Chapter 7
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|  I lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years. | |
| | During this time, I succeeded in learning to read and | |
| | write. In accomplishing this, I was compelled to re- | |
| | sort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. | |
| | My mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct | |
| | me, had, in compliance with the advice and direc- | |
| | tion of her husband, not only ceased to instruct, but | |
| | had set her face against my being instructed by any | |
| | one else. It is due, however, to my mistress to say | |
| | of her, that she did not adopt this course of treat- | |
| | ment immediately. She at first lacked the depravity | |
| | indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. | |
| | It was at least necessary for her to have some training | |
| | in the exercise of irresponsible power, to make her | |
| | equal to the task of treating me as though I were | |
| | a brute. | |
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| | My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender- | |
| | hearted woman; and in the simplicity of her soul she | |
| | commenced, when I first went to live with her, to | |
| | treat me as she supposed one human being ought | |
| | to treat another. In entering upon the duties of a | |
| | slaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sus- | |
| | tained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and | |
| | that for her to treat me as a human being was not | |
| | only wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved as | |
| | injurious to her as it did to me. When I went there, | |
| | she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman. | |
| | There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had | |
| | not a tear. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for | |
| | the naked, and comfort for every mourner that came | |
| | within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to | |
| | divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its in- | |
| | fluence, the tender heart became stone, and the | |
| | lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like | |
| | fierceness. The first step in her downward course was | |
| | in her ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced | |
| | to practise her husband's precepts. She finally be- | |
| | came even more violent in her opposition than her | |
| | husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply | |
| | doing as well as he had commanded; she seemed | |
| | anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her | |
| | more angry than to see me with a newspaper. She | |
| | seemed to think that here lay the danger. I have had | |
| | her rush at me with a face made all up of fury, and | |
| | snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fully | |
| | revealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman; | |
| | and a little experience soon demonstrated, to her | |
| | satisfaction, that education and slavery were incom- | |
| | patible with each other. | |
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| | From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I | |
| | was in a separate room any considerable length of | |
| | time, I was sure to be suspected of having a book, | |
| | and was at once called to give an account of myself. | |
| | All this, however, was too late. The first step had | |
| | been taken. Mistress, in teaching me the alphabet, | |
| | had given me the ~inch,~ and no precaution could pre- | |
| | vent me from taking the ~ell.~ | |
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|
| | The plan which I adopted, and the one by which | |
| | I was most successful, was that of making friends of | |
| | all the little white boys whom I met in the street. | |
| | As many of these as I could, I converted into teach- | |
| | ers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times | |
| | and in different places, I finally succeeded in learn- | |
| | ing to read. When I was sent of errands, I always | |
| | took my book with me, and by going one part of | |
| | my errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson be- | |
| | fore my return. I used also to carry bread with me, | |
| | enough of which was always in the house, and to | |
| | which I was always welcome; for I was much better | |
| | off in this regard than many of the poor white chil- | |
| | dren in our neighborhood. This bread I used to be- | |
| | stow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, | |
| | would give me that more valuable bread of knowl- | |
| | edge. I am strongly tempted to give the names of | |
| | two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of | |
| | the gratitude and affection I bear them; but pru- | |
| | dence forbids;—not that it would injure me, but it | |
| | might embarrass them; for it is almost an unpar- | |
| | donable offence to teach slaves to read in this Chris- | |
| | tian country. It is enough to say of the dear little | |
| | fellows, that they lived on Philpot Street, very near | |
| | Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk this | |
| | matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes | |
| | say to them, I wished I could be as free as they | |
| | would be when they got to be men. "You will be | |
| | free as soon as you are twenty-one, ~but I am a slave | |
| | for life!~ Have not I as good a right to be free as | |
| | you have?" These words used to trouble them; they | |
| | would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and con- | |
| | sole me with the hope that something would occur | |
| | by which I might be free. | |
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| | I was now about twelve years old, and the thought | |
| | of being ~a slave for life~ began to bear heavily upon | |
| | my heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a book | |
| | entitled "The Columbian Orator." Every opportu- | |
| | nity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of | |
| | other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue be- | |
| | tween a master and his slave. The slave was repre- | |
| | sented as having run away from his master three | |
| | times. The dialogue represented the conversation | |
| | which took place between them, when the slave was | |
| | retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole | |
| | argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward | |
| | by the master, all of which was disposed of by the | |
| | slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as | |
| | well as impressive things in reply to his master— | |
| | things which had the desired though unexpected ef- | |
| | fect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary | |
| | emancipation of the slave on the part of the master. | |
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| | In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's | |
| | mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic eman- | |
| | cipation. These were choice documents to me. I read | |
| | them over and over again with unabated interest. | |
| | They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my own | |
| | soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind, | |
| | and died away for want of utterance. The moral | |
| | which I gained from the dialogue was the power of | |
| | truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. What | |
| | I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slav- | |
| | ery, and a powerful vindication of human rights. | |
| | The reading of these documents enabled me to | |
| | utter my thoughts, and to meet the arguments | |
| | brought forward to sustain slavery; but while they | |
| | relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on an- | |
| | other even more painful than the one of which I was | |
| | relieved. The more I read, the more I was led to | |
| | abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them | |
| | in no other light than a band of successful robbers, | |
| | who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and | |
| | stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land | |
| | reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being the | |
| | meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I | |
| | read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very | |
| | discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted | |
| | would follow my learning to read had already come, | |
| | to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish. | |
| | As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that | |
| | learning to read had been a curse rather than a bless- | |
| | ing. It had given me a view of my wretched condi- | |
| | tion, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the | |
| | horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. | |
| | In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for | |
| | their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. | |
| | I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to | |
| | my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of | |
| | thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my con- | |
| | dition that tormented me. There was no getting rid | |
| | of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within | |
| | sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver | |
| | trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal | |
| | wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear | |
| | no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and | |
| | seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment | |
| | me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw | |
| | nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without | |
| | hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It | |
| | looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, | |
| | breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm. | |
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| | I often found myself regretting my own existence, | |
| | and wishing myself dead; and but for the hope of | |
| | being free, I have no doubt but that I should have | |
| | killed myself, or done something for which I should | |
| | have been killed. While in this state of mind, I was | |
| | eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a ready | |
| | listener. Every little while, I could hear something | |
| | about the abolitionists. It was some time before I | |
| | found what the word meant. It was always used in | |
| | such connections as to make it an interesting word | |
| | to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in getting | |
| | clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a | |
| | barn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind of a | |
| | slaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of ~abolition.~ | |
| | Hearing the word in this connection very often, I set | |
| | about learning what it meant. The dictionary af- | |
| | forded me little or no help. I found it was "the act | |
| | of abolishing;" but then I did not know what was | |
| | to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not | |
| | dare to ask any one about its meaning, for I was | |
| | satisfied that it was something they wanted me to | |
| | know very little about. After a patient waiting, I got | |
| | one of our city papers, containing an account of the | |
| | number of petitions from the north, praying for the | |
| | abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and | |
| | of the slave trade between the States. From this | |
| | time I understood the words ~abolition~ and ~abolition- | |
| | ist,~ and always drew near when that word was spoken, | |
| | expecting to hear something of importance to my- | |
| | self and fellow-slaves. The light broke in upon me | |
| | by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of | |
| | Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading a | |
| | scow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them. | |
| | When we had finished, one of them came to me | |
| | and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He | |
| | asked, "Are ye a slave for life?" I told him that I | |
| | was. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply af- | |
| | fected by the statement. He said to the other that | |
| | it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should | |
| | be a slave for life. He said it was a shame to hold | |
| | me. They both advised me to run away to the north; | |
| | that I should find friends there, and that I should | |
| | be free. I pretended not to be interested in what | |
| | they said, and treated them as if I did not under- | |
| | stand them; for I feared they might be treacherous. | |
| | White men have been known to encourage slaves to | |
| | escape, and then, to get the reward, catch them and | |
| | return them to their masters. I was afraid that these | |
| | seemingly good men might use me so; but I never- | |
| | theless remembered their advice, and from that time | |
| | I resolved to run away. I looked forward to a time | |
| | at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was | |
| | too young to think of doing so immediately; besides, | |
| | I wished to learn how to write, as I might have oc- | |
| | casion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with | |
| | the hope that I should one day find a good chance. | |
| | Meanwhile, I would learn to write. | |
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| | The idea as to how I might learn to write was | |
| | suggested to me by being in Durgin and Bailey's | |
| | ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship carpenters, | |
| | after hewing, and getting a piece of timber ready | |
| | for use, write on the timber the name of that part | |
| | of the ship for which it was intended. When a piece | |
| | of timber was intended for the larboard side, it | |
| | would be marked thus—"L." When a piece was for | |
| | the starboard side, it would be marked thus—"S." A | |
| | piece for the larboard side forward, would be marked | |
| | thus—"L. F." When a piece was for starboard side | |
| | forward, it would be marked thus—"S. F." For lar- | |
| | board aft, it would be marked thus—"L. A." For star- | |
| | board aft, it would be marked thus—"S. A." I soon | |
| | learned the names of these letters, and for what | |
| | they were intended when placed upon a piece of | |
| | timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced | |
| | copying them, and in a short time was able to make | |
| | the four letters named. After that, when I met with | |
| | any boy who I knew could write, I would tell him | |
| | I could write as well as he. The next word would be, | |
| | "I don't believe you. Let me see you try it." I would | |
| | then make the letters which I had been so fortunate | |
| | as to learn, and ask him to beat that. In this way I | |
| | got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite | |
| | possible I should never have gotten in any other way. | |
| | During this time, my copy-book was the board fence, | |
| | brick wall, and pavement; my pen and ink was a | |
| | lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to | |
| | write. I then commenced and continued copying the | |
| | Italics in Webster's Spelling Book, until I could make | |
| | them all without looking on the book. By this time, | |
| | my little Master Thomas had gone to school, and | |
| | learned how to write, and had written over a number | |
| | of copy-books. These had been brought home, and | |
| | shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid | |
| | aside. My mistress used to go to class meeting at | |
| | the Wilk Street meetinghouse every Monday after- | |
| | noon, and leave me to take care of the house. When | |
| | left thus, I used to spend the time in writing in the | |
| | spaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying | |
| | what he had written. I continued to do this until I | |
| | could write a hand very similar to that of Master | |
| | Thomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years, | |
| | I finally succeeded in learning how to write. | |
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