prompt:
Chapter: OVERSEERS--HOW THEY ARE ARMED AND ACCOMPANIED--THE HOMICIDE--HIS
  EXECUTION AT MARKSVILLE--SLAVE-DRIVERS--APPOINTED DRIVER ON REMOVING
  TO BAYOU BOEUF--PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT--EPPS' ATTEMPT TO CUT PLATT'S
  THROAT--THE ESCAPE FROM HIM--PROTECTED BY THE MISTRESS--FORBIDS
  READING AND WRITING--OBTAIN A SHEET OF PAPER AFTER NINE YEARS'
  EFFORT--THE LETTER--ARMSBY, THE MEAN WHITE--PARTIALLY CONFIDE IN
  HIM--HIS TREACHERY--EPPS' SUSPICIONS--HOW THEY WERE QUIETED--BURNING
  THE LETTER--ARMSBY LEAVES THE BAYOU--DISAPPOINTMENT AND DESPAIR.

With the exception of my trip to St. Mary's parish, and my absence
during the cane-cutting seasons, I was constantly employed on the
plantation of Master Epps. He was considered but a small planter,
not having a sufficient number of hands to require the services of
an overseer, acting in the latter capacity himself. Not able to
increase his force, it was his custom to hire during the hurry of
cotton-picking.

On larger estates, employing fifty or a hundred, or perhaps two
hundred hands, an overseer is deemed indispensable. These gentlemen
ride into the field on horseback, without an exception, to my
knowledge, armed with pistols, bowie knife, whip, and accompanied
by several dogs. They follow, equipped in this fashion, in rear of
the slaves, keeping a sharp lookout upon them all. The requisite
qualifications in an overseer are utter heartlessness, brutality and
cruelty. It is his business to produce large crops, and if that is
accomplished, no matter what amount of suffering it may have cost.
The presence of the dogs are necessary to overhaul a fugitive who may
take to his heels, as is sometimes the case, when faint or sick, he is
unable to maintain his row, and unable, also, to endure the whip. The
pistols are reserved for any dangerous emergency, there having been
instances when such weapons were necessary. Goaded into uncontrollable
madness, even the slave will sometimes turn upon his oppressor. The
gallows were standing at Marksville last January, upon which one was
executed a year ago for killing his overseer. It occurred not many
miles from Epps' plantation on Red River. The slave was given his task
at splitting rails. In the course of the day the overseer sent him on
an errand, which occupied so much time that it was not possible for
him to perform the task. The next day he was called to an account, but
the loss of time occasioned by the errand was no excuse, and he was
ordered to kneel and bare his back for the reception of the lash. They
were in the woods alone--beyond the reach of sight or hearing. The boy
submitted until maddened at such injustice, and insane with pain, he
sprang to his feet, and seizing an axe, literally chopped the overseer
in pieces. He made no attempt whatever at concealment, but hastening
to his master, related the whole affair, and declared himself ready
to expiate the wrong by the sacrifice of his life. He was led to
the scaffold, and while the rope was around his neck, maintained an
undismayed and fearless bearing, and with his last words justified the
act.

Besides the overseer, there are drivers under him, the number being in
proportion to the number of hands in the field. The drivers are black,
who, in addition to the performance of their equal share of work, are
compelled to do the whipping of their several gangs. Whips hang around
their necks, and if they fail to use them thoroughly, are whipped
themselves. They have a few privileges, however; for example, in
cane-cutting the hands are not allowed to sit down long enough to eat
their dinners. Carts filled with corn cake, cooked at the kitchen, are
driven into the field at noon. The cake is distributed by the drivers,
and must be eaten with the least possible delay.

When the slave ceases to perspire, as he often does when taxed beyond
his strength, he falls to the ground and becomes entirely helpless.
It is then the duty of the driver to drag him into the shade of the
standing cotton or cane, or of a neighboring tree, where he dashes
buckets of water upon him, and uses other means of bringing out
perspiration again, when he is ordered to his place, and compelled to
continue his labor.

At Huff Power, when I first came to Epps', Tom, one of Roberts'
negroes, was driver. He was a burly fellow, and severe in the
extreme. After Epps' removal to Bayou Boeuf, that distinguished
honor was conferred upon myself. Up to the time of my departure I
had to wear a whip about my neck in the field. If Epps was present,
I dared not show any lenity, not having the Christian fortitude of
a certain well-known Uncle Tom sufficiently to brave his wrath, by
refusing to perform the office. In that way, only, I escaped the
immediate martyrdom he suffered, and, withal, saved my companions
much suffering, as it proved in the end. Epps, I soon found, whether
actually in the field or not, had his eyes pretty generally upon us.
From the piazza, from behind some adjacent tree, or other concealed
point of observation, he was perpetually on the watch. If one of us
had been backward or idle through the day, we were apt to be told
all about it on returning to the quarters, and as it was a matter of
principle with him to reprove every offence of that kind that came
within his knowledge, the offender not only was certain of receiving
a castigation for his tardiness, but I likewise was punished for
permitting it.

If, on the other hand, he had seen me use the lash freely, the man
was satisfied. "Practice makes perfect," truly; and during my eight
years' experience as a driver, I learned to handle the whip with
marvelous dexterity and precision, throwing the lash within a hair's
breadth of the back, the ear, the nose, without, however, touching
either of them. If Epps was observed at a distance, or we had reason
to apprehend he was sneaking somewhere in the vicinity, I would
commence plying the lash vigorously, when, according to arrangement,
they would squirm and screech as if in agony, although not one of them
had in fact been even grazed. Patsey would take occasion, if he made
his appearance presently, to mumble in his hearing some complaints
that Platt was lashing them the whole time, and Uncle Abram, with an
appearance of honesty peculiar to himself, would declare roundly I
had just whipped them worse than General Jackson whipped the enemy at
New-Orleans. If Epps was not drunk, and in one of his beastly humors,
this was, in general, satisfactory. If he was, some one or more of us
must suffer, as a matter of course. Sometimes his violence assumed a
dangerous form, placing the lives of his human stock in jeopardy. On
one occasion the drunken madman thought to amuse himself by cutting my
throat.

He had been absent at Holmesville, in attendance at a shooting-match,
and none of us were aware of his return. While hoeing by the side of
Patsey, she exclaimed, in a low voice, suddenly, "Platt, d'ye see old
Hog-Jaw beckoning me to come to him?"

Glancing sideways, I discovered him in the edge of the field,
motioning and grimacing, as was his habit when half-intoxicated. Aware
of his lewd intentions, Patsey began to cry. I whispered her not to
look up, and to continue at her work, as if she had not observed him.
Suspecting the truth of the matter, however, he soon staggered up to
me in a great rage.

"What did you say to Pats?" he demanded, with an oath. I made him some
evasive answer, which only had the effect of increasing his violence.

"How long have you owned this plantation, _say_, you d----d nigger?"
he inquired, with a malicious sneer, at the same time taking hold
of my shirt collar with one hand, and thrusting the other into his
pocket. "Now I'll cut your black throat; that's what I'll do," drawing
his knife from his pocket as he said it. But with one hand he was
unable to open it, until finally seizing the blade in his teeth, I
saw he was about to succeed, and felt the necessity of escaping from
him, for in his present reckless state, it was evident he was not
joking, by any means. My shirt was open in front, and as I turned
round quickly and sprang from him, while he still retained his gripe,
it was stripped entirely from my back. There was no difficulty now
in eluding him. He would chase me until out of breath, then stop
until it was recovered, swear, and renew the chase again. Now he
would command me to come to him, now endeavor to coax me, but I was
careful to keep at a respectful distance. In this manner we made the
circuit of the field several times, he making desperate plunges, and
I always dodging them, more amused than frightened, well knowing that
when his sober senses returned, he would laugh at his own drunken
folly. At length I observed the mistress standing by the yard fence,
watching our half-serious, half-comical manoeuvres. Shooting past him,
I ran directly to her. Epps, on discovering her, did not follow. He
remained about the field an hour or more, during which time I stood
by the mistress, having related the particulars of what had taken
place. Now, _she_ was aroused again, denouncing her husband and Patsey
about equally. Finally, Epps came towards the house, by this time
nearly sober, walking demurely, with his hands behind his back, and
attempting to look as innocent as a child.

As he approached, nevertheless, Mistress Epps began to berate him
roundly, heaping upon him many rather disrespectful epithets, and
demanding for what reason he had attempted to cut my throat. Epps
made wondrous strange of it all, and to my surprise, swore by all the
saints in the calendar he had not spoken to me that day.

"Platt, you lying nigger, _have_ I?" was his brazen appeal to me.

It is not safe to contradict a master, even by the assertion of a
truth. So I was silent, and when he entered the house I returned to
the field, and the affair was never after alluded to.

Shortly after this time a circumstance occurred that came nigh
divulging the secret of my real name and history, which I had so long
and carefully concealed, and upon which I was convinced depended my
final escape. Soon after he purchased me, Epps asked me if I could
write and read, and on being informed that I had received some
instruction in those branches of education, he assured me, with
emphasis, if he ever caught me with a book, or with pen and ink, he
would give me a hundred lashes. He said he wanted me to understand
that he bought "niggers" to work and not to educate. He never inquired
a word of my past life, or from whence I came. The mistress, however,
cross-examined me frequently about Washington, which she supposed was
my native city, and more than once remarked that I did not talk nor
act like the other "niggers," and she was sure I had seen more of the
world than I admitted.

My great object always was to invent means of getting a letter
secretly into the post-office, directed to some of my friends or
family at the North. The difficulty of such an achievement cannot be
comprehended by one unacquainted with the severe restrictions imposed
upon me. In the first place, I was deprived of pen, ink, and paper.
In the second place, a slave cannot leave his plantation without a
pass, nor will a post-master mail a letter for one without written
instructions from his owner. I was in slavery nine years, and always
watchful and on the alert, before I met with the good fortune of
obtaining a sheet of paper. While Epps was in New-Orleans, one winter,
disposing of his cotton, the mistress sent me to Holmesville, with an
order for several articles, and among the rest a quantity of foolscap.
I appropriated a sheet, concealing it in the cabin, under the board on
which I slept.

After various experiments I succeeded in making ink, by boiling white
maple bark, and with a feather plucked from the wing of a duck,
manufactured a pen. When all were asleep in the cabin, by the light
of the coals, lying upon my plank couch, I managed to complete a
somewhat lengthy epistle. It was directed to an old acquaintance at
Sandy Hill, stating my condition, and urging him to take measures to
restore me to liberty. This letter I kept a long time, contriving
measures by which it could be safely deposited in the post-office. At
length, a low fellow, by the name of Armsby, hitherto a stranger, came
into the neighborhood, seeking a situation as overseer. He applied
to Epps, and was about the plantation for several days. He next went
over to Shaw's, near by, and remained with him several weeks. Shaw
was generally surrounded by such worthless characters, being himself
noted as a gambler and unprincipled man. He had made a wife of his
slave Charlotte, and a brood of young mulattoes were growing up in his
house. Armsby became so much reduced at last, that he was compelled
to labor with the slaves. A white man working in the field is a rare
and unusual spectacle on Bayou Boeuf. I improved every opportunity
of cultivating his acquaintance privately, desiring to obtain his
confidence so far as to be willing to intrust the letter to his
keeping. He visited Marksville repeatedly, he informed me, a town some
twenty miles distant, and there, I proposed to myself, the letter
should be mailed.

Carefully deliberating on the most proper manner of approaching him
on the subject, I concluded finally to ask him simply if he would
deposit a letter for me in the Marksville post-office the next time
he visited that place, without disclosing to him that the letter was
written, or any of the particulars it contained; for I had fears that
he might betray me, and knew that some inducement must be held out to
him of a pecuniary nature, before it would be safe to confide in him.
As late as one o'clock one night I stole noiselessly from my cabin,
and, crossing the field to Shaw's, found him sleeping on the piazza.
I had but a few picayunes--the proceeds of my fiddling performances,
but all I had in the world I promised him if he would do me the
favor required. I begged him not to expose me if he could not grant
the request. He assured me, upon his honor, he would deposit it in
the Marksville post-office, and that he would keep it an inviolable
secret forever. Though the letter was in my pocket at the time, I
dared not then deliver it to him, but stating I would have it written
in a day or two, bade him good night, and returned to my cabin. It
was impossible for me to expel the suspicions I entertained, and all
night I lay awake, revolving in my mind the safest course to pursue. I
was willing to risk a great deal to accomplish my purpose, but should
the letter by any means fall into the hands of Epps, it would be a
death-blow to my aspirations. I was "perplexed in the extreme."

My suspicions were well-founded, as the sequel demonstrated. The next
day but one, while scraping cotton in the field, Epps seated himself
on the line fence between Shaw's plantation and his own, in such a
position as to overlook the scene of our labors. Presently Armsby made
his appearance, and, mounting the fence, took a seat beside him. They
remained two or three hours, all of which time I was in an agony of
apprehension.

That night, while broiling my bacon, Epps entered the cabin with his
rawhide in his hand.

"Well, boy," said he, "I understand I've got a larned nigger, that
writes letters, and tries to get white fellows to mail 'em. Wonder if
you know who he is?"

My worst fears were realized, and although it may not be considered
entirely creditable, even under the circumstances, yet a resort to
duplicity and downright falsehood was the only refuge that presented
itself.

"Don't know nothing about it, Master Epps," I answered him, assuming
an air of ignorance and surprise; "Don't know nothing at all about it,
sir."

"Wan't you over to Shaw's night before last?" he inquired.

"No, master," was the reply.

"Hav'nt you asked that fellow, Armsby, to mail a letter for you at
Marksville?"

"Why, Lord, master, I never spoke three words to him in all my life. I
don't know what you mean."

"Well," he continued, "Armsby told me to-day the devil was among my
niggers; that I had one that needed close watching or he would run
away; and when I axed him why, he said you come over to Shaw's,
and waked him up in the night, and wanted him to carry a letter to
Marksville. What have you got to say to that, ha?"

"All I've got to say, master," I replied, "is, there is no truth in
it. How could I write a letter without any ink or paper? There is
nobody I want to write to, 'cause I haint got no friends living as I
know of. That Armsby is a lying, drunken fellow, they say, and nobody
believes him anyway. You know I always tell the truth, and that I
never go off the plantation without a pass. Now, master, I can see
what that Armsby is after, plain enough. Did'nt he want you to hire
him for an overseer?"

"Yes, he wanted me to hire him," answered Epps.

"That's it," said I, "he wants to make you believe we're all going
to run away, and then he thinks you'll hire an overseer to watch us.
He just made that story out of whole cloth, 'cause he wants to get a
situation. It's all a lie, master, you may depend on't."

Epps mused awhile, evidently impressed with the plausibility of my
theory, and exclaimed,

"I'm d--d, Platt, if I don't believe you tell the truth. He must
take me for a soft, to think he can come it over me with them kind
of yarns, musn't he? Maybe he thinks he can fool me; maybe he thinks
I don't know nothing--can't take care of my own niggers, eh! Soft
soap old Epps, eh! Ha, ha, ha! D--n Armsby! Set the dogs on him,
Platt," and with many other comments descriptive of Armsby's general
character, and his capability of taking care of his own business, and
attending to his own "niggers," Master Epps left the cabin. As soon as
he was gone I threw the letter in the fire, and, with a desponding and
despairing heart, beheld the epistle which had cost me so much anxiety
and thought, and which I fondly hoped would have been my forerunner
to the land of freedom, writhe and shrivel on its bed of coals, and
dissolve into smoke and ashes. Armsby, the treacherous wretch, was
driven from Shaw's plantation not long subsequently, much to my
relief, for I feared he might renew his conversation, and perhaps
induce Epps to credit him.

I knew not now whither to look for deliverance. Hopes sprang up in
my heart only to be crushed and blighted. The summer of my life was
passing away; I felt I was growing prematurely old; that a few years
more, and toil, and grief, and the poisonous miasmas of the swamps
would accomplish their work upon me--would consign me to the grave's
embrace, to moulder and be forgotten. Repelled, betrayed, cut off from
the hope of succor, I could only prostrate myself upon the earth and
groan in unutterable anguish. The hope of rescue was the only light
that cast a ray of comfort on my heart. That was now flickering,
faint and low; another breath of disappointment would extinguish it
altogether, leaving me to grope in midnight darkness to the end of
life.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Solomon explains that Epps is considered a smaller planter and that he must hire during some seasons. Plantations with fifty or one-hundred slaves need an overseer, whose qualifications are "heartlessness, brutality, and cruelty". Overseers also keep dogs and pistols with them. Under the overseer are drivers, who are slaves themselves and must whip their brethren if they are not working hard enough. Solomon is appointed driver. When Epps is around, Solomon knows he cannot show any leniency, and it seems like Epps is always lurking. However, Solomon learns to use the whip so precisely that it looks as if it were touching the slaves without actually hurting them. One day, Epps comes near Patsey and Solomon. Solomon whispers to her not to look up; when Epps nears, he drunkenly sneers that "Platt" whispered something. He grabs his knife and begins to totter about, chasing Solomon. Solomon keeps a respectful distance as he eludes him; he knows that when Epps is sober he will laugh at himself. Solomon recounts a time when Epps asked Solomon if he could read or write, and Solomon admitted he'd had some training. Epps warned him threateningly to never be caught with any paper or pen. Solomon's main goal during this time is to get a letter out, but the obstacles in the way are massive. First, it is hard to procure the materials. Second, a slave cannot leave without a pass and a postmaster will not take it. Solomon is a slave for nine years before he finds an opportunity. A stranger named Armsby comes into the region. He applies for an overseer position at Epps' and then works at the neighboring Shaw's for a bit. Armsby has to work in the fields along slaves because he is so poor, and Solomon does his best to cultivate his friendship. Finally, he asks about Armsby taking a letter, and Armsby promises to do so. Solomon has a letter on him, having made ink with bark, but he does not trust Armsby yet, so he returns to his cabin to see what happens. That night, Epps enters with a rawhide in his hand and announces to Solomon that he hears that he has a slave who can write and asks white men to deliver letters for him. Solomon knows that his only recourse is to lie, so he says that he has no paper or pencil, has no friends to write to, and Armsby is a drunken, lying man who clearly wants to make Epps think that one of his slaves is going to run away so he will have to hire an overseer. Epps is compelled by this and becomes angry with Armsby. After Epps leaves, Solomon burns his letter--and, with it, all of his hopes. He does not know where to look for deliverance. The hope of rescue is a flame that is quickly being distinguished


prompt:
Chapter: WILEY DISREGARDS THE COUNSELS OF AUNT PHEBE AND UNCLE ABRAM,
  AND IS CAUGHT BY THE PATROLLERS--THE ORGANIZATION AND DUTIES OF
  THE LATTER--WILEY RUNS AWAY--SPECULATIONS IN REGARD TO HIM--HIS
  UNEXPECTED RETURN--HIS CAPTURE ON RED RIVER, AND CONFINEMENT
  IN ALEXANDRIA JAIL--DISCOVERED BY JOSEPH B. ROBERTS--SUBDUING
  DOGS IN ANTICIPATION OF ESCAPE--THE FUGITIVES IN THE GREAT PINE
  WOODS--CAPTURED BY ADAM TAYDEM AND THE INDIANS--AUGUSTUS KILLED
  BY DOGS--NELLY, ELDRET'S SLAVE WOMAN--THE STORY OF CELESTE--THE
  CONCERTED MOVEMENT--LEW CHENEY, THE TRAITOR--THE IDEA OF INSURRECTION.

The year 1850, down to which time I have now arrived, omitting many
occurrences uninteresting to the reader, was an unlucky year for my
companion Wiley, the husband of Phebe, whose taciturn and retiring
nature has thus far kept him in the background. Notwithstanding Wiley
seldom opened his mouth, and revolved in his obscure and unpretending
orbit without a grumble, nevertheless the warm elements of sociality
were strong in the bosom of that silent "nigger." In the exuberance
of his self-reliance, disregarding the philosophy of Uncle Abram,
and setting the counsels of Aunt Phebe utterly at naught, he had the
fool-hardiness to essay a nocturnal visit to a neighboring cabin
without a pass.

So attractive was the society in which he found himself, that Wiley
took little note of the passing hours, and the light began to break in
the east before he was aware. Speeding homeward as fast as he could
run, he hoped to reach the quarters before the horn would sound; but,
unhappily, he was spied on the way by a company of patrollers.

How it is in other dark places of slavery, I do not know, but on
Bayou Boeuf there is an organization of patrollers, as they are
styled, whose business it is to seize and whip any slave they may find
wandering from the plantation. They ride on horseback, headed by a
captain, armed, and accompanied by dogs. They have the right, either
by law, or by general consent, to inflict discretionary chastisement
upon a black man caught beyond the boundaries of his master's estate
without a pass, and even to shoot him, if he attempts to escape. Each
company has a certain distance to ride up and down the bayou. They
are compensated by the planters, who contribute in proportion to the
number of slaves they own. The clatter of their horses' hoofs dashing
by can be heard at all hours of the night, and frequently they may be
seen driving a slave before them, or leading him by a rope fastened
around his neck, to his owner's plantation.

Wiley fled before one of these companies, thinking he could reach
his cabin before they could overtake him; but one of their dogs, a
great ravenous hound, griped him by the leg, and held him fast. The
patrollers whipped him severely, and brought him, a prisoner, to
Epps. From him he received another flagellation still more severe,
so that the cuts of the lash and the bites of the dog rendered him
sore, stiff and miserable, insomuch he was scarcely able to move. It
was impossible in such a state to keep up his row, and consequently
there was not an hour in the day but Wiley felt the sting of his
master's rawhide on his raw and bleeding back. His sufferings became
intolerable, and finally he resolved to run away. Without disclosing
his intentions to run away even to his wife Phebe, he proceeded to
make arrangements for carrying his plan into execution. Having cooked
his whole week's allowance, he cautiously left the cabin on a Sunday
night, after the inmates of the quarters were asleep. When the horn
sounded in the morning, Wiley did not make his appearance. Search was
made for him in the cabins, in the corn-crib, in the cotton-house, and
in every nook and corner of the premises. Each of us was examined,
touching any knowledge we might have that could throw light upon his
sudden disappearance or present whereabouts. Epps raved and stormed,
and mounting his horse, galloped to neighboring plantations, making
inquiries in all directions. The search was fruitless. Nothing
whatever was elicited, going to show what had become of the missing
man. The dogs were led to the swamp, but were unable to strike his
trail. They would circle away through the forest, their noses to the
ground, but invariably returned in a short time to the spot from
whence they started.

Wiley had escaped, and so secretly and cautiously as to elude and
baffle all pursuit. Days and even weeks passed away, and nothing could
be heard of him. Epps did nothing but curse and swear. It was the only
topic of conversation among us when alone. We indulged in a great deal
of speculation in regard to him, one suggesting he might have been
drowned in some bayou, inasmuch as he was a poor swimmer; another,
that perhaps he might have been devoured by alligators, or stung by
the venomous moccasin, whose bite is certain and sudden death. The
warm and hearty sympathies of us all, however, were with poor Wiley,
wherever he might be. Many an earnest prayer ascended from the lips of
Uncle Abram, beseeching safety for the wanderer.

In about three weeks, when all hope of ever seeing him again was
dismissed, to our surprise, he one day appeared among us. On leaving
the plantation, he informed us, it was his intention to make his way
back to South Carolina--to the old quarters of Master Buford. During
the day he remained secreted, sometimes in the branches of a tree, and
at night pressed forward through the swamps. Finally, one morning,
just at dawn, he reached the shore of Red River. While standing on
the bank, considering how he could cross it, a white man accosted
him, and demanded a pass. Without one, and evidently a runaway, he
was taken to Alexandria, the shire town of the parish of Rapides,
and confined in prison. It happened several days after that Joseph
B. Roberts, uncle of Mistress Epps, was in Alexandria, and going
into the jail, recognized him. Wiley had worked on his plantation,
when Epps resided at Huff Power. Paying the jail fee, and writing him
a pass, underneath which was a note to Epps, requesting him not to
whip him on his return, Wiley was sent back to Bayou Boeuf. It was
the hope that hung upon this request, and which Roberts assured him
would be respected by his master, that sustained him as he approached
the house. The request, however, as may be readily supposed, was
entirely disregarded. After being kept in suspense three days, Wiley
was stripped, and compelled to endure one of those inhuman floggings
to which the poor slave is so often subjected. It was the first and
last attempt of Wiley to run away. The long scars upon his back, which
he will carry with him to the grave, perpetually remind him of the
dangers of such a step.

There was not a day throughout the ten years I belonged to Epps that I
did not consult with myself upon the prospect of escape. I laid many
plans, which at the time I considered excellent ones, but one after
the other they were all abandoned. No man who has never been placed
in such a situation, can comprehend the thousand obstacles thrown in
the way of the flying slave. Every white man's hand is raised against
him--the patrollers are watching for him--the hounds are ready to
follow on his track, and the nature of the country is such as renders
it impossible to pass through it with any safety. I thought, however,
that the time might come, perhaps, when I should be running through
the swamps again. I concluded, in that case, to be prepared for Epps'
dogs, should they pursue me. He possessed several, one of which was
a notorious slave-hunter, and the most fierce and savage of his
breed. While out hunting the coon or the opossum, I never allowed an
opportunity to escape, when alone, of whipping them severely. In this
manner I succeeded at length in subduing them completely. They feared
me, obeying my voice at once when others had no control over them
whatever. Had they followed and overtaken me, I doubt not they would
have shrank from attacking me.

Notwithstanding the certainty of being captured, the woods and swamps
are, nevertheless, continually filled with runaways. Many of them,
when sick, or so worn out as to be unable to perform their tasks,
escape into the swamps, willing to suffer the punishment inflicted for
such offences, in order to obtain a day or two of rest.

While I belonged to Ford, I was unwittingly the means of disclosing
the hiding-place of six or eight, who had taken up their residence in
the "Great Pine Woods." Adam Taydem frequently sent me from the mills
over to the opening after provisions. The whole distance was then a
thick pine forest. About ten o'clock of a beautiful moonlight night,
while walking along the Texas road, returning to the mills, carrying
a dressed pig in a bag swung over my shoulder, I heard footsteps
behind me, and turning round, beheld two black men in the dress of
slaves approaching at a rapid pace. When within a short distance,
one of them raised a club, as if intending to strike me; the other
snatched at the bag. I managed to dodge them both, and seizing a pine
knot, hurled it with such force against the head of one of them that
he was prostrated apparently senseless to the ground. Just then two
more made their appearance from one side of the road. Before they
could grapple me, however, I succeeded in passing them, and taking
to my heels, fled, much affrighted, towards the mills. When Adam was
informed of the adventure, he hastened straightway to the Indian
village, and arousing Cascalla and several of his tribe, started in
pursuit of the highwaymen. I accompanied them to the scene of attack,
when we discovered a puddle of blood in the road, where the man whom I
had smitten with the pine knot had fallen. After searching carefully
through the woods a long time, one of Cascalla's men discovered a
smoke curling up through the branches of several prostrate pines,
whose tops had fallen together. The rendezvous was cautiously
surrounded, and all of them taken prisoners. They had escaped from a
plantation in the vicinity of Lamourie, and had been secreted there
three weeks. They had no evil design upon me, except to frighten me
out of my pig. Having observed me passing towards Ford's just at
night-fall, and suspecting the nature of my errand, they had followed
me, seen me butcher and dress the porker, and start on my return.
They had been pinched for food, and were driven to this extremity by
necessity. Adam conveyed them to the parish jail, and was liberally
rewarded.

Not unfrequently the runaway loses his life in the attempt to escape.
Epps' premises were bounded on one side by Carey's, a very extensive
sugar plantation. He cultivates annually at least fifteen hundred
acres of cane, manufacturing twenty-two or twenty-three hundred
hogsheads of sugar; an hogshead and a half being the usual yield of
an acre. Besides this he also cultivates five or six hundred acres
of corn and cotton. He owned last year one hundred and fifty three
field hands, besides nearly as many children, and yearly hires a drove
during the busy season from this side the Mississippi.

One of his negro drivers, a pleasant, intelligent boy, was named
Augustus. During the holidays, and occasionally while at work in
adjoining fields, I had an opportunity of making his acquaintance,
which eventually ripened into a warm and mutual attachment. Summer
before last he was so unfortunate as to incur the displeasure of the
overseer, a coarse, heartless brute, who whipped him most cruelly.
Augustus ran away. Reaching a cane rick on Hawkins' plantation, he
secreted himself in the top of it. All Carey's dogs were put upon
his track--some fifteen of them--and soon scented his footsteps to
the hiding place. They surrounded the rick, baying and scratching,
but could not reach him. Presently, guided by the clamor of the
hounds, the pursuers rode up, when the overseer, mounting on to the
rick, drew him forth. As he rolled down to the ground the whole pack
plunged upon him, and before they could be beaten off, had gnawed and
mutilated his body in the most shocking manner, their teeth having
penetrated to the bone in an hundred places. He was taken up, tied
upon a mule, and carried home. But this was Augustus' last trouble. He
lingered until the next day, when death sought the unhappy boy, and
kindly relieved him from his agony.

It was not unusual for slave women as well as slave men to endeavor
to escape. Nelly, Eldret's girl, with whom I lumbered for a time in
the "Big Cane Brake," lay concealed in Epps' corn crib three days. At
night, when his family were asleep, she would steal into the quarters
for food, and return to the crib again. We concluded it would no
longer be safe for us to allow her to remain, and accordingly she
retraced her steps to her own cabin.

But the most remarkable instance of a successful evasion of dogs and
hunters was the following: Among Carey's girls was one by the name of
Celeste. She was nineteen or twenty, and far whiter than her owner, or
any of his offspring. It required a close inspection to distinguish
in her features the slightest trace of African blood. A stranger
would never have dreamed that she was the descendant of slaves. I was
sitting in my cabin late at night, playing a low air on my violin,
when the door opened carefully, and Celeste stood before me. She was
pale and haggard. Had an apparition arisen from the earth, I could
not have been more startled.

"Who are you?" I demanded, after gazing at her a moment.

"I'm hungry; give me some bacon," was her reply.

My first impression was that she was some deranged young mistress,
who, escaping from home, was wandering, she knew not whither, and
had been attracted to my cabin by the sound of the violin. The
coarse cotton slave dress she wore, however, soon dispelled such a
supposition.

"What is your name?" I again interrogated.

"My name is Celeste," she answered. "I belong to Carey, and have been
two days among the palmettoes. I am sick and can't work, and would
rather die in the swamp than be whipped to death by the overseer.
Carey's dogs won't follow me. They have tried to set them on. There's
a secret between them and Celeste, and they wont mind the devilish
orders of the overseer. Give me some meat--I'm starving."

I divided my scanty allowance with her, and while partaking of it,
she related how she had managed to escape, and described the place
of her concealment. In the edge of the swamp, not half a mile from
Epps' house, was a large space, thousands of acres in extent, thickly
covered with palmetto. Tall trees, whose long arms interlocked each
other, formed a canopy above them, so dense as to exclude the beams
of the sun. It was like twilight always, even in the middle of the
brightest day. In the centre of this great space, which nothing but
serpents very often explore--a sombre and solitary spot--Celeste had
erected a rude hut of dead branches that had fallen to the ground,
and covered it with the leaves of the palmetto. This was the abode
she had selected. She had no fear of Carey's dogs, any more than I
had of Epps'. It is a fact, which I have never been able to explain,
that there are those whose tracks the hounds will absolutely refuse to
follow. Celeste was one of them.

For several nights she came to my cabin for food. On one occasion our
dogs barked as she approached, which aroused Epps, and induced him
to reconnoitre the premises. He did not discover her, but after that
it was not deemed prudent for her to come to the yard. When all was
silent I carried provisions to a certain spot agreed upon, where she
would find them.

In this manner Celeste passed the greater part of the summer. She
regained her health, and became strong and hearty. At all seasons of
the year the howlings of wild animals can be heard at night along the
borders of the swamps. Several times they had made her a midnight
call, awakening her from slumber with a growl. Terrified by such
unpleasant salutations, she finally concluded to abandon her lonely
dwelling; and, accordingly, returning to her master, was scourged, her
neck meanwhile being fastened in the stocks, and sent into the field
again.

The year before my arrival in the country there was a concerted
movement among a number of slaves on Bayou Boeuf, that terminated
tragically indeed. It was, I presume, a matter of newspaper notoriety
at the time, but all the knowledge I have of it, has been derived from
the relation of those living at that period in the immediate vicinity
of the excitement. It has become a subject of general and unfailing
interest in every slave-hut on the bayou, and will doubtless go down
to succeeding generations as their chief tradition. Lew Cheney, with
whom I became acquainted--a shrewd, cunning negro, more intelligent
than the generality of his race, but unscrupulous and full of
treachery--conceived the project of organizing a company sufficiently
strong to fight their way against all opposition, to the neighboring
territory of Mexico.

A remote spot, far within the depths of the swamp, back of Hawkins'
plantation, was selected as the rallying point. Lew flitted from one
plantation to another, in the dead of night, preaching a crusade to
Mexico, and, like Peter the Hermit, creating a furor of excitement
wherever he appeared. At length a large number of runaways were
assembled; stolen mules, and corn gathered from the fields, and bacon
filched from smoke-houses, had been conveyed into the woods. The
expedition was about ready to proceed, when their hiding place was
discovered. Lew Cheney, becoming convinced of the ultimate failure of
his project, in order to curry favor with his master, and avoid the
consequences which he foresaw would follow, deliberately determined to
sacrifice all his companions. Departing secretly from the encampment,
he proclaimed among the planters the number collected in the swamp,
and, instead of stating truly the object they had in view, asserted
their intention was to emerge from their seclusion the first favorable
opportunity, and murder every white person along the bayou.

Such an announcement, exaggerated as it passed from mouth to mouth,
filled the whole country with terror. The fugitives were surrounded
and taken prisoners, carried in chains to Alexandria, and hung by
the populace. Not only those, but many who were suspected, though
entirely innocent, were taken from the field and from the cabin,
and without the shadow of process or form of trial, hurried to the
scaffold. The planters on Bayou Boeuf finally rebelled against such
reckless destruction of property, but it was not until a regiment of
soldiers had arrived from some fort on the Texan frontier, demolished
the gallows, and opened the doors of the Alexandria prison, that the
indiscriminate slaughter was stayed. Lew Cheney escaped, and was
even rewarded for his treachery. He is still living, but his name is
despised and execrated by all his race throughout the parishes of
Rapides and Avoyelles.

Such an idea as insurrection, however, is not new among the enslaved
population of Bayou Boeuf. More than once I have joined in serious
consultation, when the subject has been discussed, and there have
been times when a word from me would have placed hundreds of my
fellow-bondsmen in an attitude of defiance. Without arms or
ammunition, or even with them, I saw such a step would result in
certain defeat, disaster and death, and always raised my voice against
it.

During the Mexican war I well remember the extravagant hopes that were
excited. The news of victory filled the great house with rejoicing,
but produced only sorrow and disappointment in the cabin. In my
opinion--and I have had opportunity to know something of the feeling
of which I speak--there are not fifty slaves on the shores of Bayou
Boeuf, but would hail with unmeasured delight the approach of an
invading army.

They are deceived who flatter themselves that the ignorant and
debased slave has no conception of the magnitude of his wrongs. They
are deceived who imagine that he arises from his knees, with back
lacerated and bleeding, cherishing only a spirit of meekness and
forgiveness. A day may come--it _will_ come, if his prayer is heard--a
terrible day of vengeance, when the master in his turn will cry in
vain for mercy.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Solomon recounts the sufferings of Wiley, who goes for a nocturnal visit without a pass. He is caught by a band of slave patrollers and is brought back. The patrollers whip him, and Epps does as well. His sufferings are so bad that he decides to run away. He tells no one and sets out. The search for him is fruitless; days and weeks pass. The slaves wonder if he survived. Three weeks later, Wiley appears. He had tried to make it back to his former master, Buford, but he was captured again without a pass and was thrown in prison in Alexandria. Joseph B. Roberts, uncle to Mistress Epps, happened to recognize him there, and he was sent back. Wiley is whipped again, and he never tries to run away after that. There are countless obstacles in the way of the fleeing slave. Solomon is always thinking of ways to escape, but he is aware of these obstacles. Every white man's hand is against him; everyone is looking for him. Solomon does manage to terrify Epps's dogs into never attacking him and he even learns to control them, just in case he is able to escape. Slaves who do escape are often caught and occasionally lose their lives. A boy named Augustus was mutilated by the dogs and died. A woman named Celeste once showed up at Epps's plantation and talked to Solomon in the field, telling him her story. She explained that her master's dogs would not touch her either, and that she was living in a space made between the tall trees at the edge of the swamp. She came to Solomon's cabin many times for food, but eventually her fear of the all the wild things in the swamp sent her back to her master, where she was scourged and sent into the field again. Solomon also mentions Lew Cheney, a slave plotting a rebellion and a fight all the way to Mexico. He became notorious, but he decided to turn in his fellow slaves to curry favor with his master. The white men in the region became so frightened and angry that they indiscriminately began hanging slaves until a regiment of soldiers from Texas shut this down. This march to Mexico is not a new idea, Solomon writes. He mentions how, during the Mexican-American War, many of the slaves cherished hope that an invading army would come for them. He adds that the master who thinks that the slave does not understand the magnitude of his situation does not understand the truth: that one day, vengeance will come for him


prompt:
Chapter: O'NIEL, THE TANNER--CONVERSATION WITH AUNT PHEBE OVERHEARD--EPPS IN
  THE TANNING BUSINESS--STABBING OF UNCLE ABRAM--THE UGLY WOUND--EPPS
  IS JEALOUS--PATSEY IS MISSING--HER RETURN FROM SHAW'S--HARRIET,
  SHAW'S BLACK WIFE--EPPS ENRAGED--PATSEY DENIES HIS CHARGES--SHE IS
  TIED DOWN NAKED TO FOUR STAKES--THE INHUMAN FLOGGING--FLAYING OF
  PATSEY--THE BEAUTY OF THE DAY--THE BUCKET OF SALT WATER--THE DRESS
  STIFF WITH BLOOD--PATSEY GROWS MELANCHOLY--HER IDEA OF GOD AND
  ETERNITY--OF HEAVEN AND FREEDOM--THE EFFECT OF SLAVE-WHIPPING--EPPS'
  OLDEST SON--"THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN."

Wiley suffered severely at the hands of Master Epps, as has been
related in the preceding chapter, but in this respect he fared no
worse than his unfortunate companions. "Spare the rod," was an idea
scouted by our master. He was constitutionally subject to periods of
ill-humor, and at such times, however little provocation there might
be, a certain amount of punishment was inflicted. The circumstances
attending the last flogging but one that I received, will show how
trivial a cause was sufficient with him for resorting to the whip.

A Mr. O'Niel, residing in the vicinity of the Big Pine Woods, called
upon Epps for the purpose of purchasing me. He was a tanner and
currier by occupation, transacting an extensive business, and intended
to place me at service in some department of his establishment,
provided he bought me. Aunt Phebe, while preparing the dinner-table
in the great house, overheard their conversation. On returning to the
yard at night, the old woman ran to meet me, designing, of course,
to overwhelm me with the news. She entered into a minute repetition
of all she had heard, and Aunt Phebe was one whose ears never failed
to drink in every word of conversation uttered in her hearing. She
enlarged upon the fact that "Massa Epps was g'wine to sell me to a
tanner ober in de Pine Woods," so long and loudly as to attract the
attention of the mistress, who, standing unobserved on the piazza at
the time, was listening to our conversation.

"Well, Aunt Phebe," said I, "I'm glad of it. I'm tired of scraping
cotton, and would rather be a tanner. I hope he'll buy me."

O'Niel did not effect a purchase, however, the parties differing as
to price, and the morning following his arrival, departed homewards.
He had been gone but a short time, when Epps made his appearance in
the field. Now nothing will more violently enrage a master, especially
Epps, than the intimation of one of his servants that he would like to
leave him. Mistress Epps had repeated to him my expressions to Aunt
Phebe the evening previous, as I learned from the latter afterwards,
the mistress having mentioned to her that she had overheard us. On
entering the field, Epps walked directly to me.

"So, Platt, you're tired of scraping cotton, are you? You
would like to change your master, eh? You're fond of moving
round--traveler--ain't ye? Ah, yes--like to travel for your health,
may be? Feel above cotton-scraping, I 'spose. So you're going into the
tanning business? Good business--devilish fine business. Enterprising
nigger! B'lieve I'll go into that business myself. Down on your knees,
and strip that rag off your back! I'll try my hand at tanning."

I begged earnestly, and endeavored to soften him with excuses, but in
vain. There was no other alternative; so kneeling down, I presented my
bare back for the application of the lash.

"How do you like _tanning_?" he exclaimed, as the rawhide descended
upon my flesh. "How do you like _tanning_?" he repeated at every
blow. In this manner he gave me twenty or thirty lashes, incessantly
giving utterance to the word "tanning," in one form of expression or
another. When sufficiently "tanned," he allowed me to arise, and with
a half-malicious laugh assured me, if I still fancied the business, he
would give me further instruction in it whenever I desired. This time,
he remarked, he had only given me a short lesson in "_tanning_"--the
next time he would "curry me down."

Uncle Abram, also, was frequently treated with great brutality,
although he was one of the kindest and most faithful creatures in
the world. He was my cabin-mate for years. There was a benevolent
expression in the old man's face, pleasant to behold. He regarded us
with a kind of parental feeling, always counseling us with remarkable
gravity and deliberation.

Returning from Marshall's plantation one afternoon, whither I had been
sent on some errand of the mistress, I found him lying on the cabin
floor, his clothes saturated with blood. He informed me that he had
been stabbed! While spreading cotton on the scaffold, Epps came home
intoxicated from Holmesville. He found fault with every thing, giving
many orders so directly contrary that it was impossible to execute
any of them. Uncle Abram, whose faculties were growing dull, became
confused, and committed some blunder of no particular consequence.
Epps was so enraged thereat, that, with drunken recklessness, he flew
upon the old man, and stabbed him in the back. It was a long, ugly
wound, but did not happen to penetrate far enough to result fatally.
It was sewed up by the mistress, who censured her husband with extreme
severity, not only denouncing his inhumanity, but declaring that
she expected nothing else than that he would bring the family to
poverty--that he would kill all the slaves on the plantation in some
of his drunken fits.

It was no uncommon thing with him to prostrate Aunt Phebe with a chair
or stick of wood; but the most cruel whipping that ever I was doomed
to witness--one I can never recall with any other emotion than that
of horror--was inflicted on the unfortunate Patsey.

It has been seen that the jealousy and hatred of Mistress Epps made
the daily life of her young and agile slave completely miserable. I
am happy in the belief that on numerous occasions I was the means
of averting punishment from the inoffensive girl. In Epps' absence
the mistress often ordered me to whip her without the remotest
provocation. I would refuse, saying that I feared my master's
displeasure, and several times ventured to remonstrate with her
against the treatment Patsey received. I endeavored to impress her
with the truth that the latter was not responsible for the acts of
which she complained, but that she being a slave, and subject entirely
to her master's will, he alone was answerable.

At length "the green-eyed monster" crept into the soul of Epps also,
and then it was that he joined with his wrathful wife in an infernal
jubilee over the girl's miseries.

On a Sabbath day in hoeing time, not long ago, we were on the bayou
bank, washing our clothes, as was our usual custom. Presently Patsey
was missing. Epps called aloud, but there was no answer. No one had
observed her leaving the yard, and it was a wonder with us whither she
had gone. In the course of a couple of hours she was seen approaching
from the direction of Shaw's. This man, as has been intimated, was
a notorious profligate, and withal not on the most friendly terms
with Epps. Harriet, his black wife, knowing Patsey's troubles, was
kind to her, in consequence of which the latter was in the habit of
going over to see her every opportunity. Her visits were prompted by
friendship merely, but the suspicion gradually entered the brain of
Epps, that another and a baser passion led her thither--that it was
not Harriet she desired to meet, but rather the unblushing libertine,
his neighbor. Patsey found her master in a fearful rage on her return.
His violence so alarmed her that at first she attempted to evade
direct answers to his questions, which only served to increase his
suspicions. She finally, however, drew herself up proudly, and in a
spirit of indignation boldly denied his charges.

"Missus don't give me soap to wash with, as she does the rest," said
Patsey, "and you know why. I went over to Harriet's to get a piece,"
and saying this, she drew it forth from a pocket in her dress and
exhibited it to him. "That's what I went to Shaw's for, Massa Epps,"
continued she; "the Lord knows that was all."

"You lie, you black wench!" shouted Epps.

"I _don't_ lie, massa. If you kill me, I'll stick to that."

"Oh! I'll fetch you down. I'll learn you to go to Shaw's. I'll take
the starch out of ye," he muttered fiercely through his shut teeth.

Then turning to me, he ordered four stakes to be driven into the
ground, pointing with the toe of his boot to the places where he
wanted them. When the stakes were driven down, he ordered her to be
stripped of every article of dress. Ropes were then brought, and
the naked girl was laid upon her face, her wrists and feet each tied
firmly to a stake. Stepping to the piazza, he took down a heavy whip,
and placing it in my hands, commanded me to lash her. Unpleasant as it
was, I was compelled to obey him. Nowhere that day, on the face of the
whole earth, I venture to say, was there such a demoniac exhibition
witnessed as then ensued.

Mistress Epps stood on the piazza among her children, gazing on the
scene with an air of heartless satisfaction. The slaves were huddled
together at a little distance, their countenances indicating the
sorrow of their hearts. Poor Patsey prayed piteously for mercy, but
her prayers were vain. Epps ground his teeth, and stamped upon the
ground, screaming at me, like a mad fiend, to strike _harder_.

"Strike harder, or _your_ turn will come next, you scoundrel," he
yelled.

"Oh, mercy, massa!--oh! have mercy, _do_. Oh, God! pity me," Patsey
exclaimed continually, struggling fruitlessly, and the flesh quivering
at every stroke.

When I had struck her as many as thirty times, I stopped, and turned
round toward Epps, hoping he was satisfied; but with bitter oaths and
threats, he ordered me to continue. I inflicted ten or fifteen blows
more. By this time her back was covered with long welts, intersecting
each other like net work. Epps was yet furious and savage as ever,
demanding if she would like to go to Shaw's again, and swearing he
would flog her until she wished she was in h--l. Throwing down the
whip, I declared I could punish her no more. He ordered me to go on,
threatening me with a severer flogging than she had received, in case
of refusal. My heart revolted at the inhuman scene, and risking the
consequences, I absolutely refused to raise the whip. He then seized
it himself, and applied it with ten-fold greater force than I had.
The painful cries and shrieks of the tortured Patsey, mingling with
the loud and angry curses of Epps, loaded the air. She was terribly
lacerated--I may say, without exaggeration, literally flayed. The lash
was wet with blood, which flowed down her sides and dropped upon the
ground. At length she ceased struggling. Her head sank listlessly on
the ground. Her screams and supplications gradually decreased and died
away into a low moan. She no longer writhed and shrank beneath the
lash when it bit out small pieces of her flesh. I thought that she was
dying!

[Illustration: THE STAKING OUT AND FLOGGING OF THE GIRL PATSEY.]

It was the Sabbath of the Lord. The fields smiled in the warm
sunlight--the birds chirped merrily amidst the foliage of the
trees--peace and happiness seemed to reign everywhere, save in the
bosoms of Epps and his panting victim and the silent witnesses around
him. The tempestuous emotions that were raging there were little in
harmony with the calm and quiet beauty of the day. I could look on
Epps only with unutterable loathing and abhorrence, and thought
within myself--"Thou devil, sooner or later, somewhere in the course
of eternal justice, thou shalt answer for this sin!"

Finally, he ceased whipping from mere exhaustion, and ordered Phebe
to bring a bucket of salt and water. After washing her thoroughly
with this, I was told to take her to her cabin. Untying the ropes, I
raised her in my arms. She was unable to stand, and as her head rested
on my shoulder, she repeated many times, in a faint voice scarcely
perceptible, "Oh, Platt--oh, Platt!" but nothing further. Her dress
was replaced, but it clung to her back, and was soon stiff with blood.
We laid her on some boards in the hut, where she remained a long time,
with eyes closed and groaning in agony. At night Phebe applied melted
tallow to her wounds, and so far as we were able, all endeavored to
assist and console her. Day after day she lay in her cabin upon her
face, the sores preventing her resting in any other position.

A blessed thing it would have been for her--days and weeks and months
of misery it would have saved her--had she never lifted up her head in
life again. Indeed, from that time forward she was not what she had
been. The burden of a deep melancholy weighed heavily on her spirits.
She no longer moved with that buoyant and elastic step--there was
not that mirthful sparkle in her eyes that formerly distinguished
her. The bounding vigor--the sprightly, laughter-loving spirit of her
youth, were gone. She fell into a mournful and desponding mood, and
oftentimes would start up in her sleep, and with raised hands, plead
for mercy. She became more silent than she was, toiling all day in our
midst, not uttering a word. A care-worn, pitiful expression settled on
her face, and it was her humor now to weep, rather than rejoice. If
ever there was a broken heart--one crushed and blighted by the rude
grasp of suffering and misfortune--it was Patsey's.

She had been reared no better than her master's beast--looked upon
merely as a valuable and handsome animal--and consequently possessed
but a limited amount of knowledge. And yet a faint light cast its rays
over her intellect, so that it was not wholly dark. She had a dim
perception of God and of eternity, and a still more dim perception
of a Saviour who had died even for such as her. She entertained but
confused notions of a future life--not comprehending the distinction
between the corporeal and spiritual existence. Happiness, in her mind,
was exemption from stripes--from labor--from the cruelty of masters
and overseers. Her idea of the joy of heaven was simply _rest_, and is
fully expressed in these lines of a melancholy bard:

    "I ask no paradise on high,
      With cares on earth oppressed,
    The only heaven for which I sigh,
      Is rest, eternal rest."

It is a mistaken opinion that prevails in some quarters, that the
slave does not understand the term--does not comprehend the idea of
freedom. Even on Bayou Boeuf, where I conceive slavery exists in its
most abject and cruel form--where it exhibits features altogether
unknown in more northern States--the most ignorant of them generally
know full well its meaning. They understand the privileges and
exemptions that belong to it--that it would bestow upon them the
fruits of their own labors, and that it would secure to them the
enjoyment of domestic happiness. They do not fail to observe the
difference between their own condition and the meanest white man's,
and to realize the injustice of the laws which place it in his power
not only to appropriate the profits of their industry, but to subject
them to unmerited and unprovoked punishment, without remedy, or the
right to resist, or to remonstrate.

Patsey's life, especially after her whipping, was one long dream of
liberty. Far away, to her fancy an immeasurable distance, she knew
there was a land of freedom. A thousand times she had heard that
somewhere in the distant North there were no slaves--no masters. In
her imagination it was an enchanted region, the Paradise of the earth.
To dwell where the black man may work for himself--live in his own
cabin--till his own soil, was a blissful dream of Patsey's--a dream,
alas! the fulfillment of which she can never realize.

The effect of these exhibitions of brutality on the household of the
slave-holder, is apparent. Epps' oldest son is an intelligent lad of
ten or twelve years of age. It is pitiable, sometimes, to see him
chastising, for instance, the venerable Uncle Abram. He will call the
old man to account, and if in his childish judgment it is necessary,
sentence him to a certain number of lashes, which he proceeds to
inflict with much gravity and deliberation. Mounted on his pony,
he often rides into the field with his whip, playing the overseer,
greatly to his father's delight. Without discrimination, at such
times, he applies the rawhide, urging the slaves forward with shouts,
and occasional expressions of profanity, while the old man laughs, and
commends him as a thorough-going boy.

"The child is father to the man," and with such training, whatever may
be his natural disposition, it cannot well be otherwise than that, on
arriving at maturity, the sufferings and miseries of the slave will be
looked upon with entire indifference. The influence of the iniquitous
system necessarily fosters an unfeeling and cruel spirit, even in the
bosoms of those who, among their equals, are regarded as humane and
generous.

Young Master Epps possessed some noble qualities, yet no process
of reasoning could lead him to comprehend, that in the eye of the
Almighty there is no distinction of color. He looked upon the black
man simply as an animal, differing in no respect from any other
animal, save in the gift of speech and the possession of somewhat
higher instincts, and, therefore, the more valuable. To work like his
father's mules--to be whipped and kicked and scourged through life--to
address the white man with hat in hand, and eyes bent servilely on
the earth, in his mind, was the natural and proper destiny of the
slave. Brought up with such ideas--in the notion that we stand without
the pale of humanity--no wonder the oppressors of my people are a
pitiless and unrelenting race.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Any trivial cause could lead Epps to whip one of his slaves, including Solomon. Solomon relates how one day, Phebe came to him and told him that a Mr. O'Niel, a tanner, wanted to buy Solomon. Solomon replies that he would be glad to go there. Mistress Epps hears this and tells her husband, and Epps comes to Solomon, enraged that he would say that. He brutally whips him. Epps also whips the elderly and confused Abram, but the figure who bears the brunt of the whipping is Patsey. Mistress Epps often has her husband whip the unfortunate slave, but Epps takes this a step further one day when jealousy enters his heart. It seems that Patsey has gone to visit the black wife, Harriett, of a neighboring planter, Mr. Shaw. A suspicion enters Epps's mind that she has gone to see Shaw himself, as the man is a notorious libertine. When Patsey returns, she defiantly tells Epps that Harriet gave her soap since Mistress Ford does not let her wash with soap anymore and she smells awful. Epps will not be mollified and yells that she is a liar. He rapidly sets up four stakes, tells Patsey to disrobe, and ties her wrists and feet to the stakes. He orders Solomon to whip her. Solomon cannot refuse, but he is disgusted by the demonic exhibition. Mistress Epps stands and watches from the piazza with her children. Solomon whips her thirty times and hopes Epps is satisfied, but Epps delivers bitter oaths and threats and orders more. Finally, Solomon throws the whip down; Epps picks it up and whips Patsey even more. Her screams fill the air, and her back is "literally flayed". Solomon thinks she is dying, and he notes with bitter irony what a beautiful Sabbath day it is. Finally, Epps ceases his whipping. The slaves bring Patsey into the cabin and tend to her grotesque wounds. It would have been a blessing if she had died. She lives, though, and her spirit is broken. She is consistently melancholy; she no longer has a buoyant step. She is always silent and has a careworn expression. She truly is her master's beast. Solomon writes that some people think that slaves do not understand freedom, and he vociferously corrects this: they know its meaning, and they constantly observe the contrast between their condition and their master's. The children of slaveholders soon take on their parents' attitudes. Solomon sees how Epps's oldest son is intelligent but loves to play with the whip and evinces delight in punishing the slaves. There is no reasoning that could convince him that there is no difference between those of different skin colors. It is no wonder, Solomon writes, that "the oppressors of my people are a pitiless and unrelenting race"


prompt:
Chapter: 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.

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 Boeuf; 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.

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.

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 Boeuf.

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.

"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 Croesus, 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?"

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

"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?"

"Oh, that ain't a supposable case," said Epps, still laughing; "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?"

"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.

"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?"

"Yes," responded Epps, "but all men, niggers, and monkeys _ain't_;"
and hereupon he broke forth into a more boisterous laugh 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."

"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 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."

"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."

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.

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--

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

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

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

"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."

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

"How came you here?" he inquired, at length. "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."

"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."

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.

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.

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.

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--

"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."

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.

    "Oh, blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair,
    And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there."

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.

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.

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 Boeuf. 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.

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:

                                   "Bayou Boeuf, August 15, 1852.

     "Mr. WILLIAM PERRY or Mr. CEPHAS PARKER:

     "Gentlemen--It having been a long time since I have seen or
     heard from you, and not knowing that you are living, it is with
     uncertainty that I write to you, but the necessity of the case
     must be my excuse.

     "Having been born free, just across the river from you, I am
     certain you must know me, and I am here now a slave. I wish you to
     obtain free papers for me, and forward them to me at Marksville,
     Louisiana, Parish of Avoyelles, and oblige

                                   "Yours, SOLOMON NORTHUP.

     "The way I came to be a slave, I was taken sick in Washington
     City, and was insensible for some time. When I recovered my
     reason, I was robbed of my free-papers, and in irons on my way to
     this State, and have never been able to get any one to write for
     me until now; and he that is writing for me runs the risk of his
     life if detected."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In June 1852, the man to whom Solomon owes his freedom arrives in the bayou. Bass is an itinerant carpenter from Canada who travels around the country doing work; he currently lives in Marksville. He is noble, warmhearted, inoffensive, and firmly committed to the end of slavery. People throughout the South find him genial and do not take offense to his strong words. Even Epps, who hires Bass to work on a house, likes Bass and merely laughs when Bass tells him that white men and black men are equal, that slavery is a sin and a stain on the nation's conscience, and that the system is absurd and cruel. Solomon hears Bass tell Epps these things and thinks that this man may be able to help him, but he is still wary. Finally, one day, when the two of them are working alone, Solomon asks Bass what part of Canada he is from. Bass tells him that Solomon wouldn't know the area, but Solomon tells him he's been to many places. He rattles off the names of places in Canada and upstate New York. Bass is shocked into silence. After expressing hesitation, Solomon tells him his whole melancholy tale. Bass immediately volunteers to help Solomon by mailing a letter to his friends in the North. They meet the next evening and Bass takes down names of people Solomon knows, to whom he can send letters. Solomon tells Bass openly of his sufferings, and Bass assures him of his friendship and support. Over the next couple of weeks, Bass and Solomon are very careful never to interact with each other in other people's sight; there is no suspicion of intimacy between them. Bass goes home to Marksville and pens the letters. One is to Judge Marvin; one is to the Collector of Customs in New York; another is to Messrs. Perry and Parker. He includes Solomon's message along with one of his own. When Bass returns to Epps's place, he tells Solomon that a response would arrive in perhaps six weeks at the latest. Sadly, six weeks pass, then ten, with no response. Solomon's hopes begin to crumble. Bass endeavors to lift his spirits and promises to take a further step if necessary. Solomon worries that the letters miscarried, or were misdirected, or that the people to whom they were addressed had died. Perhaps they did not care at all about him