CHAPTER III.

by Solomon Northup

　　CHAPTER III.PAINFUL MEDITATIONS JAMES H. BUKCH — WILLIAMS' SLAVE PEN INWASHINGTON THE LACKEY, RADEURN ASSERT MY FREEDOM THEANGER OF THE TRADER THE PADDLE AND CAT-o'-NINETAILS THEWHIPPING XP? ACQUAINTANCES RAY, WILLIAMS, AND RANDALL — ■ARRIVAL OF LITTLE EMILY AND HER MOTHER IN THE PEN MATERNALSORROWS THE STORY OF ELIZA.Some three hours elapsed, during which time I re-mained seated on the low bench, absorbed in painfulmeditations. At length I heard the crowing of acock, and soon a distant rumbling sound, as of car-riages hurrying through the streets, came to my ears,and I knew that it was day. No ray of light, how-ever, penetrated my prison. Finally, I heard foot-steps immediately overhead, as of some one walkingto and fro. It occurred to me then that I must bein an underground apartment, and the damp, mouldyodors of the place confirmed the supposition. Thenoise above continued for at least an hour, when,at last, 1 heard footsteps approaching from without.A key rattled in the lock — a strong door swung backupon its hinges, admitting a flood of light, and twomen entered and stood before me. One of them wasa large, powerful man, forty years of age, perhaps,

　　BUECH, THE SLAVE DEALEK. 41 with dark, cliestimt-colored hair, slightly interspersedwith gray. His face was full, his complexion flush,his features grossly coarse, expressive of nothing butcruelty and cunning. He was about five feet teninches high, of full habit, and, without prejudice, Imust be allowed to say, was a man whose whole ap-pearance was sinister and repugnant. His name wasJames H. Burch, as I learned afterwards — a well-known slave-dealer in Washington ; and then, or late-ly, connected in business, as a partner, with Theophi-lus Freeman, of ISTew- Orleans. The person whoaccompanied him was a simple lackey, named Ebe-nezer Radburn, who acted merely in the capacity ofturnkey. Both of these men still live in "Washington,or did, at the time of my return through that cityfrom slavery in January last.The light admitted through the open door enabledme to observe the room in which I was confined. Itwas about twelve feet square — the walls of solid ma-sonry. The floor was of heavy plank. There wasone small window, crossed with great iron bars, withan outside shutter, securely fastened.An iron-bound door led into an adjoining cell, orvault, wholly destitute of windows, or any means ofadmitting light. The furniture of the room in whichI was, consisted of the wooden bench on which I sat,an old-fashioned, dirty box stove, and besides these,in either cell, there was neither bed, nor blanket, norany other thing whatever. The door, through which

　　42 TWELVE TEARS A SLAVE.Burcli and Radburn entered, led tlirougli a smallpassage, up a flight of steps into a yard, surroundedby a brick wall ten or twelve feet high, immediatelyin rear of a building of tlie same width as itself.The yard extended rearward from the house aboutthirty feet. In one part of the wall there was astrongly ironed door, opening into a narrow, coveredpassage, leading along one side of the house into thestreet. The doom of the colored man, upon whomthe door leading out of that narrow passage closed,was sealed. The top of the wall supported one endof a roof, which ascended inwards, forming a kind ofopen shed. Underneath the roof there was a crazyloft all round, where slaves, if so disposed, mightsleep at night, or in inclement weather seek shelterfrom the storm. It was like a farmer's barnyard inmost respects, save it was so constructed that the out-side world could never see the human cattle that wereherded there.The building to which the yard was attached, wastwo stories high, fronting on one of the public streetsof Washington. Its outside presented only the ap-pearance of a quiet private residence. A strangerlooking at it, would never have dreamed of its exe-crable uses. Strange as it may seem, within plainsight of this same house, looking down from its com-manding height upon it, was the Capitol. The voicesof patriotic representatives boasting of freedom andequality, and the rattling of the poor slave's chains,

　　ASSERT MY FREEDOM. 43almost commingled. A slave pen within the vervshadow of the Capitol !Such is a correct description as it was in 1841, ofWilliams' slave pen in Washington, in one of the eellars of which I found myself so unaccountably con-fined." Well, my boy, how do you feel now ?" saidBurch, as he entered through the open door. I re-plied that I was sick, and inquired the cause of myimprisonment. He answered that I was his slave —that he had bought me, and that he was about to sendme to New-Orleans. I asserted, aloud and boldly,that I was a free man — a resident of Saratoga, whereI had a wife and children, who were also free, andthat my name was Northup. I complained bitterlyof the strange treatment I had received, and threat-ened, upon my liberation, to have satisfaction for thewrong. He denied that I was free, and with an em-phatic oath, declared that I came from Georgia.Again and again I asserted I was no man's slave, andinsisted upon his taking off my chains at once. Heendeavored to hush me, as if he feared my voicewould be overheard. But I would not be silent, anddenounced the authors of my imprisonment, whoeverthey might be, as unmitigated villains. Finding hecould not quiet me, he flew into a towering passion.With blasphemous oaths, he called me a black liar, arunaway from Georgia, and every other profane and

　　4A: TWELVE TEAKS A SLAVE.vulgar epithet that the most indecent fancy couldconceive.During this time Badburn was standing silentlyby. His business was, to oversee this human, orrather inhuman stable, receiving slaves, feeding andwhipping them, at the rate of two shillings a headper day. Turning to him, Burch ordered the paddleand cat-o'-ninetails to be brought in. He disappear-ed, and in a few moments returned with these in-struments of torture. The paddle, as it is termed inslave-beating parlance, or at least the one with which Ifirst became acquainted, and of which I now speak, wasa piece of hard-wood board, eighteen or twenty incheslong, moulded to the shape of an old-fashioned puddingstick, or ordinary oar. The flattened portion, whichwas about the size in circumference of two openhands, was bored with a small auger in numerousplaces. The cat was a large rope of many strands —the strands unraveled, and a knot tied at the extrem-ity of each.As soon as these formidable whips appeared, I wasseized by both of them, and roughly divested of myclothing. My feet, as has been stated, were fastenedto the floor. Drawing me over the bench, face down-wards, Badburn placed his heavy foot upon the fet-ters, between my wrists, holding them painfully to thefloor. With the paddle, Burch commenced beatingme. Blow after blow was inflicted upon my nakedbody. When his unrelenting arm grew tired, he

　　SCENE IN THE SLAVE PEN AT WASHINGTON.

　　THE WHIPPING. 45stopped and asked if I still insisted I was a free man.I did insist upon it, and then the blows were renewed,faster and more energetically, if possible, than before."When again tired, he would repeat the same question,and receiving the same answer, continue his cruellabor. All this time, the incarnate devil was utter-ing most fiendish oaths. At length the paddle broke,leaving; the useless handle in his hand. Still I wouldnot yield. All his brutal blows could not force frommy lips the foul lie that I was a slave. Casting mad-ly on the floor the handle of the broken paddle, heseized the rope. This was far more painful than theother. I struggled with all my power, but it was invain. I prayed for mercy, but my prayer was onlyanswered with imprecations and with stripes. Ithought I must die beneath the lashes of the accursedbrute. Even now the flesh crawls upon my bones, asI recall the scene. I was all on fire. My sufferingsI can compare to nothing else than the burning ago-nies of hell !At last I became silent to his repeated questions.I would make no reply. In fact, I was becoming al-most unable to speak. Still he plied the lash withoutstint upon my poor body, until it seemed that thelacerated flesh was stripped from my bones at everystroke. A man with a particle of mercy in his soulwould not have beaten even a dog so cruelly. Atlength Ivadbum said that it was useless to whipme any more — that I would be sore enough. There-upon, Burch desisted, saying, with an admonitory

　　46 TWELVE TEAES A SLAVE.shake of his fist in my face, and hissing the wordsthrough his firm-set teeth, that if ever I dared toutter again that I was entitled to my freedom, that Ihad been kidnapped, or any thing whatever of thekind, the castigation I had just received was nothingin comparison with what would follow. He sworethat he would either conquer or kill me. "With theseconsolatory words, the fetters were taken from mywrists, my feet still remaining fastened to the ring ;the shutter of the little barred window, which hadbeen opened, was again closed, and going out, lock-ing the great door behind them, I was left in dark-ness as before.In an hour, perhaps two, my heart leaped to mythroat, as the key rattled in the door again. I, whohad been so lonely, and who had longed so ar-dently to see some one, I cared not who, now shud-dered at the thought of man's approach. A humanface was fearful to me, especially a white one. Rad-burn entered, bringing with him, on a tin plate, apiece of shriveled fried pork, a slice of bread and acup of water. He asked me how I felt, and remark-ed that I had received a pretty severe flogging. Heremonstrated with me against the propriety of as-serting my freedom. In rather a patronizing andconfidential manner, he gave it to me as his advice,that the less I said on that subject the better it wouldbe for me. The man evidently endeavored to appearkind — whether touched at the.sight of my sad condi-tion, or with the view of silencing, on my part, any

　　THE WHIPPING. 47furtlier expression of my rights, it is not necessarynow to conjecture. He unlocked the fetters from myankles, opened the shutters of the little window, anddeparted, leaving me again alone.By this time I had become stiff and sore ; my"body was covered with blisters, and it was with greatpain and difficulty that I could move. From thewindow I could observe nothing but the roof restingon the adjacent wall. At night I laid down upon thedamp, hard floor, without any pillow or coveringwhatever. Punctually, twice a day, Eadburn camein, with his pork, and bread, and water. I had butlittle appetite, though I was tormented with contin-ual thirst. My wounds would not permit me to re-main but a few minutes in any one position ; so, sit-ting, or standing, or moving slowly round, I passedthe days and nights. I was heart sick and discour-aged. Thoughts of my family, of my wife and chil-dren, continually occupied my mind. .When sleepoverpowered me I dreamed of them — dreamed I wasagain in Saratoga — that I could see their faces, andhear their voices calling me. Awakening from thepleasant phantasms of sleep to the bitter realitiesaround me, I could but groan and weep. Still myspirit was not broken. I indulged the anticipation ofescape, and that speedily. It was impossible, I rea-soned, that men could be so unjust as to detain me asa slave, when the truth of my case was known.Burch, ascertaining I was no runaway from Georgia,would certainly let me go. Though suspicions of

　　48 TWELVE YEARS A STAVE.Brown and Hamilton were not unfrequent, I couldnot reconcile myself to the idea that they were in-strumental to my imprisonment. Surely they wouldseek me out — they would deliver me from thraldom.Alas ! I had not then learned the measure of " man'sinhumanity to man," nor to what limitless extent of'wickedness he will go for the love of gain.In the course of several days the outer door wasthrown open, allowing me the liberty of the yard.There I found three slaves ■ — one of them a lad of tenyears, the others young men of about twenty andtwenty-five. I was not long in forming an acquaint-ance, and learning their names and the particulars oftheir history.The eldest was a c olored man named Clemens R ay.He had lived in Washington ; had driven a hack, anclworked in a livery stable there for a long time. Hewas very intelligent, and fully comprehended his sit-uation. The thought of going south overwhelmedhim with grief. Bnrch had purchased him a fewdays before, and had placed him there until such timeas he was ready to send him to the ISTew-Orleans market. From him I learned for the first time that I wasin William's Slave Pen t a place I had never heard ofpreviously. He described to me the uses for whichit was designed. I repeated to him the particulars ofmy unhappy story, but lie could only give me theconsolation of his sympathy. He also advised me tobe silent henceforth on the subject of my freedom;for, knowing the character of Burch, he assured me

　　RAY, WILLIAMS AND KAJSTDALL. 49that it would only be attended with renewed whip-ping. The next elde st jvas named John "Williams. Hewas raised in Virginia, not far from Washington.Burch had taken him in payment of a debt, and hoconstantly entertained the hope that his master wouldredeem him — a hope that was subsequently realized.1^ )9. lfl.^j x vfls a sprightly child, that answered to thename o f Randall . Most of the time he was playingabout the yard, but occasionally would cry, callingfor his mother, and wondering when she would come.His mother's absence seemed to be the great and onlygrief in his little heart. He was too young to realizehis condition, and when the memory of his motherwas not in his mind, he amused us with his pleasantpranks.At night, Kay, Williams, and the boy, slept in theloft of the shed, while I was locked in the cell. Fi-nally we were each provided with blankets, such asare used upon horses — the only bedding I was allow-ed to have for twelve years afterwards. Ray andWilliams asked me many questions about Kew-York— how colored people were treated there ; how theycould have homes and families of their own, with noneto disturb and oppress them ; and Ray, especially,sighed continually for freedom. Such conversations,however, were not in the hearing of Burch, or thekeeper Eadburn. Aspirations such as these wouldhave brought down the lash upon our backs.It is necessary in this narrative, in order to presenta full and truthful statement of all the principal events

　　SO TWELVE YEAES A SLAVE.in the history of my lii'e, and to portray the institution of Slavery as I have seen and known it, to speakof well-known places, and of many persons who areyet living. I am, and always was, an entire strangerin Washington and its vicinity — aside from Burchand Radburn, knowing no man there, except as I haveheard of them through my enslaved companions."What I am about to say, if false, can be easily con-tradicted.I remained in Williams' slave pen abont twoweeks. The night previous to my departure a womanwas brought in, weeping bitterly, and leading by thehand a little child. They were Randall's mother andhalf-sister. On meeting them he was overjoyed,clinging to her dress, kissing the child, and exhibit-ing every demonstration of delight. The mother alsoclasped him in her arms, embraced him tenderly, andgazed at him fondly through her tears, calling him bymany an endearing name.Emily, the child, was seven or eight years old, oflight complexion, and w T ith a face of admirable beau-ty. Her hair fell in curls around her neck, while thestyle and richness of her dress, and the neatness ofher whole appearance indicated she had been broughtup in the midst of wealth. She was a sweet childindeed. The woman also was arrayed in silk, withrings upon her fingers, and golden ornaments sus-pended from her ears. Her air and manners, the cor-rectness and propriety of her language — all showed,evidently, that she had sometime stood above the

　　MATERNAL SORROWS. 51common level of a slave. She seemed to "be amazedat finding herself in such a place as that. It wasplainly a suclden^and unexpected turn of fortune thathad brouo'ht her there. Filling the air with her com-plainings, she was hustled, with the children and my-self, into the cell. Language can convey but an inad-equate impression of the lamentations to which shegave incessant utterance. Throwing herself upon thefloor, and encircling the children in her arms, shepoured forth such touching words as only maternallove and kindness can suggest. They nestled closelyto her, as if there only was there any safety or pro-tection. At last they slept, their heads resting uponher lap. While they slumbered, she smoothed thehair back from their little foreheads, and talked tothem all night long. She called them her darlings —her sweet babes — poor innocent things, that knewnot the misery they were destined to endure. Soonthey would have no mother to comfort them — theywould be taken from her. "What would become ofthem ? Oh ! she could not live away from her littleEmmy and her dear boy. They had always beengood children, and had such loving ways. It wouldbreak her heart, God knew, she said, if they were ta-ken from her ; and yet she knew they meant to sellthem, and, may be, they would be separated, andcould never see each other any more. It was enoughto melt a heart of stone to listen to the pitiful ex-pressions of that desolate and distracted mother. Her

　　52 TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE.name was Eliz a ; and tins was the story of her life, asshe afterwards related it :She was th e slave of Elisha "Berrv L a rich man, liv-ing in the neighborhood of "Washington. She wasborn, I think she said, on his plantation. Years be-fore, he had fallen into dissipated habits, and quarrel-ed with his wife. In fact, soon after the birth ofRandall, they separated. Leaving his wife and daugh-ter in the house they had always occupied, he erecteda new one near by, on the estate. Into this house hebrought Eliza ; and, on condition of her living withhim, she and her children were to be emancipated.She resided with him there nine years, with servantsto attend upon her, and provided with every comfortand luxury of life. Emily was his child ! Finally,her young mistress, who had always remained withher mother at the homestead, married a Mr. JacobBrooks. At length, for some cause, (as I gatheredfrom her relation,) beyond Berry's control, a divisionof his property was made. She and her children fellto the share of Mr. Brooks. During the nine yearsshe had lived with Berry, in consequence of the posi-tion she was compelled to occupy, she and Emily hadbecome the object of Mrs. Berry and her daughter'shatred and dislike. Berry himself she represented asa man of naturally a kind heart, who always promis-ed her that she should have her freedom, and who,she had no doubt, would grant it to her then, if itwere only in his power. As soon as they thus came

　　THE STORY OF ELIZA. 53into the possession and control of the daughter, it be-came very manifest they would not live long together.The sight of Eliza seemed to be odious to Mrs. Brooks ;neither could she bear to look upon the child, half-sister, and beautiful as she was !The day she was led into the pen, Brooks hadbrought her from the estate into the city, under pre-tence that the time had come when her free paperswere to be executed, in fulfillment of her master'spromise. Elated at the prospect of immediate liber-ty, she decked herself and little Emmy in their bestapparel, and accompanied him with a joyful heart.On their arrival in the city, instead of being baptizedinto the family of freemen, she was delivered to thet vridnr "Ryiriih . The paper that was executed was abill of sale. The hope of years was blasted in a mo-ment. From the hight of most exulting happinessto the utmost depths of wretchedness, she had thatday descended. No wonder that she wept, and filledthe pen with wailings and expressions of heart-rend-ing woe.Eliza is now dead. Far up the Red River, whereit pours its waters sluggishly through the unhealthylow lands of Louisiana, she rests in the grave at last —the only resting place of the poor slave ! How all herfears were realized — how she mourned day and night,and never would be comforted' — how, as she predict-ed, her heart did indeed break, with the burden ofmaternal sorrow, will be seen as the narrative pro-ceeds.