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The new kid on the block, FootNote is known for digitizing historical
documents...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!
Jerome had scarcely passed
the prison gates, ere he reproached himself
for having taken such a step. There seemed
to him no hope of escape out of the State,
and what was a few hours or days at most, of
life to him, when, by obtaining it, another
had been sacrificed. He was on the eve of
returning, when he thought of the last words
uttered by Clotelle. "Be brave and
determined, and you will still be free." The
words sounded like a charm in his ears and
he went boldly forward.
Clotelle had provided a suit of men's
clothes and had placed them where her lover
could get them, if he should succeed in
getting out.
Returning to Mr. Wilson's barn, the fugitive
changed his apparel, and again retraced his
steps into the street. To reach the Free
States by traveling by night and lying by
during the day, from a State so far south as
Mississippi, no one would think for a moment
of attempting to escape. To remain in the
city would be a suicidal step. The deep
sound of the escape of steam from a boat,
which was at that moment ascending the
river, broke upon the ears of the slave. "If
that boat is going up the river," said he,
"why not I conceal myself on board, and try
to escape?" He went at once to the steamboat
landing, where the boat was just coming in.
"Bound for Louisville," said the captain, to
one who was making inquiries. As the
passengers were rushing on board, Jerome
followed them, and proceeding to where some
of the hands were stowing away bales of
goods, he took hold and aided them.
"Jump down into the hold, there, and help
the men," said the mate to the fugitive,
supposing that, like many persons, he was
working his way up the river. Once in the
hull among the boxes, the slave concealed
himself. Weary hours, and at last days,
passed without either water or food with the
hidden slave. More than once did he resolve
to let his case be known; but the knowledge
that he would be sent back to Natchez kept
him from doing so. At last, with lips
parched and fevered to a crisp, the poor man
crawled out into the freight room, and began
wandering about. The hatches were on, and
the room dark. There happened to be on board
a wedding party, and a box, containing some
ofthe bridal cake, with several bottles of
port wine, was near Jerome. He found the
box, opened it, and helped himself. In eight
days, the boat tied up at the wharf at the
place of her destination. It was late at
night; the boat's crew, with the single
exception of the man on watch, were on
shore. The hatches were off, and the
fugitive quietly made his way on deck and
jumped on shore. The man saw the fugitive,
but too late to seize him.
Still in a Slave State, Jerome was at a loss
to know how he should proceed. He had with
him a few dollars, enough to pay his way to
Canada, if he could find a conveyance. The
fugitive procured such food as he wanted
from one of the many eating houses, and
then, following the direction of the North
Star, he passed out of the city, and took
the road leading to Covington. Keeping near
the Ohio River, Jerome soon found an
opportunity to cross over into the State of
Indiana. But liberty was a mere name in the
latter State, and the fugitive learned, from
some colored persons that he met, that it
was not safe to travel by daylight. While
making his way one night, with nothing to
cheer him but the prospect of freedom in the
future, he was pounced upon by three men who
were lying in wait for another fugitive, an
advertisement of whom they had received
through the mail. In vain did Jerome tell
them that he was not a slave. True, they had
not caught the man they expected; but, if
they could make this slave tell from what
place he had escaped, they knew that a good
price would be paid them for the Negro's
arrest.
Tortured by the slave catchers, to make him
reveal the name of his master and the place
from whence he had escaped, Jerome gave them
a fictitious name in Virginia, and said that
his master would give a large reward, and
manifested a willingness to return to his
"old boss." By this misrepresentation, the
fugitive hoped to have another chance of
getting away. Allured with the prospect of a
large sum of the needful, the slave catchers
started back with their victim. Stopping on
the second night at an inn, on the banks of
the Ohio River, the kidnappers, in lieu of a
suitable place in which to confine their
prize during the night, chained him to the
bed post of their sleeping chamber. The
white men were late in retiring to rest,
after an evening spent in drinking. 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 Morpheus
had possession of his captors. For once,
thought he, the brandy bottle has done a
noble 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. The
sleepers' 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 dressed
himself in the best suit, hung his own worn
out and tattered garments on the same chair,
and silently passed through the window to
the piazza, and let himself down by one of
the pillars, and started once more for the
North.
Daylight came upon the fugitive before he
had selected a hiding place for the day, and
he was walking at a rapid rate, in hopes of
soon reaching some woodland or forest. The
sun had just begun to show itself, when the
fugitive was astounded at seeing behind him,
in the distance, two men upon horseback.
Taking a road to the right, the slave saw
before him a farmhouse, and so near was he
to it that he observed two men in front of
it looking at him. It was too late to turn
back. The kidnappers were behind him strange
men before him. Those in the rear he knew to
be enemies, while he had no idea of what
principles were the farmers. The latter also
saw the white men coming, and called to the
fugitive to come that way. The broad brimmed
hats that the farmers wore told the slave
that they were Quakers.
Jerome had seen some of these people passing
up and down the river, when employed on a
steamer between Natchez and New Orleans, and
had heard that they disliked slavery. He,
therefore, hastened toward the drab coated
men, who, on his approach, opened the barn
door, and told him to "run in."
When Jerome entered the barn, the two
farmers closed the door, remaining outside
themselves, to confront the slave catchers,
who now came up and demanded admission,
feeling that they had their prey secure.
"The can't enter my premises," said one of
the Friends, in rather a musical voice.
The Negro catchers urged their claim to the
slave, and intimated that, unless they were
allowed to secure him, they would force
their way in. By this time, several other
Quakers had gathered around the barn door.
Unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most
fortunately for the fugitive, the Friends
had just been holding a quarterly meeting in
the neighborhood, and a number of them had
not yet returned to their homes. After some
talk, the men in drab promised to admit the
hunters, provided they procured an officer
and a search warrant from a justice of the
peace. One of the slave catchers was left to
see that the fugitive did not get away,
while the others went in pursuit of an
officer. In the mean time, the owner of the
barn sent for a hammer and nails, and began
nailing up the barn door.
After an hour in search of the man of the
law, they returned with an officer and a
warrant. The Quaker demanded to see the
paper, and, after looking at it for some
time, called to his son to go into the house
for his glasses. It was a long time before
Aunt Ruth found the leather case, and when
she did, the glasses wanted wiping before
they could be used. After comfortably
adjusting them on his nose, he read the
warrant over leisurely.
"Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can't wait all day,"
said the officer.
"Well, will thee read it for me?" returned
the Quaker.
The officer complied, and the man in drab
said,
"Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to
throw no obstacles in the way of the
execution of the law of the land."
On approaching the door, the men found some
forty or fifty nails in it, in the way of
their progress.
"Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you
please, Mr. Dugdale," said the officer.
"Please read that paper over again, will
thee?" asked the Quaker.
The officer once more read the warrant.
"I see nothing there which says I must
furnish thee with tools to open my door. If
thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere
for it; I tell thee plainly, thee can't have
mine."
The implements for opening the door are at
length obtained, and, after another half
hour, the slave catchers are in the barn.
Three hours is a long time for a slave to be
in the hands of Quakers. The hay is turned
over, and the barn is visited in every part;
but still the runaway is not found. Uncle
Joseph has a glow upon his countenance;
Ephraim shakes his head knowingly; little
Elijah is a perfect know nothing, and, if
you look toward the house, you will see Aunt
Ruth's smiling face, ready to announce that
breakfast is ready.
"The nigger is not in this barn," said the
officer.
"I know he is not," quietly answered the
Quaker.
"What were you nailing up your door for,
then, as if you were afraid we would enter?"
inquired one of the kidnappers.
"I can do what I please with my own door,
can't I," said the Quaker.
The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in
at the front door and out at the back; and
the reading of the warrant, nailing up of
the door, and other preliminaries of the
Quaker, was to give the fugitive time and
opportunity to escape.
It was now late in the morning, and the
slave catchers were a long way from home,
and the horses were jaded by the rapid
manner in which they had travelled. The
Friends, in high glee, returned to the house
for breakfast; the man of the law, after
taking his fee, went home, and the
kidnappers turned back, muttering, "Better
luck next time."
Clotelle or The Colored Heroine, A tale
of the Southern States
