Twelve Years a Slave
thoughts that thronged through my distracted brain--I will not attempt
to give expression to. Suffice it to say, during the whole long day I
came not to the conclusion, even once, that the southern slave, fed,
clothed, whipped and protected by his master, is happier than the
free colored citizen of the North. To that conclusion I have never
since arrived. There are many, however, even in the Northern States,
benevolent and well-disposed men, who will pronounce my opinion
erroneous, and gravely proceed to substantiate the assertion with an
argument. Alas! they have never drunk, as I have, from the bitter cup
of slavery. Just at sunset my heart leaped with unbounded joy, as Ford
came riding into the yard, his horse covered with foam. Chapin met him
at the door, and after conversing a short time, he walked directly to
me.
"Poor Platt, you are in a bad state," was the only expression that
escaped his lips.
"Thank God!" said I, "thank God, Master Ford, that you have come at
last."
Drawing a knife from his pocket, he indignantly cut the cord from
my wrists, arms, and ankles, and slipped the noose from my neck.
I attempted to walk, but staggered like a drunken man, and fell
partially to the ground.
Ford returned immediately to the house, leaving me alone again. As
he reached the piazza, Tibeats and his two friends rode up. A long
dialogue followed. I could hear the sound of their voices, the mild
tones of Ford mingling with the angry accents of Tibeats, but was
unable to distinguish what was said. Finally the three departed again,
apparently not well pleased.
I endeavored to raise the hammer, thinking to show Ford how willing I
was to work, by proceeding with my labors on the weaving house, but
it fell from my nerveless hand. At dark I crawled into the cabin, and
laid down. I was in great misery--all sore and swollen--the slightest
movement producing excruciating suffering. Soon the hands came in
from the field. Rachel, when she went after Lawson, had told them
what had happened. Eliza and Mary broiled me a piece of bacon, but my
appetite was gone. Then they scorched some corn meal and made coffee.
It was all that I could take. Eliza consoled me and was very kind.
It was not long before the cabin was full of slaves. They gathered
round me, asking many questions about the difficulty with Tibeats in
the morning--and the particulars of all the occurrences of the day.
Then Rachel came in, and in her simple language, repeated it over
again--dwelling emphatically on the kick that sent Tibeats rolling
over on the ground--whereupon there was a general titter throughout
the crowd. Then she described how Chapin walked out with his pistols
and rescued me, and how Master Ford cut the ropes with his knife, just
as if he was mad.
By this time Lawson had returned. He had to regale them with an
account of his trip to the Pine Woods--how the brown mule bore him
faster than a "streak o'lightnin"--how he astonished everybody as he
flew along--how Master Ford started right away--how he said Platt was
a good nigger, and they shouldn't kill him, concluding with pretty
strong intimations that there was not another human being in the wide
world, who could have created such a universal sensation on the road,
or performed such a marvelous John Gilpin feat, as he had done that
day on the brown mule.
The kind creatures loaded me with the expression of their
sympathy--saying, Tibeats was a hard, cruel man, and hoping "Massa
Ford" would get me back again. In this manner they passed the time,
discussing, chatting, talking over and over again the exciting affair,
until suddenly Chapin presented himself at the cabin door and called
me.
"Platt," said he, "you will sleep on the floor in the great house
to-night; bring your blanket with you."
I arose as quickly as I was able, took my blanket in my hand, and
followed him. On the way he informed me that he should not wonder
if Tibeats was back again before morning--that he intended to kill
me--and that he did not mean he should do it without witnesses. Had he
stabbed me to the heart in the presence of a hundred slaves, not one
of them, by the laws of Louisiana, could have given evidence against
him. I laid down on the floor in the "great house"--the first and
the last time such a sumptuous resting place was granted me during
my twelve years of bondage--and tried to sleep. Near midnight the
dog began to bark. Chapin arose, looked from the window, but could
discover nothing. At length the dog was quiet. As he returned to his
room, he said,
"I believe, Platt, that scoundrel is skulking about the premises
somewhere. If the dog barks again, and I am sleeping, wake me."
I promised to do so. After the lapse of an hour or more, the dog
re-commenced his clamor, running towards the gate, then back again,
all the while barking furiously.
Chapin was out of bed without waiting to be called. On this occasion,
he stepped forth upon the piazza, and remained standing there a
considerable length of time. Nothing, however, was to be seen, and
the dog returned to his kennel. We were not disturbed again during
the night. The excessive pain that I suffered, and the dread of
some impending danger, prevented any rest whatever. Whether or not
Tibeats did actually return to the plantation that night, seeking an
opportunity to wreak his vengeance upon me, is a secret known only
to himself, perhaps. I thought then, however, and have the strong
impression still, that he was there. At all events, he had the
disposition of an assassin--cowering before a brave man's words, but
ready to strike his helpless or unsuspecting victim in the back, as I
had reason afterwards to know.
At daylight in the morning, I arose, sore and weary, having rested
little. Nevertheless, after partaking breakfast, which Mary and Eliza
had prepared for me in the cabin, I proceeded to the weaving house
and commenced the labors of another day. It was Chapin's practice, as
it is the practice of overseers generally, immediately on arising,
to bestride his horse, always saddled and bridled and ready for
him--the particular business of some slave--and ride into the field.
This morning, on the contrary, he came to the weaving house, asking
if I had seen anything of Tibeats yet. Replying in the negative, he
remarked there was something not right about the fellow--there was bad
blood in him--that I must keep a sharp watch of him, or he would do me
wrong some day when I least expected it.
While he was yet speaking, Tibeats rode in, hitched his horse, and
entered the house. I had little fear of him while Ford and Chapin were
at hand, but they could not be near me always.
Oh! how heavily the weight of slavery pressed upon me then. I must
toil day after day, endure abuse and taunts and scoffs, sleep on
the hard ground, live on the coarsest fare, and not only this, but
live the slave of a blood-seeking wretch, of whom I must stand
henceforth in continued fear and dread. Why had I not died in my young
years--before God had given me children to love and live for? What
unhappiness and suffering and sorrow it would have prevented. I sighed
for liberty; but the bondman's chain was round me, and could not be
shaken off. I could only gaze wistfully towards the North, and think
of the thousands of miles that stretched between me and the soil of
freedom, over which a _black_ freeman may not pass.
Tibeats, in the course of half an hour, walked over to the
weaving-house, looked at me sharply, then returned without saying
anything. Most of the forenoon he sat on the piazza, reading a
newspaper and conversing with Ford. After dinner, the latter left for
the Pine Woods, and it was indeed with regret that I beheld him depart
from the plantation.
Once more during the day Tibeats came to me, gave me some order, and
returned.
During the week the weaving-house was completed--Tibeats in the
meantime making no allusion whatever to the difficulty--when I was
informed he had hired me to Peter Tanner, to work under another
carpenter by the name of Myers. This announcement was received with
gratification, as any place was desirable that would relieve me of his
hateful presence.
Peter Tanner, as the reader has already been informed, lived on the
opposite shore, and was the brother of Mistress Ford. He is one of the
most extensive planters on Bayou Boeuf, and owns a large number of
slaves.
Over I went to Tanner's, joyfully enough. He had heard of my late
difficulties--in fact, I ascertained the flogging of Tibeats was
soon blazoned far and wide. This affair, together with my rafting
experiment, had rendered me somewhat notorious. More than once I
heard it said that Platt Ford, now Platt Tibeats--a slave's name
changes with his change of master--was "a devil of a nigger." But I
was destined to make a still further noise, as will presently be seen,
throughout the little world of Bayou Boeuf.
Peter Tanner endeavored to impress upon me the idea that he was quite
severe, though I could perceive there was a vein of good humor in the
old fellow, after all.
"You're the nigger," he said to me on my arrival--"You're the nigger
that flogged your master, eh? You're the nigger that kicks, and holds
carpenter Tibeats by the leg, and wallops him, are ye? I'd like to see
you hold me by the leg--I should. You're a 'portant character--you're
a great nigger--very remarkable nigger, ain't ye? _I'd_ lash
you--_I'd_ take the tantrums out of ye. Jest take hold of my leg, if
you please. None of your pranks here, my boy, remember _that_. Now
go to work, you _kickin'_ rascal," concluded Peter Tanner, unable to
suppress a half-comical grin at his own wit and sarcasm.
After listening to this salutation, I was taken charge of by Myers,
and labored under his direction for a month, to his and my own
satisfaction.
Like William Ford, his brother-in-law, Tanner was in the habit of
reading the Bible to his slaves on the Sabbath, but in a somewhat
different spirit. He was an impressive commentator on the New
Testament. The first Sunday after my coming to the plantation, he
called them together, and began to read the twelfth chapter of Luke.
When he came to the 47th verse, he looked deliberately around him,
and continued--"And that servant which knew his lord's _will_,"--here
he paused, looking around more deliberately than before, and again
proceeded--"which knew his lord's _will_, and _prepared_ not
himself"--here was another pause--"_prepared_ not himself, neither did
_according_ to his will, shall be beaten with many _stripes_."
"D'ye hear that?" demanded Peter, emphatically. "_Stripes_,"
he repeated, slowly and distinctly, taking off his spectacles,
preparatory to making a few remarks.
"That nigger that don't take care--that don't obey his lord--that's
his master--d'ye see?--that _'ere_ nigger shall be beaten with many
stripes. Now, 'many' signifies a _great_ many--forty, a hundred, a
hundred and fifty lashes. _That's_ Scripter!" and so Peter continued
to elucidate the subject for a great length of time, much to the
edification of his sable audience.
At the conclusion of the exercises, calling up three of his slaves,
Warner, Will and Major, he cried out to me--
"Here, Platt, you held Tibeats by the legs; now I'll see if you can
hold these rascals in the same way, till I get back from meetin'."
Thereupon he ordered them to the stocks--a common thing on plantations
in the Red River country. The stocks are formed of two planks, the
lower one made fast at the ends to two short posts, driven firmly
into the ground. At regular distances half circles are cut in the
upper edge. The other plank is fastened to one of the posts by a
hinge, so that it can be opened or shut down, in the same manner as