Part 2

Captain Foster reached Mobile on a Sunday morning in August, 1859, his return from the Slave Coast being made in seventy days. Arrangements had long been made that a tug should lie in readiness to go at a moment’s notice down Mobile Bay to tow the _Clotilde_ and her cargo to safety. When the news came, the pilot of the tug was attending service at St. John’s Church. Captain Jim Meaher and James Dennison, a Negro slave, hurried to the church. The three hastened down to the wharf and were soon aboard the tug. They waited for darkness to approach the _Clotilde_. It was made fast and the trip up the bay was begun. _The last slave ship was at the end of its voyage._

The tug avoided the Mobile River channel, slipped behind the light house on Battery Gladden, into Spanish River. As the _Clotilde_ passed opposite Mobile the clock in the old Spanish tower struck eleven, and the watchman’s voice floated over the city and across the marshes: “Eleven o’clock and all is well.”

The _Clotilde_ was taken directly to Twelve Mile Island, a lonely place. There waited the _R. B. Taney_, named for Chief Justice Taney of Dred Scott decision fame. Some say the _June_. Lights were smothered and in the darkness, quickly and quietly the captives were transferred to the steamboat and taken up the Alabama River to John Dabney’s plantation below Mount Vernon. They were landed the next day.

At Twelve Mile Island, the crew of Northern sailors again mutinied. Captain Foster, with a six shooter in each hand, went among them, discharged them and ordered them to “hit the grit and never be seen in Southern waters again.” They were placed aboard the tug. Meaher bought tickets and saw that they be put on a train for the North.

The _Clotilde_ was scuttled and fired. Captain Foster himself placed seven cords of light wood upon her. Her hull lay in the Marsh of Bayou Corne, and could be seen for many years. It is now below water. Foster afterwards regretted her destruction as she was worth more than the ten Africans given him by the Meahers as his booty.

The Africans were kept at Dabney’s place for eleven days, being only allowed to talk in whispers, and constantly moved from place to place. At the end of the eleventh day, clothes were brought to them, and they were put on board the steamer _Commodore_ and carried to the Bend in Clark County where the Alabama and the Tombigbee rivers meet and where Burns Meaher had a plantation. On the Dabney plantation they had been left in the charge of the slave James Dennison who later married Kanko, one of their number, and became a resident of “African Town.” On the Burns Meaher place they were lodged each night under a wagon shed, and driven each morning before daybreak back into the swamp where they remained until dark.

Meaher sent word secretly to those disposed to buy. They were piloted to the place of concealment by James Dennison. The Africans were placed in two long rows, the women on one side, the men on the other. Some with tears streaming down their faces and shouting “Ele, Ele! Home, Home!” (?) were sold and sent to Selma. Of this band until recently a man and woman still lived. Captain Meaher took thirty-two slaves, sixteen men and sixteen women, Captain Burns Meaher ten, five of each, Captain Bill Foster ten, Captain Jim Meaher about eight. Finally Captain Tim Meaher put them to work. “We astonish to see de mule behind de plow to pull,” said Cudjo.

The Africans, however, would stand for no mistreatment. “Once an overseer attempted something which the women considered as such and he was overpowered by them and given a sound thrashing.”

After war was declared there was no danger of exposure and the Africans belonging to all mentioned above were taken to the Meaher settlement at Magazine Point where they were kindly treated by their respective owners. Burns Meaher alone kept his and they told of great hardships; but after the close of the Civil War, these joined the others at Magazine Point.

The part they settled became known as “African Town.” The name Plateau was bestowed when the Mobile and Birmingham (now Southern Railway) came through. The town of Plateau, with Magazine Point, has two thousand inhabitants. It is not incorporated. It has no Mayor, although one Murray, the store keeper, is referred to as such. The Meaher heirs still hold a large part of the real estate and all of the mill sites. There is no pavement of any kind. The settlement is not lighted.

The slave experience prepared the Africans for what came thereafter. They were able to manage crops and make a living. The men went to work at a dollar a day in the mills and the women made and marketed the produce. They seem to have been very industrious, for most of them became home owners.

After emancipation, these Africans wished to go back to their own country, but they had no means. They concluded to save and said to their wives: “Now we want to go home and it takes a lot of money. You must help us save. You see fine clothes--You must not crave them.” The wives promised and answered: “You see fine clothes and new hats--now don’t you crave them either. We will work together.” They found that they could save almost nothing. They talked among themselves of how Meaher had brought them from their native land and how now they had neither home nor country. Cudjo was always the spokesman. He would present their case to Meaher.

Soon after he was cutting timber just back of where the schoolhouse now stands, Captain Tim Meaher came along and sat upon a felled tree. Cudjo saw his opportunity and stopped work, all his emotions in his face.

The Captain looked up from the stick he was whittling and asked: “Cudjo, what makes you so sad?”

“I grieve for my home,” said Cudjo.

“But you got a good home.”

“Captain Tim, how big is Mobile?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to the four corners, Cudjo.”

“If you give Cudjo all Mobile, that railroad, and the banks of Mobile, Cudjo does not want them, for this is not home.”

Cudjo in relating this breaks down in tears, saying “Oh Loi! Oh Loi!”

“Captain Tim, you brought us from our country where we had land and home. You made us slaves. Now we are free, without country, land or home. Why don’t you give us a piece of this land and let us build ourselves an African Town?”

“Fool! Do you think I will give you property upon property? You do not belong to me now!”

So they all bought property from Meaher, who made them no concessions. They worked and saved, living on molasses and corn bread or mush. Their African home faded as each year bound them closer to America. They became farmers, and Cudjo still makes his living this way.

Having no head of the tribe and understanding that in a country of different institutions a king would look ridiculous, they selected Gumpa, African Peter and Jaybee as judges to preside over the colony. When disagreements came up, word would be sent each member that there would be a meeting at a certain place after dark, their only leisure time, possibly at the home of one of the judges. The offender would be given a hearing before the whole group. The first time the criminal would be reprimanded; if he again offended, a whipping was administered by one of the judges.

When the Africans were set free, all days were alike. But some American Negroes came to them and led them into the Church and all became ardent Christians. Cudjo is most devout. They built first “The African Church.” It is now called the “Old Land Mark Baptist Church” with Rev. Mr. Keeby as pastor.

The last eight of the one hundred and sixteen Africans were: Abache (Clara Turner), Monachee (Kitty Cooper), Shamber, Kanko (who married Jim Dennison), Zooma (of Togo Tribe), Polute, Cudjo, and Orsey, or Orsta Keeby. Cudjo is the only one alive at present, a dignified, lovable, intelligent man.

Cudjo says he wishes at times to return to his native land, but he realizes that he would be a stranger there. He doubts even if he could locate the graves of his relatives. All that he is sure of is here, the graves of his wife Albine and all of his children. He has numerous descendants. He is glad that he was brought to America, since here he found the true God. He is very vigorous though he is nearing the century mark.

Cudjo likes to tell Old Testament stories and Samson is his favorite. He is fond of making what he calls parables. He made one about his wife’s death. He places his head in his hands and “lifts it up” to speak his “parable.” Cudjo lifted his head and spoke this:

I will make a parable. Cudjo and Albine have gone to Mobile together. They get on the train to go home and sit side by side. The conductor comes along and says to Cudjo: “Where are you going to get off?” and Cudjo answers: “Mount Vernon.”

The conductor then asks Albine: “Where are you going to get off?” and she replies: “Plateau.”

Mount Vernon is several miles beyond Plateau.

Cudjo is surprised. He turns to Albine and asks: “Why, Albine! How is this? Why do you say you are going to get off at Plateau?”

She answers: “I must get off.” The train stops and Albine gets off. Cudjo stays on. He is alone. But old Cudjo has not reached Mount Vernon yet. He is still journeying on.

He made another parable about his wife. He lifted up his head and said:

I will make a parable. “Suppose you come to my house and want to go to Keeby’s. You have an umbrella and you leave it in my care. When you come back you ask for your umbrella. Must I give it to you or keep it?” “No, Cudjo, you cannot keep it. It belongs to me. It is not yours.” Triumphantly Cudjo concludes: “Neither could I keep Albine; she was just left in my care.”

ZORA NEALE HURSTON

Footnotes

[1] This story was secured by Miss Zora Neale Hurston, an investigator of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History. She made a special trip to Mobile to interview Cudjo Lewis, the only survivor of this last cargo. She made some use, too, of the _Voyage of Clotilde_ and other records of the Mobile Historical Society.

[2] According to some accounts these slaves were brought from Loanda.

Transcriber’s Notes:

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.