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

he would have saved him the trouble of taking me back to New York; that he would have run me into the swamp, or some other place out of the way, where all the sheriffs on earth couldn’t have found me.

I walked out into the yard, and was entering the kitchen door, when something struck me in the back. Aunt Phebe, emerging from the back door of the great house with a pan of potatoes, had thrown one of them with unnecessary violence, thereby giving me to understand that she wished to speak to me a moment confidentially. Running up to me, she whispered in my ear with great earnestness,

“Lor a’ mity, Platt! what d’ye think? Dem two men come after ye. Heard ’em tell massa you free⁠—got wife and tree children back thar whar you come from. Goin’ wid ’em? Fool if ye don’t⁠—wish I could go,” and Aunt Phebe ran on in this manner at a rapid rate.

Presently Mistress Epps made her appearance in the kitchen. She said many things to me, and wondered why I had not told her who I was. She expressed her regret, complimenting me by saying she had rather lose any other servant on the plantation. Had Patsey that day stood in my place, the measure of my mistress’ joy would have overflowed. Now there was no one left who could mend a chair or a piece of furniture⁠—no one who was of any use about the house⁠—no one who could play for her on the violin⁠—and Mistress Epps was actually affected to tears.

Epps had called to Bob to bring up his saddle horse. The other slaves, also, overcoming their fear of the penalty, had left their work and come to the yard. They were standing behind the cabins, out of sight of Epps. They beckoned me to come to them, and with all the eagerness of curiosity, excited to the highest pitch, conversed with and questioned me. If I could repeat the exact words they uttered, with the same emphasis⁠—if I could paint their several attitudes, and the expression of their countenances⁠—it would be indeed an interesting picture. In their estimation, I had suddenly arisen to an immeasurable height⁠—had become a being of immense importance.

The legal papers having been served, and arrangements made with Epps to meet them the next day at Marksville, Northup and the sheriff entered the carriage to return to the latter place. As I was about mounting to the driver’s seat, the sheriff said I ought to bid Mr. and Mrs. Epps goodbye. I ran back to the piazza where they were standing, and taking off my hat, said,

“Goodbye, missis.”

“Goodbye, Platt,” said Mrs. Epps, kindly.

“Goodbye, master.”

“Ah! you d⁠⸺⁠d nigger,” muttered Epps, in a surly, malicious tone of voice, “you needn’t feel so cussed tickled⁠—you ain’t gone yet⁠—I’ll see about this business at Marksville tomorrow.”

I was only a “nigger” and knew my place, but felt as strongly as if I had been a white man, that it would have been an inward comfort, had I dared to have given him a parting kick. On my way back to the carriage, Patsey ran from behind a cabin and threw her arms about my neck.

“Oh! Platt,” she cried, tears streaming down her face, “you’re goin’ to be free⁠—you’re goin’ way off yonder where we’ll neber see ye any more. You’ve saved me a good many whippins, Platt; I’m glad you’re goin’ to be free⁠—but oh! de Lord, de Lord! what’ll become of me?”

I disengaged myself from her, and entered the carriage. The driver cracked his whip and away we rolled. I looked back and saw Patsey, with drooping head, half reclining on the ground; Mrs. Epps was on the piazza; Uncle Abram, and Bob, and Wiley, and Aunt Phebe stood by the gate, gazing after me. I waved my hand, but the carriage turned a bend of the bayou, hiding them from my eyes forever.

We stopped a moment at Carey’s sugar house, where a great number of slaves were at work, such an establishment being a curiosity to a northern man. Epps dashed by us on horseback at full speed⁠—on the way, as we learned next day, to the “Pine Woods,” to see William Ford, who had brought me into the country.

Tuesday, the fourth of January, Epps and his counsel, the Hon. H. Taylor, Northup, Waddill, the judge and sheriff of Avoyelles, and myself, met in a room in the village of Marksville. Mr. Northup stated the facts in regard to me, and presented his commission, and the affidavits accompanying it. The sheriff described the scene in the cotton field. I was also interrogated at great length. Finally, Mr. Taylor assured his client that he was satisfied, and that litigation would not only be expensive, but utterly useless. In accordance with his advice, a paper was drawn up and signed by the proper parties, wherein Epps acknowledged he was satisfied of my right to freedom, and formally surrendered me to the authorities of New York. It was also stipulated that it be entered of record in the recorder’s office of Avoyelles.3

Mr. Northup and myself immediately hastened to the landing, and taking passage on the first steamer that arrived, were soon floating down Red River, up which, with such desponding thoughts, I had been borne twelve years before.

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.

As the steamer glided on its way towards New Orleans, perhaps I was not happy⁠—perhaps there was no difficulty in restraining myself from dancing round the deck⁠—perhaps I did not feel grateful to the man who had come so many hundred miles for me⁠—perhaps I did not light his pipe, and wait and watch his word, and run at his slightest bidding.