Twelve Years a Slave Solomon Northup (android e book reader .txt) 📖

any other place in the company of Master Tibeats. I labored hard, and ofttimes was weary and fatigued, yet I could lie down at night in peace, and arise in the morning without fear.

In the course of a fortnight, four black girls came down from Eldret’s plantation⁠—Charlotte, Fanny, Cresia and Nelly. They were all large and stout. Axes were put into their hands, and they were sent out with Sam and myself to cut trees. They were excellent choppers, the largest oak or sycamore standing but a brief season before their heavy and well-directed blows. At piling logs, they were equal to any man. There are lumberwomen as well as lumbermen in the forests of the South. In fact, in the region of the Bayou Boeuf they perform their share of all the labor required on the plantation. They plough, drag, drive team, clear wild lands, work on the highway, and so forth. Some planters, owning large cotton and sugar plantations, have none other than the labor of slave women. Such a one is Jim Burns, who lives on the north shore of the bayou, opposite the plantation of John Fogaman.

On our arrival in the brake, Eldret promised me, if I worked well, I might go up to visit my friends at Ford’s in four weeks. On Saturday night of the fifth week, I reminded him of his promise, when he told me I had done so well, that I might go. I had set my heart upon it, and Eldret’s announcement thrilled me with pleasure. I was to return in time to commence the labors of the day on Tuesday morning.

While indulging the pleasant anticipation of so soon meeting my old friends again, suddenly the hateful form of Tibeats appeared among us. He inquired how Myers and Platt got along together, and was told, very well, and that Platt was going up to Ford’s plantation in the morning on a visit.

“Poh, poh!” sneered Tibeats; “it isn’t worth while⁠—the nigger will get unsteady. He can’t go.”

But Eldret insisted I had worked faithfully⁠—that he had given me his promise, and that, under the circumstances, I ought not to be disappointed. They then, it being about dark, entered one cabin and I the other. I could not give up the idea of going; it was a sore disappointment. Before morning I resolved, if Eldret made no objection, to leave at all hazards. At daylight I was at his door, with my blanket rolled up into a bundle, and hanging on a stick over my shoulder, waiting for a pass. Tibeats came out presently in one of his disagreeable moods, washed his face, and going to a stump near by, sat down upon it, apparently busily thinking with himself. After standing there a long time, impelled by a sudden impulse of impatience, I started off.

“Are you going without a pass?” he cried out to me.

“Yes, master, I thought I would,” I answered.

“How do you think you’ll get there?” demanded he.

“Don’t know,” was all the reply I made him.

“You’d be taken and sent to jail, where you ought to be, before you got halfway there,” he added, passing into the cabin as he said it. He came out soon with the pass in his hand, and calling me a “d⁠⸺⁠d nigger that deserved a hundred lashes,” threw it on the ground. I picked it up, and hurried away right speedily.

A slave caught off his master’s plantation without a pass, may be seized and whipped by any white man whom he meets. The one I now received was dated, and read as follows:

“Platt has permission to go to Ford’s plantation, on Bayou Boeuf, and return by Tuesday morning.

John M. Tibeats.”

This is the usual form. On the way, a great many demanded it, read it, and passed on. Those having the air and appearance of gentlemen, whose dress indicated the possession of wealth, frequently took no notice of me whatever; but a shabby fellow, an unmistakable loafer, never failed to hail me, and to scrutinize and examine me in the most thorough manner. Catching runaways is sometimes a moneymaking business. If, after advertising, no owner appears, they may be sold to the highest bidder; and certain fees are allowed the finder for his services, at all events, even if reclaimed. “A mean white,” therefore⁠—a name applied to the species loafer⁠—considers it a godsend to meet an unknown negro without a pass.

There are no inns along the highways in that portion of the state where I sojourned. I was wholly destitute of money, neither did I carry any provisions, on my journey from the Big Cane to Bayou Boeuf; nevertheless, with his pass in his hand, a slave need never suffer from hunger or from thirst. It is only necessary to present it to the master or overseer of a plantation, and state his wants, when he will be sent round to the kitchen and provided with food or shelter, as the case may require. The traveler stops at any house and calls for a meal with as much freedom as if it was a public tavern. It is the general custom of the country. Whatever their faults may be, it is certain the inhabitants along Red River, and around the bayous in the interior of Louisiana are not wanting in hospitality.

I arrived at Ford’s plantation towards the close of the afternoon, passing the evening in Eliza’s cabin, with Lawson, Rachel, and others of my acquaintance. When we left Washington Eliza’s form was round and plump. She stood erect, and in her silks and jewels, presented a picture of graceful strength and elegance. Now she was but a thin shadow of her former self. Her face had become ghastly haggard, and the once straight and active form was bowed down, as if bearing the weight of a hundred years. Crouching on her cabin floor, and clad in the coarse garments of a slave, old Elisha Berry would not have recognized the mother of his child.