Twelve Years a Slave
"As sure as I live, Master Bass," I replied, "I have been there. I
have been in Montreal and Kingston, and Queenston, and a great many
places in Canada, and I have been in York State, too--in Buffalo, and
Rochester, and Albany, and can tell you the names of the villages on
the Erie canal and the Champlain canal."
Bass turned round and gazed at me a long time without uttering a
syllable.
"How came you here?" he inquired, at length. "Master Bass," I
answered, "if justice had been done, I never would have been here."
"Well, how's this?" said he. "Who are you? You have been in Canada
sure enough; I know all the places you mention. How did you happen to
get here? Come, tell me all about it."
"I have no friends here," was my reply, "that I can put confidence in.
I am afraid to tell you, though I don't believe you would tell Master
Epps if I should."
He assured me earnestly he would keep every word I might speak to
him a profound secret, and his curiosity was evidently strongly
excited. It was a long story, I informed him, and would take some
time to relate it. Master Epps would be back soon, but if he would
see me that night after all were asleep, I would repeat it to him. He
consented readily to the arrangement, and directed me to come into
the building where we were then at work, and I would find him there.
About midnight, when all was still and quiet, I crept cautiously from
my cabin, and silently entering the unfinished building, found him
awaiting me.
After further assurances on his part that I should not be betrayed,
I began a relation of the history of my life and misfortunes. He
was deeply interested, asking numerous questions in reference to
localities and events. Having ended my story I besought him to
write to some of my friends at the North, acquainting them with my
situation, and begging them to forward free papers, or take such steps
as they might consider proper to secure my release. He promised to do
so, but dwelt upon the danger of such an act in case of detection,
and now impressed upon me the great necessity of strict silence and
secresy. Before we parted our plan of operation was arranged.
We agreed to meet the next night at a specified place among the high
weeds on the bank of the bayou, some distance from master's dwelling.
There he was to write down on paper the names and address of several
persons, old friends in the North, to whom he would direct letters
during his next visit to Marksville. It was not deemed prudent to
meet in the new house, inasmuch as the light it would be necessary to
use might possibly be discovered. In the course of the day I managed
to obtain a few matches and a piece of candle, unperceived, from the
kitchen, during a temporary absence of Aunt Phebe. Bass had pencil and
paper in his tool chest.
At the appointed hour we met on the bayou bank, and creeping among
the high weeds, I lighted the candle, while he drew forth pencil and
paper and prepared for business. I gave him the names of William
Perry, Cephas Parker and Judge Marvin, all of Saratoga Springs,
Saratoga county, New-York. I had been employed by the latter in the
United States Hotel, and had transacted business with the former to a
considerable extent, and trusted that at least one of them would be
still living at that place. He carefully wrote the names, and then
remarked, thoughtfully--
"It is so many years since you left Saratoga, all these men may be
dead, or may have removed. You say you obtained papers at the custom
house in New-York. Probably there is a record of them there, and I
think it would be well to write and ascertain."
I agreed with him, and again repeated the circumstances related
heretofore, connected with my visit to the custom house with Brown
and Hamilton. We lingered on the bank of the bayou an hour or more,
conversing upon the subject which now engrossed our thoughts. I
could no longer doubt his fidelity, and freely spoke to him of the
many sorrows I had borne in silence, and so long. I spoke of my wife
and children, mentioning their names and ages, and dwelling upon the
unspeakable happiness it would be to clasp them to my heart once
more before I died. I caught him by the hand, and with tears and
passionate entreaties implored him to befriend me--to restore me to my
kindred and to liberty--promising I would weary Heaven the remainder
of my life with prayers that it would bless and prosper him. In the
enjoyment of freedom--surrounded by the associations of youth, and
restored to the bosom of my family--that promise is not yet forgotten,
nor shall it ever be so long as I have strength to raise my imploring
eyes on high.
"Oh, blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair,
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there."
He overwhelmed me with assurances of friendship and faithfulness,
saying he had never before taken so deep an interest in the fate of
any one. He spoke of himself in a somewhat mournful tone, as a lonely
man, a wanderer about the world--that he was growing old, and must
soon reach the end of his earthly journey, and lie down to his final
rest without kith or kin to mourn for him, or to remember him--that
his life was of little value to himself, and henceforth should be
devoted to the accomplishment of my liberty, and to an unceasing
warfare against the accursed shame of Slavery.
After this time we seldom spoke to, or recognized each other. He was,
moreover, less free in his conversation with Epps on the subject
of Slavery. The remotest suspicion that there was any unusual
intimacy--any secret understanding between us--never once entered the
mind of Epps, or any other person, white or black, on the plantation.
I am often asked, with an air of incredulity, how I succeeded so many
years in keeping from my daily and constant companions the knowledge
of my true name and history. The terrible lesson Burch taught me,
impressed indelibly upon my mind the danger and uselessness of
asserting I was a freeman. There was no possibility of any slave being
able to assist me, while, on the other hand, there _was_ a possibility
of his exposing me. When it is recollected the whole current of my
thoughts, for twelve years, turned to the contemplation of escape, it
will not be wondered at, that I was always cautious and on my guard.
It would have been an act of folly to have proclaimed my _right_ to
freedom; it would only have subjected me to severer scrutiny--probably
have consigned me to some more distant and inaccessible region than
even Bayou Boeuf. Edwin Epps was a person utterly regardless of a
black man's rights or wrongs--utterly destitute of any natural sense
of justice, as I well knew. It was important, therefore, not only as
regarded my hope of deliverance, but also as regarded the few personal
privileges I was permitted to enjoy, to keep from him the history of
my life.
The Saturday night subsequent to our interview at the water's edge,
Bass went home to Marksville. The next day, being Sunday, he employed
himself in his own room writing letters. One he directed to the
Collector of Customs at New-York, another to Judge Marvin, and another
to Messrs. Parker and Perry jointly. The latter was the one which led
to my recovery. He subscribed my true name, but in the postscript
intimated I was not the writer. The letter itself shows that he
considered himself engaged in a dangerous undertaking--no less than
running "the risk of his life, if detected." I did not see the letter
before it was mailed, but have since obtained a copy, which is here
inserted:
"Bayou Boeuf, August 15, 1852.
"Mr. WILLIAM PERRY or Mr. CEPHAS PARKER:
"Gentlemen--It having been a long time since I have seen or
heard from you, and not knowing that you are living, it is with
uncertainty that I write to you, but the necessity of the case
must be my excuse.
"Having been born free, just across the river from you, I am
certain you must know me, and I am here now a slave. I wish you to
obtain free papers for me, and forward them to me at Marksville,
Louisiana, Parish of Avoyelles, and oblige
"Yours, SOLOMON NORTHUP.
"The way I came to be a slave, I was taken sick in Washington
City, and was insensible for some time. When I recovered my
reason, I was robbed of my free-papers, and in irons on my way to
this State, and have never been able to get any one to write for
me until now; and he that is writing for me runs the risk of his
life if detected."
The allusion to myself in the work recently issued, entitled "A Key to
Uncle Tom's Cabin," contains the first part of this letter, omitting
the postscript. Neither are the full names of the gentlemen to whom
it is directed correctly stated, there being a slight discrepancy,
probably a typographical error. To the postscript more than to the
body of the communication am I indebted for my liberation, as will
presently be seen.
When Bass returned from Marksville he informed me of what he had done.
We continued our midnight consultations, never speaking to each other
through the day, excepting as it was necessary about the work. As
nearly as he was able to ascertain, it would require two weeks for the
letter to reach Saratoga in due course of mail, and the same length of
time for an answer to return. Within six weeks, at the farthest, we
concluded, an answer would arrive, if it arrived at all. A great many
suggestions were now made, and a great deal of conversation took place
between us, as to the most safe and proper course to pursue on receipt
of the free papers. They would stand between him and harm, in case we
were overtaken and arrested leaving the country altogether. It would
be no infringement of law, however much it might provoke individual
hostility, to assist a freeman to regain his freedom.
At the end of four weeks he was again at Marksville, but no answer
had arrived. I was sorely disappointed, but still reconciled myself
with the reflection that sufficient length of time had not yet
elapsed--that there might have been delays--and that I could not
reasonably expect one so soon. Six, seven, eight, and ten weeks passed
by, however, and nothing came. I was in a fever of suspense whenever
Bass visited Marksville, and could scarcely close my eyes until his
return. Finally my master's house was finished, and the time came when
Bass must leave me. The night before his departure I was wholly given
up to despair. I had clung to him as a drowning man clings to the
floating spar, knowing if it slips from his grasp he must forever sink
beneath the waves. The all-glorious hope, upon which I had laid such
eager hold, was crumbling to ashes in my hands. I felt as if sinking
down, down, amidst the bitter waters of Slavery, from the unfathomable
depths of which I should never rise again.
The generous heart of my friend and benefactor was touched with pity
at the sight of my distress. He endeavored to cheer me up, promising
to return the day before Christmas, and if no intelligence was
received in the meantime, some further step would be undertaken to
effect our design. He exhorted me to keep up my spirits--to rely upon
his continued efforts in my behalf, assuring me, in most earnest and
impressive language, that my liberation should, from thenceforth, be
the chief object of his thoughts.
In his absence the time passed slowly indeed. I looked forward to
Christmas with intense anxiety and impatience. I had about given up
the expectation of receiving any answer to the letters. They might
have miscarried, or might have been misdirected. Perhaps those at
Saratoga, to whom they had been addressed, were all dead; perhaps,