Clotel, William Wells Brown [i like reading books .txt] 📗
- Author: William Wells Brown
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One bright starlight night, in the month of December last, I found myself in the cabin of the steamer Rodolph, then lying in the port of Vicksburgh, and bound to Louisville. I had gone early on board, in order to select a good berth, and having got tired of reading the papers, amused myself with watching the appearance of the passengers as they dropped in, one after another, and I being a believer in physiognomy, formed my own opinion of their characters.
The second bell rang, and as I yawningly returned my watch to my pocket, my attention was attracted by the appearance of a young man who entered the cabin supported by his servant, a strapping negro.
The man was bundled up in a capacious overcoat; his face was bandaged with a white handkerchief, and its expression entirely hid by a pair of enormous spectacles.
There was something so mysterious and unusual about the young man as he sat restless in the corner, that curiosity led me to observe him more closely.
He appeared anxious to avoid notice, and before the steamer had fairly left the wharf, requested, in a low, womanly voice, to be shown his berth, as he was an invalid, and must retire early: his name he gave as Mr. Johnson. His servant was called, and he was put quietly to bed. I paced the deck until Tybee light grew dim in the distance, and then went to my berth.
I awoke in the morning with the sun shining in my face; we were then just passing St. Helena. It was a mild beautiful morning, and most of the passengers were on deck, enjoying the freshness of the air, and stimulating their appetites for breakfast. Mr. Johnson soon made his appearance, arrayed as on the night before, and took his seat quietly upon the guard of the boat.
From the better opportunity afforded by daylight, I found that he was a slight build, apparently handsome young man, with black hair and eyes, and of a darkness of complexion that betokened Spanish extraction. Any notice from others seemed painful to him; so to satisfy my curiosity, I questioned his servant, who was standing near, and gained the following information.
His master was an invalid—he had suffered for a long time under a complication of diseases, that had baffled the skill of the best physicians in Mississippi; he was now suffering principally with the “rheumatism,” and he was scarcely able to walk or help himself in any way. He came from Vicksburgh, and was now on his way to Philadelphia, at which place resided his uncle, a celebrated physician, and through whose means he hoped to be restored to perfect health.
This information, communicated in a bold, offhand manner, enlisted my sympathies for the sufferer, although it occurred to me that he walked rather too gingerly for a person afflicted with so many ailments.
After thanking Clotel for the great service she had done him in bringing him out of slavery, William bade her farewell. The prejudice that exists in the Free States against coloured persons, on account of their colour, is attributable solely to the influence of slavery, and is but another form of slavery itself. And even the slave who escapes from the Southern plantations is surprised, when he reaches the North, at the amount and withering influence of this prejudice. William applied at the railway station for a ticket for the train going to Sandusky, and was told that if he went by that train he would have to ride in the luggage-van.
“Why?” asked the astonished negro.
“We don’t send a Jim Crow carriage but once a day, and that went this morning.” The “Jim Crow” carriage is the one in which the blacks have to ride.
Slavery is a school in which its victims learn much shrewdness, and William had been an apt scholar. Without asking any more questions, the negro took his seat in one of the first-class carriages. He was soon seen and ordered out. Afraid to remain in the town longer, he resolved to go by that train; and consequently seated himself on a goods’ box in the luggage van. The train started at its proper time, and all went on well. Just before arriving at the end of the journey, the conductor called on William for his ticket. “I have none,” was the reply.
“Well, then, you can pay your fare to me,” said the officer.
“How much is it?” asked the black man.
“Two dollars.”
“What do you charge those in the passenger-carriage?”
“Two dollars.”
“And do you charge me the same as you do those who ride in the best carriages?” asked the negro.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“I shan’t pay it,” returned the man.
“You black scamp, do you think you can ride on this road without paying your fare?”
“No, I don’t want to ride for nothing; I only want to pay what’s right.”
“Well, launch out two dollars, and that’s right.”
“No, I shan’t; I will pay what I ought, and won’t pay any more.”
“Come, come, nigger, your fare and be done with it,” said the conductor, in a manner that is never used except by Americans to blacks.
“I won’t pay you two dollars, and that enough,” said William.
“Well, as you have
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