Двенадцать лет рабства

           IdirectedthelettertoHenryB.Northup,ofSandyHill—statingthatIhadbeenkidnapped,wasthenonboardthebrigOrleans,boundforNew-Orleans;thatitwasthenimpossibleformetoconjecturemyultimatedestination,andrequestinghewouldtakemeasurestorescueme. Theletterwassealedanddirected,andManning,havingreadit,promisedtodeposititintheNew-Orleanspost-office. Ihastenedbacktomyplaceunderthelong-boat,andinthemorning,astheslavescameupandwerewalkinground,creptoutunnoticedandmingledwiththem. 

           Mygoodfriend,whosenamewasJohnManning,wasanEnglishmanbybirth,andanoble-hearted,generoussailoraseverwalkedadeck. HehadlivedinBoston—wasatall,well-builtman,abouttwenty-fouryearsold,withafacesomewhatpock-marked,butfullofbenevolentexpression. 

           Nothingtovarythemonotonyofourdailylifeoccurred,untilwereachedNew-Orleans. Oncomingtothelevee,andbeforethevesselwasmadefast,IsawManningleaponshoreandhurryawayintothecity. Ashestartedoffhelookedbackoverhisshouldersignificantly,givingmetounderstandtheobjectofhiserrand. Presentlyhereturned,andpassingclosebyme,hunchedmewithhiselbow,withapeculiarwink,asmuchastosay,"itisallright." 

           Theletter,asIhavesincelearned,reachedSandyHill. Mr.NorthupvisitedAlbanyandlaiditbeforeGovernorSeward,butinasmuchasitgavenodefiniteinformationastomyprobablelocality,itwasnot,atthattime,deemedadvisabletoinstitutemeasuresformyliberation.