Chapter 21

22 min

THE LETTER REACHES SARATOGA—IS FORWARDED TO ANNE—IS LAID BEFORE HENRY B. NORTHUP—THE STATUTE OF MAY 14, 1840—ITS PROVISIONS—ANNE'S MEMORIAL TO THE GOVERNOR—THE AFFIDAVITS ACCOMPANYING IT—SENATOR SOULE'S LETTER—DEPARTURE OF THE AGENT APPOINTED BY THE GOVERNOR—ARRIVAL AT MARKSVILLE—THE HON. JOHN P. WADDILL—THE CONVERSATION ON NEW-YORK POLITICS—IT SUGGESTS A FORTUNATE IDEA—THE MEETING WITH BASS—THE SECRET OUT—LEGAL PROCEEDINGS INSTITUTED—DEPARTURE OF NORTHUP AND THE SHERIFF FROM MARKSVILLE FOR BAYOU BŒUF—ARRANGEMENTS ON THE WAY—REACH EPPS' PLANTATION—DISCOVER HIS SLAVES IN THE COTTON FIELD—THE MEETING—THE FAREWELL.

THE LETTER REACHES SARATOGA AND IS FORWARDED TO ANNE. IT IS SHOWN TO HENRY B. NORTHUP. THE LAW OF MAY 14, 1840, AND ITS PROVISIONS. ANNE'S PETITION TO THE GOVERNOR AND THE AFFIDAVITS ACCOMPANYING IT. SENATOR SOULE'S LETTER. THE AGENT APPOINTED BY THE GOVERNOR DEPARTS AND ARRIVES AT MARKSVILLE. THE HON. JOHN P. WADDILL. A CONVERSATION ABOUT NEW-YORK POLITICS SUGGESTS A LUCKY IDEA. THE MEETING WITH BASS. THE SECRET IS REVEALED. LEGAL PROCEEDINGS BEGIN. NORTHUP AND THE SHERIFF LEAVE MARKSVILLE FOR BAYOU BŒUF. ARRANGEMENTS ON THE WAY. THEY REACH EPPS' PLANTATION AND FIND HIS SLAVES IN THE COTTON FIELD. THE MEETING. THE FAREWELL.

I am indebted to Mr. Henry B. Northup and others for many of the particulars contained in this chapter.

I owe many of the details in this chapter to Mr. Henry B. Northup and others.

The letter written by Bass, directed to Parker and Perry, and which was deposited in the post-office in Marksville on the 15th day of August, 1852, arrived at Saratoga in the early part of September. Some time previous to this, Anne had removed to Glens Falls, Warren county, where she had charge of the kitchen in Carpenter's Hotel. She kept house, however, lodging with our children, and was only absent from them during such time as the discharge of her duties in the hotel required.

Bass wrote a letter to Parker and Perry and mailed it in Marksville on August 15, 1852. It arrived in Saratoga in early September. Some time earlier, Anne had moved to Glens Falls, Warren county, where she ran the kitchen at Carpenter's Hotel. She maintained a home, however, and lived with our children. She was away from them only when her duties at the hotel required it.

Messrs. Parker and Perry, on receipt of the letter, forwarded it immediately to Anne. On reading it the children were all excitement, and without delay hastened to the neighboring village of Sandy Hill, to consult Henry B. Northup, and obtain his advice and assistance in the matter.

When Messrs. Parker and Perry received the letter, they immediately forwarded it to Anne. After reading it, the children were all excited. They hurried to the neighboring village of Sandy Hill to ask Henry B. Northup for advice and assistance.

Upon examination, that gentleman found among the statutes of the State an act providing for the recovery of free citizens from slavery. It was passed May 14, 1840, and is entitled "An act more effectually to protect the free citizens of this State from being kidnapped or reduced to slavery." It provides that it shall be the duty of the Governor, upon the receipt of satisfactory information that any free citizen or inhabitant of this State, is wrongfully held in another State or Territory of the United States, upon the allegation or pretence that such person is a slave, or by color of any usage or rule of law is deemed or taken to be a slave, to take such measures to procure the restoration of such person to liberty, as he shall deem necessary. And to that end, he is authorized to appoint and employ an agent, and directed to furnish him with such credentials and instructions as will be likely to accomplish the object of his appointment. It requires the agent so appointed to proceed to collect the proper proof to establish the right of such person to his freedom; to perform such journeys, take such measures, institute such legal proceedings, &c., as may be necessary to return such person to this State, and charges all expenses incurred in carrying the act into effect, upon moneys not otherwise appropriated in the treasury.

Upon examining the State’s statutes, that gentleman found a law providing for the recovery of free citizens from slavery. It was passed May 14, 1840, and is entitled "An act more effectually to protect the free citizens of this State from being kidnapped or reduced to slavery." The law sets out the Governor’s duty when he receives satisfactory information that a free citizen or inhabitant of this State is wrongfully held in another United States State or Territory. It applies when the person is held on the claim or pretense that the person is a slave, or is treated as a slave under some custom or rule of law. In such cases, the Governor must take whatever steps he considers necessary to restore the person to liberty. To that end, he is authorized to appoint and employ an agent. He must give the agent credentials and instructions likely to accomplish the purpose of the appointment. The agent must collect the proper evidence to establish the person’s right to freedom. The agent must also make any journeys, take any steps, and begin any legal proceedings needed to return the person to this State. All expenses incurred in carrying out the law are to be paid from treasury funds not otherwise appropriated.

See Appendix A.

It was necessary to establish two facts to the satisfaction of the Governor: First, that I was a free citizen of New-York; and secondly, that I was wrongfully held in bondage. As to the first point, there was no difficulty, all the older inhabitants in the vicinity being ready to testify to it. The second point rested entirely upon the letter to Parker and Perry, written in an unknown hand, and upon the letter penned on board the brig Orleans, which, unfortunately, had been mislaid or lost.

Two facts had to be established to the Governor’s satisfaction. First, I was a free citizen of New-York. Second, I was being wrongfully held in bondage. The first point was easy to prove. All the older residents of the area were ready to testify to it. The second point rested entirely on two letters. One was the letter to Parker and Perry, written in an unknown hand. The other was the letter written on board the brig Orleans, which had unfortunately been misplaced or lost.

A memorial was prepared, directed to his excellency, Governor Hunt, setting forth her marriage, my departure to Washington city; the receipt of the letters; that I was a free citizen, and such other facts as were deemed important, and was signed and verified by Anne. Accompanying this memorial were several affidavits of prominent citizens of Sandy Hill and Fort Edward, corroborating fully the statements it contained, and also a request of several well known gentlemen to the Governor, that Henry B. Northup be appointed agent under the legislative act.

A petition was prepared for Governor Hunt. It described her marriage, my departure for Washington city, and the receipt of the letters. It stated that I was a free citizen and included other facts considered important. Anne signed and verified the petition. Several prominent citizens of Sandy Hill and Fort Edward provided sworn statements that fully supported its contents. The petition also included a request from several well-known gentlemen that the Governor appoint Henry B. Northup as agent under the legislative act.

On reading the memorial and affidavits, his excellency took a lively interest in the matter, and on the 23d day of November, 1852, under the seal of the State, "constituted, appointed and employed Henry B. Northup, Esq., an agent, with full power to effect" my restoration, and to take such measures as would be most likely to accomplish it, and instructing him to proceed to Louisiana with all convenient dispatch.

After reading the petition and sworn statements, the governor took a keen interest in the matter. On November 23, 1852, he acted under the seal of the State. He "appointed and employed Henry B. Northup, Esq., as an agent, with full power to secure" my restoration and take whatever measures seemed most likely to accomplish it. He instructed Henry B. Northup to proceed to Louisiana as quickly as conveniently possible.

See Appendix B.

The pressing nature of Mr. Northup's professional and political engagements delayed his departure until December. On the fourteenth day of that month he left Sandy Hill, and proceeded to Washington. The Hon. Pierre Soule, Senator in Congress from Louisiana, Hon. Mr. Conrad, Secretary of War, and Judge Nelson, of the Supreme Court of the United States, upon hearing a statement of the facts, and examining his commission, and certified copies of the memorial and affidavits, furnished him with open letters to gentlemen in Louisiana, strongly urging their assistance in accomplishing the object of his appointment.

Mr. Northup’s pressing professional and political duties delayed his departure until December. On December 14, he left Sandy Hill and traveled to Washington. He explained the facts to Hon. Pierre Soule, a Senator from Louisiana, Hon. Mr. Conrad, Secretary of War, and Judge Nelson of the United States Supreme Court. They examined his commission and certified copies of the memorial and affidavits. They then gave him open letters to gentlemen in Louisiana. The letters strongly urged them to help him carry out the purpose of his appointment.

Senator Soule especially interested himself in the matter, insisting, in forcible language, that it was the duty and interest of every planter in his State to aid in restoring me to freedom, and trusted the sentiments of honor and justice in the bosom of every citizen of the commonwealth would enlist him at once in my behalf. Having obtained these valuable letters, Mr. Northup returned to Baltimore, and proceeded from thence to Pittsburgh. It was his original intention, under advice of friends at Washington, to go directly to New Orleans, and consult the authorities of that city. Providentially, however, on arriving at the mouth of Red River, he changed his mind. Had he continued on, he would not have met with Bass, in which case the search for me would probably have been fruitless.

Senator Soule took a particular interest in the matter. He strongly insisted that every planter in his state had a duty and an interest in helping restore my freedom. He trusted that every citizen of the state would be moved by honor and justice to help me at once. After obtaining these valuable letters, Mr. Northup returned to Baltimore and then traveled to Pittsburgh. On the advice of friends in Washington, he had originally planned to go directly to New Orleans and consult the authorities there. Fortunately, however, he changed his mind when he reached the mouth of Red River. If he had continued on, he would not have met Bass. In that case, the search for me would probably have been fruitless.

Taking passage on the first steamer that arrived, he pursued his journey up Red River, a sluggish, winding stream, flowing through a vast region of primitive forests and impenetrable swamps, almost wholly destitute of inhabitants. About nine o'clock in the forenoon, January 1st, 1853, he left the steamboat at Marksville, and proceeded directly to Marksville Court House, a small village four miles in the interior.

He took the first steamer that arrived and continued his journey up Red River. The river was slow and winding, flowing through a vast region of untouched forests and impenetrable swamps. Almost no one lived there. At about nine in the morning on January 1, 1853, he left the steamboat at Marksville. He went straight to Marksville Court House, a small village four miles inland.

From the fact that the letter to Messrs. Parker and Perry was post-marked at Marksville, it was supposed by him that I was in that place or its immediate vicinity. On reaching this town, he at once laid his business before the Hon. John P. Waddill, a legal gentleman of distinction, and a man of fine genius and most noble impulses. After reading the letters and documents presented him, and listening to a representation of the circumstances under which I had been carried away into captivity, Mr. Waddill at once proffered his services, and entered into the affair with great zeal and earnestness. He, in common with others of like elevated character, looked upon the kidnapper with abhorrence. The title of his fellow parishioners and clients to the property which constituted the larger proportion of their wealth, not only depended upon the good faith in which slave sales were transacted, but he was a man in whose honorable heart emotions of indignation were aroused by such an instance of injustice.

Because the letter to Messrs. Parker and Perry was postmarked in Marksville, he supposed I was there or nearby. When he reached the town, he immediately explained his business to the Hon. John P. Waddill. Mr. Waddill was a distinguished lawyer, a man of great talent and the noblest impulses. He read the letters and documents presented to him. He also listened to an account of the circumstances under which I had been carried away into captivity. Mr. Waddill immediately offered his services and took up the matter with great zeal and earnestness. Like others of similarly high character, he regarded the kidnapper with horror. His fellow parishioners and clients held most of their wealth in slave property. Their legal ownership depended on slave sales being conducted in good faith. But Mr. Waddill was also an honorable man whose heart was stirred to indignation by such an injustice.

Marksville, although occupying a prominent position, and standing out in impressive italics on the map of Louisiana, is, in fact, but a small and insignificant hamlet. Aside from the tavern, kept by a jolly and generous boniface, the court house, inhabited by lawless cows and swine in the seasons of vacation, and a high gallows, with its dissevered rope dangling in the air, there is little to attract the attention of the stranger.

Marksville has a prominent place on the map of Louisiana, where its name stands out in impressive italics. But in fact, it is only a small, insignificant village. It has a tavern run by a cheerful, generous innkeeper. There is also a courthouse, occupied by lawless cows and pigs when court is not in session. A tall gallows stands there too, with its severed rope dangling in the air. Apart from these, there is little to attract a stranger’s attention.

Solomon Northup was a name Mr. Waddill had never heard, but he was confident that if there was a slave bearing that appellation in Marksville or vicinity, his black boy Tom would know him. Tom was accordingly called, but in all his extensive circle of acquaintances there was no such personage.

Mr. Waddill had never heard the name Solomon Northup. But he was confident that if a slave by that name lived in or near Marksville, his black boy Tom would know him. So Tom was called, but he knew no one by that name among all his many acquaintances.

The letter to Parker and Perry was dated at Bayou Bœuf. At this place, therefore, the conclusion was, I must be sought. But here a difficulty suggested itself, of a very grave character indeed. Bayou Bœuf, at its nearest point, was twenty-three miles distant, and was the name applied to the section of country extending between fifty and a hundred miles, on both sides of that stream. Thousands and thousands of slaves resided upon its shores, the remarkable richness and fertility of the soil having attracted thither a great number of planters. The information in the letter was so vague and indefinite as to render it difficult to conclude upon any specific course of proceeding. It was finally determined, however, as the only plan that presented any prospect of success, that Northup and the brother of Waddill, a student in the office of the latter, should repair to the Bayou, and traveling up one side and down the other its whole length, inquire at each plantation for me. Mr. Waddill tendered the use of his carriage, and it was definitely arranged that they should start upon the excursion early Monday morning.

The letter to Parker and Perry was dated at Bayou Bœuf. They therefore concluded that they must look for me there. But a very serious difficulty arose. The nearest point on Bayou Bœuf was twenty-three miles away. The name also applied to a stretch of country fifty to a hundred miles long, on both sides of the stream. Thousands and thousands of slaves lived along its banks. The remarkably rich, fertile soil had attracted a great number of planters there. The information in the letter was so vague that it was difficult to decide on a specific course of action. Finally, they settled on the only plan that seemed to offer any prospect of success. Northup and Waddill’s brother, who was a student in Waddill’s office, would go to the Bayou. They would travel its whole length, up one side and down the other, asking for me at every plantation. Mr. Waddill offered them the use of his carriage. They made firm plans to set out early Monday morning.

It will be seen at once that this course, in all probability, would have resulted unsuccessfully. It would have been impossible for them to have gone into the fields and examine all the gangs at work. They were not aware that I was known only as Platt; and had they inquired of Epps himself, he would have stated truly that he knew nothing of Solomon Northup.

It is clear that this approach would probably have failed. They could not have gone into the fields and examined all the gangs at work. They did not know that I was known only as Platt. And if they had asked Epps himself, he would have truthfully said that he knew nothing of Solomon Northup.

The arrangement being adopted, however, there was nothing further to be done until Sunday had elapsed. The conversation between Messrs. Northup and Waddill, in the course of the afternoon, turned upon New-York politics.

Once the arrangement was agreed upon, however, there was nothing more to do until Sunday had passed. That afternoon, Mr. Northup and Mr. Waddill talked about New York politics.

"I can scarcely comprehend the nice distinctions and shades of political parties in your State," observed Mr. Waddill. "I read of soft-shells and hard-shells, hunkers and barnburners, woolly-heads and silver-grays, and am unable to understand the precise difference between them. Pray, what is it?"

“I can hardly understand the subtle differences between the political parties in your state,” said Mr. Waddill. “I read about soft-shells and hard-shells, hunkers and barnburners, woolly-heads and silver-grays. I can’t understand exactly how they differ. What is the difference?”

Mr. Northup, re-filling his pipe, entered into quite an elaborate narrative of the origin of the various sections of parties, and concluded by saying there was another party in New-York, known as free-soilers or abolitionists. "You have seen none of those in this part of the country, I presume?" Mr. Northup remarked.

Mr. Northup refilled his pipe and gave a detailed account of how the various political factions began. He ended by saying that another party in New-York was known as free-soilers or abolitionists. "I presume you haven't seen any of them in this part of the country?" Mr. Northup remarked.

"Never, but one," answered Waddill, laughingly. "We have one here in Marksville, an eccentric creature, who preaches abolitionism as vehemently as any fanatic at the North. He is a generous, inoffensive man, but always maintaining the wrong side of an argument. It affords us a deal of amusement. He is an excellent mechanic, and almost indispensable in this community. He is a carpenter. His name is Bass."

“Only one,” Waddill answered, laughing. “We have an eccentric man here in Marksville who preaches abolitionism as fiercely as any fanatic in the North. He is a generous, harmless man, but he always takes the wrong side of an argument. That gives us plenty of amusement. He is an excellent mechanic and almost indispensable in this community. He is a carpenter. His name is Bass.”

Some further good-natured conversation was had at the expense of Bass' peculiarities, when Waddill all at once fell into a reflective mood, and asked for the mysterious letter again.

They chatted a little longer, good-naturedly teasing Bass about his quirks. Then Waddill suddenly became thoughtful and asked to see the mysterious letter again.

"Let me see—l-e-t m-e s-e-e!" he repeated, thoughtfully to himself, running his eyes over the letter once more. "'Bayou Bœuf, August 15.' August 15—post-marked here. 'He that is writing for me—' Where did Bass work last summer?" he inquired, turning suddenly to his brother. His brother was unable to inform him, but rising, left the office, and soon returned with the intelligence that "Bass worked last summer somewhere on Bayou Bœuf."

"Let me see, l-e-t m-e s-e-e!" he repeated thoughtfully to himself, looking over the letter again. "'Bayou Bœuf, August 15.' August 15, postmarked here. 'He that is writing for me.' Where did Bass work last summer?" he asked, turning suddenly to his brother. His brother didn't know, but he got up and left the office. He soon returned with the news that "Bass worked last summer somewhere on Bayou Bœuf."

"He is the man," bringing down his hand emphatically on the table, "who can tell us all about Solomon Northup," exclaimed Waddill.

“He is the man who can tell us all about Solomon Northup,” Waddill exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis.

Bass was immediately searched for, but could not be found. After some inquiry, it was ascertained he was at the landing on Red River. Procuring a conveyance, young Waddill and Northup were not long in traversing the few miles to the latter place. On their arrival, Bass was found, just on the point of leaving, to be absent a fortnight or more. After an introduction, Northup begged the privilege of speaking to him privately a moment. They walked together towards the river, when the following conversation ensued:

They immediately looked for Bass, but could not find him. After asking around, they learned that he was at the landing on Red River. Young Waddill and Northup found transportation and soon covered the few miles to the landing. When they arrived, they found Bass just about to leave for two weeks or more. After they were introduced, Northup asked to speak with him privately for a moment. They walked toward the river, and the following conversation took place:

"Mr. Bass," said Northup, "allow me to ask you if you were on Bayou Bœuf last August?"

"Mr. Bass," said Northup, "may I ask if you were on Bayou Bœuf last August?"

"Yes, sir, I was there in August," was the reply.

"Yes, sir, I was there in August," came the reply.

"Did you write a letter for a colored man at that place to some gentleman in Saratoga Springs?"

"Did you write a letter for a colored man there to a gentleman in Saratoga Springs?"

"Excuse me, sir, if I say that is none of your business," answered Bass, stopping and looking his interrogator searchingly in the face.

"Excuse me, sir, but that is none of your business," Bass answered. He stopped and looked intently at the man questioning him.

"Perhaps I am rather hasty, Mr. Bass; I beg your pardon; but I have come from the State of New-York to accomplish the purpose the writer of a letter dated the 15th of August, post-marked at Marksville, had in view. Circumstances have led me to think that you are perhaps the man who wrote it. I am in search of Solomon Northup. If you know him, I beg you to inform me frankly where he is, and I assure you the source of any information you may give me shall not be divulged, if you desire it not to be."

“Perhaps I’m being too hasty, Mr. Bass. I beg your pardon. But I have come from the State of New-York to carry out the purpose of a letter’s writer. The letter was dated August 15 and postmarked at Marksville. Circumstances have led me to think that you may be the man who wrote it. I am looking for Solomon Northup. If you know him, I beg you to tell me frankly where he is. I assure you that I will not reveal the source of any information you give me, if you wish.”

A long time Bass looked his new acquaintance steadily in the eyes, without opening his lips. He seemed to be doubting in his own mind if there was not an attempt to practice some deception upon him. Finally he said, deliberately—

For a long time, Bass looked steadily into his new acquaintance’s eyes without saying a word. He seemed to wonder whether the man was trying to deceive him. Finally, he spoke deliberately:

"I have done nothing to be ashamed of. I am the man who wrote the letter. If you have come to rescue Solomon Northup, I am glad to see you."

"I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. I'm the man who wrote the letter. If you've come to rescue Solomon Northup, I'm glad to see you."

"When did you last see him, and where is he?" Northup inquired.

"When did you last see him, and where is he?" Northup asked.

"I last saw him Christmas, a week ago to-day. He is the slave of Edwin Epps, a planter on Bayou Bœuf, near Holmesville. He is not known as Solomon Northup; he is called Platt."

"I last saw him at Christmas, a week ago today. He is the slave of Edwin Epps, a planter on Bayou Bœuf, near Holmesville. He is not known as Solomon Northup. He is called Platt."

The secret was out—the mystery was unraveled. Through the thick, black cloud, amid whose dark and dismal shadows I had walked twelve years, broke the star that was to light me back to liberty. All mistrust and hesitation were soon thrown aside, and the two men conversed long and freely upon the subject uppermost in their thoughts. Bass expressed the interest he had taken in my behalf—his intention of going north in the Spring, and declaring that he had resolved to accomplish my emancipation, if it were in his power. He described the commencement and progress of his acquaintance with me, and listened with eager curiosity to the account given him of my family, and the history of my early life. Before separating, he drew a map of the bayou on a strip of paper with a piece of red chalk, showing the locality of Epps' plantation, and the road leading most directly to it.

The secret was out. The mystery was solved. For twelve years, I had walked beneath a thick, black cloud, surrounded by its dark and dismal shadows. Now a star broke through, one that would light my way back to freedom. All mistrust and hesitation soon disappeared, and the two men spoke at length and freely about what mattered most to them. Bass described his concern for me and his plan to go north in the spring. He declared that he was determined to secure my freedom, if it was in his power. He described how he had come to know me and how our acquaintance had grown. He listened with eager curiosity as he was told about my family and my early life. Before they parted, he used a piece of red chalk to draw a map of the bayou on a strip of paper. It showed the location of Epps' plantation and the most direct road to it.

Northup and his young companion returned to Marksville, where it was determined to commence legal proceedings to test the question of my right to freedom. I was made plaintiff, Mr. Northup acting as my guardian, and Edwin Epps defendant. The process to be issued was in the nature of replevin, directed to the sheriff of the parish, commanding him to take me into custody, and detain me until the decision of the court. By the time the papers were duly drawn up, it was twelve o'clock at night—too late to obtain the necessary signature of the Judge, who resided some distance out of town. Further business was therefore suspended until Monday morning.

Northup and his young companion returned to Marksville. There, it was decided to begin legal proceedings to determine my right to freedom. I was named as the plaintiff, Mr. Northup acted as my guardian, and Edwin Epps was the defendant. The legal order to be issued was a form of replevin, directed to the parish sheriff. It ordered him to take me into custody and hold me until the court made its decision. By the time the papers were properly drawn up, it was midnight. It was too late to get the necessary signature from the judge, who lived some distance outside town. Further business was therefore put off until Monday morning.

Everything, apparently, was moving along swimmingly, until Sunday afternoon, when Waddill called at Northup's room to express his apprehension of difficulties they had not expected to encounter. Bass had become alarmed, and had placed his affairs in the hands of a person at the landing, communicating to him his intention of leaving the State. This person had betrayed the confidence reposed in him to a certain extent, and a rumor began to float about the town, that the stranger at the hotel, who had been observed in the company of lawyer Waddill, was after one of old Epps' slaves, over on the bayou. Epps was known at Marksville, having frequent occasion to visit that place during the session of the courts, and the fear entertained by Mr. Northup's adviser was, that intelligence would be conveyed to him in the night, giving him an opportunity of secreting me before the arrival of the sheriff.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Sunday afternoon. Then Waddill came to Northup's room to express his concern about unexpected difficulties. Bass had become alarmed and had put his affairs in the hands of a person at the landing. He told the person that he intended to leave the State. The person had betrayed his trust to some extent. A rumor began to spread around town that the stranger at the hotel was after one of old Epps' slaves. The stranger had been seen with lawyer Waddill, and the slave lived over on the bayou. Epps was known in Marksville because he often visited during court sessions. Mr. Northup's adviser feared that word would reach Epps during the night. That would give Epps a chance to hide me before the sheriff arrived.

This apprehension had the effect of expediting matters considerably. The sheriff, who lived in one direction from the village, was requested to hold himself in readiness immediately after midnight, while the Judge was informed he would be called upon at the same time. It is but justice to say, that the authorities at Marksville cheerfully rendered all the assistance in their power.

This concern greatly sped things up. The sheriff lived some distance from the village. He was asked to be ready just after midnight, and the Judge was told he would be called on at the same time. In fairness, the authorities at Marksville willingly gave all the help they could.

As soon after midnight as bail could be perfected, and the Judge's signature obtained, a carriage, containing Mr. Northup and the sheriff, driven by the landlord's son, rolled rapidly out of the village of Marksville, on the road towards Bayou Bœuf.

After midnight, as soon as bail was arranged and the Judge's signature obtained, a carriage left Marksville at speed. The landlord's son drove Mr. Northup and the sheriff toward Bayou Bœuf.

It was supposed that Epps would contest the issue involving my right to liberty, and it therefore suggested itself to Mr. Northup, that the testimony of the sheriff, describing my first meeting with the former, might perhaps become material on the trial. It was accordingly arranged during the ride, that, before I had an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Northup, the sheriff should propound to me certain questions agreed upon, such as the number and names of my children, the name of my wife before marriage, of places I knew at the North, and so forth. If my answers corresponded with the statements given him, the evidence must necessarily be considered conclusive.

It was expected that Epps would contest my right to freedom. So Mr. Northup thought the sheriff’s testimony about my first meeting with him might be important at the trial. During the ride, they made a plan. Before I had a chance to speak to Mr. Northup, the sheriff would ask me certain questions they had agreed on. He would ask how many children I had and what their names were, my wife’s name before marriage, places I knew in the North, and so on. If my answers matched what he had been told, the evidence would have to be considered conclusive.

At length, shortly after Epps had left the field, with the consoling assurance that he would soon return and warm us, as was stated in the conclusion of the preceding chapter, they came in sight of the plantation, and discovered us at work. Alighting from the carriage, and directing the driver to proceed to the great house, with instructions not to mention to any one the object of their errand until they met again, Northup and the sheriff turned from the highway, and came towards us across the cotton field. We observed them, on looking up at the carriage—one several rods in advance of the other. It was a singular and unusual thing to see white men approaching us in that manner, and especially at that early hour in the morning, and Uncle Abram and Patsey made some remarks, expressive of their astonishment. Walking up to Bob, the sheriff inquired:

At last, shortly after Epps had left the field, they came within sight of the plantation and saw us working. As noted at the end of the previous chapter, Epps had left us with the comforting assurance that he would soon return and warm us. Northup and the sheriff got out of the carriage and told the driver to continue to the great house. They instructed him not to tell anyone the purpose of their visit until they met again. Then they left the highway and walked toward us across the cotton field. We looked up at the carriage and saw the two men, one several rods ahead of the other. It was strange and unusual to see white men approaching us that way, especially so early in the morning. Uncle Abram and Patsey made some remarks expressing their astonishment. The sheriff walked up to Bob and asked:

"Where's the boy they call Platt?"

"Thar he is, massa," answered Bob, pointing to me, and twitching off his hat.

"There he is, master," Bob answered, pointing to me and quickly taking off his hat.

I wondered to myself what business he could possibly have with me, and turning round, gazed at him until he had approached within a step. During my long residence on the bayou, I had become familiar with the face of every planter within many miles; but this man was an utter stranger—certainly I had never seen him before.

I wondered what business he could possibly have with me. I turned and watched him until he was only a step away. During my long time on the bayou, I had come to know the face of every planter for many miles around. But this man was a complete stranger. I was certain I had never seen him before.

"Your name is Platt, is it?" he asked.

"Your name is Platt, right?" he asked.

"Yes, master," I responded.

"Yes, master," I said.

Pointing towards Northup, standing a few rods distant, he demanded—"Do you know that man?"

Pointing toward Northup, who stood a few rods away, he demanded, "Do you know that man?"

I looked in the direction indicated, and as my eyes rested on his countenance, a world of images thronged my brain; a multitude of well-known faces—Anne's, and the dear children's, and my old dead father's; all the scenes and associations of childhood and youth; all the friends of other and happier days, appeared and disappeared, flitting and floating like dissolving shadows before the vision of my imagination, until at last the perfect memory of the man recurred to me, and throwing up my hands towards Heaven, I exclaimed, in a voice louder than I could utter in a less exciting moment—

I looked in the direction he pointed, and as I saw his face, a world of images crowded my mind. Many familiar faces appeared and disappeared: Anne's, the dear children's, and my old dead father's. So did all the scenes and memories of childhood and youth, and all the friends of other, happier days. They flickered and floated before my imagination like fading shadows. At last, I fully remembered the man. I threw up my hands toward Heaven and exclaimed, in a voice louder than I could have managed at a less exciting moment:

"Henry B. Northup! Thank God—thank God!"

"Henry B. Northup! Thank God, thank God!"

In an instant I comprehended the nature of his business, and felt that the hour of my deliverance was at hand. I started towards him, but the sheriff stepped before me.

I immediately understood why he was there and felt that my freedom was near. I started toward him, but the sheriff stepped in front of me.

"Stop a moment," said he; "have you any other name than Platt?"

"Wait a moment," he said. "Do you have any name besides Platt?"

"Solomon Northup is my name, master," I replied.

"My name is Solomon Northup, master," I replied.

"Have you a family?" he inquired.

"Do you have a family?" he asked.

"I had a wife and three children."

"What were your children's names?"

"Elizabeth, Margaret and Alonzo."

"And your wife's name before her marriage?"

"And what was your wife's name before she married?"

"Anne Hampton."

"Who married you?"

"Timothy Eddy, of Fort Edward."

"Where does that gentleman live?" again pointing to Northup, who remained standing in the same place where I had first recognized him.

"Where does that gentleman live?" The speaker pointed again to Northup, who was still standing where I had first recognized him.

"He lives in Sandy Hill, Washington county, New-York," was the reply.

"He lives in Sandy Hill, Washington County, New York," came the reply.

He was proceeding to ask further questions, but I pushed past him, unable longer to restrain myself. I seized my old acquaintance by both hands. I could not speak. I could not refrain from tears.

He was about to ask more questions, but I could no longer hold back. I pushed past him and grabbed my old acquaintance by both hands. I couldn't speak. I couldn't hold back my tears.

"Sol," he said at length, "I'm glad to see you."

"Sol," he finally said, "I'm glad to see you."

I essayed to make some answer, but emotion choked all utterance, and I was silent. The slaves, utterly confounded, stood gazing upon the scene, their open mouths and rolling eyes indicating the utmost wonder and astonishment. For ten years I had dwelt among them, in the field and in the cabin, borne the same hardships, partaken the same fare, mingled my griefs with theirs, participated in the same scanty joys; nevertheless, not until this hour, the last I was to remain among them, had the remotest suspicion of my true name, or the slightest knowledge of my real history, been entertained by any one of them.

I tried to answer, but emotion choked my words, and I fell silent. The slaves stood staring at the scene, utterly bewildered. Their open mouths and rolling eyes showed their immense wonder and amazement. For ten years I had lived among them, in the field and in the cabin. I had endured the same hardships, eaten the same food, shared their griefs, and joined in their few joys. Yet not one of them had ever had the slightest suspicion of my true name or any knowledge of my real history. They learned it only now, in my last hour among them.

Not a word was spoken for several minutes, during which time I clung fast to Northup, looking up into his face, fearful I should awake and find it all a dream.

No one spoke for several minutes. I held tightly to Northup and looked up at his face, afraid I would wake up and find it had all been a dream.

"Throw down that sack," Northup added, finally; "your cotton-picking days are over. Come with us to the man you live with."

"Put down that sack," Northup finally added. "Your cotton-picking days are over. Come with us to the man you live with."

I obeyed him, and walking between him and the sheriff, we moved towards the great house. It was not until we had proceeded some distance that I had recovered my voice sufficiently to ask if my family were all living. He informed me he had seen Anne, Margaret and Elizabeth but a short time previously; that Alonzo was also living, and all were well. My mother, however, I could never see again. As I began to recover in some measure from the sudden and great excitement which so overwhelmed me, I grew faint and weak, insomuch it was with difficulty I could walk. The sheriff took hold of my arm and assisted me, or I think I should have fallen. As we entered the yard, Epps stood by the gate, conversing with the driver. That young man, faithful to his instructions, was entirely unable to give him the least information in answer to his repeated inquiries of what was going on. By the time we reached him he was almost as much amazed and puzzled as Bob or Uncle Abram.

I obeyed him and walked between him and the sheriff toward the great house. We had gone some distance before I recovered my voice enough to ask whether my family were all alive. He told me he had seen Anne, Margaret, and Elizabeth a short time before. Alonzo was also alive, and all were well. But I would never see my mother again. As I began to recover somewhat from the sudden, overwhelming excitement, I grew faint and weak. I could hardly walk. The sheriff took my arm and helped me, or I think I would have fallen. As we entered the yard, Epps stood by the gate, talking with the driver. The young man had followed his instructions and could tell him nothing, despite his repeated questions about what was happening. By the time we reached Epps, he was almost as amazed and puzzled as Bob or Uncle Abram.

Shaking hands with the sheriff, and receiving an introduction to Mr. Northup, he invited them into the house, ordering me, at the same time, to bring in some wood. It was some time before I succeeded in cutting an armful, having, somehow, unaccountably lost the power of wielding the axe with any manner of precision. When I entered with it at last, the table was strewn with papers, from one of which Northup was reading. I was probably longer than necessity required, in placing the sticks upon the fire, being particular as to the exact position of each individual one of them. I heard the words, "the said Solomon Northup," and "the deponent further says," and "free citizen of New-York," repeated frequently, and from these expressions understood that the secret I had so long retained from Master and Mistress Epps, was finally developing. I lingered as long as prudence permitted, and was about leaving the room, when Epps inquired,

He shook hands with the sheriff and was introduced to Mr. Northup. Then he invited them into the house and ordered me to bring in some wood. It took me some time to cut an armful. Somehow, for no apparent reason, I had lost the ability to swing the axe with any accuracy. When I finally entered with the wood, papers were spread across the table. Northup was reading from one of them. I probably took longer than necessary to place the sticks on the fire. I was careful about the exact position of each one. I frequently heard the words "the said Solomon Northup," "the deponent further says," and "free citizen of New-York." From these expressions, I understood that the secret I had kept from Master and Mistress Epps for so long was finally coming to light. I lingered as long as it was safe to do so. I was about to leave the room when Epps asked,

SCENE IN THE COTTON FIELD, SOLOMON DELIVERED UP.SCENE IN THE COTTON FIELD, SOLOMON HANDED OVER.

"Platt, do you know this gentleman?"

"Platt, do you know this man?"

"Yes, master," I replied, "I have known him as long as I can remember."

"Yes, master," I replied, "I've known him as long as I can remember."

"Where does he live?"

"He lives in New-York."

"He lives in New York."

"Did you ever live there?"

"Yes, master—born and bred there."

"Yes, master, I was born and raised there."

"You was free, then. Now you d——d nigger," he exclaimed, "why did you not tell me that when I bought you?"

"You was free, then. Now, you damned nigger," he exclaimed, "why didn't you tell me that when I bought you?"

"Master Epps," I answered, in a somewhat different tone than the one in which I had been accustomed to address him—"Master Epps, you did not take the trouble to ask me; besides, I told one of my owners—the man that kidnapped me—that I was free, and was whipped almost to death for it."

"Master Epps," I answered, in a somewhat different tone from the one I usually used with him, "you didn't bother to ask me. Besides, I told one of my owners, the man who kidnapped me, that I was free. I was whipped almost to death for it."

"It seems there has been a letter written for you by somebody. Now, who is it?" he demanded, authoritatively. I made no reply.

"It seems someone wrote a letter for you. Who was it?" he demanded in a commanding tone. I did not reply.

"I say, who wrote that letter?" he demanded again.

"I said, who wrote that letter?" he demanded again.

"Perhaps I wrote it myself," I said.

"You haven't been to Marksville post-office and back before light, I know."

"I know you haven't been to the Marksville post office and back before daylight."

He insisted upon my informing him, and I insisted I would not. He made many vehement threats against the man, whoever he might be, and intimated the bloody and savage vengeance he would wreak upon him, when he found him out. His whole manner and language exhibited a feeling of anger towards the unknown person who had written for me, and of fretfulness at the idea of losing so much property. Addressing Mr. Northup, he swore if he had only had an hour's notice of his coming, he would have saved him the trouble of taking me back to New-York; that he would have run me into the swamp, or some other place out of the way, where all the sheriffs on earth couldn't have found me.

He insisted that I tell him, and I insisted that I would not. He made many fierce threats against the man, whoever he was. He hinted at the bloody and savage revenge he would take when he found him. His manner and words showed his anger toward the unknown person who had written for me. They also showed his frustration at the thought of losing so much property. Speaking to Mr. Northup, he swore that an hour’s notice of his arrival would have been enough. He would have saved Mr. Northup the trouble of taking me back to New-York. He said he would have taken me into the swamp or some other remote place. There, all the sheriffs on earth could not have found me.

I walked out into the yard, and was entering the kitchen door, when something struck me in the back. Aunt Phebe, emerging from the back door of the great house with a pan of potatoes, had thrown one of them with unnecessary violence, thereby giving me to understand that she wished to speak to me a moment confidentially. Running up to me, she whispered in my ear with great earnestness,

I walked out into the yard and was entering the kitchen door when something struck me in the back. Aunt Phebe had come out the back door of the great house with a pan of potatoes. She had thrown one at me with unnecessary force to let me know she wanted to speak to me privately. She ran up to me and whispered earnestly in my ear,

"Lor a' mity, Platt! what d'ye think? Dem two men come after ye. Heard 'em tell massa you free—got wife and tree children back thar whar you come from. Goin' wid 'em? Fool if ye don't—wish I could go," and Aunt Phebe ran on in this manner at a rapid rate.

"Lord Almighty, Platt! What do you think? Them two men come after you. Heard them tell master you free. Got wife and three children back there where you come from. Going with them? Fool if you don't. Wish I could go," and Aunt Phebe kept talking this way at a rapid pace.

Presently Mistress Epps made her appearance in the kitchen. She said many things to me, and wondered why I had not told her who I was. She expressed her regret, complimenting me by saying she had rather lose any other servant on the plantation. Had Patsey that day stood in my place, the measure of my mistress' joy would have overflowed. Now there was no one left who could mend a chair or a piece of furniture—no one who was of any use about the house—no one who could play for her on the violin—and Mistress Epps was actually affected to tears.

Soon, Mistress Epps appeared in the kitchen. She said many things to me and wondered why I had not told her who I was. She expressed her regret and complimented me, saying she would rather lose any other servant on the plantation. If Patsey had been in my place that day, my mistress would have been overflowing with joy. Now there was no one left who could mend a chair or a piece of furniture. There was no one useful around the house and no one who could play the violin for her. Mistress Epps was actually moved to tears.

Epps had called to Bob to bring up his saddle horse. The other slaves, also, overcoming their fear of the penalty, had left their work and come to the yard. They were standing behind the cabins, out of sight of Epps. They beckoned me to come to them, and with all the eagerness of curiosity, excited to the highest pitch, conversed with and questioned me. If I could repeat the exact words they uttered, with the same emphasis—if I could paint their several attitudes, and the expression of their countenances—it would be indeed an interesting picture. In their estimation, I had suddenly arisen to an immeasurable height—had become a being of immense importance.

Epps had called to Bob to bring his saddle horse. The other slaves had also overcome their fear of punishment, left their work, and come to the yard. They stood behind the cabins, where Epps could not see them. They beckoned me over and talked with me, asking questions. Their curiosity was at its height. If I could repeat their exact words with the same emphasis, and paint their different poses and expressions, it would be a truly interesting picture. In their eyes, I had suddenly risen to immeasurable heights. I had become a person of immense importance.

The legal papers having been served, and arrangements made with Epps to meet them the next day at Marksville, Northup and the sheriff entered the carriage to return to the latter place. As I was about mounting to the driver's seat, the sheriff said I ought to bid Mr. and Mrs. Epps good bye. I ran back to the piazza where they were standing, and taking off my hat, said,

The legal papers had been served, and arrangements had been made for Epps to meet them in Marksville the next day. Northup and the sheriff got into the carriage to return to Marksville. As I was about to climb into the driver’s seat, the sheriff said I should say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Epps. I ran back to the porch where they stood, took off my hat, and said,

"Good-bye, missis."

"Goodbye, missus."

"Good-bye, Platt," said Mrs. Epps, kindly.

"Goodbye, Platt," Mrs. Epps said kindly.

"Good-bye, master."

"Goodbye, master."

"Ah! you d—d nigger," muttered Epps, in a surly, malicious tone of voice, "you needn't feel so cussed tickled—you ain't gone yet—I'll see about this business at Marksville to-morrow."

"Ah! you damned nigger," Epps muttered in a surly, spiteful voice. "You needn't feel so damn pleased. You ain't gone yet. I'll see about this business in Marksville tomorrow."

I was only a "nigger" and knew my place, but felt as strongly as if I had been a white man, that it would have been an inward comfort, had I dared to have given him a parting kick. On my way back to the carriage, Patsey ran from behind a cabin and threw her arms about my neck.

I was only a "nigger" and knew my place. But I felt just as strongly as a white man would have. If I had dared to give him a parting kick, it would have comforted me. On my way back to the carriage, Patsey ran out from behind a cabin and threw her arms around my neck.

"Oh! Platt," she cried, tears streaming down her face, "you're goin' to be free—you're goin' way off yonder where we'll neber see ye any more. You've saved me a good many whippins, Platt; I'm glad you're goin' to be free—but oh! de Lord, de Lord! what'll become of me?"

"Oh! Platt," she cried, tears streaming down her face, "you're going to be free. You're going way off yonder where we'll never see you any more. You've saved me a good many whippings, Platt. I'm glad you're going to be free, but oh! the Lord, the Lord! What'll become of me?"

I disengaged myself from her, and entered the carriage. The driver cracked his whip and away we rolled. I looked back and saw Patsey, with drooping head, half reclining on the ground; Mrs. Epps was on the piazza; Uncle Abram, and Bob, and Wiley, and Aunt Phebe stood by the gate, gazing after me. I waved my hand, but the carriage turned a bend of the bayou, hiding them from my eyes forever.

I pulled away from her and got into the carriage. The driver cracked his whip, and we rolled away. I looked back and saw Patsey half reclining on the ground, her head bowed. Mrs. Epps was on the porch. Uncle Abram, Bob, Wiley, and Aunt Phebe stood by the gate, watching me leave. I waved, but the carriage turned around a bend in the bayou, hiding them from my sight forever.

We stopped a moment at Carey's sugar house, where a great number of slaves were at work, such an establishment being a curiosity to a Northern man. Epps dashed by us on horseback at full speed—on the way, as we learned next day, to the "Pine Woods," to see William Ford, who had brought me into the country.

We stopped briefly at Carey's sugar house, where a great number of slaves were working. A sugar house was a curiosity to a Northern man. Epps rode past us at full speed. The next day, we learned that he was on his way to the "Pine Woods" to see William Ford, who had brought me into the country.

Tuesday, the fourth of January, Epps and his counsel, the Hon. H. Taylor, Northup, Waddill, the Judge and sheriff of Avoyelles, and myself, met in a room in the village of Marksville. Mr. Northup stated the facts in regard to me, and presented his commission, and the affidavits accompanying it. The sheriff described the scene in the cotton field. I was also interrogated at great length. Finally, Mr. Taylor assured his client that he was satisfied, and that litigation would not only be expensive, but utterly useless. In accordance with his advice, a paper was drawn up and signed by the proper parties, wherein Epps acknowledged he was satisfied of my right to freedom, and formally surrendered me to the authorities of New-York. It was also stipulated that it be entered of record in the recorder's office of Avoyelles.

On Tuesday, January fourth, we met in a room in the village of Marksville. Those present were Epps, his lawyer, the Hon. H. Taylor, Northup, Waddill, the judge and sheriff of Avoyelles, and myself. Mr. Northup stated the facts about me and presented his commission and the affidavits that came with it. The sheriff described the scene in the cotton field. I was also questioned at great length. Finally, Mr. Taylor assured his client that he was satisfied. He said a lawsuit would be expensive and utterly useless. Following his advice, the proper parties drew up and signed a document. In it, Epps acknowledged that he was satisfied I had a right to freedom. He formally surrendered me to the authorities of New-York. The document also stipulated that it be entered into the records of the Avoyelles recorder’s office.

See Appendix C.

Mr. Northup and myself immediately hastened to the landing, and taking passage on the first steamer that arrived, were soon floating down Red River, up which, with such desponding thoughts, I had been borne twelve years before.

Mr. Northup and I hurried to the landing and boarded the first steamer that arrived. We were soon traveling down Red River. Twelve years before, I had been carried up that river with such despairing thoughts.