Book journal for Twelve Years A Slave

For history 1301. Write a book journal .write a good paragraph for each chapter in the book.

4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twelve Years a Slave This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Twelve Years a Slave Author: Solomon Northup Release date: May 11, 2014 [eBook #45631] Most recently updated: January 1, 2015 Language: English Credits: Produced by Richard J. Shiffer and the Distributed Proofreading volunteers at http://www.pgdp.net for Project Gutenberg. (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE *** Transcriber’s Note Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed is noted at the end of this ebook. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 1/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. FIFTH THOUSAND. T W E LV E Y E A R S A S L AV E . N A R R AT I V E OF S O L O M O N N O R T H U P, A CITIZEN OF NEW-YORK, KIDNAPPED IN WASHINGTON CITY IN 1841, AND RESCUED IN 1853, file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 2/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. FROM A COTTON PLANTATION NEAR THE RED RIVER, IN LOUISIANA. AUBURN: DERBY AND MILLER. BUFFALO: D E R B Y, O R T O N A N D M U L L I G A N . LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, SON & COMPANY, 47 LUDGATE HILL. 1853. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 3/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-three, by DERBY AND MILLER, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Northern District of New-York. ENTERED IN LONDON AT STATIONERS’ HALL. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 4/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. TO HARRIET BEECHER STOWE: WHOSE NAME, THROUGHOUT THE WORLD, IS IDENTIFIED WITH THE GREAT REFORM: THIS NARRATIVE, AFFORDING ANOTHER Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, I S R E S P E C T F U L L Y D E D I C AT E D file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 5/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. “Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone To reverence what is ancient, and can plead A course of long observance for its use, That even servitude, the worst of ills, Because delivered down from sire to son, Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. But is it fit, or can it bear the shock Of rational discussion, that a man Compounded and made up, like other men, Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust And folly in as ample measure meet, As in the bosom of the slave he rules, Should be a despot absolute, and boast Himself the only freeman of his land?” Cowper. [Pg vii] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 6/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CO N TEN TS . PAGE. 15 EDITOR’S PREFACE, CHAPTER I. Introductory—Ancestry—The Northup Family—Birth and Parentage—Mintus Northup —Marriage with Anne Hampton—Good Resolutions—Champlain Canal—Rafting Excursion to Canada—Farming—The Violin—Cooking—Removal to Saratoga— Parker and Perry—Slaves and Slavery—The Children—The Beginning of Sorrow, 17 CHAPTER II. The two Strangers—The Circus Company—Departure from Saratoga—Ventriloquism and Legerdemain—Journey to New-York—Free Papers—Brown and Hamilton—The haste to reach the Circus—Arrival in Washington—Funeral of Harrison—The Sudden Sickness—The Torment of Thirst—The Receding Light—Insensibility—Chains and Darkness, 28 CHAPTER III. Painful Meditations—James H. Burch—Williams’ Slave Pen in Washington—The Lackey, Radburn—Assert my Freedom—The Anger of the Trader—The Paddle and Cat-o’-nine-tails—The Whipping—New Acquaintances—Ray, Williams, and Randall —Arrival of Little Emily and her Mother in the Pen—Maternal Sorrows—The Story of Eliza, 40 CHAPTER IV. [Pg viii] Eliza’s Sorrows—Preparation to Embark—Driven Through the Streets of Washington— Hail, Columbia—The Tomb of Washington—Clem Ray—The Breakfast on the Steamer—The happy Birds—Aquia Creek—Fredericksburgh—Arrival in Richmond —Goodin and his Slave Pen—Robert, of Cincinnati—David and his Wife—Mary and Lethe—Clem’s Return—His subsequent Escape to Canada—The Brig Orleans— James H. Burch, 54 CHAPTER V. Arrival at Norfolk—Frederick and Maria—Arthur, the Freeman—Appointed Steward— Jim, Cuffee, and Jenny—The Storm—Bahama Banks—The Calm—The Conspiracy— The Long Boat—The Small-Pox—Death of Robert—Manning, the Sailor—The Meeting in the Forecastle—The Letter—Arrival at New-Orleans—Arthur’s Rescue— Theophilus Freeman, the Consignee—Platt—First Night in the New-Orleans Slave 65 Pen, CHAPTER VI. Freeman’s Industry—Cleanliness and Clothes—Exercising in the Show Room—The Dance—Bob, the Fiddler—Arrival of Customers—Slaves Examined—The Old Gentleman of New-Orleans—Sale of David, Caroline, and Lethe—Parting of Randall and Eliza—Small-Pox—The Hospital—Recovery and Return to Freeman’s Slave Pen —The Purchaser of Eliza, Harry, and Platt—Eliza’s Agony on Parting from Little Emily, 78 CHAPTER VII. The Steamboat Rodolph—Departure from New-Orleans—William Ford—Arrival at Alexandria, on Red River—Resolutions—The Great Pine Woods—Wild Cattle— file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 7/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. Martin’s Summer Residence—The Texas Road—Arrival at Master Ford’s—Rose— Mistress Ford—Sally and her Children—John, the Cook—Walter, Sam, and Antony— The Mills on Indian Creek—Sabbath Days—Sam’s Conversion—The Profit of Kindness—Rafting—Adam Taydem, the Little White Man—Cascalla and his Tribe— The Indian Ball—John M. Tibeats—The Storm approaching, 89 [Pg ix] CHAPTER VIII. Ford’s Embarrassments—The Sale to Tibeats—The Chattel Mortgage—Mistress Ford’s Plantation on Bayou Bœuf—Description of the Latter—Ford’s Brother-in-law, Peter Tanner—Meeting with Eliza—She still Mourns for her Children—Ford’s Overseer, Chapin—Tibeats’ Abuse—The Keg of Nails—The First Fight with Tibeats—His Discomfiture and Castigation—The attempt to Hang me—Chapin’s Interference and Speech—Unhappy Reflections—Abrupt Departure of Tibeats, Cook, and Ramsey— 105 Lawson and the Brown Mule—Message to the Pine Woods, CHAPTER IX. The Hot Sun—Yet bound—The Cords sink into my Flesh—Chapin’s Uneasiness— Speculation—Rachel, and her Cup of Water—Suffering increases—The Happiness of Slavery—Arrival of Ford—He cuts the Cords which bind me, and takes the Rope from my Neck—Misery—The gathering of the Slaves in Eliza’s Cabin—Their Kindness— Rachel Repeats the Occurrences of the Day—Lawson entertains his Companions with an Account of his Ride—Chapin’s apprehensions of Tibeats—Hired to Peter Tanner— Peter expounds the Scriptures—Description of the Stocks, 118 CHAPTER X. Return to Tibeats—Impossibility of pleasing him—He attacks me with a Hatchet—The Struggle over the Broad Axe—The Temptation to Murder him—Escape across the Plantation—Observations from the Fence—Tibeats approaches, followed by the Hounds—They take my Track—Their loud Yells—They almost overtake me—I reach the Water—The Hounds confused—Moccasin Snakes—Alligators—Night in the “Great Pacoudrie Swamp”—The Sounds of Life— North-West Course—Emerge into 131 the Pine Woods—Slave and his Young Master—Arrival at Ford’s—Food and Rest, [Pg x] CHAPTER XI. The Mistress’ Garden—The Crimson and Golden Fruit—Orange and Pomegranate Trees—Return to Bayou Bœuf—Master Ford’s Remarks on the way—The Meetingwith Tibeats—His Account of the Chase—Ford censures his Brutality—Arrival at the Plantation—Astonishment of the Slaves on seeing me—The anticipated Flogging— Kentucky John—Mr. Eldret, the Planter—Eldret’s Sam—Trip to the “Big Cane Brake”—The Tradition of “Sutton’s Field”—Forest Trees—Gnats and Mosquitoes— The Arrival of Black Women in the Big Cane—Lumber Women—Sudden Appearance of Tibeats—His Provoking Treatment—Visit to Bayou Bœuf—The Slave Pass— Southern Hospitality—The Last of Eliza—Sale to Edwin Epps, 146 CHAPTER XII. Personal Appearance of Epps—Epps, Drunk and Sober—A Glimpse of his History— Cotton Growing—The Mode of Ploughing and Preparing Ground—Of Planting, of Hoeing, of Picking, of Treating Raw Hands—The difference in Cotton Pickers— Patsey a remarkable one—Tasked according to Ability—Beauty of a Cotton Field— The Slave’s Labors—Fear of Approaching the Gin-House—Weighing—”Chores”— Cabin Life—The Corn Mill—The Uses of the Gourd—Fear of Oversleeping—Fear continually—Mode of Cultivating Corn—Sweet Potatoes—Fertility of the Soil— Fattening Hogs—Preserving Bacon—Raising Cattle—Shooting-Matches—Garden Products—Flowers and Verdure, 162 CHAPTER XIII. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 8/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. The Curious Axe-Helve—Symptoms of approaching Illness—Continue to decline—The Whip ineffectual—Confined to the Cabin—Visit by Dr. Wines—Partial Recovery— Failure at Cotton Picking—What may be heard on Epps’ Plantation—Lashes Graduated—Epps in a Whipping Mood—Epps in a Dancing Mood—Description of the Dance—Loss of Rest no Excuse—Epps’ Characteristics—Jim Burns—Removal from Huff Power to Bayou Bœuf—Description of Uncle Abram; of Wiley; of Aunt Phebe; of Bob, Henry, and Edward; of Patsey; with a Genealogical Account of each— Something of their Past History, and Peculiar Characteristics— Jealousy and Lust— Patsey, the Victim, 176 [Pg xi] CHAPTER XIV. Destruction of the Cotton Crop in 1845—Demand for Laborers in St. Mary’s Parish— Sent thither in a Drove—The Order of the March—The Grand Coteau—Hired to Judge Turner on Bayou Salle—Appointed Driver in his Sugar House—Sunday Services—Slave Furniture; how obtained—The Party at Yarney’s, in Centreville— Good Fortune—The Captain of the Steamer—His Refusal to Secrete me—Return to Bayou Bœuf—Sight of Tibeats—Patsey’s Sorrows—Tumult and Contention—Hunting the Coon and Opossum—The Cunning of the latter—The Lean Condition of the Slave —Description of the Fish Trap—The Murder of the Man from Natchez—Epps 191 Challenged by Marshall—The Influence of Slavery—The Love of Freedom, CHAPTER XV. Labors on Sugar Plantations—The Mode of Planting Cane—of Hoeing Cane—Cane Ricks—Cutting Cane—Description of the Cane Knife—Winrowing—Preparing for Succeeding Crops—Description of Hawkins’ Sugar Mill on Bayou Bœuf—The Christmas Holidays—The Carnival Season of the Children of Bondage—The Christmas Supper—Red, the Favorite Color—The Violin, and the Consolation it afforded—The Christmas Dance—Lively, the Coquette—Sam Roberts, and his Rivals —Slave Songs—Southern Life as it is—Three Days in the Year—The System of Marriage—Uncle Abram’s Contempt of Matrimony, 208 CHAPTER XVI. Overseers—How they are Armed and Accompanied—The Homicide—His Execution at Marksville—Slave Drivers—Appointed Driver on removing to Bayou Bœuf— Practice makes perfect—Epps’s Attempt to Cut Platt’s Throat—The Escape from him —Protected by the Mistress—Forbids Reading and Writing—Obtain a Sheet of Paper after Nine Years’ Effort—The Letter—Armsby, the Mean White—Partially confide in him—His Treachery—Epps’ Suspicions—How they were quieted—Burning the Letter 223 —Armsby leaves the Bayou—Disappointment and Despair, [Pg xii] CHAPTER XVII. Wiley disregards the counsels of Aunt Phebe and Uncle Abram, and is caught by the Patrollers—The Organization and Duties of the latter—Wiley Runs Away— Speculations in regard to him—His Unexpected Return—His Capture on the Red River, and Confinement in Alexandria Jail—Discovered by Joseph B. Roberts— Subduing Dogs in anticipation of Escape—The Fugitives in the Great Pine Woods— Captured by Adam Taydem and the Indians—Augustus killed by Dogs—Nelly, Eldret’s Slave Woman—The Story of Celeste—The Concerted Movement—Lew Cheney, the Traitor—The Idea of Insurrection, 236 CHAPTER XVIII. O’Niel, the Tanner—Conversation with Aunt Phebe overheard—Epps in the Tanning Business—Stabbing of Uncle Abram—The Ugly Wound—Epps is Jealous—Patsey is Missing—Her Return from Shaw’s—Harriet, Shaw’s Black Wife—Epps Enraged— Patsey denies his Charges—She is Tied Down Naked to Four Stakes—The Inhuman Flogging—Flaying of Patsey—The Beauty of the Day—The Bucket of Salt Water— The Dress stiff with Blood—Patsey grows Melancholy—Her Idea of God and Eternity file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 9/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. —Of Heaven and Freedom—The Effect of Slave-Whipping—Epps’ Oldest Son—”The Child is Father to the Man,” 250 CHAPTER XIX. Avery, on Bayou Rouge—Peculiarity of Dwellings—Epps builds a New House—Bass, the Carpenter—His Noble Qualities—His Personal Appearance and Eccentricities— Bass and Epps discuss the Question of Slavery—Epps’ Opinion of Bass—I make myself known to him—Our Conversation—His Surprise—The Midnight Meeting on the Bayou Bank—Bass’ Assurances—Declares War against Slavery—Why I did not Disclose my History—Bass writes Letters—Copy of his Letter to Messrs. Parker and Perry—The Fever of Suspense—Disappointments—Bass endeavors to cheer me—My 263 Faith in him, [Pg xiii] CHAPTER XX. Bass faithful to his word—His Arrival on Christmas Eve—The Difficulty of Obtaining an Interview—The Meeting in the Cabin—Non-arrival of the Letter—Bass announces his Intention to proceed North—Christmas—Conversation between Epps and Bass— Young Mistress McCoy, the Beauty of Bayou Bœuf—The “Ne plus ultra” of Dinners —Music and Dancing—Presence of the Mistress—Her Exceeding Beauty—The Last Slave Dance—William Pierce—Oversleep myself—The Last Whipping— Despondency—Cold Morning—Epps’ Threats—The Passing Carriage—Strangers approaching through the Cotton-Field—Last Hour on Bayou Bœuf, 279 CHAPTER XXI. The Letter reaches Saratoga—Is forwarded to Anne—Is laid before Henry B. Northup —The Statute of May 14, 1840—Its Provisions—Anne’s Memorial to the Governor— The affidavits Accompanying it—Senator Soule’s Letter—Departure of the Agent appointed by the Governor—Arrival at Marksville—The Hon. John P. Waddill—The Conversation on New-York Politics—It suggests a Fortunate Idea—The Meeting with Bass—The Secret out—Legal Proceedings instituted—Departure of Northup and the Sheriff from Marksville for Bayou Bœuf—Arrangements on the Way—Reach Epps’ Plantation—Discover his Slaves in the Cotton-Field—The Meeting—The Farewell, 289 [Pg xiv] CHAPTER XXII. Arrival in New-Orleans—Glimpse of Freeman—Genois, the Recorder—His Description of Solomon—Reach Charleston Interrupted by Custom House Officers— Pass through Richmond—Arrival in Washington—Burch Arrested—Shekels and Thorn—Their Testimony—Burch Acquitted—Arrest of Solomon—Burch withdraws the Complaint—The Higher Tribunal—Departure from Washington—Arrival at Sandy Hill—Old Friends and Familiar Scenes—Proceed to Glens Falls—Meeting with Anne, Margaret, and Elizabeth—Solomon Northup Staunton—Incidents—Conclusion, 310 APPENDIX, file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 323 10/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. LI S T O F I LLU S TRATI O N S . PORTRAIT OF SOLOMON IN HIS PLANTATION SUIT SCENE IN THE SLAVE PEN AT WASHINGTON, SEPARATION OF ELIZA AND HER LAST CHILD, CHAPIN RESCUES SOLOMON FROM HANGING, THE STAKING OUT AND FLOGGING OF THE GIRL PATSEY, SCENE IN THE COTTON FIELD, AND SOLOMON’S DELIVERY, ARRIVAL HOME, AND FIRST MEETING WITH HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN, [Pg xv] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 11/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. ED I TO R’ S P REFA CE. When the editor commenced the preparation of the following narrative, he did not suppose it would reach the size of this volume. In order, however, to present all the facts which have been communicated to him, it has seemed necessary to extend it to its present length. Many of the statements contained in the following pages are corroborated by abundant evidence—others rest entirely upon Solomon’s assertion. That he has adhered strictly to the truth, the editor, at least, who has had an opportunity of detecting any contradiction or discrepancy in his statements, is well satisfied. He has invariably repeated the same story without deviating in the slightest particular, and has also carefully perused the manuscript, dictating an alteration wherever the most trivial inaccuracy has appeared. It was Solomon’s fortune, during his captivity, to be owned by several masters. The treatment he received while at the “Pine Woods” shows that among slaveholders there are men of humanity as well as of cruelty. Some of them are spoken of with emotions of gratitude—others in a spirit of bitterness. It is believed that the following account of his experience on Bayou Bœuf presents a correct picture of Slavery, in all its lights and shadows, as it now exists in that locality. Unbiased, as he conceives, by any prepossessions or prejudices, the only object of the editor has been to give a faithful history of Solomon Northup’s life, as he received it from his lips. [Pg xvi] In the accomplishment of that object, he trusts he has succeeded, notwithstanding the numerous faults of style and of expression it may be found to contain. DAVID WILSON. WHITEHALL, N. Y., May, 1853. [Pg 17] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 12/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. N A R R AT I V E O F S O L O M O N N O R T H U P. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 13/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 14/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CH A P TER I . INTRODUCTORY—ANCESTRY—THE NORTHUP FAMILY—BIRTH AND PARENTAGE —MINTUS NORTHUP—MARRIAGE WITH ANNE HAMPTON—GOOD RESOLUTIONS—CHAMPLAIN CANAL—RAFTING EXCURSION TO CANADA— FARMING—THE VIOLIN—COOKING—REMOVAL TO SARATOGA—PARKER AND PERRY—SLAVES AND SLAVERY—THE CHILDREN—THE BEGINNING OF SORROW. Having been born a freeman, and for more than thirty years enjoyed the blessings of liberty in a free State—and having at the end of that time been kidnapped and sold into Slavery, where I remained, until happily rescued in the month of January, 1853, after a bondage of twelve years—it has been suggested that an account of my life and fortunes would not be uninteresting to the public. Since my return to liberty, I have not failed to perceive the increasing interest throughout the Northern States, in regard to the subject of Slavery. Works of fiction, professing to portray its features in their more pleasing as well as more repugnant aspects, have been circulated to an extent unprecedented, and, as I understand, have created a fruitful topic of comment and discussion. [Pg 18] I can speak of Slavery only so far as it came under my own observation—only so far as I have known and experienced it in my own person. My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage. As far back as I have been able to ascertain, my ancestors on the paternal side were slaves in Rhode Island. They belonged to a family by the name of Northup, one of whom, removing to the State of New-York, settled at Hoosic, in Rensselaer county. He brought with him Mintus Northup, my father. On the death of this gentleman, which must have occurred some fifty years ago, my father became free, having been emancipated by a direction in his will. Henry B. Northup, Esq., of Sandy Hill, a distinguished counselor at law, and the man to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for my present liberty, and my return to the society of my wife and children, is a relative of the family in which my forefathers were thus held to service, and from which they took the name I bear. To this fact may be attributed the persevering interest he has taken in my behalf. Sometime after my father’s liberation, he removed to the town of Minerva, Essex county, N. Y., where I was born, in the month of July, 1808. How long he remained in the latter place I have not the means of definitely ascertaining. From thence he removed to Granville, Washington county, near a place known as Slyborough, where, for some years, he labored on the farm of Clark Northup, also a relative of his old master; from thence he removed to the Alden farm, at Moss Street, a short distance north of the village of Sandy Hill; and from thence to the farm now owned by Russel Pratt, situated on the road leading from Fort Edward to Argyle, where he continued to reside until his death, which took place on the 22d day of November, 1829. He left a widow and two children—myself, and Joseph, an elder brother. The latter is still living in the county of Oswego, near the city of that name; my mother died during the period of my captivity. [Pg 19] Though born a slave, and laboring under the disadvantages to which my unfortunate race is subjected, my father was a man respected for his industry and integrity, as many file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 15/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. now living, who well remember him, are ready to testify. His whole life was passed in the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, never seeking employment in those more menial positions, which seem to be especially allotted to the children of Africa. Besides giving us an education surpassing that ordinarily bestowed upon children in our condition, he acquired, by his diligence and economy, a sufficient property qualification to entitle him to the right of suffrage. He was accustomed to speak to us of his early life; and although at all times cherishing the warmest emotions of kindness, and even of affection towards the family, in whose house he had been a bondsman, he nevertheless comprehended the system of Slavery, and dwelt with sorrow on the degradation of his race. He endeavored to imbue our minds with sentiments of morality, and to teach us to place our trust and confidence in Him who regards the humblest as well as the highest of his creatures. How often since that time has the recollection of his paternal counsels occurred to me, while lying in a slave hut in the distant and sickly regions of Louisiana, smarting with the undeserved wounds which an inhuman master had inflicted, and longing only for the grave which had covered him, to shield me also from the lash of the oppressor. In the church-yard at Sandy Hill, an humble stone marks the spot where he reposes, after having worthily performed the duties appertaining to the lowly sphere wherein God had appointed him to walk. [Pg 20] Up to this period I had been principally engaged with my father in the labors of the farm. The leisure hours allowed me were generally either employed over my books, or playing on the violin—an amusement which was the ruling passion of my youth. It has also been the source of consolation since, affording pleasure to the simple beings with whom my lot was cast, and beguiling my own thoughts, for many hours, from the painful contemplation of my fate. On Christmas day, 1829, I was married to Anne Hampton, a colored girl then living in the vicinity of our residence. The ceremony was performed at Fort Edward, by Timothy Eddy, Esq., a magistrate of that town, and still a prominent citizen of the place. She had resided a long time at Sandy Hill, with Mr. Baird, proprietor of the Eagle Tavern, and also in the family of Rev. Alexander Proudfit, of Salem. This gentleman for many years had presided over the Presbyterian society at the latter place, and was widely distinguished for his learning and piety. Anne still holds in grateful remembrance the exceeding kindness and the excellent counsels of that good man. She is not able to determine the exact line of her descent, but the blood of three races mingles in her veins. It is difficult to tell whether the red, white, or black predominates. The union of them all, however, in her origin, has given her a singular but pleasing expression, such as is rarely to be seen. Though somewhat resembling, yet she cannot properly be styled a quadroon, a class to which, I have omitted to mention, my mother belonged. I had just now passed the period of my minority, having reached the age of twenty-one years in the month of July previous. Deprived of the advice and assistance of my father, with a wife dependent upon me for support, I resolved to enter upon a life of industry; and notwithstanding the obstacle of color, and the consciousness of my lowly state, indulged in pleasant dreams of a good time coming, when the possession of some humble habitation, with a few surrounding acres, should reward my labors, and bring me the means of happiness and comfort. [Pg 21] [Pg 22] From the time of my marriage to this day the love I have borne my wife has been sincere and unabated; and only those who have felt the glowing tenderness a father cherishes for his offspring, can appreciate my affection for the beloved children which have since been born to us. This much I deem appropriate and necessary to say, in order that those who read these pages, may comprehend the poignancy of those sufferings I have been doomed to bear. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 16/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. Immediately upon our marriage we commenced house-keeping, in the old yellow building then standing at the southern extremity of Fort Edward village, and which has since been transformed into a modern mansion, and lately occupied by Captain Lathrop. It is known as the Fort House. In this building the courts were sometime held after the organization of the county. It was also occupied by Burgoyne in 1777, being situated near the old Fort on the left bank of the Hudson. During the winter I was employed with others repairing the Champlain Canal, on that section over which William Van Nortwick was superintendent. David McEachron had the immediate charge of the men in whose company I labored. By the time the canal opened in the spring, I was enabled, from the savings of my wages, to purchase a pair of horses, and other things necessarily required in the business of navigation. Having hired several efficient hands to assist me, I entered into contracts for the transportation of large rafts of timber from Lake Champlain to Troy. Dyer Beckwith and a Mr. Bartemy, of Whitehall, accompanied me on several trips. During the season I became perfectly familiar with the art and mysteries of rafting—a knowledge which afterwards enabled me to render profitable service to a worthy master, and to astonish the simple-witted lumbermen on the banks of the Bayou Bœuf. [Pg 23] In one of my voyages down Lake Champlain, I was induced to make a visit to Canada. Repairing to Montreal, I visited the cathedral and other places of interest in that city, from whence I continued my excursion to Kingston and other towns, obtaining a knowledge of localities, which was also of service to me afterwards, as will appear towards the close of this narrative. Having completed my contracts on the canal satisfactorily to myself and to my employer, and not wishing to remain idle, now that the navigation of the canal was again suspended, I entered into another contract with Medad Gunn, to cut a large quantity of wood. In this business I was engaged during the winter of 1831-32. With the return of spring, Anne and myself conceived the project of taking a farm in the neighborhood. I had been accustomed from earliest youth to agricultural labors, and it was an occupation congenial to my tastes. I accordingly entered into arrangements for a part of the old Alden farm, on which my father formerly resided. With one cow, one swine, a yoke of fine oxen I had lately purchased of Lewis Brown, in Hartford, and other personal property and effects, we proceeded to our new home in Kingsbury. That year I planted twenty-five acres of corn, sowed large fields of oats, and commenced farming upon as large a scale as my utmost means would permit. Anne was diligent about the house affairs, while I toiled laboriously in the field. [Pg 24] On this place we continued to reside until 1834. In the winter season I had numerous calls to play on the violin. Wherever the young people assembled to dance, I was almost invariably there. Throughout the surrounding villages my fiddle was notorious. Anne, also, during her long residence at the Eagle Tavern, had become somewhat famous as a cook. During court weeks, and on public occasions, she was employed at high wages in the kitchen at Sherrill’s Coffee House. We always returned home from the performance of these services with money in our pockets; so that, with fiddling, cooking, and farming, we soon found ourselves in the possession of abundance, and, in fact, leading a happy and prosperous life. Well, indeed, would it have been for us had we remained on the farm at Kingsbury; but the time came when the next step was to be taken towards the cruel destiny that awaited me. In March, 1834, we removed to Saratoga Springs. We occupied a house belonging to Daniel O’Brien, on the north side of Washington street. At that time Isaac Taylor kept a large boarding house, known as Washington Hall, at the north end of Broadway. He file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 25] 17/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. employed me to drive a hack, in which capacity I worked for him two years. After this time I was generally employed through the visiting season, as also was Anne, in the United States Hotel, and other public houses of the place. In winter seasons I relied upon my violin, though during the construction of the Troy and Saratoga railroad, I performed many hard days’ labor upon it. I was in the habit, at Saratoga, of purchasing articles necessary for my family at the stores of Mr. Cephas Parker and Mr. William Perry, gentlemen towards whom, for many acts of kindness, I entertained feelings of strong regard. It was for this reason that, twelve years afterwards, I caused to be directed to them the letter, which is hereinafter inserted, and which was the means, in the hands of Mr. Northup, of my fortunate deliverance. While living at the United States Hotel, I frequently met with slaves, who had accompanied their masters from the South. They were always well dressed and well provided for, leading apparently an easy life, with but few of its ordinary troubles to perplex them. Many times they entered into conversation with me on the subject of Slavery. Almost uniformly I found they cherished a secret desire for liberty. Some of them expressed the most ardent anxiety to escape, and consulted me on the best method of effecting it. The fear of punishment, however, which they knew was certain to attend their re-capture and return, in all cases proved sufficient to deter them from the experiment. Having all my life breathed the free air of the North, and conscious that I possessed the same feelings and affections that find a place in the white man’s breast; conscious, moreover, of an intelligence equal to that of some men, at least, with a fairer skin, I was too ignorant, perhaps too independent, to conceive how any one could be content to live in the abject condition of a slave. I could not comprehend the justice of that law, or that religion, which upholds or recognizes the principle of Slavery; and never once, I am proud to say, did I fail to counsel any one who came to me, to watch his opportunity, and strike for freedom. [Pg 26] I continued to reside at Saratoga until the spring of 1841. The flattering anticipations which, seven years before, had seduced us from the quiet farm-house, on the east side of the Hudson, had not been realized. Though always in comfortable circumstances, we had not prospered. The society and associations at that world-renowned watering place, were not calculated to preserve the simple habits of industry and economy to which I had been accustomed, but, on the contrary, to substitute others in their stead, tending to shiftlessness and extravagance. At this time we were the parents of three children—Elizabeth, Margaret, and Alonzo. Elizabeth, the eldest, was in her tenth year; Margaret was two years younger, and little Alonzo had just passed his fifth birth-day. They filled our house with gladness. Their young voices were music in our ears. Many an airy castle did their mother and myself build for the little innocents. When not at labor I was always walking with them, clad in their best attire, through the streets and groves of Saratoga. Their presence was my delight; and I clasped them to my bosom with as warm and tender love as if their clouded skins had been as white as snow. [Pg 27] Thus far the history of my life presents nothing whatever unusual—nothing but the common hopes, and loves, and labors of an obscure colored man, making his humble progress in the world. But now I had reached a turning point in my existence—reached the threshold of unutterable wrong, and sorrow, and despair. Now had I approached within the shadow of the cloud, into the thick darkness whereof I was soon to disappear, thenceforward to be hidden from the eyes of all my kindred, and shut out from the sweet light of liberty, for many a weary year. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 18/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. [Pg 28] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 19/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CH A P TER I I . THE TWO STRANGERS—THE CIRCUS COMPANY—DEPARTURE FROM SARATOGA —VENTRILOQUISM AND LEGERDEMAIN—JOURNEY TO NEW-YORK—FREE PAPERS—BROWN AND HAMILTON—THE HASTE TO REACH THE CIRCUS— ARRIVAL IN WASHINGTON—FUNERAL OF HARRISON—THE SUDDEN SICKNESS —THE TORMENT OF THIRST—THE RECEDING LIGHT—INSENSIBILITY— CHAINS AND DARKNESS. One morning, towards the latter part of the month of March, 1841, having at that time no particular business to engage my attention, I was walking about the village of Saratoga Springs, thinking to myself where I might obtain some present employment, until the busy season should arrive. Anne, as was her usual custom, had gone over to Sandy Hill, a distance of some twenty miles, to take charge of the culinary department at Sherrill’s Coffee House, during the session of the court. Elizabeth, I think, had accompanied her. Margaret and Alonzo were with their aunt at Saratoga. On the corner of Congress street and Broadway, near the tavern, then, and for aught I know to the contrary, still kept by Mr. Moon, I was met by two gentlemen of respectable appearance, both of whom were entirely unknown to me. I have the impression that they were introduced to me by some one of my acquaintances, but who, I have in vain endeavored to recall, with the remark that I was an expert player on the violin. At any rate, they immediately entered into conversation on that subject, making numerous inquiries touching my proficiency in that respect. My responses being to all appearances satisfactory, they proposed to engage my services for a short period, stating, at the same time, I was just such a person as their business required. Their names, as they afterwards gave them to me, were Merrill Brown and Abram Hamilton, though whether these were their true appellations, I have strong reasons to doubt. The former was a man apparently forty years of age, somewhat short and thick-set, with a countenance indicating shrewdness and intelligence. He wore a black frock coat and black hat, and said he resided either at Rochester or at Syracuse. The latter was a young man of fair complexion and light eyes, and, I should judge, had not passed the age of twenty-five. He was tall and slender, dressed in a snuff-colored coat, with glossy hat, and vest of elegant pattern. His whole apparel was in the extreme of fashion. His appearance was somewhat effeminate, but prepossessing, and there was about him an easy air, that showed he had mingled with the world. They were connected, as they informed me, with a circus company, then in the city of Washington; that they were on their way thither to rejoin it, having left it for a short time to make an excursion northward, for the purpose of seeing the country, and were paying their expenses by an occasional exhibition. They also remarked that they had found much difficulty in procuring music for their entertainments, and that if I would accompany them as far as New-York, they would give me one dollar for each day’s services, and three dollars in addition for every night I played at their performances, besides sufficient to pay the expenses of my return from New-York to Saratoga. [Pg 29] [Pg 30] I at once accepted the tempting offer, both for the reward it promised, and from a desire to visit the metropolis. They were anxious to leave immediately. Thinking my absence would be brief, I did not deem it necessary to write to Anne whither I had gone; in fact supposing that my return, perhaps, would be as soon as hers. So taking a change of linen and my violin, I was ready to depart. The carriage was brought round —a covered one, drawn by a pair of noble bays, altogether forming an elegant file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 20/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. establishment. Their baggage, consisting of three large trunks, was fastened on the rack, and mounting to the driver’s seat, while they took their places in the rear, I drove away from Saratoga on the road to Albany, elated with my new position, and happy as I had ever been, on any day in all my life. We passed through Ballston, and striking the ridge road, as it is called, if my memory correctly serves me, followed it direct to Albany. We reached that city before dark, and stopped at a hotel southward from the Museum. [Pg 31] This night I had an opportunity of witnessing one of their performances—the only one, during the whole period I was with them. Hamilton was stationed at the door; I formed the orchestra, while Brown provided the entertainment. It consisted in throwing balls, dancing on the rope, frying pancakes in a hat, causing invisible pigs to squeal, and other like feats of ventriloquism and legerdemain. The audience was extraordinarily sparse, and not of the selectest character at that, and Hamilton’s report of the proceeds presented but a “beggarly account of empty boxes.” Early next morning we renewed our journey. The burden of their conversation now was the expression of an anxiety to reach the circus without delay. They hurried forward, without again stopping to exhibit, and in due course of time, we reached New-York, taking lodgings at a house on the west side of the city, in a street running from Broadway to the river. I supposed my journey was at an end, and expected in a day or two at least, to return to my friends and family at Saratoga. Brown and Hamilton, however, began to importune me to continue with them to Washington. They alleged that immediately on their arrival, now that the summer season was approaching, the circus would set out for the north. They promised me a situation and high wages if I would accompany them. Largely did they expatiate on the advantages that would result to me, and such were the flattering representations they made, that I finally concluded to accept the offer. [Pg 32] The next morning they suggested that, inasmuch as we were about entering a slave State, it would be well, before leaving New-York, to procure free papers. The idea struck me as a prudent one, though I think it would scarcely have occurred to me, had they not proposed it. We proceeded at once to what I understood to be the Custom House. They made oath to certain facts showing I was a free man. A paper was drawn up and handed us, with the direction to take it to the clerk’s office. We did so, and the clerk having added something to it, for which he was paid six shillings, we returned again to the Custom House. Some further formalities were gone through with before it was completed, when, paying the officer two dollars, I placed the papers in my pocket, and started with my two friends to our hotel. I thought at the time, I must confess, that the papers were scarcely worth the cost of obtaining them—the apprehension of danger to my personal safety never having suggested itself to me in the remotest manner. The clerk, to whom we were directed, I remember, made a memorandum in a large book, which, I presume, is in the office yet. A reference to the entries during the latter part of March, or first of April, 1841, I have no doubt will satisfy the incredulous, at least so far as this particular transaction is concerned. With the evidence of freedom in my possession, the next day after our arrival in NewYork, we crossed the ferry to Jersey City, and took the road to Philadelphia. Here we remained one night, continuing our journey towards Baltimore early in the morning. In due time, we arrived in the latter city, and stopped at a hotel near the railroad depot, either kept by a Mr. Rathbone, or known as the Rathbone House. All the way from New-York, their anxiety to reach the circus seemed to grow more and more intense. We left the carriage at Baltimore, and entering the cars, proceeded to Washington, at which place we arrived just at nightfall, the evening previous to the funeral of General Harrison, and stopped at Gadsby’s Hotel, on Pennsylvania Avenue. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 33] 21/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. After supper they called me to their apartments, and paid me forty-three dollars, a sum greater than my wages amounted to, which act of generosity was in consequence, they said, of their not having exhibited as often as they had given me to anticipate, during our trip from Saratoga. They moreover informed me that it had been the intention of the circus company to leave Washington the next morning, but that on account of the funeral, they had concluded to remain another day. They were then, as they had been from the time of our first meeting, extremely kind. No opportunity was omitted of addressing me in the language of approbation; while, on the other hand, I was certainly much prepossessed in their favor. I gave them my confidence without reserve, and would freely have trusted them to almost any extent. Their constant conversation and manner towards me—their foresight in suggesting the idea of free papers, and a hundred other little acts, unnecessary to be repeated—all indicated that they were friends indeed, sincerely solicitous for my welfare. I know not but they were. I know not but they were innocent of the great wickedness of which I now believe them guilty. Whether they were accessory to my misfortunes—subtle and inhuman monsters in the shape of men—designedly luring me away from home and family, and liberty, for the sake of gold—those who read these pages will have the same means of determining as myself. If they were innocent, my sudden disappearance must have been unaccountable indeed; but revolving in my mind all the attending circumstances, I never yet could indulge, towards them, so charitable a supposition. After receiving the money from them, of which they appeared to have an abundance, they advised me not to go into the streets that night, inasmuch as I was unacquainted with the customs of the city. Promising to remember their advice, I left them together, and soon after was shown by a colored servant to a sleeping room in the back part of the hotel, on the ground floor. I laid down to rest, thinking of home and wife, and children, and the long distance that stretched between us, until I fell asleep. But no good angel of pity came to my bedside, bidding me to fly—no voice of mercy forewarned me in my dreams of the trials that were just at hand. [Pg 34] [Pg 35] The next day there was a great pageant in Washington. The roar of cannon and the tolling of bells filled the air, while many houses were shrouded with crape, and the streets were black with people. As the day advanced, the procession made its appearance, coming slowly through the Avenue, carriage after carriage, in long succession, while thousands upon thousands followed on foot—all moving to the sound of melancholy music. They were bearing the dead body of Harrison to the grave. From early in the morning, I was constantly in the company of Hamilton and Brown. They were the only persons I knew in Washington. We stood together as the funeral pomp passed by. I remember distinctly how the window glass would break and rattle to the ground, after each report of the cannon they were firing in the burial ground. We went to the Capitol, and walked a long time about the grounds. In the afternoon, they strolled towards the President’s House, all the time keeping me near to them, and pointing out various places of interest. As yet, I had seen nothing of the circus. In fact, I had thought of it but little, if at all, amidst the excitement of the day. My friends, several times during the afternoon, entered drinking saloons, and called for liquor. They were by no means in the habit, however, so far as I knew them, of indulging to excess. On these occasions, after serving themselves, they would pour out a glass and hand it to me. I did not become intoxicated, as may be inferred from what subsequently occurred. Towards evening, and soon after partaking of one of these potations, I began to experience most unpleasant sensations. I felt extremely ill. My head commenced aching—a dull, heavy pain, inexpressibly disagreeable. At the supper table, I was without appetite; the sight and flavor of food was nauseous. About dark the same servant conducted me to the room I had occupied the previous night. Brown and Hamilton advised me to retire, commiserating me kindly, and expressing hopes that I file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 36] 22/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. would be better in the morning. Divesting myself of coat and boots merely, I threw myself upon the bed. It was impossible to sleep. The pain in my head continued to increase, until it became almost unbearable. In a short time I became thirsty. My lips were parched. I could think of nothing but water—of lakes and flowing rivers, of brooks where I had stooped to drink, and of the dripping bucket, rising with its cool and overflowing nectar, from the bottom of the well. Towards midnight, as near as I could judge, I arose, unable longer to bear such intensity of thirst. I was a stranger in the house, and knew nothing of its apartments. There was no one up, as I could observe. Groping about at random, I knew not where, I found the way at last to a kitchen in the basement. Two or three colored servants were moving through it, one of whom, a woman, gave me two glasses of water. It afforded momentary relief, but by the time I had reached my room again, the same burning desire of drink, the same tormenting thirst, had again returned. It was even more torturing than before, as was also the wild pain in my head, if such a thing could be. I was in sore distress—in most excruciating agony! I seemed to stand on the brink of madness! The memory of that night of horrible suffering will follow me to the grave. In the course of an hour or more after my return from the kitchen, I was conscious of some one entering my room. There seemed to be several—a mingling of various voices,—but how many, or who they were, I cannot tell. Whether Brown and Hamilton were among them, is a mere matter of conjecture. I only remember, with any degree of distinctness, that I was told it was necessary to go to a physician and procure medicine, and that pulling on my boots, without coat or hat, I followed them through a long passage-way, or alley, into the open street. It ran out at right angles from Pennsylvania Avenue. On the opposite side there was a light burning in a window. My impression is there were then three persons with me, but it is altogether indefinite and vague, and like the memory of a painful dream. Going towards the light, which I imagined proceeded from a physician’s office, and which seemed to recede as I advanced, is the last glimmering recollection I can now recall. From that moment I was insensible. How long I remained in that condition—whether only that night, or many days and nights— I do not know; but when consciousness returned, I found myself alone, in utter darkness, and in chains. The pain in my head had subsided in a measure, but I was very faint and weak. I was sitting upon a low bench, made of rough boards, and without coat or hat. I was handcuffed. Around my ankles also were a pair of heavy fetters. One end of a chain was fastened to a large ring in the floor, the other to the fetters on my ankles. I tried in vain to stand upon my feet. Waking from such a painful trance, it was some time before I could collect my thoughts. Where was I? What was the meaning of these chains? Where were Brown and Hamilton? What had I done to deserve imprisonment in such a dungeon? I could not comprehend. There was a blank of some indefinite period, preceding my awakening in that lonely place, the events of which the utmost stretch of memory was unable to recall. I listened intently for some sign or sound of life, but nothing broke the oppressive silence, save the clinking of my chains, whenever I chanced to move. I spoke aloud, but the sound of my voice startled me. I felt of my pockets, so far as the fetters would allow—far enough, indeed, to ascertain that I had not only been robbed of liberty, but that my money and free papers were also gone! Then did the idea begin to break upon my mind, at first dim and confused, that I had been kidnapped. But that I thought was incredible. There must have been some misapprehension—some unfortunate mistake. It could not be that a free citizen of New-York, who had wronged no man, nor violated any law, should be dealt with thus inhumanly. The more I contemplated my situation, however, the more I became confirmed in my suspicions. It was a desolate thought, indeed. I felt there was no trust or mercy in unfeeling man; and commending myself to the God of the oppressed, bowed my head upon my fettered hands, and wept most bitterly. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39] 23/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. [Pg 40] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 24/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CH A P TER I I I . PAINFUL MEDITATIONS—JAMES H. BURCH—WILLIAMS’ SLAVE PEN IN WASHINGTON—THE LACKEY, RADBURN—ASSERT MY FREEDOM—THE ANGER OF THE TRADER—THE PADDLE AND CAT-O’-NINETAILS—THE WHIPPING—NEW ACQUAINTANCES—RAY, WILLIAMS, AND RANDALL— ARRIVAL OF LITTLE EMILY AND HER MOTHER IN THE PEN—MATERNAL SORROWS—THE STORY OF ELIZA. Some three hours elapsed, during which time I remained seated on the low bench, absorbed in painful meditations. At length I heard the crowing of a cock, and soon a distant rumbling sound, as of carriages hurrying through the streets, came to my ears, and I knew that it was day. No ray of light, however, penetrated my prison. Finally, I heard footsteps immediately overhead, as of some one walking to and fro. It occurred to me then that I must be in an underground apartment, and the damp, mouldy odors of the place confirmed the supposition. The noise above continued for at least an hour, when, at last, I heard footsteps approaching from without. A key rattled in the lock—a strong door swung back upon its hinges, admitting a flood of light, and two men entered and stood before me. One of them was a large, powerful man, forty years of age, perhaps, with dark, chestnut-colored hair, slightly interspersed with gray. His face was full, his complexion flush, his features grossly coarse, expressive of nothing but cruelty and cunning. He was about five feet ten inches high, of full habit, and, without prejudice, I must be allowed to say, was a man whose whole appearance was sinister and repugnant. His name was James H. Burch, as I learned afterwards—a well-known slave-dealer in Washington; and then, or lately, connected in business, as a partner, with Theophilus Freeman, of New-Orleans. The person who accompanied him was a simple lackey, named Ebenezer Radburn, who acted merely in the capacity of turnkey. Both of these men still live in Washington, or did, at the time of my return through that city from slavery in January last. [Pg 41] The light admitted through the open door enabled me to observe the room in which I was confined. It was about twelve feet square—the walls of solid masonry. The floor was of heavy plank. There was one small window, crossed with great iron bars, with an outside shutter, securely fastened. An iron-bound door led into an adjoining cell, or vault, wholly destitute of windows, or any means of admitting light. The furniture of the room in which I was, consisted of the wooden bench on which I sat, an old-fashioned, dirty box stove, and besides these, in either cell, there was neither bed, nor blanket, nor any other thing whatever. The door, through which Burch and Radburn entered, led through a small passage, up a flight of steps into a yard, surrounded by a brick wall ten or twelve feet high, immediately in rear of a building of the same width as itself. The yard extended rearward from the house about thirty feet. In one part of the wall there was a strongly ironed door, opening into a narrow, covered passage, leading along one side of the house into the street. The doom of the colored man, upon whom the door leading out of that narrow passage closed, was sealed. The top of the wall supported one end of a roof, which ascended inwards, forming a kind of open shed. Underneath the roof there was a crazy loft all round, where slaves, if so disposed, might sleep at night, or in inclement weather seek shelter from the storm. It was like a farmer’s barnyard in most respects, save it was so constructed that the outside world could never see the human cattle that were herded there. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 42] 25/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. The building to which the yard was attached, was two stories high, fronting on one of the public streets of Washington. Its outside presented only the appearance of a quiet private residence. A stranger looking at it, would never have dreamed of its execrable uses. Strange as it may seem, within plain sight of this same house, looking down from its commanding height upon it, was the Capitol. The voices of patriotic representatives boasting of freedom and equality, and the rattling of the poor slave’s chains, almost commingled. A slave pen within the very shadow of the Capitol! [Pg 43] Such is a correct description as it was in 1841, of Williams’ slave pen in Washington, in one of the cellars of which I found myself so unaccountably confined. “Well, my boy, how do you feel now?” said Burch, as he entered through the open door. I replied that I was sick, and inquired the cause of my imprisonment. He answered that I was his slave—that he had bought me, and that he was about to send me to New-Orleans. I asserted, aloud and boldly, that I was a free man—a resident of Saratoga, where I had a wife and children, who were also free, and that my name was Northup. I complained bitterly of the strange treatment I had received, and threatened, upon my liberation, to have satisfaction for the wrong. He denied that I was free, and with an emphatic oath, declared that I came from Georgia. Again and again I asserted I was no man’s slave, and insisted upon his taking off my chains at once. He endeavored to hush me, as if he feared my voice would be overheard. But I would not be silent, and denounced the authors of my imprisonment, whoever they might be, as unmitigated villains. Finding he could not quiet me, he flew into a towering passion. With blasphemous oaths, he called me a black liar, a runaway from Georgia, and every other profane and vulgar epithet that the most indecent fancy could conceive. [Pg 44] During this time Radburn was standing silently by. His business was, to oversee this human, or rather inhuman stable, receiving slaves, feeding and whipping them, at the rate of two shillings a head per day. Turning to him, Burch ordered the paddle and cato’-ninetails to be brought in. He disappeared, and in a few moments returned with these instruments of torture. The paddle, as it is termed in slave-beating parlance, or at least the one with which I first became acquainted, and of which I now speak, was a piece of hard-wood board, eighteen or twenty inches long, moulded to the shape of an oldfashioned pudding stick, or ordinary oar. The flattened portion, which was about the size in circumference of two open hands, was bored with a small auger in numerous places. The cat was a large rope of many strands—the strands unraveled, and a knot tied at the extremity of each. As soon as these formidable whips appeared, I was seized by both of them, and roughly divested of my clothing. My feet, as has been stated, were fastened to the floor. Drawing me over the bench, face downwards, Radburn placed his heavy foot upon the fetters, between my wrists, holding them painfully to the floor. With the paddle, Burch commenced beating me. Blow after blow was inflicted upon my naked body. When his unrelenting arm grew tired, he stopped and asked if I still insisted I was a free man. I did insist upon it, and then the blows were renewed, faster and more energetically, if possible, than before. When again tired, he would repeat the same question, and receiving the same answer, continue his cruel labor. All this time, the incarnate devil was uttering most fiendish oaths. At length the paddle broke, leaving the useless handle in his hand. Still I would not yield. All his brutal blows could not force from my lips the foul lie that I was a slave. Casting madly on the floor the handle of the broken paddle, he seized the rope. This was far more painful than the other. I struggled with all my power, but it was in vain. I prayed for mercy, but my prayer was only answered with imprecations and with stripes. I thought I must die beneath the lashes of the file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 45] 26/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. accursed brute. Even now the flesh crawls upon my bones, as I recall the scene. I was all on fire. My sufferings I can compare to nothing else than the burning agonies of hell! SCENE IN THE SLAVE PEN AT WASHINGTON. At last I became silent to his repeated questions. I would make no reply. In fact, I was becoming almost unable to speak. Still he plied the lash without stint upon my poor body, until it seemed that the lacerated flesh was stripped from my bones at every stroke. A man with a particle of mercy in his soul would not have beaten even a dog so cruelly. At length Radburn said that it was useless to whip me any more—that I would be sore enough. Thereupon, Burch desisted, saying, with an admonitory shake of his fist in my face, and hissing the words through his firm-set teeth, that if ever I dared to utter again that I was entitled to my freedom, that I had been kidnapped, or any thing whatever of the kind, the castigation I had just received was nothing in comparison with what would follow. He swore that he would either conquer or kill me. With these consolatory words, the fetters were taken from my wrists, my feet still remaining fastened to the ring; the shutter of the little barred window, which had been opened, was again closed, and going out, locking the great door behind them, I was left in darkness as before. [Pg 46] In an hour, perhaps two, my heart leaped to my throat, as the key rattled in the door again. I, who had been so lonely, and who had longed so ardently to see some one, I cared not who, now shuddered at the thought of man’s approach. A human face was fearful to me, especially a white one. Radburn entered, bringing with him, on a tin plate, a piece of shriveled fried pork, a slice of bread and a cup of water. He asked me file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 27/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. how I felt, and remarked that I had received a pretty severe flogging. He remonstrated with me against the propriety of asserting my freedom. In rather a patronizing and confidential manner, he gave it to me as his advice, that the less I said on that subject the better it would be for me. The man evidently endeavored to appear kind—whether touched at the sight of my sad condition, or with the view of silencing, on my part, any further expression of my rights, it is not necessary now to conjecture. He unlocked the fetters from my ankles, opened the shutters of the little window, and departed, leaving me again alone. By this time I had become stiff and sore; my body was covered with blisters, and it was with great pain and difficulty that I could move. From the window I could observe nothing but the roof resting on the adjacent wall. At night I laid down upon the damp, hard floor, without any pillow or covering whatever. Punctually, twice a day, Radburn came in, with his pork, and bread, and water. I had but little appetite, though I was tormented with continual thirst. My wounds would not permit me to remain but a few minutes in any one position; so, sitting, or standing, or moving slowly round, I passed the days and nights. I was heart sick and discouraged. Thoughts of my family, of my wife and children, continually occupied my mind. When sleep overpowered me I dreamed of them—dreamed I was again in Saratoga—that I could see their faces, and hear their voices calling me. Awakening from the pleasant phantasms of sleep to the bitter realities around me, I could but groan and weep. Still my spirit was not broken. I indulged the anticipation of escape, and that speedily. It was impossible, I reasoned, that men could be so unjust as to detain me as a slave, when the truth of my case was known. Burch, ascertaining I was no runaway from Georgia, would certainly let me go. Though suspicions of Brown and Hamilton were not unfrequent, I could not reconcile myself to the idea that they were instrumental to my imprisonment. Surely they would seek me out—they would deliver me from thraldom. Alas! I had not then learned the measure of “man’s inhumanity to man,” nor to what limitless extent of wickedness he will go for the love of gain. [Pg 47] [Pg 48] In the course of several days the outer door was thrown open, allowing me the liberty of the yard. There I found three slaves—one of them a lad of ten years, the others young men of about twenty and twenty-five. I was not long in forming an acquaintance, and learning their names and the particulars of their history. The eldest was a colored man named Clemens Ray. He had lived in Washington; had driven a hack, and worked in a livery stable there for a long time. He was very intelligent, and fully comprehended his situation. The thought of going south overwhelmed him with grief. Burch had purchased him a few days before, and had placed him there until such time as he was ready to send him to the New-Orleans market. From him I learned for the first time that I was in William’s Slave Pen, a place I had never heard of previously. He described to me the uses for which it was designed. I repeated to him the particulars of my unhappy story, but he could only give me the consolation of his sympathy. He also advised me to be silent henceforth on the subject of my freedom; for, knowing the character of Burch, he assured me that it would only be attended with renewed whipping. The next eldest was named John Williams. He was raised in Virginia, not far from Washington. Burch had taken him in payment of a debt, and he constantly entertained the hope that his master would redeem him—a hope that was subsequently realized. The lad was a sprightly child, that answered to the name of Randall. Most of the time he was playing about the yard, but occasionally would cry, calling for his mother, and wondering when she would come. His mother’s absence seemed to be the great and only grief in his little heart. He was too young to realize his condition, and when the memory of his mother was not in his mind, he amused us with his pleasant pranks. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 49] 28/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. At night, Ray, Williams, and the boy, slept in the loft of the shed, while I was locked in the cell. Finally we were each provided with blankets, such as are used upon horses— the only bedding I was allowed to have for twelve years afterwards. Ray and Williams asked me many questions about New-York—how colored people were treated there; how they could have homes and families of their own, with none to disturb and oppress them; and Ray, especially, sighed continually for freedom. Such conversations, however, were not in the hearing of Burch, or the keeper Radburn. Aspirations such as these would have brought down the lash upon our backs. It is necessary in this narrative, in order to present a full and truthful statement of all the principal events in the history of my life, and to portray the institution of Slavery as I have seen and known it, to speak of well-known places, and of many persons who are yet living. I am, and always was, an entire stranger in Washington and its vicinity— aside from Burch and Radburn, knowing no man there, except as I have heard of them through my enslaved companions. What I am about to say, if false, can be easily contradicted. [Pg 50] I remained in Williams’ slave pen about two weeks. The night previous to my departure a woman was brought in, weeping bitterly, and leading by the hand a little child. They were Randall’s mother and half-sister. On meeting them he was overjoyed, clinging to her dress, kissing the child, and exhibiting every demonstration of delight. The mother also clasped him in her arms, embraced him tenderly, and gazed at him fondly through her tears, calling him by many an endearing name. Emily, the child, was seven or eight years old, of light complexion, and with a face of admirable beauty. Her hair fell in curls around her neck, while the style and richness of her dress, and the neatness of her whole appearance indicated she had been brought up in the midst of wealth. She was a sweet child indeed. The woman also was arrayed in silk, with rings upon her fingers, and golden ornaments suspended from her ears. Her air and manners, the correctness and propriety of her language—all showed, evidently, that she had sometime stood above the common level of a slave. She seemed to be amazed at finding herself in such a place as that. It was plainly a sudden and unexpected turn of fortune that had brought her there. Filling the air with her complainings, she was hustled, with the children and myself, into the cell. Language can convey but an inadequate impression of the lamentations to which she gave incessant utterance. Throwing herself upon the floor, and encircling the children in her arms, she poured forth such touching words as only maternal love and kindness can suggest. They nestled closely to her, as if there only was there any safety or protection. At last they slept, their heads resting upon her lap. While they slumbered, she smoothed the hair back from their little foreheads, and talked to them all night long. She called them her darlings—her sweet babes—poor innocent things, that knew not the misery they were destined to endure. Soon they would have no mother to comfort them—they would be taken from her. What would become of them? Oh! she could not live away from her little Emmy and her dear boy. They had always been good children, and had such loving ways. It would break her heart, God knew, she said, if they were taken from her; and yet she knew they meant to sell them, and, may be, they would be separated, and could never see each other any more. It was enough to melt a heart of stone to listen to the pitiful expressions of that desolate and distracted mother. Her name was Eliza; and this was the story of her life, as she afterwards related it: [Pg 51] [Pg 52] She was the slave of Elisha Berry, a rich man, living in the neighborhood of Washington. She was born, I think she said, on his plantation. Years before, he had fallen into dissipated habits, and quarreled with his wife. In fact, soon after the birth of Randall, they separated. Leaving his wife and daughter in the house they had always occupied, he erected a new one near by, on the estate. Into this house he brought Eliza; and, on condition of her living with him, she and her children were to be emancipated. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 29/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. She resided with him there nine years, with servants to attend upon her, and provided with every comfort and luxury of life. Emily was his child! Finally, her young mistress, who had always remained with her mother at the homestead, married a Mr. Jacob Brooks. At length, for some cause, (as I gathered from her relation,) beyond Berry’s control, a division of his property was made. She and her children fell to the share of Mr. Brooks. During the nine years she had lived with Berry, in consequence of the position she was compelled to occupy, she and Emily had become the object of Mrs. Berry and her daughter’s hatred and dislike. Berry himself she represented as a man of naturally a kind heart, who always promised her that she should have her freedom, and who, she had no doubt, would grant it to her then, if it were only in his power. As soon as they thus came into the possession and control of the daughter, it became very manifest they would not live long together. The sight of Eliza seemed to be odious to Mrs. Brooks; neither could she bear to look upon the child, half-sister, and beautiful as she was! [Pg 53] The day she was led into the pen, Brooks had brought her from the estate into the city, under pretence that the time had come when her free papers were to be executed, in fulfillment of her master’s promise. Elated at the prospect of immediate liberty, she decked herself and little Emmy in their best apparel, and accompanied him with a joyful heart. On their arrival in the city, instead of being baptized into the family of freemen, she was delivered to the trader Burch. The paper that was executed was a bill of sale. The hope of years was blasted in a moment. From the height of most exulting happiness to the utmost depths of wretchedness, she had that day descended. No wonder that she wept, and filled the pen with wailings and expressions of heart-rending woe. Eliza is now dead. Far up the Red River, where it pours its waters sluggishly through the unhealthy low lands of Louisiana, she rests in the grave at last—the only resting place of the poor slave! How all her fears were realized—how she mourned day and night, and never would be comforted—how, as she predicted, her heart did indeed break, with the burden of maternal sorrow, will be seen as the narrative proceeds. [Pg 54] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 30/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CH A P TER I V. ELIZA’S SORROWS—PREPARATION TO EMBARK—DRIVEN THROUGH THE STREETS OF WASHINGTON—HAIL, COLUMBIA—THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON —CLEM RAY—THE BREAKFAST ON THE STEAMER—THE HAPPY BIRDS— AQUIA CREEK—FREDERICKSBURGH—ARRIVAL IN RICHMOND—GOODIN AND HIS SLAVE PEN—ROBERT, OF CINCINNATI—DAVID AND HIS WIFE—MARY AND LETHE—CLEM’S RETURN—HIS SUBSEQUENT ESCAPE TO CANADA—THE BRIG ORLEANS—JAMES H. BURCH. At intervals during the first night of Eliza’s incarceration in the pen, she complained bitterly of Jacob Brooks, her young mistress’ husband. She declared that had she been aware of the deception he intended to practice upon her, he never would have brought her there alive. They had chosen the opportunity of getting her away when Master Berry was absent from the plantation. He had always been kind to her. She wished that she could see him; but she knew that even he was unable now to rescue her. Then would she commence weeping again—kissing the sleeping children—talking first to one, then to the other, as they lay in their unconscious slumbers, with their heads upon her lap. So wore the long night away; and when the morning dawned, and night had come again, still she kept mourning on, and would not be consoled. About midnight following, the cell door opened, and Burch and Radburn entered, with lanterns in their hands. Burch, with an oath, ordered us to roll up our blankets without delay, and get ready to go on board the boat. He swore we would be left unless we hurried fast. He aroused the children from their slumbers with a rough shake, and said they were d—d sleepy, it appeared. Going out into the yard, he called Clem Ray, ordering him to leave the loft and come into the cell, and bring his blanket with him. When Clem appeared, he placed us side by side, and fastened us together with handcuffs—my left hand to his right. John Williams had been taken out a day or two before, his master having redeemed him, greatly to his delight. Clem and I were ordered to march, Eliza and the children following. We were conducted into the yard, from thence into the covered passage, and up a flight of steps through a side door into the upper room, where I had heard the walking to and fro. Its furniture was a stove, a few old chairs, and a long table, covered with papers. It was a white-washed room, without any carpet on the floor, and seemed a sort of office. By one of the windows, I remember, hung a rusty sword, which attracted my attention. Burch’s trunk was there. In obedience to his orders, I took hold of one of its handles with my unfettered hand, while he taking hold of the other, we proceeded out of the front door into the street in the same order as we had left the cell. [Pg 55] It was a dark night. All was quiet. I could see lights, or the reflection of them, over towards Pennsylvania Avenue, but there was no one, not even a straggler, to be seen. I was almost resolved to attempt to break away. Had I not been hand-cuffed the attempt would certainly have been made, whatever consequence might have followed. Radburn was in the rear, carrying a large stick, and hurrying up the children as fast as the little ones could walk. So we passed, hand-cuffed and in silence, through the streets of Washington—through the Capital of a nation, whose theory of government, we are told, rests on the foundation of man’s inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness! Hail! Columbia, happy land, indeed! [Pg 56] Reaching the steamboat, we were quickly hustled into the hold, among barrels and boxes of freight. A colored servant brought a light, the bell rung, and soon the vessel started down the Potomac, carrying us we knew not where. The bell tolled as we file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 31/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. passed the tomb of Washington! Burch, no doubt, with uncovered head, bowed reverently before the sacred ashes of the man who devoted his illustrious life to the liberty of his country. None of us slept that night but Randall and little Emmy. For the first time Clem Ray was wholly overcome. To him the idea of going south was terrible in the extreme. He was leaving the friends and associations of his youth—every thing that was dear and precious to his heart—in all probability never to return. He and Eliza mingled their tears together, bemoaning their cruel fate. For my own part, difficult as it was, I endeavored to keep up my spirits. I resolved in my mind a hundred plans of escape, and fully determined to make the attempt the first desperate chance that offered. I had by this time become satisfied, however, that my true policy was to say nothing further on the subject of my having been born a freeman. It would but expose me to maltreatment, and diminish the chances of liberation. [Pg 57] After sunrise in the morning we were called up on deck to breakfast. Burch took our hand-cuffs off, and we sat down to table. He asked Eliza if she would take a dram. She declined, thanking him politely. During the meal we were all silent—not a word passed between us. A mulatto woman who served at table seemed to take an interest in our behalf—told us to cheer up, and not to be so cast down. Breakfast over, the hand-cuffs were restored, and Burch ordered us out on the stern deck. We sat down together on some boxes, still saying nothing in Burch’s presence. Occasionally a passenger would walk out to where we were, look at us for a while, then silently return. It was a very pleasant morning. The fields along the river were covered with verdure, far in advance of what I had been accustomed to see at that season of the year. The sun shone out warmly; the birds were singing in the trees. The happy birds—I envied them. I wished for wings like them, that I might cleave the air to where my birdlings waited vainly for their father’s coming, in the cooler region of the North. [Pg 58] In the forenoon the steamer reached Aquia Creek. There the passengers took stages— Burch and his five slaves occupying one exclusively. He laughed with the children, and at one stopping place went so far as to purchase them a piece of gingerbread. He told me to hold up my head and look smart. That I might, perhaps, get a good master if I behaved myself. I made him no reply. His face was hateful to me, and I could not bear to look upon it. I sat in the corner, cherishing in my heart the hope, not yet extinct, of some day meeting the tyrant on the soil of my native State. At Fredericksburgh we were transferred from the stage coach to a car, and before dark arrived in Richmond, the chief city of Virginia. At this city we were taken from the cars, and driven through the street to a slave pen, between the railroad depot and the river, kept by a Mr. Goodin. This pen is similar to Williams’ in Washington, except it is somewhat larger; and besides, there were two small houses standing at opposite corners within the yard. These houses are usually found within slave yards, being used as rooms for the examination of human chattels by purchasers before concluding a bargain. Unsoundness in a slave, as well as in a horse, detracts materially from his value. If no warranty is given, a close examination is a matter of particular importance to the negro jockey. We were met at the door of Goodin’s yard by that gentleman himself—a short, fat man, with a round, plump face, black hair and whiskers, and a complexion almost as dark as some of his own negroes. He had a hard, stern look, and was perhaps about fifty years of age. Burch and he met with great cordiality. They were evidently old friends. Shaking each other warmly by the hand, Burch remarked he had brought some company, inquired at what time the brig would leave, and was answered that it would probably leave the next day at such an hour. Goodin then turned to me, took hold of my arm, turned me partly round, looked at me sharply with the air of one who file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 59] 32/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. considered himself a good judge of property, and as if estimating in his own mind about how much I was worth. “Well, boy, where did you come from?” Forgetting myself, for a moment, I answered, “From New-York.” “New-York! H—l! what have you been doing up there?” was his astonished interrogatory. Observing Burch at this moment looking at me with an angry expression that conveyed a meaning it was not difficult to understand, I immediately said, “O, I have only been up that way a piece,” in a manner intended to imply that although I might have been as far as New-York, yet I wished it distinctly understood that I did not belong to that free State, nor to any other. Goodin then turned to Clem, and then to Eliza and the children, examining them severally, and asking various questions. He was pleased with Emily, as was every one who saw the child’s sweet countenance. She was not as tidy as when I first beheld her; her hair was now somewhat disheveled; but through its unkempt and soft profusion there still beamed a little face of most surpassing loveliness. “Altogether we were a fair lot—a devilish good lot,” he said, enforcing that opinion with more than one emphatic adjective not found in the Christian vocabulary. Thereupon we passed into the yard. Quite a number of slaves, as many as thirty I should say, were moving about, or sitting on benches under the shed. They were all cleanly dressed—the men with hats, the women with handkerchiefs tied about their heads. [Pg 60] Burch and Goodin, after separating from us, walked up the steps at the back part of the main building, and sat down upon the door sill. They entered into conversation, but the subject of it I could not hear. Presently Burch came down into the yard, unfettered me, and led me into one of the small houses. “You told that man you came from New-York,” said he. I replied, “I told him I had been up as far as New-York, to be sure, but did not tell him I belonged there, nor that I was a freeman. I meant no harm at all, Master Burch. I would not have said it had I thought.” He looked at me a moment as if he was ready to devour me, then turning round went out. In a few minutes he returned. “If ever I hear you say a word about New-York, or about your freedom, I will be the death of you—I will kill you; you may rely on that,” he ejaculated fiercely. [Pg 61] I doubt not he understood then better than I did, the danger and the penalty of selling a free man into slavery. He felt the necessity of closing my mouth against the crime he knew he was committing. Of course, my life would not have weighed a feather, in any emergency requiring such a sacrifice. Undoubtedly, he meant precisely what he said. Under the shed on one side of the yard, there was constructed a rough table, while overhead were sleeping lofts—the same as in the pen at Washington. After partaking at this table of our supper of pork and bread, I was hand-cuffed to a large yellow man, quite stout and fleshy, with a countenance expressive of the utmost melancholy. He was a man of intelligence and information. Chained together, it was not long before we became acquainted with each other’s history. His name was Robert. Like myself, he had been born free, and had a wife and two children in Cincinnati. He said he had come south with two men, who had hired him in the city of his residence. Without free papers, he had been seized at Fredericksburgh, placed in confinement, and beaten until he had learned, as I had, the necessity and the policy of silence. He had been in Goodin’s pen about three weeks. To this man I became much attached. We could sympathize with, and understand each other. It was with tears and a heavy heart, not file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html [Pg 62] 33/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. many days subsequently, that I saw him die, and looked for the last time upon his lifeless form! Robert and myself, with Clem, Eliza and her children, slept that night upon our blankets, in one of the small houses in the yard. There were four others, all from the same plantation, who had been sold, and were now on their way south, who also occupied it with us. David and his wife, Caroline, both mulattoes, were exceedingly affected. They dreaded the thought of being put into the cane and cotton fields; but their greatest source of anxiety was the apprehension of being separated. Mary, a tall, lithe girl, of a most jetty black, was listless and apparently indifferent. Like many of the class, she scarcely knew there was such a word as freedom. Brought up in the ignorance of a brute, she possessed but little more than a brute’s intelligence. She was one of those, and there are very many, who fear nothing but their master’s lash, and know no further duty than to obey his voice. The other was Lethe. She was of an entirely different character. She had long, straight hair, and bore more the appearance of an Indian than a negro woman. She had sharp and spiteful eyes, and continually gave utterance to the language of hatred and revenge. Her husband had been sold. She knew not where she was. An exchange of masters, she was sure, could not be for the worse. She cared not whither they might carry her. Pointing to the scars upon her face, the desperate creature wished that she might see the day when she could wipe them off in some man’s blood! [Pg 63] While we were thus learning the history of each other’s wretchedness, Eliza was seated in a corner by herself, singing hymns and praying for her children. Wearied from the loss of so much sleep, I could no longer bear up against the advances of that “sweet restorer,” and laying down by the side of Robert, on the floor, soon forgot my troubles, and slept until the dawn of day. In the morning, having swept the yard, and washed ourselves, under Goodin’s superintendence, we were ordered to roll up our blankets, and make ready for the continuance of our journey. Clem Ray was informed that he would go no further, Burch, for some cause, having concluded to carry him back to Washington. He was much rejoiced. Shaking hands, we parted in the slave pen at Richmond, and I have not seen him since. But, much to my surprise, since my return, I learned that he had escaped from bondage, and on his way to the free soil of Canada, lodged one night at the house of my brother-in-law in Saratoga, informing my family of the place and the condition in which he left me. In the afternoon we were drawn up, two abreast, Robert and myself in advance, and in this order, driven by Burch and Goodin from the yard, through the streets of Richmond to the brig Orleans. She was a vessel of respectable size, full rigged, and freighted principally with tobacco. We were all on board by five o’clock. Burch brought us each a tin cup and a spoon. There were forty of us in the brig, being all, except Clem, that were in the pen. [Pg 64] With a small pocket knife that had not been taken from me, I began cutting the initials of my name upon the tin cup. The others immediately flocked round me, requesting me to mark theirs in a similar manner. In time, I gratified them all, of which they did not appear to be forgetful. We were all stowed away in the hold at night, and the hatch barred down. We laid on boxes, or where-ever there was room enough to stretch our blankets on the floor. Burch accompanied us no farther than Richmond, returning from that point to the capital with Clem. Not until the lapse of almost twelve years, to wit, in January last, in the Washington police office, did I set my eyes upon his face again. file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 34/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. James H. Burch was a slave-trader—buying men, women and children at low prices, and selling them at an advance. He was a speculator in human flesh—a disreputable calling—and so considered at the South. For the present he disappears from the scenes recorded in this narrative, but he will appear again before its close, not in the character of a man-whipping tyrant, but as an arrested, cringing criminal in a court of law, that failed to do him justice. [Pg 65] file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 35/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. CH A P TER V. ARRIVAL AT NORFOLK—FREDERICK AND MARIA—ARTHUR, THE FREEMAN— APPOINTED STEWARD—JIM, CUFFEE, AND JENNY—THE STORM—BAHAMA BANKS—THE CALM—THE CONSPIRACY—THE LONG BOAT—THE SMALL-POX —DEATH OF ROBERT—MANNING, THE SAILOR—THE MEETING IN THE FORECASTLE—THE LETTER—ARRIVAL AT NEW-ORLEANS—ARTHUR’S RESCUE—THEOPHILUS FREEMAN, THE CONSIGNEE—PLATT—FIRST NIGHT IN THE NEW-ORLEANS SLAVE PEN. After we were all on board, the brig Orleans proceeded down James River. Passing into Chesapeake Bay, we arrived next day opposite the city of Norfolk. While lying at anchor, a lighter approached us from the town, bringing four more slaves. Frederick, a boy of eighteen, had been born a slave, as also had Henry, who was some years older. They had both been house servants in the city. Maria was a rather genteel looking colored girl, with a faultless form, but ignorant and extremely vain. The idea of going to New-Orleans was pleasing to her. She entertained an extravagantly high opinion of her own attractions. Assuming a haughty mien, she declared to her companions, that immediately on our arrival in New-Orleans, she had no doubt, some wealthy single gentleman of good taste would purchase her at once! But the most prominent of the four, was a man named Arthur. As the lighter approached, he struggled stoutly with his keepers. It was with main force that he was dragged aboard the brig. He protested, in a loud voice, against the treatment he was receiving, and demanded to be released. His face was swollen, and covered with wounds and bruises, and, indeed, one side of it was a complete raw sore. He was forced, with all haste, down the hatchway into the hold. I caught an outline of his story as he was borne struggling along, of which he afterwards gave me a more full relation, and it was as follows: He had long resided in the city of Norfolk, and was a free man. He had a family living there, and was a mason by trade. Having been unusually detained, he was returning late one night to his house in the suburbs of the city, when he was attacked by a gang of persons in an unfrequented street. He fought until his strength failed him. Overpowered at last, he was gagged and bound with ropes, and beaten, until he became insensible. For several days they secreted him in the slave pen at Norfolk—a very common establishment, it appears, in the cities of the South. The night before, he had been taken out and put on board the lighter, which, pushing out from shore, had awaited our arrival. For some time he continued his protestations, and was altogether irreconcilable. At length, however, he became silent. He sank into a gloomy and thoughtful mood, and appeared to be counseling with himself. There was in the man’s determined face, something that suggested the thought of desperation. [Pg 66] [Pg 67] After leaving Norfolk the hand-cuffs were taken off, and during the day we were allowed to remain on deck. The captain selected Robert as his waiter, and I was appointed to superintend the cooking department, and the distribution of food and water. I had three assistants, Jim, Cuffee and Jenny. Jenny’s business was to prepare the coffee, which consisted of corn meal scorched in a kettle, boiled and sweetened with molasses. Jim and Cuffee baked the hoe-cake and boiled the bacon. Standing by a table, formed of a wide board resting on the heads of the barrels, I cut and handed to each a slice of meat and a “dodger” of the bread, and from Jenny’s kettle also dipped out for each a cup of the coffee. The use of plates was dispensed with, and their sable fingers took the place of knives and forks. Jim and Cuffee were very demure and attentive to business, somewhat inflated with their situation as second cooks, and file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 36/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. without doubt feeling that there was a great responsibility resting on them. I was called steward—a name given me by the captain. The slaves were fed twice a day, at ten and five o’clock—always receiving the same kind and quantity of fare, and in the same manner as above described. At night we were driven into the hold, and securely fastened down. Scarcely were we out of sight of land before we were overtaken by a violent storm. The brig rolled and plunged until we feared she would go down. Some were sea-sick, others on their knees praying, while some were fast holding to each other, paralyzed with fear. The sea-sickness rendered the place of our confinement loathsome and disgusting. It would have been a happy thing for most of us—it would have saved the agony of many hundred lashes, and miserable deaths at last—had the compassionate sea snatched us that day from the clutches of remorseless men. The thought of Randall and little Emmy sinking down among the monsters of the deep, is a more pleasant contemplation than to think of them as they are now, perhaps, dragging out lives of unrequited toil. [Pg 68] When in sight of the Bahama Banks, at a place called Old Point Compass, or the Hole in the Wall, we were becalmed three days. There was scarcely a breath of air. The waters of the gulf presented a singularly white appearance, like lime water. In the order of events, I come now to the relation of an occurrence, which I never call to mind but with sensations of regret. I thank God, who has since permitted me to escape from the thralldom of slavery, that through his merciful interposition I was prevented from imbruing my hands in the blood of his creatures. Let not those who have never been placed in like circumstances, judge me harshly. Until they have been chained and beaten—until they find themselves in the situation I was, borne away from home and family towards a land of bondage—let them refrain from saying what they would not do for liberty. How far I should have been justified in the sight of God and man, it is unnecessary now to speculate upon. It is enough to say that I am able to congratulate myself upon the harmless termination of an affair which threatened, for a time, to be attended with serious results. Towards evening, on the first day of the calm, Arthur and myself were in the bow of the vessel, seated on the windlass. We were conversing together of the probable destiny that awaited us, and mourning together over our misfortunes. Arthur said, and I agreed with him, that death was far less terrible than the living prospect that was before us. For a long time we talked of our children, our past lives, and of the probabilities of escape. Obtaining possession of the brig was suggested by one of us. We discussed the possibility of our being able, in such an event, to make our way to the harbor of NewYork. I knew little of the compass; but the idea of risking the experiment was eagerly entertained. The chances, for and against us, in an encounter with the crew, was canvassed. Who could be relied upon, and who could not, the proper time and manner of the attack, were all talked over and over again. From the moment the plot suggested itself I began to hope. I revolved it constantly in my mind. As difficulty after difficulty arose, some ready conceit was at hand, demonstrating how it could be overcome. While others slept, Arthur and I were maturing our plans. At length, with much caution, Robert was gradually made acquainted with our intentions. He approved of them at once, and entered into the conspiracy with a zealous spirit. There was not another slave we dared to trust. Brought up in fear and ignorance as they are, it can scarcely be conceived how servilely they will cringe before a white man’s look. It was not safe to deposit so bold a secret with any of them, and finally we three resolved to take upon ourselves alone the fearful responsibility of the attempt. [Pg 69] [Pg 70] At night, as has been said, we were driven into the hold, and the hatch barred down. How to reach the deck was the first difficulty that presented itself. On the bow of the file:///Users/ronavsubedi/Downloads/pg45631-h/pg45631-images.html 37/157 4/15/24, 12:11 AM Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup—A Project Gutenberg eBook. brig, however, I had observed the small boat lying bottom upwards. It occurred to me that by secreting ourselves underneath it, we would not be missed from the crowd, as they were hurried down into the hold…

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