On one occasion the drunken madman thought to amusehimself by cutting my throat.
He had been absent at Holmesville， in attendanceat a shooting-match， and none of us were aware of hisreturn. While hoeing by the side of Patsey， she exclaimed，in a low voice， suddenly， “Platt， d’ye see old Hog-Jawbeckoning me to come to him？”
Glancing sideways， I discovered him in the edge ofthe field， motioning and grimacing， as was his habitwhen half-intoxicated. Aware of his lewd intentions，Patsey began to cry. I whispered her not to look up， andto continue at her work， as if she had not observed him.
Suspecting the truth of the matter， however， he soonstaggered up to me in a great rage.
“What did you say to Pats？” he demanded， with anoath. I made him some evasive answer， which only hadthe effect of increasing his violence.
“How long have you owned this plantation， say， youd—d nigger？” he inquired， with a malicious sneer， at thesame time taking hold of my shirt collar with one hand，and thrusting the other into his pocket. “Now I’ll cut yourblack throat； that’s what I’ll do，” drawing his knife fromhis pocket as he said it. But with one hand he was unable206
to open it， until finally seizing the blade in his teeth， Isaw he was about to succeed， and felt the necessity ofescaping from him， for in his present reckless state， itwas evident he was not joking， by any means. My shirtwas open in front， and as I turned round quickly andsprang from him， while he still retained his gripe， it wasstripped entirely from my back. There was no difficultynow in eluding him. He would chase me until out ofbreath， then stop until it was recovered， swear， and renewthe chase again. Now he would command me to cometo him， now endeavor to coax me， but I was careful tokeep at a respectful distance. In this manner we madethe circuit of the field several times， he making desperateplunges， and I always dodging them， more amused thanfrightened， well knowing that when his sober sensesreturned， he would laugh at his own drunken folly. Atlength I observed the mistress standing by the yard fence，watching our half-serious， half-comical manoeuvres.
Shooting past him， I ran directly to her. Epps， ondiscovering her， did not follow. He remained about thefield an hour or more， during which time I stood by themistress， having related the particulars of what hadtaken place. Now， she was aroused again， denouncingher husband and Patsey about equally. Finally， Eppscame towards the house， by this time nearly sober，walking demurely， with his hands behind his back， andattempting to look as innocent as a child.
As he approached， nevertheless， Mistress Epps beganto berate him roundly， heaping upon him many ratherdisrespectful epithets， and demanding for what reasonhe had attempted to cut my throat. Epps made wondrousstrange of it all， and to my surprise， swore by all thesaints in the calendar he had not spoken to me that day.
“Platt， you lying nigger， have I？” was his brazen appealto me.
It is not safe to contradict a master， even by the assertionof a truth. So I was silent， and when he entered the house Ireturned to the field， and the affair was never after alluded to.
Shortly after this time a circumstance occurred thatcame nigh divulging the secret of my real name andhistory， which I had so long and carefully concealed， andupon which I was convinced depended my final escape.
Soon after he purchased me， Epps asked me if I couldwrite and read， and on being informed that I had receivedsome instruction in those branches of education， heassured me， with emphasis， if he ever caught me with abook， or with pen and ink， he would give me a hundredlashes. He said he wanted me to understand that hebought “niggers” to work and not to educate. He neverinquired a word of my past life， or from whence I came.
The mistress， however， cross-examined me frequentlyabout Washington， which she supposed was my nativecity， and more than once remarked that I did not talk noract like the other “niggers，” and she was sure I had seenmore of the world than I admitted.
My great object always was to invent means of gettinga letter secretly into the post-office， directed to someof my friends or family at the North. The difficulty ofsuch an achievement cannot be comprehended by oneunacquainted with the severe restrictions imposedupon me. In the first place， I was deprived of pen， ink，and paper. In the second place， a slave cannot leave hisplantation without a pass， nor will a post-master maila letter for one without written instructions from hisowner. I was in slavery nine years， and always watchfuland on the alert， before I met with the good fortune ofobtaining a sheet of paper. While Epps was in New-Orleans， one winter， disposing of his cotton， the mistresssent me to Holmesville， with an order for several articles，and among the rest a quantity of foolscap. I appropriateda sheet， concealing it in the cabin， under the board onwhich I slept.
After various experiments I succeeded in making ink，by boiling white maple bark， and with a feather pluckedfrom the wing of a duck， manufactured a pen. When allwere asleep in the cabin， by the light of the coals， lyingupon my plank couch， I managed to complete a somewhatlengthy epistle. It was directed to an old acquaintanceat Sandy Hill， stating my condition， and urging him totake measures to restore me to liberty. This letter I kepta long time， contriving measures by which it could besafely deposited in the post-office. At length， a low fellow，by the name of Armsby， hitherto a stranger， came into the neighborhood， seeking a situation as overseer. Heapplied to Epps， and was about the plantation for severaldays. He next went over to Shaw’s， near by， and remainedwith him several weeks. Shaw was generally surroundedby such worthless characters， being himself noted as agambler and unprincipled man. He had made a wife ofhis slave Charlotte， and a brood of young mulattoes weregrowing up in his house. Armsby became so much reducedat last， that he was compelled to labor with the slaves.
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