I was born a free man and had for thirty years enjoyed the blessings of liberty in a free state. At the end of that time, I was kidnapped, sold into slavery, and held twelve years bondage until rescued in January 1853.
My friends have suggested a book of the fortunes and misfortunes of my life might interest the public. Since my return to liberty, I have found an increasing interest in the subject of slavery among the public throughout the northern states. Works of fiction claiming to portray its more pleasing and repulsive aspects have had an unexpected and, to some extent, unprecedented circulation. I believe these have created many productive comments and discussions on the topic. I can speak on slavery only as far as I have observed and experienced it firsthand. I want to give candid and truthful statements of the facts, to repeat my life’s story without exaggeration, and to leave the decision to the reader if my true account or if fiction gives a better picture of the cruelty of sever bondage.
As far as I know, my ancestors on my father’s side were slaves in Rhode Island and belonged to a family by the name of Northup. A member of this family moved to New York, settling in Hoosic, Rensselaer County. He brought my father, Mintus Northup, with him. When this old gentleman died, some fifty years ago, he emancipated my father by direction of his will.
Henry B. Northup, Esquire, of Sandy Hill, is a relative of the family to whom my forefathers had been enslaved. I am indebted to this man and to Providence for my return to freedom and to the embrace of my wife and children. This family connection explains, in part, his unrelenting interest on my behalf.
Sometime after my father’s emancipation, he moved to Minerva, Essex County, New York, where I was born in July 1808. I don’t know how long he lived in Minerva, but from there he moved to Granville, Washington County, near a place called Slyborough. He worked on Clark Northup’s farm for some years, another relative of his old master. From there he moved to Alden Farm on Moss Street, a short distance north of Sandy Hill, and then to a farm now owned by Russell Pratt, located on the road leading from Fort Edward to Argyle. He lived there until his death on the twenty-second of November 1829. He left a widow and two children, my older brother and me. Joseph is still alive in Oswego Country near the city of the same name. My mother died while I was in captivity.
Although born a slave, and working under the disadvantages to which my unfortunate race is subjected, my father was respected as a hardworking, industrious, and honest man. Many people still living that knew him all testify to this fact. His whole life was spent in the peaceful pursuit of agriculture. He never sought employment in the more menial positions, which seem to be especially allotted to the children of Africa. Through his efforts he gave us a better education then ordinarily granted to children in our condition and acquired, by hard work and saving, enough property to qualify to vote.
He used to tell us about his early life. Although he spoke warmly and kindly about the family who had owned him, he understood the system of slavery and felt remorseful about the degradation it has brought his race. He had tried to instill in our minds moral values and to place our trust in God, who holds all his creatures the same, humble or elevated.
Oh, how often I thought back on his lessons while lying in a slave hut in that distant and sickly region of Louisiana, stinging from an undeserved beating by an inhuman master. How I often longed for my own grave, which covers my father, to shield me from the lash of my oppressor.
A humble stone marks his grave at the Sandy Hill churchyard, a small monument to his worthy performance, as he believed God had assigned him.
Up until his death, I spent most of my time working with him on the farm. During my leisure hours, I engrossed myself in books and in my violin—the ruling passion of my youth. It has been the source of consolation ever since, soothing my own thoughts for many hours and soothing the souls of my fellow slaves who shared the sorrow of our mutual painful condition.
On Christmas day, 1829, I married Anne Hampton, a colored girl who lived near our house. Timothy Eddy, Esquire, a magistrate in that town and still a prominent citizen, preformed the ceremony at Fort Edward. Anne had lived at Sandy Hill for a long time in Mr. Baird’s house, the owner of the Eagle Tavern, with the family of Reverend Alexander Proudfit of Salem. This gentleman had presided over the Presbyterian Society in Salem and was widely known for his education and faithfulness. Anne still remembers him for his never-ending kindness and excellent advice. The blood of three races runs through her veins, although she doesn’t know exactly her line of decent. It is difficult to tell which is dominate, the red, white, or black. The mingling of them all has given her a distinctive look, beautiful and rarely seen. She looks something like a quadroon, a class to which my mother belonged.
This is about the time I had entered adulthood, having had my 21st birthday the previous July. Although my father’s death robbed me of his advice and assistance, and with a wife to support, I decided to work for myself despite the color of my skin and my lack of capital. I dreamed of the coming good times, when I could cultivate a few acres and, through hard work, bring my family happiness and comfort.
From the moment I married Anne to this day, I have lover her with absolute sincerity. And only a father can understand the glowing tenderness I feel toward our children. I bring this up to show the poignancy of the suffering I was soon doomed to bear.
After our marriage we kept house in the old yellow building at the southern edge of Fort Edward. Captain Lathrop has occupied this house lately, transforming it into a modern mansion. It is known now as Fort House, and courts were sometimes held there after the country had been organized. General Burgoyne had also lived there in 1777, because the house was near the Fort on the left bank of the Hudson.
During the winter I worked with a crew repairing the Champlain Canal in a section supervised by William Van Nortwick. David McEachron was in charge of my crew. By the time the canal opened that spring, I was able, through my savings, to buy a pair of horses and other thing necessary to start a small rafting business.
I hired several capable hands and secured contracts to transport large rafts of timber from Lake Champlain to Troy. Dyer Beckwith and Mr. Bartemy, of Whitehall, came along on several trips. During the season, I developed skills in the arts and mysteries of water rafting, a knowledge that later enabled me to cut transportation costs for a worthy master and gleefully dumbfound a simpleminded lumberman on the banks of Bayou Boeuf.
During one of my trips down Lake Champlain, I visited Canada. I visited the cathedral and other interesting places in Montreal. From there I continued to Kingston and other towns, learning their locations. This seemingly inconsequential knowledge severed me later in securing my release from bondage.
When I had fulfilled my contracts on the canal, not wanting to remain idle while navigation was suspended during the winter, I contracted with Medad Gunn to cut a large quantity of wood. I worked this contract during the winter of 1831-32.
That next spring, Anne and I decided to set up a farm in our neighborhood. I had spent my youth working on my father’s farm. It was an occupation that suited me well. I arranged to cultivate part of the Alden farm, where my father had lived. With a cow, a pig, and a pair of fine oxen I had bought from Lewis Brown in Hartford and other personal property and household items, we moved to our new home in Kingsbury. That year I planted twenty-five acres of corn, sowed large fields of oats, and cultivated as much of the property as I could afford at the time. Anne kept house as I labored hard in the fields.
We lived there until 1834. During the winter months, many people called for me to play my violin. Wherever young people assembled to dance, I was almost always there. My violin became famous throughout the surrounding villages. Anne had become somewhat famous herself for her cooking at the Eagle Tavern. During court weeks and other public events, the Sherrill’s Coffee House employed her at high wages. We always come home with money in our pockets. So, with fiddling, cooking, and farming, we soon found ourselves in possession of abundance. We were definitely leading a happy and prosperous life. If we had remained on our farm in Kingsbury, we would have done better. Our next move, however, brought me one step closer to a cruel destiny.
In March 1834 we moved to Saratoga Springs, into a house belonging to Daniel O’Brien on the north side of Washington Street. At that time, Isaac Taylor owned a large boarding house known as Washington Hall at the north end of Broadway. He employed me drive a hack, a job I performed for two years. After, Anne and I worked at the United States Hotel and other public houses throughout the visiting season.
At that time, I did a lot of the family shopping at Mr. Cephas Parker and Mr. William Perry’s stores. I had had a lot of respect for these two gentlemen for their many acts of kindness. For this reason, twelve years later, I addressed a letter to them. It was this letter that allowed Henry B. Northup to find me and bring me home.
While living at the United States Hotel, I frequently met slaves who had accompanied their masters from the south. They were always well dressed and well fed, seemingly living easy lives, absent the many troubles life hands free men. I often talked to them about slavery and almost always found they harbored a secret desire for liberty. Some expressed the deepest yearning to escape and would ask me the best way they could do so. The fear of punishment, however, certain upon recapture, proved enough to discourage them from trying. All my life I have breathed the free air of the north, having the same emotions and concerns as that of white men. Moreover, I am at least as intelligent as some men with fairer skin. But I was either too ignorant or too independent to understand how anyone could be content to live in abject slavery. I could not understand the justice of the law or religion that upholds or even recognizes the principles of slavery. I am proud to say, I never once failed to advise anyone who asked to watch for an opportunity to dash for freedom.
We lived in Sarasota Springs until spring 1841. Our dreams of success, which had lured us away from our quiet farmhouse on the east side of the Hudson, had not materialized. Although we lived comfortably, we had not prospered. The environment at that world-renowned watering hole did not encourage the simple habits of hard work and thrift, to which I had been accustomed. On the contrary, it replaced good practices with the bad habits of laziness and extravagance.
By this time, our family had grown by three: Elizabeth, Margaret, and Alonzo. Elizabeth, the oldest, was ten. Margaret was two years younger, and Alonzo had just turned five. They filled our house with gladness, their young voices music in our ears. Their mother and I always provided a peaceful and secure home for our little innocents. When I wasn’t working I was walking with them through the street and groves of Saratoga, dressed in our best. I was happiest when they were with me, holding them to my chest with as much warmth and tender love as any man holds his child, colored or white.
Twelve Years a Slave
The Narration of Solomon Northup
INTRODUCTORY—ANCESTRY —THE NORTHUP FAMILY— BIRTH AND PARENTAGE—MINTUS NORTHUP—MARRIAGE WITH ANNE HAMPTON—GOOD RESOLUTIONS—CHAMPLAIN CANAL—RAFTING EXCURSION TO CANADA—FARMING—THE VIOLIN—COOKING—REMOVAL TO SARATOGA—PARKER AND PERRY— SLAVES—AND SLAVERY —THE CHILDREN—THE BEGINNING OF SORROW
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 church yard at Sandy Hill, an 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 day, 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 house-keeping, 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 Boeuf.
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 corn, sowed large fields of oats, and commenced farming upon as large a scale as my utmost means would permit. Anne was diligent about the house affairs, while I toiled laboriously in the field.
On this place we continued to reside until 1834. In the winter season I had numerous calls to play on the violin. Wherever the young people assembled to dance, I was almost invariably there. Throughout the surrounding villages my fiddle was notorious. Anne, also, during her long residence at the Eagle Tavern, had become somewhat famous as a cook. During court weeks, and on public occasions, she was employed at high wages in the kitchen at Sherrill's Coffee House.
We always returned home from the performance of these services with money in our pockets; so that, with fiddling, cooking, and farming, we soon found ourselves in the possession of abundance, and, in fact, leading a happy and prosperous life. Well, indeed, would it have been for us had we remained on the farm at Kingsbury; but the time came when the next step was to be taken towards the cruel destiny that awaited me.
In March, 1834, we removed to Saratoga Springs.
We occupied a house belonging to Daniel O'Brien, on the north side of Washington street. At that time Isaac Taylor kept a large boarding house, known as Washington Hall, at the north end of Broadway. He employed me to drive a hack, in which capacity I worked for him two years. After this time I was generally employed through the visiting season, as also was Anne, in the United
States Hotel, and other public houses of the place. In winter seasons I relied upon my violin, though during the construction of the Troy and Saratoga railroad, I performed many hard days' labor upon it.
I was in the habit, at Saratoga, of purchasing articles necessary for my family at the stores of Mr. Cephas Parker and Mr. William Perry, gentlemen towards whom, for many acts of kindness, I entertained feelings of strong regard. It was for this reason that twelve years afterwards, I caused to be directed to them the letter, which is hereinafter inserted, and which was the means, in the hands of Mr. Northup, of my fortunate deliverance.
While living at the United States Hotel, I frequently met with slaves, who had accompanied their masters from the South. They were always well dressed and well provided for, leading apparently an easy life, with but few of its ordinary troubles to perplex them. Many times they entered into conversation with me on the subject of Slavery. Almost uniformly I found they cherished a secret desire for liberty. Some of them expressed the most ardent anxiety to escape, and
consulted me on the best method of effecting it. The fear of punishment, however, which they knew was certain to attend their re-capture and return, in all cases proved sufficient to deter them from the experiment. Having all my life breathed the free air of the North, and conscious that I possessed the same feelings and affections that find a place in the white man's breast; conscious, moreover, of an intelligence equal to that of some men, at least, with a fairer skin. I was too ignorant, perhaps too independent, to conceive how any one could be content to live in the abject condition of a slave. I could not comprehend the justice of that law, or that religion, which upholds or recognizes the principle of Slavery; and never once, I am proud to say, did I fail to counsel any one who came to me, to watch his opportunity, and strike for freedom.
I continued to reside at Saratoga until the spring of 1841. The flattering anticipations which, seven years before, had seduced us from the quiet farm house, on the east side of the Hudson, had not been realized. Though always in comfortable circumstances, we had not prospered. The society and associations at that world-renowned watering place, were not calculated to preserve the simple habits of industry and economy to which I had been accustomed, but, on the contrary, to substitute others in their stead, tending to shiftlessness and extravagance.
At this time we were the parents of three children— Elizabeth, Margaret, and Alonzo. Elizabeth, the
eldest, was in her tenth year; Margaret was two years younger, and little Alonzo had just passed his fifth birth-day. They filled our house with gladness. Their young voices were music in our ears. Many an airy castle did their mother and myself build for the little innocents. When not at labor I was always walking with them, clad in their best attire, through the streets and groves of Saratoga.
Their presence was my delight; and I clasped them to my bosom with as warm and tender love as if their clouded skins had been as white as snow. Thus far the history of my life presents nothing whatever unusual—nothing but the common hopes, and loves, and labors of an obscure colored man, making his humble progress in the world. But now I had reached a turning point in my existence—reached the threshold of unutterable wrong, and sorrow, and despair. Now had I approached within the shadow of the cloud, into the thick darkness whereof I was soon to disappear, thenceforward to be hidden from the eyes of all my kindred, and shut out from the sweet light of liberty, for many a weary year.