12 Years A Slave

Solomon Northup’s "Twelve Years a Slave" is a harrowing, profoundly human memoir that bears witness to one of the darkest chapters in American history. Born a free man in New York, Northup lived a quiet, respectable life with his wife and children as a talented violinist and carpenter.

In 1841, his life is brutally shattered when he is lured to Washington, D.C., drugged, kidnapped, and sold into the nightmare of Southern slavery. Stripped of his identity and his fundamental human rights, Northup is plunged into an unimaginably cruel world where he is forced to labor on Louisiana plantations under the crushing weight of systemic brutality and violence.

What makes Northup’s account so enduringly powerful is not just its unflinching documentation of cruelty, but his remarkable spiritual resilience. Despite the agonizing physical torment, the heartbreaking separation from his family, and the constant threat of death, his inner dignity remains unbroken. He meticulously observes his surroundings, quietly clinging to the fading hope of freedom and the tender memories of his loved ones.

After twelve agonizing years, a courageous intervention by a Canadian abolitionist finally secures his miraculous release. Written with piercing lucidity and profound sorrow, 'Twelve Years a Slave' stands as a timeless, urgent testament to the unbreakable human spirit. It is an unforgettable plea for justice, reminding us of the immense strength it takes to survive the unspeakable while refusing to surrender one’s humanity.

Solomon Northup (1808–1857) was a free-born African American from Saratoga Springs, New York. In 1841, he was kidnapped and forced into slavery for twelve years. With the help of his family and his father’s former master, Northup ultimately won his freedom and took the traders who betrayed him to court. He is best known for his autobiographical account of his enslavement, Twelve Years a Slave.

"12 Years a Slave" by Solomon Northup is one of the most powerful and moving autobiographies ever written. First published in 1853, it tells the true story of Solomon Northup, a free African American man living in New York who was kidnapped and sold into slavery in the American South. Through his own words, Northup offers an unforgettable account of the cruelty of slavery, the strength of the human spirit, and the hope that survives even in the darkest circumstances. His story is not only deeply personal but also an important historical record that reveals the harsh realities faced by countless enslaved people in nineteenth-century America.

The narrative begins with Solomon describing his early life as a free man. Born in New York, he enjoys a peaceful life with his wife Anne and their three children. He earns a respectable living as a skilled carpenter and talented violinist. His family lives comfortably, and Solomon values his freedom above everything else. One day, two men approach him with what appears to be an attractive offer to perform as a musician with a traveling circus in Washington, D.C. Trusting their promises, Solomon accepts the opportunity, believing it will provide extra income for his family. However, after arriving in Washington, he is drugged, robbed, and awakens in chains. His kidnappers beat him brutally when he insists that he is a free man, forcing him to hide his true identity to stay alive.

Solomon is soon shipped south under the false name "Platt" and sold into slavery. The terrifying journey introduces him to the brutal slave trade, where human beings are treated as property rather than people. Families are separated without mercy, and buyers inspect men, women, and children as though they were livestock. Solomon realizes that speaking about his freedom will only bring more punishment, so he keeps silent while desperately searching for an opportunity to escape or contact someone who can help him. His greatest fear is that his family has no idea where he has disappeared.

His first owner, William Ford, is kinder than many slaveholders, and Solomon's intelligence and skills earn him a certain level of respect. Solomon even devises an engineering solution that improves work on Ford's plantation. Yet Ford remains part of the institution of slavery, and despite showing moments of compassion, he ultimately treats Solomon as property. When financial difficulties arise, Ford transfers Solomon to the violent carpenter John Tibeats. Tibeats is cruel, unpredictable, and consumed by jealousy toward Solomon's abilities. After a confrontation, Solomon narrowly escapes death from lynching and survives only because others intervene before it is too late. The incident leaves him traumatized and aware that his life can end at any moment.

Eventually, Solomon is sold again, this time to Edwin Epps, a plantation owner whose cruelty defines much of the remaining years of Solomon's captivity. Epps believes that enslaved people exist solely to increase his wealth and uses constant violence to maintain control. Long days of exhausting labor in the cotton fields are followed by frequent whippings and public humiliation. Among the enslaved workers is Patsey, an exceptionally hardworking young woman who becomes one of the most tragic figures in the story. Despite her remarkable productivity, she suffers relentless abuse from Epps, who is obsessed with her, while his jealous wife also torments her mercilessly. Solomon is forced to witness these horrors and is sometimes compelled to participate against his will, adding to his emotional suffering.

Throughout his years in slavery, Solomon struggles to preserve both his dignity and his hope. He secretly attempts to send letters to trusted people in the North, but his first efforts end in betrayal and disappointment. Every failed attempt increases the danger he faces, yet he refuses to surrender completely to despair. His violin becomes one of the few remaining connections to his former life, occasionally bringing him small privileges or opportunities to earn money. Even in moments of deep sadness, Solomon carefully observes the lives of those around him, documenting the courage, intelligence, and resilience shown by many enslaved people despite unimaginable hardship.

A turning point comes when Solomon meets Samuel Bass, a Canadian carpenter hired to work on Epps's plantation. Unlike most white men Solomon has encountered in the South, Bass openly opposes slavery and believes that all people deserve freedom. After carefully judging Bass's character, Solomon finally reveals his true identity and asks for help. Risking his own safety, Bass agrees to write letters to Solomon's friends in New York. These letters eventually reach those who know Solomon personally, setting in motion the legal process necessary to prove his identity and secure his release.

After twelve long years of captivity, help finally arrives. Officials from New York travel south with documents proving that Solomon Northup is a free citizen who has been kidnapped illegally. The emotional moment when Solomon is informed that he is free marks the climax of the memoir. He leaves the plantation behind and returns to New York, where he is reunited with his wife, children, and extended family. The reunion is filled with overwhelming joy but also sadness, as twelve years of family life have been stolen forever. His children have grown into adults, and he even meets a grandchild he never knew existed. Although free once more, the emotional scars of slavery remain with him for the rest of his life.

The memoir concludes by reflecting on the injustice of slavery and the lasting impact it has on both individuals and society. Solomon explains that many people who remained enslaved were equally deserving of freedom but lacked the opportunity or fortunate circumstances that led to his rescue. His story demonstrates that slavery destroys families, denies basic human dignity, and corrupts those who support or benefit from it. At the same time, it celebrates the endurance of hope, courage, and compassion. '12 Years a Slave' remains a timeless reminder of the importance of justice, equality, and human rights. More than a historical account, it is a deeply human story of survival against overwhelming odds, encouraging readers to remember the past while striving to build a world where such suffering can never be repeated.

Chapter 1

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 22nd 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, starting 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 Proud fit, 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 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 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 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 anyone 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 anyone 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.

Chapter 2

THE TWO STRANGERS – THE CIRCUS COMPANY – DEPARTURE FROM SARATOGA – VENTRILOQUISM AND LEGERDEMAIN – JOURNEY TO NEW-YORK – FREE PAPERS – BROWN AND HAMILTON – THE HASTE TO REACH THE CIRCUS – ARRIVAL IN WASHINGTON – FUNERAL OF HARRISON – THE SUDDEN SICKNESS – THE TORMENT OF THIRST – THE RECEDING LIGHT – INSENSIBILITY – CHAINS AND DARKNESS.

One morning, towards the latter part of the month of March, 1841, having at that time no particular business to engage my attention, I was walking about the village of Saratoga Springs, thinking to myself where I might obtain some present employment, until the busy season should arrive. Anne, as was her usual custom, had gone over to Sandy Hill, a distance of some twenty miles, to take charge of the culinary department at Sherrill’s Coffee House, during the session of the court. Elizabeth, I think, had accompanied her. Margaret and Alonzo were with their aunt at Saratoga.

On the corner of Congress street and Broadway, near the tavern, then, and for aught I know to the contrary, still kept by Mr. Moon, I was met by two gentlemen of respectable appearance, both of whom were entirely unknown to me. I have the impression that they were introduced to me by some one of my acquaintances, but who, I have in vain endeavored to recall, with the remark that I was an expert player on the violin.

At any rate, they immediately entered into conversation on that subject, making numerous inquiries touching my proficiency in that respect. My responses being to all appearances satisfactory, they proposed to engage my services for a short period, stating, at the same time, I was just such a person as their business required. Their names, as they afterwards gave them to me, were Merrill Brown and Abram Hamilton, though whether these were their true appellations, I have strong reasons to doubt. The former was a man apparently forty years of age, somewhat short and thick-set, with a countenance indicating shrewdness and intelligence. He wore a black frock coat and black hat, and said he resided either at Rochester or at Syracuse. The latter was a young man of fair complexion and light eyes, and, I should judge, had not passed the age of twenty-five. He was tall and slender, dressed in a snuff-colored coat, with glossy hat, and vest of elegant pattern. His whole apparel was in the extreme of fashion. His appearance was somewhat effeminate, but prepossessing, and there was about him an easy air, that showed he had mingled with the world. They were connected, as they informed me, with a circus company, then in the city of Washington; that they were on their way thither to rejoin it, having left it for a short time to make an excursion northward, for the purpose of seeing the country, and were paying their expenses by an occasional exhibition. They also remarked that they had found much difficulty in procuring music for their entertainments, and that if I would accompany them as far as New-York, they would give me one dollar for each day’s services, and three dollars in addition for every night I played at their performances, besides sufficient to pay the expenses of my return from New-York to Saratoga.

I at once accepted the tempting offer, both for the reward it promised, and from a desire to visit the metropolis. They were anxious to leave immediately. Thinking my absence would be brief, I did not deem it necessary to write to Anne whither I had gone; in fact supposing that my return, perhaps, would be as soon as hers. So taking a change of linen and my violin, I was ready to depart. The carriage was brought round – a covered one, drawn by a pair of noble bays, altogether forming an elegant establishment. Their baggage, consisting of three large trunks, was fastened on the rack, and mounting to the driver’s seat, while they took their places in the rear, I drove away from Saratoga on the road to Albany, elated with my new position, and happy as I had ever been, on any day in all my life.