I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally
succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any
of the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my
intention not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My
reasons for pursuing this course may be understood from the following:
First, were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not
only possible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be
involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a
statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part
of slaveholders than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of
course, be the means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother
bondman might escape his galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity
that impels me to suppress any thing of importance connected with my
experience in slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as
well as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at
liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the minds of
many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining to my most
fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the
curious of the gratification which such a statement would afford. I
would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations which
evil-minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and
thereby run the hazard of closing the slightest avenue by which a
brother slave might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.
I have never approved of the very public manner in which some of our
western friends have conducted what they call the _underground
railroad,_ but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made
most emphatically the _upperground railroad._ I honor those good men
and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly
subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their
participation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little
good resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves
escaping; while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those
open declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who are
seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening the slave,
whilst they do much towards enlightening the master. They stimulate him
to greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to capture his slave. We
owe something to the slave south of the line as well as to those north
of it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should be
careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from
escaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder
profoundly ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I
would leave him to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible
tormentors, ever ready to snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling
prey. Let him be left to feel his way in the dark; let darkness
commensurate with his crime hover over him; and let him feel that at
every step he takes, in pursuit of the flying bondman, he is running
the frightful risk of having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible
agency. Let us render the tyrant no aid; let us not hold the light by
which he can trace the footprints of our flying brother. But enough of
this. I will now proceed to the statement of those facts, connected
with my escape, for which I am alone responsible, and for which no one
can be made to suffer but myself.
In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could
see no reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of
my toil into the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly
wages, he would, after counting the money, look me in the face with a
robber-like fierceness, and ask, “Is this all?” He was satisfied with
nothing less than the last cent. He would, however, when I made him six
dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the
opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to
the whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to
my mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always
felt worse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving
me a few cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to
be a pretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was
ever on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means,
I determined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with
which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came
to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and
applied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused
my request, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape.
He told me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in
the event of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts
to catch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told
me, if I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He
said, if I behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed,
he advised me to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me
to depend solely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the
pressing necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to
contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of
myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my
enslavement, and the means of escape.
About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege
of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had
applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first,
seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me
the privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed
all my time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find
my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him
three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools,
and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per
week. This, with the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made
my regular expenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was
compelled to make up, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time.
Rain or shine, work or no work, at the end of each week the money must
be forthcoming, or I must give up my privilege. This arrangement, it
will be perceived, was decidedly in my master’s favor. It relieved him
of all need of looking after me. His money was sure. He received all
the benefits of slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the
evils of a slave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I
found it a hard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than
the old mode of getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be
allowed to bear the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined
to hold on upon it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was
ready to work at night as well as day, and by the most untiring
perseverance and industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay
up a little money every week. I went on thus from May till August.
Master Hugh then refused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground
for his refusal was a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay
him for my week’s time. This failure was occasioned by my attending a
camp meeting about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had
entered into an engagement with a number of young friends to start from
Baltimore to the camp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained
by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master Hugh’s without
disappointing the company. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special
need of the money that night. I therefore decided to go to camp
meeting, and upon my return pay him the three dollars. I staid at the
camp meeting one day longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as
I returned, I called upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I
found him very angry; he could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he
had a great mind to give me a severe whipping. He wished to know how I
dared go out of the city without asking his permission. I told him I
hired my time and while I paid him the price which he asked for it, I
did not know that I was bound to ask him when and where I should go.
This reply troubled him; and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned
to me, and said I should hire my time no longer; that the next thing he
should know of, I would be running away. Upon the same plea, he told me
to bring my tools and clothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of
seeking work, as I had been accustomed to do previously to hiring my
time, I spent the whole week without the performance of a single stroke
of work. I did this in retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me
as usual for my week’s wages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no
work that week. Here we were upon the point of coming to blows. He
raved, and swore his determination to get hold of me. I did not allow
myself a single word; but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his
hand upon me, it should be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but
told me that he would find me in constant employment in future. I
thought the matter over during the next day, Sunday, and finally
resolved upon the third day of September, as the day upon which I would
make a second attempt to secure my freedom. I now had three weeks
during which to prepare for my journey. Early on Monday morning, before
Master Hugh had time to make any engagement for me, I went out and got
employment of Mr. Butler, at his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon
what is called the City Block, thus making it unnecessary for him to
seek employment for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between
eight and nine dollars. He seemed very well pleased, and asked why I
did not do the same the week before. He little knew what my plans were.
My object in working steadily was to remove any suspicion he might
entertain of my intent to run away; and in this I succeeded admirably.
I suppose he thought I was never better satisfied with my condition
than at the very time during which I was planning my escape. The second
week passed, and again I carried him my full wages; and so well pleased
was he, that he gave me twenty-five cents, (quite a large sum for a
slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it. I
told him I would.
Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was
trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of
my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends
in Baltimore,—friends that I loved almost as I did my life,—and the
thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond
expression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery,
who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to
their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most
painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my
tender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides
the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure
exceeded what I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling
defeat I then sustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if
I failed in this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one—it would seal
my fate as a slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing
less than the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of
escape. It required no very vivid imagination to depict the most
frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, in case I failed.
The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were
perpetually before me. It was life and death with me. But I remained
firm, and, according to my resolution, on the third day of September,
1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reaching New York without the
slightest interruption of any kind. How I did so,—what means I
adopted,—what direction I travelled, and by what mode of conveyance,—I
must leave unexplained, for the reasons before mentioned.
I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a free
State. I have never been able to answer the question with any
satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I
ever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed
mariner to feel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the
pursuit of a pirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my
arrival at New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of
hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I
was again seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I
was yet liable to be taken back, and subjected to all the tortures of
slavery. This in itself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm.
But the loneliness overcame me. There I was in the midst of thousands,
and yet a perfect stranger; without home and without friends, in the
midst of thousands of my own brethren—children of a common Father, and
yet I dared not to unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was
afraid to speak to any one for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and
thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kidnappers, whose
business it was to lie in wait for the panting fugitive, as the
ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait for their prey. The motto
which I adopted when I started from slavery was this—“Trust no man!” I
saw in every white man an enemy, and in almost every colored man cause
for distrust. It was a most painful situation; and, to understand it,
one must needs experience it, or imagine himself in similar
circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave in a strange land—a land
given up to be the hunting-ground for slaveholders—whose inhabitants
are legalized kidnappers—where he is every moment subjected to the
terrible liability of being seized upon by his fellowmen, as the
hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!—I say, let him place himself in
my situation—without home or friends—without money or credit—wanting
shelter, and no one to give it—wanting bread, and no money to buy
it,—and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by merciless
men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to go, or
where to stay,—perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and
means of escape,—in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible
gnawings of hunger,—in the midst of houses, yet having no home,—among
fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose
greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is
only equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up
the helpless fish upon which they subsist,—I say, let him be placed in
this most trying situation,—the situation in which I was placed,—then,
and not till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know
how to sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.
Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation.
I was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose
vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad
of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and
gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and
is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so
forward in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but
a few days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to
his boarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr.
Ruggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable _Darg_ case, as
well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways
and means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed
in on almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his
enemies.
Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of me where I
wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to remain in New York. I
told him I was a calker, and should like to go where I could get work.
I thought of going to Canada; but he decided against it, and in favor
of my going to New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there
at my trade. At this time, Anna,[2] my intended wife, came on; for I
wrote to her immediately after my arrival at New York, (notwithstanding
my homeless, houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her of my
successful flight, and wishing her to come on forthwith. In a few days
after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington,
who, in the presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three
others, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of
which the following is an exact copy:—
“This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony Frederick
Johnson[3] and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the presence of Mr.
David Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels.
“JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON
“_New York, Sept_. 15, 1838”
[2] She was free.
[3] I had changed my name from Frederick _Bailey_ to that of
_Johnson_.
Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr.
Ruggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up the
other, and we set out forthwith to take passage on board of the
steamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr.
Ruggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in case
my money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in Newport and obtain
further assistance; but upon our arrival at Newport, we were so anxious
to get to a place of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked the
necessary money to pay our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage,
and promise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged to do
this by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bedford, whose names
I afterward ascertained to be Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber.
They seemed at once to understand our circumstances, and gave us such
assurance of their friendliness as put us fully at ease in their
presence.
It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time. Upon
reaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of Mr. Nathan
Johnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hospitably provided for.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and lively interest in our
welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of the name of
abolitionists. When the stage-driver found us unable to pay our fare,
he held on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to
mention the fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money.
We now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare ourselves for
the duties and responsibilities of a life of freedom. On the morning
after our arrival at New Bedford, while at the breakfast-table, the
question arose as to what name I should be called by. The name given me
by my mother was, “Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey.” I, however,
had dispensed with the two middle names long before I left Maryland so
that I was generally known by the name of “Frederick Bailey.” I started
from Baltimore bearing the name of “Stanley.” When I got to New York, I
again changed my name to “Frederick Johnson,” and thought that would be
the last change. But when I got to New Bedford, I found it necessary
again to change my name. The reason of this necessity was, that there
were so many Johnsons in New Bedford, it was already quite difficult to
distinguish between them. I gave Mr. Johnson the privilege of choosing
me a name, but told him he must not take from me the name of
“Frederick.” I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense of my
identity. Mr. Johnson had just been reading the “Lady of the Lake,” and
at once suggested that my name be “Douglass.” From that time until now
I have been called “Frederick Douglass;” and as I am more widely known
by that name than by either of the others, I shall continue to use it
as my own.
I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New
Bedford. The impression which I had received respecting the character
and condition of the people of the north, I found to be singularly
erroneous. I had very strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of
the comforts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed at
the north, compared with what were enjoyed by the slaveholders of the
south. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact that northern
people owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a level
with the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew _they_ were
exceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their poverty as
the necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders. I had
somehow imbibed the opinion that, in the absence of slaves, there could
be no wealth, and very little refinement. And upon coming to the north,
I expected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated
population, living in the most Spartan-like simplicity, knowing nothing
of the ease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Such
being my conjectures, any one acquainted with the appearance of New
Bedford may very readily infer how palpably I must have seen my
mistake.
In the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I visited the
wharves, to take a view of the shipping. Here I found myself surrounded
with the strongest proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding
in the stream, I saw many ships of the finest model, in the best order,
and of the largest size. Upon the right and left, I was walled in by
granite warehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed to their utmost
capacity with the necessaries and comforts of life. Added to this,
almost every body seemed to be at work, but noiselessly so, compared
with what I had been accustomed to in Baltimore. There were no loud
songs heard from those engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard
no deep oaths or horrid curses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of
men; but all seemed to go smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand
his work, and went at it with a sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which
betokened the deep interest which he felt in what he was doing, as well
as a sense of his own dignity as a man. To me this looked exceedingly
strange. From the wharves I strolled around and over the town, gazing
with wonder and admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful
dwellings, and finely-cultivated gardens; evincing an amount of wealth,
comfort, taste, and refinement, such as I had never seen in any part of
slaveholding Maryland.
Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no
dilapidated houses, with poverty-stricken inmates; no half-naked
children and barefooted women, such as I had been accustomed to see in
Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael’s, and Baltimore. The people looked
more able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than those of Maryland. I
was for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without being
saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most astonishing as well as
the most interesting thing to me was the condition of the colored
people, a great many of whom, like myself, had escaped thither as a
refuge from the hunters of men. I found many, who had not been seven
years out of their chains, living in finer houses, and evidently
enjoying more of the comforts of life, than the average of slaveholders
in Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my friend Mr. Nathan
Johnson (of whom I can say with a grateful heart, “I was hungry, and he
gave me meat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink; I was a stranger,
and he took me in”) lived in a neater house; dined at a better table;
took, paid for, and read, more newspapers; better understood the moral,
religious, and political character of the nation,—than nine tenths of
the slaveholders in Talbot county Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a
working man. His hands were hardened by toil, and not his alone, but
those also of Mrs. Johnson. I found the colored people much more
spirited than I had supposed they would be. I found among them a
determination to protect each other from the blood-thirsty kidnapper,
at all hazards. Soon after my arrival, I was told of a circumstance
which illustrated their spirit. A colored man and a fugitive slave were
on unfriendly terms. The former was heard to threaten the latter with
informing his master of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was
called among the colored people, under the stereotyped notice,
“Business of importance!” The betrayer was invited to attend. The
people came at the appointed hour, and organized the meeting by
appointing a very religious old gentleman as president, who, I believe,
made a prayer, after which he addressed the meeting as follows:
“_Friends, we have got him here, and I would recommend that you young
men just take him outside the door, and kill him!_” With this, a number
of them bolted at him; but they were intercepted by some more timid
than themselves, and the betrayer escaped their vengeance, and has not
been seen in New Bedford since. I believe there have been no more such
threats, and should there be hereafter, I doubt not that death would be
the consequence.
I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop
with a load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went
at it with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master. It
was a happy moment, the rapture of which can be understood only by
those who have been slaves. It was the first work, the reward of which
was to be entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing ready, the
moment I earned the money, to rob me of it. I worked that day with a
pleasure I had never before experienced. I was at work for myself and
newly-married wife. It was to me the starting-point of a new existence.
When I got through with that job, I went in pursuit of a job of
calking; but such was the strength of prejudice against color, among
the white calkers, that they refused to work with me, and of course I
could get no employment.[4] Finding my trade of no immediate benefit, I
threw off my calking habiliments, and prepared myself to do any kind of
work I could get to do. Mr. Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horse
and saw, and I very soon found myself a plenty of work. There was no
work too hard—none too dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal,
carry wood, sweep the chimney, or roll oil casks,—all of which I did
for nearly three years in New Bedford, before I became known to the
anti-slavery world.
[4] I am told that colored persons can now get employment at calking
in New Bedford—a result of anti-slavery effort.
In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young
man to me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the “Liberator.” I
told him I did; but, just having made my escape from slavery, I
remarked that I was unable to pay for it then. I, however, finally
became a subscriber to it. The paper came, and I read it from week to
week with such feelings as it would be quite idle for me to attempt to
describe. The paper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on
fire. Its sympathy for my brethren in bonds—its scathing denunciations
of slaveholders—its faithful exposures of slavery—and its powerful
attacks upon the upholders of the institution—sent a thrill of joy
through my soul, such as I had never felt before!
I had not long been a reader of the “Liberator,” before I got a pretty
correct idea of the principles, measures and spirit of the anti-slavery
reform. I took right hold of the cause. I could do but little; but what
I could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felt happier than when in
an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings,
because what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But,
while attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on the 11th of
August, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak, and was at the same time
much urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard
me speak in the colored people’s meeting at New Bedford. It was a
severe cross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt
myself a slave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me
down. I spoke but a few moments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and
said what I desired with considerable ease. From that time until now, I
have been engaged in pleading the cause of my brethren—with what
success, and with what devotion, I leave those acquainted with my
labors to decide.
APPENDIX
I find, since reading over the foregoing Narrative, that I have, in
several instances, spoken in such a tone and manner, respecting
religion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious
views to suppose me an opponent of all religion. To remove the
liability of such misapprehension, I deem it proper to append the
following brief explanation. What I have said respecting and against
religion, I mean strictly to apply to the _slaveholding religion_ of
this land, and with no possible reference to Christianity proper; for,
between the Christianity of this land, and the Christianity of Christ,
I recognize the widest possible difference—so wide, that to receive the
one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as
bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of necessity
to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial
Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding,
women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical
Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most
deceitful one, for calling the religion of this land Christianity. I
look upon it as the climax of all misnomers, the boldest of all frauds,
and the grossest of all libels. Never was there a clearer case of
“stealing the livery of the court of heaven to serve the devil in.” I
am filled with unutterable loathing when I contemplate the religious
pomp and show, together with the horrible inconsistencies, which every
where surround me. We have men-stealers for ministers, women-whippers
for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church members. The man who
wields the blood-clotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit on
Sunday, and claims to be a minister of the meek and lowly Jesus. The
man who robs me of my earnings at the end of each week meets me as a
class-leader on Sunday morning, to show me the way of life, and the
path of salvation. He who sells my sister, for purposes of
prostitution, stands forth as the pious advocate of purity. He who
proclaims it a religious duty to read the Bible denies me the right of
learning to read the name of the God who made me. He who is the
religious advocate of marriage robs whole millions of its sacred
influence, and leaves them to the ravages of wholesale pollution. The
warm defender of the sacredness of the family relation is the same that
scatters whole families,—sundering husbands and wives, parents and
children, sisters and brothers,—leaving the hut vacant, and the hearth
desolate. We see the thief preaching against theft, and the adulterer
against adultery. We have men sold to build churches, women sold to
support the gospel, and babes sold to purchase Bibles for the _Poor
Heathen! All For The Glory Of God And The Good Of Souls!_ The slave
auctioneer’s bell and the church-going bell chime in with each other,
and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave are drowned in the
religious shouts of his pious master. Revivals of religion and revivals
in the slave-trade go hand in hand together. The slave prison and the
church stand near each other. The clanking of fetters and the rattling
of chains in the prison, and the pious psalm and solemn prayer in the
church, may be heard at the same time. The dealers in the bodies and
souls of men erect their stand in the presence of the pulpit, and they
mutually help each other. The dealer gives his blood-stained gold to
support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return, covers his infernal
business with the garb of Christianity. Here we have religion and
robbery the allies of each other—devils dressed in angels’ robes, and
hell presenting the semblance of paradise.
“Just God! and these are they,v Who minister at thine altar, God of
right!
Men who their hands, with prayer and blessing, lay
On Israel’s ark of light.
“What! preach, and kidnap men?
Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor?
Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then
Bolt hard the captive’s door?
“What! servants of thy own
Merciful Son, who came to seek and save
The homeless and the outcast, fettering down
The tasked and plundered slave!
“Pilate and Herod friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy! is that church which lends
Strength to the spoiler thine?”
The Christianity of America is a Christianity, of whose votaries it may
be as truly said, as it was of the ancient scribes and Pharisees, “They
bind heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s
shoulders, but they themselves will not move them with one of their
fingers. All their works they do for to be seen of men.—They love the
uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, . . .
. . . and to be called of men, Rabbi, Rabbi.—But woe unto you, scribes
and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against
men; for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are
entering to go in. Ye devour widows’ houses, and for a pretence make
long prayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation. Ye
compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye
make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves.—Woe unto you,
scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint, and anise,
and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment,
mercy, and faith; these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the
other undone. Ye blind guides! which strain at a gnat, and swallow a
camel. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make
clean the outside of the cup and of the platter; but within, they are
full of extortion and excess.—Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees,
hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear
beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all
uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but
within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.”
Dark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it to be strictly true of
the overwhelming mass of professed Christians in America. They strain
at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Could any thing be more true of our
churches? They would be shocked at the proposition of fellowshipping a
_sheep_-stealer; and at the same time they hug to their communion a
_man_-stealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if I find fault with
them for it. They attend with Pharisaical strictness to the outward
forms of religion, and at the same time neglect the weightier matters
of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith. They are always ready to
sacrifice, but seldom to show mercy. They are they who are represented
as professing to love God whom they have not seen, whilst they hate
their brother whom they have seen. They love the heathen on the other
side of the globe. They can pray for him, pay money to have the Bible
put into his hand, and missionaries to instruct him; while they despise
and totally neglect the heathen at their own doors.
Such is, very briefly, my view of the religion of this land; and to
avoid any misunderstanding, growing out of the use of general terms, I
mean by the religion of this land, that which is revealed in the words,
deeds, and actions, of those bodies, north and south, calling
themselves Christian churches, and yet in union with slaveholders. It
is against religion, as presented by these bodies, that I have felt it
my duty to testify.
I conclude these remarks by copying the following portrait of the
religion of the south, (which is, by communion and fellowship, the
religion of the north,) which I soberly affirm is “true to the life,”
and without caricature or the slightest exaggeration. It is said to
have been drawn, several years before the present anti-slavery
agitation began, by a northern Methodist preacher, who, while residing
at the south, had an opportunity to see slaveholding morals, manners,
and piety, with his own eyes. “Shall I not visit for these things?
saith the Lord. Shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?”
A PARODY
“Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell
How pious priests whip Jack and Nell,
And women buy and children sell,
And preach all sinners down to hell,
And sing of heavenly union.
“They’ll bleat and baa, dona like goats,
Gorge down black sheep, and strain at motes,
Array their backs in fine black coats,
Then seize their negroes by their throats,
And choke, for heavenly union.
“They’ll church you if you sip a dram,
And damn you if you steal a lamb;
Yet rob old Tony, Doll, and Sam,
Of human rights, and bread and ham;
Kidnapper’s heavenly union.
“They’ll loudly talk of Christ’s reward,
And bind his image with a cord,
And scold, and swing the lash abhorred,
And sell their brother in the Lord
To handcuffed heavenly union.
“They’ll read and sing a sacred song,
And make a prayer both loud and long,
And teach the right and do the wrong,
Hailing the brother, sister throng,
With words of heavenly union.
“We wonder how such saints can sing,
Or praise the Lord upon the wing,
Who roar, and scold, and whip, and sting,
And to their slaves and mammon cling,
In guilty conscience union.
“They’ll raise tobacco, corn, and rye,
And drive, and thieve, and cheat, and lie,
And lay up treasures in the sky,
By making switch and cowskin fly,
In hope of heavenly union.
“They’ll crack old Tony on the skull,
And preach and roar like Bashan bull,
Or braying ass, of mischief full,
Then seize old Jacob by the wool,
And pull for heavenly union.
“A roaring, ranting, sleek man-thief,
Who lived on mutton, veal, and beef,
Yet never would afford relief
To needy, sable sons of grief,
Was big with heavenly union.
“‘Love not the world,’ the preacher said,
And winked his eye, and shook his head;
He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned,
Cut short their meat, and clothes, and bread,
Yet still loved heavenly union.
“Another preacher whining spoke
Of One whose heart for sinners broke:
He tied old Nanny to an oak,
And drew the blood at every stroke,
And prayed for heavenly union.
“Two others oped their iron jaws,
And waved their children-stealing paws;
There sat their children in gewgaws;
By stinting negroes’ backs and maws,
They kept up heavenly union.
“All good from Jack another takes,
And entertains their flirts and rakes,
Who dress as sleek as glossy snakes,
And cram their mouths with sweetened cakes;
And this goes down for union.”
Sincerely and earnestly hoping that this little book may do something
toward throwing light on the American slave system, and hastening the
glad day of deliverance to the millions of my brethren in
bonds—faithfully relying upon the power of truth, love, and justice,
for success in my humble efforts—and solemnly pledging my self anew to
the sacred cause,—I subscribe myself,
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
LYNN, _Mass., April_ 28, 1845.
THE END