16. CHAPTER XVI
DEATH IS FREEDOM.
On receiving intelligence of the arrest of Isabella, Mr. Gordon authorized
the sheriff to sell her to the highest bidder. She was, therefore,
sold; the purchaser being the noted negro-trader, Hope H. Slater, who
at once placed her in prison. Here the fugitive saw none but slaves like
herself, brought in and taken out to be placed in ships, and sent away
to some part of the country to which she herself would soon be compelled
to go. She had seen or heard nothing of her daughter while in
Richmond, and all hopes of seeing her had now fled.
At the dusk of the evening previous to the day when she was to be
sent off, as the old prison was being closed for the night, Isabella suddenly
darted past the keeper, and ran for her life. It was not a great
distance from the prison to the long bridge which passes from the lower
part of the city across the Potomac to the extensive forests and woodlands
of the celebrated Arlington Heights, then occupied by that distinguished
relative and descendant of the immortal Washington, Mr. Geo.
W. Custis. Thither the poor fugitive directed her flight. So unexpected
was her escape that she had gained several rods the start before
the keeper had secured the other prisoners, and rallied his assistants to
aid in the pursuit. It was at an hour, and in a part of the city where
horses could not easily be obtained for the chase; no bloodhounds were
at hand to run down the flying woman, and for once it seemed as if
there was to be a fair trial of speed and endurance between the slave
and the slave-catchers.
The keeper and his force raised the hue-and-cry on her path as they
followed close behind; but so rapid was the flight along the wide avenue
that the astonished citizens, as they poured forth from their dwellings
to learn the cause of alarm, were only able to comprehend the
nature of the case in time to fall in with the motley throng in pursuit, or
raise an anxious prayer to heaven as they refused to join in the chase
(as many a one did that night) that the panting fugitive might escape,
and the merciless soul-dealer for once be disappointed of his prey. And
now, with the speed of an arrow, having passed the avenue, with the
distance between her and her pursuers constantly increasing, this poor,
hunted female gained the “Long Bridge,” as it is called, where interruption
seemed improbable. Already her heart began to beat high with
the hope of success. She had only to pass three-quarters of a mile
across the bridge, when she could bury herself in a vast forest, just at
the time when the curtain of night would close around her, and protect
her from the pursuit of her enemies.
But God, by his providence, had otherwise determined. He had ordained
that an appalling tragedy should be enacted that night within
plain sight of the President's house, and the Capitol of the Union, which
would be an evidence wherever it should be known of the unconquerable
love of liberty which the human heart may inherit, as well as a
fresh admonition to the slave-dealer of the cruelty and enormity of his
crimes.
Just as the pursuers passed the high draw, soon after entering upon
the bridge, they beheld three men slowly approaching from the Virginia
side. They immediately called to them to arrest the fugitive, proclaiming
her a runaway slave. True to their Virginia instincts, as she
came near, they formed a line across the narrow bridge to intercept her.
Seeing that escape was impossible in that quarter, she stopped suddenly,
and turned upon her pursuers.
On came the profane and ribald crew faster than ever, already exulting
in her capture, and threatening punishment for her flight. For a
moment she looked wildly and anxiously around to see if there was no
hope of escape. On either hand, far down below, rolled the deep, foaming
waters of the Potomac, and before and behind were the rapidly approaching
steps and noisy voices of her pursuers. Seeing how vain
would be any further effort to escape, her resolution was instantly
taken. She clasped her hands convulsively together, raised her tearful
and imploring eyes toward heaven, and begged for the mercy and compassion
there which was unjustly denied her on earth; then, exclaiming,
“Henry, Clotelle, I die for thee!” with a single bound, vaulted
over the railing of the bridge, and sank forever beneath the angry
and foaming waters of the river!
Such was the life, and such the death, of a woman whose virtues and
goodness of heart would have done honor to one in a higher station of
life, and who, had she been born in any other land but that of slavery,
would have been respected and beloved. What would have been her
feelings if she could have known that the child for whose rescue she
had sacrificed herself would one day be free, honored, and loved in
another land?
