Chapter XLIII: The Slave's Argument

On his return home, Clayton took from the post-office a letter, which we will give to our readers:--

"MR. CLAYTON: I am now an outcast. I cannot show my face in the
world, I cannot go abroad by daylight; for no crime, as I can see,
except resisting oppression. Mr. Clayton, if it were proper for
your fathers to fight and shed blood for the oppression that came
upon them, why isn't it right for us? They had not half the
provocation that we have. Their wives and families were never
touched. They were not bought, and sold, and traded, like cattle in
the market, as we are. In fact, when I was reading that history, I
could hardly understand what provocation they did have. They had
everything easy and comfortable about them. They were able to
support their families, even in luxury. And yet they were willing
to plunge into war, and shed blood. I have studied the Declaration
of Independence. The things mentioned there were bad and
uncomfortable, to be sure; but, after all, look at the laws which
are put over _us_! Now, if they had forbidden them to teach their
children to read,--if they had divided them all out among masters,
and declared them as incapable of holding property as the mule
before the plough,--there would have been some sense in that
revolution.

"Well, how was it with our people in South Carolina? Denmark Vesey
was a _man_! His history is just what George Washington's would
have been, if you had failed. What set him on in his course? The
Bible and your Declaration of Independence. What does your
Declaration say? 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that
_all men are created equal_; that they are endowed by their Creator
with certain _inalienable_ rights: that among these are life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That _to secure these
rights_ governments are instituted among men. That _whenever any
form of government becomes destructive of any of these ends, it is
the right of the people to alter or to abolish it_. Now, what do
you make of that? This is read to us every Fourth of July. It was
read to Denmark Vesey and Peter Poyas, and all those other brave,
good men, who dared to follow your example and your precepts. Well,
they failed, and your people hung them. And they said they couldn't
conceive what motive could have induced them to make the effort.
They had food enough, and clothes enough, and were kept very
comfortable. Well, had not your people clothes enough, and food
enough? and wouldn't you still have had enough, even if you had
remained a province of England to this day,--much better living,
much better clothes, and much better laws, than we have to-day? I
heard your father's interpretation of the law; I heard Mr. Jekyl's;
and yet, when men rise up against such laws, you wonder what in the
world could have induced them! That's perfectly astonishing!

"But, of all the injuries and insults that are heaped upon us,
there is nothing to me so perfectly maddening as the assumption of
your religious men, who maintain and defend this enormous injustice
by the Bible. We have all the right to rise against them that they
had to rise against England. They tell us the Bible says,
'Servants, obey your masters.' Well, the Bible says, also, 'The
powers that be are ordained of God, and whoso resisteth the power,
resisteth the ordinance of God.' If it was right for them to resist
the ordinance of God, it is right for us. If the Bible does justify
slavery, why don't they teach the slave to read it? And what's the
reason that two of the greatest insurrections came from men who
read scarcely anything else but the Bible? No, the fact is, they
don't believe this themselves. If they did, they would try the
experiment fairly of giving the Bible to their slaves. I can assure
you the Bible looks as different to a slave from what it does to a
master, as everything else in the world does.

"Now, Mr. Clayton, you understand that when I say _you_, along
here, I do not mean you personally, but the generality of the
community of which you are one. I want you to think these things
over, and, whatever my future course may be, remember my excuse for
it is the same as that on which your government is built.

"I am very grateful to you for all your kindness. Perhaps the time
may come when I shall be able to show my gratitude. Meanwhile, I
must ask one favor of you, which I think you will grant for the
sake of that angel who is gone. I have a sister, who, as well as
myself, is the child of Tom Gordon's father. She was beautiful and
good, and her owner, who had a large estate in Mississippi, took
her to Ohio, emancipated and married her. She has two children by
him, a son and a daughter. He died, and left his estate to her and
her children. Tom Gordon is the heir-at-law. He has sued for the
property, and obtained it. The act of emancipation has been
declared null and void, and my sister and her children are in the
hands of that man, with all that absolute power; and they have no
appeal from him for any evil whatever. She has escaped his hands,
so she wrote me once; but I have heard a report that he has taken
her again. The pious Mr. Jekyl will know all about it. Now, may I
ask you to go to him, and make inquiries, and let me know? A letter
sent to Mr. James Twitchel, at the post-office near Canema, where
our letters used to be taken, will get to me. By doing this favor,
you will secure my eternal gratitude.

"HARRY GORDON."

Clayton read this letter with some surprise, and a good deal of attention. It was written on very coarse paper, such as is commonly sold at the low shops. Where Harry was, and how concealed, was to him only a matter of conjecture. But the call to render him any assistance was a sacred one, and he determined on a horseback excursion to E., the town where Mr. Jekyl resided.

He found that gentleman very busy in looking over and arranging papers in relation to that large property which had just come into Tom Gordon's hands. He began by stating that the former owner of the servants at Canema had requested him, on her death-bed, to take an interest in her servants. He had therefore called to ascertain if anything had been heard from Harry.

"Not yet," said Mr. Jekyl, pulling up his shirt-collar. "Our plantations in this vicinity are very unfortunate in their proximity to the swamp. It's a great expense of time and money. Why, sir, it's inconceivable the amount of property that's lost in that swamp! I have heard it estimated at something like three millions of dollars! We follow them up with laws, you see. They are outlawed regularly, after a certain time, and then the hunters go in and chase them down; sometimes kill two or three a day, or something like that. But on the whole, they don't effect much."

"Well," said Clayton, who felt no disposition to enter into any discussion with Mr. Jekyl, "so you think he is there?"

"Yes, I have no doubt of it. The fact is, there's a fellow that's been seen lurking about this swamp, off and on, for years and years. Sometimes he isn't to be seen for months; and then again he is seen or heard of, but never so that anybody can get hold of him. I have no doubt the niggers on the plantation know him; but, then, you can never get anything out of them. Oh, they are deep! They are a dreadfully corrupt set!"

"Mr. Gordon has, I think, a sister of Harry's, who came in with this new estate," said Mr. Clayton.

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Jekyl. "She has given us a good deal of trouble, too. She got away, and went off to Cincinnati, and I had to go up and hunt her out. It was really a great deal of trouble and expense. If I hadn't been assisted by the politeness and kindness of the marshal and brother officers, it would have been very bad. There is a good deal of religious society, too, in Cincinnati; and so, while I was waiting, I attended anniversary meetings."

"Then you did succeed," said Clayton. "I came to see whether Mr. Gordon would listen to a proposition for selling her."

"Oh, he has sold her!" said Mr. Jekyl. "She is at Alexandria, now, in Beaton & Burns' establishment."

"And her children, too?"

"Yes, the lot. I claim some little merit for that, myself. Tom is a fellow of rather strong passions, and he was terribly angry for the trouble she had made. I don't know what he would have done to her, if I hadn't talked to him. But I showed him some debts that couldn't be put off any longer without too much of a sacrifice; and, on the whole, I persuaded him to let her be sold. I have tried to exert a good influence over him, in a quiet way," said Mr. Jekyl. "Now, if you want to get the woman, like enough she may not be sold, as yet."

Clayton, having thus ascertained the points which he wished to know, proceeded immediately to Alexandria. When he was there, he found a considerable excitement.

"A slave-woman," it was said, "who was to have been sent off in a coffle the next day, had murdered her two children."

The moment that Clayton heard the news, he felt an instinctive certainty that this woman was Cora Gordon. He went to the magistrate's court, where the investigation was being held, and found it surrounded by a crowd so dense that it was with difficulty he forced his way in. At the bar he saw seated a woman dressed in black, whose face, haggard and wan, showed yet traces of former beauty. The splendid dark eyes had a peculiar and fierce expression. The thin lines of the face were settled into an immovable fixedness of calm determination. There was even an air of grave, solemn triumph on her countenance. She appeared to regard the formalities of the court with the utmost indifference. At last she spoke, in a clear, thrilling, distinct voice,--

"If gentlemen will allow me to speak, I'll save them the trouble of that examination of witnesses. It's going a long way round to find out a very little thing."

There was an immediate movement of curiosity in the whole throng, and the officer said.--

"You are permitted to speak."

She rose deliberately, untied her bonnet-strings, looked round the whole court, with a peculiar but calm expression of mingled triumph and power.

"You want to know," she said, "who killed those children! Well, I will tell you;" and again her eyes travelled round the house, with that same strong, defiant expression; "I killed them!"

There was a pause, and a general movement through the house.

"Yes," she said, again, "I killed them! And, oh, how glad I am that I have done it! Do you want to know what I killed them for? Because I loved them!--loved them so well that I was willing to give up my soul to save theirs! I have heard some persons say that I was in a frenzy, excited, and didn't know what I was doing. They are mistaken. I was not in a frenzy; I was not excited; and I did know what I was doing! and I bless God that it is done! I was born the slave of my own father. Your old proud Virginia blood is in my veins, as it is in half of those you whip and sell. I was the lawful wife of a man of honor, who did what he could to evade your cruel laws, and set me free. My children were born to liberty; they were brought up to liberty, till my father's son entered a suit for us, and made us _slaves_. Judge and jury helped him--all your laws and your officers helped him--to take away the rights of the widow and the fatherless! The judge said that my son, being a slave, could no more hold property than the mule before his plough; and we were delivered into Tom Gordon's hands. I shall not say what he is. It is not fit to be said. God will show at the judgment-day. But I escaped, with my children, to Cincinnati. He followed me there, and the laws of your country gave me back to him. To-morrow I was to have gone in a coffle and leave these children--my son a slave for life--my daughter"-- She looked round the court-room with an expression which said more than words could have spoken. "So I heard them say their prayers and sing their hymns, and then, while they were asleep and didn't know it, I sent them to lie down in green pastures with the Lord. They say this is a dreadful sin. It may be so. I am willing to lose my soul to have _theirs saved_. I have no more to hope or fear. It's all nothing, now, where I go or what becomes of me. But, at any rate, they are safe. And, now, if any of you mothers, in my place, wouldn't have done the same, you either don't know what slavery is, or you don't love your children as I have loved mine. This is all."

She sat down, folded her arms, fixed her eyes on the floor, and seemed like a person entirely indifferent to the further opinions and proceedings of the court.

She was remanded to jail for trial. Clayton determined, in his own mind, to do what he could for her. Her own declaration seemed to make the form of a trial unnecessary. He resolved, however, to do what he could to enlist for her the sympathy of some friends of his in the city.

The next day he called with a clergyman, and requested permission to see her. When they entered her cell, she rose to receive them with the most perfect composure, as if they had called upon her in a drawing-room. Clayton introduced his companion as the Rev. Mr. Denton. There was an excited flash in her eyes, but she said, calmly,--

"Have the gentlemen business with me?"

"We called," said the clergyman, "to see if we could render you any assistance."

"No, sir, you cannot!" was the prompt reply.

"My dear friend," said the clergyman, in a very kind tone, "I wish it were in my power to administer to you the consolations of the Gospel."

"I have nothing to do," she answered, firmly, "with ministers who pretend to preach the Gospel, and support oppression and robbery! Your hands are defiled with blood!--so don't come to me! I am a prisoner, here, and cannot resist. But, when I tell you that I prefer to be left alone, perhaps it may have some effect, even if I am a slave!"

Clayton took out Harry's letter, handed it to her, and said:--

"After you have read this, you will, perhaps, receive me, if I should call again to-morrow, at this hour."

The next day when Clayton called, he was conducted by the jailer to the door of the cell.

"There is a lady with her now, reading to her."

"Then I ought not to interrupt her," said Clayton, hesitating.

"Oh, I suspect it would make no odds," said the jailer.

Clayton laid his hand on his to stop him. The sound that came indistinctly through the door was the voice of prayer. Some woman was interceding, in the presence of eternal pity, for an oppressed and broken-hearted sister. After a few moments the door was partly opened, and he heard a sweet voice, saying:--

"Let me come to you every day, may I? I know what it is to suffer."

A smothered sob was the only answer; and then followed words, imperfectly distinguished, which seemed to be those of consolation. In a moment the door was opened, and Clayton found himself suddenly face to face with a lady in deep mourning. She was tall, and largely proportioned; the outlines of her face strong, yet beautiful, and now wearing the expression which comes from communion with the highest and serenest nature. Both were embarrassed, and made a momentary pause. In the start she dropped one of her gloves. Clayton picked it up, handed it to her, bowed, and she passed on. By some singular association, this stranger, with a serious, radiant face, suggested to him the sparkling, glittering beauty of Nina; and it seemed for a moment, as if Nina was fluttering by him in the air, and passing away after her. When he examined the emotion more minutely afterwards, he thought, perhaps, it might have been suggested by the perception, as he lifted the glove, of a peculiar and delicate perfume, which Nina was fond of using. So strange and shadowy are the influences which touch the dark, electric chain of our existence.

When Clayton went into the cell, he found its inmate in a softened mood. There were traces of tears on her cheek, and an open Bible on the bed; but her appearance was calm and self-possessed, as usual. She said:--

"Excuse my rudeness, Mr. Clayton, at your last visit. We cannot always command ourselves to do exactly what we should. I thank you very much for your kindness to us. There are many who are kindly disposed towards us; but it's very little that they can do."

"Can I be of any assistance in securing counsel for you?" said Clayton.

"I don't need any counsel. I don't wish any," said she. "I shall make no effort. Let the law take its course. If you ever should see Harry, give my love to him--that's all! And, if you can help him, pray do! If you have time, influence, or money to spare, and can get him to any country where he will have the common rights of a human being, pray do, and the blessing of the poor will come on you! That's all I have to ask."

Clayton rose to depart. He had fulfilled the object of his mission. He had gained all the information, and more than all, that he wished. He queried with himself whether it were best to write to Harry at all. The facts that he had to relate were such as were calculated to kindle to a fiercer flame the excitement which was now consuming him. He trembled, when he thought of it, lest that excitement should blaze out in forms which should array against him, with still more force, that society with which he was already at war. Thinking, however, that Harry, perhaps, might obtain the information in some less guarded form, he sat down and wrote him the following letter:

"I have received your letter. I need not say that I am sorry for
all that has taken place--sorry for your sake, and for the sake of
one very dear both to me and to you. Harry, I freely admit that you
live in a state of society which exercises a great injustice. I
admit your right, and that of all men, to life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness. I admit the right of an oppressed people to
change their form of government, _if they can_. I admit that your
people suffer under greater oppression than ever our fathers
suffered. And, if I believed that they were capable of obtaining
and supporting a government, I should believe in their right to
take the same means to gain it. But I do not, at present; and I
think, if you reflect on the subject, you will agree with me. I do
not think that, should they make an effort, they would succeed.
They would only embitter the white race against them, and destroy
that sympathy which many are beginning to feel for their oppressed
condition. I know it seems a very unfeeling thing for a man who is
at ease to tell one, who is oppressed and suffering, to be patient;
and yet I must even say it. It is my place, and your place, to seek
repeal of the unjust laws which oppress you. I see no reason why
the relation of master and servants may not be continued through
our states, and the servants yet be free men. I am satisfied that
it would be for the best interests of master as well as slave. If
this is the truth, time will make it apparent, and the change will
come. With regard to you, the best counsel I can give is, that you
try to escape to some of the northern states; and I will furnish
you with means to begin life there under better auspices. I am very
sorry that I have to tell you something very painful about your
sister. She was sold to a trading-house in Alexandria, and, in
desperation, has killed both her children! For this she is now in
prison, awaiting her trial! I have been to see her, and offered
every assistance in my power. She declines all. She does not wish
to live, and has already avowed the fact; making no defence, and
wishing none to be made for her. Another of the bitter fruits of
this most unrighteous system! She desired her love and kind wishes
to you. Whatever more is to be known, I will tell you at some
future time.

"After all that I have said to you in this letter, I cannot help
feeling, for myself, how hard, and cold, and insufficient it must
seem to you! If I had such a sister as yours, and her life had been
so wrecked, I feel that I might not have patience to consider any
of these things; and I am afraid you will not. Yet I feel this
injustice to my heart. I feel it like a personal affliction; and,
God helping me, I will make it the object of my life to remedy it!
Your sister's trial will not take place for some time; and she has
friends who do all that can be done for her."

Clayton returned to his father's house, and related the result of his first experiment with the clergy.

"Well, now," said Mrs. Clayton, "I must confess I was not prepared for this."

"I was," said Judge Clayton. "It's precisely what I expected. You have tried the Presbyterians, with whom our family are connected; and now you may go successively to the Episcopalians, the Methodists, the Baptists, and you will hear the same story from them all. About half of them defend the thing from the Bible, in the most unblushing, disgusting manner. The other half acknowledge and lament it as an evil; but they are cowed and timid, and can do nothing."

"Well," said Clayton, "the greatest evidence to my mind of the inspiration of the Scriptures is, that they are yet afloat, when every new absurdity has been successively tacked to them."

"But," said Mrs. Clayton, "are there no people that are faithful?"

"None in this matter that I know of," said Judge Clayton, "except the Covenanters and the Quakers among us, and the Free-will Baptists and a few others at the north. And their number and influence is so small, that there can be no great calculation made on them for assistance. Of individuals, there are not a few who earnestly desire to do something; but they are mostly without faith or hope, like me. And from the communities--from the great organizations in society--no help whatever is to be expected."