History That Doesn't Suck - 42: Solomon Northup’s 12 Years a Slave

Episode Date: July 8, 2019

“Master Bass, if justice had been done, I never would have been here.” This is the story of betrayal. Restoration. Human trafficking. Daring selflessness. Oppressive inhumanity. Hope. And Forgiveness. A talented carpenter, driver, and violinist, Solomon Northup lives a happy life with his wife and three kids in upstate New York. The unassuming, kind-hearted man doesn’t think twice when offered good money to fiddle along with a circus act in Washington, DC. If only he’d known this was all a set up to kidnap him--a free-black American--then sell him under a false identity as a slave in New Orleans. Thanks to his own ingenuity and daring--and that of an anti-slavery Canadian and a dear friend and politician back home in New York--Solomon does make it back to the North and live to tell the tale. But his path back home isn’t short or easy. It will take 12 long years. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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What did it take to survive an ancient siege? Why was the cult of Dionysus behind so many slave revolts in ancient Rome? What's the tragic history and mythology behind Japan's most haunted ancient forest? We're Jen and Jenny from Ancient History Fangirl. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a

seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Two advisories on today's episode. One, this episode, like number 38, contains a few first-hand accounts of slaves speaking in a dialect of American English that you'd hear on 19th century plantations. In an effort to be both true to the historical record and respectful to cultural sensitivities, I will read their words as written but will not affect any kind of accent. Two, this episode describes the exploitation of and violence against women and children. While not explicit, listener discretion is advised. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story.

Solomon groans as he finally wakes up. He feels faint, weak, and still has a headache. It's so dark. What time is it? What day is it? He has no idea how long he's been out. A day? A week? But wait. Handcuffs? Fetters on his ankles? And chains? Chains that run through a large ring in the floor? What is this? He can't even stand up. What the hell is this? Seated on a low bench made of rough boards, Solomon tries to think through the low, gray pain still swirling through his head.

What had I done to deserve imprisonment in such a dungeon? The husband and father of three wonders as he sits in oppressive silence. Even speaking aloud to himself is startling. If he doesn't speak, the only sound he hears is that of his own chains clanking when he moves. It's a terrifying sound for anyone to be sure, but I can't help wondering, is it even worse for the discerning ear of a talented violinist like Solomon? He reaches into his pockets, that is, as much as his fetters will allow, and what? He's been robbed. His money and free papers are gone. It's only at this point that a truly nefarious notion hits him.

I mean, he's heard stories. The New Yorker was even warned before coming down to Washington, D.C., but could he have been kidnapped? No way, he can't believe that. How could someone like him, to quote Solomon, a free citizen of New York who had wronged no man nor violated any law, be dealt with thus inhumanely? But the sickening possibility settles on him. Solomon bows his head and weeps. Hours pass. The pitch black remains as the hustle and bustle of a waking city breaks the silence, telling him it's morning.

He then hears a key rattling in the door lock. It's followed by a flood of light pouring in. As Solomon's eyes adjust to the light, he sees that he's in a small brick room with one barred enclosed window. He also sees two men. Well, my boy, how do you feel now? The chestnut-haired, powerfully built 40-something man asks. This is James H. Birch. The other, Ebenezer Radburn, is his lackey. I'm sick, Solomon replies. Why am I imprisoned? You're my slave. I bought you, and I'm about to send you down to New Orleans. James coldly answers, confirming Solomon's fear that, like countless other free black Americans before him,

he has indeed been kidnapped. Upon hearing this, Solomon boldly protests, I am a free man, a resident of Saratoga, where I have a wife and children who are also free, and my name is Northup. He goes on about the deplorable conditions in which he's been kept and threatens that he'll get satisfaction when released. You're not free. You're from Georgia, James replies. I am no man's slave and you will take these chains off me at once, Solomon angrily fires back. You're a runaway from Georgia, you black liar. I am free. Their exchange continues, each getting louder and angrier as James begins to look like he's worried someone outside might hear the kidnapped New Yorker. At this point, he tells Ebenezer to fetch a paddle and cat a nine tails, which the lackey readily does. Ebenezer soon has his foot on the chains between Solomon's handcuffs, effectively keeping the grown man on his hands and knees. James now takes the 20-inch long, oar-shaped paddle with holes in it.

He strikes Solomon. Again. And again. And again. James does this until his arms exhausted. You still insist you're free? He asks Solomon. Yes, I am free. Solomon ekes out. James continues to beat Solomon, intimately asking if he's a free man. And every time Solomon insists through the pain that he is. This goes on until finally the paddle breaks.

Livid and swearing oaths, James now grabs the cat of nine tails. He lashes Solomon again and again, ripping flesh from the poor man's body with every stripe. Solomon begs God for mercy as he endures this living hell. Then he stops responding to James' inquiries about freedom and slavery altogether. Solomon's losing the ability to even speak. It's useless to whip him anymore. He'll be sore enough, Ebenezer observes. James stops. He stands before Solomon,

shakes a fist, and threatens through clenched teeth. If you ever dare to utter again that you're entitled to freedom, that you've been kidnapped, or anything, whatever of the kind, the castigation you just received will be nothing compared to what will follow.

I will conquer you, or I will kill you. With that, James and Ebenezer remove the handcuffs, though not the ankle fetters, exit, and shut the door. They leave Solomon, the husband, father, musician, and American citizen Solomon, a psychologically damaged, mangled pile of bloodied flesh in a once more pitch black cell. All of this is happening, ironically enough, just a 10-minute walk down Maryland Ave from the U.S. Capitol. Today I want to tell you about an American whose story has deeply impacted me, Solomon Northup.

You might have read his autobiography, 12 Years a Slave, or seen the movie based on it. Kidnapped from the North, as you heard in the opening, Solomon is sold to the Deep South, where he's forced to work as a carpenter, farm laborer, cotton picker, and sugar cane harvester. He endures this misery for, you guessed it, 12 years before miraculously finding his way back to his wife, children, and life as a free man. It's a gut-wrenching tale, but Solomon's harrowing journey as a literate, informed, insightful man enables him to leave us with something truly unique. A first-hand account from the enslaved in the Deep South. You'll notice some similarities but also noticeable differences from Frederick Douglass' experience in episode 38. Perhaps more importantly though is the nuance in humanity in Solomon's analysis of the life-destroying

monster that is slavery. It's something every American should hear. Ready to follow Solomon from his life as a free black upstate New Yorker to an enslaved Louisianan? Let's start in Solomon's hometown of Saratoga, New York, back in March 1841 and follow the gruesome tale. Rewind. Solomon is a man of many talents. He's a skilled carpenter, carriage driver, fiddler, or, as you'll see, anything else he puts his mind to, really. He lives with his wife, Anne, who's a well-known cook, and their three kids. Solomon paints a rosy picture of life with his children. Quote, they filled our house with gladness. Their young voices were music in our ears. Close quote. Between their skill set and hard work, Solomon and Anne provide what the

free black man calls comfortable circumstances for his children. But let's make no mistake, the Northrop family isn't rich by any means. Anne takes a seasonal out-of-town cooking gig in early March to make some extra cash. She takes her oldest child, Elizabeth, with her as a cook's helper and drops the younger two kids at her sister's place nearby. This leaves Solomon at a loose end, and he wanders around downtown Saratoga one morning looking for a job to fill his time in his wallet when someone calls out to him. Solomon knows this guy, but not well enough to remember his name. I imagine Solomon awkwardly calling him Sport or Bud as he tries to put a name with the face. Anyway, Solomon's nameless friend introduces the talented musician to two well-dressed

circus performers, Meryl Brown and Abram Hamilton, who are looking for a fiddler to accompany their act. These guys want Solomon to travel with them to New York City. They offer to pay him well and promise to buy Solomon's train ticket back to Saratoga when the circus wraps up. Solomon's all in. He walks back home, grabs a change of clothes and his violin. He doesn't leave a note for Anne, assuming, to quote him, that my return perhaps would be as soon as hers. Close quote. And the trio hit the road. But they don't stop in New York. Instead, his travel partners talk Solomon into going to Washington, D.C. and joining the circus there. They even pay him $43,

which is way more than they owe him, up front. I know, this seems more than a little sketchy, but naive, trusting, good-hearted Solomon doesn't see it. After all, these guys even help him get free papers in NYC before heading into slave territory. The small party reaches the nation's capital in early April 1841. Solomon has a great time sightseeing and pub crawling with his new pals. They don't drink enough to get drunk, let's be clear on that, just enough to make the postal museum a little more entertaining. Just kidding, that museum doesn't exist yet. Anyway, as the day winds down, Marilyn Abram buys Solomon one more drink. Almost immediately, the free black man with papers proving his status starts to feel sick. He has a nasty headache and feels nauseous. He can't stomach dinner. So his friends

help him back to his room at their splendid hotel. And this is where the situation goes from sketchy to downright illegal. While Solomon lies in bed with his head pounding and throat burning, someone enters the room. Now his recollection of that night is hazy at best, but this is what he can tell us. There seem to be several, a mingling of various voices, but how many or who they were I cannot tell. Whether Merrill Brown and Abram Hamilton were among them is a mere matter of conjecture. I only remember with any degree of distinctness that I was told it was necessary to go to a physician and procure medicine and that pulling on my boots without coat or hat, I followed them through a long passageway or alley into the open street. On the opposite side, there was a light burning in a window.

My impression is there were then three persons with me, but it is altogether indefinite and vague, and like the memory of a painful dream. Going toward the light, which I imagined proceeded from the physician's office, is the last glimmering recollection I can now recall. From that moment, I was insensible. When consciousness returned, I found myself alone, in utter darkness and in chains. Damn. In a matter of weeks, Solomon has gone from a free man in Saratoga looking for a job,

to a traveling musician with free papers, to an enslaved man sitting in a cell in chains. Yeah, this is where we met Solomon in this episode's intro. And as you recall, he now searches, as well as he can, through his pockets only to find himself robbed of his money and free papers. Now it starts to hit him. It's possible his supposed friends are phonies and he's been kidnapped.

Then, of course, after a few hours, James Birch beats the desperate, confused, frustrated man into a silent, flesh-torn, bloodied mess, which I trust you also remember. This is James Birch's slave pen. As Solomon is slowly permitted to mingle with the, well, other slaves, he meets two men and a young boy also being held by the cold and calculating slave dealer. Ten-year-old Randall plays happily in the yard most of the time since, as Solomon tells us, he's, quote, too young to realize his condition, close quote. Two weeks later, Randall's well-dressed mother, Eliza, and little sister, Emily, are purchased by repugnant James and into the slave pen as well. Eliza and her kids have been living in luxury for the last several years.

As the mistress of her master, Eliza and her kids have been living in luxury for the last several years. As the mistress of her master, Eliza received special treatment and even promises of freedom for her and her kids someday. But that didn't work out. Due to a change in her master's finances, Eliza became the property of his daughter. Her new owner, seemingly trying to twist the knife of slavery a little more, tells Eliza they are going into the city to get free papers for her and her children. Can you imagine her joy? That's why she's dressed up.

It's a special occasion. But no, it's all a ruse. Eliza and her kids are sold to slave dealer James Birch instead. Only one night after her arrival, James takes his powerless, enslaved men, women, and children from Washington, D.C. down to Richmond, Virginia. Here, Solomon and his companions join a larger group of slaves on the ship Orleans, bound to the slave market in New Orleans, Louisiana.

Now, Solomon might be too scared to tell anyone his true background or ask for help, but he is determined to find a way out of this mess. While sailing south, he plots with two other kidnapped and enslaved men to take the ship, you know, episode 37, L'Amistad style, and sail to freedom. But when one of the conspirators dies of smallpox, the plot becomes more a death wish than a freedom attempt, and Solomon scraps the idea. The determined man tries a new approach. When the Orleans reaches New Orleans on May 24th, 1841, he sneaks a letter home through a friendly British sailor. But this doesn't help either. See, Solomon only knows that he is about to be sold in New Orleans. He can't say

where he's going from there. With so little to go on, his friends and family up in New York, who do get the letter, are powerless to help. Another thing that hinders Solomon's escape effort is a name change. See, these human traffickers are good at their evil craft. James knew better than to let Solomon keep any shred of his New York identity. As they disembark in New Orleans, Solomon finds out during roll call that papers from James have magically changed his name to Platt. He's understandably confused, but the captain drills it into his head. Well, I will learn you your name so you won't forget it either, by God. But you know, screw these monsters. People will know him as Platt down here,

but I'm going to keep calling our kidnapped friend by his real name, Solomon. Anyway, with this new appellation, Solomon will soon be sold by New Orleans slave trader Theopolis Freeman. Ironic name for a slave dealer, I know. Solomon sarcastically calls Theo, quote, very amiable and pious-hearted, close quote, as he kicks and whips his new slaves into shape for their upcoming sale.

The day after their ship arrives in New Orleans, Theo lines up the enslaved men and women in the front room of his office and opens his doors for business. Early in the day, Eliza's 10-year-old son Randall is sold away from her to a planter. Eliza begs the man to buy her and little Emily too, promising to be the best slave he has if he will only allow her to stay with her children. The buyer flatly refuses. As Theo and the buyer dicker over price, Eliza continues to cry and beg for her child. The

heartless slave trader, in the middle of trying to make a profit off of her kid, turns to Eliza and, as Solomon tells us, quote, savagely, with his whip in his uplifted hand, orders her to stop her noise or he would flog her, close quote. The heartbroken, desperate mother tries to quiet her sobs but can't contain her grief as her son is ripped away and sold to an unknown, no doubt abhorrent fate. Solomon watches helpless to intervene, saying only, quote, it was a mournful scene indeed. I would have cried myself if I dared, close quote. Solomon and Eliza are sold a few weeks later. A tall, middle-aged man with an easy, pleasant smile comes into Theo's office and offers to buy Solomon, a man named Harry, and Eliza,

but not young Emily. Eliza, having already lost one child, can't stand losing the other. Eliza falls to her knees and begs her new master, William Ford, to buy her daughter. Mercy, mercy master, please master, buy Emily. I can never work any if she's taken from me. I will die. Not wanting to be the cause of a painful separation, William offers to buy Emily from Theo. But the out-to-turn-a-profit slave dealer refuses to sell the young girl. When William offers to pay a fair price, even though he doesn't need a child on his farm, Theo coldly explains that in a few years, Emily will make him loads of cash. You may remember from episode 20 that many young women, particularly beautiful, partly white young women like Emily, were sold not as farmhands or cooks, but as fancy girls for their masters.

We call them sex slaves in the 21st century. Theo plans to sell Emily into that horrendous life and won't allow the mother and daughter to stay together. William regretfully retracts his offer to buy the child, but Eliza does not give up. I will not go without her. They shall not take her from me. She wails over Theo's shouts to shut up. Eliza grabs hold of her precious daughter and refuses to let go. The two cry and hold each

other until Theo runs out of what little patience he has and wretches Eliza from Emily's arms. Emily desperately begs and reaches for her mother as Eliza is forced to go with Solomon, Harry, and their new master, William. Don't leave me, Mama! Don't leave me! Come back, Mama! Theo ushers William and his purchases out of his office, but Emily's cries follow them into the street. Solomon recounts, quote, Still we could hear her calling to her mother, 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. Solomon laments after witnessing this god-awful,

gut-wrenching separation, quote, I have seen mothers kissing for the last time the faces of their dead offspring, but never have I seen such an exhibition of intense, unmeasured, and unbounded grief as when Eliza was parted from her child. Close quote. Eliza literally dies of a broken heart some few years later. It takes a few days to travel the approximately 175 miles to William Ford's plantation, called Pinewoods, on the banks of the Red River in Avoyles Parish, Louisiana. Solomon, an observant and thoughtful man, soon discovers that William is wholly unlike the

heartless, despicable slave traders James and Theo. It is but simple justice to him when I say, in my opinion, there never was a more kind, noble, candid Christian man than William Ford, Solomon later declares. Yes, William owned slaves, but northerner Solomon surmises that William is more a product of his upbringing than a cruel man who enjoys lording over people. Solomon gives William the praise of being a, quote, model master, close quote, and says, quote, where all such men as he, slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness, close quote. On William's small plantation, Solomon carves out a life for himself. Despite his enslavement, he finds a way to use his talents in his mind, and this allows him to maintain a sense of self. William, unlike other masters would, gives Solomon some leeway. When Solomon has an

idea about using canals to move logs from William's sawmill, William goes along with it. And when William's wife needs a new loom, Solomon offers to make one for her. William readily agrees, and so, instead of picking cotton or felling trees, Solomon works as a, quote, jack-at-all-trades, close quote, and is treated with as much respect as a slave can be. In short, Solomon, while hoping against hope for a way out of his enslavement, makes the best of this bad situation. But then Solomon meets John Thibault. Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for

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His biography reads like a novel, and his influence is almost beyond measure. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast, and every month I delve into the turbulent life and times of one of the greatest characters in history, and explore the world that shaped him in all its glory and tragedy. It's a story of great battles and campaigns, political intrigue, and massive social and economic change, but it's also a story about people, populated with remarkable characters. I hope you'll join me as I examine this fascinating era of history. Find The Age of Napoleon wherever you get your podcasts. It is but simple justice to him when I say, in my opinion, there never was a more kind,

noble, candid Christian man than William Ford, Solomon later declares. Yes, William owned slaves, but Northerner Solomon surmises that William is more a product of his upbringing than a cruel man who enjoys lording over people. Solomon gives William the praise of being a, quote, model master, close quote, and says, quote, where all such men as he, slavery would be deprived of more than half its bitterness, close quote. On William's small plantation, Solomon carves out a life for himself. Despite his enslavement, he finds a way to use his talents in his mind, and this allows him to maintain a sense of self. William, unlike other

masters would, gives Solomon some leeway. When Solomon has an idea about using canals to move logs from William's sawmill, William goes along with it. And when William's wife needs a new loom, Solomon offers to make one for her. William readily agrees, and so, instead of picking cotton or felling trees, Solomon works as a, quote, jack-at-all-trades, close quote, and is treated with as much respect as a slave can be. In short, Solomon, while hoping against hope for a way out of his enslavement, makes the best of this bad situation. But then, Solomon meets John Thibaut.

In the winter of 1842, an itinerant carpenter named John Thibaut, who may have not pronounced his own name correctly, but I speak French, so I will, acquires Solomon from William. See, William has to pay off some of his brother's debts, so he mortgages Solomon over to John. Solomon calls his new master, quote, a small, crabbed, quick-tempered, spiteful man without standing in the community, close quote. A skilled, literate, thoughtful man like Solomon under the thumb of a hot-headed, foul-mouthed man with a Napoleon complex? Yeah, this can't go well. And it doesn't. John and Solomon travel 25 miles south to work on William's other plantation on Bayou Boeuf. One morning, as Solomon goes about his assigned task of nailing clappards to a frame outbuilding, John flies into a fit of rage. This isn't unusual.

John yells, swears, and kicks a keg of nails. But today, John's temper won't be satisfied by throwing a tantrum and breaking his toes on a barrel. Solomon's master grabs one of the plantation overseer's whips and orders Solomon to take off his shirt. But Solomon's fear of a lash has turned to anger. He didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't deserve this harsh treatment. He doesn't deserve any of this. Master Tebow, I will not. Blind with rage, John rushes at Solomon, but Solomon tackles him and wrestles the whip out of his master's hands. Solomon then lands blow after blow on John's writhing body.

John screams, cries, and threatens, but Solomon doesn't let up. Damn. Of course, John screams and pleads for mercy to carry for miles. Hearing the fight, the overseer, Anderson Chafin, comes galloping from the fields to the scene. Anderson sides with Solomon and scares John off the property, but the overseer is sure humiliated John will be back. He's right. In less than an hour, John shows up with two friends and they intend to meet out justice.

Well, what they see as justice to Solomon. They tie up his wrists and ankles and are just getting ready to hang Solomon from the nearest tree when Anderson intervenes. Here's the thing. John doesn't own Solomon outright. He mortgaged him from William and still owes $400 on that loan. So technically, John doesn't have the authority to kill Solomon. And Anderson reminds him of that technicality while aiming two pistols at the would-be hangman. Gentlemen, I have a few words to say. You better listen to them. Whoever moves that slave another foot from where he stands is a dead man. In the first place, he does not deserve this treatment.

You, Thibault, are pretty much of a scoundrel, and I know it, and you richly deserve the flogging you have received. In the next, in the absence of William Ford, I am master here. Ford holds the mortgage on Platt for $400. You hang him, he loses his debt. You are no better than a murderer. If you have any regard for your own safety, I say be gone. The three men slink off the property with their tails between their legs. After this incident, William talks John into renting Solomon to another master for a month, just to let the dust settle. John agrees. So Solomon spends a peaceful month working for a reasonable master.

But when the 30 days are up, Solomon returns to Bayou Buff and to the, as he describes, disagreeable and venomous John. Solomon starts helping John build a cotton press at Bayou Buff. Now Solomon is not a glutton for punishment. He's trying to keep his head down, work hard, and do exactly as John orders him. But there is no pleasing this unpredictable man. Seriously, this guy has a more explosive, volatile temperament than a hormone riddled teenager. Poor Solomon has his work cut out for him as he keeps one eye on the job and one eye on his unstable boss. On his third day back, Solomon stands quietly in the yard, hand planing boards. John looks over and criticizes the work, saying,

You are not planing that down enough. It is just even with the line, Solomon replies. That's the wrong answer. You're a damned liar, John yells at him. Oh, well, master, I will plane it down more if you say so, Solomon backtracks. But before he can get back to work, John cries that Solomon has planed it too deep and ruined the whole board. There is no pleasing this guy. Solomon is frozen in place, not knowing what John wants from him. But this only enrages his master further, and soon John is threatening Solomon with a hatchet. As if he

didn't learn anything from their previous fight, John lunges at Solomon with a hatchet. As if he didn't learn anything from their previous fight, John lunges at Solomon with a sharp blade. Solomon catches John's axe-wielding arm with one hand and clamps his other hand around John's throat. The two men wrestle for just a moment before Solomon lands a swift, hard kick in John's gut. This distracts John just long enough for Solomon to wrench the hatchet from his attacker's hand and chuck it across the yard. But these guys are basically standing in the middle of a construction zone, so John has multiple weapons right at his fingertips. He grabs a five-foot-long oak log. He could do some serious damage with this thing, but adrenaline-fueled Solomon tackles John. Grabbing him around the waist, Solomon pins John to the ground,

grabs the log, and throws it out of reach. John is definitely outmatched, but he is determined to bring Solomon down. John pushes Solomon off him and runs for his next weapon, a broad axe laying on the workbench. But the blade of the axe is pinned down by a heavy plank of wood. While John struggles to pull the blade free, Solomon jumps on John's back and pins him on top of the plank. With the weight of the two men and the plank on top of it, the broad axe won't budge. Nonetheless, John pulls on it with everything he's got. Before John can free the blade, desperate to save his own life, Solomon grabs John's throat with a quote, vice-like grip, close quote. John soon goes limp. His face becomes purple and black with the lack of oxygen. Solomon is tempted to kill his tormentor,

but reasoning that it would be better to run away and live as a fugitive, he lets up his hold on John's throat. Leaving John to regain consciousness, Solomon books it across the cotton fields to a high fence that gives him a good view of the houses and fields. He lets his heart rate come down for a minute. Good God, he almost killed a man. And not just any man, his white master. What's he going to do now? Solomon doesn't sit on the fence long before the field hands start motioning and yelling

for him to run. In the distance, he can see John along with two other men and about eight bloodhounds closing in on him. Solomon runs like hell toward his only hope, the Great Kokodri Swamp. This boggy area, with its interconnected marshes, ponds, and streams, offers protection from the dog's keen sense of smell. And Solomon is a confident swimmer, but it's also teeming with alligators, water moccasins, and wild cats. With the dogs hot on his heels, Solomon heads due south through a palmetto grove and straight into the swamplands. He can still hear the dogs barking in the distance, so even though he encounters

snakes at every turn, the terrified-for-his-life man plunges deeper into the uninhabitable morass. By about two o'clock, five hours after this ordeal began, Solomon realizes he can't hear the dogs anymore. He wanders in the swamp all day and into the night. But just after dawn, exhausted, bloody, muddy Solomon finds his way back to William Ford's plantation, hoping that his former master will have pity on him. William, shocked at Solomon's appearance and story, allows Solomon to eat and get some rest. Then the two men set out to find John. I mean,

this is getting way out of hand. For a second time, William has found his mortgaged slave scared for his life. When Solomon and William run into John, he tries to defend himself, but William doesn't buy it. He lays into John, telling him that threatening slaves with freaking hatchets isn't going to fly. Now, Tsebo, you must sell him or hire him out at least. Unless you do so, I will take measures to get him out of your possession, William threatens. Cow John complies. The very next day, he rents Solomon to a Mr. Eldred to fell trees at a nearby plantation. Solomon doesn't mind the back-breaking work or even the ever-present blood-sucking gnats and mosquitoes. I labored hard and oft times was weary and fatigued,

yet I could lie down at night in peace and arise in the morning without fear, Solomon explains. For five whole weeks, Solomon works with a crew of hard-working friendly slaves and a hands-off master. But this peace won't last. From Fort Sumter to the Battle of Gettysburg. From the Emancipation Proclamation to Appomattox Courthouse. From the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Compromise of 1877. From Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman. To Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American

history. I'm Rich and I'm Tracy and we're the hosts of a podcast that takes a deep dive into that era when a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. On April 9th, 1843, John informs Solomon that he has been sold to a cotton planter named Edwin Epps. So after two years in slavery, Solomon loses his somewhat tolerable position as a carpenter and becomes a field hand in the brutal cotton and sugar cane fields of the deep south. Edwin, a harsh, calculating, ambitious man, finds numerous ways to profit from his slaves' labors. In 1845, he has a bad cotton harvest, so he rents out several of his best workers,

including Solomon, to a cotton plantation 140 miles southwest in St. Mary's Parish, Louisiana. Solomon quickly learns the ins and outs of harvesting and milling sugar cane and earns a little money. See, slaves normally get Sundays off, but harvesting sugar is a seven-day-a-week operation. Any slaves who work Sunday get a small wage for their work, and across the four months that Solomon works in St. Mary's Parish, he earns ten bucks. He also plays his violin at a party and earns a few more dollars. By the time Solomon and the rest of the rented slaves head back to their owners, he has $27 cash in his pocket. The dreaming of freedom man has big plans for this money. On the way back to Bayou Buff, the slave procession passes through the river town of Centerville.

Solomon sees the steamboats traveling down the Rio Teixe River on their way to the Mississippi and New Orleans. If Solomon could just get on one, he could be well on his way to freedom. Quote, I was bold enough one day to present myself to the captain of a steamer and beg permission to hide myself among the freight. He pitied me, but said it would be impossible to avoid the vigilant custom house officers in New Orleans. My earnest entreatments evidently excited his sympathies, and doubtless he would have yielded to them could he have done so with any kind of safety. Close quote. For one moment, Solomon could almost see freedom, but he's forced to smother that hope and instead

stare down the long dark tunnel of his enslavement. Being an enslaved carpenter and sugar harvester was pretty tough, but being a slave on a cotton plantation in Louisiana is a new low for Solomon. Frankly, Solomon sucks at cotton picking. He's supposed to pick over 200 pounds of cotton per day and only manages to get 95. You can probably guess what punishment his master Edwin meets out for such a paltry return on his investment. But like I said, Edwin has a calculating mind, so he figures out a way to make money from Solomon's other talents and abilities. The slave owner rents Solomon out to a nearby sugar plantation during harvest season. Because of his time harvesting cane in St. Mary's Parish, Solomon knows exactly what to do on a

sugar plantation. When the sugar cane stalks are ready for harvest, usually in October, a crew of cutters take their cane knives and go to work. The harvesters work in groups of three for maximum efficiency. Using their 15-inch razor-sharp cane knives, the slaves cut away the leaves from the stalks, leaving the ripe sugar cane exposed. As they hack their way through the rows of sugar cane, a young slave fills a cart with the sheared stalks and takes the harvest to the mill for processing. This is where Solomon works. He's pretty good with a cane knife, but he's even better at milling the raw stalks into fine white sugar. The slave children unload their carts onto the conveyor belt.

The belt carries the stalks to two large iron rollers. These slow spinning drums crush the tough sugar cane into smithereens. The sweet juice inside the canes drops into a reservoir, while the now spent canes are transported out of the mill and burned. The reserved cane juice is piped through five filters. When it's clean enough, the sweet fluid is piped through three steam boilers. Finally, the lava hot liquid sugar passes through coolers, which are wooden boxes with fine wire mesh bottoms.

The dark, sticky molasses falls through the mesh, while the grains of pure, white sugar harden into blocks in the boxes. While harvesting and milling sugar, Solomon can avoid his owner's harsh treatment and heavy drinking. However, Solomon only works at the sugar plantation a few months a year, so he witnesses many of the ill effects of Edwin's drinking binges. Solomon and his fellow slaves all receive harsh treatment at Edwin's hands, but no one has it as bad as Patsy. The lithe, pretty young woman has a joie de vivre that Solomon admires. And she's a good worker. She definitely outperforms Solomon in the cotton fields.

Unfortunately, all of these characteristics catch Edwin's eye. He forces Patsy to be his concubine, making her life a misery. She escapes the plantation and his unwanted advances as often as possible, but those taboo escapes catch up with her one Sunday afternoon. Patsy goes missing for a few hours that day, and when she returns, Edwin lays into her. She defends herself, explaining that she went to a nearby friend's house to get soap. You lie, you black wench, Edwin screams at the innocent woman. I don't lie, Nessa. If you kill me, I'll stick to that, Patsy boldly retorts. But this is one step too far for controlling Edwin. He orders Solomon and a few other nearby

slaves to strip Patsy of all her clothes and tie her face down to four stakes in the ground. While Patsy sobs and begs for mercy, Edwin orders Solomon to whip Patsy's bear back. Solomon must obey. With every strike of the whip, Patsy cries out. But Edwin keeps screaming at Solomon, Strike harder or your turn will come next, you scoundrel. After nearly 30 lashes, Solomon can't stand it anymore. He says, quote, throwing down the whip, I declared I could punish

her no more. He ordered me to go on, threatening me with a severer flogging than she had received in case of refusal. My heart revolted at the inhumane scene and risking the consequences, I absolutely refused to raise the whip. He then seized it himself and applied it with tenfold greater force than I had. Close quote. Patsy's lacerated, flayed body takes weeks to recover, but her spirit is broken forever. Her crushed dreams bring Solomon to a deep realization. To quote him, it is a mistaken opinion that prevails in some quarters that the slave does not understand the term, does not comprehend the idea of freedom. Even on Bayou Buff, where I conceive slavery exists in its most abject and cruel form, where it exhibits the features

altogether unknown in more northern states, the most ignorant of them generally know full well its meaning. They understand the privileges and exemptions that belong to it, that it would bestow upon them the fruits of their own labors, and that it would secure to them the enjoyment of domestic happiness. They do not fail to observe the difference between their own condition and the meanest white man's and to realize the injustice of the laws which place it in his power, not only to appropriate the profits of their industry, but to subject them to unmerited and unprovoked punishment without remedy or the right to resist. Salman's plight as a slave, utterly uninformed

and at the mercy of his master, doesn't prevent him from seeing the dehumanizing effects of slavery on the people stuck in it. Even the broken, hopeless slaves that Solomon meets still, however quietly, long for freedom. Soon after Patsy's horrific and public torture takes place, a glimmer of light appears at the end of Solomon's slavery tunnel. In June 1852, Edwin hires a carpenter to build a new, larger house for his family. He avoids hiring Solomon's former owner, John Thibault, and goes with a Canadian named Samuel Bass. Sam has lived in Canada and all over the U.S., and he brings his seemingly eccentric ideas about slavery with him

to Louisiana. Because of his carpentry skills, Solomon works with Sam on the house pretty regularly. He overhears Sam tell Edwin, quote, I tell you what it is, Epps. It's all wrong. All wrong, sir. There's no justice nor righteousness in it. I wouldn't own a slave if I was rich as Croesus. The law says you have the right to hold a n***a, but begging the law's pardon? It lies. Close quote. Well, Edwin and Sam debate this point on and off for a few days, but those words plant a seed of hope within Solomon. After a few more weeks, Solomon works up the courage to tell Sam his story. Before now, he hasn't told anyone his true identity. A fellow slave might rat him out, and a master, even one like William Ford, couldn't be trusted to help. More likely, revealing

his secret would have resulted in another name change and another sale deeper into the belly of the slavery beast. But Solomon judges that Sam might be different. When they are alone on the worksite, Solomon tells his fair-haired, middle-aged boss that he's been to Canada. Quote, I've been in Montreal and Kingston and Queenston and a great many places in Canada. And I have been in York State too, in Buffalo and Rochester and Albany and can tell you the names of the villages on the Erie Canal and the Champlain Canal. Close quote. This info makes Sam do a double take. Solomon's listing off places and names that only a native New Yorker could. How came you here? The incredulous man asks. Master Bass, if justice had been done, I never would have been here, Solomon answers. His whole story, from the kidnapping to the sale in New Orleans, to his harsh, cruel masters, then comes pouring out.

And after listening intently, how could anti-slavery Sam do anything but help? The two men work out a plan to meet in a secluded spot the next night and write letters to Solomon's friends in New York. Sam is taking a big risk. If he is caught helping a slave escape, he could be beaten and jailed. And that's nothing compared to what Solomon faces. But the two men go through with their plan anyway. After writing three letters by the light of a stolen candle, Sam mails the police for help on August 15, 1852. Sam and Solomon hope that at least one of the men to whom they wrote will respond to this SOS.

After weeks and weeks, Sam and Solomon haven't heard anything. Sam finishes up Edwin's house and moves on to his next carpentry job. Solomon can feel his chance for freedom slipping away. The all-glorious hope upon which I had laid such eager hold was crumbling to ashes in my hands, he tells us. But Sam is not giving up hope. On Christmas Day, 1852, he comes to visit Edwin. Okay, okay, Sam's actually there to see Solomon, but he acts like he wants to see how Edwin's new place is working out. The next day, Sam and Solomon sneak in a furtive 15-minute conversation in which Sam promises to travel to New York himself in the spring and find a way to set Solomon free. But the two conspirators don't know that Henry B. Northup is already on his way to

Louisiana to save Solomon. Though it took nearly a month, Sam and Solomon's letter did get to this lifelong friend of Solomon's. Yes, Henry and Solomon have the same last name, but they aren't related. Henry is the great nephew of the man that freed Solomon's dad, Midas Northrup. Got it? If not, don't worry. All you really need to know is that Henry is a well-connected politician, an ardent abolitionist who is doing everything in his power to free Solomon. Henry arrives in Marksville, Louisiana, the nearest town to Edwin's plantation, on Saturday, January 1st, 1853. He heads straight to lawyer John Waddell's office.

Now, Henry has a ton of evidence proving Solomon's free status, but he doesn't know Solomon's slave name is Platt. He also doesn't know the name of Solomon's owner or the identity of the letter writer. Yes, Sam and Solomon, in an effort to cover the tracks in case they were caught, might have given Henry too little to go on. But Henry's new lawyer sees that the case has merit and vows to help. After going through Henry's paperwork, the two start talking about politics. Now this might seem like a really bad idea for a northern free-soil abolitionist to talk politics with a southern democrat in Louisiana. But as they talk, John realizes that outspoken abolitionist

carpenter Samuel Bass is a perfect candidate for the mysterious letter writer. Henry, not wanting to lose a second on this possible lead, goes with John's brother to track down Sam. It's a good thing he moves so fast. Henry finds Sam at the docks, literally waiting to board a steamship out of town. When Henry asks whether Sam might have written a letter to help free a slave, Sam denies everything.

He doesn't know Henry from Adam and doesn't want to go to jail. But Henry quickly convinces Sam that they both want the same thing, to help Solomon. Relieved, Sam tells Henry everything. It's like the stars are finally aligning in Solomon's favor. But Henry's lawyer, John, knows they need to act fast.

If Edwin gets wind that someone is coming to free his valuable slave, he'll hide Solomon from his rescuers. By now, it's Sunday and the two men can't conduct any business. But at exactly 12.01 on Monday morning, John gets a judge to sign a warrant giving Henry, as an agent of the state of New York, the power to repossess its citizen, Solomon Northup. Henry and the sheriff immediately get in a carriage and head to Edwin's plantation. As the carriage pulls onto the cotton field, where several slaves fill their sacks in the cold early morning, the sheriff gets out of the carriage first.

He asks the slave where Platt is. The startled slave points, but Solomon, after hearing his slave name, is already looking up. The sheriff walks to him and asks, do you know that man? He points to Henry. Now Solomon has dreamed of each beloved familiar face from home for years, but he can't believe who he has seen. He blinks and looks again, and then throwing his hands up and his cotton sack down, exclaims, Henry, be north up. Thank God. Thank God. After the sheriff asks a few identifying questions, to which only the real Solomon would know the answers, Solomon runs to his old friend and savior. I seized my old acquaintance by both hands. I could not speak. I could not refrain from tears. Saul, he said at length, I'm glad to see you. After explaining the situation to Solomon's owner, well, former

owner Edwin, Henry and Solomon get out of town. They leave Louisiana on January 4th, 1853 and arrive in Washington DC on the 17th. But if Solomon is from New York, why are they stopping here? Well, Solomon has a score to settle with an unscrupulous slave trader named James Birch. Yeah, that guy. The one who beat him into silence and sold him into a 12-year nightmare. Solomon presses charges of kidnapping and illegal sale into slavery against James, but James lies through his teeth at the trial and the DC courts believe him. The judge won't allow Solomon, a black man, to refute the testimony of James, a white man, and rules in favor of the slave trader. None of Solomon's kidnappers face justice

and Solomon never receives any recompense for his 12 years of pain and suffering as a slave. The lopsided unjust trial is over so quickly that Solomon arrives at Henry's house in Sandy Hill, New York on January 21st. He stays with Henry one night, then travels to Glenn's fall, where his wife now lives, to see his family. Though Solomon writes in great detail about his experience as a slave, he leaves this bittersweet reunion up to our imaginations. All he says of me and his wife and now grown-up children is, quote, they embraced me with their tears flowing down their cheeks hung upon my neck, close quote. Now that he is a free man, Solomon doesn't forget the plight of his friends still living in bondage.

Within a few weeks, he tells a story at a meeting where Frederick Douglass is the keynote speaker. And in only a few months, Solomon starts working with editor David Wilson to write his story. There are two reasons for Solomon to do so. First, the press can't get enough of his dramatic and miraculous fall into and rescue from the jaws of slavery. Second, Solomon realizes that he has a lot to add to the current discourse caused by a recent book about slavery, which has been selling like hotcakes. In March 1852, just a few months before Solomon meets Samuel Bass, who will help him escape slavery, Harriet Beecher Stowe publishes Uncle Tom's Cabin. The book is an instant success. To make a 21st century comparison,

it would give the chart-topping Harry Potter series a run for its money. In fact, in 1852, the only book that outsells Uncle Tom's Cabin is the Bible. Since Harriet, a white abolitionist from Maine, has only visited the South once, she bases her novel on the narrative of an escaped slave. But her story is fiction, and an amalgamation of various slave experiences, none of which Harriet has come up against herself. Because of this, many readers, who have no experience with slavery, refuse to believe that slavery could really be so brutal. However, when Solomon publishes his book in July 1853, only seven months after coming home,

his account verifies some of the claims made in Harriet's book. One review in the Northern Christian Advocate compares the two books, arguing that readers should, quote, buy the narrative of Solomon Northup, and when they have read it, we will guarantee that they acquit Mrs. Stowe of all exaggeration, close quote. While Harriet's novel overshadows Solomon's true account, his book sells nearly 30,000 copies in its first two years. Solomon chronicles the brutal world of slavery in the Deep South in a unique way.

He has a talent for judging character that serves him well as a slave and enables him to offer unique insights on slaves and slavery in his book. Again and again, Solomon makes the point that masters run the gamut from reliable, honest, just men like William Ford, who only own slaves because that's what they learned, to vindictive, insecure, cruel men like John Thibault or Edwin Epps, who own slaves and treat them like crap in order to raise their own unsure social standing. Solomon finds an inner strength that allows him to maintain his sense of self even in his degrading circumstances. Other slaves, like Patsy and Eliza, don't make it through their

lifelong enslavement intact. But Solomon doesn't judge any of his fellow slaves or even his masters. His ability to be simultaneously a slave and an impartial observer of slavery allows him to see how all slaves and even some masters are victims of the awful monster of slave power that has taken over southern life and in some ways American life. After all, it won't be long until two Illinois politicians lock horns in the most famous debates in American history, and John Brown tries to incite a slave rebelling with deadly effect, starting at a C.L. Salazar. Production and sound design, Josh Beatty of J.B. Audio Design. Musical score, composed and performed

by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks where I'd like to tell you a story. monthly gift puts them at producer status. Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe, Janie McCreary, Jeff Marks, Jennifer Moods, Jennifer Magnolia, Jeremy Wells, Jessica Poppock, Joe Dobis, John Frugal-Dougal, John Boovey, John Keller, John Oliveros, John Ridlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs, Justin May, Kristen Pratt, Karen Bartholomew, Cassie Conecco, Kim R., Kyle Decker, Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew

Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nick Caffrel, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goeringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphries-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Theisen, Sean Baines, Steve Williams, Creepy Girl, Tisha Black, and Zach Jackson.