Chapter 19

AVERY, OF BAYOU ROUGE—PECULIARITY OF DWELLINGS—EPPS BUILDS A NEW HOUSE—BASS, THE CARPENTER—HIS NOBLE QUALITIES—HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE AND ECCENTRICITIES—BASS AND EPPS DISCUSS THE QUESTION OF SLAVERY—EPPS' OPINION OF BASS—I MAKE MYSELF KNOWN TO HIM—OUR CONVERSATION—HIS SURPRISE—THE MIDNIGHT MEETING ON THE BAYOU BANK—BASS' ASSURANCES—DECLARES WAR AGAINST SLAVERY—WHY I DID NOT DISCLOSE MY HISTORY—BASS WRITES LETTERS—COPY OF HIS LETTER TO MESSRS. PARKER AND PERRY—THE FEVER OF SUSPENSE—DISAPPOINTMENTS—BASS ENDEAVORS TO CHEER ME—MY FAITH IN HIM.

AVERY OF BAYOU ROUGE. THE UNUSUAL HOMES. EPPS BUILDS A NEW HOUSE. BASS, THE CARPENTER. HIS NOBLE QUALITIES. HIS APPEARANCE AND ECCENTRICITIES. BASS AND EPPS DISCUSS SLAVERY. EPPS' OPINION OF BASS. I REVEAL MYSELF TO BASS. OUR CONVERSATION. HIS SURPRISE. THE MIDNIGHT MEETING ON THE BAYOU BANK. BASS' ASSURANCES. HE DECLARES WAR AGAINST SLAVERY. WHY I DID NOT REVEAL MY HISTORY. BASS WRITES LETTERS. A COPY OF HIS LETTER TO MESSRS. PARKER AND PERRY. THE FEVER OF WAITING. DISAPPOINTMENTS. BASS TRIES TO CHEER ME. MY FAITH IN HIM.

In the month of June, 1852, in pursuance of a previous contract, Mr. Avery, a carpenter of Bayou Rouge, commenced the erection of a house for Master Epps. It has previously been stated that there are no cellars on Bayou Bœuf; on the other hand, such is the low and swampy nature of the ground, the great houses are usually built upon spiles. Another peculiarity is, the rooms are not plastered, but the ceiling and sides are covered with matched cypress boards, painted such color as most pleases the owner's taste. Generally the plank and boards are sawed by slaves with whip-saws, there being no waterpower upon which mills might be built within many miles. When the planter erects for himself a dwelling, therefore, there is plenty of extra work for his slaves. Having had some experience under Tibeats as a carpenter, I was taken from the field altogether, on the arrival of Avery and his hands.

In June 1852, Mr. Avery, a carpenter from Bayou Rouge, began building a house for Master Epps under an earlier contract. As I have said, there are no cellars on Bayou Bœuf. The ground is low and swampy, so the great houses are usually built on wooden posts. Another feature is that the rooms are not plastered. Instead, the ceilings and walls are covered with fitted cypress boards, painted whatever color the owner prefers. Slaves generally saw the planks and boards with whip-saws because there is no waterpower for mills within many miles. So when a planter builds himself a house, his slaves have plenty of extra work. I had gained some experience as a carpenter under Tibeats. When Avery and his workers arrived, I was taken out of the fields altogether.

Among them was one to whom I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Only for him, in all probability, I should have ended my days in slavery. He was my deliverer—a man whose true heart overflowed with noble and generous emotions. To the last moment of my existence I shall remember him with feelings of thankfulness. His name was Bass, and at that time he resided in Marksville. It will be difficult to convey a correct impression of his appearance or character. He was a large man, between forty and fifty years old, of light complexion and light hair. He was very cool and self-possessed, fond of argument, but always speaking with extreme deliberation. He was that kind of person whose peculiarity of manner was such that nothing he uttered ever gave offence. What would be intolerable, coming from the lips of another, could be said by him with impunity. There was not a man on Red River, perhaps, that agreed with him on the subject of politics or religion, and not a man, I venture to say, who discussed either of those subjects half as much. It seemed to be taken for granted that he would espouse the unpopular side of every local question, and it always created amusement rather than displeasure among his auditors, to listen to the ingenious and original manner in which he maintained the controversy. He was a bachelor—an "old bachelor," according to the true acceptation of the term—having no kindred living, as he knew of, in the world. Neither had he any permanent abiding place—wandering from one State to another, as his fancy dictated. He had lived in Marksville three or four years, and in the prosecution of his business as a carpenter; and in consequence, likewise, of his peculiarities, was quite extensively known throughout the parish of Avoyelles. He was liberal to a fault; and his many acts of kindness and transparent goodness of heart rendered him popular in the community, the sentiment of which he unceasingly combated.

Among them was a man to whom I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude. Without him, I would probably have ended my days in slavery. He was my deliverer, a man whose true heart overflowed with noble and generous feelings. I will remember him with gratitude until the last moment of my life. His name was Bass, and he lived in Marksville at the time. It is hard to give an accurate impression of his appearance or character. He was a large man, between forty and fifty years old, with a light complexion and light hair. He was calm and self-possessed, and he enjoyed arguing. But he always spoke with great deliberation. His manner was so distinctive that nothing he said ever gave offense. He could say things without consequence that would have been intolerable from someone else. Perhaps no man on Red River agreed with him about politics or religion. Yet, I dare say, no man discussed either subject half as much as he did. People seemed to take it for granted that he would take the unpopular side of every local issue. His listeners were always amused rather than displeased by the ingenious and original way he argued his case. He was a bachelor, an "old bachelor" in the fullest sense of the term. As far as he knew, he had no living relatives anywhere in the world. He had no permanent home either, but wandered from one State to another as he pleased. He had lived in Marksville for three or four years. His work as a carpenter, along with his peculiar ways, made him widely known throughout the parish of Avoyelles. He was generous to a fault. His many acts of kindness and his obvious goodness of heart made him popular in the community, even though he constantly opposed its views.

He was a native of Canada, from whence he had wandered in early life, and after visiting all the principal localities in the northern and western States, in the course of his peregrinations, arrived in the unhealthy region of the Red River. His last removal was from Illinois. Whither he has now gone, I regret to be obliged to say, is unknown to me. He gathered up his effects and departed quietly from Marksville the day before I did, the suspicions of his instrumentality in procuring my liberation rendering such a step necessary. For the commission of a just and righteous act he would undoubtedly have suffered death, had he remained within reach of the slave-whipping tribe on Bayou Bœuf.

He was born in Canada and left there in his youth. After visiting all the major places in the northern and western States during his travels, he arrived in the unhealthy Red River region. He had come there from Illinois. I regret to say that I do not know where he has gone now. He gathered his belongings and quietly left Marksville the day before I did. He had to leave because people suspected that he had helped secure my freedom. If he had remained within reach of the slave-whipping tribe on Bayou Bœuf, he would undoubtedly have been killed for doing what was just and right.

One day, while working on the new house, Bass and Epps became engaged in a controversy, to which, as will be readily supposed, I listened with absorbing interest. They were discussing the subject of Slavery.

One day, while working on the new house, Bass and Epps got into an argument. As you might expect, I listened with intense interest. They were discussing slavery.

"I tell you what it is Epps," said Bass, "it's all wrong—all wrong, sir—there's no justice nor righteousness in it. I wouldn't own a slave if I was rich as Crœsus, which I am not, as is perfectly well understood, more particularly among my creditors. There's another humbug—the credit system—humbug, sir; no credit—no debt. Credit leads a man into temptation. Cash down is the only thing that will deliver him from evil. But this question of Slavery; what right have you to your niggers when you come down to the point?"

"I'll tell you, Epps," said Bass, "it's all wrong. All wrong, sir. There is no justice or righteousness in it. I wouldn't own a slave if I were as rich as Crœsus. I'm not, as everyone knows perfectly well, especially my creditors. There's another fraud, the credit system. It's a fraud, sir. No credit, no debt. Credit leads a man into temptation. Paying cash upfront is the only thing that will deliver him from evil. But on the question of Slavery, what right do you have to your niggers when you get right down to it?"

"What right!" said Epps, laughing; "why, I bought 'em, and paid for 'em."

"What right!" Epps said, laughing. "Why, I bought them and paid for them."

"Of course you did; the law says you have the right to hold a nigger, but begging the law's pardon, it lies. Yes, Epps, when the law says that it's a liar, and the truth is not in it. Is every thing right because the law allows it? Suppose they'd pass a law taking away your liberty and making you a slave?"

"Of course you did. The law says you have the right to hold a nigger, but begging the law's pardon, it lies. Yes, Epps, when the law says that, it's a liar, and there is no truth in it. Is everything right because the law allows it? Suppose they passed a law taking away your liberty and making you a slave?"

"Oh, that ain't a supposable case," said Epps, still laughing; "hope you don't compare me to a nigger, Bass."

"Oh, that ain't a case you can imagine," said Epps, still laughing. "I hope you don't compare me to a nigger, Bass."

"Well," Bass answered gravely, "no, not exactly. But I have seen niggers before now as good as I am, and I have no acquaintance with any white man in these parts that I consider a whit better than myself. Now, in the sight of God, what is the difference, Epps, between a white man and a black one?"

"Well," Bass answered seriously, "no, not exactly. But I've seen niggers before who were as good as I am. And I don't know any white man around here whom I consider even a bit better than myself. Now, Epps, in God's eyes, what is the difference between a white man and a black one?"

"All the difference in the world," replied Epps. "You might as well ask what the difference is between a white man and a baboon. Now, I've seen one of them critters in Orleans that knowed just as much as any nigger I've got. You'd call them feller citizens, I s'pose?"—and Epps indulged in a loud laugh at his own wit.

"All the difference in the world," replied Epps. "You might as well ask what the difference is between a white man and a baboon. Now, I've seen one of them creatures in Orleans that knew just as much as any nigger I've got. You'd call them fellow citizens, I suppose?" Epps laughed loudly at his own wit.

"Look here, Epps," continued his companion; "you can't laugh me down in that way. Some men are witty, and some ain't so witty as they think they are. Now let me ask you a question. Are all men created free and equal as the Declaration of Independence holds they are?"

"Look here, Epps," his companion continued. "You can't laugh me down like that. Some men are witty, and some aren't as witty as they think. Now let me ask you a question. Are all men created free and equal, as the Declaration of Independence says they are?"

"Yes," responded Epps, "but all men, niggers, and monkeys ain't;" and hereupon he broke forth into a more boisterous laugh than before.

"Yes," Epps replied, "but all men, niggers, and monkeys ain't." Then he laughed even louder than before.

"There are monkeys among white people as well as black, when you come to that," coolly remarked Bass. "I know some white men that use arguments no sensible monkey would. But let that pass. These niggers are human beings. If they don't know as much as their masters, whose fault is it? They are not allowed to know anything. You have books and papers, and can go where you please, and gather intelligence in a thousand ways. But your slaves have no privileges. You'd whip one of them if caught reading a book. They are held in bondage, generation after generation, deprived of mental improvement, and who can expect them to possess much knowledge? If they are not brought down to a level with the brute creation, you slaveholders will never be blamed for it. If they are baboons, or stand no higher in the scale of intelligence than such animals, you and men like you will have to answer for it. There's a sin, a fearful sin, resting on this nation, that will not go unpunished forever. There will be a reckoning yet—yes, Epps, there's a day coming that will burn as an oven. It may be sooner or it may be later, but it's a coming as sure as the Lord is just."

"There are monkeys among white people as well as black, when you come to that," Bass remarked calmly. "I know some white men who use arguments no sensible monkey would. But let that pass. These niggers are human beings. If they don't know as much as their masters, whose fault is it? They are not allowed to know anything. You have books and newspapers. You can go where you please and learn things in a thousand ways. But your slaves have no privileges. You'd whip one of them if you caught him reading a book. They are held in bondage, generation after generation, and denied the chance to develop their minds. Who can expect them to have much knowledge? If they aren't reduced to the level of animals, no one can blame you slaveholders for that. If they are baboons, or no more intelligent than those animals, you and men like you will have to answer for it. A terrible sin rests on this nation, and it won't go unpunished forever. There will be a reckoning. Yes, Epps, a day is coming that will burn like an oven. It may come sooner or later, but it's coming as surely as the Lord is just."

"If you lived up among the Yankees in New-England," said Epps, "I expect you'd be one of them cursed fanatics that know more than the constitution, and go about peddling clocks and coaxing niggers to run away."

"If you lived among the Yankees in New-England," said Epps, "I expect you'd be one of those cursed fanatics. They think they know more than the Constitution. They go around selling clocks and coaxing niggers to run away."

"If I was in New-England," returned Bass, "I would be just what I am here. I would say that Slavery was an iniquity, and ought to be abolished. I would say there was no reason nor justice in the law, or the constitution that allows one man to hold another man in bondage. It would be hard for you to lose your property, to be sure, but it wouldn't be half as hard as it would be to lose your liberty. You have no more right to your freedom, in exact justice, than Uncle Abram yonder. Talk about black skin, and black blood; why, how many slaves are there on this bayou as white as either of us? And what difference is there in the color of the soul? Pshaw! the whole system is as absurd as it is cruel. You may own niggers and behanged, but I wouldn't own one for the best plantation in Louisiana."

"If I were in New-England," Bass replied, "I would be just what I am here. I would say slavery is a terrible wrong and should be abolished. I would say there is no reason or justice in any law or constitution that lets one man hold another in bondage. Losing your property would be hard for you, of course. But it wouldn't be half as hard as losing your freedom. In all fairness, you have no more right to your freedom than Uncle Abram over there. You talk about black skin and black blood. But how many slaves on this bayou are as white as either of us? And what difference does the color of a soul make? Nonsense! The whole system is as absurd as it is cruel. You may own niggers and be damned, but I wouldn't own one for the best plantation in Louisiana."

"You like to hear yourself talk, Bass, better than any man I know of. You would argue that black was white, or white black, if any body would contradict you. Nothing suits you in this world, and I don't believe you will be satisfied with the next, if you should have your choice in them."

"You like to hear yourself talk more than anyone I know, Bass. You'd argue that black was white, or white was black, if anyone disagreed with you. Nothing in this world suits you. And I don't believe you'd be satisfied with the next world, even if you could choose between them."

Conversations substantially like the foregoing were not unusual between the two after this; Epps drawing him out more for the purpose of creating a laugh at his expense, than with a view of fairly discussing the merits of the question. He looked upon Bass, as a man ready to say anything merely for the pleasure of hearing his own voice; as somewhat self-conceited, perhaps, contending against his faith and judgment, in order, simply, to exhibit his dexterity in argumentation.

After this, the two often had conversations much like the one above. Epps drew Bass out more to get a laugh at his expense than to discuss the question fairly. He saw Bass as a man willing to say anything just to hear himself talk. Epps thought Bass was perhaps somewhat conceited and argued against his own beliefs and judgment simply to show off his skill in argument.

He remained at Epps' through the summer, visiting Marksville generally once a fortnight. The more I saw of him, the more I became convinced he was a man in whom I could confide. Nevertheless, my previous ill-fortune had taught me to be extremely cautious. It was not my place to speak to a white man except when spoken to, but I omitted no opportunity of throwing myself in his way, and endeavored constantly in every possible manner to attract his attention. In the early part of August he and myself were at work alone in the house, the other carpenters having left, and Epps being absent in the field. Now was the time, if ever, to broach the subject, and I resolved to do it, and submit to whatever consequences might ensue. We were busily at work in the afternoon, when I stopped suddenly and said—

He stayed at Epps' through the summer, usually visiting Marksville once every two weeks. The more I saw of him, the more convinced I became that I could trust him. Nevertheless, my past misfortunes had taught me to be extremely cautious. I was not allowed to speak to a white man unless he spoke to me first. But I missed no opportunity to put myself in his path. I constantly tried in every possible way to attract his attention. In early August, he and I were working alone in the house. The other carpenters had left, and Epps was out in the field. Now was the time, if ever, to bring up the subject. I resolved to do it and face whatever consequences might follow. We were busy working that afternoon when I suddenly stopped and said:

"Master Bass, I want to ask you what part of the country you came from?"

"Master Bass, what part of the country are you from?"

"Why, Platt, what put that into your head?" he answered. "You wouldn't know if I should tell you." After a moment or two he added—"I was born in Canada; now guess where that is."

"Why, Platt, what made you think of that?" he answered. "You wouldn't know if I told you." After a moment or two, he added, "I was born in Canada. Now guess where that is."

"Oh, I know where Canada is," said I, "I have been there myself."

"Oh, I know where Canada is," I said. "I've been there myself."

"Yes, I expect you are well acquainted all through that country," he remarked, laughing incredulously.

"Yes, I expect you know that whole country well," he said, laughing in disbelief.

"As sure as I live, Master Bass," I replied, "I have been there. I have been in Montreal and Kingston, and Queenston, and a great many places in Canada, and I have been in York State, too—in Buffalo, and Rochester, and Albany, and can tell you the names of the villages on the Erie canal and the Champlain canal."

"As sure as I live, Master Bass," I replied, "I have been there. I have been to Montreal, Kingston, Queenston, and many other places in Canada. I have also been to Buffalo, Rochester, and Albany in York State. I can tell you the names of the villages on the Erie canal and the Champlain canal."

Bass turned round and gazed at me a long time without uttering a syllable.

Bass turned around and stared at me for a long time without saying a word.

"How came you here?" he inquired, at length. "Master Bass," I answered, "if justice had been done, I never would have been here."

"How did you get here?" he finally asked. "Master Bass," I answered, "if justice had been done, I never would have been here."

"Well, how's this?" said he. "Who are you? You have been in Canada sure enough; I know all the places you mention. How did you happen to get here? Come, tell me all about it."

“Well, what’s this?” he said. “Who are you? You really have been to Canada. I know all the places you mention. How did you get here? Come on, tell me all about it.”

"I have no friends here," was my reply, "that I can put confidence in. I am afraid to tell you, though I don't believe you would tell Master Epps if I should."

"I have no friends here I can trust," I replied. "I'm afraid to tell you, though I don't think you would tell Master Epps if I did."

He assured me earnestly he would keep every word I might speak to him a profound secret, and his curiosity was evidently strongly excited. It was a long story, I informed him, and would take some time to relate it. Master Epps would be back soon, but if he would see me that night after all were asleep, I would repeat it to him. He consented readily to the arrangement, and directed me to come into the building where we were then at work, and I would find him there. About midnight, when all was still and quiet, I crept cautiously from my cabin, and silently entering the unfinished building, found him awaiting me.

He assured me earnestly that he would keep everything I told him completely secret. He was clearly very curious. I told him it was a long story and would take some time to tell. Master Epps would be back soon. But if he would meet me that night after everyone was asleep, I would tell him the story. He readily agreed and told me to come to the building where we were working. I would find him there. Around midnight, when all was still and quiet, I cautiously slipped out of my cabin. I entered the unfinished building silently and found him waiting for me.

After further assurances on his part that I should not be betrayed, I began a relation of the history of my life and misfortunes. He was deeply interested, asking numerous questions in reference to localities and events. Having ended my story I besought him to write to some of my friends at the North, acquainting them with my situation, and begging them to forward free papers, or take such steps as they might consider proper to secure my release. He promised to do so, but dwelt upon the danger of such an act in case of detection, and now impressed upon me the great necessity of strict silence and secresy. Before we parted our plan of operation was arranged.

After he assured me again that he would not betray me, I began to tell him about my life and misfortunes. He was deeply interested and asked many questions about places and events. When I finished, I begged him to write to some of my friends in the North. I asked him to tell them about my situation and beg them to send my free papers or take whatever steps they thought necessary to secure my release. He promised to do so, but he spoke of the danger if his letter were discovered. He also stressed how important it was for me to remain completely silent and keep the matter secret. Before we parted, we agreed on a plan.

We agreed to meet the next night at a specified place among the high weeds on the bank of the bayou, some distance from master's dwelling. There he was to write down on paper the names and address of several persons, old friends in the North, to whom he would direct letters during his next visit to Marksville. It was not deemed prudent to meet in the new house, inasmuch as the light it would be necessary to use might possibly be discovered. In the course of the day I managed to obtain a few matches and a piece of candle, unperceived, from the kitchen, during a temporary absence of Aunt Phebe. Bass had pencil and paper in his tool chest.

We agreed to meet the next night in a particular spot among the tall weeds on the bank of the bayou. It was some distance from master's house. There, he would write down the names and addresses of several of my old friends in the North. He would send them letters during his next visit to Marksville. We thought it unwise to meet in the new house because someone might see the light we would need. During the day, I managed to take a few matches and a piece of candle from the kitchen without being noticed. Aunt Phebe was away for a short time. Bass had a pencil and paper in his tool chest.

At the appointed hour we met on the bayou bank, and creeping among the high weeds, I lighted the candle, while he drew forth pencil and paper and prepared for business. I gave him the names of William Perry, Cephas Parker and Judge Marvin, all of Saratoga Springs, Saratoga county, New-York. I had been employed by the latter in the United States Hotel, and had transacted business with the former to a considerable extent, and trusted that at least one of them would be still living at that place. He carefully wrote the names, and then remarked, thoughtfully—

At the agreed time, we met on the bayou bank and crept among the tall weeds. I lit the candle while he took out a pencil and paper and got ready to write. I gave him the names of William Perry, Cephas Parker, and Judge Marvin, all of Saratoga Springs, Saratoga County, New York. Judge Marvin had employed me at the United States Hotel. I had also done considerable business with William Perry and Cephas Parker. I hoped that at least one of them still lived in Saratoga Springs. He carefully wrote down the names, then said thoughtfully:

"It is so many years since you left Saratoga, all these men may be dead, or may have removed. You say you obtained papers at the custom house in New-York. Probably there is a record of them there, and I think it would be well to write and ascertain."

"It has been so many years since you left Saratoga that all these men may be dead or may have moved away. You say you got papers at the custom house in New-York. There is probably a record of them there. I think it would be a good idea to write and find out."

I agreed with him, and again repeated the circumstances related heretofore, connected with my visit to the custom house with Brown and Hamilton. We lingered on the bank of the bayou an hour or more, conversing upon the subject which now engrossed our thoughts. I could no longer doubt his fidelity, and freely spoke to him of the many sorrows I had borne in silence, and so long. I spoke of my wife and children, mentioning their names and ages, and dwelling upon the unspeakable happiness it would be to clasp them to my heart once more before I died. I caught him by the hand, and with tears and passionate entreaties implored him to befriend me—to restore me to my kindred and to liberty—promising I would weary Heaven the remainder of my life with prayers that it would bless and prosper him. In the enjoyment of freedom—surrounded by the associations of youth, and restored to the bosom of my family—that promise is not yet forgotten, nor shall it ever be so long as I have strength to raise my imploring eyes on high.

I agreed with him and repeated the story I have already told about my visit to the custom house with Brown and Hamilton. We stayed on the bank of the bayou for an hour or more, discussing the matter that now filled our thoughts. I could no longer doubt his loyalty. I spoke freely to him of the many sorrows I had borne in silence for so long. I spoke of my wife and children, naming them and giving their ages. I lingered on the unspeakable happiness of holding them close once more before I died. I took his hand and, with tears and passionate pleas, begged him to help me. I begged him to restore me to my family and to freedom. I promised to weary Heaven for the rest of my life with prayers for his blessing and prosperity. Now I enjoy freedom, surrounded by the people and places of my youth and restored to my family. I have not forgotten that promise, nor will I ever forget it, as long as I have the strength to raise my pleading eyes to Heaven.

He overwhelmed me with assurances of friendship and faithfulness, saying he had never before taken so deep an interest in the fate of any one. He spoke of himself in a somewhat mournful tone, as a lonely man, a wanderer about the world—that he was growing old, and must soon reach the end of his earthly journey, and lie down to his final rest without kith or kin to mourn for him, or to remember him—that his life was of little value to himself, and henceforth should be devoted to the accomplishment of my liberty, and to an unceasing warfare against the accursed shame of Slavery.

He overwhelmed me with promises of friendship and loyalty. He said he had never before cared so deeply about anyone's fate. In a somewhat mournful tone, he described himself as a lonely man wandering the world. He was growing old and would soon reach the end of his earthly journey. He would lie down for his final rest with no family or friends to mourn or remember him. His life was worth little to him, he said. From then on, he would devote it to securing my freedom and waging a ceaseless fight against the accursed shame of Slavery.

After this time we seldom spoke to, or recognized each other. He was, moreover, less free in his conversation with Epps on the subject of Slavery. The remotest suspicion that there was any unusual intimacy—any secret understanding between us—never once entered the mind of Epps, or any other person, white or black, on the plantation.

After that, we seldom spoke to or acknowledged each other. He was also less open when talking with Epps about slavery. Epps never had the slightest suspicion that we were unusually close or had a secret understanding. Nor did anyone else on the plantation, white or black.

I am often asked, with an air of incredulity, how I succeeded so many years in keeping from my daily and constant companions the knowledge of my true name and history. The terrible lesson Burch taught me, impressed indelibly upon my mind the danger and uselessness of asserting I was a freeman. There was no possibility of any slave being able to assist me, while, on the other hand, there was a possibility of his exposing me. When it is recollected the whole current of my thoughts, for twelve years, turned to the contemplation of escape, it will not be wondered at, that I was always cautious and on my guard. It would have been an act of folly to have proclaimed my right to freedom; it would only have subjected me to severer scrutiny—probably have consigned me to some more distant and inaccessible region than even Bayou Bœuf. Edwin Epps was a person utterly regardless of a black man's rights or wrongs—utterly destitute of any natural sense of justice, as I well knew. It was important, therefore, not only as regarded my hope of deliverance, but also as regarded the few personal privileges I was permitted to enjoy, to keep from him the history of my life.

People often ask, in disbelief, how I kept my true name and history from my daily companions for so many years. Burch taught me a terrible lesson. It impressed on my mind forever the danger and uselessness of saying I was a free man. No slave could possibly help me, but there was a possibility that one might expose me. For twelve years, all my thoughts were fixed on escape. Given that, it is no wonder I was always cautious and on my guard. It would have been foolish to declare my right to freedom. Doing so would only have brought closer scrutiny. It would probably have sent me to a region even more distant and inaccessible than Bayou Bœuf. I knew well that Edwin Epps cared nothing for a black man's rights or the wrongs done to him. He had no natural sense of justice at all. So keeping my life story from him was important to my hope of deliverance. It was also important to the few personal privileges I was allowed to enjoy.

The Saturday night subsequent to our interview at the water's edge, Bass went home to Marksville. The next day, being Sunday, he employed himself in his own room writing letters. One he directed to the Collector of Customs at New-York, another to Judge Marvin, and another to Messrs. Parker and Perry jointly. The latter was the one which led to my recovery. He subscribed my true name, but in the postscript intimated I was not the writer. The letter itself shows that he considered himself engaged in a dangerous undertaking—no less than running "the risk of his life, if detected." I did not see the letter before it was mailed, but have since obtained a copy, which is here inserted:

On the Saturday night after we met at the water’s edge, Bass went home to Marksville. The next day, Sunday, he spent time in his room writing letters. He addressed one to the Collector of Customs at New-York, another to Judge Marvin, and another jointly to Messrs. Parker and Perry. The last letter was the one that led to my recovery. He signed my true name, but hinted in a postscript that I had not written it. The letter itself shows that he knew he was undertaking something dangerous. He was running "the risk of his life, if detected." I did not see the letter before it was mailed. But I have since obtained a copy, which I include here:

The allusion to myself in the work recently issued, entitled "A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," contains the first part of this letter, omitting the postscript. Neither are the full names of the gentlemen to whom it is directed correctly stated, there being a slight discrepancy, probably a typographical error. To the postscript more than to the body of the communication am I indebted for my liberation, as will presently be seen.

The recently published book "A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin" mentions me and includes the first part of this letter, but leaves out the postscript. It also gives the full names of the gentlemen the letter was addressed to incorrectly. The slight discrepancy is probably a printing error. As will soon be seen, I owe my freedom more to the postscript than to the body of the letter.

When Bass returned from Marksville he informed me of what he had done. We continued our midnight consultations, never speaking to each other through the day, excepting as it was necessary about the work. As nearly as he was able to ascertain, it would require two weeks for the letter to reach Saratoga in due course of mail, and the same length of time for an answer to return. Within six weeks, at the farthest, we concluded, an answer would arrive, if it arrived at all. A great many suggestions were now made, and a great deal of conversation took place between us, as to the most safe and proper course to pursue on receipt of the free papers. They would stand between him and harm, in case we were overtaken and arrested leaving the country altogether. It would be no infringement of law, however much it might provoke individual hostility, to assist a freeman to regain his freedom.

When Bass returned from Marksville, he told me what he had done. We continued to meet at midnight to discuss our plans. During the day, we spoke only when necessary about the work. As best he could determine, the letter would take two weeks to reach Saratoga by mail. An answer would take another two weeks to return. We concluded that an answer would arrive within six weeks at the latest, if it arrived at all. We made many suggestions and talked at length about the safest and best course once we received the free papers. The papers would protect him from harm if we were caught and arrested while leaving the country altogether. Helping a free man regain his freedom would not break the law, however much it might anger individuals.

At the end of four weeks he was again at Marksville, but no answer had arrived. I was sorely disappointed, but still reconciled myself with the reflection that sufficient length of time had not yet elapsed—that there might have been delays—and that I could not reasonably expect one so soon. Six, seven, eight, and ten weeks passed by, however, and nothing came. I was in a fever of suspense whenever Bass visited Marksville, and could scarcely close my eyes until his return. Finally my master's house was finished, and the time came when Bass must leave me. The night before his departure I was wholly given up to despair. I had clung to him as a drowning man clings to the floating spar, knowing if it slips from his grasp he must forever sink beneath the waves. The all-glorious hope, upon which I had laid such eager hold, was crumbling to ashes in my hands. I felt as if sinking down, down, amidst the bitter waters of Slavery, from the unfathomable depths of which I should never rise again.

After four weeks, he was in Marksville again, but no answer had arrived. I was deeply disappointed, but I comforted myself with the thought that not enough time had passed. There might have been delays, and I could not reasonably expect an answer so soon. But six, seven, eight, and ten weeks passed, and nothing came. Whenever Bass visited Marksville, I was frantic with suspense and could hardly sleep until he returned. Finally, my master's house was finished, and the time came for Bass to leave me. The night before he left, I was overcome with despair. I had clung to him as a drowning man clings to a floating piece of wood. The man knows that if it slips from his grasp, he will sink beneath the waves forever. The glorious hope I had grasped so eagerly was crumbling to ashes in my hands. I felt as if I were sinking down, down, amid the bitter waters of Slavery. I felt I would never rise again from those immeasurable depths.

The generous heart of my friend and benefactor was touched with pity at the sight of my distress. He endeavored to cheer me up, promising to return the day before Christmas, and if no intelligence was received in the meantime, some further step would be undertaken to effect our design. He exhorted me to keep up my spirits—to rely upon his continued efforts in my behalf, assuring me, in most earnest and impressive language, that my liberation should, from thenceforth, be the chief object of his thoughts.

My generous friend and benefactor was moved to pity by my distress. He tried to cheer me up and promised to return the day before Christmas. If no news came in the meantime, we would take another step toward our goal. He urged me to keep up my spirits and trust that he would continue working on my behalf. He assured me in the most earnest and compelling words that, from then on, securing my freedom would be his chief concern.

In his absence the time passed slowly indeed. I looked forward to Christmas with intense anxiety and impatience. I had about given up the expectation of receiving any answer to the letters. They might have miscarried, or might have been misdirected. Perhaps those at Saratoga, to whom they had been addressed, were all dead; perhaps, engaged in their pursuits, they did not consider the fate of an obscure, unhappy black man of sufficient importance to be noticed. My whole reliance was in Bass. The faith I had in him was continually re-assuring me, and enabled me to stand up against the tide of disappointment that had overwhelmed me.

In his absence, time passed very slowly. I looked forward to Christmas with great anxiety and impatience. I had almost given up hope of receiving an answer to the letters. They might have been lost or sent to the wrong address. Perhaps everyone in Saratoga to whom I had addressed them was dead. Or perhaps they were busy with their own pursuits. Perhaps they did not think the fate of an obscure, unhappy black man was important enough to notice. I relied entirely on Bass. My faith in him kept reassuring me. It helped me withstand the tide of disappointment that had overwhelmed me.

So wholly was I absorbed in reflecting upon my situation and prospects, that the hands with whom I labored in the field often observed it. Patsey would ask me if I was sick, and Uncle Abram, and Bob, and Wiley frequently expressed a curiosity to know what I could be thinking about so steadily. But I evaded their inquiries with some light remark, and kept my thoughts locked closely in my breast.

I was so absorbed in thinking about my situation and prospects that the people I worked with in the field often noticed. Patsey would ask if I was sick. Uncle Abram, Bob, and Wiley often wondered what I could be thinking about so steadily. But I brushed off their questions with a casual remark and kept my thoughts to myself.