THE ARREST
"The fearful storm--it threatens lowering,
Which God in mercy long delays;
Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!"
--Carter.
IT was late in the evening when the coach arrived at Richmond, and
Clotel once more alighted in her native city. She had intended to
seek lodging somewhere in the outskirts of the town, but the
lateness of the hour compelled her to stop at one of the principal
hotels for the night. She had scarcely entered the inn, when she
recognised among the numerous black servants one to whom she was
well known; and her only hope was, that her disguise would keep
her from being discovered. The imperturbable calm and entire
forgetfulness of self which induced Clotel to visit a place from
which she could scarcely hope to escape, to attempt the rescue of
a beloved child, demonstrate that overwillingness of woman to
carry out the promptings of the finer feelings of her heart. True
to woman's nature, she had risked her own liberty for another.
She remained in the hotel during the night, and the next morning,
under the plea of illness, she took her breakfast alone. That day
the fugitive slave paid a visit to the suburbs of the town, and
once more beheld the cottage in which she had spent so many happy
hours. It was winter, and the clematis and passion flower were
not there; but there were the same walks she had so
often pressed with her feet, and the same trees which had so
often shaded her as she passed through the garden at the back of
the house. Old remembrances rushed upon her memory, and caused her
to shed tears freely. Clotel was now in her native town, and near
her daughter; but how could she communicate with her? How could
she see her? To have made herself known, would have been a
suicidal act; betrayal would have followed, and she arrested.
Three days had passed away, and Clotel still remained in the hotel
at which she had first put up; and yet she had got no tidings of
her child. Unfortunately for Clotel, a disturbance had just
broken out amongst the slave population in the state of Virginia,
and all strangers were eyed with suspicion.
The evils consequent on slavery are not lessened by the incoming
of one or two rays of light. If the slave only becomes aware of
his condition, and conscious of the injustice under which he
suffers, if he obtains but a faint idea of these things, he will
seize the first opportunity to possess himself of what he
conceives to belong to him. The infusion of Anglo-Saxon with
African blood has created an insurrectionary feeling among the
slaves of America hitherto unknown. Aware of their blood
connection with their owners, these mulattoes labour under the
sense of their personal and social injuries; and tolerate, if
they do not encourage in themselves, low and vindictive passions.
On the other hand, the slave owners are aware of their critical
position, and are ever watchful, always fearing an outbreak among
the slaves.
True, the Free States are equally bound with the Slave States to
suppress any insurrectionary movement that may take place among
the slaves. The Northern freemen are bound by their
constitutional obligations to aid the slaveholder in keeping his
slaves in their chains. Yet there are, at the time we
write, four millions of bond slaves in the United States. The
insurrection to which we now refer was headed by a full-blooded
Negro, who had been born and brought up a slave. He had heard the
twang of the driver's whip, and saw the warm blood streaming from
the Negro's body; he had witnessed the separation of parents and
children, and was made aware, by too many proofs, that the slave
could expect no justice at the hand of the slave owner. He went by
the name of "Nat Turner." He was a preacher amongst the Negroes,
and distinguished for his eloquence, respected by the whites, and
loved and venerated by the Negroes. On the discovery of the plan
for the outbreak, Turner fled to the swamps, followed by those
who had joined in the insurrection. Here the revolted Negroes
numbered some hundreds, and for a time bade defiance to their
oppressors. The Dismal Swamps cover many thousands of acres of
wild land, and a dense forest, with wild animals and insects, such
as are unknown in any other part of Virginia. Here runaway
Negroes usually seek a hiding place, and some have been known to
reside here for years. The revolters were joined by one of these.
He was a large, tall, full-blooded Negro, with a stern and savage
countenance; the marks on his face showed that he was from one of
the barbarous tribes in Africa, and claimed that country as his
native land; his only covering was a girdle around his loins,
made of skins of wild beasts which he had killed; his only token
of authority among those that he led, was a pair of epaulettes
made from the tail of a fox, and tied to his shoulder by a cord.
Brought from the coast of Africa when only fifteen years of age
to the island of Cuba, he was smuggled from thence into Virginia.
He had been two years in the swamps, and considered it
his future home. He had met a Negro woman who was also a runaway;
and, after the fashion of his native land, had gone through the
process of oiling her as the marriage ceremony. They had built a
cave on a rising mound in the swamp; this was their home. His
name was Picquilo. His only weapon was a sword, made from the
blade of a scythe, which he had stolen from a neighbouring
plantation. His dress, his character, his manners, his mode of
fighting, were all in keeping with the early training he had
received in the land of his birth. He moved about with the
activity of a cat, and neither the thickness of the trees, nor the
depth of the water could stop him. He was a bold, turbulent
spirit; and from revenge imbrued his hands in the blood of all
the whites he could meet. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, and loss of
sleep he seemed made to endure as if by peculiarity of
constitution. His air was fierce, his step oblique, his look
sanguinary. Such was the character of one of the leaders in the
Southampton insurrection. All Negroes were arrested who were
found beyond their master's threshhold, and all strange whites
watched with a great degree of alacrity.
Such was the position in which Clotel found affairs when she
returned to Virginia in search of her Mary. Had not the
slaveowners been watchful of strangers, owing to the outbreak,
the fugitive could not have escaped the vigilance of the police;
for advertisements, announcing her escape and offering a large
reward for her arrest, had been received in the city previous to
her arrival, and the officers were therefore on the look-out for
the runaway slave. It was on the third day, as the quadroon was
seated in her room at the inn, still in the disguise of a
gentleman, that two of the city officers entered the room, and
informed her that they were authorised to examine all
strangers, to assure the authorities that they were not in league
with the revolted Negroes. With trembling heart the fugitive
handed the key of her trunk to the officers. To their surprise,
they found nothing but woman's apparel in the box, which raised
their curiosity, and caused a further investigation that resulted
in the arrest of Clotel as a fugitive slave. She was immediately
conveyed to prison, there to await the orders of her master. For
many days, uncheered by the voice of kindness, alone, hopeless,
desolate, she waited for the time to arrive when the chains were
to be placed on her limbs, and she returned to her inhuman and
unfeeling owner.
The arrest of the fugitive was announced in all the newspapers,
but created little or no sensation. The inhabitants were too much
engaged in putting down the revolt among the slaves; and although
all the odds were against the insurgents, the whites found it no
easy matter, with all their caution. Every day brought news of
fresh outbreaks. Without scruple and without pity, the whites
massacred all blacks found beyond their owners' plantations: the
Negroes, in return, set fire to houses, and put those to death
who attempted to escape from the flames. Thus carnage was added to
carnage, and the blood of the whites flowed to avenge the blood
of the blacks. These were the ravages of slavery. No graves were
dug for the Negroes; their dead bodies became food for dogs and
vultures, and their bones, partly calcined by the sun, remained
scattered about, as if to mark the mournful fury of servitude and
lust of power. When the slaves were subdued, except a few in the
swamps, bloodhounds were put in this dismal place to hunt out the
remaining revolters. Among the captured Negroes was one of whom we
shall hereafter make mention.