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In
the
course
of
an
hour
or
more
after
my
return
from
the
kitchen
,
I
was
conscious
of
some
one
entering
my
room
.
There
seemed
to
be
several
--
a
mingling
of
various
voices
,
--
but
how
many
,
or
who
they
were
,
I
can
not
tell
.
Whether
Brown
and
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
passage-way
,
or
alley
,
into
the
open
street
.
It
ran
out
at
right
angles
from
Pennsylvania
Avenue
.
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
towards
the
light
,
which
I
imagined
proceeded
from
a
physician
's
office
,
and
which
seemed
to
recede
as
I
advanced
,
is
the
last
glimmering
recollection
I
can
now
recall
.
From
that
moment
I
was
insensible
.
How
long
I
remained
in
that
condition
--
whether
only
that
night
,
or
many
days
and
nights
--
I
do
not
know
;
but
when
consciousness
returned
,
I
found
myself
alone
,
in
utter
darkness
,
and
in
chains
.
The
pain
in
my
head
had
subsided
in
a
measure
,
but
I
was
very
faint
and
weak
.
I
was
sitting
upon
a
low
bench
,
made
of
rough
boards
,
and
without
coat
or
hat
.
I
was
hand-cuffed
.
Around
my
ankles
also
were
a
pair
of
heavy
fetters
.
One
end
of
a
chain
was
fastened
to
a
large
ring
in
the
floor
,
the
other
to
the
fetters
on
my
ankles
.
I
tried
in
vain
to
stand
upon
my
feet
.
Waking
from
such
a
painful
trance
,
it
was
some
time
before
I
could
collect
my
thoughts
.
Where
was
I
?
What
was
the
meaning
of
these
chains
?
Where
were
Brown
and
Hamilton
?
What
had
I
done
to
deserve
imprisonment
in
such
a
dungeon
?
I
could
not
comprehend
.
There
was
a
blank
of
some
indefinite
period
,
preceding
my
awakening
in
that
lonely
place
,
the
events
of
which
the
utmost
stretch
of
memory
was
unable
to
recall
.
I
listened
intently
for
some
sign
or
sound
of
life
,
but
nothing
broke
the
oppressive
silence
,
save
the
clinking
of
my
chains
,
whenever
I
chanced
to
move
.
I
spoke
aloud
,
but
the
sound
of
my
voice
startled
me
.
I
felt
of
my
pockets
,
so
far
as
the
fetters
would
allow
--
far
enough
,
indeed
,
to
ascertain
that
I
had
not
only
been
robbed
of
liberty
,
but
that
my
money
and
free
papers
were
also
gone
!
Then
did
the
idea
begin
to
break
upon
my
mind
,
at
first
dim
and
confused
,
that
I
had
been
kidnapped
.
But
that
I
thought
was
incredible
.
There
must
have
been
some
misapprehension
--
some
unfortunate
mistake
.
It
could
not
be
that
a
free
citizen
of
New-York
,
who
had
wronged
no
man
,
nor
violated
any
law
,
should
be
dealt
with
thus
inhumanly
.
The
more
I
contemplated
my
situation
,
however
,
the
more
I
became
confirmed
in
my
suspicions
.
It
was
a
desolate
thought
,
indeed
.
I
felt
there
was
no
trust
or
mercy
in
unfeeling
man
;
and
commending
myself
to
the
God
of
the
oppressed
,
bowed
my
head
upon
my
fettered
hands
,
and
wept
most
bitterly
.
Some
three
hours
elapsed
,
during
which
time
I
remained
seated
on
the
low
bench
,
absorbed
in
painful
meditations
.
At
length
I
heard
the
crowing
of
a
cock
,
and
soon
a
distant
rumbling
sound
,
as
of
carriages
hurrying
through
the
streets
,
came
to
my
ears
,
and
I
knew
that
it
was
day
.
No
ray
of
light
,
however
,
penetrated
my
prison
.
Finally
,
I
heard
footsteps
immediately
overhead
,
as
of
some
one
walking
to
and
fro
.
It
occurred
to
me
then
that
I
must
be
in
an
underground
apartment
,
and
the
damp
,
mouldy
odors
of
the
place
confirmed
the
supposition
.
The
noise
above
continued
for
at
least
an
hour
,
when
,
at
last
,
I
heard
footsteps
approaching
from
without
.
A
key
rattled
in
the
lock
--
a
strong
door
swung
back
upon
its
hinges
,
admitting
a
flood
of
light
,
and
two
men
entered
and
stood
before
me
.
One
of
them
was
a
large
,
powerful
man
,
forty
years
of
age
,
perhaps
,
with
dark
,
chestnut-colored
hair
,
slightly
interspersed
with
gray
.
His
face
was
full
,
his
complexion
flush
,
his
features
grossly
coarse
,
expressive
of
nothing
but
cruelty
and
cunning
.
He
was
about
five
feet
ten
inches
high
,
of
full
habit
,
and
,
without
prejudice
,
I
must
be
allowed
to
say
,
was
a
man
whose
whole
appearance
was
sinister
and
repugnant
.
His
name
was
James
H.
Burch
,
as
I
learned
afterwards
--
a
well-known
slave-dealer
in
Washington
;
and
then
,
or
lately
,
connected
in
business
,
as
a
partner
,
with
Theophilus
Freeman
,
of
New-Orleans
.
The
person
who
accompanied
him
was
a
simple
lackey
,
named
Ebenezer
Radburn
,
who
acted
merely
in
the
capacity
of
turnkey
.
Both
of
these
men
still
live
in
Washington
,
or
did
,
at
the
time
of
my
return
through
that
city
from
slavery
in
January
last
.
The
light
admitted
through
the
open
door
enabled
me
to
observe
the
room
in
which
I
was
confined
.
It
was
about
twelve
feet
square
--
the
walls
of
solid
masonry
.
The
floor
was
of
heavy
plank
.
There
was
one
small
window
,
crossed
with
great
iron
bars
,
with
an
outside
shutter
,
securely
fastened
.
An
iron-bound
door
led
into
an
adjoining
cell
,
or
vault
,
wholly
destitute
of
windows
,
or
any
means
of
admitting
light
.
The
furniture
of
the
room
in
which
I
was
,
consisted
of
the
wooden
bench
on
which
I
sat
,
an
old-fashioned
,
dirty
box
stove
,
and
besides
these
,
in
either
cell
,
there
was
neither
bed
,
nor
blanket
,
nor
any
other
thing
whatever
.
The
door
,
through
which
Burch
and
Radburn
entered
,
led
through
a
small
passage
,
up
a
flight
of
steps
into
a
yard
,
surrounded
by
a
brick
wall
ten
or
twelve
feet
high
,
immediately
in
rear
of
a
building
of
the
same
width
as
itself
.
The
yard
extended
rearward
from
the
house
about
thirty
feet
.
In
one
part
of
the
wall
there
was
a
strongly
ironed
door
,
opening
into
a
narrow
,
covered
passage
,
leading
along
one
side
of
the
house
into
the
street
.
The
doom
of
the
colored
man
,
upon
whom
the
door
leading
out
of
that
narrow
passage
closed
,
was
sealed
.
The
top
of
the
wall
supported
one
end
of
a
roof
,
which
ascended
inwards
,
forming
a
kind
of
open
shed
.
Underneath
the
roof
there
was
a
crazy
loft
all
round
,
where
slaves
,
if
so
disposed
,
might
sleep
at
night
,
or
in
inclement
weather
seek
shelter
from
the
storm
.
It
was
like
a
farmer
's
barnyard
in
most
respects
,
save
it
was
so
constructed
that
the
outside
world
could
never
see
the
human
cattle
that
were
herded
there
.
The
building
to
which
the
yard
was
attached
,
was
two
stories
high
,
fronting
on
one
of
the
public
streets
of
Washington
.
Its
outside
presented
only
the
appearance
of
a
quiet
private
residence
.
A
stranger
looking
at
it
,
would
never
have
dreamed
of
its
execrable
uses
.
Strange
as
it
may
seem
,
within
plain
sight
of
this
same
house
,
looking
down
from
its
commanding
height
upon
it
,
was
the
Capitol
.
The
voices
of
patriotic
representatives
boasting
of
freedom
and
equality
,
and
the
rattling
of
the
poor
slave
's
chains
,
almost
commingled
.
A
slave
pen
within
the
very
shadow
of
the
Capito
!
Such
is
a
correct
description
as
it
was
in
1841
,
of
Williams
'
slave
pen
in
Washington
,
in
one
of
the
cellars
of
which
I
found
myself
so
unaccountably
confined
.
"
Well
,
my
boy
,
how
do
you
feel
now
?
"
said
Burch
,
as
he
entered
through
the
open
door
.
I
replied
that
I
was
sick
,
and
inquired
the
cause
of
my
imprisonment
.
He
answered
that
I
was
his
slave
--
that
he
had
bought
me
,
and
that
he
was
about
to
send
me
to
New-Orleans
.
I
asserted
,
aloud
and
boldly
,
that
I
was
a
free
man
--
a
resident
of
Saratoga
,
where
I
had
a
wife
and
children
,
who
were
also
free
,
and
that
my
name
was
Northup
.
I
complained
bitterly
of
the
strange
treatment
I
had
received
,
and
threatened
,
upon
my
liberation
,
to
have
satisfaction
for
the
wrong
.
He
denied
that
I
was
free
,
and
with
an
emphatic
oath
,
declared
that
I
came
from
Georgia
.
Again
and
again
I
asserted
I
was
no
man
's
slave
,
and
insisted
upon
his
taking
off
my
chains
at
once
.
He
endeavored
to
hush
me
,
as
if
he
feared
my
voice
would
be
overheard
.
But
I
would
not
be
silent
,
and
denounced
the
authors
of
my
imprisonment
,
whoever
they
might
be
,
as
unmitigated
villains
.
Finding
he
could
not
quiet
me
,
he
flew
into
a
towering
passion
.
With
blasphemous
oaths
,
he
called
me
a
black
liar
,
a
runaway
from
Georgia
,
and
every
other
profane
and
vulgar
epithet
that
the
most
indecent
fancy
could
conceive
.
