PAINFUL MEDITATIONS JAMES H. BUKCH — WILLIAMS' SLAVE PEN IN
WASHINGTON THE LACKEY, RADEURN ASSERT MY FREEDOM THE
ANGER OF THE TRADER THE PADDLE AND CAT-o'-NINETAILS THE
WHIPPING XP? ACQUAINTANCES RAY, WILLIAMS, AND RANDALL — ■
ARRIVAL OF LITTLE EMILY AND HER MOTHER IN THE PEN MATERNAL
SORROWS THE STORY OF ELIZA.
Some three hours elapsed, during which time I re- mained seated on the low bench, absorbed in painful meditations. At length I heard the crowing of a cock, and soon a distant rumbling sound, as of car- riages hurrying through the streets, came to my ears, and I knew that it was day. No ray of light, how- ever, penetrated my prison. Finally, I heard foot- steps immediately overhead, as of some one walking to and fro. It occurred to me then that I must be in an underground apartment, and the damp, mouldy odors of the place confirmed the supposition. The noise above continued for at least an hour, when, at last, 1 heard footsteps approaching from without. A key rattled in the lock — a strong door swung back upon its hinges, admitting a flood of light, and two men entered and stood before me. One of them was a large, powerful man, forty years of age, perhaps,
BUECH, THE SLAVE DEALEK. 41
with dark, cliestimt-colored hair, slightly interspersed with gray. His face was full, his complexion flush, his features grossly coarse, expressive of nothing but cruelty and cunning. He was about five feet ten inches high, of full habit, and, without prejudice, I must be allowed to say, was a man whose whole ap- pearance was sinister and repugnant. His name was James H. Burch, as I learned afterwards — a well- known slave-dealer in Washington ; and then, or late- ly, connected in business, as a partner, with Theophi- lus Freeman, of ISTew- Orleans. The person who accompanied him was a simple lackey, named Ebe- nezer Radburn, who acted merely in the capacity of turnkey. Both of these men still live in "Washington, or did, at the time of my return through that city from slavery in January last.
The light admitted through the open door enabled me to observe the room in which I was confined. It was about twelve feet square — the walls of solid ma- sonry. The floor was of heavy plank. There was one small window, crossed with great iron bars, with an outside shutter, securely fastened.
An iron-bound door led into an adjoining cell, or vault, wholly destitute of windows, or any means of admitting light. The furniture of the room in which I was, consisted of the wooden bench on which I sat, an old-fashioned, dirty box stove, and besides these, in either cell, there was neither bed, nor blanket, nor any other thing whatever. The door, through which
42 TWELVE TEARS A SLAVE.
Burcli and Radburn entered, led tlirougli a small passage, up a flight of steps into a yard, surrounded by a brick wall ten or twelve feet high, immediately in rear of a building of tlie same width as itself. The yard extended rearward from the house about thirty feet. In one part of the wall there was a strongly ironed door, opening into a narrow, covered passage, leading along one side of the house into the street. The doom of the colored man, upon whom the door leading out of that narrow passage closed, was sealed. The top of the wall supported one end of a roof, which ascended inwards, forming a kind of open shed. Underneath the roof there was a crazy loft all round, where slaves, if so disposed, might sleep at night, or in inclement weather seek shelter from the storm. It was like a farmer's barnyard in most respects, save it was so constructed that the out- side world could never see the human cattle that were herded there.
The building to which the yard was attached, was two stories high, fronting on one of the public streets of Washington. Its outside presented only the ap- pearance of a quiet private residence. A stranger looking at it, would never have dreamed of its exe- crable uses. Strange as it may seem, within plain sight of this same house, looking down from its com- manding height upon it, was the Capitol. The voices of patriotic representatives boasting of freedom and equality, and the rattling of the poor slave's chains,
ASSERT MY FREEDOM. 43
almost commingled. A slave pen within the verv shadow of the Capitol !
Such is a correct description as it was in 1841, of Williams' slave pen in Washington, in one of the eel lars of which I found myself so unaccountably con- fined.
" Well, my boy, how do you feel now ?" said Burch, as he entered through the open door. I re- plied that I was sick, and inquired the cause of my imprisonment. He answered that I was his slave — that he had bought me, and that he was about to send me to New-Orleans. I asserted, aloud and boldly, that I was a free man — a resident of Saratoga, where I had a wife and children, who were also free, and that my name was Northup. I complained bitterly of the strange treatment I had received, and threat- ened, upon my liberation, to have satisfaction for the wrong. He denied that I was free, and with an em- phatic oath, declared that I came from Georgia. Again and again I asserted I was no man's slave, and insisted upon his taking off my chains at once. He endeavored to hush me, as if he feared my voice would be overheard. But I would not be silent, and denounced the authors of my imprisonment, whoever they might be, as unmitigated villains. Finding he could not quiet me, he flew into a towering passion. With blasphemous oaths, he called me a black liar, a runaway from Georgia, and every other profane and
4A: TWELVE TEAKS A SLAVE.
vulgar epithet that the most indecent fancy could conceive.
During this time Badburn was standing silently by. His business was, to oversee this human, or rather inhuman stable, receiving slaves, feeding and whipping them, at the rate of two shillings a head per day. Turning to him, Burch ordered the paddle and cat-o'-ninetails to be brought in. He disappear- ed, and in a few moments returned with these in- struments of torture. The paddle, as it is termed in slave-beating parlance, or at least the one with which I first became acquainted, and of which I now speak, was a piece of hard-wood board, eighteen or twenty inches long, moulded to the shape of an old-fashioned pudding stick, or ordinary oar. The flattened portion, which was about the size in circumference of two open hands, was bored with a small auger in numerous places. The cat was a large rope of many strands — the strands unraveled, and a knot tied at the extrem- ity of each.
As soon as these formidable whips appeared, I was seized by both of them, and roughly divested of my clothing. My feet, as has been stated, were fastened to the floor. Drawing me over the bench, face down- wards, Badburn placed his heavy foot upon the fet- ters, between my wrists, holding them painfully to the floor. With the paddle, Burch commenced beating me. Blow after blow was inflicted upon my naked body. When his unrelenting arm grew tired, he
SCENE IN THE SLAVE PEN AT WASHINGTON.
THE WHIPPING. 45
stopped and asked if I still insisted I was a free man. I did insist upon it, and then the blows were renewed, faster and more energetically, if possible, than before. "When again tired, he would repeat the same question, and receiving the same answer, continue his cruel labor. All this time, the incarnate devil was utter- ing most fiendish oaths. At length the paddle broke, leaving; the useless handle in his hand. Still I would not yield. All his brutal blows could not force from my lips the foul lie that I was a slave. Casting mad- ly on the floor the handle of the broken paddle, he seized the rope. This was far more painful than the other. I struggled with all my power, but it was in vain. I prayed for mercy, but my prayer was only answered with imprecations and with stripes. I thought I must die beneath the lashes of the accursed brute. Even now the flesh crawls upon my bones, as I recall the scene. I was all on fire. My sufferings I can compare to nothing else than the burning ago- nies of hell !
At last I became silent to his repeated questions. I would make no reply. In fact, I was becoming al- most unable to speak. Still he plied the lash without stint upon my poor body, until it seemed that the lacerated flesh was stripped from my bones at every stroke. A man with a particle of mercy in his soul would not have beaten even a dog so cruelly. At length Ivadbum said that it was useless to whip me any more — that I would be sore enough. There- upon, Burch desisted, saying, with an admonitory
46 TWELVE TEAES A SLAVE.
shake of his fist in my face, and hissing the words through his firm-set teeth, that if ever I dared to utter again that I was entitled to my freedom, that I had been kidnapped, or any thing whatever of the kind, the castigation I had just received was nothing in comparison with what would follow. He swore that he would either conquer or kill me. "With these consolatory words, the fetters were taken from my wrists, my feet still remaining fastened to the ring ; the shutter of the little barred window, which had been opened, was again closed, and going out, lock- ing the great door behind them, I was left in dark- ness as before.
In an hour, perhaps two, my heart leaped to my throat, as the key rattled in the door again. I, who had been so lonely, and who had longed so ar- dently to see some one, I cared not who, now shud- dered at the thought of man's approach. A human face was fearful to me, especially a white one. Rad- burn entered, bringing with him, on a tin plate, a piece of shriveled fried pork, a slice of bread and a cup of water. He asked me how I felt, and remark- ed that I had received a pretty severe flogging. He remonstrated with me against the propriety of as- serting my freedom. In rather a patronizing and confidential manner, he gave it to me as his advice, that the less I said on that subject the better it would be for me. The man evidently endeavored to appear kind — whether touched at the.sight of my sad condi- tion, or with the view of silencing, on my part, any
THE WHIPPING. 47
furtlier expression of my rights, it is not necessary now to conjecture. He unlocked the fetters from my ankles, opened the shutters of the little window, and departed, leaving me again alone.
By this time I had become stiff and sore ; my "body was covered with blisters, and it was with great pain and difficulty that I could move. From the window I could observe nothing but the roof resting on the adjacent wall. At night I laid down upon the damp, hard floor, without any pillow or covering whatever. Punctually, twice a day, Eadburn came in, with his pork, and bread, and water. I had but little appetite, though I was tormented with contin- ual thirst. My wounds would not permit me to re- main but a few minutes in any one position ; so, sit- ting, or standing, or moving slowly round, I passed the days and nights. I was heart sick and discour- aged. Thoughts of my family, of my wife and chil- dren, continually occupied my mind. .When sleep overpowered me I dreamed of them — dreamed I was again in Saratoga — that I could see their faces, and hear their voices calling me. Awakening from the pleasant phantasms of sleep to the bitter realities around me, I could but groan and weep. Still my spirit was not broken. I indulged the anticipation of escape, and that speedily. It was impossible, I rea- soned, that men could be so unjust as to detain me as a slave, when the truth of my case was known. Burch, ascertaining I was no runaway from Georgia, would certainly let me go. Though suspicions of
48 TWELVE YEARS A STAVE.
Brown and Hamilton were not unfrequent, I could not reconcile myself to the idea that they were in- strumental to my imprisonment. Surely they would seek me out — they would deliver me from thraldom. Alas ! I had not then learned the measure of " man's inhumanity to man," nor to what limitless extent of' wickedness he will go for the love of gain.
In the course of several days the outer door was thrown open, allowing me the liberty of the yard. There I found three slaves ■ — one of them a lad of ten years, the others young men of about twenty and twenty-five. I was not long in forming an acquaint- ance, and learning their names and the particulars of their history.
The eldest was a c olored man named Clemens R ay. He had lived in Washington ; had driven a hack, ancl worked in a livery stable there for a long time. He was very intelligent, and fully comprehended his sit- uation. The thought of going south overwhelmed him with grief. Bnrch had purchased him a few days before, and had placed him there until such time as he was ready to send him to the ISTew-Orleans mar ket. From him I learned for the first time that I was in William's Slave Pen t a place I had never heard of previously. He described to me the uses for which it was designed. I repeated to him the particulars of my unhappy story, but lie could only give me the consolation of his sympathy. He also advised me to be silent henceforth on the subject of my freedom; for, knowing the character of Burch, he assured me
RAY, WILLIAMS AND KAJSTDALL. 49
that it would only be attended with renewed whip- ping. The next elde st jvas named John "Williams. He was raised in Virginia, not far from Washington. Burch had taken him in payment of a debt, and ho constantly entertained the hope that his master would redeem him — a hope that was subsequently realized. 1^ )9. lfl.^j x vfls a sprightly child, that answered to the name o f Randall . Most of the time he was playing about the yard, but occasionally would cry, calling for his mother, and wondering when she would come. His mother's absence seemed to be the great and only grief in his little heart. He was too young to realize his condition, and when the memory of his mother was not in his mind, he amused us with his pleasant pranks.
At night, Kay, Williams, and the boy, slept in the loft of the shed, while I was locked in the cell. Fi- nally we were each provided with blankets, such as are used upon horses — the only bedding I was allow- ed to have for twelve years afterwards. Ray and Williams asked me many questions about Kew-York — how colored people were treated there ; how they could have homes and families of their own, with none to disturb and oppress them ; and Ray, especially, sighed continually for freedom. Such conversations, however, were not in the hearing of Burch, or the keeper Eadburn. Aspirations such as these would have brought down the lash upon our backs.
It is necessary in this narrative, in order to present a full and truthful statement of all the principal events
SO TWELVE YEAES A SLAVE.
in the history of my lii'e, and to portray the institu tion of Slavery as I have seen and known it, to speak of well-known places, and of many persons who are yet living. I am, and always was, an entire stranger in Washington and its vicinity — aside from Burch and Radburn, knowing no man there, except as I have heard of them through my enslaved companions. "What I am about to say, if false, can be easily con- tradicted.
I remained in Williams' slave pen abont two weeks. The night previous to my departure a woman was brought in, weeping bitterly, and leading by the hand a little child. They were Randall's mother and half-sister. On meeting them he was overjoyed, clinging to her dress, kissing the child, and exhibit- ing every demonstration of delight. The mother also clasped him in her arms, embraced him tenderly, and gazed at him fondly through her tears, calling him by many an endearing name.
Emily, the child, was seven or eight years old, of light complexion, and w T ith a face of admirable beau- ty. Her hair fell in curls around her neck, while the style and richness of her dress, and the neatness of her whole appearance indicated she had been brought up in the midst of wealth. She was a sweet child indeed. The woman also was arrayed in silk, with rings upon her fingers, and golden ornaments sus- pended from her ears. Her air and manners, the cor- rectness and propriety of her language — all showed, evidently, that she had sometime stood above the
MATERNAL SORROWS. 51
common level of a slave. She seemed to "be amazed at finding herself in such a place as that. It was plainly a suclden^and unexpected turn of fortune that had brouo'ht her there. Filling the air with her com- plainings, she was hustled, with the children and my- self, into the cell. Language can convey but an inad- equate impression of the lamentations to which she gave incessant utterance. Throwing herself upon the floor, and encircling the children in her arms, she poured forth such touching words as only maternal love and kindness can suggest. They nestled closely to her, as if there only was there any safety or pro- tection. At last they slept, their heads resting upon her lap. While they slumbered, she smoothed the hair back from their little foreheads, and talked to them all night long. She called them her darlings — her sweet babes — poor innocent things, that knew not the misery they were destined to endure. Soon they would have no mother to comfort them — they would be taken from her. "What would become of them ? Oh ! she could not live away from her little Emmy and her dear boy. They had always been good children, and had such loving ways. It would break her heart, God knew, she said, if they were ta- ken from her ; and yet she knew they meant to sell them, and, may be, they would be separated, and could never see each other any more. It was enough to melt a heart of stone to listen to the pitiful ex- pressions of that desolate and distracted mother. Her
52 TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE.
name was Eliz a ; and tins was the story of her life, as she afterwards related it :
She was th e slave of Elisha "Berrv L a rich man, liv- ing in the neighborhood of "Washington. She was born, I think she said, on his plantation. Years be- fore, he had fallen into dissipated habits, and quarrel- ed with his wife. In fact, soon after the birth of Randall, they separated. Leaving his wife and daugh- ter in the house they had always occupied, he erected a new one near by, on the estate. Into this house he brought Eliza ; and, on condition of her living with him, she and her children were to be emancipated. She resided with him there nine years, with servants to attend upon her, and provided with every comfort and luxury of life. Emily was his child ! Finally, her young mistress, who had always remained with her mother at the homestead, married a Mr. Jacob Brooks. At length, for some cause, (as I gathered from her relation,) beyond Berry's control, a division of his property was made. She and her children fell to the share of Mr. Brooks. During the nine years she had lived with Berry, in consequence of the posi- tion she was compelled to occupy, she and Emily had become the object of Mrs. Berry and her daughter's hatred and dislike. Berry himself she represented as a man of naturally a kind heart, who always promis- ed her that she should have her freedom, and who, she had no doubt, would grant it to her then, if it were only in his power. As soon as they thus came
THE STORY OF ELIZA. 53
into the possession and control of the daughter, it be- came very manifest they would not live long together. The sight of Eliza seemed to be odious to Mrs. Brooks ; neither could she bear to look upon the child, half- sister, and beautiful as she was !
The day she was led into the pen, Brooks had brought her from the estate into the city, under pre- tence that the time had come when her free papers were to be executed, in fulfillment of her master's promise. Elated at the prospect of immediate liber- ty, she decked herself and little Emmy in their best apparel, and accompanied him with a joyful heart. On their arrival in the city, instead of being baptized into the family of freemen, she was delivered to the t vridnr "Ryiriih . The paper that was executed was a bill of sale. The hope of years was blasted in a mo- ment. From the hight of most exulting happiness to the utmost depths of wretchedness, she had that day descended. No wonder that she wept, and filled the pen with wailings and expressions of heart-rend- ing woe.
Eliza is now dead. Far up the Red River, where it pours its waters sluggishly through the unhealthy low lands of Louisiana, she rests in the grave at last — the only resting place of the poor slave ! How all her fears were realized — how she mourned day and night, and never would be comforted' — how, as she predict- ed, her heart did indeed break, with the burden of maternal sorrow, will be seen as the narrative pro- ceeds.
Return to the Twelve Years a Slave Summary Return to the Solomon Northup Library