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from
MY BONDAGE
and
MY FREEDOM
_By_
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
_By a principle essential to Christianity, a PERSON is eternally
differenced from a THING; so that the idea of a HUMAN BEING,
necessarily excludes the idea of PROPERTY IN THAT BEING_.
COLERIDGE
Entered according
to Act of Congress in 1855 by
Douglass in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
Northern District of New York
TO
HONORABLE GERRIT SMITH,
AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF
ESTEEM FOR HIS CHARACTER,
ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS AND BENEVOLENCE,
AFFECTION FOR HIS PERSON, AND
GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND AS
A Small but most Sincere Acknowledgement of
HIS PRE-EMINENT SERVICES IN BEHALF OF THE RIGHTS AND LIBERTIES
OF AN
AFFLICTED, DESPISED AND DEEPLY OUTRAGED PEOPLE,
BY RANKING SLAVERY WITH PIRACY AND MURDER,
AND BY
DENYING IT EITHER A LEGAL OR CONSTITUTIONAL EXISTENCE,
This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,
BY HIS FAITHFUL AND FIRMLY ATTACHED FRIEND,
FREDERICK DOUGLAS.
CONTENTS
XI--"A CHANGE CAME O'ER THE SPIRIT OF MY DREAM". . . . . . . . . . .118
CHAPTER XI
_"A Change Came O'er the Spirit of My Dream"_
HOW I LEARNED TO READ--MY MISTRESS--HER SLAVEHOLDING DUTIES--
THEIR DEPLORABLE EFFECTS UPON HER ORIGINALLY NOBLE NATURE--THE
CONFLICT IN HER MIND--HER FINAL OPPOSITION TO MY LEARNING TO
READ--TOO LATE--SHE HAD GIVEN ME THE INCH, I WAS RESOLVED TO TAKE
THE ELL--HOW I PURSUED MY EDUCATION--MY TUTORS--HOW I COMPENSATED
THEM--WHAT PROGRESS I MADE--SLAVERY--WHAT I HEARD SAID ABOUT IT--
THIRTEEN YEARS OLD--THE _Columbian Orator_--A RICH SCENE--A
DIALOGUE--SPEECHES OF CHATHAM, SHERIDAN, PITT AND FOX--KNOWLEDGE
EVER INCREASING--MY
EYES OPENED--
SADNESS--THE DISSATISFACTION OF MY POOR MISTRESS--MY HATRED OF
SLAVERY--ONE UPAS TREE OVERSHADOWED US BOTH.
I lived in the family of Master Hugh, at
during which time--as the almanac makers
say of the weather--my
condition was variable. The most interesting feature of my
history here, was my learning to read and
write, under somewhat
marked disadvantages. In attaining this knowledge, I was
compelled to resort to indirections by no
means congenial to my
nature, and which were really humiliating
to me. My mistress--
who, as the reader has already seen, had
begun to teach me was
suddenly checked in her benevolent design,
by the strong advice
of her husband. In faithful compliance with this advice, the
good lady had not only ceased to instruct
me, herself, but had
set her face as a flint against my learning
to read by any means.
It is due, however, to my mistress to say,
that she did not adopt
this course in all its stringency at the
first. She either
thought it unnecessary, or she lacked the
depravity indispensable
to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was, at least, necessary for her to have
some training, and some hardening, in the exercise of the
slaveholder's prerogative, to make her
equal to forgetting my
human nature and character, and to treating
me as a thing
destitute of a moral or an intellectual
nature. Mrs. Auld--my
mistress--was, as I have said, a most kind
and tender-hearted
woman; and, in the humanity of her heart,
and the simplicity of
her mind, she set out, when I first went to
live with her, to
treat me as she supposed one human being
ought to treat another.
It is easy to see, that, in entering upon
the duties of a
slaveholder, some little experience is
needed. Nature has done
almost nothing to prepare men and women to
be either slaves or
slaveholders. Nothing but rigid training, long persisted in, can
perfect the character of the one or the
other. One cannot easily
forget to love freedom; and it is as hard
to cease to respect
that natural love in our fellow
creatures. On entering upon the
career of a slaveholding mistress, Mrs.
Auld was singularly
deficient; nature, which fits nobody for
such an office, had done
less for her than any lady I had
known. It was no easy matter to
induce her to think and to feel that the
curly-headed boy, who
stood by her side, and even leaned on her
lap; who was loved by
little Tommy, and who loved little Tommy in
turn; sustained to
her only the relation of a chattel. I was _more_ than that, and
she felt me to be more than that. I could talk and sing; I could
laugh and weep; I could reason and
remember; I could love and
hate.
I was human, and she, dear lady, knew and felt me to be
so.
How could she, then, treat me as a brute, without a mighty
struggle with all the noble powers of her
own soul. That
struggle came, and the will and power of
the husband was
victorious. Her noble soul was overthrown; but, he that
overthrew it did not, himself, escape the
consequences. He, not
less than the other parties, was injured in
his domestic peace by
the fall.
When I went into their family, it was the
abode of happiness and
contentment. The mistress of the house was a model of
affection and tenderness. Her fervent piety and watchful
uprightness made it impossible to see her
without thinking and
feeling--"_that woman is a
Christian_." There was no sorrow
nor
suffering for which she had not a tear, and
there was no innocent
joy for which she did not a smile. 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 excellent qualities, and her home
of its early
happiness.
Conscience cannot stand much violence.
Once
thoroughly broken down, _who_ is he that
can repair the damage?
It may be broken toward the slave, on
Sunday, and toward the
master on Monday. It cannot endure such shocks.
It must stand
entire, or it does not stand at all. If my condition waxed bad,
that of the family waxed not better. The first step, in the
wrong direction, was the violence done to
nature and to
conscience, in arresting the benevolence
that would have
enlightened my young mind. In ceasing to instruct me, she must
begin to justify herself _to_ herself; and,
once consenting to
take sides in such a debate, she was
riveted to her position.
One needs very little knowledge of moral
philosophy, to see
_where_ my mistress now landed. She finally became even more
violent in her opposition to my learning to
read, than was her
husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as
_well_ as her husband had commanded her,
but seemed resolved to
better his instruction. Nothing appeared to make my poor
mistress--after her turning toward the
downward path--more angry,
than seeing me, seated in some nook or
corner, quietly reading a
book or a newspaper. I have had her rush at me, with the utmost
fury, and snatch from my hand such
newspaper or book, with
something of the wrath and consternation
which a traitor might be
supposed to feel on being discovered in a
plot by some dangerous
spy.
Mrs. Auld was an apt woman, and the advice
of her husband, and
her own experience, soon demonstrated, to
her entire
satisfaction, that education and slavery
are incompatible with
each other. When this conviction was thoroughly established, I
was most narrowly watched in all my
movements. If I remained in a separate
room from the family for any considerable length of time, I was sure to be
suspected of having a book, and was at once called upon to give an account of
myself. All this, however, was entirely
_too late_. The first, and never to be
retraced, step had been taken. In
teaching me the alphabet, in the days of
her simplicity and
kindness, my mistress had given me the
_"inch,"_ and now, no
ordinary precaution could prevent me from
taking the _"ell."_
Seized with a determination to learn to
read, at any cost, I hit
upon many expedients to accomplish the
desired end. The plea
which I mainly adopted, and the one by
which I was most
successful, was that of using my young
white playmates, with whom
I met in the streets as teachers. I used to carry, almost
constantly, a copy of Webster's spelling
book in my pocket; and,
when sent of errands, or when play time was
allowed me, I would
step, with my young friends, aside, and
take a lesson in
spelling.
I generally paid my _tuition fee_ to the boys, with
bread, which I also carried in my
pocket. For a single biscuit,
any of my hungry little comrades would give
me a lesson more
valuable to me than bread. Not every one, however, demanded this
consideration, for there were those who
took pleasure in teaching
me, whenever I had a chance to be taught by
them. I am strongly
tempted to give the names of two or three
of those little boys,
as a slight testimonial of the gratitude
and affection I bear
them, but prudence forbids; not that it
would injure me, but it
might, possibly, embarrass them; for it is
almost an unpardonable
offense to do any thing, directly or
indirectly, to promote a
slave's freedom, in a slave state. It is enough to say, of my
warm-hearted little play fellows, that they
lived on Philpot
street, very near Durgin & Bailey's
shipyard.
Although slavery was a delicate subject,
and very cautiously
talked about among grown up people in
talked about it--and that very freely--with
the white boys. I
would, sometimes, say to them, while seated
on a curb stone
or a cellar door, "I wish I could be
free, as you will be when
you get to be men." "You will be free, you know, as soon as
you
are twenty-one, and can go where you like,
but I am a slave for
life.
Have I not as good a right to be free as you have?" Words
like these, I observed, always troubled
them; and I had no small
satisfaction in wringing from the boys,
occasionally, that fresh
and bitter condemnation of slavery, that
springs from nature,
unseared and unperverted. Of all consciences let me have those
to deal with which have not been bewildered
by the cares of life.
I do not remember ever to have met with a
_boy_, while I was in
slavery, who defended the slave system; but
I have often had boys
to console me, with the hope that something
would yet occur, by
which I might be made free. Over and over again, they have told
me, that "they believed I had as good
a right to be free as
_they_ had;" and that "they did
not believe God ever made any one
to be a slave." The reader will easily see, that such little
conversations with my play fellows, had no
tendency to weaken my
love of liberty, nor to render me contented
with my condition as
a slave.
When I was about thirteen years old, and
had succeeded in
learning to read, every increase of
knowledge, especially
respecting the
intolerable burden of the thought--I AM A
SLAVE FOR LIFE. To my
bondage I saw no end. It was a terrible reality, and I shall
never be able to tell how sadly that
thought chafed my young
spirit.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, about this time in my
life, I had made enough money to buy what
was then a very popular
school book, viz: the _Columbian
Orator_. I bought this addition
to my library, of Mr. Knight, on
buy this book, by hearing some little boys
say they were going to
learn some little pieces out of it for the
Exhibition. This
volume was, indeed, a rich treasure, and
every opportunity
afforded me, for a time,
was spent in diligently perusing it. Among much other
interesting matter, that which I had perused and reperused
with
unflagging satisfaction, was a short dialogue between a
master
and his slave. The
slave is represented as having been
recaptured, in a second attempt to run away; and the master
opens
the dialogue with an upbraiding speech, charging the slave
with
ingratitude, and demanding to know what he has to say in his
own
defense. Thus
upbraided, and thus called upon to reply, the
slave rejoins, that he knows how little anything that he can
say
will avail, seeing that he is completely in the hands of his
owner; and with noble resolution, calmly says, "I
submit to my
fate." Touched by
the slave's answer, the master insists upon
his further speaking, and recapitulates the many acts of
kindness
which he has performed toward the slave, and tells him he is
permitted to speak for himself. Thus invited to the debate, the
quondam slave made a spirited defense of himself, and
thereafter
the whole argument, for and against slavery, was brought
out.
The master was vanquished at every turn in the argument; and
seeing himself to be thus vanquished, he generously and
meekly
emancipates the slave, with his best wishes for his
prosperity.
It is scarcely neccessary{sic} to say, that a dialogue, with
such
an origin, and such an ending--read when the fact of my
being a
slave was a constant burden of grief--powerfully affected
me; and
I could not help feeling that the day might come, when the
well-
directed answers made by the slave to the master, in this
instance, would find their counterpart in myself.
This, however, was not all the fanaticism which I found in
this
_Columbian Orator_.
I met there one of
speeches, on the subject of Catholic Emancipation, Lord
Chatham's
speech on the American war, and speeches by the great
William
Pitt and by Fox.
These were all choice documents to me, and I
read them, over and over again, with an interest that was
ever
increasing, because it was ever gaining in intelligence; for
the
more I read them, the better I understood them. The reading of
these speeches added much to my limited stock of language,
and enabled me to give tongue to many interesting thoughts,
which
had frequently flashed through my soul, and died away for
want of
utterance. The
mighty power and heart-searching directness of
truth, penetrating even the heart of a slaveholder,
compelling
him to yield up his earthly interests to the claims of
eternal
justice, were finely illustrated in the dialogue, just
referred
to; and from the speeches of
denunciation of oppression, and a most brilliant vindication
of
the rights of man.
Here was, indeed, a noble acquisition.
If I
ever wavered under the consideration, that the Almighty, in
some
way, ordained slavery, and willed my enslavement for his own
glory, I wavered no longer.
I had now penetrated the secret of
all slavery and oppression, and had ascertained their true
foundation to be in the pride, the power and the avarice of
man.
The dialogue and the speeches were all
redolent of the principles
of liberty, and poured floods of light on
the nature and
character of slavery. With a book of this
kind in my hand, my
own human nature, and the facts of my experience, to help
me, I
was equal to a contest with the religious advocates of
slavery,
whether among the whites or among the colored people, for
blindness, in this matter, is not confined to the
former. I have
met many religious colored people, at the south, who are
under
the delusion that God requires them to submit to slavery,
and to
wear their chains with meekness and humility. I could entertain
no such nonsense as this; and I almost lost my patience when
I
found any colored man weak enough to believe such stuff.
Nevertheless, the increase of knowledge was attended with
bitter,
as well as sweet results.
The more I read, the more I was led to
abhor and detest slavery, and my enslavers. "Slaveholders,"
thought I, "are only a band of successful robbers, who
left their
homes and went into
reducing my people to slavery." I loathed them as the meanest
and the most wicked of men. As I read, behold! the
very
discontent so graphically predicted by
Master
Hugh, had already come upon me. I was no longer the light-
hearted, gleesome boy, full of mirth and
play, as when I landed
first at
moral dungeon where I dwelt; and, behold! there lay the
bloody
whip, for my back, and here was the iron chain; and my good,
_kind master_, he was the author of my situation. The revelation
haunted me, stung me, and made me gloomy and miserable. As I
writhed under the sting and torment of this knowledge, I
almost
envied my fellow slaves their stupid contentment. This
knowledge
opened my eyes to the horrible pit, and
revealed the teeth of the
frightful dragon that was ready to pounce
upon me, but it opened
no way for my escape. I have often wished myself a beast, or a
bird--anything, rather than a slave. I was wretched and gloomy,
beyond my ability to describe. I was too thoughtful to be happy.
It was this everlasting thinking which
distressed and tormented
me; and yet there was no getting rid of the
subject of my
thoughts.
All nature was redolent of it.
Once awakened by the
silver trump of knowledge, my spirit was
roused to eternal
wakefulness.
had, for me, converted every object into an
asserter of this
great right. It was heard in every sound, and beheld in every
object.
It was ever present, to torment me with a sense of my
wretched condition. The more beautiful and charming were the
smiles of nature, the more horrible and
desolate was my
condition.
I saw nothing without seeing it, and I heard nothing
without hearing it. I do not exaggerate, when I say, that it
looked from every star, smiled in every
calm, breathed in every
wind, and moved in every storm.
I have no doubt that my state of mind had
something to do with
the change in the treatment adopted, by my
once kind mistress
toward me.
I can easily believe, that my leaden, downcast, and
discontented look, was very offensive to her. Poor lady!
She
did not know my trouble, and I dared not
tell her. Could I have
freely made her acquainted with the real
state of my mind, and
given her the reasons therefor, it might
have been well for
both of us. Her abuse of me fell upon me like the blows of the
false prophet upon his ass; she did not
know that an _angel_
stood in the way; and--such is the relation
of master and slave I
could not tell her. Nature had made us _friends;_ slavery made
us _enemies_. My interests were in a direction opposite to hers,
and we both had our private thoughts and
plans. She aimed to
keep me ignorant; and I resolved to know,
although knowledge only
increased my discontent. My feelings were not the result of any
marked cruelty in the treatment I received;
they sprung from the
consideration of my being a slave at
all. It was _slavery_--not
its mere _incidents_--that I hated. I had been cheated. I saw
through the attempt to keep me in
ignorance; I saw that
slaveholders would have gladly made me
believe that they were
merely acting under the authority of God,
in making a slave of
me, and in making slaves of others; and I
treated them as robbers
and deceivers. The feeding and clothing me well, could not atone
for taking my liberty from me. The smiles of my mistress could
not remove the deep sorrow that dwelt in my
young bosom. Indeed,
these, in time, came only to deepen my
sorrow. She had changed;
and the reader will see that I had changed,
too. We were both
victims to the same overshadowing
evil--_she_, as mistress, I, as
slave.
I will not censure her harshly; she cannot censure me,
for she knows I speak but the truth, and
have acted in my
opposition to slavery, just as she herself
would have acted, in a
reverse of circumstances.