Clotelle :: :: University of Virginia Library

Jerome had scarcely passed the prison-gates, ere he reproached himself
for having taken such a step. There seemed to him no hope of
escape out of the State, and what was a few hours or days at most, of
life to him, when, by obtaining it, another had been sacrificed. He was
on the eve of returning, when he thought of the last words uttered by
Clotelle. “Be brave and determined, and you will still be free.” The
words sounded like a charm in his ears and he went boldly forward.

Clotelle had provided a suit of men's clothes and had placed them
where her lover could get them, if he should succeed in getting out.

Returning to Mr. Wilson's barn, the fugitive changed his apparel, and
again retraced his steps into the street. To reach the Free States by

travelling by night and lying by during the day, from a State so far
south as Mississippi, no one would think for a moment of attempting to
escape. To remain in the city would be a suicidal step. The deep sound
of the escape of steam from a boat, which was at that moment ascending
the river, broke upon the ears of the slave. “If that boat is going
up the river,” said he, “why not I conceal myself on board, and try to
escape?” He went at once to the steamboat landing, where the boat
was just coming in. “Bound for Louisville,” said the captain, to one
who was making inquiries. As the passengers were rushing on board,
Jerome followed them, and proceeding to where some of the hands were
stowing away bales of goods, he took hold and aided them.

“Jump down into the hold, there, and help the men,” said the mate
to the fugitive, supposing that, like many persons, he was working his
way up the river. Once in the hull among the boxes, the slave concealed
himself. Weary hours, and at last days, passed without either
water or food with the hidden slave. More than once did he resolve to
let his case be known; but the knowledge that he would be sent back to
Natchez kept him from doing so. At last, with lips parched and fevered
to a crisp, the poor man crawled out into the freight-room, and began
wandering about. The hatches were on, and the room dark. There
happened to be on board a wedding party, and a box, containing some of
the bridal cake, with several bottles of port wine, was near Jerome. He
found the box, opened it, and helped himself. In eight days, the boat
tied up at the wharf at the place of her destination. It was late at night;
the boat's crew, with the single exception of the man on watch, were on
shore. The hatches were off, and the fugitive quietly made his way on
deck and jumped on shore. The man saw the fugitive, but too late to
seize him.

Still in a Slave State, Jerome was at a loss to know how he should
proceed. He had with him a few dollars, enough to pay his way to
Canada, if he could find a conveyance. The fugitive procured such food
as he wanted from one of the many eating-houses, and then, following
the direction of the North Star, he passed out of the city, and took the
road leading to Covington. Keeping near the Ohio River, Jerome soon
found an opportunity to cross over into the State of Indiana. But liberty
was a mere name in the latter State, and the fugitive learned, from
some colored persons that he met, that it was not safe to travel by daylight.
While making his way one night, with nothing to cheer him but
the prospect of freedom in the future, he was pounced upon by three
men who were lying in wait for another fugitive, an advertisement of
whom they had received through the mail. In vain did Jerome tell
them that he was not a slave. True, they had not caught the man they
expected; but, if they could make this slave tell from what place he had

escaped, they knew that a good price would be paid them for the negro's
arrest.

Tortured by the slave-catchers, to make him reveal the name of his
master and the place from whence he had escaped, Jerome gave
them a fictitious name in Virginia, and said that his master would give
a large reward, and manifested a willingness to return to his “old boss.”
By this misrepresentation, the fugitive hoped to have another chance of
getting away. Allured with the prospect of a large sum of the needful,
the slave-catchers started back with their victim. Stopping on the second
night at an inn, on the banks of the Ohio River, the kidnappers, in lieu
of a suitable place in which to confine their prize during the night, chained
him to the bed-post of their sleeping-chamber. The white men were
late in retiring to rest, after an evening spent in drinking. At dead of
night, when all was still, the slave arose from the floor, upon which he
had been lying, looked around and saw that Morpheus had possession of
his captors. For once, thought he, the brandy bottle has done a noble
work. With palpitating heart and trembling limbs, he viewed his position.
The door was fast, but the warm weather had compelled them to
leave the window open. If he could but get his chains off, he might escape
through the window to the piazza. The sleepers' clothes hung
upon chairs by the bedside. The slave thought of the padlock-key,
examined the pockets, and found it. The chains were soon off, and the
negro stealthily making his way to the window. He stopped, and said to
himself, “These men are villains; they are enemies to all who, like me,
are trying to be free. Then why not I teach them a lesson?” He then
dressed himself in the best suit, hung his own worn-out and tattered
garments on the same chair, and silently passed through the window to
the piazza, and let himself down by one of the pillars, and started once
more for the North.

Daylight came upon the fugitive before he had selected a hiding-place
for the day, and he was walking at a rapid rate, in hopes of soon reaching
some woodland or forest. The sun had just begun to show itself,
when the fugitive was astounded at seeing behind him, in the distance,
two men upon horseback. Taking a road to the right, the slave saw before
him a farmhouse, and so near was he to it that he observed two
men in front of it looking at him. It was too late to turn back. The
kidnappers were behind him—strange men before him. Those in the
rear he knew to be enemies, while he had no idea of what principles
were the farmers. The latter also saw the white men coming, and called
to the fugitive to come that way. The broad-brimmed hats that the
farmers wore told the slave that they were Quakers.

Jerome had seen some of these people passing up and down the river,
when employed on a steamer between Natchez and New Orleans, and

had heard that they disliked slavery. He, therefore, hastened toward
the drab-coated men, who, on his approach, opened the barn-door, and
told him to “run in.”

When Jerome entered the barn, the two farmers closed the door, remaining
outside themselves, to confront the slave-catchers, who now
came up and demanded admission, feeling that they had their prey secure.

“Thee can't enter my premises,” said one of the Friends, in rather a
musical voice.

The negro-catchers urged their claim to the slave, and intimated that,
unless they were allowed to secure him, they would force their way in.
By this time, several other Quakers had gathered around the barn-door.
Unfortunately for the kidnappers, and most fortunately for the fugitive,
the Friends had just been holding a quarterly meeting in the neighborhood,
and a number of them had not yet returned to their homes.

After some talk, the men in drab promised to admit the hunters, provided
they procured an officer and a search-warrant from a justice of the
peace. One of the slave-catchers was left to see that the fugitive did not
get away, while the others went in pursuit of an officer. In the mean
time, the owner of the barn sent for a hammer and nails, and began
nailing up the barn-door.

After an hour in search of the man of the law, they returned with an
officer and a warrant. The Quaker demanded to see the paper, and, after
looking at it for some time, called to his son to go into the house for
his glasses. It was a long time before Aunt Ruth found the leather case,
and when she did, the glasses wanted wiping before they could be used.
After comfortably adjusting them on his nose, he read the warrant over
leisurely.

“Come, Mr. Dugdale, we can't wait all day,” said the officer.

“Well, will thee read it for me?” returned the Quaker.

The officer complied, and the man in drab said,—

“Yes, thee may go in, now. I am inclined to throw no obstacles in the
way of the execution of the law of the land.”

On approaching the door, the men found some forty or fifty nails in it,
in the way of their progress.

“Lend me your hammer and a chisel, if you please, Mr. Dugdale,”
said the officer.

“Please read that paper over again, will thee?” asked the Quaker.

The officer once more read the warrant.

“I see nothing there which says I must furnish thee with tools to
open my door. If thee wants a hammer, thee must go elsewhere for it;
I tell thee plainly, thee can't have mine.”

The implements for opening the door are at length obtained, and, after

another half-hour, the slave-catchers are in the barn. Three hours is a
long time for a slave to be in the hands of Quakers. The hay is turned
over, and the barn is visited in every part; but still the runaway is not
found. Uncle Joseph has a glow upon his countenance; Ephraim shakes
his head knowingly; little Elijah is a perfect know-nothing, and, if you
look toward the house, you will see Aunt Ruth's smiling face, ready to
announce that breakfast is ready.

“The nigger is not in this barn,” said the officer.

“I know he is not,” quietly answered the Quaker.

“What were you nailing up your door for, then, as if you were afraid
we would enter?” inquired one of the kidnappers.

“I can do what I please with my own door, can't I,” said the Quaker.

The secret was out; the fugitive had gone in at the front door and out
at the back; and the reading of the warrant, nailing up of the door, and
other preliminaries of the Quaker, was to give the fugitive time and
opportunity to escape.

It was now late in the morning, and the slave-catchers were a long
way from home, and the horses were jaded by the rapid manner in
which they had travelled. The Friends, in high glee, returned to the
house for breakfast; the man of the law, after taking his fee, went
home, and the kidnappers turned back, muttering, “Better luck next
time.”