Twelve Years a Slave (Barnes & Noble Library of Essential Reading)

By Solomon Ashley Northup and Eric Ashley Hairston

Twelve Years a Slave, a chronicle of the amazing ordeal of a free African-American kidnapped in the north, and impressed into slavery in Louisiana, is one of the most compelling and detailed slave narratives in existence. The text and story were virtually unchallenged by Southern apologists or partisans of the era. Northup resists the urge to laud himself as an exemplary character or focus solely his own experience, giving contemporary readers a remarkable account of the lives of the slave community as a whole. As an educated man, torn from freedom and plunged into slavery, he brings into horrible and tantalizingly exact clarity the life and labor of slaves in the antebellum American South, the complex economic choices and ironic moral concessions of slaveholding, and the calamitous effect of slavery on the foundations of civilization. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnes & Noble
• Release date: Sep 1, 2009
• ISBN: 9781411430440

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INTRODUCTION

TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE, A CHRONICLE OF THE AMAZING ORDEAL OF A FREE African-American kidnapped from Washington, D.C., and impressed into slavery in Louisiana, is one of the most compelling and detailed slave narratives in existence. Although a best-selling book in its time, Solomon Northup’s narrative has existed in the shadow of more academically prominent and popularly celebrated narratives like The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass (1845). Nonetheless, Northup’s account of his kidnapping and enslavement is a masterpiece of historical detail, and the narrative has been noted for its easily researched and widely corroborated elements. The text and story were virtually unchallenged by Southern apologists or partisans of the era. Northup resists the urge to laud himself as an exemplary character or focus solely on his own experience, giving contemporary readers a remarkable account of the lives of the slave community as a whole. As an educated man, torn from freedom and plunged into slavery, he brings into horrible and tantalizingly exact clarity the life and labor of slaves in the antebellum American South, the complex economic choices and ironic moral concessions of slaveholding, and the calamitous effect of slavery on the foundations of civilization.

Born in 1808 to an unnamed mother and Mintus Northup, a former slave who was freed on the death of his master, Solomon Northup lived the life of a free man and educated tradesman in New York. Beginning with his childhood, he was early acquainted with voting and civic life through his father, and he developed a strong sense of his own liberty and dignity. Like his father, he maintained a cordial relationship with the white family that had previously held his own family in bondage, an association that would help secure his freedom. Northup and his wife, Anne Hampton Northup, were engaged in a quintessentially American quest for social and economic advancement when he was enticed away from the safety of Saratoga Springs, New York, with the promise of work and kidnapped into slavery in 1841. Upon his escape in 1853, Northup resolved to tell his story, first to the New York Times and later in a book through his editor, David Wilson. Although his sensational story showed great commercial promise, Northup insisted in its first pages that his primary aim was to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage.

Northup’s life before slavery was notable because of his industriousness. He worked on the repairs of the Champlain Canal, navigated rafts of supplies from Lake Champlain to Troy, New York, engaged in woodcutting, purchased property, farmed for profit, and worked in railroad construction. In addition, he plied his trade as a violinist during the tourist season. It was in pursuit of work that Northup found himself drugged, kidnapped, and enslaved, and for twelve years he labored in the grinding agricultural netherworld of Southern bondage. After returning to his family, Northup not only published his narrative but also pressed his legal case against his abductors. With the help of Thaddeus St. John, a New York county judge who had witnessed Northup traveling in the company of his abductors, and Henry B. Northup, of the family who had formerly enslaved the African-American Northups, Solomon Northup was able to seek redress in the courts. His abductors, Alexander Merrill and Joseph Russell, were captured and faced trial in 1854. By 1856, the case had meandered through the New York legal system to the state supreme court and the court of appeals, only to be remanded for action in the lower courts. Ultimately, the delays and technicalities of trial exhausted the interest of the state, which did not retry the abductors.

For all of his misfortune and his resulting celebrity, Solomon Northup’s end remains a mystery. He returned to his family, who settled in Glens Falls, New York, purchased property, and lived in the area until his death. His wife and family sold their property and moved from the town. The circumstances and date of his death are unknown, but the city of Saratoga Springs still commemorates his life and narrative with an annual Solomon Northup Day.

Commentary on Northup’s penchant for detail punctuates any evaluation of his narrative, and well it should. His descriptions of nineteenth-century cotton production and sugar manufacturing are amazingly detailed historical gifts to scholars of the antebellum era, and they provide revealing texture to the brutal and onerous labor involved on Southern plantations. Given recent questions about the veracity of portions of Olaudah (Olaudiah) Equiano’s famous narrative, Northup’s exactness and well-supported facts about people and places in his narrative have new contemporary importance. Northup also notes variations in the personalities, characters, attributes, and fortunes of the slaves and slaveholders and even finds space for irony and faint humor amid the considerable pain of slave life. Northup also possesses an egalitarian gaze, and where other escaped slaves have been faulted for selective or manipulative recollection in their narratives, Northup is circumspect.

While scholars have faulted Frederick Douglass for his one-dimensional and largely physical representations of women (in near-nakedness and under torture or sexual abuse) and the primacy of his own struggle, Northup labors over the details of life in the slave community and gives personality and depth to the varied men and women who were enslaved and abused. He recounts the deceptive appearance of ease and satisfaction Southern slaves and slaveholders presented when traveling North, but he reveals both their true yearnings for liberty and his own early exhortations to them to escape. He also follows the life of the slave Eliza from her treacherous sale, to the loss of her children, to her end as a mere shadow of her once lively and elegant womanhood.

Remarkably, Northup relates what is likely a new version of the story of American slavery for even contemporary readers—a world of plantation life where the backbreaking work is done exclusively by African-American women. Northup writes compellingly of the labor of slave women who are not only caretakers and cooks and cotton hands but also horse-riders and lumberjacks. He describes the exceptional physical strength of Patsey with a remarkably liberated eye, marking no impediment of gender and describing her intellect and acquisition of horsemanship and teamster-talent with ease. At the same time, he takes pains to describe her additional burden as a woman who is the object and victim of her master’s lascivious designs and her mistress’ infernal jealousy.

Northup’s narrative is no less an account of the physical horror beyond the bloodstained gate of Southern slavery than others in the genre. The shrieks of pain so familiar to readers of slave narratives are in the air of Northup’s plantations, resonating for miles, as they do in so many narrative accounts. But his report of the physical abuse native to slavery is raised to superlative form by his analysis of the psychological, sexual, economic, and personally capricious horrors that accompanied the crack and pain of the lash. Northup distinguishes the lash itself as not just the tool of forcing labor or of venting vicious anger, but also the tool of caprice or a recreational device for slaveholders’ drunken gamesmanship.

Few, if any, slave narratives relate uplifting and celebratory stories of slaveholders and overseers, but central to Twelve Years a Slave is a careful and nuanced analysis of the slaveholders of the South, Louisiana in particular, that could stand alone as a significant text. The slave civilization Northup describes is a crumbling ruin of the Western world, its rulers fallen creatures largely bereft of virtue. Yet, Northup is evenhanded and scrupulous in his attempt to relate slaveholding culture. He records the ironies and complexities of slaveholding, the notable qualities of those preserved by Christian faith in a modicum of civilization, like William Ford, and the acts of those who are uncommon angels, like Mary McCoy. Little of Southern gentility or the region’s historic pretension to being the inheritor of the classical republics exists in Northup’s narrative. The slaveholders of Northup’s South are largely distinguished by their coarseness and ignorance. Northup sees the plight of slaves and the fault of slaveholders through educated eyes, and he presents the world of antebellum Louisiana with the judicious equanimity of a man of virtues (although not untouched by the evils of slavery). In a stunning reversal of stereotype, he is often a man among beasts. However, he is just as often a man among those trapped by the economic realities of Southern society, struggling to sustain faith and virtue against the slaveholding system, propelled to vice by jealousy and fear, consumed by avarice, or themselves enslaved by alcohol addiction.

Noting the deeply human challenges and pains that shape slaveholders and slaves, Northup still recoils at the more bestial evils threatening to collapse what there is of civilization in the Deep South. Antebellum Louisiana is a realm where white men with personal quarrels can be seen circling and slashing with Bowie knives, and even the most aristocratic cotton lords can be found stalking around the bodies of their murdered victims in the midst of their homes. Northup’s brief account of his mistress’ attempt to have him murder Patsey in a contract killing is as chilling as any passage among the many slave narratives of his era.

Although some scholars attribute the narrative’s diction to Northup’s editor, David Wilson, it is widely accepted that the story, the analysis, and much of the tone are the products of Northup’s life and mind. In his story, he displays many of the attributes of the Victorian man of reason and, ironically, the qualities of the Jeffer sonian polymath. He details his mastery of carpentry, shipping, and inventive technology, from moving freight to manufacturing superior axe-handles to creating fish-traps and weaving looms, but he continually makes careful observations of the South’s backwardness and slaveholders’ frequent surprise at his Yankee ingenuity.

Solomon Northup shared the literary landscape of slave narratives and novels about slavery with a number of notable contemporaries. Among them, Frederick Douglass was the acknowledged master of the narrative tradition and remains chief among those to whom even contemporary scholars compare Northup. Solomon Northup was abducted in the year that Douglass began his notable lecture tour in Lynn, Massachusetts, with William Lloyd Garrison’s abolitionists, and Douglass was among those to note the double tragedy of Northup’s loss of freedom and harrowing experience in slavery. In addition, William Wells Brown escaped from slavery in 1834 and published his narrative in 1847. He followed with the provocative novel Clotel in 1853. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin ignited an antislavery furor in 1851 and 1852, and similarities between Northup’s experience and the novel amplified interest in the narrative. Stowe reacted to Northup’s New York Times interview and his tale in The Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1853). In contrast to some in this formidable group of writers, Northup presents not merely an example of the traditional motif of the slave narrator-picaro orphan described by Henry Louis Gates, Jr., but something more.a Northup is neither an orphan nor an outsider; he is a man of the world drawn into the underworld of slavery. He has as much in common with Dante as he does with Frederick Douglass, and though his narrative feeds the mid-nineteenth century’s desire for insider stories and sentimental accounts of the ordeals of the slave and the free, the tale also suggests that many more of the free observers and readers might find themselves unwittingly and unwillingly made part of the terrible tale of American slavery.

Ultimately, Solomon Northup’s Twelve Years a Slave is a stunning American odyssey and a worthy narrative for study in classrooms and private study in the contemporary era. It provides intricate detail of a period in America more economically, psychologically, and morally complex than regularly reported. Similarly, the narrative details a system of slavery more insidious than ordinarily imagined. Northup elegantly and poignantly delivers his personal tale of cruelest wrong and severest bondage while never forgetting the community of African-American sufferers that shared his plight.

Eric Ashley Hairston is an Assistant Professor of English at Elon University. He holds a Ph.D. in English language and literature from the University of Virginia and teaches and writes on American literature, African-American literature, Western literary history, classical literature, and Asian-American literature.

EDITOR’S PREFACE

WHEN THE EDITOR COMMENCED THE PREPARATION OF THE FOLLOWING narrative, he did not suppose it would reach the size of this volume. In order, however, to present all the facts which have been communicated to him, it has seemed necessary to extend it to its present length.

Many of the statements contained in the following pages are corroborated by abundant evidence—others rest entirely upon Solomon’s assertion. That he has adhered strictly to the truth, the editor, at least, who has had an opportunity of detecting any contradiction or discrepancy in his statements, is well satisfied. He has invariably repeated the same story without deviating in the slightest particular, and has also carefully perused the manuscript, dictating an alteration wherever the most trivial inaccuracy has appeared.

It was Solomon’s fortune, during his captivity, to be owned by several masters. The treatment he received while at the Pine Woods shows that among slaveholders there are men of humanity as well as of cruelty. Some of them are spoken of with emotions of gratitude—others in a spirit of bitterness. It is believed that the following account of his experience on Bayou Bœuf presents a correct picture of Slavery, in all its lights and shadows, as it now exists in that locality. Unbiased, as he conceives, by any prepossessions or prejudices, the only object of the editor has been to give a faithful history of Solomon Northup’s life, as he received it from his lips.

In the accomplishment of that object, he trusts he has succeeded, notwithstanding the numerous faults of style and of expression it may be found to contain.

DAVID WILSON

WHITEHALL, N. Y., May, 1853

CHAPTER I

HAVING BEEN BORN A FREEMAN, AND FOR MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS enjoyed the blessings of liberty in a free state—and having at the end of that time been kidnapped and sold into Slavery, where I remained, until happily rescued in the month of January, 1853, after a bondage of twelve years—it has been suggested that an account of my life and fortunes would not be uninteresting to the public.

Since my return to liberty, I have not failed to perceive the increasing interest throughout the Northern States, in regard to the subject of Slavery. Works of fiction, professing to portray its features in their more pleasing as well as more repugnant aspects, have been circulated to an extent unprecedented, and, as I understand, have created a fruitful topic of comment and discussion.

I can speak of Slavery only so far as it came under my own observation—only so far as I have known and experienced it in my own person. My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage.

As far back as I have been able to ascertain, my ancestors on the paternal side were slaves in Rhode Island. They belonged to a family by the name of Northup, one of whom, removing to the State of New York, settled at Hoosic, in Rensselaer County. He brought with him Mintus Northup, my father. On the death of this gentleman, which must have occurred some fifty years ago, my father became free, having been emancipated by a direction in his will.

Henry B. Northup, Esq., of Sandy Hill, a distinguished counselor at law, and the man to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for my present liberty, and my return to the society of my wife and children, is a relative of the family in which my forefathers were thus held to service, and from which they took the name I bear. To this fact may be attributed the persevering interest he has taken in my behalf.

Sometime after my father’s liberation, he removed to the town of Minerva, Essex County, N. Y., where I was born, in the month of July, 1808. How long he remained in the latter place I have not the means of definitely ascertaining. From thence he removed to Granville, Washington County, near a place known as Slyborough, where, for some years, he labored on the farm of Clark Northup, also a relative of his old master; from thence he removed to the Alden farm, at Moss Street, a short distance north of the village of Sandy Hill; and from thence to the farm now owned by Russel Pratt, situated on the road leading from Fort Edward to Argyle, where he continued to reside until his death, which took place on the 22d day of November, 1829. He left a widow and two children—myself, and Joseph, an elder brother. The latter is still living in the County of Oswego, near the city of that name; my mother died during the period of my captivity.

Though born a slave, and laboring under the disadvantages to which my unfortunate race is subjected, my father was a man respected for his industry and integrity, as many now living, who well remember him, are ready to testify. His whole life was passed in the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, never seeking employment in those more menial positions, which seem to be especially allotted to the children of Africa. Besides giving us an education surpassing that ordinarily bestowed upon children in our condition, he acquired, by his diligence and economy, a sufficient property qualification to entitle him to the right of suffrage. He was accustomed to speak to us of his early life; and although at all times cherishing the warmest emotions of kindness, and even of affection towards the family, in whose house he had been a bondsman, he nevertheless comprehended the system of Slavery, and dwelt with sorrow on the degradation of his race. He endeavored to imbue our minds with sentiments of morality, and to teach us to place our trust and confidence in Him who regards the humblest as well as the highest of his creatures. How often since that time has the recollection of his paternal counsels occurred to me, while lying in a slave hut in the distant and sickly regions of Louisiana, smarting with the undeserved wounds which an inhuman master had inflicted, and longing only for the grave which had covered him, to shield me also from the lash of the oppressor. In the churchyard at Sandy Hill, a humble stone marks the spot where he reposes, after having worthily performed the duties appertaining to the lowly sphere wherein God had appointed him to walk.

Up to this period I had been principally engaged with my father in the labors of the farm. The leisure hours allowed me were generally either employed over my books, or playing on the violin—an amusement which was the ruling passion of my youth. It has also been the source of consolation since, affording pleasure to the simple beings with whom my lot was cast, and beguiling my own thoughts, for many hours, from the painful contemplation of my fate.

On Christmas Day, 1829, I was married to Anne Hampton, a colored girl then living in the vicinity of our residence. The ceremony was performed at Fort Edward, by Timothy Eddy, Esq., a magistrate of that town, and still a prominent citizen of the place. She had resided a long time at Sandy Hill, with Mr. Baird, proprietor of the Eagle Tavern, and also in the family of Rev. Alexander Proudfit, of Salem. This gentleman for many years had presided over the Presbyterian society at the latter place, and was widely distinguished for his learning and piety. Anne still holds in grateful remembrance the exceeding kindness and the excellent counsels of that good man. She is not able to determine the exact line of her descent, but the blood of three races mingles in her veins. It is difficult to tell whether the red, white, or black predominates. The union of them all, however, in her origin, has given her a singular but pleasing expression, such as is rarely to be seen. Though somewhat resembling, yet she cannot properly be styled a quadroon, a class to which, I have omitted to mention, my mother belonged.

I had just now passed the period of my minority, having reached the age of twenty-one years in the month of July previous. Deprived of the advice and assistance of my father, with a wife dependent upon me for support, I resolved to enter upon a life of industry; and notwithstanding the obstacle of color, and the consciousness of my lowly state, indulged in pleasant dreams of a good time coming, when the possession of some humble habitation, with a few surrounding acres, should reward my labors, and bring me the means of happiness and comfort.

From the time of my marriage to this day the love I have borne my wife has been sincere and unabated; and only those who have felt the glowing tenderness a father cherishes for his offspring, can appreciate my affection for the beloved children which have since been born to us. This much I deem appropriate and necessary to say, in order that those who read these pages, may comprehend the poignancy of those sufferings I have been doomed to bear.

Immediately upon our marriage we commenced housekeeping, in the old yellow building then standing at the southern extremity of Fort Edward village, and which has since been transformed into a modern mansion, and lately occupied by Captain Lathrop. It is known as the Fort House. In this building the courts were sometime held after the organization of the county. It was also occupied by Burgoyne in 1777, being situated near the old Fort on the left bank of the Hudson.

During the winter I was employed with others repairing the Champlain Canal, on that section over which William Van Nortwick was superintendent. David McEachron had the immediate charge of the men in whose company I labored. By the time the canal opened in the spring, I was enabled, from the savings of my wages, to purchase a pair of horses, and other things necessarily required in the business of navigation.

Having hired several efficient hands to assist me, I entered into contracts for the transportation of large rafts of timber from Lake Champlain to Troy. Dyer Beckwith and a Mr. Bartemy, of Whitehall, accompanied me on several trips. During the season I became perfectly familiar with the art and mysteries of rafting—a knowledge which afterwards enabled me to render profitable service to a worthy master, and to astonish the simple-witted lumbermen on the banks of the Bayou Bœuf.

In one of my voyages down Lake Champlain, I was induced to make a visit to Canada. Repairing to Montreal, I visited the cathedral and other places of interest in that city, from whence I continued my excursion to Kingston and other towns, obtaining a knowledge of localities, which was also of service to me afterwards, as will appear towards the close of this narrative.

Having completed my contracts on the canal satisfactorily to myself and to my employer, and not wishing to remain idle, now that the navigation of the canal was again suspended, I entered into another contract with Medad Gunn, to cut a large quantity of wood. In this business I was engaged during the winter of 1831-32.

With the return of spring, Anne and myself conceived the project of taking a farm in the neighborhood. I had been accustomed from earliest youth to agricultural labors, and it was an occupation congenial to my tastes. I accordingly entered into arrangements for a part of the old Alden farm, on which my father formerly resided. With one cow, one swine, a yoke of fine oxen I had lately purchased of Lewis Brown, in Hartford, and other personal property and effects, we proceeded to our new home in Kingsbury. That year I planted twenty-five acres of