Chapter 11

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 now come to the part of my life when I planned and finally succeeded in escaping from slavery. But before describing the particular circumstances, I should make clear that I will not reveal all the facts. My reasons are these. First, if I gave a detailed account of all the facts, others would probably face very serious trouble. Second, such an account would undoubtedly make slaveholders more watchful than they have been before. This would close a door through which some dear brother in slavery might escape his painful chains. I deeply regret having to leave out anything important about my experience in slavery. It would give me great pleasure to offer an accurate account of all the facts about my very fortunate escape. It would also make my story much more interesting and satisfy the curiosity I know many people feel. But I must deny myself this pleasure and deny curious readers the satisfaction such an account would give them. I would endure the worst accusations that malicious people could invent rather than clear my name at such a risk. Doing so might close even the smallest opening through which a brother in slavery could escape his chains and shackles.

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.

I have never approved of how publicly some of our western friends have operated what they call the underground railroad. I think their public statements have made it, unmistakably, the upperground railroad. I honor these good men and women for their noble courage. I applaud their willingness to face bloody persecution by openly admitting they help enslaved people escape. Still, I see very little good coming from this approach, either for them or for those escaping. On the other hand, I am certain these public statements harm enslaved people who remain behind and seek escape. They do nothing to inform the enslaved, but much to inform the slaveholder. They make him more watchful and increase his power to capture the people he enslaves. We owe something to enslaved people south of the line, as well as to those north of it. In helping the latter toward freedom, we must take care not to hinder the former from escaping slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder completely ignorant of the methods enslaved people use to escape. I would leave him imagining himself surrounded by countless invisible tormentors. They would always be ready to snatch his trembling prey from his hellish grasp. Let him feel his way in the dark. Let darkness as great as his crime hang over him. With every step in pursuit of an escaping enslaved person, let him feel he runs a terrifying risk. Some unseen force might dash his brains out. Let us give the tyrant no help. Let us not hold the light that lets him trace our fleeing brother’s footprints. But enough of this. I will now give the facts about my escape for which I alone am responsible. No one but me can be made to suffer for them.

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.

Early in 1838, I became very restless. I saw no reason to hand over the rewards of my work to my master every week. When I brought him my weekly wages, he counted the money. Then he looked me in the face with a robber’s fierceness and asked, “Is this all?” Nothing less than the last cent satisfied him. Sometimes, when I earned him six dollars, he gave me six cents to encourage me. It had the opposite effect. I saw it as a kind of admission that I had a right to all my wages. To me, giving me any part proved that he believed I was entitled to the whole amount. I always felt worse after receiving anything. I feared those few cents would ease his conscience and make him feel like a fairly honorable robber. My discontent grew. I was always looking for a way to escape. Finding no direct way, I decided to try paying for control of my own working time. I hoped this would let me save money to escape. In the spring of 1838, Master Thomas came to Baltimore to buy his spring goods. I found an opportunity to ask him to let me hire my time in this way. He refused without hesitation and told me this was another scheme to escape. He said there was nowhere I could go where he could not get me. If I ran away, he would spare no effort to catch me. He urged me to be content and obedient. He told me that if I wanted to be happy, I must make no plans for the future. He said he would take care of me if I behaved properly. In fact, he advised me not to think about the future at all. He taught me to depend entirely on him for happiness. He seemed to understand fully that keeping me content in slavery required suppressing my ability to think. But despite him, and even despite myself, I kept thinking. I thought about the injustice of my enslavement and ways to 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.

About two months later, I asked Master Hugh for permission to hire my own time. This meant finding my own work and paying him a fixed amount from my earnings. He did not know that I had asked Master Thomas and been refused. At first, he too seemed inclined to refuse. But after some thought, he gave me permission and set the following terms. I would control all my time, make agreements with those I worked for, and find my own employment. In return for this freedom, I had to pay him three dollars at the end of each week. I also had to provide my own caulking tools, food, lodging, and clothing. My food and lodging cost two dollars and fifty cents a week. With the wear on my clothing and caulking tools, my regular expenses came to about six dollars a week. I had to earn that amount or give up the privilege of hiring my own time. Rain or shine, work or no work, the money had to be paid at the end of each week. Otherwise, I would lose my privilege. Clearly, this arrangement greatly favored my master. It freed him from any need to look after me. His money was guaranteed. He received all the benefits of slaveholding without its burdens. Meanwhile, I endured all the evils of slavery and all the worries and responsibilities of a free man. I found it a hard bargain. But hard as it was, I thought it better than the old arrangement. Being allowed to bear a free man’s responsibilities was a step toward freedom. I was determined to hold on to it. I devoted myself to earning money. I was ready to work at night as well as during the day. Through tireless persistence and hard work, I earned enough to cover my expenses and save a little every week. I continued this way from May until August. Then Master Hugh refused to let me hire my own time any longer. His reason was that one Saturday night I had failed to pay him for the week. This happened because I attended a religious camp meeting about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had agreed to leave Baltimore with several young friends early Saturday evening. My employer delayed me, and I could not go to Master Hugh’s without disappointing my friends. I knew Master Hugh had no particular need for the money that night. So I decided to go to the camp meeting and pay him the three dollars when I returned. I stayed at the meeting one day longer than I had intended. But as soon as I returned, I went to pay him what he considered his due. I found him very angry. He could barely control his rage. He said he was strongly tempted to give me a severe whipping. He demanded to know how I dared leave the city without his permission. I told him I hired my own time and paid the price he asked for it. I did not know I was required to ask him when and where I could go. This answer troubled him. After thinking for a few moments, he turned to me and said I could no longer hire my own time. The next thing he knew, he said, I would be running away. Using the same excuse, he ordered me to bring my tools and clothing home immediately. I did so. But I did not look for work, as I had done before hiring my own time. Instead, I spent the whole week without doing a single stroke of work. I did this in retaliation. On Saturday night, he asked for my week’s wages as usual. I told him I had no wages because I had done no work that week. We nearly came to blows. He raged and swore that he would get his hands on me. I did not say a single word. But I was determined that if he struck me, I would return blow for blow. He did not strike me. Instead, he told me he would keep me steadily employed from then on. I thought the matter over the next day, Sunday. Finally, I chose September third as the day I would make a second attempt to gain my freedom. I now had three weeks to prepare for my journey. Early Monday morning, I went out before Master Hugh had time to arrange any work for me. I found work with Mr. Butler at his shipyard near the drawbridge, in the area called the City Block. This made it unnecessary for Master Hugh to find work for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between eight and nine dollars. He seemed very pleased and asked why I had not done the same the week before. He knew little of my plans. I worked steadily to remove any suspicion he might have that I intended to run away. In this, I succeeded extremely well. I suppose he thought I had never been more satisfied with my condition than while I was planning my escape. The second week passed, and again I brought him all my wages. He was so pleased that he gave me twenty-five cents and told me to use it well. This was quite a large sum for a slaveholder to give an enslaved person. 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.

Outwardly, things went very smoothly, but inside I was troubled. I cannot describe my feelings as the time for my planned departure drew near. I had many warmhearted friends in Baltimore, friends I loved almost as much as life itself. The thought of being separated from them forever was more painful than words can express. I believe thousands who remain enslaved would escape if not for the strong bonds of affection tying them to friends. Leaving my friends was by far the most painful thought I faced. My love for them was my weak point. It shook my determination more than anything else. Besides the pain of separation, I feared failure more than I had during my first attempt. The terrible defeat I had suffered then came back to torment me. I felt certain that if I failed this time, my situation would be hopeless. It would seal my fate as a slave forever. I could expect nothing less than the harshest punishment and being put where escape would be impossible. It took little imagination to picture the most horrifying experiences I would face if I failed. The misery of slavery and the blessings of freedom were constantly before me. For me, it was a matter of life and death. But I stood firm. As I had resolved, on September 3, 1838, I left my chains behind. I succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any kind. I must leave unexplained how I did it, what methods I used, which direction I traveled, and how I traveled. My reasons are those I mentioned earlier.

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.

People have often asked how I felt when I found myself in a free state. I have never been able to answer that question to my own satisfaction. It was the most intense excitement I had ever experienced. I imagine I felt like an unarmed sailor rescued by a friendly warship from a pursuing pirate. Just after arriving in New York, I wrote to a dear friend. I said I felt like someone who had escaped a den of hungry lions. But this feeling soon faded. Once again, I was overcome by deep insecurity and loneliness. I could still be captured and taken back to face all the tortures of slavery. That alone was enough to dampen my enthusiasm. But the loneliness overwhelmed me. There I was among thousands of people, yet a complete stranger, without a home or friends. Thousands around me were my brothers and sisters, children of the same Father. Yet I dared not tell any of them about my desperate situation. I was afraid to speak to anyone, for fear of speaking to the wrong person. That might put me in the hands of money-hungry kidnappers. Their business was to wait for breathless fugitives, as savage beasts in the forest wait for their prey. The motto I adopted when I escaped slavery was this: “Trust no one!” I saw an enemy in every white man and reason for distrust in almost every Black man. It was an agonizing situation. To understand it, you must experience it or imagine yourself in similar circumstances. Imagine being a fugitive slave in an unfamiliar land, a land turned into a hunting ground for slaveholders. Its inhabitants are kidnappers protected by law. At every moment, you face the terrible danger of being seized by other human beings. They seize you as a hideous crocodile seizes its prey! Put yourself in my situation. You have no home or friends, no money or credit. You need shelter, but no one will give it. You need bread, but have no money to buy it. At the same time, you feel that merciless human hunters are pursuing you. You have no idea what to do, where to go, or where to stay. You have no means of defending yourself or escaping. Plenty surrounds you, yet you suffer the terrible gnawing of hunger. Houses surround you, yet you have no home. You are among fellow human beings, yet feel surrounded by wild beasts. They are eager to swallow up the trembling, half-starved fugitive. Their greed is matched only by sea monsters devouring the helpless fish they live on. Imagine yourself in this agonizing situation, the situation I faced. Then, and only then, will you fully understand the hardships of the fugitive slave, worn down by labor and scarred by whips. Only then will you know how to sympathize with him.

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.

Thank Heaven, I remained in this distressing situation only a short time. I was rescued from it by the compassionate help of Mr. David Ruggles. I will never forget his watchfulness, kindness, and persistence. I welcome this chance to express, as fully as words allow, my love and gratitude for him. Mr. Ruggles is now blind and needs the same kind help he once so readily gave to others. I had been in New York only a few days when Mr. Ruggles sought me out. He very kindly took me to his boardinghouse at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr. Ruggles was then deeply involved in the memorable Darg case. He was also helping several other fugitive slaves, finding ways for them to escape successfully. Though watched and hemmed in on almost every side, he seemed 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:—

Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he asked where I wanted to go. He thought it was unsafe for me to stay in New York. I told him I was a ship caulker and wanted to go somewhere I could find work. I considered going to Canada, but he decided against it and recommended New Bedford instead. He thought I could find work there in my trade. At this time, Anna,² my future wife, arrived. I had written to her immediately after reaching New York, even though I was homeless, without shelter, and helpless. I told her I had escaped successfully and asked her to come at once. A few days after she arrived, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington. He performed the marriage ceremony before Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three others. He gave us a certificate, of which the following is an exact copy:

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.

After receiving this certificate and a five-dollar bill from Mr. Ruggles, I shouldered part of our baggage. Anna picked up the rest, and we immediately set out to board the steamboat John W. Richmond. We were going to Newport on our way to New Bedford. Mr. Ruggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport. He told me to stop there for more help if my money would not get us to New Bedford. But when we reached Newport, we were so anxious to reach a safe place that we decided to keep going. Although we lacked the money for our fare, we took seats in the stagecoach, promising to pay in New Bedford. Two excellent gentlemen who lived in New Bedford encouraged us to do this. I later learned that their names were Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber. They seemed to understand our circumstances immediately. They reassured us of their friendliness so completely that we felt entirely at ease with them.

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.

It was truly good to meet such friends at such a time. When we reached New Bedford, we were directed to Mr. Nathan Johnson’s house. He welcomed us kindly and generously provided for our needs. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and active interest in our well-being. They proved themselves fully worthy of the name of abolitionists. When the stagecoach driver found we could not pay our fare, he kept our baggage as security for the debt. I only had to mention this to Mr. Johnson, and he immediately 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.

We now began to feel somewhat safe and to prepare for the duties and responsibilities of a free life. The morning after we arrived in New Bedford, we discussed what name I should use while we ate breakfast. My mother had named me “Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey.” But I had dropped the two middle names long before leaving Maryland. So I was generally known as “Frederick Bailey.” I left Baltimore using the name “Stanley.” When I reached New York, I changed my name again to “Frederick Johnson.” I thought that would be the last change. But when I reached New Bedford, I found I needed to change my name again. There were so many Johnsons in New Bedford that it was already quite difficult to tell them apart. I let Mr. Johnson choose a name for me, but told him he must not take away “Frederick.” I had to keep that name to preserve my sense of identity. Mr. Johnson had just been reading “The Lady of the Lake” and immediately suggested “Douglass” as my name. From that time to the present, I have been called “Frederick Douglass.” I am more widely known by that name than by either of the others. So I will 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.

The general appearance of New Bedford was quite different from what I had expected. I found that my ideas about the people of the North and their way of life were remarkably mistaken. While enslaved, I had strangely assumed that northerners enjoyed few comforts and almost no luxuries compared with southern slaveholders. I probably reached this conclusion because northerners owned no slaves. I assumed they lived much like people in the South who did not own slaves. I knew they were extremely poor. I had always seen their poverty as the necessary result of not owning slaves. Somehow, I had absorbed the idea that without slaves, there could be no wealth and very little refinement. When I came north, I expected to find rough, calloused people with little education or culture. I expected them to live with the barest necessities. They would know nothing of the ease, luxury, showy wealth, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Those were my expectations. Anyone familiar with New Bedford can easily imagine how clearly 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.

On the afternoon I arrived in New Bedford, I visited the docks to look at the ships. Everywhere around me, I saw the clearest evidence of wealth. Many ships lay at the docks or floated in the channel. They were beautifully designed, in excellent condition, and among the largest ships. On both sides, enormous granite warehouses rose like walls around me. They were filled to capacity with the necessities and comforts of life. Almost everyone seemed to be working, but quietly compared with what I was used to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs from those loading and unloading ships. I heard no harsh swearing or terrible curses directed at the workers. I saw no men being whipped. Instead, everything seemed to run smoothly. Every man seemed to understand his work and approached it with serious but cheerful dedication. This showed his deep interest in what he was doing and his sense of his own dignity as a man. To me, this seemed extremely strange. From the docks, I wandered through the town. I gazed with wonder and admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful homes, and carefully tended gardens. They showed a level of wealth, comfort, taste, and refinement I had never seen anywhere in 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.

Everything looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no run-down houses with desperately poor residents. I saw no half-naked children or barefoot women like those I regularly saw in Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael’s, and Baltimore. The people looked more capable, stronger, healthier, and happier than those in Maryland. For once, the sight of great wealth made me glad, without the sight of extreme poverty making me sad. But what astonished and interested me most was how the Black people lived. Many, like me, had escaped there to find refuge from those who hunted human beings. I found many who had been free from their chains for less than seven years. They lived in finer houses and clearly enjoyed more comforts than the average slaveholder in Maryland. I dare say that my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson lived in a better-kept house and ate better meals. He subscribed to, paid for, and read more newspapers. He better understood the nation’s moral, religious, and political character than nine-tenths of the slaveholders in Talbot County, Maryland. Of him I can say with a grateful heart, “I was hungry, and he gave me food. I was thirsty, and he gave me drink. I was a stranger, and he took me in.” Yet Mr. Johnson was a working man. His hands were hardened by hard work, and so were Mrs. Johnson’s. I found the Black people much more spirited than I had expected. They were determined to protect one another from bloodthirsty kidnappers, whatever the danger. Soon after I arrived, I heard about an incident that showed their spirit. A Black man and a fugitive slave were on bad terms. The first man was heard threatening to tell the fugitive’s master where he was. A meeting of the Black community was immediately called, with the usual announcement, “Business of importance!” The would-be betrayer was invited to attend. The people arrived at the appointed time and chose a deeply religious older gentleman to chair the meeting. I believe he offered a prayer. Then he addressed the meeting as follows: “Friends, we have him here. I recommend that you young men just take him outside the door and kill him!” At this, several of them rushed at him. But others, more timid than they were, stopped them. The betrayer escaped their vengeance and has not been seen in New Bedford since. I believe there have been no more such threats. If any are made in the future, I have no doubt that death will follow.

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.

On the third day after my arrival, I found work loading a sloop with oil. The work was new to me, dirty, and hard. But I took it on with a glad heart and willing hands. I was now my own master. It was a happy moment. Only those who have been slaves can understand the joy I felt. For the first time, everything I earned from my work would be entirely my own. Master Hugh was not there, ready to rob me of my money the moment I earned it. I worked that day with a pleasure I had never felt before. I was working for myself and my new wife. For me, it was the beginning of a new life. When I finished that job, I looked for work caulking ships. But racial prejudice among the white caulkers was so strong that they refused to work with me. As a result, I could get no work in my trade.⁴ Since my trade was of no immediate use, I took off my caulking clothes. I prepared to do any work I could find. Mr. Johnson kindly lent me his sawhorse and saw, and I soon found plenty of work. No work was too hard or too dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry wood, sweep chimneys, or roll oil barrels. I did all of these for nearly three years in New Bedford before becoming known in the antislavery movement.

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!

About four months after I arrived in New Bedford, a young man came to me. He asked if I wanted to subscribe to the “Liberator.” I told him I did, but explained that I had just escaped slavery and could not pay for it then. Still, I eventually became a subscriber. The paper arrived, and I read it every week with feelings I could never hope to describe. The paper became my food and drink. My whole soul was set on fire. It showed sympathy for my brothers and sisters still enslaved. It fiercely condemned slaveholders, faithfully exposed slavery, and powerfully attacked those who supported it. All this sent a thrill of joy through my soul unlike anything I had ever 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.

Soon after I began reading the “Liberator,” I gained a fairly accurate understanding of the anti-slavery movement’s principles, methods, and spirit. I eagerly joined the cause. I could do little, but I did what I could with a joyful heart. I never felt happier than when I was at an anti-slavery meeting. I rarely had much to say at these meetings. Others expressed what I wanted to say so much better than I could. But at an anti-slavery convention in Nantucket on August 11, 1841, I felt a strong urge to speak. Mr. William C. Coffin also strongly encouraged me to do so. He had heard me speak at a meeting of Black people in New Bedford. Speaking was a painful burden, and I took it on reluctantly. The truth was that I still felt like a slave. The thought of speaking to white people weighed me down. After speaking for just a few moments, I began to feel a measure of freedom. I said what I wanted to say with considerable ease. From that time to the present, I have worked to defend the cause of my fellow enslaved people. How successfully and with how much devotion, I leave those familiar with my work to judge.