(Illustration Credits 1.25)

TIME SEEMED TO SLOW TO A CRAWL FOR SOLOMON AS the day approached that Samuel Bass was supposed to return. On Friday, December 24, Solomon picked cotton with the other Epps slaves, but he kept looking up the road for a man on horseback. The noon hour came and went, with no sign of Bass. By late afternoon the sun was low in the sky, and still Bass had not appeared.

Solomon had faith in Bass’s intentions, but he was worried that he couldn’t keep his promise about visiting the Epps family on Christmas Eve. There were many reasons why the carpenter might not have been able to return. What if he had found a job so far from Louisiana that making the trip was too difficult? What if he had gotten sick and died? What if his role in the effort to free Solomon had been discovered? The more Solomon thought about it, the more reasons he imagined as to why Samuel Bass wouldn’t appear.

Just as the sun was setting on that Christmas Eve, Solomon heard the pounding of a horse’s hooves. He looked up from picking cotton, and there was the most wonderful sight he had ever beheld: Samuel Bass riding up the road to the Epps house.

Southern planters of the 19th century were famous for their hospitality. Friends, relatives, friends of relatives, and even strangers passing through could stop at almost any southern plantation and be provided with a meal and a warm bed. Edwin Epps came out to the yard to greet Bass and to invite him into the house that he and Solomon had finished building a few weeks earlier.

Of course Solomon was eager to speak to Bass alone to find out if he had received a letter from New York State. At this time Solomon shared a cabin with Old Abram and Phebe’s son Bob. Around ten o’clock at night Solomon lay down on his board and pretended to fall asleep. When he was convinced that Old Abram and Bob were sleeping, Solomon went out the door. For two hours he prowled about looking for Bass in the yard and at their old meeting place in the tall grass by the riverside.

Bass did not appear, however, and by about midnight Solomon saw that the candles were still shining brightly in the Epps house. He figured that Bass was engaged in conversation with Edwin Epps and couldn’t get away, but that the carpenter might attempt to speak to him early Christmas morning before his hosts awakened.

Solomon was too excited to sleep that night. Well before sunrise his two cabin mates got up to do some chores that were their responsibility even on Christmas Day. Old Abram went to start the fire in the fireplace for the Epps family. Bob fed the mules. Solomon planned to go outside to search for Bass as soon as Old Abram and Bob were gone, but he didn’t have to. Bass had been hiding behind the cabin and darted inside the moment Solomon was alone.

After greeting Solomon, Bass explained that on his way to the Epps plantation he had stopped at the Marksville Post Office. “No letter yet,” said Bass. Although deeply disappointed, Solomon had prepared for such an eventuality. He told Bass that he had made a mental list of other people who were likely to help free him.

“No use,” said Bass. He had visited the post office in Marksville so often asking about letters from New York State that he feared the postmaster had become suspicious. “Too dangerous,” Bass said about sending out more letters.

It was Chrismas Day of 1852—Solomon and Anne’s twenty-third wedding anniversary—and freedom was as distant a dream as it had been in Birch’s slave pen 12 years earlier. For a moment he gave in to despair. “It is all over!” Solomon said tearfully. “Oh, my God! How can I end my days here?”

He wasn’t going to end his days there, Samuel Bass assured him. If Solomon could be patient for a few more months, Bass had a plan that was better than writing letters. He had a couple of carpentry jobs scheduled that would be completed by spring of 1853. “By that time I shall have a considerable sum of money, and then, Platt, I am going to Saratoga Springs myself.”

Despair instantly changed into hope, thanks to Bass’s generous offer. Seeing that Solomon hadn’t realized to what lengths he was willing to go to free him, Bass offered an explanation. “I’m tired of slavery as much as you,” he said. “If I can succeed in getting you away from here, it will be a good act that I shall like to think of all of my life.”

He must hurry back to the new Epps house before he was discovered missing, Bass told Solomon. But in two months he would return. In the meantime Solomon should finish his mental list of Saratoga Springs people who might help him. Upon his return Bass would write down their names and addresses so that he could seek them out when he visited Saratoga Springs.

“Don’t be discouraged!” Samuel Bass reassured Solomon. “I’m with you, life or death. God bless you!” And with that, he left the slave cabin and returned to the Epps house.

It was now the slaves’ favorite time of year: Christmas Day. As in previous years, Edwin Epps granted his slaves a few days off at Christmastime to attend parties and visit friends and relatives on nearby plantations. But for Solomon Northup, Christmas provided no rest. Master Epps had received many requests to rent him out to perform at holiday parties.

For the next few days Solomon visited several plantations along Bayou Boeuf. At each place he played his violin nearly until sunrise, then slept an hour or two in the slave quarters before moving on to his next engagement. Solomon filled his pockets with coins that white people threw his way, but he became increasingly exhausted.

After a few days of playing his violin, Solomon was expected back in Epps’s cotton field to resume work on Thursday morning, December 30, 1852. He was so exhausted that he barely made it out to the field by sunrise. He struggled to stay awake picking cotton on Thursday and Friday. On Saturday—New Year’s Day of 1853—he overslept for the first time in years and arrived in the cotton field 15 minutes late. Epps was waiting with his whip. He ordered Solomon to remove his shirt and gave him 15 lashes—one for each minute he was late. With a back that was cut and bruised, Solomon spent Saturday picking cotton.

The next workday, Monday, January 3, 1853, Solomon made it out to the field on time. He, Old Abram, Patsey, Wiley, and Bob were picking cotton and placing it in bags tied to their necks. It was a very cold morning and their fingers grew so numb that Solomon and the others had trouble picking the cotton. Even Patsey wasn’t her usual nimble-fingered self.

Epps had come out to supervise his slaves, but he had forgotten something. Saying they would all get a “good warming” within a few minutes, he hurried back inside his house to fetch his whip.

Epps hadn’t yet returned when a carriage drove up to his home. Two white men stepped out of the vehicle, but they didn’t go inside the house. Instead they walked toward the little group of slaves watching from the cotton field.