My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at the door,—a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living. She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business, she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face. The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.
My new mistress proved to be everything she had seemed when I first met her at the door. She was a woman with the kindest heart and the most generous feelings. She had never controlled a slave before me. Before her marriage, she had earned her living through her own work. She was a weaver by trade. Her steady devotion to her work had largely protected her from slavery’s destructive and dehumanizing effects. I was utterly astonished by her kindness. I hardly knew how to behave toward her. She was completely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her as I was used to approaching other white women. Everything I had been taught early in life was out of place. The cowering obedience usually so welcome in a slave did not work with her. It did not win her approval. Instead, it seemed to trouble her. She did not think it rude or disrespectful for a slave to look her in the face. Even the lowest-ranking slave felt completely at ease in her presence. No one left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was full of heavenly smiles, and her voice was like peaceful music.
But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gave place to that of a demon.
But, sadly, her heart would not stay kind for long. She already held the deadly poison of unchecked power, and it soon began its evil work. Under slavery’s influence, her cheerful eyes soon turned red with rage. Her voice, once entirely sweet and harmonious, became harsh and horribly jarring. Her angelic face became the face of a demon.
Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to read. To use his own words, further, he said, “If you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master—to do as he is told to do. Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world. Now,” said he, “if you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy.” These words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought. It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty—to wit, the white man’s power to enslave the black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it. Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.
Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she kindly began teaching me the alphabet. Once I had learned it, she helped me learn to spell words of three or four letters. At this point, Mr. Auld found out what was happening. He immediately forbade Mrs. Auld to teach me any further. Among other things, he told her it was both illegal and unsafe to teach a slave to read. In his own words, he said, “If you give a nigger an inch, he will take a yard. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master, to do as he is told. Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world. Now, if you teach that nigger how to read,” he said, speaking of me, “there would be no controlling him. It would forever make him unfit to be a slave. He would immediately become unmanageable and worthless to his master. As for him, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would make him dissatisfied and unhappy.” These words sank deep into my heart. They awakened feelings that had lain dormant within me and started an entirely new line of thought. This was a new and extraordinary revelation. It explained dark and mysterious things that my young mind had struggled in vain to understand. I now understood what had puzzled me so deeply, the white man’s power to enslave the black man. This understanding was a great achievement, and I valued it highly. From that moment, I understood the path from slavery to freedom. It was exactly what I wanted, and it came when I least expected it. I was saddened by the thought of losing the help of my kind mistress. But I was delighted by the priceless lesson I had gained, entirely by accident, from my master. I knew learning without a teacher would be difficult. Still, I began with high hopes and a firm determination to learn to read, whatever trouble it took. He spoke forcefully and tried hard to convince his wife of the harmful consequences of teaching me. This convinced me that he deeply understood the truths he was speaking. It gave me the strongest assurance that I could confidently expect the results he said reading would bring. What he feared most, I desired most. What he loved most, I hated most. What he saw as a great evil, to be carefully avoided, I saw as a great good, to be pursued eagerly. His passionate argument against my learning to read only strengthened my desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to my master’s bitter opposition as to my mistress’s kind help. I acknowledge the benefit of both.
I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is a vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity of his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave. Few are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat. There are, however, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly opposite to us, on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated creatures I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His heart must be harder than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The head, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know that her master ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton’s house nearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large chair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed during the day but was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The girls seldom passed her without her saying, “Move faster, you black gip!” at the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the head or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, “Take that, you black gip!” continuing, “If you don’t move faster, I’ll move you!” Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves were subjected, they were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal. I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal thrown into the street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener called “pecked” than by her name.
I had lived in Baltimore only a short time when I noticed a clear difference in how enslaved people were treated. It was very different from what I had seen in the country. An enslaved person in the city is almost free compared with one on a plantation. He is much better fed and clothed. He also has privileges entirely unknown to enslaved people on plantations. Some trace of decency, some sense of shame, helps restrain the terrible cruelty so common on plantations. Only a reckless slaveholder would shock his neighbors who own no slaves with the cries of someone he has whipped bloody. Few want the disgrace of being known as a cruel master. Above all, they do not want to be known for giving an enslaved person too little food. Every city slaveholder wants people to know that he feeds those he enslaves well. To their credit, most do give them enough to eat. There are, however, some painful exceptions. Directly across from us on Philpot Street lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two enslaved girls named Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years old, and Mary was about fourteen. Of all the battered and wasted people I ever saw, these two were in the worst condition. Anyone who could look at them without being moved must have a heart harder than stone. Mary’s head, neck, and shoulders were literally cut to pieces. I often felt her head and found it almost covered with festering sores. These came from the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know whether her master ever whipped her. But I witnessed Mrs. Hamilton’s cruelty myself. I used to visit Mr. Hamilton’s house almost every day. Mrs. Hamilton would sit in a large chair in the middle of the room. She always kept a heavy cowhide whip beside her. Hardly an hour passed during the day without her drawing blood from one of these enslaved girls. The girls seldom passed her without her saying, “Move faster, you black gip!” At the same time, she struck their heads or shoulders with the cowhide whip, often drawing blood. Then she would say, “Take that, you black gip!” She would continue, “If you don’t move faster, I’ll move you!” Besides suffering these cruel whippings, the girls were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal. I have seen Mary fighting with pigs for the scraps thrown into the street. Mary was kicked and cut up so much that she was more often called “pecked” than by her name.