Chapter: THE CURIOUS AXE-HELVE--SYMPTOMS OF APPROACHING ILLNESS--CONTINUE
  TO DECLINE--THE WHIP INEFFECTUAL--CONFINED TO THE CABIN--VISIT BY
  DR. WINES--PARTIAL RECOVERY--FAILURE AT COTTON PICKING--WHAT MAY
  BE HEARD ON EPPS' PLANTATION--LASHES GRADUATED--EPPS IN A WHIPPING
  MOOD--EPPS IN A DANCING MOOD--DESCRIPTION OF THE DANCE--LOSS OF
  REST NO EXCUSE--EPPS' CHARACTERISTICS--JIM BURNS REMOVAL FROM HUFF
  POWER TO BAYOU BOEUF--DESCRIPTION OF UNCLE ABRAM; OF WILEY; OF AUNT
  PHEBE; OF BOB, HENRY, AND EDWARD; OF PATSEY; WITH A GENEALOGICAL
  ACCOUNT OF EACH--SOMETHING OF THEIR PAST HISTORY, AND PECULIAR
  CHARACTERISTICS--JEALOUSY AND LUST--PATSEY, THE VICTIM.


On my arrival at Master Epps', in obedience to his order, the first
business upon which I entered was the making of an axe-helve. The
handles in use there are simply a round, straight stick. I made a
crooked one, shaped like those to which I had been accustomed at the
North. When finished, and presented to Epps, he looked at it with
astonishment, unable to determine exactly what it was. He had never
before seen such a handle, and when I explained its conveniences, he
was forcibly struck with the novelty of the idea. He kept it in the
house a long time, and when his friends called, was wont to exhibit it
as a curiosity.

It was now the season of hoeing. I was first sent into the
corn-field, and afterwards set to scraping cotton. In this employment
I remained until hoeing time was nearly passed, when I began to
experience the symptoms of approaching illness. I was attacked with
chills, which were succeeded by a burning fever. I became weak and
emaciated, and frequently so dizzy that it caused me to reel and
stagger like a drunken man. Nevertheless, I was compelled to keep up
my row. When in health I found little difficulty in keeping pace with
my fellow-laborers, but now it seemed to be an utter impossibility.
Often I fell behind, when the driver's lash was sure to greet my back,
infusing into my sick and drooping body a little temporary energy.
I continued to decline until at length the whip became entirely
ineffectual. The sharpest sting of the rawhide could not arouse me.
Finally, in September, when the busy season of cotton picking was at
hand, I was unable to leave my cabin. Up to this time I had received
no medicine, nor any attention from my master or mistress. The old
cook visited me occasionally, preparing me corn-coffee, and sometimes
boiling a bit of bacon, when I had grown too feeble to accomplish it
myself.

When it was said that I would die, Master Epps, unwilling to bear
the loss, which the death of an animal worth a thousand dollars
would bring upon him, concluded to incur the expense of sending to
Holmesville for Dr. Wines. He announced to Epps that it was the
effect of the climate, and there was a probability of his losing me.
He directed me to eat no meat, and to partake of no more food than
was absolutely necessary to sustain life. Several weeks elapsed,
during which time, under the scanty diet to which I was subjected, I
had partially recovered. One morning, long before I was in a proper
condition to labor, Epps appeared at the cabin door, and, presenting
me a sack, ordered me to the cotton field. At this time I had had no
experience whatever in cotton picking. It was an awkward business
indeed. While others used both hands, snatching the cotton and
depositing it in the mouth of the sack, with a precision and dexterity
that was incomprehensible to me, I had to seize the boll with one
hand, and deliberately draw out the white, gushing blossom with the
other.

Depositing the cotton in the sack, moreover, was a difficulty that
demanded the exercise of both hands and eyes. I was compelled to pick
it from the ground where it would fall, nearly as often as from the
stalk where it had grown. I made havoc also with the branches, loaded
with the yet unbroken bolls, the long, cumbersome sack swinging from
side to side in a manner not allowable in the cotton field. After a
most laborious day I arrived at the gin-house with my load. When the
scale determined its weight to be only ninety-five pounds, not half
the quantity required of the poorest picker, Epps threatened the
severest flogging, but in consideration of my being a "raw hand,"
concluded to pardon me on that occasion. The following day, and
many days succeeding, I returned at night with no better success--I
was evidently not designed for that kind of labor. I had not the
gift--the dexterous fingers and quick motion of Patsey, who could
fly along one side of a row of cotton, stripping it of its undefiled
and fleecy whiteness miraculously fast. Practice and whipping were
alike unavailing, and Epps, satisfied of it at last, swore I was
a disgrace--that I was not fit to associate with a cotton-picking
"nigger"--that I could not pick enough in a day to pay the trouble
of weighing it, and that I should go into the cotton field no more.
I was now employed in cutting and hauling wood, drawing cotton from
the field to the gin-house, and performed whatever other service was
required. Suffice to say, I was never permitted to be idle.

It was rarely that a day passed by without one or more whippings. This
occurred at the time the cotton was weighed. The delinquent, whose
weight had fallen short, was taken out, stripped, made to lie upon the
ground, face downwards, when he received a punishment proportioned to
his offence. It is the literal, unvarnished truth, that the crack of
the lash, and the shrieking of the slaves, can be heard from dark till
bed time, on Epps' plantation, any day almost during the entire period
of the cotton-picking season.

The number of lashes is graduated according to the nature of the case.
Twenty-five are deemed a mere brush, inflicted, for instance, when a
dry leaf or piece of boll is found in the cotton, or when a branch
is broken in the field; fifty is the ordinary penalty following all
delinquencies of the next higher grade; one hundred is called severe:
it is the punishment inflicted for the serious offence of standing
idle in the field; from one hundred and fifty to two hundred is
bestowed upon him who quarrels with his cabin-mates, and five hundred,
well laid on, besides the mangling of the dogs, perhaps, is certain to
consign the poor, unpitied runaway to weeks of pain and agony.

During the two years Epps remained on the plantation at Bayou Huff
Power, he was in the habit, as often as once in a fortnight at least,
of coming home intoxicated from Holmesville. The shooting-matches
almost invariably concluded with a debauch. At such times he was
boisterous and half-crazy. Often he would break the dishes, chairs,
and whatever furniture he could lay his hands on. When satisfied
with his amusement in the house, he would seize the whip and walk
forth into the yard. Then it behooved the slaves to be watchful and
exceeding wary. The first one who came within reach felt the smart
of his lash. Sometimes for hours he would keep them running in all
directions, dodging around the corners of the cabins. Occasionally
he would come upon one unawares, and if he succeeded in inflicting a
fair, round blow, it was a feat that much delighted him. The younger
children, and the aged, who had become inactive, suffered then. In the
midst of the confusion he would slily take his stand behind a cabin,
waiting with raised whip, to dash it into the first black face that
peeped cautiously around the corner.

At other times he would come home in a less brutal humor. Then there
must be a merry-making. Then all must move to the measure of a tune.
Then Master Epps must needs regale his melodious ears with the music
of a fiddle. Then did he become buoyant, elastic, gaily "tripping the
light fantastic toe" around the piazza and all through the house.

Tibeats, at the time of my sale, had informed him I could play on
the violin. He had received his information from Ford. Through the
importunities of Mistress Epps, her husband had been induced to
purchase me one during a visit to New-Orleans. Frequently I was called
into the house to play before the family, mistress being passionately
fond of music.

All of us would be assembled in the large room of the great house,
whenever Epps came home in one of his dancing moods. No matter how
worn out and tired we were, there must be a general dance. When
properly stationed on the floor, I would strike up a tune.

"Dance, you d--d niggers, dance," Epps would shout.

Then there must be no halting or delay, no slow or languid movements;
all must be brisk, and lively, and alert. "Up and down, heel and toe,
and away we go," was the order of the hour. Epps' portly form mingled
with those of his dusky slaves, moving rapidly through all the mazes
of the dance.

Usually his whip was in his hand, ready to fall about the ears of
the presumptuous thrall, who dared to rest a moment, or even stop to
catch his breath. When he was himself exhausted, there would be a
brief cessation, but it would be very brief. With a slash, and crack,
and flourish of the whip, he would shout again, "Dance, niggers,
dance," and away they would go once more, pell-mell, while I spurred
by an occasional sharp touch of the lash, sat in a corner, extracting
from my violin a marvelous quick-stepping tune. The mistress often
upbraided him, declaring she would return to her father's house at
Cheneyville; nevertheless, there were times she could not restrain a
burst of laughter, on witnessing his uproarious pranks. Frequently,
we were thus detained until almost morning. Bent with excessive
toil--actually suffering for a little refreshing rest, and feeling
rather as if we could cast ourselves upon the earth and weep, many a
night in the house of Edwin Epps have his unhappy slaves been made to
dance and laugh.

Notwithstanding these deprivations in order to gratify the whim of
an unreasonable master, we had to be in the field as soon as it was
light, and during the day perform the ordinary and accustomed task.
Such deprivations could not be urged at the scales in extenuation of
any lack of weight, or in the cornfield for not hoeing with the usual
rapidity. The whippings were just as severe as if we had gone forth
in the morning, strengthened and invigorated by a night's repose.
Indeed, after such frantic revels, he was always more sour and savage
than before, punishing for slighter causes, and using the whip with
increased and more vindictive energy.

Ten years I toiled for that man without reward. Ten years of
my incessant labor has contributed to increase the bulk of his
possessions. Ten years I was compelled to address him with down-cast
eyes and uncovered head--in the attitude and language of a slave. I am
indebted to him for nothing, save undeserved abuse and stripes.

Beyond the reach of his inhuman thong, and standing on the soil of
the free State where I was born, thanks be to Heaven, I can raise my
head once more among men. I can speak of the wrongs I have suffered,
and of those who inflicted them, with upraised eyes. But I have no
desire to speak of him or any other one otherwise than truthfully.
Yet to speak truthfully of Edwin Epps would be to say--he is a man
in whose heart the quality of kindness or of justice is not found. A
rough, rude energy, united with an uncultivated mind and an avaricious
spirit, are his prominent characteristics. He is known as a "nigger
breaker," distinguished for his faculty of subduing the spirit of the
slave, and priding himself upon his reputation in this respect, as a
jockey boasts of his skill in managing a refractory horse. He looked
upon a colored man, not as a human being, responsible to his Creator
for the small talent entrusted to him, but as a "chattel personal," as
mere live property, no better, except in value, than his mule or dog.
When the evidence, clear and indisputable, was laid before him that I
was a free man, and as much entitled to my liberty as he--when, on the
day I left, he was informed that I had a wife and children, as dear
to me as his own babes to him, he only raved and swore, denouncing the
law that tore me from him, and declaring he would find out the man who
had forwarded the letter that disclosed the place of my captivity, if
there was any virtue or power in money, and would take his life. He
thought of nothing but his loss, and cursed me for having been born
free. He could have stood unmoved and seen the tongues of his poor
slaves torn out by the roots--he could have seen them burned to ashes
over a slow fire, or gnawed to death by dogs, if it only brought him
profit. Such a hard, cruel, unjust man is Edwin Epps.

There was but one greater savage on Bayou Boeuf than he. Jim Burns'
plantation was cultivated, as already mentioned, exclusively by women.
That barbarian kept their backs so sore and raw, that they could not
perform the customary labor demanded daily of the slave. He boasted of
his cruelty, and through all the country round was accounted a more
thorough-going, energetic man than even Epps. A brute himself, Jim
Burns had not a particle of mercy for his subject brutes, and like a
fool, whipped and scourged away the very strength upon which depended
his amount of gain.

Epps remained on Huff Power two years, when, having accumulated a
considerable sum of money, he expended it in the purchase of the
plantation on the east bank of Bayou Boeuf, where he still continues
to reside. He took possession of it in 1845, after the holidays
were passed. He carried thither with him nine slaves, all of whom,
except myself, and Susan, who has since died, remain there yet. He
made no addition to this force, and for eight years the following
were my companions in his quarters, viz: Abram, Wiley, Phebe, Bob,
Henry, Edward, and Patsey. All these, except Edward, born since, were
purchased out of a drove by Epps during the time he was overseer for
Archy B. Williams, whose plantation is situated on the shore of Red
River, not far from Alexandria.

Abram was tall, standing a full head above any common man. He is
sixty years of age, and was born in Tennessee. Twenty years ago, he
was purchased by a trader, carried into South Carolina, and sold to
James Buford, of Williamsburgh county, in that State. In his youth
he was renowned for his great strength, but age and unremitting toil
have somewhat shattered his powerful frame and enfeebled his mental
faculties.

Wiley is forty-eight. He was born on the estate of William Tassle,
and for many years took charge of that gentleman's ferry over the Big
Black River, in South Carolina.

Phebe was a slave of Buford, Tassle's neighbor, and having married
Wiley, he bought the latter, at her instigation. Buford was a kind
master, sheriff of the county, and in those days a man of wealth.

Bob and Henry are Phebe's children, by a former husband, their father
having been abandoned to give place to Wiley. That seductive youth
had insinuated himself into Phebe's affections, and therefore the
faithless spouse had gently kicked her first husband out of her cabin
door. Edward had been born to them on Bayou Huff Power.

Patsey is twenty-three--also from Buford's plantation. She is in no
wise connected with the others, but glories in the fact that she is
the offspring of a "Guinea nigger," brought over to Cuba in a slave
ship, and in the course of trade transferred to Buford, who was her
mother's owner.

This, as I learned from them, is a genealogical account of my master's
slaves. For years they had been together. Often they recalled the
memories of other days, and sighed to retrace their steps to the
old home in Carolina. Troubles came upon their master Buford, which
brought far greater troubles upon them. He became involved in debt,
and unable to bear up against his failing fortunes, was compelled
to sell these, and others of his slaves. In a chain gang they had
been driven from beyond the Mississippi to the plantation of Archy
B. Williams. Edwin Epps, who, for a long while had been his driver
and overseer, was about establishing himself in business on his own
account, at the time of their arrival, and accepted them in payment of
his wages.

Old Abram was a kind-hearted being--a sort of patriarch among us,
fond of entertaining his younger brethren with grave and serious
discourse. He was deeply versed in such philosophy as is taught in
the cabin of the slave; but the great absorbing hobby of Uncle Abram
was General Jackson, whom his young master in Tennessee had followed
to the wars. He loved to wander back, in imagination, to the place
where he was born, and to recount the scenes of his youth during those
stirring times when the nation was in arms. He had been athletic,
and more keen and powerful than the generality of his race, but now
his eye had become dim, and his natural force abated. Very often,
indeed, while discussing the best method of baking the hoe-cake, or
expatiating at large upon the glory of Jackson, he would forget where
he left his hat, or his hoe, or his basket; and then would the old man
be laughed at, if Epps was absent, and whipped if he was present. So
was he perplexed continually, and sighed to think that he was growing
aged and going to decay. Philosophy and Jackson and forgetfulness had
played the mischief with him, and it was evident that all of them
combined were fast bringing down the gray hairs of Uncle Abram to the
grave.

Aunt Phebe had been an excellent field hand, but latterly was put
into the kitchen, where she remained, except occasionally, in a time
of uncommon hurry. She was a sly old creature, and when not in the
presence of her mistress or her master, was garrulous in the extreme.

Wiley, on the contrary, was silent. He performed his task without
murmur or complaint, seldom indulging in the luxury of speech, except
to utter a wish, that he was away from Epps, and back once more in
South Carolina.

Bob and Henry had reached the ages of twenty and twenty-three, and
were distinguished for nothing extraordinary or unusual, while Edward,
a lad of thirteen, not yet able to maintain his row in the corn or
the cotton field, was kept in the great house, to wait on the little
Eppses.

Patsey was slim and straight. She stood erect as the human form is
capable of standing. There was an air of loftiness in her movement,
that neither labor, nor weariness, nor punishment could destroy.
Truly, Patsey was a splendid animal, and were it not that bondage had
enshrouded her intellect in utter and everlasting darkness, would
have been chief among ten thousand of her people. She could leap the
highest fences, and a fleet hound it was indeed, that could outstrip
her in a race. No horse could fling her from his back. She was a
skillful teamster. She turned as true a furrow as the best, and at
splitting rails there were none who could excel her. When the order
to halt was heard at night, she would have her mules at the crib,
unharnessed, fed and curried, before uncle Abram had found his hat.
Not, however, for all or any of these, was she chiefly famous. Such
lightning-like motion was in her fingers as no other fingers ever
possessed, and therefore it was, that in cotton picking time, Patsey
was queen of the field.

She had a genial and pleasant temper, and was faithful and obedient.
Naturally, she was a joyous creature, a laughing, light-hearted girl,
rejoicing in the mere sense of existence. Yet Patsey wept oftener,
and suffered more, than any of her companions. She had been literally
excoriated. Her back bore the scars of a thousand stripes; not because
she was backward in her work, nor because she was of an unmindful and
rebellious spirit, but because it had fallen to her lot to be the
slave of a licentious master and a jealous mistress. She shrank before
the lustful eye of the one, and was in danger even of her life at the
hands of the other, and between the two, she was indeed accursed. In
the great house, for days together, there were high and angry words,
poutings and estrangement, whereof she was the innocent cause. Nothing
delighted the mistress so much as to see her suffer, and more than
once, when Epps had refused to sell her, has she tempted me with
bribes to put her secretly to death, and bury her body in some lonely
place in the margin of the swamp. Gladly would Patsey have appeased
this unforgiving spirit, if it had been in her power, but not like
Joseph, dared she escape from Master Epps, leaving her garment in his
hand. Patsey walked under a cloud. If she uttered a word in opposition
to her master's will, the lash was resorted to at once, to bring her
to subjection; if she was not watchful when about her cabin, or when
walking in the yard, a billet of wood, or a broken bottle perhaps,
hurled from her mistress' hand, would smite her unexpectedly in the
face. The enslaved victim of lust and hate, Patsey had no comfort of
her life.

These were my companions and fellow-slaves, with whom I was accustomed
to be driven to the field, and with whom it has been my lot to dwell
for ten years in the log cabins of Edwin Epps. They, if living, are
yet toiling on the banks of Bayou Boeuf, never destined to breathe,
as I now do, the blessed air of liberty, nor to shake off the heavy
shackles that enthrall them, until they shall lie down forever in the
dust.

 It is the season of hoeing, but Solomon finds himself weak and ill. Epps does not care, until the doctor says that Solomon will die and Epps will be out a thousand dollars. Solomon partially recovers but is soon sent out to pick cotton. He is not very good at it and is not yet healed, so his crop is thin. He is not designed for that sort of labor, as his fingers are neither dexterous nor quick. He is employed hauling wood and bringing cotton from the field to the gin-house, as well as doing numerous other tasks. Solomon writes bitterly that whippings occur every day on the plantation for any number of "causes. Sometimes when Epps is very drunk, he procures his whip and tries to snap at any slave he sees; usually, the young and aged bear that burden. Solomon is often called into the house to play music, as the mistress is fond of it. Epps forces the slaves to dance no matter how tired they are, and the next day they have to be up early to work in the fields. For ten years, Solomon toils without reward. For ten years, he addresses Epps modestly and demurely, and he gets nothing in return but stripes and abuse. Solomon wishes to be fair in his account, but Epps truly has no redeeming qualities. He is rude, rough, uncultivated, avaricious, prideful, cruel, and cares not a whit for his slaves. He boasts about being a "nigger-breaker". Only one man in Bayou Boeuf is crueler: Jim Burns, who employs an all-female force of slaves. Solomon's companions are the same for eight years: Abram, Wiley, Phebe, Phebe's children , Edward, and Patsey. Abram is sixty and quite tall; he loves to entertain them and admires General Andrew Jackson, whom his first master followed into war. Phebe works in the kitchen and is very garrulous. Wiley is silent. Bob and Henry do not have any distinguishing features to note, and Edward is very young. Patsey is splendid, slim, and athletic; she is the queen of picking cotton. She is a joyous woman, but, unfortunately, it is her lot to fall prey to Epps's lasciviousness. Mistress Epps thus despises her and wishes she were dead. Patsey walks under a cloud, a victim of lust and hate

