THE fiendish and heartless conduct of a large number of the people
of the South towards Union men during the war, and especially the
unlady-like demeanor of rebel women at New Orleans and other points, is
a matter that has passed into history. In few places were the women more
abusive to those of Union proclivities than the female portion of the
inhabitants of Greenville, Alabama. While passing through this town, on
her return from Andersonville to New Orleans, Clotelle had to encounter
the fierce ill-treatment of these chivalrous daughters of the South.
There were, during the rebellion, many brave and generous women, who, in
the mountains and lowlands of Alabama, gave aid to Federals,--soldiers
and civilians,--in their wanderings and escape from the cruelties of the
traitors. One of these patriotic women was arrested while on a visit to
Greenville for the purpose of procuring medicine and other necessaries
for sick Union men then hid away in the woods. This large-hearted
woman--Eunice Hastings--had her horse taken from her, robbed of the
goods she had purchased, and, after experiencing almost death at the
hands of the rebel women, was released and turned out penniless, and
without the means of reaching her home in the country; when Clotelle,
who had just arrived at the dilapidated and poorly kept hotel, met her,
and, learning the particulars of her case, offered assistance to the
injured woman, which brought down upon her own head the condemnation of
the secesh population of the place. However, Clotelle purchased a fine
horse from the landlord, gave it to Miss Hastings, who, after securing
some articles for which she had come to Greenville, left town under
cover of night, and escaped further molestation. This act of kindness to
a helpless sister at once stirred up the vilest feelings of the people.
“The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules.”
As has already been said, there was nothing in the appearance of
Clotelle to indicate that a drop of African blood coursed through her
veins, except, perhaps, the slight wave in the hair, and the scarcely
perceptible brunettish tinge upon the countenance. She passed as a rebel
lady; yet the inhabitants of Greenville could not permit sympathy with,
and aid to, a Union woman to pass unnoticed, and therefore resolved on
revenge.
“Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long, back on itself
recoils.”
Clotelle's person, trunks, and letters were all searched with the hope
and expectation of finding evidences of a spy. Nothing of the kind being
found, she was then rigorously interrogated as to her sympathies
with the two contending armies. With no wish whatever to conceal her
opinions, she openly avowed that she was a Union woman. This was enough.
After being persecuted during the day, she was put in charge of a
committee of rebel women for the night, with a promise of more violent
treatment on the morrow. The loyalty of the negroes of the South, during
the severest hours of the rebellion, reflects the greatest possible
credit on the race. Through their assistance, hundreds of Union men
were enabled to make their escape from prisons, and thousands kept from
starvation when on their way to the Federal lines, or while keeping out
of the way of rebel recruiting gangs. They seldom, if ever, hesitated to
do the white Unionists a service, at the risk even of life, and, under
the most trying circumstances, revealed a devotion and a spirit of
self-sacrifice that were heroic. No one ever made an appeal to them they
did not answer. They were degraded and ignorant, which was attributable
to the cruel laws and equally unchristian practices of the people of the
South; but their hearts were always open, and the slightest demand upon
their sympathies brought forth their tears. They never shunned a man or
woman who sought food or shelter on their way to freedom. The goodness
of heart and the guileless spirit of the blacks was not better
understood by any one than Clotelle; and she felt a secret joy at seeing
all the servants in the Greenville hotel negroes. She saw from their
very looks that she had their undivided sympathies. One of the servants
overheard the rebels in a conversation, in which it was determined to
send Clotelle to the county town, for safe keeping in the jail, the
following day; and this fact was communicated to the unfortunate woman.
The slave woman who gave the information told her that she could escape
if she desired.
Having already been robbed of every thing except the apparel upon her
person and some money she had concealed about her, she at once signified
to the black woman her wish to get out of the reach of her persecutors.
The old worn-out clock in the narrow dining hall had struck one; a
cold rain was patting upon the roof, and the women watchers, one after
another, had fallen asleep; and even the snuff-dippers, whose dirty
practice creates a nervousness that keeps them awake longer than any
other class, had yielded to the demands of Morpheus, when Aggy, the
colored servant, stealthily entered the room, beckoned to Clotelle, and
both left in silence.
Cautiously and softly the black woman led the way, followed by the
“Angel of Mercy,” till, after passing down through the cellar with the
water covering the floor, they emerged into the back yard. Two horses
had been provided. Clotelle mounted one, and a black man the other;
the latter leading the way. Both dashed off at a rapid pace, through a
drenching storm, with such a pall-like darkness that they could not see
each other. After an hour's ride the negro halted, and informed Clotelle
that he must leave her, and return with the horses, but that she was
with friends. He then gave a whistle, and for a moment held his breath.
Just as the faithful black was about to repeat the signal, he heard the
response; and in a moment the lady alighted, and with dripping garments,
limbs chilled to numbness, followed her new guide to a place of
concealment, near the village of Taitsville.
“You is jes as wet as a drownded rat,” said the mulatto woman, who met
Clotelle as she entered the negro's cabin.
“Yes,” replied the latter, “this is a stormy night for one to be out.”
“Yes mam, dese is hard times for eberybody dat 'bleves in de Union. I
'spose deys cotched your husband, an' put him in de army, ain't dey?”
“No: my husband died at Port Hudson, fighting for the Union,” said
Clotelle.
“Oh, mam, dats de place whar de black people fight de rebels so, wasn't
it?” remarked Dinah, for such was her name.
“Yes, that was the place,” replied the former. “I see that your husband
has lost one of his hands: did he lose it in the war?”
“Oh no, missus,” said Dinah. “When dey was taken all de men, black an
white, to put in de army, dey cotched my ole man too, and took him long
wid 'em. So you see, he said he'd die afore he'd shoot at de Yanks. So
you see, missus, Jimmy jes took and lay his left han' on a log, and chop
it off wid de hatchet. Den, you see, dey let him go, an' he come home.
You see, missus, my Jimmy is a free man: he was born free, an' he bought
me, an' pay fifteen hundred dollars for me.”
It was true that Jim had purchased his wife; nor had he forgotten the
fact, as was shown a day or two after, while in conversation with her.
The woman, like many of her sex, was an inveterate scold, and Jim had
but one way to govern her tongue. “Shet your mouf, madam, an' hole your
tongue,” said Jim, after his wife had scolded and sputtered away for
some minutes. “Shet your mouf dis minit, I say: you shan't stan' dar,
an' talk ter me in dat way. I bought you, an' paid my money fer you,
an' I ain't a gwine ter let you sase me in dat way. Shet your mouf dis
minit: ef you don't I'll sell you; 'fore God I will. Shet up, I say, or
I'll sell you.” This had the desired effect, and settled Dinah for the
day.
After a week spent in this place of concealment, Jim conveyed Clotelle
to Leaksville, Mississippi, through the Federal lines, and from thence
she proceeded to New Orleans.
The Rebellion was now drawing to a close. The valley of the Mississippi
was in full possession of the Federal government. Sherman was on his
raid, and Grant was hemming in Lee. Everywhere the condition of the
freedmen attracted the attention of the friends of humanity, and no one
felt more keenly their wants than Clotelle; and to their education and
welfare she resolved to devote the remainder of her life, and for this
purpose went to the State of Mississippi, and opened a school for the
freedmen; hired teachers, paying them out of her own purse. In the
summer of 1866, the Poplar Farm, on which she had once lived as a slave,
was confiscated and sold by Government authority, and was purchased by
Clotelle, upon which she established a Freedmen's School, and where at
this writing,--now June, 1867,--resides the “Angel of Mercy.”