Old Abram was a kind-hearted being—a sort of patriarchamong us， fond of entertaining his younger brethrenwith grave and serious discourse. He was deeply versedin such philosophy as is taught in the cabin of the slave；but the great absorbing hobby of Uncle Abram wasGeneral Jackson， whom his young master in Tennesseehad followed to the wars. He loved to wander back， inimagination， to the place where he was born， and torecount the scenes of his youth during those stirringtimes when the nation was in arms. He had been athletic，and more keen and powerful than the generality of hisrace， but now his eye had become dim， and his naturalforce abated. Very often， indeed， while discussing the bestmethod of baking the hoe-cake， or expatiating at large upon the glory of Jackson， he would forget where he lefthis hat， or his hoe， or his basket； and then would the oldman be laughed at， if Epps was absent， and whipped if hewas present. So was he perplexed continually， and sighedto think that he was growing aged and going to decay.
Philosophy and Jackson and forgetfulness had playedthe mischief with him， and it was evident that all of themcombined were fast bringing down the gray hairs of UncleAbram to the grave.
Aunt Phebe had been an excellent field hand， butlatterly was put into the kitchen， where she remained，except occasionally， in a time of uncommon hurry. Shewas a sly old creature， and when not in the presence ofher mistress or her master， was garrulous in the extreme.
Wiley， on the contrary， was silent. He performed histask without murmur or complaint， seldom indulging inthe luxury of speech， except to utter a wish that he wasaway from Epps， and back once more in South Carolina.
Bob and Henry had reached the ages of twenty
and twenty-three， and were distinguished for nothingextraordinary or unusual， while Edward， a lad of thirteen，not yet able to maintain his row in the corn or the cottonfield， was kept in the great house， to wait on the littleEppses.
Patsey was slim and straight. She stood erect as thehuman form is capable of standing. There was an airof loftiness in her movement， that neither labor， norweariness， nor punishment could destroy. Truly， Patsey
was a splendid animal， and were it not that bondagehad enshrouded her intellect in utter and everlastingdarkness， would have been chief among ten thousand ofher people. She could leap the highest fences， and a fleethound it was indeed， that could outstrip her in a race.
No horse could fling her from his back. She was a skillfulteamster. She turned as true a furrow as the best， and atsplitting rails there were none who could excel her. Whenthe order to halt was heard at night， she would have hermules at the crib， unharnessed， fed and curried beforeuncle Abram had found his hat. Not， however， for allor any of these， was she chiefly famous. Such lightninglikemotion was in her fingers as no other fingers everpossessed， and therefore it was， that in cotton pickingtime， Patsey was queen of the field.
She had a genial and pleasant temper， and was faithfuland obedient. Naturally， she was a joyous creature， alaughing ， light-hearted girl， rejoicing in the mere senseof existence. Yet Patsey wept oftener， and suffered more，than any of her companions. She had been literallyexcoriated. Her back bore the scars of a thousandstripes； not because she was backward in her work， norbecause she was of an unmindful and rebellious spirit，but because it had fallen to her lot to be the slave of alicentious master and a jealous mistress. She shrankbefore the lustful eye of the one， and was in danger evenof her life at the hands of the other， and between the two，she was indeed accursed. In the great house， for days169
together， there were high and angry words， poutingsand estrangement， whereof she was the innocent cause.
Nothing delighted the mistress so much as to see hersuffer， and more than once， when Epps had refused to sellher， has she tempted me with bribes to put her secretlyto death， and bury her body in some lonely place in themargin of the swamp. Gladly would Patsey have appeasedthis unforgiving spirit， if it had been in her power， but notlike Joseph， dared she escape from Master Epps， leavingher garment in his hand. Patsey walked under a cloud. Ifshe uttered a word in opposition to her master’s will， thelash was resorted to at once， to bring her to subjection；if she was not watchful when about her cabin， or whenwalking in the yard， a billet of wood， or a broken bottleperhaps， hurled from her mistress’ hand， would smite herunexpectedly in the face. The enslaved victim of lust andhate， Patsey had no comfort of her life.
These were my companions and fellow-slaves， withwhom I was accustomed to be driven to the field， andwith whom it has been my lot to dwell for ten years in thelog cabins of Edwin Epps. They， if living， are yet toilingon the banks of Bayou Boeuf， never destined to breathe，as I now do， the blessed air of liberty， nor to shake offthe heavy shackles that enthrall them， until they shall liedown forever in the dust.
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