[The following is an excerpt from Solomon Northup’s chilling memoir, 12 Years a Slave. Solomon Northup was a free man living in the Northern states, who was kidnapped by black-market slave traders and illegally sold in the deep south as a “runaway slave from Georgia,” named Platt. After 12 years in captivity, he was eventually freed after getting word out to friends and acquaintances in the North, about his whereabouts and condition. Here, Solomon finds himself in an auction house, and watches as the son of a woman named Eliza is purchased, and thus separated from her from her son. Then, he watches the same as the woman herself is purchased and thus separated with her young daughter. The purchaser – Solomon insists he was a good and decent man – took Eliza’s screams to heart and attempted to also purchase her daughter, so that they would not be separated.]
Finally, after much more of supplication, the purchaser of Eliza stepped forward, evidently affected, and said to Freeman he would buy Emily, and asked him what her price was.
”What is her price? Buy her?” was the responsive interrogatory of Theophilus Freeman. And instantly answering his own inquiry, he added, “I won’t sell her. She’s not for sale.”
The man remarked he was not in need of one so young – that it would be of no profit to him, but since the mother was so fond of her, rather than see them separated, he would pay a reasonable price. But to this humane proposal Freeman was entirely deaf. He would not sell her then on any account whatever. There were heaps and piles of money to be made of her, he said, when she was a few years older. There were men enough in New-Orleans who would give five thousand dollars for such an extra, handsome, fancy piece as Emily would be, rather than not get her. No, no, he would not sell her then. She was a beauty – a picture – a doll – one for the regular bloods – none of your thick-lipped, bullet-headed, cotton-picking niggers – if she was not he be d---d.
When Eliza heard Freeman’s determination not to part with Emily, she became absolutely frantic.
”I will not go without her. They shall not take her from me,” she fairly shrieked, her shrieks commingling with the loud and angry voice of Freeman, commanding her to be silent.
Meantime Harry and myself had been to the yard and returned with our blankets, and were at the front door ready to leave. Our purchaser stood near us, gazing at Eliza with an expressions indicative of regret at having bought her at the expense of so much sorrow. We waited some time, when, finally, Freeman, out of patience, tore Emily from her mother by main force, the two clinging to each other with all their might.
”Don’t leave me, mama – don’t leave me,” screamed the child, as its mother was pushed harshly forward; “Don’t leave me – come back, mama,” she still cried, stretching forth her little arms imploringly. But she cried in vain. Out of the door and into the street we were quickly hurried. Still we could hear her calling to her mother, “Come back – don’t leave me – come back, mama,” until her infant voice grew faint and still more faint, and gradually died away, as distance intervened, and finally was wholly lost.
Eliza never after saw or heard of Emily or Randall. Day nor night, however, were they ever absent from her memory. In the cotton field, in the cabin, always and everywhere, she was talking of them – often to them, as if they were actually present. Only when absorbed in that illusion, or asleep, did she ever have a moment’s comfort afterwards.
Source:
Northup, Solomon. “Chapter 6.” Twelve Years a Slave. Graymalkin Media, 2014. 54-5. Print.
Further Reading:
If you enjoy this type of content, please consider donating to my Patreon!
No comments, yet...