[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.]
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 proudly 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 Eps 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.”
Source:
Northup, Solomon. “Chapter 18.” Twelve Years a Slave. Graymalkin Media, 2014. 178-80. Print.
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