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—LIBERTY—HOW I PINED FOR IT—MY 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 Baltimore, seven years, 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 Maryland, I frequently 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 FREE
STATES, added something to the almost 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 Thames street, Fell’s Point,
Baltimore, and paid him fifty cents for it. I was first led to 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 Sheridan’s mighty 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
Sheridan, I got a bold and powerful 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 Africa for the purpose of
stealing and 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 Baltimore. Knowledge had come;
light had penetrated the 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. Liberty! the inestimable birthright of every man,
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.