very closely the five strangers, was observed to walk behind the door, stand for some minutes looking as if reading, when resuming his place at the anvil, after which he went out the back door. Curiosity now, with some anxiety induced Henry to look for the cause of it, when with no little alarm, he discovered a handbill fully descriptive of himself and comrades, having been issued in the town of St. Genevieve, offering a heavy reward, particularizing the scene at the Mississippi ferry, the killing of the horses as an aggravated offense, because depriving a poor man of his only means of livelihood, being designed to strengthen inducements to apprehend them, the bill being signed “John Harris.” 145 Evening now ensuing, Henry and comrades, the more easily to pass through the village without attraction, had remained until this hour, resting in the blacksmith shop. Enquiring for some black family in the neighborhood, they were cited to one consisting of an old man and woman, Devan by name, residing on the other side, a short distance from the village. “Ye'll fine ole Bill of the right stripe,” said the blacksmith knowingly. “Ye needn' be feard o' him. Ye'll fine him and ole Sally just what they say they is; I'll go bail for that. The first log hut ye come to after ye leave the village is thern; jist knock at the door, an' ye'll fine ole Bill an' Sally all right blame if ye don't. Jis name me; tell 'em Dave Starkweather sent ye there, an' blamed if ye don't fine things at high water mark; I'm tellin' ye so, blamed if I ain't!” was the recommendation of the blacksmith. “Thank you for your kindness,” replied Henry, politely bowing as they rose from the log. “Goodbye, sir!” “Devilish decent lookin' black fellers,” said the man of the anvil, complimenting designedly for them to hear. “Blamed if they ain't as free as we is—I golly they is!” Without, as they thought, attracting attention, passing through the village a half mile or more, they came to a log hut on the right side of the way. “How yeh do fren? How yeh come on?” saluted a short, rather corpulent, wheezing old black man. “Come in. Hi! Dahs good many on yeh; ole 'omin come, heah's some frens!” calling his wife Sally, an old woman, shorter in stature, but not less corpulent than he, sitting by a comfortable dry-stump fire. “How is yeh, frens? How yeh do? come to da fiah, mighty cole!” said the old woman. “Quite cool,” replied Andy, rubbing his hands, spreading them out, protecting his face from the heat. “Yeh is travelin, I reckon, there is good many go' long heah; we no call t'ask 'em whah da gwine, we knows who da is, case we come from dah. I an, ole man once slave in Faginny; mighty good country fah black folks.” Sally set immediately about preparing something to give her guests a good meal. Henry admonished them against extra trouble, but they insisted on giving them a good supper. Deeming it more prudent, the hut being on the highway, Henry 146 requested to retire until summoned to supper, being shown to the loft attained by a ladder and simple hatchway, the door of which was shut down, and fastened on the lower side. The floor consisting of rough, unjointed board, containing great cracks through which the light and heat from below passed up, all could be both seen and heard, which transpired below. Seeing the old man so frequently open and look out at the door, and being suspicious from the movements of the blacksmith and others, Henry affecting to be sleepy, requested Billy and his wife when ready, to awaken them, when after a few minutes, all were snoring as if fast asleep, Henry lying in such a position as through a knothole in the floor, to see every movement in all parts of the room. Directly above him in the rafter within his reach, hung a mowing scythe. “Now's yeh time, ole man; da all fas' asleep, da snorin' good!” said old Sally, urging Billy to hasten, who immediately left the hut. The hearts of the fugitives were at once “in their mouths,” and with difficulty it was by silently reaching over and heavily pressing upon each of them, Henry succeeded in admonishing each to entire quietness and submission. Presently entered a white man, who whispering with Sally left the room. Immediately in came old Bill, at the instant of which, Henry found his right hand above him, involuntarily grasped firmly on the snath of the scythe. “Whah's da?” enquired old Bill, on entering the hut. “Sho da whah yeh lef' em!” replied the old woman. “Spose I kin bring 'em in now?” continued old Bill. “Bring in who?” “Da white folks: who else I gwine fetch in yeh 'spose?” “Bettah let em 'tay whah da is, an' let de po' men lone, git sumpen t' eat, an' go 'long whah da gwine!” replied Sally, deceptively. “Huccum yeh talk dat way? Sho yeh tole me go!” replied Billy. “Didn' reckon yeh gwine bring 'em on da po' cretahs dis way, fo' da git moufful t' eat an' git way so.” “How I gwine let 'em go now de white folks all out dah? Say Sally? Dat jis what make I tell yeh so!” “Bettah let white folks 'lone, Willum! dat jis what I been tellin' on yeh. Keep foolin' 'long wid white folks, bym'by da show yeh! I no 147 trus' white man, no how. Sho! da no fren' o' black folks. Bus spose body 'blige keep da right side on 'em long so.” “Ole 'omin,” said Bill, “yeh knows we make our livin' by da white folks, an' mus' do what da tell us, so whah's da use talkin' long so. 'Spose da come in now?” “Sho, I tole yeh de man sleep? gwine bring white folks on 'em so? give po' cretahs no chance? Go long, do what yeh gwine do; yeh fine out one dese days!” concluded Sally. Having stealthily risen to their feet standing in a favorable position, Henry in whispers declared to his comrades that with that scythe he intended mowing his way into Canada. Impatient for their entrance, throwing wide open the door of the hut, which being the signal, in rushed eleven white men, headed by Jud Shirly, constable, Dave Starkweather the blacksmith, and Tom Overton as deputies; George Grove, a respectable well-dressed villager, stood giving general orders. With light and pistol in hand, Franey, mounting the stairway commanded a surrender. Eli, standing behind the hatchway, struck the candle from his hand, when with a swing of the scythe there was a screech, fall, and groan heard, then with a shout and leap, Henry in the lead, they cleared the stairs to the lower floor, the white men flying in consternation before them, making their way to the village, alarming the inhabitants. The fugitives fled in great haste continuing their flight for several miles, when becoming worn down and fatigued, retired under cover of a thicket a mile from a stage tavern kept by old Isaac Slusher of German descent. The villagers following in quick pursuit, every horse which could be readily obtained being put on the chase, the slaves were overtaken, fired upon—a ball lodging in Charles' thigh—overpowered, and arrested. Deeming it, from the number of idlers about the place, and the condition of the stables, much the safest imprisonment, the captives were taken to the tavern of Slusher, to quarter for the night. On arriving at this place, a shout of triumph rent the air, and a general cry “take them into the barroom for inspection! Hang them! Burn them!” and much more. Here the captives were derided, scoffed at and ridiculed, turned around, limbs examined, shoved about from side to side, then ordered 148 to sit down on the floor, a noncompliance with which, having arranged themselves for the purpose, at a given signal, a single trip by an equal number of whites, brought the four poor prisoners suddenly to the floor on the broad of their back, their heads striking with great force. At this abuse of helpless men, the shouts of laughter became deafening. It caused them to shun the risk of standing, and keep seated on the floor. Charles having been wounded, affected inability to stand, but the injury being a flesh wound, was not serious. “We'll show ye yer places, ye black devils!” said Ned Bradly, a rowdy, drawing back his foot to kick Henry in the face, as he sat upon the floor against the wall, giving him a slight kick in the side as he passed by him. “Don't do that again, sir!” sternly said Henry, with an expression full of meaning, looking him in the face. Several feet in an instant were drawn back to kick, when Slusher interfering, said, “Shendlemans! tem black mans ish prishners! You tuz pring tem into mine housh, ant you shandt puse tem dare!” when the rowdies ceased abusing them. “Well, gentlemen,” said Tom Overton, a burly, bullying barroom person, “we'd best git these blacks out of the way, if they's any fun up tonight.” “I cot plendy peds, shendlemans, I ondly vants to know who ish to bay me,” replied Slusher. “I golly,” retorted Starkweather, “you needn't give yourself no uneasiness about that Slusher. I think me, and Shirly, and Grove is good for a night's lodging for five niggers, anyhow!” “I'm in that snap, too!” hallooed out Overton. “Golly! Yes, Tom, there's you we like to forgot, blamed if we didn't!” responded Starkweather. “Dat ish all right nough zo far as te plack man's ish gonzern, put ten dare ish to housh vull o' peoples, vot vare must I gheep tem?” “We four,” replied Grove, “will see you paid, who else? Slusher, we want it understood, that we four stand responsible for all expenses incurred this night, in the taking of these Negroes,” evidently expecting to receive as they claimed, the reward offered in the advertisement. “Dat vill too, ten,” replied Slusher. “Vell, I ish ready to lite tese black mans to ped.” 149 “No Slusher,” interrupted Grove, “that's not the understanding, we don't pay for beds for niggers to sleep in!” “No, by Molly!” replied Overton. “Dogged if that ain't going a leetle too far! Slusher, you can't choke that down, no how you can fix in. If you do as you please with your own house, these niggers is in our custody, and we'll do as we please with them. We want you to know that we are white men, as well as you are, and can't pay for niggers to sleep in the same house with ourselves.” “Gents,” said Ned Bradly, “do you hear that?” “What?” enquired several voices. “Why, old Slusher wants to give the niggers a room upstairs with us!” “With who?” shouted they. “With us white men.” “No, blamed if he does!” replied Starkweather. “We won't stand that!” exclaimed several voices. “Where's Slusher?” enquired Ben West, a discharged stage driver, who hung about the premises, and now figured prominently. “Here ish me, shendlemans!” answered Slusher, coming from the back part of the house. “Andt you may do as you please midt tem black mans, pud iv you dempt puse me, I vill pudt you all out mine housh!” “The stable, the stable!” they all cried out. “Put the niggers in the stable, and we'll be satisfied!” “Tare ish mine staple—you may pud tem vare you blease,” replied the old man, “budt you shandt puse me!” Securely binding them with cords, they were placed in a strongly built log stable closely weather-boarded, having but a door and window below, the latter being closely secured, and the door locked on the outside with a staple and padlock. The upper windows being well secured, the blacks thus locked in, were left to their fate, whilst their captors comfortably housed, were rioting in triumph through the night over the misfortune, and blasted prospects for liberty. CHAPTER 32 The Escape This night the inmates of the tavern revelled with intoxication; all within the building, save the exemplary family of the stern old German, Slusher, who peremptorily refused from first to last, to take any part whatever with them, doubtless, being for the evening the victims of excessive indulgence in the beverage of ardent spirits. Now and again one and another of the numerous crowd gathered from the surrounding neighborhood, increasing as the intelligence spread, went alone to the stable to examine the door, reconnoiter the premises, and ascertain that the prisoners were secure. The company getting in such high glee that, fearing a neglect of duty, it became advisable to appoint for the evening a corps of sentinels whose special duty, according to their own arrangements, should be to watch and guard the captives. This special commission being one of pecuniary consideration, Jim Franey, the township constable, the rowdy Ned Bradly, and Ben West the discharged stage driver, who being about the premises, readily accepted the office, entering immediately on the line of duty. The guard each alternately every fifteen minutes went out to examine the premises, when one and a half of the clock again brought around the period of Ben West's duty. Familiar with the premises and the arrangement of the stables, taking a lantern, West designed closely to inspect their pinions, that no lack of duty on his part might forfeit his claim to the promised compensation. When placing them in the stable, lights then being in requisition, Henry discovered in a crevice between the wall an the end of the feed-trough a common butcher knife used for the purpose of repairing harness. So soon as the parties left the stable, the captives lying with their heads resting on their bundles, Henry arising, took the knife, cutting loose himself and companions, but leaving the pinions still about their limbs as though fastened, resumed his position upon the bundle of straw. The scythe had been carelessly hung on a section of the worm fence adjoining the barn, near the door of the prison department, their weapons having been taken from them. “Well, boys,” enquired West, holding up the lantern, “you're all 151 here, I see: do you want anything? Take some whiskey!” holding in his hand a quart bottle. “The rope's too tight around my ankle!” complained Charles. “Its took all the feeling out of my leg.” Dropping upon his knees to loosen the cord, at this moment, Henry standing erect brandishing the keen glistening blade of the knife before him—his companions having sprung to their feet—“Don't you breathe,” exclaimed the intrepid unfettered slave, “or I'll bury the blade deep in your bosom! One hour I'll give you for silence, a breach of which will cost your life.” Taking a tin cup which West brought into the stable, pouring it full to the brim, “Drink this!” said Henry, compelling the man who was already partially intoxicated, to drink as much as possible, which soon rendered him entirely insensible. “Come, boys!” exclaimed he, locking the stable, putting the key into his pocket, leaving the intoxicated sentinel prostrated upon the bed of straw intended for them, and leaving the tavern house of the old German Slusher forever behind them. The next period of watch, West being missed, Ned Bradly, on going to the stable, finding the door locked, reported favorably, supposing it to be still secure. Overton in turn did the same. When drawing near daylight—West still being missed—Franey advised that a search be made for him. The bedrooms, and such places into which he might most probably have retired, were repeatedly searched in vain, as calling at the stable elicited no answer, either from him nor the captives. The sun was now more than two hours high, and word was received from the village to hasten the criminals in for examination before the magistrate. Determining to break open the door, which being done, Ben West was found outstretched upon the bed of straw, who, with difficulty, was aroused from his stupor. The surprise of the searchers on discovering his condition, was heightened on finding the escape of the fugitives. Disappointment and chagrin now succeeded high hopes and merriment, when a general reaction ran throughout the neighborhood; for the sensation at the escape even became greater than on the instance of the deed of resistance and success of the capture. Of all the disappointments connected with this affair, there was none to be regretted save that of the old German tavern keeper, Isaac Slusher, who, being the only pecuniary sufferer, the entire crowd revelling at his expense. 152 “Gonvound dish bishnesh!” exclaimed Slusher with vexation. “Id alwaysh cosht more dan de ding ish wordt. Mine Got! afder dish I'll mindt mine own bishnesh. Iv tem Soudt Amerigans vill gheep niggersh de musht gedch dem demzelve. Mine ligger ish ghon, I losht mine resht, te niggersh rhun avay, an' I nod magk von zent!” Immediate pursuit was sent out in search of the runaways but without success; for, dashing on, scythe in hand, with daring though peaceable strides through the remainder of the state and that of Michigan, the fugitives reached Detroit without further molestation or question from any source on the right of transit, the inhabitants mistaking them for resident blacks out from their homes in search of employment. CHAPTER 33 Happy Greeting After their fortunate escape from the stables of Isaac Slusher in Indiana, Henry and comrades safely landed across the river in Windsor, Essex County, Canada West, being accompanied by a mulatto gentleman resident of Detroit, who from the abundance of his generous heart, with others there, ever stands ready and has proven himself an uncompromising, true and tried friend of his race, and every weary traveler-on a fugitive slave pilgrimage, passing that way. “Is dis Canada? Is dis de good ole British soil we hear so much 'bout way down in Missierppi?” exclaimed Andy. “Is dis free groun'? De lan' whar black folks is free! Thang God a'mighty for dis privilege!” When he fell upon his hands and knees and kissed the earth. Poor fellow! he little knew the unnatural feelings and course pursued toward his race by many Canadians, those too pretending to be Englishmen by birth, with some of whom the blacks had fought side by side in the memorable crusade made upon that fairest portion of Her Majesty's Colonial Possessions, by Americans in disguise, calling themselves “Patriots.” He little knew that while according to fundamental British Law and constitutional rights, all persons are equal in the realm, yet by a systematic course of policy and artifice, his race with few exceptions in some parts, excepting the Eastern 153 Province, is excluded from the enjoyment and practical exercise of every right, except mere suffrage-voting—even to those of sitting on a jury as its own peer, and the exercise of military duty. He little knew the facts, and as little expected to find such a state of things in the long-talked of and much-loved Canada by the slaves. He knew not that some of high intelligence and educational attainments of his race residing in many parts of the Provinces, were really excluded from and practically denied their rights, and that there was no authority known to the colony to give redress and make restitution on the petition or application of these representative men of his race, which had frequently been done with the reply from the Canadian functionaries that they had no power to reach their case. It had never entered the mind of poor Andy, that in going to Canada in search of freedom, he was then in a country where privileges were denied him which are common to the slave in every Southern state—the right of going into the gallery of a public building—that a few of the most respectable colored ladies of a town in Kent County, desirous through reverence and respect, to see a British Lord Chief Justice on the Bench of Queen's Court, taking seats in the gallery of the court house assigned to females and other visitors, were ruthlessly taken hold of and shown down the stairway by a man and “officer” of the Court of Queen's Bench for that place. Sad would be to him the fact when he heard that the construction given by authority to these grievances, when requested to remedy or remove them, was, that they were “local contingencies to be reached alone by those who inflicted the injuries.” An emotion of unutterable indignation would swell the heart of the determined slave, and almost compel him to curse the country of his adoption. But Andy was free—being on British soil—from the bribes of slaveholding influences; where the unhallowed foot of the slavecatcher dare not tread; where no decrees of an American Congress sanctioned by a president born and bred in a free state and himself once a poor apprentice boy in a village, could reach. Thus far, Andy was happy; happy in the success of their escape, the enlarged hopes of future prospects in the industrial pursuits of life; and happy in the contemplation of meeting and seeing Clara. There were other joys than those of Andy, and other hopes and anticipations to be realised. Charles, Ambrose, and Eli, who, though with hearts overflowing with gratitude, were silent in holy praise to 154 heaven, claiming to have emotions equal to his, and conjugal expectations quite as sacred if not yet as binding. “The first thing now to be done is to find our people!” said Henry with emotion, after the excess of Andy had ceased. “Where are they?” inquired the mulatto gentleman. “And what are their names?” “Their names at home were Frank's Ailcey, Craig's Polly, and Little Joe, who left several months ago; and an old man and woman called Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy; a young woman called Clara Beckwith, and a little boy named Tony, who came on but a few days before us.” “Come with me, and I'll lead you directly to him!” replied the mulatto gentlemen; when taking a vehicle, he drove them to the country a few miles from Windsor, where the parties under feelings such as never had been experienced by them before, fell into the embrace of each other. “Dar now, dar! wat I tell you? Bless de laud, ef dar ain' Chaules an' Henry!” exclaimed Mammy Judy, clapping her hands, giving vent to tears which stole in drops from the eyes of all. “My po' chile! My po' Margot!” continued she in piteous tones as the bold and manly leader pressed closely to his bosom his boy, who now was the image of his mother. “My son, did'n yeh hear nothing bout er? did'n yeh not bring my po' Margot?” “No, mammy, no! I have not seen and did not bring her! No, mammy, no! But——!” When Henry became choked with grief which found an audible response from the heart of every child of sorrow present. Clara commenced, seconded by Andy and followed by all except him the pierce to whose manly heart had caused it, in tones the most affecting: O, when shall my sorrow subside! And when shall my troubles be ended; And when to the bosom of Christ be conveyed, To the mansions of joy and bliss! To the mansions of joy and bliss! Falling upon their knees, Andy uttered a most fervent prayer, invoking Heaven's blessing and aid. 155 “Amen!” responded Charles. “Hallelujah!” cried Clara, clapping her hands. “Glory, glory, glory!” shouted Ailcey. “O laud! W'en shall I get home!” mourned Mammy Judy. “Tis good to be here, chilen! 'Tis good to be here!” said Daddy Joe, rubbing his hands quite wet with tears—when all rising to their feet met each other in the mutual embraces of Christian affection, with heaving hearts of sadness. “We have reason, sir,” said Henry addressing himself to the mulatto gentleman who stood a tearful eye witness to the scenes, “we have reason to thank God from the recesses of our hearts for the providential escape we've made from slavery!” which expression was answered only by trickles down the gentleman's cheeks. The first care of Henry was to invest a portion of the old people's money by the purchase of fifty acres of land with improvements suitable, and provide for the schooling of the children until he should otherwise order. Charles by appointment in which Henry took part, was chosen leader of the runaway party, Andy being the second, Ambrose and Eli respectively the keepers of their money and accounts, Eli being a good penman. “Now,” said Henry, after two days rest, “the time has come and I must leave you! Polly, as you came as the mistress, you must now become the mother and nurse of my poor boy! Take good care of him—mammy will attend to you. Charles, as you have all secured land close to, I want you to stand by the old people; Andy, you, Ambrose, and Eli, stand by Charles and the girls, and you must succeed, as nothing can separate you; your strength depending upon your remaining together.” “Henry, is yeh guine sho' nuff?” earnestly enquired Andy. “Yes, I must go!” “Wait little!” replied Andy, when after speaking aside with Eli and Ambrose, calling the girls they all whispered for sometime together; occasional evidence of seriousness, anxiety, and joy marking their expressions of countenance. The Provincial regulations requiring a license, or three weeks report to a public congregation, and that many sabbaths from the altar of a place of worship to legalise a marriage, and there being now no time for either of these, the mulatto gentleman who was still with them 156 being a clergyman, declared, that in this case no such restrictions were binding; being originally intended for the whites and the free, and not for the panting runaway slave. “Thank God for that! That's good talk!” said Charles. “Ef it aint dat, 'taint nothin! Dat's wat I calls good black talk!” replied Andy, causing the clergyman and all to look at each other with a smile. The party gathered standing in a semicircle, the clergyman in the center, a hymn being sung and prayer offered—rising to their feet, and an exhortation of comfort and encouragement being given, with the fatherly advice and instructions of their domestic guidance in after life by the aged man of God; the sacred and impressively novel words: “I join you together in the bonds of matrimony!” gave Henry the pleasure before leaving of seeing upon the floor together, Charles and Polly, Andy and Clara, Eli and Ailcey, “as man and wife forever.” “Praise God!” exclaimed poor old mammy, whose heart was most tenderly touched by the scene before her, contrasting it by reflection with the sad reminiscence of her own sorrowful and hopeless union with Daddy Joe, with whom she had lived fifty years as happily as was possible for slaves to do. “Bless de laud!” responded the old man. The young wives all gave vent to sobs of sympathy and joy, when the parson as a solace sung in touching sentiments: Daughters of Zion! awake from thy sadness! Awake for they foes shall oppress thee no more. Bright o'er the hills shines the day star of gladness Arise! for the night of they sorrow is o'er; Daughters of Zion, awake from thy sadness! Awake for they foes shall oppress thee no more! “O glory!” exclaimed Mammy Judy, when the scene becoming most affecting; hugging his boy closely to his bosom, upon whose little cheek and lips he impressed kisses long and affectionate, when laying him in the old woman's lap and kissing little Tony, turning to his friends with a voice the tone of which sent through them a thrill, he said: “By the instincts of a husband, I'll have her if living! If dead, by 157 impulses of a Heaven-inspired soul, I'll avenge her loss unto death! Farewell, farewell!” the tears streaming as he turned from his child and its grandparents; when but a few minutes found the runaway leader seated in a car at the Windsor depot, from whence he reached the Suspension Bridge at Niagara en route for the Atlantic. CHAPTER 34 A Novel Adventure From the Suspension Bridge through the great New York Central Railway to Albany, and thence by the Hudson River, Henry reached the city on the steamer “Hendrick Hudson,” in the middle of an afternoon. First securing a boarding house—a new thing to him—he proceeded by direction to an intelligence office, which he found kept by a mulatto gentleman. Here inquiring for a situation as page or valet on a voyage to Cuba, he deposited the required sum, leaving his address as “Gilbert Hopewell, 168 Church St.”—changing the name to prevent all traces of himself out of Canada, whither he was known to have gone, to the free states of America, and especially to Cuba whence he was going, the theater of his future actions. In the evening Henry took a stroll through the great thoroughfare, everything being to him so very novel, that eleven o'clock brought him directly in front of doubtless the handsomest saloon of the kind in the world, situated on the corner of Broadway and Franklin street. Gazing in at the luxurious and fashionable throng and gaieties displayed among the many in groups at the tables, there was one which more than all others attracted his attention, though unconscious at the time of its doing so. The party consisted of four; a handsome and attractive young lady, accompanied by three gentlemen, all fine looking, attractive persons, wearing the undress uniforms of United States naval officers. The elder of these was a robust, commanding person in appearance, black hair, well mixed with white, seemingly some sixty years of age. One of the young gentlemen was tall, handsome, with raven-black hair, moustache, and eyes; the other, medium height, fair complexion, hair, moustache and whiskers, with blue eyes; while the young lady ranked 158 of medium proportions in height and size, drab hair, fair complexion, plump cheeks and hazel eyes, and neatly dressed in a maroon silk habit, broadly faced in front and cuffed with orange satin, the collar being the same, neatly bound with crimson. While thus musing over the throng continually passing in and out, unconsciously Henry had his attention so fixed on this group, who were passing out and up Broadway, involuntarily leaving the window through which he had been gazing, he found himself following them in the crowd which throng the street closely, foot to foot. Detecting himself and about to turn aside, he overheard the elderly gentleman in reply to a question by the lady concerning the great metropolis, say, that in Cuba where in a few days they would be, recreation and pleasure were quite equal to that of New York. Now drawing more closely he learned that the company were destined for Havana, to sail in a few days. His heart beat with joy, when turning and making his way back, he found his boarding house without difficulty. Henry once more spent a sleepless night, noted by restless anxiety; and the approach of morning seemed to be regulated by the extent of the city. If thoughts could have done it, the great Metropolis would have been reduced to a single block of houses, reducing in like manner the night to a few fleeting moments. Early in the morning he had risen, and impatiently pacing the floor, imagined that the people of that city were behind the age in rising. Presently the summons came for breakfast, and ere he was seated a note was handed him reading thus: Intelligence Office—Leonard St., New York, March 5th, 1853 Gilbert Hopewell: There is now an opportunity offered to go to Cuba, to attend on a party of four—a lady and three gentlemen—who sail for Havana direct (see Tribune of this morning). Be at my office at half past ten o'clock, and you will learn particulars, which, by that time I will have obtained. Respectfully, B.A.P. 159 Though the delay was but an hour, Henry was restless, and when the time came was punctually in his place. The gentleman who called to meet him at the Intelligence office Henry recognized as one of the party seen the previous evening at the great saloon in Broadway. Arrangements having been completed concerning his attendance and going with them, “Meet me in an hour at the St. Nicholas, and commence your duties immediately,” said the gentleman, when politely bowing, Henry turned away with a heart of joy, and full of hope. Promptly to the time he was at the hotel, arranging for a start; when he found that his duties consisted in attendance particularly on the young lady and one of the young gentlemen, and the other two as occasion might require. The company was composed of Captain Richard Paul, the elderly gentleman; Lieutenant Augustus Seeley, the black-haired; passed Midshipman Lawrence Spencer, the light-haired gentleman, and Miss Cornelia Woodward. Miss Woodward was modest and retiring, though affable, conversant and easy in manner. In her countenance were pictured an expression of definite anxiety and decisive purpose, which commanded for her the regard and esteem of all whom she approached. Proud without vanity, and graceful without affectation, she gained the esteem of everyone; a lady making the remark that she was one of the most perfect of American young ladies. After breakfast the next morning they embarked on the steam packet “Isabella,” to sail that day at eleven o'clock. Of the gentlemen, Augustus Seeley gave to Miss Woodward the most attention, though nothing in her manner betrayed attachment except an occasional sigh. Henry, for the time, appeared to be her main dependence; as shortly after sailing she manifested a disposition to keep in retirement as much as possible. Though a girl of tender affections, delicate sentiments, and elevated Christian graces, Cornelia was evidently inexperienced and unprepared for the deceptious impositions practiced in society. Hence, with the highest hopes and expectations, innocently unaware of the contingencies in life's dangerous pathway, hazarding her destiny on the simple promise of an irresponsible young man, but little more than passed midshipman, she reached the quay at Moro Castle in less than six days from the Port of New York. URL https://utc.iath.virginia.edu/africam/blakehp.html From URL Like Douglass' "Heroic Slave," Martin Delany's Blake is the story of an African American who chooses violent rebellion over Tom's resignation. Blake repeatedly dismisses Christianity as his "oppressors' religion," and in this text "stand still and see the salvation" means wait and plot in secret until the signal for the insurrection comes. Delany was one of the most out-spoken black critics of Stowe's novel, but there is much about Blake that remains unknown, including how soon after the appearance of Uncle Tom's Cabin Delany began writing it, and whether he ever finished it. Included in this archive is Part One, or just about exactly the first half, of the novel. Most of Part One (chapters 1-23 and 29-31) originally appeared serially in The Anglo-African Magazine, January to July, 1859. The rest of Part One was first published when Delany reprinted the story in The Weekly Anglo-African, November, 1861, to May, 1862. It was not published in book form until 1970, when Floyd J. Miller prepared an edition of Part One and the first 40 chapters of Part Two (all that have been recovered) for the Beacon Press. Both Parts use quatrains from a poem by Stowe as epigraphs, although Delany's vision is of armed slave rebellion rather than Christian submission. Referral https://africanbloodsiblings.wordpress.com/2012/12/24/part-1-of-martin-delanys-blake-or-the-huts-of-america-with-notes/ From Referral “I wake up each morning and say, thank God I am a man, whereas Delany wakes up and says thank God I am a black man.” — Frederick Douglass speaking of Martin Delany Delany as Major, U. S. Army (c. 1865) Portrait sold by Weekly Anglo-African

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@Pioneer1 You said the following LEt us say a large enough percentage of black in the usa attempt what you suggest, I only many questions but only one is historically demanded. What are black people who have accepted your suggestion to do when whites in or out of alabama/mississippi,florida,georgia, the carolinas use all means including physical violence to stop black people?

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@ProfD thank you, just trying to be as honest as I can. our history isn't easy, i think that is why so many black DOS parents don't tell it as honestly or at all to black DOS children. have a great weekend:)

@umbrarchist The Exodusters tried that, but had resistance from two groups. first whites from north /south/east/west who burned/killed/terrorized their towns out of existence second blacks who were more willing to suffer the challenges of integrating with whites in the south or north to make mixed towns than the challenge of segregating from whites[their plantations/their cities/their states in the south or north] to the territories of the west that would become states. And it wasn't a divide and conquer scheme from that split blacks, our enslaved forebears were never united in the first place, it was the problem black people had before the usa or brasil or haiti or mexico was founded. Black people whose forebears were enslaved by whites to the american continent original relationship to the americas doesn't provide a positive foundation to the americas. and that is a heritage black people of the americas have alone. But it is a heritage that yields to different cultures. whereas whites (of europe or asia or elsewhere)have a unity based on the fact that over 90% of whites forebears came as willing people. So their is a collective idea of making a new home for yourself that binds into one culture. but black peoples enslaved forebears didn't want to come and most didn't, the reality is, black people enslaved forebears who made it to the american shoes are an extreme minority of their populace who was forced to leave africa. To restate, 90% of our enslaved forebears home is the atlantic ocean, from those who died on the boats which is majority plus those who jumped off the boat which is another minority. So if you me or anyone whose forebears were enslaved want to truly know where a majority of our forebears final residence was, it isn't the usa or haiti or brazil , it is the atlantic ocean. Become a citizen of the atlantic ocean. Now of course, most humans can not become citizens of the sea, our bodies are meant to be on land BUT, what this means is all paths we descended of enslaved choose beyond the atlantic ocean are merely acceptable options. Black DOS want to be president? fine. go to live in africa? fine. go to live in a black country in the caribbean ? fine. make a black city in the usa? fine. all are acceptible, for the only true home of black dosers forebears is the atlantic ocean. so.... you stated what blacks should have concentrated on doing? Do you see? our forebears situation made us the only peoples in the american continent unattached, unbounded to these lands. This hurts our unity but also allows for our individualism. This is what I try to convey in this very forum, that so many of you guys don't see. You each want a culture, something grown, that is a complete communalism that isn't justified based on our heritage, what we carry. Black DOSers are a people who have a unique heritage in the usa or the greater americas or including asia. Our forebears mostly died before they could land on new shores, so none of these new shores: brasil/usa/india are truly our homes. And sadly, the motherland, africa isn't our home because time never keeps a place the same. No where in africa is what our forebears were forced from. I end with something I tend to do in this forum, ask black people why don't they find like minded black people and go their path. @umbrarchist why don't you live in a black town in the usa? you don't know anyone else black willing? I can't believe that. You can't find anyone else black willing? I can't believe that. I accept Black people whose forebears were enslaved are free to truly do what they want based on our forebears unfortune, and though it has taken years, I accept it as a positive. I tell my friends offline who talk about being american so much, why don't you run for office? why don't you become a member? I will repeat what I have said here many times. When I hear a black person offline say, we need to kill the whites. I say to them, find the other black people who also want to kill the non blacks and I hope you kill them all. When I hear a black person offline say, we need to embrace our citizenship to the usa . I say to them, find the other blacks who want to embrace the citizenship of the usa, and I hope you guys become presidents/ governors /mayors/ and unite all the humans in the usa in a functional plus honest peace. When I hear a black person offline say, we need to have our own towns in the usa. I say to them, find all the other blacks who want to make their own towns in the usa, and I hope you guys make new towns/cities/and eventually becomes states with a level of self sufficiency or prosperity better than any can imagine. When a black person says they want something support them, if through nothing else but encouragement. You are not obliged to follow them or join them cause you may want other, and that is a heritage of Blacks. But stop preaching, stop debating, stop arguing, stop proselytizing. If a black person is suggesting something push them to do it, find other blacks that are willing to do the same, and if you are willing to do the same join in, but if you are not willing encourage. That is what we lacked circa 1865 and now. We Black whose forebears were enslaved keep trying to be other blacks or the non blacks. They are not us. A majority of our forebears who were enslaved are in one place, the oceans. We have no ties from the past to any of these places, so we are free to make them ourselves. Let's embrace that challenges, but let us also enjoy the advantages of it. Our forebears will not mind us being happy , no matter what we do.

@Chevdove In your opinion what has been most effective in diminishing negative bias in any intraracial[ within one racial category for example phenotype/age/language/religion/gender/species{meaning human}or other singular racial mark] relationship?

In the post linked below make a comment in 250 words or less, in your own words and without the assistance of AI or similar machine learning tools, composing a short fan fiction detailing the continuing story of Farmer Ted from Sixteen Candles. Winners will get prizes. https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/journal/Where-Are-They-Now-Farmer-Ted-Sixteen-Candles-1216942649 In the post linked below make a comment linking a literature deviation on your deviantart profile telling your tale between 2000 and 2500 words or less. If applicable, use the world you built, the protagonist you armored, the antagonist you schemed, the scenario you envisioned during the Crliterature July group challenges. Winners will get prizes. https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/journal/August-Birthday-Writing-Challenge-1222529726