FootNote
The new kid on the block, FootNote is known for digitizing historical
documents... many of which are genealogical gems. With naturalizations,
city directories, war records, newspapers, town records, etc... this new
kid is quickly being recognized as an alternative to Ancestry.
While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
The clock in the hall had
scarcely finished striking three when Mr.
Taylor entered his own dwelling, a fine
residence in Camp Street, New Orleans,
followed by the slave girl whom he had just
purchased at the Negro pen. Clotelle looked
around wildly as she passed through the hall
into the presence of her new mistress. Mrs.
Taylor was much pleased with her servant's
appearance, and congratulated her husband on
his judicious choice.
"But," said Mrs. Taylor, after Clotelle had
gone into the kitchen, "how much she looks
like Miss Jane Morton."
"Indeed," replied the husband, "I thought,
the moment I saw her that she looked like
the Mortons."
"I am sure I never saw two faces more alike
in my life, than that girl's and Jane
Morton's," continued Mrs. Taylor.
Dr. Morton, the purchaser of Marion, the
youngest daughter of Agnes, and sister to
Isabella, had resided in Camp Street, near
the Taylors, for more than eight years, and
the families were on very intimate terms,
and visited each other frequently. Every one
spoke of Clotelle's close resemblance to the
Mortons, and especially to the eldest
daughter. Indeed, two sisters could hardly
have been more alike. The large, dark eyes,
black, silk like hair, tall, graceful
figure, and mould of the face, were the
same.
The morning following Clotelle's arrival in
her new home, Mrs. Taylor was conversing in
a low tone with her husband, and both with
their eyes following Clotelle as she passed
through the room.
"She is far above the station of a slave,"
remarked the lady. "I saw her, last night,
when removing some books, open on and stand
over it a moment as if she was reading; and
she is as white as I am. I am almost sorry
you bought her."
At this juncture the front door bell rang,
and Clotelle hurried through the room to
answer it.
"Miss Morton," said the servant as she
returned to the mistress' room.
"Ask her to walk in," responded the
mistress.
"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Taylor to her
husband, "just look and see if you do not
notice a marked resemblance between the
countenances of Jane and Clotelle."
Miss Morton entered the room just as Mrs.
Taylor ceased speaking.
"Have you heard that the Jamisons are down
with the fever?" inquired the young lady,
after asking about the health of the Taylors.
"No, I had not; I was in hopes it would not
get into our street," replied Mrs. Taylor.
All this while Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were
keenly scrutinizing their visitor and
Clotelle and even the two young women seemed
to be conscious that they were in some way
the objects of more than usual attention.
Miss Morton had scarcely departed before
Mrs. Taylor began questioning Clotelle
concerning her early childhood, and became
more than ever satisfied that the slave girl
was in some way connected with the Mortons.
Every hour brought fresh news of the ravages
of the fever, and the Taylors commenced
preparing to leave town. As Mr. Taylor could
not go at once, it was determined that his
wife should leave without him, accompanied
by her new maid servant. Just as Mrs. Taylor
and Clotelle were stepping into the
carriage, they were informed that Dr. Morton
was down with the epidemic.
It was a beautiful day, with a fine breeze
for the time of year, that Mrs. Taylor and
her servant found themselves in the cabin of
the splendid new steamer
"Walk-in-the-Water," bound from New Orleans
to Mobile. Every berth in the boat was
occupied by persons fleeing from the fearful
contagion that was carrying off its hundreds
daily.
Late in the day, as Clotelle was standing at
one of the windows of the ladies' saloon,
she was astonished to see near her, and with
eyes fixed intently upon her, the tall young
stranger whom she had observed in the slave
market a few days before. She turned hastily
away, but the heated cabin and the want of
fresh air soon drove her again to the
window. The young gentleman again appeared,
and coming to the end of the saloon, spoke
to the slave girl in broken English. This
confirmed her in her previous opinion that
he was a foreigner, and she rejoiced that
she had not fallen into his hands.
"I want to talk with you," said the
stranger.
"What do you want with me?" she inquired. "I
am your friend," he answered. "I saw you in
the slave market last week, and regretted
that I did not speak to you then. I returned
in the evening, but you was gone."
Clotelle looked indignantly at the stranger,
and was about leaving the window again when
the quivering of his lips and the trembling
of his voice struck her attention and caused
her to remain.
"I intended to buy you and make you free and
happy, but I was too late," continued he.
"Why do you wish to make me free?" inquired
the girl.
"Because I once had an only and lovely
sister, who died three years ago in France,
and you are so much like her that had I not
known of her death I should certainly have
taken you for her."
"However much I may resemble your sister,
you are aware that I am not she; why, then,
take so much interest in one whom you have
never seen before and may never see again?"
"The love," said he, "which I had for my
sister is transferred to you."
Clotelle had all along suspected that the
man was a knave, and this profession of love
at once confirmed her in that belief. She
therefore immediately turned away and left
him.
Hours elapsed. Twilight was just "letting
down her curtain and pinning it with a
star," as the slave girl seated herself on a
sofa by the window, and began meditating
upon her eventful history, meanwhile
watching the white waves as they seemed to
sport with each other in the wake of the
noble vessel, with the rising moon
reflecting its silver rays upon the splendid
scene, when the foreigner once more appeared
near the window. Although agitated for fear
her mistress would see her talking to a
stranger, and be angry, Clotelle still
thought she saw something in the countenance
of the young man that told her he was
sincere, and she did not wish to hurt his
feelings.
"Why persist in your wish to talk with me?"
she said, as he again advanced and spoke to
her.
"I wish to purchase you and make you happy,"
returned he.
"But I am not for sale now," she replied.
"My present mistress will not sell me, and
if you wished to do so ever so much you
could not."
"Then," said he, "if I cannot buy you, when
the steamer reaches Mobile, fly with me, and
you shall be free."
"I cannot do it," said Clotelle; and she was
just leaving the stranger when he took from
his pocket a piece of paper and thrust it
into her hand.
After returning to her room, she unfolded
the paper, and found, to her utter
astonishment that it contained a one hundred
dollar note on the Bank of the United
States. The first impulse of the girl was to
return the paper and its contents
immediately to the giver, but examining the
paper more closely, she saw in faint pencil
marks, "Remember this is from one who loves
you." Another thought was to give it to her
mistress, and she returned to the saloon for
that purpose; but on finding Mrs. Taylor
engaged in conversation with some ladies,
she did not deem it proper to interrupt her.
Again, therefore, Clotelle seated herself by
the window, and again the stranger presented
himself. She immediately took the paper from
her pocket, and handed it to him; but he
declined taking it, saying,
"No, keep it; it may be of some service to
you when I am far away."
"Would that I could understand you," said
the slave.
"Believe that I am sincere, and then you
will understand me," returned the young man.
"Would you rather be a slave than be free?"
inquired he, with tears that glistened in
the rays of the moon.
"No," said she, "I want my freedom, but I
must live a virtuous life."
"Then, if you would be free and happy, go
with me. We shall be in Mobile in two hours,
and when the passengers are going on shore,
you take my arm. Have your face covered with
a veil, and you will not be observed. We
will take passage immediately for France;
you can pass as my sister, and I pledge you
my honor that I will marry you as soon as we
arrive in France."
This solemn promise, coupled with what had
previously been said, gave Clotelle
confidence in the man, and she instantly
determined to go with him. "But then,"
thought she, "what if I should be detected?
I would be forever ruined, for I would be
sold, and in all probability have to end my
days on a cotton, rice, or sugar
plantation." However, the thought of freedom
in the future outweighed this danger, and
her resolve was taken.
Dressing herself in some of her best
clothes, and placing her veiled bonnet where
she could get it without the knowledge of
her mistress, Clotelle awaited with a heart
filled with the deepest emotions and anxiety
the moment when she was to take a step which
seemed so rash, and which would either make
or ruin her forever.
The ships which Mobile for Europe lie about
thirty miles down the bay, and passengers
are taken down from the city in small
vessels. The "Walk-in-the-Water" had just
made her lines fast, and the passengers were
hurrying on shore, when a tall gentleman
with a lady at his side descended the stage
plank, and stepped on the wharf. This was
Antoine Devenant and Clotelle.
Clotelle or The Colored Heroine, A tale
of the Southern States
