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 resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. My mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct me, had, in compliance with the advice and direction 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 treatment 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.
I lived with Master Hugh’s family for about seven years. During that time, I managed to learn to read and write. To do so, I had to use various tricks. I had no regular teacher. My mistress had kindly begun teaching me, but she stopped at her husband’s advice and direction. She also opposed anyone else teaching me. In fairness to her, though, I must say that she did not begin treating me this way immediately. At first, she lacked the cruelty needed to keep me in mental darkness. She first needed practice in using power without being held accountable. Only then could she treat me as though I were an animal.
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 sustained 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 influence, 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 became 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 incompatible with each other.
My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tenderhearted woman. When I first went to live with her, she innocently began treating me as she thought people should treat one another. As she took on the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem to understand that I was merely her property. She did not realize that treating me as a human being was considered not only wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved as harmful to her as it did to me. When I arrived, she was a religious, warm, and tenderhearted woman. There was no sorrow or suffering that did not bring her to tears. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for the naked, and comfort for every grieving person within her reach. Slavery soon showed its power to strip her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, her tender heart turned to stone. Her gentle, lamblike nature gave way to the fierceness of a tiger. The first step in her decline was to stop teaching me. She now began to follow her husband’s teachings. In time, she became even more fierce in her opposition than her husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply carrying out his commands. She seemed eager to go further. Nothing seemed to make her angrier than seeing me with a newspaper. She seemed to think this was where the danger lay. She would rush at me, her face filled with fury, and snatch a newspaper from me. The way she did this fully revealed her fear. She was quick to learn. A little experience soon convinced her that education and slavery could not exist together.
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 prevent me from taking the ell.
From then on, I was watched very closely. If I spent much time in a separate room, I was sure to be suspected of having a book. I was immediately called to explain myself. But all this came too late. The first step had been taken. By teaching me the alphabet, my mistress had given me an inch. Nothing she did could stop me from taking a mile.
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 teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places, I finally succeeded in learning 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 before 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 children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. 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 prudence forbids;—not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian 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 console me with the hope that something would occur by which I might be free.
The plan I adopted, and the one that worked best, was to befriend all the little white boys I met in the street. I turned as many of them as I could into teachers. With their kind help, given at different times and places, I finally learned to read. Whenever I was sent on errands, I took my book with me. By finishing part of an errand quickly, I made time for a lesson before returning. I also used to carry bread with me. There was always plenty in the house, and I was always welcome to it. In this respect, I was much better off than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. I gave this bread to the hungry little children. In return, they gave me the more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to name two or three of those little boys, to show my gratitude and affection. But caution prevents me. Naming them would not harm me, but it might cause them embarrassment. In this Christian country, teaching slaves to read is almost an unforgivable offense. It is enough to say that these dear little fellows lived on Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey’s shipyard. I used to discuss slavery with them. Sometimes I told them I wished I could be as free as they would be when they became men. “You will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, but I am a slave for life! Don’t I have as much right to be free as you do?” These words troubled them. They expressed the deepest sympathy for me and comforted me with the hope that something would happen to make me free.
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 opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was represented 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 effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.
I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a slave for life weighed heavily on my heart. Around this time, I got hold of a book called “The Columbian Orator.” I read it whenever I had the chance. Among many other interesting things, I found a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave in the dialogue had run away from his master three times. Their conversation took place after the slave was captured for the third time. The master presented all the arguments in favor of slavery, and the slave refuted every one. The slave’s replies to his master were clever and powerful. They had the desired but unexpected effect. The conversation ended with the master choosing to free the slave.
In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan’s mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. 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 slavery, 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 another 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 blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, 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 condition 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.
In the same book, I found one of Sheridan’s powerful speeches in support of Catholic emancipation. These writings were precious to me. I read them again and again, never losing interest. They gave voice to thoughts from deep within me. These thoughts had often flashed through my mind, then faded because I could not express them. The lesson I learned from the dialogue was that truth could reach even a slaveholder’s conscience. From Sheridan, I gained a bold condemnation of slavery and a powerful defense of human rights. Reading these writings helped me express my thoughts and answer the arguments used to defend slavery. But while they freed me from one difficulty, they brought another, even more painful one. The more I read, the more I hated and despised my enslavers. I could see them only as a band of successful robbers. They had left their homes, gone to Africa, and stolen us from our homes. Then they had enslaved us in a foreign land. I loathed them as the lowest and most wicked of men. As I read and thought about slavery, the very discontent Master Hugh had predicted had already taken hold. He had said it would follow my learning to read. Now it tormented me and pierced my soul with pain beyond words. As I struggled with it, I sometimes felt that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had shown me my miserable condition without giving me a way to change it. It opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but showed me no ladder to climb out. In moments of agony, I envied the ignorance of the people enslaved alongside me. I often wished I were an animal. I would rather have been the lowest reptile than myself. Anything, no matter what, to escape thinking! Constantly thinking about my condition was what tormented me. There was no escape from it. Everything I saw or heard, living or lifeless, forced it upon me. The silver trumpet of freedom had awakened my soul, never to sleep again. Freedom had appeared to me and would never disappear. I heard it in every sound and saw it in everything. It was always there, tormenting me with an awareness of my miserable condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked out from every star, smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.
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 afforded 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 abolitionist, and always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to hear something of importance to myself 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 affected 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 understand 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 nevertheless 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 occasion 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.
I often regretted my own existence and wished I were dead. Without the hope of freedom, I have no doubt I would have killed myself. Or I would have done something that would have gotten me killed. In this state of mind, I eagerly listened whenever anyone spoke about slavery. Every so often, I heard something about the abolitionists. It took me some time to learn what the word meant. The way people used it always caught my interest. If an enslaved person escaped successfully, people called it the result of abolition. They said the same if an enslaved person killed his master or set fire to a barn. Anything a slaveholder considered very wrong was blamed on abolition. After hearing the word used this way so often, I set out to learn its meaning. The dictionary gave me little or no help. It defined the word as “the act of abolishing,” but I did not know what was to be abolished. I was puzzled. I did not dare ask anyone what it meant. I was certain it was something they wanted me to know very little about. After waiting patiently, I got a city newspaper that reported on the many petitions from the North. These called for ending slavery in the District of Columbia and the slave trade between the states. From then on, I understood the words abolition and abolitionist. Whenever I heard the word, I moved closer. I expected to hear something important to me and my fellow slaves. Understanding came to me little by little. One day I went down to Mr. Waters’s wharf. I saw two Irishmen unloading stone from a flat-bottomed boat and helped them without being asked. When we finished, one of them came over and asked if I was a slave. I told him I was. He asked, “Are you a slave for life?” I told him I was. The kind Irishman seemed deeply moved by this. He told the other man it was a pity that a fine little fellow like me should be enslaved for life. He said it was shameful to keep me enslaved. Both men advised me to run away to the North. They said I would find friends there and would be free. I pretended not to be interested and acted as though I did not understand them. I feared they might betray me. White men had been known to encourage slaves to escape, then catch them and return them to their masters for the reward. I feared these seemingly kind men might do the same to me. Still, I remembered their advice, and from that time on, I was determined to run away. I looked forward to a time when I could escape safely. I was too young to think of doing so right away. Besides, I wanted to learn to write, since I might need to write my own pass. I comforted myself with the hope that one day I would find a good chance to escape. Meanwhile, I would learn to write.
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 larboard aft, it would be marked thus—“L. A.” For starboard 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 afternoon, 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.
The idea for how I might learn to write came to me at Durgin and Bailey’s shipyard. I often saw ship carpenters cut and prepare timber for use. Then they marked it with letters showing which part of the ship it was meant for. Timber for the larboard, or left, side was marked “L.” Timber for the starboard, or right, side was marked “S.” A piece for the left side near the front was marked “L. F.” A piece for the right side near the front was marked “S. F.” For the left side near the back, it was marked “L. A.” For the right side near the back, it was marked “S. A.” I soon learned the names of these letters and what they meant when marked on timber in the shipyard. I immediately began copying them. Before long, I could write all four letters. After that, whenever I met a boy I knew could write, I told him I could write as well as he could. His next words would be, “I don’t believe you. Let me see you try it.” I would then write the letters I had been fortunate enough to learn and challenge him to do better. In this way, I received many writing lessons that I might never have received any other way. During this time, my copybook was a wooden fence, a brick wall, or the pavement. My pen and ink were a piece of chalk. These were the main tools I used to learn to write. I then began copying the italic letters in Webster’s Spelling Book. I kept at it until I could write them all without looking at the book. By this time, young Master Thomas had gone to school and learned to write. He had filled a number of copybooks with writing. These had been brought home, shown to some nearby neighbors, and then set aside. Every Monday afternoon, my mistress went to a religious class meeting at the Wilk Street meetinghouse. She left me to look after the house. When left alone this way, I spent the time writing in the blank spaces in Master Thomas’s copybook. I copied what he had written. I kept doing this until my handwriting looked very much like his. After years of long, tedious effort, I finally succeeded in learning to write.