It was late in the evening when the coach
arrived at Richmond, and Isabella once more
alighted in her native city. She had
intended to seek lodgings 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 before she
recognized 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 Isabella to visit a place from which
she could scarcely hope to escape, to
attempt the rescue of a beloved child,
demonstrate that over willingness of woman
to carry out the promptings of the finer
feelings of the heart. True to woman's
nature, she had risked her own liberty for
another's. She remained in the hotel during
the night, and the next morning, under the
plea of illness, 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 her feet had
so often pressed, 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. Isabella
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 passed away, and still
she remained in the hotel at which she had
first put up, and yet she got no tidings of
her child.
Unfortunately for Isabella, a disturbance
had just broken out among the slave
population in the State of Virginia, and all
strangers were treated with suspicion.
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 crack of the driver's whip, and seen the
warm blood streaming from the Negro's body.
He had witnessed the separation of parents
from children, and was made aware, by too
many proofs, that the slave could expect no
justice from the hands of the slave owner.
The name of this man was Nat Turner. He was
a preacher amongst the Negroes,
distinguished for his eloquence, respected
by the whites, 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 thousand 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 of 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, and this was their home. This man's
name was Picquilo. His only weapon was a
sword made from a scythe which he had stolen
from a neighboring plantation. His dress,
his character, his manners, and 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
motives of revenge, he imbrued his hands in
the blood of all the whites he could meet.
Hunger, thirst, 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 Negroes
in the Southampton Insurrection. All Negroes
were arrested who were found beyond their
master's threshold, and all white strangers
were looked upon with suspicion.
Such was the position in which Isabella
found affairs when she returned to Virginia
in search of her child. Had not the slave
owners 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 officers were therefore on the
lookout for her.
It was on the third day after her arrival in
Richmond, as the quadroon was seated in her
room at the hotel, still in the disguise of
a gentleman, that two of the city officers
entered the apartment and informed her that
they were authorized 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 female
apparel in the trunk, which raised their
curiosity, and caused a further
investigation that resulted in the arrest of
Isabella 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 should 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 the limits
of their owners' plantations. The Negroes,
in return, set fire to houses, and put to
death those 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, but their 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 employed to hunt
out the remaining revolters.
Clotelle or The Colored Heroine, A tale of the Southern States