Chapter 13
THE CURIOUS AXE-HELVE—SYMPTOMS OF APPROACHING ILLNESS—CONTINUE TO DECLINE—THE WHIP INEFFECTUAL—CONFINED TO THE CABIN—VISIT BY DR. WINES—PARTIAL RECOVERY—FAILURE AT COTTON PICKING—WHAT MAY BE HEARD ON EPPS' PLANTATION—LASHES GRADUATED—EPPS IN A WHIPPING MOOD—EPPS IN A DANCING MOOD—DESCRIPTION OF THE DANCE—LOSS OF REST NO EXCUSE—EPPS' CHARACTERISTICS—JIM BURNS REMOVAL FROM HUFF POWER TO BAYOU BŒUF—DESCRIPTION OF UNCLE ABRAM; OF WILEY; OF AUNT PHEBE; OF BOB, HENRY, AND EDWARD; OF PATSEY; WITH A GENEALOGICAL ACCOUNT OF EACH—SOMETHING OF THEIR PAST HISTORY, AND PECULIAR CHARACTERISTICS—JEALOUSY AND LUST—PATSEY, THE VICTIM.
THE UNUSUAL AXE HANDLE. SIGNS OF APPROACHING ILLNESS. MY HEALTH CONTINUES TO DECLINE. THE WHIP DOES NO GOOD. CONFINED TO THE CABIN. A VISIT FROM DR. WINES. PARTIAL RECOVERY. FAILURE AT PICKING COTTON. WHAT MAY BE HEARD ON EPPS' PLANTATION. LASHES MEASURED OUT. EPPS IN A WHIPPING MOOD. EPPS IN A DANCING MOOD. DESCRIPTION OF THE DANCE. LOSS OF SLEEP IS NO EXCUSE. EPPS' CHARACTERISTICS. JIM BURNS' MOVE FROM HUFF POWER TO BAYOU BŒUF. DESCRIPTIONS OF UNCLE ABRAM, WILEY, AUNT PHEBE, BOB, HENRY, EDWARD, AND PATSEY, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF EACH ONE'S FAMILY. SOMETHING OF THEIR PASTS AND DISTINCTIVE CHARACTERISTICS. JEALOUSY AND LUST. PATSEY, THE VICTIM.
On my arrival at Master Epps', in obedience to his order, the first business upon which I entered was the making of an axe-helve. The handles in use there are simply a round, straight stick. I made a crooked one, shaped like those to which I had been accustomed at the North. When finished, and presented to Epps, he looked at it with astonishment, unable to determine exactly what it was. He had never before seen such a handle, and when I explained its conveniences, he was forcibly struck with the novelty of the idea. He kept it in the house a long time, and when his friends called, was wont to exhibit it as a curiosity.
When I arrived at Master Epps', he ordered me to make an axe handle, and that was my first task. The handles used there were simply round, straight sticks. I made a curved one, shaped like the handles I was used to in the North. When I finished it, I showed it to Epps. He looked at it in amazement, unable to tell exactly what it was. He had never seen such a handle before. When I explained its advantages, he was struck by how new the idea was. He kept the handle in the house for a long time. Whenever his friends visited, he would show it to them as a curiosity.
It was now the season of hoeing. I was first sent into the corn-field, and afterwards set to scraping cotton. In this employment I remained until hoeing time was nearly passed, when I began to experience the symptoms of approaching illness. I was attacked with chills, which were succeeded by a burning fever. I became weak and emaciated, and frequently so dizzy that it caused me to reel and stagger like a drunken man. Nevertheless, I was compelled to keep up my row. When in health I found little difficulty in keeping pace with my fellow-laborers, but now it seemed to be an utter impossibility. Often I fell behind, when the driver's lash was sure to greet my back, infusing into my sick and drooping body a little temporary energy. I continued to decline until at length the whip became entirely ineffectual. The sharpest sting of the rawhide could not arouse me. Finally, in September, when the busy season of cotton picking was at hand, I was unable to leave my cabin. Up to this time I had received no medicine, nor any attention from my master or mistress. The old cook visited me occasionally, preparing me corn-coffee, and sometimes boiling a bit of bacon, when I had grown too feeble to accomplish it myself.
It was now hoeing season. I was first sent into the cornfield, then assigned to scrape weeds from around the cotton. I worked at this until hoeing season was nearly over, when I began to feel ill. I had chills, followed by a burning fever. I grew weak and thin, and often became so dizzy that I reeled and staggered like a drunk man. Still, I was forced to keep up with my row. When I was healthy, I had little trouble keeping pace with the other workers. Now it seemed impossible. I often fell behind, and the driver would strike my back with his whip. The blows gave my sick, failing body a little temporary energy. I kept getting worse, until finally the whip had no effect at all. Even the sharpest sting of the rawhide could not rouse me. Finally, in September, as the busy cotton-picking season approached, I could not leave my cabin. Until then, I had received no medicine or attention from my master or mistress. The old cook visited me occasionally and made me corn-coffee. Sometimes she boiled a bit of bacon for me when I had grown too weak to do it myself.
When it was said that I would die, Master Epps, unwilling to bear the loss, which the death of an animal worth a thousand dollars would bring upon him, concluded to incur the expense of sending to Holmesville for Dr. Wines. He announced to Epps that it was the effect of the climate, and there was a probability of his losing me. He directed me to eat no meat, and to partake of no more food than was absolutely necessary to sustain life. Several weeks elapsed, during which time, under the scanty diet to which I was subjected, I had partially recovered. One morning, long before I was in a proper condition to labor, Epps appeared at the cabin door, and, presenting me a sack, ordered me to the cotton field. At this time I had had no experience whatever in cotton picking. It was an awkward business indeed. While others used both hands, snatching the cotton and depositing it in the mouth of the sack, with a precision and dexterity that was incomprehensible to me, I had to seize the boll with one hand, and deliberately draw out the white, gushing blossom with the other.
When Epps was told that I would die, he decided to pay to send for Dr. Wines in Holmesville. He was unwilling to bear the loss of an animal worth a thousand dollars. Dr. Wines told Epps that my illness was caused by the climate and that he might lose me. He told me to eat no meat and only enough food to keep me alive. Several weeks passed, and I had partly recovered on this meager diet. One morning, long before I was fit to work, Epps appeared at the cabin door. He handed me a sack and ordered me to the cotton field. I had never picked cotton before, and I found it very awkward. The others used both hands to snatch the cotton and drop it into the open sack. Their precision and skill were beyond my understanding. I had to hold the boll with one hand and carefully pull out the white, bursting blossom with the other.
Depositing the cotton in the sack, moreover, was a difficulty that demanded the exercise of both hands and eyes. I was compelled to pick it from the ground where it would fall, nearly as often as from the stalk where it had grown. I made havoc also with the branches, loaded with the yet unbroken bolls, the long, cumbersome sack swinging from side to side in a manner not allowable in the cotton field. After a most laborious day I arrived at the gin-house with my load. When the scale determined its weight to be only ninety-five pounds, not half the quantity required of the poorest picker, Epps threatened the severest flogging, but in consideration of my being a "raw hand," concluded to pardon me on that occasion. The following day, and many days succeeding, I returned at night with no better success—I was evidently not designed for that kind of labor. I had not the gift—the dexterous fingers and quick motion of Patsey, who could fly along one side of a row of cotton, stripping it of its undefiled and fleecy whiteness miraculously fast. Practice and whipping were alike unavailing, and Epps, satisfied of it at last, swore I was a disgrace—that I was not fit to associate with a cotton-picking "nigger"—that I could not pick enough in a day to pay the trouble of weighing it, and that I should go into the cotton field no more. I was now employed in cutting and hauling wood, drawing cotton from the field to the gin-house, and performed whatever other service was required. Suffice to say, I was never permitted to be idle.
Putting the cotton in the sack was also difficult. It took both hands and eyes. I had to pick it up from the ground nearly as often as I picked it from the stalks. I also damaged the branches, which were loaded with unopened bolls. The long, awkward sack swung from side to side in a way that was not allowed in the cotton field. After a very hard day, I arrived at the gin-house with my load. The scale showed that it weighed only ninety-five pounds, less than half what was required of the poorest picker. Epps threatened to give me the severest flogging, but he decided to pardon me that time because I was a "raw hand." The next day, and for many days afterward, I returned at night with no better results. Clearly, I was not made for that kind of work. I did not have Patsey’s gift, her skillful fingers and quick movements. She could fly along one side of a row of cotton, stripping its clean, fluffy whiteness away with miraculous speed. Neither practice nor whipping helped. Epps finally saw this and swore I was a disgrace. He said I was not fit to associate with a cotton-picking "nigger." He said I could not pick enough in a day to make it worth weighing. He also said I would not go into the cotton field again. I was then put to work cutting and hauling wood, carrying cotton from the field to the gin-house, and doing whatever else was required. It is enough to say that I was never allowed to be idle.
It was rarely that a day passed by without one or more whippings. This occurred at the time the cotton was weighed. The delinquent, whose weight had fallen short, was taken out, stripped, made to lie upon the ground, face downwards, when he received a punishment proportioned to his offence. It is the literal, unvarnished truth, that the crack of the lash, and the shrieking of the slaves, can be heard from dark till bed time, on Epps' plantation, any day almost during the entire period of the cotton-picking season.
Rarely did a day pass without one or more whippings. They took place when the cotton was weighed. A slave whose cotton weighed too little was taken out, stripped, and made to lie face down on the ground. The slave was then punished according to the offense. It is the plain, unvarnished truth that the crack of the lash and the shrieks of the slaves can be heard on Epps' plantation from dark until bedtime. This happens almost every day throughout the cotton-picking season.
The number of lashes is graduated according to the nature of the case. Twenty-five are deemed a mere brush, inflicted, for instance, when a dry leaf or piece of boll is found in the cotton, or when a branch is broken in the field; fifty is the ordinary penalty following all delinquencies of the next higher grade; one hundred is called severe: it is the punishment inflicted for the serious offence of standing idle in the field; from one hundred and fifty to two hundred is bestowed upon him who quarrels with his cabin-mates, and five hundred, well laid on, besides the mangling of the dogs, perhaps, is certain to consign the poor, unpitied runaway to weeks of pain and agony.
The number of lashes depends on the nature of the offense. Twenty-five are regarded as a mere brushing. This punishment is given, for example, when a dry leaf or piece of cotton boll is found in the cotton, or when a branch is broken in the field. Fifty lashes are the usual penalty for all offenses of the next higher grade. One hundred are called severe. That is the punishment for the serious offense of standing idle in the field. A person who quarrels with his cabin mates receives from one hundred and fifty to two hundred lashes. A runaway may be mauled by dogs and is sure to receive five hundred lashes, delivered with force. The poor runaway, pitied by no one, is sure to spend weeks in pain and agony.
During the two years Epps remained on the plantation at Bayou Huff Power, he was in the habit, as often as once in a fortnight at least, of coming home intoxicated from Holmesville. The shooting-matches almost invariably concluded with a debauch. At such times he was boisterous and half-crazy. Often he would break the dishes, chairs, and whatever furniture he could lay his hands on. When satisfied with his amusement in the house, he would seize the whip and walk forth into the yard. Then it behooved the slaves to be watchful and exceeding wary. The first one who came within reach felt the smart of his lash. Sometimes for hours he would keep them running in all directions, dodging around the corners of the cabins. Occasionally he would come upon one unawares, and if he succeeded in inflicting a fair, round blow, it was a feat that much delighted him. The younger children, and the aged, who had become inactive, suffered then. In the midst of the confusion he would slily take his stand behind a cabin, waiting with raised whip, to dash it into the first black face that peeped cautiously around the corner.
During the two years Epps stayed on the plantation at Bayou Huff Power, he came home drunk from Holmesville at least once every two weeks. The shooting matches almost always ended in heavy drinking. At such times, he was loud and half-crazy. He often broke dishes, chairs, and whatever furniture he could get his hands on. Once he had finished amusing himself in the house, he would grab the whip and go out into the yard. Then the slaves had to be alert and extremely careful. The first one within reach felt the sting of his whip. Sometimes he kept them running in all directions for hours, dodging around the corners of the cabins. Occasionally he would catch one by surprise. If he managed to land a solid blow, the feat delighted him. The younger children and the elderly, who could no longer move quickly, suffered then. In the middle of the confusion, he would sneak behind a cabin and wait with his whip raised. He would strike the first black face that cautiously peered around the corner.
At other times he would come home in a less brutal humor. Then there must be a merry-making. Then all must move to the measure of a tune. Then Master Epps must needs regale his melodious ears with the music of a fiddle. Then did he become buoyant, elastic, gaily "tripping the light fantastic toe" around the piazza and all through the house.
At other times he would come home in a less brutal mood. Then there had to be a celebration. Everyone had to dance to a tune. Master Epps had to treat his musical ears to the sound of a fiddle. He became cheerful and lively, happily "tripping the light fantastic toe" around the porch and through the whole house.
Tibeats, at the time of my sale, had informed him I could play on the violin. He had received his information from Ford. Through the importunities of Mistress Epps, her husband had been induced to purchase me one during a visit to New-Orleans. Frequently I was called into the house to play before the family, mistress being passionately fond of music.
At the time of my sale, Tibeats had told him I could play the violin. Tibeats had learned this from Ford. After Mistress Epps repeatedly urged her husband, he bought me a violin during a visit to New-Orleans. I was often called into the house to play for the family, as Mistress Epps was passionately fond of music.
All of us would be assembled in the large room of the great house, whenever Epps came home in one of his dancing moods. No matter how worn out and tired we were, there must be a general dance. When properly stationed on the floor, I would strike up a tune.
Whenever Epps came home in the mood to dance, we would all gather in the large room of the great house. No matter how exhausted we were, everyone had to dance. Once everyone was in place on the floor, I would start playing a tune.
"Dance, you d—d niggers, dance," Epps would shout.
"Dance, you damned niggers, dance," Epps would shout.
Then there must be no halting or delay, no slow or languid movements; all must be brisk, and lively, and alert. "Up and down, heel and toe, and away we go," was the order of the hour. Epps' portly form mingled with those of his dusky slaves, moving rapidly through all the mazes of the dance.
There could be no stopping or delay, no slow or sluggish movements. Everyone had to be brisk, lively, and alert. "Up and down, heel and toe, and away we go," was the order of the hour. Epps' stout figure mingled with those of his dusky slaves as they moved rapidly through all the intricate steps of the dance.
Usually his whip was in his hand, ready to fall about the ears of the presumptuous thrall, who dared to rest a moment, or even stop to catch his breath. When he was himself exhausted, there would be a brief cessation, but it would be very brief. With a slash, and crack, and flourish of the whip, he would shout again, "Dance, niggers, dance," and away they would go once more, pell-mell, while I spurred by an occasional sharp touch of the lash, sat in a corner, extracting from my violin a marvelous quick-stepping tune. The mistress often upbraided him, declaring she would return to her father's house at Cheneyville; nevertheless, there were times she could not restrain a burst of laughter, on witnessing his uproarious pranks. Frequently, we were thus detained until almost morning. Bent with excessive toil—actually suffering for a little refreshing rest, and feeling rather as if we could cast ourselves upon the earth and weep, many a night in the house of Edwin Epps have his unhappy slaves been made to dance and laugh.
Usually he held his whip ready to strike any bold slave who dared rest or even stop to catch his breath. When he grew exhausted himself, he would pause, but only briefly. Then he would slash, crack, and flourish the whip and shout again, "Dance, niggers, dance." They would all rush to dance again. Meanwhile, I sat in a corner, playing a wonderfully fast dance tune on my violin. From time to time, a sharp stroke of the whip spurred me on. The mistress often scolded him, declaring that she would return to her father's house at Cheneyville. Still, there were times when she could not help bursting into laughter at his wild antics. Often, we were kept there this way until almost morning. Bent over from excessive work, we desperately needed a little refreshing rest. We felt more like throwing ourselves on the ground and weeping. Yet many a night in Edwin Epps's house, his unhappy slaves were made to dance and laugh.
Notwithstanding these deprivations in order to gratify the whim of an unreasonable master, we had to be in the field as soon as it was light, and during the day perform the ordinary and accustomed task. Such deprivations could not be urged at the scales in extenuation of any lack of weight, or in the cornfield for not hoeing with the usual rapidity. The whippings were just as severe as if we had gone forth in the morning, strengthened and invigorated by a night's repose. Indeed, after such frantic revels, he was always more sour and savage than before, punishing for slighter causes, and using the whip with increased and more vindictive energy.
Despite these deprivations, imposed to satisfy the whim of an unreasonable master, we had to be in the field at first light. During the day, we had to do our usual work. We could not plead these deprivations as an excuse if our crop fell short at the scales. Nor could we use them as an excuse for hoeing more slowly than usual in the cornfield. The whippings were just as severe as if we had gone out that morning refreshed and strengthened by a night's rest. Indeed, after such wild revels, he was always more ill-tempered and savage than before. He punished us for even smaller offenses and used the whip with greater, more vindictive force.
Ten years I toiled for that man without reward. Ten years of my incessant labor has contributed to increase the bulk of his possessions. Ten years I was compelled to address him with down-cast eyes and uncovered head—in the attitude and language of a slave. I am indebted to him for nothing, save undeserved abuse and stripes.
For ten years, I worked for that man without pay. For ten years, my constant labor added to his wealth. For ten years, I was forced to speak to him with my eyes lowered and my head uncovered. I had to carry myself and speak like a slave. I owe him nothing, except for undeserved abuse and whippings.
Beyond the reach of his inhuman thong, and standing on the soil of the free State where I was born, thanks be to Heaven, I can raise my head once more among men. I can speak of the wrongs I have suffered, and of those who inflicted them, with upraised eyes. But I have no desire to speak of him or any other one otherwise than truthfully. Yet to speak truthfully of Edwin Epps would be to say—he is a man in whose heart the quality of kindness or of justice is not found. A rough, rude energy, united with an uncultivated mind and an avaricious spirit, are his prominent characteristics. He is known as a "nigger breaker," distinguished for his faculty of subduing the spirit of the slave, and priding himself upon his reputation in this respect, as a jockey boasts of his skill in managing a refractory horse. He looked upon a colored man, not as a human being, responsible to his Creator for the small talent entrusted to him, but as a "chattel personal," as mere live property, no better, except in value, than his mule or dog. When the evidence, clear and indisputable, was laid before him that I was a free man, and as much entitled to my liberty as he—when, on the day I left, he was informed that I had a wife and children, as dear to me as his own babes to him, he only raved and swore, denouncing the law that tore me from him, and declaring he would find out the man who had forwarded the letter that disclosed the place of my captivity, if there was any virtue or power in money, and would take his life. He thought of nothing but his loss, and cursed me for having been born free. He could have stood unmoved and seen the tongues of his poor slaves torn out by the roots—he could have seen them burned to ashes over a slow fire, or gnawed to death by dogs, if it only brought him profit. Such a hard, cruel, unjust man is Edwin Epps.
Beyond the reach of his inhuman whip, I stand on the soil of the free State where I was born. Thanks be to Heaven, I can once more hold my head up among men. I can speak with my eyes raised of the wrongs I suffered and the people who inflicted them. But I have no desire to speak of him or anyone else except truthfully. To speak truthfully of Edwin Epps, however, is to say that his heart holds neither kindness nor justice. His main traits are a rough, crude energy, an uneducated mind, and a greedy spirit. He is known as a "nigger breaker," famed for breaking the spirit of the slave. He takes pride in this reputation, just as a jockey boasts of his skill at handling a stubborn horse. He did not regard a colored man as a human being, responsible to his Creator for the small talent entrusted to him. Instead, he saw him as a "chattel personal," mere living property, no better than his mule or dog except in value. Clear and indisputable evidence was presented to Epps that I was a free man, as entitled to liberty as he was. On the day I left, he was also told that I had a wife and children, as dear to me as his own children were to him. He only raged and swore. He condemned the law that tore me from him. He declared that, if money had any power, he would find the man who forwarded the letter revealing where I was held captive. Then he would kill him. He thought only of his loss and cursed me for having been born free. He could have watched without emotion as the tongues of his poor slaves were torn out by the roots. He could have seen them burned to ashes over a slow fire or gnawed to death by dogs, if it brought him profit. Such a hard, cruel, unjust man is Edwin Epps.
There was but one greater savage on Bayou Bœuf than he. Jim Burns' plantation was cultivated, as already mentioned, exclusively by women. That barbarian kept their backs so sore and raw, that they could not perform the customary labor demanded daily of the slave. He boasted of his cruelty, and through all the country round was accounted a more thorough-going, energetic man than even Epps. A brute himself, Jim Burns had not a particle of mercy for his subject brutes, and like a fool, whipped and scourged away the very strength upon which depended his amount of gain.
There was only one greater savage on Bayou Bœuf than he. As already mentioned, only women worked Jim Burns' plantation. That barbarian kept their backs so sore and raw that they could not do the work demanded daily of a slave. He boasted of his cruelty. Throughout the surrounding country, he was thought a more thorough and energetic man than even Epps. Jim Burns was a brute himself and had not a particle of mercy for the brutes under his control. Like a fool, he whipped and scourged away the very strength his profits depended on.
Epps remained on Huff Power two years, when, having accumulated a considerable sum of money, he expended it in the purchase of the plantation on the east bank of Bayou Bœuf, where he still continues to reside. He took possession of it in 1845, after the holidays were passed. He carried thither with him nine slaves, all of whom, except myself, and Susan, who has since died, remain there yet. He made no addition to this force, and for eight years the following were my companions in his quarters, viz: Abram, Wiley, Phebe, Bob, Henry, Edward, and Patsey. All these, except Edward, born since, were purchased out of a drove by Epps during the time he was overseer for Archy B. Williams, whose plantation is situated on the shore of Red River, not far from Alexandria.
Epps stayed on Huff Power for two years. After saving a considerable sum of money, he used it to buy a plantation on the east bank of Bayou Bœuf. He still lives there. He took possession of the plantation after the holidays in 1845. He brought nine slaves with him. All except me and Susan, who has since died, are still there. He added no other slaves to this group. For eight years, my companions in his quarters were Abram, Wiley, Phebe, Bob, Henry, Edward, and Patsey. Edward was born later. Epps bought all the others from a group of slaves being sold. He bought them while he was overseer for Archy B. Williams. Williams’s plantation is on the shore of Red River, not far from Alexandria.
Abram was tall, standing a full head above any common man. He is sixty years of age, and was born in Tennessee. Twenty years ago, he was purchased by a trader, carried into South Carolina, and sold to James Buford, of Williamsburgh county, in that State. In his youth he was renowned for his great strength, but age and unremitting toil have somewhat shattered his powerful frame and enfeebled his mental faculties.
Abram was tall, standing a full head above an average man. He is sixty years old and was born in Tennessee. Twenty years ago, a trader bought him, took him to South Carolina, and sold him to James Buford of Williamsburgh county. In his youth, Abram was famous for his great strength. But age and constant hard labor have weakened his powerful body and, to some extent, his mental abilities.
Wiley is forty-eight. He was born on the estate of William Tassle, and for many years took charge of that gentleman's ferry over the Big Black River, in South Carolina.
Wiley is forty-eight. He was born on William Tassle's estate. For many years, he ran Tassle's ferry across the Big Black River in South Carolina.
Phebe was a slave of Buford, Tassle's neighbor, and having married Wiley, he bought the latter, at her instigation. Buford was a kind master, sheriff of the county, and in those days a man of wealth.
Phebe was a slave of Buford, Tassle's neighbor. After she married Wiley, she persuaded Buford to buy him. Buford was a kind master and the county sheriff. In those days, he was wealthy.
Bob and Henry are Phebe's children, by a former husband, their father having been abandoned to give place to Wiley. That seductive youth had insinuated himself into Phebe's affections, and therefore the faithless spouse had gently kicked her first husband out of her cabin door. Edward had been born to them on Bayou Huff Power.
Bob and Henry are Phebe's children by a former husband. She had left their father for Wiley. The seductive young man had won Phebe's affection, so the unfaithful wife had gently kicked her first husband out of her cabin. Phebe and Wiley's son Edward was born on Bayou Huff Power.
Patsey is twenty-three—also from Buford's plantation. She is in no wise connected with the others, but glories in the fact that she is the offspring of a "Guinea nigger," brought over to Cuba in a slave ship, and in the course of trade transferred to Buford, who was her mother's owner.
Patsey is twenty-three and also comes from Buford's plantation. She is not related to the others, but she takes pride in being the offspring of a "Guinea nigger." Her mother was brought to Cuba on a slave ship and later sold to Buford, who became her owner.
This, as I learned from them, is a genealogical account of my master's slaves. For years they had been together. Often they recalled the memories of other days, and sighed to retrace their steps to the old home in Carolina. Troubles came upon their master Buford, which brought far greater troubles upon them. He became involved in debt, and unable to bear up against his failing fortunes, was compelled to sell these, and others of his slaves. In a chain gang they had been driven from beyond the Mississippi to the plantation of Archy B. Williams. Edwin Epps, who, for a long while had been his driver and overseer, was about establishing himself in business on his own account, at the time of their arrival, and accepted them in payment of his wages.
This, as I learned from them, was the family history of my master's slaves. They had been together for years. They often remembered earlier days and sighed, wishing they could return to their old home in Carolina. Their master, Buford, fell on hard times, which brought even greater troubles upon them. He fell into debt and could not withstand his declining fortunes. He was forced to sell these slaves and others. They were driven in a chain gang from beyond the Mississippi to Archy B. Williams's plantation. Edwin Epps had long been Williams's driver and overseer. When the slaves arrived, Epps was about to start a business of his own. He accepted them as payment for his wages.
Old Abram was a kind-hearted being—a sort of patriarch among us, fond of entertaining his younger brethren with grave and serious discourse. He was deeply versed in such philosophy as is taught in the cabin of the slave; but the great absorbing hobby of Uncle Abram was General Jackson, whom his young master in Tennessee had followed to the wars. He loved to wander back, in imagination, to the place where he was born, and to recount the scenes of his youth during those stirring times when the nation was in arms. He had been athletic, and more keen and powerful than the generality of his race, but now his eye had become dim, and his natural force abated. Very often, indeed, while discussing the best method of baking the hoe-cake, or expatiating at large upon the glory of Jackson, he would forget where he left his hat, or his hoe, or his basket; and then would the old man be laughed at, if Epps was absent, and whipped if he was present. So was he perplexed continually, and sighed to think that he was growing aged and going to decay. Philosophy and Jackson and forgetfulness had played the mischief with him, and it was evident that all of them combined were fast bringing down the gray hairs of Uncle Abram to the grave.
Old Abram was kindhearted, a sort of patriarch among us. He liked to entertain his younger brethren with serious, thoughtful talk. He knew a great deal about the philosophy taught in the slave cabin. But Uncle Abram’s favorite subject was General Jackson, whom his young master in Tennessee had followed to war. In his imagination, he loved to return to his birthplace. He would recall his youth during those stirring times when the nation was at war. He had been athletic, sharper and stronger than most of his race. But now his eyesight was dim, and his natural strength had faded. While discussing the best way to bake a hoe-cake, he would often forget where he had left his hat, hoe, or basket. The same thing happened when he talked at length about Jackson’s glory. If Epps was absent, the old man would be laughed at. If Epps was present, he would be whipped. So he was constantly troubled, and he sighed at the thought that he was growing old and declining. Philosophy, Jackson, and forgetfulness had brought him trouble. Clearly, all three together were fast bringing gray-haired Uncle Abram to the grave.
Aunt Phebe had been an excellent field hand, but latterly was put into the kitchen, where she remained, except occasionally, in a time of uncommon hurry. She was a sly old creature, and when not in the presence of her mistress or her master, was garrulous in the extreme.
Aunt Phebe had been an excellent field hand, but more recently she was assigned to the kitchen. She stayed there, except when she was occasionally needed in the fields during unusually busy times. She was a sly old creature, and she talked a great deal when neither her mistress nor her master was present.
Wiley, on the contrary, was silent. He performed his task without murmur or complaint, seldom indulging in the luxury of speech, except to utter a wish, that he was away from Epps, and back once more in South Carolina.
Wiley, on the other hand, was silent. He did his work without a word of complaint. He rarely allowed himself the luxury of speaking, except to wish he were away from Epps and back in South Carolina.
Bob and Henry had reached the ages of twenty and twenty-three, and were distinguished for nothing extraordinary or unusual, while Edward, a lad of thirteen, not yet able to maintain his row in the corn or the cotton field, was kept in the great house, to wait on the little Eppses.
Bob and Henry were twenty and twenty-three and had nothing extraordinary or unusual about them. Edward, a boy of thirteen, could not yet keep up with his row in the corn or cotton fields. So he was kept in the great house to wait on the Epps children.
Patsey was slim and straight. She stood erect as the human form is capable of standing. There was an air of loftiness in her movement, that neither labor, nor weariness, nor punishment could destroy. Truly, Patsey was a splendid animal, and were it not that bondage had enshrouded her intellect in utter and everlasting darkness, would have been chief among ten thousand of her people. She could leap the highest fences, and a fleet hound it was indeed, that could outstrip her in a race. No horse could fling her from his back. She was a skillful teamster. She turned as true a furrow as the best, and at splitting rails there were none who could excel her. When the order to halt was heard at night, she would have her mules at the crib, unharnessed, fed and curried, before uncle Abram had found his hat. Not, however, for all or any of these, was she chiefly famous. Such lightning-like motion was in her fingers as no other fingers ever possessed, and therefore it was, that in cotton picking time, Patsey was queen of the field.
Patsey was slim and straight. She stood as erect as a human being possibly could. She moved with a lofty air that no labor, weariness, or punishment could destroy. Truly, Patsey was a splendid animal. If bondage had not shrouded her intellect in complete and everlasting darkness, she would have stood above ten thousand of her people. She could leap the highest fences. It took a truly swift hound to outrun her. No horse could throw her off its back. She was skilled at driving a team. She plowed as straight a furrow as anyone, and no one could surpass her at splitting rails. When the order to stop came at night, she worked quickly. She would have her mules at the feeding trough, unharnessed, fed, and groomed, before uncle Abram had found his hat. But none of these things was what made her most famous. Her fingers moved with a speed no other fingers ever possessed. Because of that, Patsey was queen of the field during cotton picking time.
She had a genial and pleasant temper, and was faithful and obedient. Naturally, she was a joyous creature, a laughing, light-hearted girl, rejoicing in the mere sense of existence. Yet Patsey wept oftener, and suffered more, than any of her companions. She had been literally excoriated. Her back bore the scars of a thousand stripes; not because she was backward in her work, nor because she was of an unmindful and rebellious spirit, but because it had fallen to her lot to be the slave of a licentious master and a jealous mistress. She shrank before the lustful eye of the one, and was in danger even of her life at the hands of the other, and between the two, she was indeed accursed. In the great house, for days together, there were high and angry words, poutings and estrangement, whereof she was the innocent cause. Nothing delighted the mistress so much as to see her suffer, and more than once, when Epps had refused to sell her, has she tempted me with bribes to put her secretly to death, and bury her body in some lonely place in the margin of the swamp. Gladly would Patsey have appeased this unforgiving spirit, if it had been in her power, but not like Joseph, dared she escape from Master Epps, leaving her garment in his hand. Patsey walked under a cloud. If she uttered a word in opposition to her master's will, the lash was resorted to at once, to bring her to subjection; if she was not watchful when about her cabin, or when walking in the yard, a billet of wood, or a broken bottle perhaps, hurled from her mistress' hand, would smite her unexpectedly in the face. The enslaved victim of lust and hate, Patsey had no comfort of her life.
She had a warm, pleasant nature and was faithful and obedient. By nature, she was joyful, a laughing, lighthearted girl who delighted simply in being alive. Yet Patsey wept more often and suffered more than any of her companions. Her skin had been literally stripped away. Her back bore the scars of a thousand lash marks. This was not because she was slow at her work or because she was careless and rebellious. It was because her fate was to be the slave of a lustful master and a jealous mistress. She shrank from his lustful gaze and was in danger of being killed by his wife. Between the two, she was truly cursed. In the great house, there were days of angry arguments, sulking, and estrangement, all caused by Patsey, though she was innocent. Nothing pleased the mistress more than seeing her suffer. More than once, when Epps refused to sell Patsey, his wife tried to bribe me to kill her secretly. She wanted me to bury Patsey’s body in some lonely place at the edge of the swamp. Patsey would gladly have satisfied this unforgiving woman if she could have. But unlike Joseph, she dared not escape from Master Epps, leaving her garment in his hand. Patsey lived under a cloud. If she spoke a word against her master’s wishes, he immediately used the lash to make her submit. If she was not watchful around her cabin or in the yard, her mistress might throw something at her. A piece of wood, or perhaps a broken bottle, would strike her unexpectedly in the face. A slave and a victim of lust and hate, Patsey had no comfort in life.
These were my companions and fellow-slaves, with whom I was accustomed to be driven to the field, and with whom it has been my lot to dwell for ten years in the log cabins of Edwin Epps. They, if living, are yet toiling on the banks of Bayou Bœuf, never destined to breathe, as I now do, the blessed air of liberty, nor to shake off the heavy shackles that enthrall them, until they shall lie down forever in the dust.
These were my companions and fellow slaves. We were driven to the field together, and I lived with them for ten years in Edwin Epps’s log cabins. If they are still alive, they are still laboring on the banks of Bayou Bœuf. They are destined never to breathe, as I now do, the blessed air of freedom. They will never shake off the heavy shackles that bind them until they lie down forever in the dust.