Twelve Years a Slave
bullet-headed, cotton-picking niggers--if she was might he be d--d.
When Eliza heard Freeman's determination not to part with Emily, she
became absolutely frantic.
"I will _not_ go without her. They shall _not_ take her from me," she
fairly shrieked, her shrieks commingling with the loud and angry voice
of Freeman, commanding her to be silent.
Meantime Harry and myself had been to the yard and returned with our
blankets, and were at the front door ready to leave. Our purchaser
stood near us, gazing at Eliza with an expression indicative of regret
at having bought her at the expense of so much sorrow. We waited some
time, when, finally, Freeman, out of patience, tore Emily from her
mother by main force, the two clinging to each other with all their
might.
"Don't leave me, mama--don't leave me," screamed the child, as its
mother was pushed harshly forward; "Don't leave me--come back, mama,"
she still cried, stretching forth her little arms imploringly. But
she cried in vain. Out of the door and into the street we were
quickly hurried. Still we could hear her calling to her mother,
"Come back--don't leave me--come back, mama," until her infant voice
grew faint and still more faint, and gradually died away, as distance
intervened, and finally was wholly lost.
Eliza never after saw or heard of Emily or Randall. Day nor night,
however, were they ever absent from her memory. In the cotton field,
in the cabin, always and everywhere, she was talking of them--often
_to_ them, as if they were actually present. Only when absorbed
in that illusion, or asleep, did she ever have a moment's comfort
afterwards.
She was no common slave, as has been said. To a large share of natural
intelligence which she possessed, was added a general knowledge and
information on most subjects. She had enjoyed opportunities such as
are afforded to very few of her oppressed class. She had been lifted
up into the regions of a higher life. Freedom--freedom for herself
and for her offspring, for many years had been her cloud by day, her
pillar of fire by night. In her pilgrimage through the wilderness of
bondage, with eyes fixed upon that hope-inspiring beacon, she had
at length ascended to "the top of Pisgah," and beheld "the land of
promise." In an unexpected moment she was utterly overwhelmed with
disappointment and despair. The glorious vision of liberty faded from
her sight as they led her away into captivity. Now "she weepeth sore
in the night, and tears are on her cheeks: all her friends have dealt
treacherously with her: they have become her enemies."
CHAPTER VII.
THE STEAMBOAT RODOLPH--DEPARTURE FROM NEW-ORLEANS--WILLIAM
FORD--ARRIVAL AT ALEXANDRIA, ON RED RIVER--RESOLUTIONS--THE GREAT
PINE WOODS--WILD CATTLE--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.
On leaving the New-Orleans slave pen, Harry and I followed our new
master through the streets, while Eliza, crying and turning back, was
forced along by Freeman and his minions, until we found ourselves on
board the steamboat Rodolph, then lying at the levee. In the course
of half an hour we were moving briskly up the Mississippi, bound for
some point on Red River. There were quite a number of slaves on board
beside ourselves, just purchased in the New-Orleans market. I remember
a Mr. Kelsow, who was said to be a well known and extensive planter,
had in charge a gang of women.
Our master's name was William Ford. He resided then in the "Great Pine
Woods," in the parish of Avoyelles, situated on the right bank of
Red River, in the heart of Louisiana. He is now a Baptist preacher.
Throughout the whole parish of Avoyelles, and especially along both
shores of Bayou Boeuf, where he is more intimately known, he is
accounted by his fellow-citizens as a worthy minister of God. In many
northern minds, perhaps, the idea of a man holding his brother man
in servitude, and the traffic in human flesh, may seem altogether
incompatible with their conceptions of a moral or religious life. From
descriptions of such men as Burch and Freeman, and others hereinafter
mentioned, they are led to despise and execrate the whole class of
slaveholders, indiscriminately. But I was sometime his slave, and
had an opportunity of learning well his character and disposition,
and it is but simple justice to him when I say, in my opinion, there
never was a more kind, noble, candid, Christian man than William
Ford. The influences and associations that had always surrounded him,
blinded him to the inherent wrong at the bottom of the system of
Slavery. He never doubted the moral right of one man holding another
in subjection. Looking through the same medium with his fathers
before him, he saw things in the same light. Brought up under other
circumstances and other influences, his notions would undoubtedly
have been different. Nevertheless, he was a model master, walking
uprightly, according to the light of his understanding, and fortunate
was the slave who came to his possession. Were all men such as he,
Slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness.
We were two days and three nights on board the steamboat Rodolph,
during which time nothing of particular interest occurred. I was
now known as Platt, the name given me by Burch, and by which I was
designated through the whole period of my servitude. Eliza was sold by
the name of "Dradey." She was so distinguished in the conveyance to
Ford, now on record in the recorder's office in New-Orleans.
On our passage I was constantly reflecting on my situation, and
consulting with myself on the best course to pursue in order to
effect my ultimate escape. Sometimes, not only then, but afterwards,
I was almost on the point of disclosing fully to Ford the facts of my
history. I am inclined now to the opinion it would have resulted in
my benefit. This course was often considered, but through fear of its
miscarriage, never put into execution, until eventually my transfer
and his pecuniary embarrassments rendered it evidently unsafe.
Afterwards, under other masters, unlike William Ford, I knew well
enough the slightest knowledge of my real character would consign me
at once to the remoter depths of Slavery. I was too costly a chattel
to be lost, and was well aware that I would be taken farther on,
into some by-place, over the Texan border, perhaps, and sold; that I
would be disposed of as the thief disposes of his stolen horse, if
my right to freedom was even whispered. So I resolved to lock the
secret closely in my heart--never to utter one word or syllable as to
who or what I was--trusting in Providence and my own shrewdness for
deliverance.
At length we left the steamboat Rodolph at a place called Alexandria,
several hundred miles from New-Orleans. It is a small town on the
southern shore of Red River. Having remained there over night, we
entered the morning train of cars, and were soon at Bayou Lamourie, a
still smaller place, distant eighteen miles from Alexandria. At that
time it was the termination of the railroad. Ford's plantation was
situated on the Texas road, twelve miles from Lamourie, in the Great
Pine Woods. This distance, it was announced to us, must be traveled on
foot, there being public conveyances no farther. Accordingly we all
set out in the company of Ford. It was an excessively hot day. Harry,
Eliza, and myself were yet weak, and the bottoms of our feet were
very tender from the effects of the small-pox. We proceeded slowly,
Ford telling us to take our time and sit down and rest whenever we
desired--a privilege that was taken advantage of quite frequently.
After leaving Lamourie and crossing two plantations, one belonging to
Mr. Carnell, the other to a Mr. Flint, we reached the Pine Woods, a
wilderness that stretches to the Sabine River.
The whole country about Red River is low and marshy. The Pine Woods,
as they are called, is comparatively upland, with frequent small
intervals, however, running through them. This upland is covered with
numerous trees--the white oak, the chincopin, resembling chestnut,
but principally the yellow pine. They are of great size, running up
sixty feet, and perfectly straight. The woods were full of cattle,
very shy and wild, dashing away in herds, with a loud snuff, at our
approach. Some of them were marked or branded, the rest appeared
to be in their wild and untamed state. They are much smaller than
northern breeds, and the peculiarity about them that most attracted my
attention was their horns. They stand out from the sides of the head
precisely straight, like two iron spikes.
At noon we reached a cleared piece of ground containing three or four
acres. Upon it was a small, unpainted, wooden house, a corn crib, or,
as we would say, a barn, and a log kitchen, standing about a rod from
the house. It was the summer residence of Mr. Martin. Rich planters,
having large establishments on Bayou Boeuf, are accustomed to spend
the warmer season in these woods. Here they find clear water and
delightful shades. In fact, these retreats are to the planters of that
section of the country what Newport and Saratoga are to the wealthier
inhabitants of northern cities.
We were sent around into the kitchen, and supplied with sweet
potatoes, corn-bread, and bacon, while Master Ford dined with Martin
in the house. There were several slaves about the premises. Martin
came out and took a look at us, asking Ford the price of each, if we
were green hands, and so forth, and making inquiries in relation to
the slave market generally.
After a long rest we set forth again, following the Texas road, which
had the appearance of being very rarely traveled. For five miles we
passed through continuous woods without observing a single habitation.
At length, just as the sun was sinking in the west, we entered another
opening, containing some twelve or fifteen acres.
In this opening stood a house much larger than Mr. Martin's. It was
two stories high, with a piazza in front. In the rear of it was also a
log kitchen, poultry house, corncribs, and several negro cabins. Near
the house was a peach orchard, and gardens of orange and pomegranate
trees. The space was entirely surrounded by woods, and covered with
a carpet of rich, rank verdure. It was a quiet, lonely, pleasant
place--literally a green spot in the wilderness. It was the residence
of my master, William Ford.
As we approached, a yellow girl--her name was Rose--was standing on
the piazza. Going to the door, she called her mistress, who presently
came running out to meet her lord. She kissed him, and laughingly
demanded if he had bought "those niggers." Ford said he had, and told
us to go round to Sally's cabin and rest ourselves. Turning the corner
of the house, we discovered Sally washing--her two baby children near
her, rolling on the grass. They jumped up and toddled towards us,
looked at us a moment like a brace of rabbits, then ran back to their
mother as if afraid of us.
Sally conducted us into the cabin, told us to lay down our bundles
and be seated, for she was sure that we were tired. Just then John,
the cook, a boy some sixteen years of age, and blacker than any crow,
came running in, looked steadily in our faces, then turning round,
without saying as much as "how d'ye do," ran back to the kitchen,
laughing loudly, as if our coming was a great joke indeed.
Much wearied with our walk, as soon as it was dark, Harry and I