Chapter 14

DESTRUCTION OF THE COTTON CROP IN 1845—DEMAND FOR LABORERS IN ST. MARY'S PARISH—SENT THITHER IN A DROVE—THE ORDER OF THE MARCH—THE GRAND COTEAU—HIRED TO JUDGE TURNER ON BAYOU SALLE—APPOINTED DRIVER IN HIS SUGAR HOUSE—SUNDAY SERVICES SLAVE FURNITURE, HOW OBTAINED—THE PARTY AT YARNEY'S IN CENTREVILLE—GOOD FORTUNE—THE CAPTAIN OF THE STEAMER—HIS REFUSAL TO SECRETE ME—RETURN TO BAYOU BŒUF—SIGHT OF TIBEATS—PATSEY'S SORROWS—TUMULT AND CONTENTION—HUNTING THE COON AND OPOSSUM—THE CUNNING OF THE LATTER—THE LEAN CONDITION OF THE SLAVE—DESCRIPTION OF THE FISH TRAP—THE MURDER OF THE MAN FROM NATCHEZ—EPPS CHALLENGED BY MARSHALL—THE INFLUENCE OF SLAVERY—THE LOVE OF FREEDOM.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE COTTON CROP IN 1845. DEMAND FOR LABORERS IN ST. MARY'S PARISH. SENT THERE IN A GROUP. THE ORDER OF THE MARCH. THE GRAND COTEAU. HIRED OUT TO JUDGE TURNER ON BAYOU SALLE. APPOINTED DRIVER IN HIS SUGAR HOUSE. SUNDAY SERVICES. HOW SLAVE FURNITURE IS OBTAINED. THE PARTY AT YARNEY'S IN CENTREVILLE. GOOD FORTUNE. THE CAPTAIN OF THE STEAMBOAT. HIS REFUSAL TO HIDE ME. RETURN TO BAYOU BŒUF. A SIGHTING OF TIBEATS. PATSEY'S SORROWS. TURMOIL AND QUARRELS. HUNTING RACCOONS AND OPOSSUMS. THE OPOSSUM'S CUNNING. THE SLAVE'S LEAN CONDITION. DESCRIPTION OF THE FISH TRAP. THE MURDER OF THE MAN FROM NATCHEZ. MARSHALL CHALLENGES EPPS. THE INFLUENCE OF SLAVERY. THE LOVE OF FREEDOM.

The first year of Epps' residence on the bayou, 1845, the caterpillars almost totally destroyed the cotton crop throughout that region. There was little to be done, so that the slaves were necessarily idle half the time. However, there came a rumor to Bayou Bœuf that wages were high, and laborers in great demand on the sugar plantations in St. Mary's parish. This parish is situated on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, about one hundred and forty miles from Avoyelles. The Rio Teche, a considerable stream, flows through St. Mary's to the gulf.

In 1845, Epps' first year living on the bayou, caterpillars nearly destroyed the cotton crop throughout the region. There was little work to do, so the slaves were idle half the time. However, a rumor reached Bayou Bœuf that wages were high on the sugar plantations in St. Mary's parish. Laborers were also in great demand there. St. Mary's parish is on the Gulf of Mexico coast, about 140 miles from Avoyelles. The Rio Teche, a sizable stream, flows through St. Mary's to the gulf.

It was determined by the planters, on the receipt of this intelligence, to make up a drove of slaves to be sent down to Tuckapaw in St. Mary's, for the purpose of hiring them out in the cane fields. Accordingly, in the month of September, there were one hundred and forty-seven collected at Holmesville, Abram, Bob and myself among the number. Of these about one-half were women. Epps, Alonson Pierce, Henry Toler, and Addison Roberts, were the white men, selected to accompany, and take charge of the drove. They had a two-horse carriage and two saddle horses for their use. A large wagon, drawn by four horses, and driven by John, a boy belonging to Mr. Roberts, carried the blankets and provisions.

When the planters received this news, they decided to send a group of slaves to Tuckapaw in St. Mary's. They planned to hire them out to work in the cane fields. So, in September, 147 slaves were gathered at Holmesville, including Abram, Bob, and me. About half of them were women. Epps, Alonson Pierce, Henry Toler, and Addison Roberts were the white men chosen to accompany and take charge of the group. They had a two-horse carriage and two saddle horses for their use. A large wagon drawn by four horses carried the blankets and provisions. It was driven by John, a boy belonging to Mr. Roberts.

About 2 o'clock in the afternoon, having been fed, preparations were made to depart. The duty assigned me was, to take charge of the blankets and provisions, and see that none were lost by the way. The carriage proceeded in advance, the wagon following; behind this the slaves were arranged, while the two horsemen brought up the rear, and in this order the procession moved out of Holmesville.

At about 2 o'clock in the afternoon, after we had been fed, preparations were made to leave. I was assigned to take charge of the blankets and provisions and make sure none were lost along the way. The carriage went first, followed by the wagon. The slaves walked behind the wagon, and the two horsemen brought up the rear. In this order, the procession moved out of Holmesville.

That night we reached a Mr. McCrow's plantation, a distance of ten or fifteen miles, when we were ordered to halt. Large fires were built, and each one spreading his blanket on the ground, laid down upon it. The white men lodged in the great house. An hour before day we were aroused by the drivers coming among us, cracking their whips and ordering us to arise. Then the blankets were rolled up, and being severally delivered to me and deposited in the wagon, the procession set forth again.

That night we reached Mr. McCrow's plantation, ten or fifteen miles away, and were ordered to stop. Large fires were built, and each of us spread a blanket on the ground and lay down on it. The white men stayed in the great house. An hour before daylight, the drivers came among us, cracking their whips and ordering us to get up. We rolled up the blankets, and each person handed one to me to put in the wagon. Then the procession set off again.

The following night it rained violently. We were all drenched, our clothes saturated with mud and water. Reaching an open shed, formerly a gin-house, we found beneath it such shelter as it afforded. There was not room for all of us to lay down. There we remained, huddled together, through the night, continuing our march, as usual, in the morning. During the journey we were fed twice a day, boiling our bacon and baking our corn-cake at the fires in the same manner as in our huts. We passed through Lafayetteville, Mountsville, New-Town, to Centreville, where Bob and Uncle Abram were hired. Our number decreased as we advanced—nearly every sugar plantation requiring the services of one or more.

The following night, it rained heavily. We were all drenched, and our clothes were soaked with mud and water. We reached an open shed that had once been a gin-house and took what shelter we could beneath it. There was not enough room for all of us to lie down. We huddled together there through the night. In the morning, we continued our march as usual. During the journey, we were fed twice a day. We boiled our bacon and baked our corn-cake over fires, just as we did in our huts. We passed through Lafayetteville, Mountsville, and New-Town on our way to Centreville, where Bob and Uncle Abram were hired. Our number grew smaller as we traveled, since nearly every sugar plantation needed the services of one or more of us.

On our route we passed the Grand Coteau or prairie, a vast space of level, monotonous country, without a tree, except an occasional one which had been transplanted near some dilapidated dwelling. It was once thickly populated, and under cultivation, but for some cause had been abandoned. The business of the scattered inhabitants that now dwell upon it is principally raising cattle. Immense herds were feeding upon it as we passed. In the centre of the Grand Coteau one feels as if he were on the ocean, out of sight of land. As far as the eye can see, in all directions, it is but a ruined and deserted waste.

On our route, we passed the Grand Coteau, or prairie, a vast, flat, monotonous stretch of land. There were no trees, except for an occasional one transplanted near a run-down house. The prairie had once been densely populated and cultivated, but for some reason it had been abandoned. The scattered inhabitants who live there now mainly raise cattle. Huge herds were grazing there as we passed. In the center of the Grand Coteau, you feel as if you are on the ocean, out of sight of land. As far as the eye can see in every direction, there is nothing but a ruined and deserted wasteland.

I was hired to Judge Turner, a distinguished man and extensive planter, whose large estate is situated on Bayou Salle, within a few miles of the gulf. Bay on Salle is a small stream flowing into the bay of Atchafalaya. For some days I was employed at Turner's in repairing his sugar house, when a cane knife was put into my hand, and with thirty or forty others, I was sent into the field. I found no such difficulty in learning the art of cutting cane that I had in picking cotton. It came to me naturally and intuitively, and in a short time I was able to keep up with the fastest knife. Before the cutting was over, however, Judge Turner transferred me from the field to the sugar house, to act there in the capacity of driver. From the time of the commencement of sugar making to the close, the grinding and boiling does not cease day or night. The whip was given me with directions to use it upon any one who was caught standing idle. If I failed to obey them to the letter, there was another one for my own back. In addition to this my duty was to call on and off the different gangs at the proper time. I had no regular periods of rest, and could never snatch but a few moments of sleep at a time.

I was hired out to Judge Turner, a distinguished man and a large-scale planter. His large estate was on Bayou Salle, within a few miles of the gulf. Bayou Salle is a small stream that flows into the bay of Atchafalaya. For several days, I worked at Turner’s repairing his sugar house. Then I was given a cane knife and sent into the field with thirty or forty others. I did not find learning to cut cane as difficult as learning to pick cotton. It came to me naturally and intuitively. In a short time, I could keep up with the fastest cutter. Before the cutting was over, however, Judge Turner moved me from the field to the sugar house to work as a driver. From the beginning of sugar making to the end, the grinding and boiling never stop, day or night. I was given a whip and told to use it on anyone caught standing idle. If I failed to follow those orders to the letter, another whip was ready for my own back. I also had to call the different gangs on and off duty at the proper times. I had no regular periods of rest and could never snatch more than a few moments of sleep at a time.

It is the custom in Louisiana, as I presume it is in other slave States, to allow the slave to retain whatever compensation he may obtain for services performed on Sundays. In this way, only, are they able to provide themselves with any luxury or convenience whatever. When a slave, purchased, or kidnapped in the North, is transported to a cabin on Bayou Bœuf he is furnished with neither knife, nor fork, nor dish, nor kettle, nor any other thing in the shape of crockery, or furniture of any nature or description. He is furnished with a blanket before he reaches there, and wrapping that around him, he can either stand up, or lie down upon the ground, or on a board, if his master has no use for it. He is at liberty to find a gourd in which to keep his meal, or he can eat his corn from the cob, just as he pleases. To ask the master for a knife, or skillet, or any small convenience of the kind, would be answered with a kick, or laughed at as a joke. Whatever necessary article of this nature is found in a cabin has been purchased with Sunday money. However injurious to the morals, it is certainly a blessing to the physical condition of the slave, to be permitted to break the Sabbath. Otherwise there would be no way to provide himself with any utensils, which seem to be indispensable to him who is compelled to be his own cook.

In Louisiana, slaves are allowed to keep whatever money they earn for services performed on Sundays. I assume this is also the custom in other slave States. Only in this way can they provide themselves with any luxury or convenience. When a slave bought or kidnapped in the North is brought to a cabin on Bayou Bœuf, he is given no knife, fork, dish, or kettle. He is given no crockery or furniture of any kind. He is given a blanket before he arrives. Wrapping it around himself, he can stand or lie on the ground. He can also lie on a board, if his master has no use for it. He is free to find a gourd to hold his cornmeal, or he can eat his corn from the cob, just as he pleases. If he asks his master for a knife, a skillet, or any small convenience of that kind, he will be kicked or laughed at as if he were joking. Any necessary item of this kind found in a cabin has been bought with Sunday money. However harmful it may be to their morals, slaves are certainly better off physically when they are allowed to break the Sabbath. Otherwise, they would have no way to obtain the utensils that seem essential to anyone forced to cook for himself.

On cane plantations in sugar time, there is no distinction as to the days of the week. It is well understood that all hands must labor on the Sabbath, and it is equally well understood that those especially who are hired, as I was to Judge Turner, and others in succeeding years, shall receive remuneration for it. It is usual, also, in the most hurrying time of cotton-picking, to require the same extra service. From this source, slaves generally are afforded an opportunity of earning sufficient to purchase a knife, a kettle, tobacco and so forth. The females, discarding the latter luxury, are apt to expend their little revenue in the purchase of gaudy ribbons, wherewithal to deck their hair in the merry season of the holidays.

On sugarcane plantations during harvest, every day of the week is the same. Everyone understands that all hands must work on the Sabbath. Everyone also understands that they must be paid for it, especially those who are hired out. I was hired out to Judge Turner and to others in later years. During the busiest part of cotton-picking season, the same extra work is usually required. This gives slaves a chance to earn enough to buy a knife, a kettle, tobacco, and other things. The women usually pass up tobacco and spend their small earnings on bright ribbons for their hair during the merry holiday season.

I remained in St. Mary's until the first of January, during which time my Sunday money amounted to ten dollars. I met with other good fortune, for which I was indebted to my violin, my constant companion, the source of profit, and soother of my sorrows during years of servitude. There was a grand party of whites assembled at Mr. Yarney's, in Centreville, a hamlet in the vicinity of Turner's plantation. I was employed to play for them, and so well pleased were the merry-makers with my performance, that a contribution was taken for my benefit, which amounted to seventeen dollars.

I stayed in St. Mary's until January 1. During that time, the money I earned on Sundays came to ten dollars. I had more good fortune thanks to my violin. It was my constant companion, a source of income, and a comfort during my years of servitude. A grand party of whites gathered at Mr. Yarney's in Centreville, a small village near Turner's plantation. I was hired to play for them. The guests were so pleased with my performance that they took up a collection for me. It came to seventeen dollars.

With this sum in possession, I was looked upon by my fellows as a millionaire. It afforded me great pleasure to look at it—to count it over and over again, day after day. Visions of cabin furniture, of water pails, of pocket knives, new shoes and coats and hats, floated through my fancy, and up through all rose the triumphant contemplation, that I was the wealthiest "nigger" on Bayou Bœuf.

With this sum of money, my fellows looked upon me as a millionaire. I took great pleasure in looking at it and counting it over and over, day after day. I imagined cabin furniture, water pails, pocket knives, new shoes, coats, and hats. Above all these visions rose the triumphant thought that I was the wealthiest "nigger" on Bayou Bœuf.

Vessels run up the Rio Teche to Centreville. While there, I was bold enough one day to present myself before the captain of a steamer, and beg permission to hide myself among the freight. I was emboldened to risk the hazard of such a step, from overhearing a conversation, in the course of which I ascertained he was a native of the North. I did not relate to him the particulars of my history, but only expressed an ardent desire to escape from slavery to a free State. He pitied me, but said it would be impossible to avoid the vigilant custom house officers in New-Orleans, and that detection would subject him to punishment, and his vessel to confiscation. My earnest entreaties evidently excited his sympathies, and doubtless he would have yielded to them, could he have done so with any kind of safety. I was compelled to smother the sudden flame that lighted up my bosom with sweet hopes of liberation, and turn my steps once more towards the increasing darkness of despair.

Vessels traveled up the Rio Teche to Centreville. While I was there, I dared to approach the captain of a steamer one day. I begged him to let me hide among the freight. I had overheard a conversation and learned that he was from the North. That gave me the courage to take such a risk. I did not tell him the details of my story. I said only that I longed to escape from slavery to a free State. He pitied me, but said it would be impossible to avoid the watchful custom house officers in New-Orleans. If they discovered me, he would be punished and his vessel confiscated. My earnest pleas clearly moved him. No doubt he would have agreed if he could have done so safely. I had to smother the sudden flame of sweet hope for freedom in my heart. Once again, I turned toward the deepening darkness of despair.

Immediately after this event the drove assembled at Centreville, and several of the owners having arrived and collected the monies due for our services, we were driven back to Bayou Bœuf. It was on our return, while passing through a small village, that I caught sight of Tibeats, seated in the door of a dirty grocery, looking somewhat seedy and out of repair. Passion and poor whisky, I doubt not, have ere this laid him on the shelf.

Immediately after this event, the group assembled at Centreville. Several of the owners arrived and collected the money owed for our services. Then we were driven back to Bayou Bœuf. On our return, we passed through a small village, where I caught sight of Tibeats. He was sitting in the doorway of a dirty grocery, looking rather shabby and worn down. I have no doubt that his temper and cheap whisky have put him out of action by now.

During our absence, I learned from Aunt Phebe and Patsey, that the latter had been getting deeper and deeper into trouble. The poor girl was truly an object of pity. "Old Hogjaw," the name by which Epps was called, when the slaves were by themselves, had beaten her more severely and frequently than ever. As surely as he came from Holmesville, elated with liquor—and it was often in those days—he would whip her, merely to gratify the mistress; would punish her to an extent almost beyond endurance, for an offence of which he himself was the sole and irresistible cause. In his sober moments he could not always be prevailed upon to indulge his wife's insatiable thirst for vengeance.

During our absence, I learned from Aunt Phebe and Patsey that Patsey had been getting into deeper and deeper trouble. The poor girl was truly to be pitied. The slaves called Epps "Old Hogjaw" when they were alone together. He had beaten her more severely and more often than ever. Whenever he came back from Holmesville drunk, he would whip her just to please the mistress. He often came back drunk in those days. He would punish Patsey almost beyond what she could bear for an offense that he alone had caused, and that she could not resist. When he was sober, his wife could not always persuade him to satisfy her endless thirst for revenge.

To be rid of Patsey—to place her beyond sight or reach, by sale, or death, or in any other manner, of late years, seemed to be the ruling thought and passion of my mistress. Patsey had been a favorite when a child, even in the great house. She had been petted and admired for her uncommon sprightliness and pleasant disposition. She had been fed many a time, so Uncle Abram said, even on biscuit and milk, when the madam, in her younger days, was wont to call her to the piazza, and fondle her as she would a playful Kitten. But a sad change had come over the spirit of the woman. Now, only black and angry fiends ministered in the temple of her heart, until she could look on Patsey but with concentrated venom.

In recent years, my mistress seemed consumed by one thought: getting rid of Patsey. She wanted Patsey out of sight and reach, by sale, death, or any other means. As a child, Patsey had been a favorite, even in the great house. She had been pampered and admired for her unusual liveliness and pleasant nature. Uncle Abram said that the madam, in her younger days, often called Patsey to the porch. She would feed Patsey biscuits and milk and cuddle her like a playful kitten. But a sad change had come over the woman’s spirit. Now, only black and angry fiends served in the temple of her heart. She could look at Patsey only with concentrated venom.

Mistress Epps was not naturally such an evil woman, after all. She was possessed of the devil, jealousy, it is true, but aside from that, there was much in her character to admire. Her father, Mr. Roberts, resided in Cheneyville, an influential and honorable man, and as much respected throughout the parish as any other citizen. She had been well educated at some institution this side the Mississippi; was beautiful, accomplished, and usually good-humored. She was kind to all of us but Patsey—frequently, in the absence of her husband, sending out to us some little dainty from her own table. In other situations—in a different society from that which exists on the shores of Bayou Bœuf, she would have been pronounced an elegant and fascinating woman. An ill wind it was that blew her into the arms of Epps.

Mistress Epps was not naturally such an evil woman, after all. She was possessed by the devil of jealousy, it is true, but otherwise there was much to admire in her character. Her father, Mr. Roberts, lived in Cheneyville. He was an influential and honorable man, as respected throughout the parish as any other citizen. She had been well educated at a school on this side of the Mississippi. She was beautiful, accomplished, and usually good-humored. She was kind to all of us except Patsey. When her husband was away, she often sent us a little treat from her own table. In other circumstances, in a society different from the one on the shores of Bayou Bœuf, she would have been called an elegant and fascinating woman. It was an ill wind that blew her into the arms of Epps.

He respected and loved his wife as much as a coarse nature like his is capable of loving, but supreme selfishness always overmastered conjugal affection.

He respected and loved his wife as much as someone with his coarse nature could. But his extreme selfishness always outweighed his love for her.

He was ready to gratify any whim—to grant any request she made, provided it did not cost too much. Patsey was equal to any two of his slaves in the cotton field. He could not replace her with the same money she would bring. The idea of disposing of her, therefore, could not be entertained. The mistress did not regard her at all in that light. The pride of the haughty woman was aroused; the blood of the fiery southern boiled at the sight of Patsey, and nothing less than trampling out the life of the helpless bondwoman would satisfy her.

He was ready to satisfy any whim and grant any request she made, as long as it did not cost too much. Patsey could do as much work in the cotton field as two of his slaves. He could not replace her for the price she would bring. So he could not consider selling her. The mistress did not see Patsey that way at all. The proud woman’s pride was wounded. The sight of Patsey made the fiery southern woman’s blood boil. Nothing less than crushing the life out of the helpless slave woman would satisfy her.

Sometimes the current of her wrath turned upon him whom she had just cause to hate. But the storm of angry words would pass over at length, and there would be a season of calm again. At such times Patsey trembled with fear, and cried as if her heart would break, for she knew from painful experience, that if mistress should work herself to the red-hot pitch of rage, Epps would quiet her at last with a promise that Patsey should be flogged—a promise he was sure to keep. Thus did pride, and jealousy, and vengeance war with avarice and brute-passion in the mansion of my master, filling it with daily tumult and contention. Thus, upon the head of Patsey—the simple-minded slave, in whose heart God had implanted the seeds of virtue—the force of all these domestic tempests spent itself at last.

Sometimes her anger turned on the man she had good reason to hate. But the storm of angry words would eventually pass, and there would be a calm again. At such times Patsey trembled with fear and cried as if her heart would break. She knew from painful experience what would happen if her mistress worked herself into a blazing rage. Epps would finally quiet her by promising to have Patsey flogged. He was sure to keep that promise. So pride, jealousy, and revenge battled greed and brute passion in my master’s house, filling it with daily turmoil and conflict. And in the end, all the force of these domestic storms fell on Patsey. She was a simple-minded slave in whose heart God had planted the seeds of virtue.

During the summer succeeding my return from St. Mary's parish, I conceived a plan of providing myself with food, which, though simple, succeeded beyond expectation. It has been followed by many others in my condition, up and down the bayou, and of such benefit has it become that I am almost persuaded to look upon myself as a benefactor. That summer the worms got into the bacon. Nothing but ravenous hunger could induce us to swallow it. The weekly allowance of meal scarcely sufficed to satisfy us. It was customary with us, as it is with all in that region, where the allowance is exhausted before Saturday night, or is in such a state as to render it nauseous and disgusting, to hunt in the swamps for coon and opossum. This, however, must be done at night, after the day's work is accomplished. There are planters whose slaves, for months at a time, have no other meat than such as is obtained in this manner. No objections are made to hunting, inasmuch as it dispenses with drafts upon the smoke-house, and because every marauding coon that is killed is so much saved from the standing corn. They are hunted with dogs and clubs, slaves not being allowed the use of fire-arms.

During the summer after I returned from St. Mary's parish, I came up with a plan to get food for myself. Though simple, it worked better than I expected. Many others in my condition, up and down the bayou, have followed it. It has been so helpful that I am almost persuaded to think of myself as a benefactor. That summer, worms got into the bacon. Only desperate hunger could make us swallow it. Our weekly allowance of meal was hardly enough to satisfy us. When our allowance ran out before Saturday night, or became too nauseating and disgusting to eat, we hunted raccoons and opossums in the swamps. Everyone in that region did the same. But we had to hunt at night, after the day's work was done. Some planters' slaves go for months with no meat except what they obtain this way. The planters do not object to hunting, because it saves them from having to supply meat from the smokehouse. Also, every marauding raccoon killed means less damage to the standing corn. The slaves hunt them with dogs and clubs, since slaves are not allowed to use firearms.

The flesh of the coon is palatable, but verily there is nothing in all butcherdom so delicious as a roasted 'possum. They are a round, rather long-bodied, little animal, of a whitish color, with nose like a pig, and caudal extremity like a rat. They burrow among the roots and in the hollows of the gum tree, and are clumsy and slow of motion. They are deceitful and cunning creatures. On receiving the slightest tap of a stick, they will roll over on the ground and feign death. If the hunter leaves him, in pursuit of another, without first taking particular pains to break his neck, the chances are, on his return, he is not to be found. The little animal has out witted the enemy—has "played 'possum"—and is off. But after a long and hard day's work, the weary slave feels little like going to the swamp for his supper, and half the time prefers throwing himself on the cabin floor without it. It is for the interest of the master that the servant should not suffer in health from starvation, and it is also for his interest that he should not become gross from over-feeding. In the estimation of the owner, a slave is the most serviceable when in rather a lean and lank condition, such a condition as the race-horse is in, when fitted for the course, and in that condition they are generally to be found on the sugar and cotton plantations along Red River.

Raccoon meat tastes good, but truly, no meat is as delicious as roasted 'possum. Possums are small, round, rather long-bodied animals. They are whitish, with noses like pigs and tails like rats. They burrow among the roots and in the hollows of gum trees. They are clumsy and slow-moving, but they are also deceitful and cunning. At the slightest tap of a stick, a possum will roll over and pretend to be dead. If the hunter leaves it to pursue another without first taking care to break its neck, it will likely be gone when he returns. The little animal has outwitted its enemy. It has "played 'possum" and escaped. But after a long, hard day's work, the weary slave has little desire to go to the swamp for supper. Half the time, he prefers to throw himself on the cabin floor without it. It is in the master's interest that the servant's health not suffer from starvation. It is also in his interest that the servant not become fat from overfeeding. In the owner's view, a slave is most useful when he is lean and lanky, like a racehorse trained for the track. That is generally the condition of slaves on the sugar and cotton plantations along Red River.

My cabin was within a few rods of the bayou bank, and necessity being indeed the mother of invention, I resolved upon a mode of obtaining the requisite amount of food, without the trouble of resorting nightly to the woods. This was to construct a fish trap. Having, in my mind, conceived the manner in which it could be done, the next Sunday I set about putting it into practical execution. It may be impossible for me to convey to the reader a full and correct idea of its construction, but the following will serve as a general description:

My cabin was only a few rods from the bayou bank. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention, and I decided to find a way to get enough food without going to the woods every night. I would build a fish trap. After working out how to make it, I set about building it the next Sunday. I may not be able to give the reader a complete and accurate picture of its construction, but the following will serve as a general description:

A frame between two and three feet square is made, and of a greater or less height, according to the depth of water. Boards or slats are nailed on three sides of this frame, not so closely, however, as to prevent the water circulating freely through it. A door is fitted into the fourth side, in such manner that it will slide easily up and down in the grooves cut in the two posts. A movable bottom is then so fitted that it can be raised to the top of the frame without difficulty. In the centre of the movable bottom an auger hole is bored, and into this one end of a handle or round stick is fastened on the under side so loosely that it will turn. The handle ascends from the centre of the movable bottom to the top of the frame, or as much higher as is desirable. Up and down this handle, in a great many places, are gimlet holes, through which small sticks are inserted, extending to opposite sides of the frame. So many of these small sticks are running out from the handle in all directions, that a fish of any considerable dimensions cannot pass through without hitting one of them. The frame is then placed in the water and made stationary.

A frame is made between two and three feet square. Its height depends on the depth of the water. Boards or slats are nailed onto three sides of the frame. They are spaced far enough apart to let water circulate freely through it. A door is fitted into the fourth side. It slides easily up and down in grooves cut into the two posts. A movable bottom is fitted so that it can be raised easily to the top of the frame. A hole is bored in the center of the movable bottom. One end of a handle or round stick is fastened loosely into the hole from underneath, so it can turn. The handle rises from the center of the movable bottom to the top of the frame, or higher if desired. Many small holes are bored up and down the handle. Small sticks are inserted through these holes, extending toward opposite sides of the frame. So many sticks extend from the handle in all directions that a fish of any considerable size cannot pass through without hitting one. The frame is then placed in the water and fixed in place.

The trap is "set" by sliding or drawing up the door, and kept in that position by another stick, one end of which rests in a notch on the inner side, the other end in a notch made in the handle, running up from the centre of the movable bottom. The trap is baited by rolling a handful of wet meal and cotton together until it becomes hard, and depositing it in the back part of the frame. A fish swimming through the upraised door towards the bait, necessarily strikes one of the small sticks turning the handle, which displacing the stick supporting the door, the latter falls, securing the fish within the frame. Taking hold of the top of the handle, the movable bottom is then drawn up to the surface of the water, and the fish taken out. There may have been other such traps in use before mine was constructed, but if there were I had never happened to see one. Bayou Bœuf abounds in fish of large size and excellent quality, and after this time I was very rarely in want of one for myself, or for my comrades. Thus a mine was opened—a new resource was developed, hitherto unthought of by the enslaved children of Africa, who toil and hunger along the shores of that sluggish, but prolific stream.

The trap is "set" by sliding the door up. Another stick holds it in place. One end rests in a notch on the inside of the trap. The other rests in a notch in the handle, which rises from the center of the movable bottom. To bait the trap, a handful of wet meal and cotton are rolled together until hard. The bait is then placed at the back of the frame. A fish swimming through the raised door toward the bait is bound to strike one of the small sticks. This turns the handle and dislodges the stick holding up the door. The door falls, trapping the fish inside the frame. Then, by gripping the top of the handle, the movable bottom is pulled up to the water’s surface. The fish can then be taken out. There may have been other traps like it before I built mine, but if there were, I had never seen one. Bayou Bœuf is full of large, excellent fish. After this, I very rarely lacked a fish for myself or my comrades. A mine had been opened, a new resource discovered. Until then, the enslaved children of Africa who toil and hunger along that slow but abundant stream had not thought of it.

About the time of which I am now writing, an event occurred in our immediate neighborhood, which made a deep impression upon me, and which shows the state of society existing there, and the manner in which affronts are oftentimes avenged. Directly opposite our quarters, on the other side of the bayou, was situated the plantation of Mr. Marshall. He belonged to a family among the most wealthy and aristocratic in the country. A gentleman from the vicinity of Natchez had been negotiating with him for the purchase of the estate. One day a messenger came in great haste to our plantation, saying that a bloody and fearful battle was going on at Marshall's—that blood had been spilled—and unless the combatants were forthwith separated, the result would be disastrous.

Around the time I am writing about, an event occurred in our immediate neighborhood that made a deep impression on me. It showed what society was like there and how insults were often avenged. Mr. Marshall's plantation was directly opposite our quarters, across the bayou. He belonged to one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic families in the country. A gentleman from the vicinity of Natchez had been negotiating with him to buy the estate. One day a messenger arrived at our plantation in great haste. He said a bloody and terrible fight was going on at Marshall's and that blood had been spilled. Unless the combatants were separated at once, the result would be disastrous.

On repairing to Marshall's house, a scene presented itself that beggars description. On the floor of one of the rooms lay the ghastly corpse of the man from Natchez, while Marshall, enraged and covered with wounds and blood, was stalking back and forth, "breathing out threatenings and slaughter." A difficulty had arisen in the course of their negotiation, high words ensued, when drawing their weapons, the deadly strife began that ended so unfortunately. Marshall was never placed in confinement. A sort of trial or investigation was had at Marksville, when he was acquitted, and returned to his plantation, rather more respected, as I thought, than ever, from the fact that the blood of a fellow being was on his soul.

When I went to Marshall's house, I saw a scene beyond description. The ghastly corpse of the man from Natchez lay on the floor in one room. Marshall, furious and covered with wounds and blood, paced back and forth, "breathing out threatenings and slaughter." A dispute had arisen during their negotiations, and angry words followed. Then they drew their weapons, and the deadly fight began, ending so unfortunately. Marshall was never jailed. A kind of trial or investigation was held at Marksville, where he was acquitted. He returned to his plantation, more respected than ever, I thought, because he had a fellow being's blood on his soul.

Epps interested himself in his behalf, accompanying him to Marksville, and on all occasions loudly justifying him, but his services in this respect did not afterwards deter a kinsman of this same Marshall from seeking his life also. A brawl occurred between them over a gambling-table, which terminated in a deadly feud. Riding up on horseback in front of the house one day, armed with pistols and bowie knife, Marshall challenged him to come forth and make a final settlement of the quarrel, or he would brand him as a coward, and shoot him like a dog the first opportunity. Not through cowardice, nor from any conscientious scruples, in my opinion, but through the influence of his wife, he was restrained from accepting the challenge of his enemy. A reconciliation, however, was effected afterward, since which time they have been on terms of the closest intimacy.

Epps took an interest in helping him. He accompanied him to Marksville and loudly defended him on every occasion. But Epps’s help did not prevent a relative of this same Marshall from later seeking to kill Epps too. A fight broke out between them over a gambling table and ended in a deadly feud. One day, Marshall rode up in front of the house, armed with pistols and a bowie knife. He challenged Epps to come out and settle the quarrel once and for all. Otherwise, Marshall would call him a coward and shoot him like a dog at the first opportunity. In my opinion, Epps did not refuse the challenge out of cowardice or moral scruples. Rather, his wife persuaded him not to accept it. Later, however, the two reconciled, and they have been the closest of friends ever since.

Such occurrences, which would bring upon the parties concerned in them merited and condign punishment in the Northern States, are frequent on the bayou, and pass without notice, and almost without comment. Every man carries his bowie knife, and when two fall out, they set to work hacking and thrusting at each other, more like savages than civilized and enlightened beings.

In the Northern States, those involved in such incidents would receive the punishment they deserve. But on the bayou, these incidents are common. They pass unnoticed and almost without comment. Every man carries a bowie knife. When two men quarrel, they hack and stab at each other, more like savages than civilized and enlightened beings.

The existence of Slavery in its most cruel form among them, has a tendency to brutalize the humane and finer feelings of their nature. Daily witnesses of human suffering—listening to the agonizing screeches of the slave—beholding him writhing beneath the merciless lash—bitten and torn by dogs—dying without attention, and buried without shroud or coffin—it cannot otherwise be expected, than that they should become brutified and reckless of human life. It is true there are many kind-hearted and good men in the parish of Avoyelles—such men as William Ford—who can look with pity upon the sufferings of a slave, just as there are, over all the world, sensitive and sympathetic spirits, who cannot look with indifference upon the sufferings of any creature which the Almighty has endowed with life. It is not the fault of the slaveholder that he is cruel, so much as it is the fault of the system under which he lives. He cannot withstand the influence of habit and associations that surround him. Taught from earliest childhood, by all that he sees and hears, that the rod is for the slave's back, he will not be apt to change his opinions in maturer years.

The existence of slavery in its cruelest form among them tends to deaden their humane and finer feelings. Every day, they witness human suffering and hear the agonized screams of the slave. They see him writhing under the merciless lash, bitten and torn by dogs, dying without care, and buried without a shroud or coffin. Under these conditions, they can hardly be expected to become anything but brutal and careless of human life. It is true that many kind-hearted and good men live in the parish of Avoyelles. Men like William Ford can look with pity on the sufferings of a slave. Just as everywhere in the world, there are sensitive and sympathetic people who cannot look indifferently on the suffering of any creature the Almighty has given life. The slaveholder’s cruelty is less his own fault than the fault of the system under which he lives. He cannot resist the influence of the habits and associations around him. From earliest childhood, everything he sees and hears teaches him that the rod is meant for the slave’s back. He is unlikely to change his views in later years.

There may be humane masters, as there certainly are inhuman ones—there may be slaves well-clothed, well-fed, and happy, as there surely are those half-clad, half-starved and miserable; nevertheless, the institution that tolerates such wrong and inhumanity as I have witnessed, is a cruel, unjust, and barbarous one. Men may write fictions portraying lowly life as it is, or as it is not—may expatiate with owlish gravity upon the bliss of ignorance—discourse flippantly from arm chairs of the pleasures of slave life; but let them toil with him in the field—sleep with him in the cabin—feed with him on husks; let them behold him scourged, hunted, trampled on, and they will come back with another story in their mouths. Let them know the heart of the poor slave—learn his secret thoughts—thoughts he dare not utter in the hearing of the white man; let them sit by him in the silent watches of the night—converse with him in trustful confidence, of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," and they will find that ninety-nine out of every hundred are intelligent enough to understand their situation, and to cherish in their bosoms the love of freedom, as passionately as themselves.

There may be humane masters, just as there certainly are inhuman ones. There may be slaves who are well-clothed, well-fed, and happy. But there are surely others who are half-clothed, half-starved, and miserable. Nevertheless, any institution that tolerates the wrong and inhumanity I have witnessed is cruel, unjust, and barbaric. Men may write fiction portraying humble life as it is, or as it is not. They may speak at length, with owl-like solemnity, about the bliss of ignorance. They may talk casually from their armchairs about the pleasures of slave life. But let them work beside a slave in the fields, sleep beside him in the cabin, and eat husks with him. Let them see him whipped, hunted, and trampled on. Then they will come back telling a different story. Let them know the heart of the poor slave and learn his secret thoughts, which he dare not speak before the white man. Let them sit beside him in the quiet hours of the night. Let them talk with him in mutual trust about "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Then they will find that ninety-nine out of every hundred slaves are intelligent enough to understand their situation. They will find that those slaves cherish freedom as passionately as they do.