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.

 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

