Such an announcement, exaggerated as it passed from mouth to mouth, filled the whole country with terror. The fugitives were surrounded and taken prisoners, carried in chains to Alexandria, and hung by the populace. Not only those, but many who were suspected, though entirely innocent, were taken from the field and from the cabin, and without the shadow of process or form of trial, hurried to the scaffold. The planters on Bayou Boeuf finally rebelled against such reckless destruction of property, but it was not until a regiment of soldiers had arrived from some fort on the Texan frontier, demolished the gallows, and opened the doors of the Alexandria prison, that the indiscriminate slaughter was stayed. Lew Cheney escaped, and was even rewarded for his treachery. He is still living, but his name is despised and execrated by all his race throughout the parishes of Rapides and Avoyelles.
Such an idea as insurrection, however, is not new among the enslaved population of Bayou Boeuf. More than once I have joined in serious consultation, when the subject has been discussed, and there have been times when a word from me would have placed hundreds of my fellow-bondsmen in an attitude of defiance. Without arms or ammunition, or even with them, I saw such a step would result in certain defeat, disaster and death, and always raised my voice against it.
During the Mexican war I well remember the extravagant hopes that were excited. The news of victory filled the great house with rejoicing, but produced only sorrow and disappointment in the cabin. In my opinion—and I have had opportunity to know something of the feeling of which I speak—there are not fifty slaves on the shores of Bayou Boeuf, but would hail with unmeasured delight the approach of an invading army.
They are deceived who flatter themselves that the ignorant and debased slave has no conception of the magnitude of his wrongs. They are deceived who imagine that he arises from his knees, with back lacerated and bleeding, cherishing only a spirit of meekness and forgiveness. A day may come—it will come, if his prayer is heard—a terrible day of vengeance, when the master in his turn will cry in vain for mercy.
XVIII
O’Niel, the tanner—Conversation with Aunt Phebe overheard—Epps in the tanning business—Stabbing of Uncle Abram—The ugly wound—Epps is jealous—Patsey is missing—Her return from Shaw’s—Harriet, Shaw’s black wife—Epps enraged—Patsey denies his charges—She is tied down naked to four stakes—The inhuman flogging—Flaying of Patsey—The beauty of the day—The bucket of salt water—The dress stiff with blood—Patsey grows melancholy—Her idea of God and eternity—Of Heaven and freedom—The effect of slave-whipping—Epps’ oldest son—“The child is father to the man.”
Wiley suffered severely at the hands of Master Epps, as has been related in the preceding chapter, but in this respect he fared no worse than his unfortunate companions. “Spare the rod,” was an idea scouted by our master. He was constitutionally subject to periods of ill-humor, and at such times, however little provocation there might be, a certain amount of punishment was inflicted. The circumstances attending the last flogging but one that I received, will show how trivial a cause was sufficient with him for resorting to the whip.
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 loudly 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 Epps 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
