IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, SOME CURIOUS FACTS DEVELOPED, AND
CLOTILDA'S HISTORY DISCLOSED.
IT was seven days after the sailing of the Maggy Bell, as described
in the foregoing chapter, that Montague was seen sitting in the
comfortably furnished parlour of a neat cottage in the suburbs of
Nassau. The coal fire burned brightly in a polished grate; the
carpets and rugs, and lolling mats, indicated of care and comfort;
the tabbied furniture and chastely worked ottomans, and sofas, and
chairs, and inlaid workstands, seem bright of regularity and taste;
and the window curtains of lace and damask, and the scroll cornices
from which they flowingly hung, and the little landscape paintings
that hung upon the satin-papered walls, and the soft light that
issued from two girandoles on the mantel-piece of figured marble,
all lent their cheering aid to make complete the radiant picture of
a happy home. But Montague sat nervous with anxiety. "Mother won't
be a minute!" said a pert little fellow of some seven summers, who
played with his hands as he sat on the sofa, and asked questions his
emotions forbid answering. On an ottoman near the cheerful fire,
sat, with happy faces, the prettily dressed figures of a boy and
girl, older in age than the first; while by the side of Montague sat
Maxwell, whose manly countenance we transcribed in the early part of
our narrative, and to whom Montague had in part related the sad
events of the four months past, as he heaved a sigh, saying, "How
happy must he die who careth for the slave!" Ere the words had
escaped his lips, the door opened, and the graceful form of a
beautiful woman entered, her finely oval but pensive face made more
expressive by the olive that shaded it, and those deep soul-like
eyes that now sparkled in gentleness, and again flashed with
apprehension. Nervously she paused and set her eyes with intense
stare on Montague; then vaulted into his arms and embraced him,
crying, "Is not my Annette here?" as a tear stole down her cheeks.
Her quick eye detected trouble in his deportment; she grasped his
left hand firmly in her right, and with quivering frame besought him
to keep her no longer in the agony of suspense. "Why thus suddenly
have you come? ah!-you disclose a deep-rooted trouble in not
forewarning me! tell me all and relieve my feelings!" she
ejaculated, in broken accents. "I was driven from that country
because I loved nature and obeyed its laws. My very soul loved its
greatness, and would have done battle for its glories-yea, I loved
it for the many blessings it hath for the favoured; but one dark
stain on its bright escutcheon so betrayed justice, that no home was
there for me-none for the wife I had married in lawful wedlock."
Here the woman, in agonising throbs, interrupted him by enquiring
why he said there was no home for the wife he had married in lawful
wedlock-was not the land of the puritans free? "Nay!" he answered,
in a measured tone, shaking his head, "it is bestained not with
their crimes-for dearly do they love justice and regard the rights
of man-but with the dark deeds of the man-seller, who, heedless of
their feelings, and despising their moral rectitude, would make
solitary those happy homes that brighten in greatness over its
soil." Again, frantic of anxiety, did the woman interrupt him:
"Heavens!-she is not dragged back into slavery?" she enquired, her
emotions rising beyond her power of restraint, as she drew bitter
pangs from painful truths. With countenance bathed in trouble did
Montague return her solicitous glance, and speak. "Into slavery" he
muttered, in half choked accents "was she hurled back." He had not
finished the sentence ere anxiety burst its bounds, and the anxious
woman shrieked, and fell swooning in his arms. Even yet her olive
face was beautefully pale. The cheerful parlour now rung with
confusion, servants bustled about in fright, the youthful family
shrieked in fear, the father sought to restore the fond mother, as
Montague chafed her right hand in his. Let us leave to the reader's
conjecture a scene his fancy may depict better than we can describe,
and pass to one more pleasant of results. Some half an hour had
transpired, when, as if in strange bewilderment, Clotilda opened her
eyes and seemed conscious of her position. A deep crimson shaded her
olive cheeks, as in luxurious ease she lay upon the couch, her
flushed face and her thick wavy hair, so prettily parted over her
classic brow, curiously contrasting with the snow-white pillow on
which it rested. A pale and emaciated girl sat beside her, smoothing
her brow with her left hand, laying the right gently on the almost
motionless bosom, kissing the crimsoning cheek, and lisping rather
than speaking, "Mother, mother, oh mother!-it's only me." And then
the wet courses on her cheeks told how the fountain of her soul had
overflown. Calmly and vacantly the woman gazed on the fair girl,
with whom she had been left alone. Then she raised her left hand to
her brow, sighed, and seemed sinking into a tranquil sleep. "Mother!
mother! I am once more with my mother!" again ejaculates the fair
girl, sobbing audibly; "do you not know me, mother?" Clotilda
started as if suddenly surprised. "Do I dream?" she muttered,
raising herself on her elbow, as her great soft eyes wandered about
the room. She would know who called her mother. "'Tis me," said the
fair girl, returning her glances, "do you not know your Annette-your
slave child?" Indeed the fair girl was not of that bright
countenance she had anticipated meeting, for though the punishment
had little soiled her flesh the dagger of disgrace had cut deep into
her heart, and spread its poison over her soul. "This my Annette!"
exclaimed Clotilda, throwing her arms about the fair girl's neck,
drawing her frantically to her bosom, and bathing her cheeks with
her tears of joy. "Yes, yes, 'tis my long-lost child; 'tis she for
whom my soul has longed-God has been merciful, rescued her from the
yawning death of slavery, and given her back to her mother! Oh, no,
I do not dream-it is my child,--my Annette!" she continued. Long and
affectionately did they mingle their tears and kisses. And now a
fond mother's joy seemed complete, a child's sorrow ended, and a
happy family were made happier. Again the family gathered into the
room, where, as of one accord, they poured out their affectionate
congratulations. One after another were the children enjoined to
greet Annette, kiss her, and call her sister. To them the meeting
was as strange as to the parents it was radiant of joy. "Mother!"
said the little boy, as he took Annette by the hand and called her
sister, and kissed her as she kissed him, "was you married before
you was married to father?" The affectionate mother had no answer to
make; she might have found one in the ignominy of the slave world.
And now, when the measure of joy seemed full-when the bitterness of
the past dwindled away like a dream, and when the future like a
beacon hung out its light of promise,--Clotilda drew from a small
workstand a discoloured paper written over in Greek characters,
scarce intelligible. "Annette!" said she, "my mother gave me this
when last I saw her. The chains were then about her hands, and she
was about to be led away to the far south slave market: by it did I
discover my history." Here she unfolded its defaced pages, lifted
her eyes upwards invokingly, and continued--"To speak the crimes of
great men is to hazard an oblivion for yourself, to bring upon you
the indifference of the multitude; but great men are often greatest
in crime-for so it proved with those who completed my mother's
destruction. Give ear, then, ye grave senators, and if ye have
hearts of fathers, lend them! listen, ye queen mothers of my
country, whose sons and daughters are yet travelling the world's
uncertainties! listen, ye fathers, who have souls above Mammon's
golden grasp, and sons in whom ye put your trust! listen, ye
brothers, whose pride brightens in a sister's virtue! listen, ye
sisters, who enjoy paternal affections, and feel that one day you
may grace a country's social life! listen, ye philanthropists, ye
men of the world, who love your country, and whose hearts yearn for
its liberties-ye men sensitive of our great Republic's honour, nor
seek to traffic in the small gains of power when larger ones await
you; and, above all, lend your hearts, ye brothers of the clergy in
the slave church, and give ear while I tell who I am, and pray ye,
as ye love the soul of woman, to seek out those who, like unto what
I was, now wither in slavery. My grandfather's name was Iznard
Maldonard, a Minorcan, who in the year 1767 (some four years after
Florida was by the king of Spain ceded to Great Britain) emigrated
with one Dr. Turnbull-whose name has since shone on the pages of
history-to that land of sunshine and promise; for, indeed, Florida
is the Italy of America. In that year did numerous of the English
aristocracy conceive plans as various as inconsistent for the
population and improvement of the colony. With a worthy motive did
Lord Rolle draw from the purlieus of London [Footnote: See Williams'
History of Florida, page 188.] State Papers, three hundred wretched
females, whose condition he would better by reforming and making aid
in founding settlements. This his lordship found no easy task; but
the climate relieved him of the perplexity he had brought upon
himself, for to it did they all fall victims in a very short time.
But Turnbull, with motive less commendable, obtained a grant of his
government, and, for the sum of four hundred pounds, (being then in
the Peleponnesus) was the governor of Modon bribed into a permission
to convey sundry Greek families to Florida, for colonization.
Returning from Modon with a number of families, he touched at the
islands of Corsica and Minorca, added another vessel to his fleet,
and increased the number of his settlers to fifteen hundred. With
exciting promises did he decoy them to his land of Egypt, which
proved a bondage to his shame. He would give them lands, free
passages, good provisions and clothing; but none of these promises
did he keep. A long passage of four months found many victims to its
hardships, and those who arrived safe were emaciated by sickness.
Into the interior were these taken; and there they founded a
settlement called New Smyrna, the land for which-some sixty thousand
acres-was granted by the governor of Florida. Faithfully and
earnestly did they labour for the promised reward, and in less than
five years had more than three thousand acres of land in the highest
state of cultivation; but, as Turnbull's prosperity increased, so
did the demon avarice; and men, women, and children, were reduced to
the most abject slavery. Tasks greater than they could perform were
assigned them, and a few Italians and negroes made overseers and
drivers. For food the labourers were allotted seven quarts of corn
per week. Many who had lived in affluence in their own country were
compelled to wear osnaburgs, and go bare-foot through the year. More
than nine years were those valuable settlers kept in this state of
slavery, the cruelties inflicted upon them surpassing in enormity
those which so stigmatised the savage Spaniards of St. Domingo.
Drivers were compelled to beat and lacerate those who had not
performed their tasks; many were left naked, tied all night to
trees, that mosquitoes might suck their blood, and the suffering
wretches become swollen from torture. Some, to end their troubles,
wandered off, and died of starvation in the forest, and, including
the natural increase, less than six hundred souls were left at the
end of nine years. But, be it known to those whose hearts and ears I
have before invoked, that many children of these unfortunate parents
were fair and beautiful, which valuable charms singularly excited
the cupidity of the tyrant, who betook himself to selling them for
purposes most infamous. A child overhearing the conversation of
three English gentlemen who made an excursion to the settlement, and
being quick of ear, conveyed the purport of it to his mother, who,
in the night, summoned a council of her confidants to concoct the
means of gaining more intelligence. The boy heard the visitors, who
stood in the great mansion, which was of stone, say, "Did the
wretches know their rights they had not suffered such enormities of
slavery." It was resolved that three ask for long tasks, under the
pretext of gaining time to catch turtle on the coast; but having
gained the desired time, they set off for St. Augustine, which they
reached, after swimming rivers and delving almost impenetrable
morasses. They sought the attorney-general of the province, Mr.
Younge,--I speak his name with reverence-and with an earnest zeal
did he espouse the cause of this betrayed people. At that time,
Governor Grant-since strongly suspected of being concerned with
Turnbull in the slavery of the Greeks and Minorcans-had just been
superseded by Tonyn, who now had it in his power to rebuke a tyrant,
and render justice to a long-injured people. Again, on the return of
the envoys, who bore good tidings, did they meet in secret, and
choose one Pallicier, a Greek, their leader. This man had been
master mechanic of the mansion. With wooden spears were the men
armed and formed into two lines, the women, children, and old men in
the centre; and thus did they set off from the place of bondage to
seek freedom. In vain did the tyrant-whose name democracy has
enshrined with its glories-pursue them, and exhaust persuasion to
procure their return. For three days did they wander the woods,
delve morasses, and swim rivers, ere they reached the haven of St.
Augustine, where, being provided with provisions, their case was
tried, and, albeit, though Turnbull interposed all the perfidy
wealth could purchase, their fredeom established. But alas! not so
well was it with those fair daughters whom the tyrant sold slaves to
a life of infamy, and for whose offspring, now in the bitterness of
bondage, do we plead. Scores of these female children were sold by
the tyrant; but either the people were drunk of joy over their own
liberty, and forgot to demand the return of their children, or the
good Younge felt forcibly his weakness to bring to justice the rich
and great-for the law is weak where slavery makes men great-so as to
make him disgorge the ill-gotten treasure he might have concealed,
but the proof of which nothing was easier than to obliterate.
"Maldonard, then, was my grandfather; and, with my grandmother and
three children, was of those who suffered the cruelties I have
detailed. Two of his children were girls, fair and beautiful, whom
the tyrant, under the pretext of bettering their condition in
another colony, sold away into slavery. One was my dear mother."
Here tears coursed down the woman's cheeks. "And she, though I blush
to tell it, was sold to Rovero, who was indeed my father as well as
Franconia's. But I was years older than Franconia-I visit her grave
by day, and dream of her by night;--nor was it strange that she
should trace the cause of similarity in our features. Forsooth, it
was that singular discovery-of which I was long ignorant-coupled
with the virtues of a great soul, that incited her to effect my
escape. Rovero, ere he married Franconia's mother, sold Sylvia
Maldonard, who was my mother; and may angels bring glad tidings of
her spirit! Yes, true is it that my poor mother was sold to one
Silenus, of whom Marston bought my body while heaven guarded the
soul: but here would I drop the curtain over the scene, for
Maldonard is dead; and in the grave of his Italian wife, ere he
gained his freedom, was he buried." Here again the fond mother, as
she concluded, lifted her eyes invokingly, fondled her long-lost
child to her bosom,--smiled upon her, kissed her, and was happy.