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

knew there was a land of freedom. A thousand times she had heard that somewhere in the distant North there were no slaves⁠—no masters. In her imagination it was an enchanted region, the Paradise of the earth. To dwell where the black man may work for himself⁠—live in his own cabin⁠—till his own soil, was a blissful dream of Patsey’s⁠—a dream, alas! the fulfillment of which she can never realize.

The effect of these exhibitions of brutality on the household of the slaveholder, is apparent. Epps’ oldest son is an intelligent lad of ten or twelve years of age. It is pitiable, sometimes, to see him chastising, for instance, the venerable Uncle Abram. He will call the old man to account, and if in his childish judgment it is necessary, sentence him to a certain number of lashes, which he proceeds to inflict with much gravity and deliberation. Mounted on his pony, he often rides into the field with his whip, playing the overseer, greatly to his father’s delight. Without discrimination, at such times, he applies the rawhide, urging the slaves forward with shouts, and occasional expressions of profanity, while the old man laughs, and commends him as a thoroughgoing boy.

“The child is father to the man,” and with such training, whatever may be his natural disposition, it cannot well be otherwise than that, on arriving at maturity, the sufferings and miseries of the slave will be looked upon with entire indifference. The influence of the iniquitous system necessarily fosters an unfeeling and cruel spirit, even in the bosoms of those who, among their equals, are regarded as humane and generous.

Young Master Epps possessed some noble qualities, yet no process of reasoning could lead him to comprehend, that in the eye of the Almighty there is no distinction of color. He looked upon the black man simply as an animal, differing in no respect from any other animal, save in the gift of speech and the possession of somewhat higher instincts, and, therefore, the more valuable. To work like his father’s mules⁠—to be whipped and kicked and scourged through life⁠—to address the white man with hat in hand, and eyes bent servilely on the earth, in his mind, was the natural and proper destiny of the slave. Brought up with such ideas⁠—in the notion that we stand without the pale of humanity⁠—no wonder the oppressors of my people are a pitiless and unrelenting race.

XIX

Avery, of 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 faith in him.

In the month of June, 1852, in pursuance of a previous contract, Mr. Avery, a carpenter of Bayou Rouge, commenced the erection of a house for Master Epps. It has previously been stated that there are no cellars on Bayou Boeuf; on the other hand, such is the low and swampy nature of the ground, the great houses are usually built upon spiles. Another peculiarity is, the rooms are not plastered, but the ceiling and sides are covered with matched cypress boards, painted such color as most pleases the owner’s taste. Generally the plank and boards are sawed by slaves with whipsaws, there being no waterpower upon which mills might be built within many miles. When the planter erects for himself a dwelling, therefore, there is plenty of extra work for his slaves. Having had some experience under Tibeats as a carpenter, I was taken from the field altogether, on the arrival of Avery and his hands.

Among them was one to whom I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Only for him, in all probability, I should have ended my days in slavery. He was my deliverer⁠—a man whose true heart overflowed with noble and generous emotions. To the last moment of my existence I shall remember him with feelings of thankfulness. His name was Bass, and at that time he resided in Marksville. It will be difficult to convey a correct impression of his appearance or character. He was a large man, between forty and fifty years old, of light complexion and light hair. He was very cool and self-possessed, fond of argument, but always speaking with extreme deliberation. He was that kind of person whose peculiarity of manner was such that nothing he uttered ever gave offence. What would be intolerable, coming from the lips of another, could be said by him with impunity. There was not a man on Red River, perhaps, that agreed with him on the subject of politics or religion, and not a man, I venture to say, who discussed either of those subjects half as much. It seemed to be taken for granted that he would espouse the unpopular side of every local question, and it always created amusement rather than displeasure among his auditors, to listen to the ingenious and original manner in which he maintained the controversy. He was a bachelor⁠—an “old bachelor,” according to the true acceptation of the term⁠—having no kindred living, as he knew of, in the world. Neither had he any permanent abiding place⁠—wandering from one state to another, as his fancy dictated. He had lived in Marksville three or four years, and in the prosecution of his business as a carpenter; and in consequence, likewise, of his peculiarities, was quite extensively known throughout the parish of Avoyelles. He was liberal to a fault; and his many acts of kindness and transparent goodness of heart rendered him popular in the community, the sentiment of which he unceasingly combated.

He was a native of Canada, from whence he had wandered in early life, and after visiting all the principal localities in the northern and western states, in the course of his