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The new kid on the block, FootNote is known for digitizing historical
documents...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!
When Harry returned home, he
found his wife seated at the window,
awaiting his approach. Secret grief was
gnawing at her heart. Her sad, pale cheeks
and swollen eyes showed too well that agony,
far deeper than her speech portrayed, filled
her heart. A dull and death like silence
prevailed on his entrance. His pale face and
brow, disheveled hair, and the feeling that
he manifested on finding Gertrude still up,
told Henry in plainer words than she could
have used that his wife was aware that her
love had never been held sacred by him. The
window blinds were still unclosed, and the
full orbed moon shed her soft refulgence
over the unrivalled scene, and gave it a
silvery luster which sweetly harmonized with
the silence of the night. The clock's iron
tongue, in a neighboring belfry, proclaimed
the hour of twelve, as the truant and
unfaithful husband seated himself by the
side of his devoted and loving wife, and
inquired if she was not well.
"I am, dear Henry," replied Gertrude; "but I
feat *you* are not. If well in body, I fear
you are not at peace in mind."
"Why?" inquired he.
"Because," she replied, "you are so pale and
have such a wild look in your eyes."
Again he protested his innocence, and vowed
she was the only woman who had any claim
upon his heart. To behold one thus playing
upon the feelings of two lovely women is
enough to make us feel that evil must at
last bring its own punishment.
Henry and Gertrude had scarcely risen from
the breakfast table next morning ere old
Mrs. Miller made her appearance. She
immediately took her daughter aside, and
informed her of her previous night's
experience, telling her how she had followed
Henry to Isabella's cottage, detailing the
interview with the quadroon, and her late
return home alone. The old woman urged her
daughter to demand that the quadroon and her
child be at once sold to the Negro
speculators and taken out of the State, or
that Gertrude herself should separate from
Henry.
"Assert your rights, my dear. Let no one
share a heart that justly belongs to you,"
said Mrs. Miller, with her eyes flashing
fire. "Don't sleep this night, my child,
until that wench has been removed from that
cottage; and as for the child, hand that
over to me, I saw at once that it was
Henry's."
During these remarks, the old lady was
walking up and down the room like a caged
lioness. She had learned from Isabella that
she had been purchased by Henry, and the
innocence of the injured quadroon caused her
to acknowledge that he was the father of her
child. Few women could have taken such a
matter in hand and carried it through with
more determination and success than old Mrs.
Miller. Completely inured in all the crimes
and atrocities connected with the
institution of slavery, she was also aware
that, to a greater or less extent, the slave
women shared with their mistress the
affections of their master. This caused her
to look with a suspicious eye on every good
looking Negro woman that she saw.
While the old woman was thus lecturing her
daughter upon her rights and duties, Henry,
unaware of what was transpiring, had left
the house and gone to his office. As soon as
the old woman found that he was gone, she
said,
"I will venture anything that he is on his
way to see that wench again. I'll lay my
life on it."
The entrance, however, of little Marcus, or
Mark, as he was familiarly called, asking
for Massa Linwood's blue bag, satisfied her
that her son-in-law was at his office.
Before the old lady returned home, it was
agreed that Gertrude should come to her
mother's to tea that evening, and Henry with
her, and that Mrs. Miller should there
charge the young husband with inconstancy to
her daughter, and demand the removal of
Isabella.
With this understanding, the old woman
retraced her steps to her own dwelling.
Had Mrs. Miller been of a different
character and not surrounded by slavery, she
could scarcely have been unhappy in such a
home as hers. Just at the edge of the city,
and sheltered by large poplar trees was the
old homestead in which she resided. There
was a splendid orchard in the rear of the
house, and the old weather beaten sweep,
with "the moss covered bucket" at its end,
swung majestically over the deep well. The
garden was scarcely to be equaled. Its
grounds were laid out in excellent taste,
and rare exotics in the greenhouse made it
still more lovely.
It was a sweet autumn evening, when the air
breathed through the fragrant sheaves of
grain, and the setting sun, with his golden
kisses, burnished the rich clusters of
purple grapes, that Henry and Gertrude were
seen approaching the house on foot; it was
nothing more than a pleasant walk. Oh, how
Gertrude's heart beat as she seated herself,
on their arrival!
The beautiful parlor, surrounded on all
sides with luxury and taste, with the sun
creeping through the damask curtains, added
a charm to the scene. It was in this room
that Gertrude had been introduced to Henry,
and the pleasant hours that she had spent
there with him rushed unbidden on her
memory. It was here that, in former days,
her beautiful countenance had made her
appearance as fascinating and as lovely as
that of Cleopatra's. Her sweet, musical
voice might have been heard in every part of
the house, occasionally thrilling you with
an unexpected touch. How changed the scene!
Her pale and wasted features could not be
lighted up by any thoughts of the past, and
she was sorrowful at heart.
As usual, the servants in the kitchen were
in ecstasies at the announcement that "Miss
Gerty," as they called their young mistress,
was in the house, for they loved her
sincerely. Gertrude had saved them from many
a flogging, by interceding for them, when
her mother was in one of her uncontrollable
passions. Dinah, the cook, always expected
Miss Gerty to visit the kitchen as soon as
she came, and was not a little displeased,
on this occasion, at what she considered her
young mistress's neglect. Uncle Tony, too,
looked regularly for Miss Gerty to visit the
green house, and congratulate him on his
superiority as a gardener.
When tea was over, Mrs. Miller dismissed the
servants from the room, then told her
son-in-law what she had witnessed the
previous night, and demanded for her
daughter that Isabella should be immediately
sent out of the State, and to be sure that
the thing would be done, she wanted him to
give her the power to make such disposition
of the woman and child as she should think
best. Gertrude was Mrs. Miller's only child,
and Henry felt little like displeasing a
family upon whose friendship he so much
depended, and, no doubt, long wishing to
free himself from Isabella, he at once
yielded to the demands of his mother-in-law.
Mr. Miller was a mere cipher about his
premises. If any one came on business
connected with the farm, he would invariably
say, "Wait till I see my wife," and the
wife's opinion was sure to be law in every
case. Bankrupt in character, and debauched
in body and mind, with seven mulatto
children who claimed him as their father, he
was badly prepared to find fault with his
son-in-law. It was settled that Mrs. Miller
should use her own discretion in removing
Isabella from her little cottage, and her
future disposition. With this understanding
Henry and Gertrude returned home. In the
deep recesses of his heart the young man
felt that he would like to see his child and
its mother once more; but fearing the wrath
of his mother-in-law, he did not dare to
gratify his inclination. He had not the
slightest idea of what would become of them;
but he well knew that the old woman would
have no mercy on them.
Clotelle or The Colored Heroine, A tale
of the Southern States
