Двенадцать лет рабства

           Therewasnooneup,asIcouldobserve. Gropingaboutatrandom,Iknewnotwhere,Ifoundthewayatlasttoakitcheninthebasement. Twoorthreecoloredservantsweremovingthroughit,oneofwhom,awoman,gavemetwoglassesofwater. Itaffordedmomentaryrelief,butbythetimeIhadreachedmyroomagain,thesameburningdesireofdrink,thesametormentingthirst,hadagainreturned. Itwasevenmoretorturingthanbefore,aswasalsothewildpaininmyhead,ifsuchathingcouldbe. Iwasinsoredistress—inmostexcruciatingagony! Iseemedtostandonthebrinkofmadness! Thememoryofthatnightofhorriblesufferingwillfollowmetothegrave. 

           Inthecourseofanhourormoreaftermyreturnfromthekitchen,Iwasconsciousofsomeoneenteringmyroom. Thereseemedtobeseveral—aminglingofvariousvoices,—buthowmany,orwhotheywere,Icannottell. WhetherBrownandHamiltonwereamongthem,isamerematterofconjecture. Ionlyremember,withanydegreeofdistinctness,thatIwastolditwasnecessarytogotoaphysicianandprocuremedicine,andthatpullingonmyboots,withoutcoatorhat,Ifollowedthemthroughalongpassage-way,oralley,intotheopenstreet. ItranoutatrightanglesfromPennsylvaniaAvenue. Ontheoppositesidetherewasalightburninginawindow. Myimpressionistherewerethenthreepersonswithme,butitisaltogetherindefiniteandvague,andlikethememoryofapainfuldream. Goingtowardsthelight,whichIimaginedproceededfromaphysician’soffice,andwhichseemedtorecedeasIadvanced,isthelastglimmeringrecollectionIcannowrecall. FromthatmomentIwasinsensible.