Excerpts from Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
(1845)
Adapted for upper intermediate level
Frederick Douglass (c. February 1817– February 20, 1895) was an American social reformer, abolitionist, orator, writer, and statesman. He became the most important leader of the movement for African-American civil rights in the 19th century.
After escaping from slavery in 1838 at the age of 30, Douglass participated in the Abolitionist movement in the North, appearing regularly as a lecturer. He published his first autobiography, Narrative of the Life, in 1845 (he was to publish two more), exposing himself to the risk of re-enslavement. He left in the same year for a trip to England, and with the help of supporters, he was able to collect enough money to buy his freedom and establish his own newspaper, The North Star, when he returned to the States.
In addition to his work in the Abolitionist movement and African American civil rights, he support other progressive movements for the time, such as advancing the rights of women. During the Civil War, he helped recruit African Americans for the Union army and he advised President Lincoln. After the war, he supported Reconstruction and Republican Presidents and served in several government positions including United States Marshal for the District of Columbia and ambassador to the Republic of Haiti.
The following excerpts are from Douglass’s first autobiography, Narrative of a life of Fredrick Douglass, an American Slave. They chronicle his life from his birth as a slave on a plantation near Easton Maryland and in the household of the Auld family in Baltimore, to his escape from slavery. The book is considered to be the most famous of a number of narratives written by former slaves during the same period, and is one of the most influential pieces of literature to fuel the abolitionist movement of the early 19th century in the United States.
-Adapted from Wikipedia and other sources
I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age, since I have never seen any authentic record containing it. Most slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and to my knowledge, it is the wish of most masters to keep their slaves ignorant of this. I do not remember ever meeting a slave who knew his own birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvest- time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A lack of information concerning my own birthday was a source of unhappiness to me even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could not tell why I ought not to have the same privilege. I was not allowed to ask my master any questions concerning it. He believed all such questions from a slave improper and disrespectful, and evidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me now between twenty-seven and twenty- eight years old. I come to this, from hearing my master say, sometime during 1835, I was about seventeen years old.
My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.
My father was a white man. Some people also whispered that my master was my father; but I do not know if this opinion is correct. My mother and I were separated when I was but an infant -- before I knew her as my mother. It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to separate children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and sent to work on some farm fairly far away, and the child is placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. Why this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to stop the development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to dull and destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the inevitable result.
I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times in my life; and each of these times was very short, and at night. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from my home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the whole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master -- a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives to him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about seven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She was gone long before I knew anything about it. Since I was never able to enjoy, to any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I received the news of her death with much the same emotions I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.
She left me without the slightest idea of who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or may not be true; and, true or false, it matters little to my purpose while the fact remains, in all its clear hatefulness, that slaveholders have declared, and by law established, that the children of slave women shall in all cases become slaves like their mothers; and this is done too obviously to manage their own lusts, and make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in not just a few cases, has the double relationship to his slaves of master and father.
I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves always suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with, than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their mistress. She will always find fault with them; they can seldom do anything to please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees them whipped, especially when she suspects her husband of showing to his mixed race children favors which he withholds from his black slaves. The master is frequently forced to sell this class of his slaves, to make his white wife feel better; and, cruel as the deed may be, for a man to sell his own children to slave traders, it is often the rule of humanity for him to do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself, but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, who has only a little darker complexion than himself, and use the bloody whip to his naked back; and if he whispers one word of disapproval, it is considered to be because of his favor as a parent, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.
I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not remember his first name…He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an overseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunk and a savage monster. He always went armed with a whip and a heavy club. I have known him to cut and slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be greatly angered at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary brutality on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slave- holding. He would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most horrible screams of an aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up, and whip her naked back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his bloody victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its horrible purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream, and whip her to make her quiet; and not until overcome by tiredness, would he stop to swing the bloody whip. I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it while I remember anything. It was the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could write down on paper the feelings I had when I saw it
This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old master, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night, -- where or for what I do not know, -- and happened to be absent when my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in company with a young man, who was paying attention to her. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd's Ned, since he belonged to Colonel Lloyd. Why master was so careful of her, it’s fairly easy to guess. She was a woman of noble form and beauty, having very few equals in appearance, among the colored or white women of our neighborhood.
Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been found with Lloyd's Ned; and this, I found from what he said while whipping her, was the chief crime. If he had been a man of pure morals himself, he might have been interested in protecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and removed her clothes from neck to waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d -- -d b -- -h. After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a large hook. He made her get on the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood for his hellish purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their full length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you d -- -d b -- -h, I'll teach you how to disobey my orders!" and he began to whip her, and soon the warm, red blood (among terrible screams from her, and horrible curses from him) fell to the floor. I was so terrified and struck with horror at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and did not dare to come out till long after the bloody transaction was over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me. I had never seen anything like it before. I had always lived with my grandmother on the edge of the plantation, where she was put to raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the plantation. . . .
The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd looked like a country village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed here. The shoemaking, the blacksmith work, processing the grain and other work, were all performed by the slaves on the home plantation. The whole place had a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, gave it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the slaves the GREAT HOUSE FARM. Few privileges were considered higher, by the slaves of the other farms, than being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the other farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as evidence of great confidence given to them by their overseers; and it was for this reason, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field from under the overseer’s whip, that they thought of it as a high privilege. He was called the smartest and most trusted fellow, who had this honor given to him most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as strongly to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the political parties seek to please and deceive the people.
The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the old woods, for miles around, shake with their wild songs, showing at the same time the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along. They would sometimes sing the saddest emotion in the most joyful way, and the most joyful emotion in the saddest way. Into all of their songs they would manage to combine something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most energetically the following words: --
"I am going away to the Great House Farm!
O, yea! O, yea! O!"
I have sometimes thought that just hearing those songs would do more to show the horrible character of slavery, than reading whole books on this subject.
I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently illogical songs. They told a tale of despair which was then totally beyond my weak understanding; they were sounds loud, long, and deep; they sung the prayer and complaint of souls boiling with the bitterest suffering. Every sound was proof against slavery, and a prayer to God for freedom. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with inexpressible sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. Hearing those songs, even now, upsets me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first small light of conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brothers in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation…
Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly began to teach me the A, B, Cs. 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 forbid 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, he said, "If you give a nigger an inch, he will take a foot. 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 make him forever unfit 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 sleeping, and brought up entirely new thoughts. It was a new and special discovery, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled with unsuccessfully. I now understood what had been to me a most confusing difficulty --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. While I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the smallest 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, to learn how to read. The very definite manner with which he spoke, and tried to impress his wife with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince me that he was deeply sure of the truths he was saying. It gave me the best assurance that I might rely with the greatest confidence on the results which, he said, would come from teaching me to read. What he most feared, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully avoided, was to me a great good, to be persistently sought; and the argument which he so warmly advised, 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. . . .
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 Speaker." Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among many interesting matters, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave had 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 for slavery was given by the master, all of which was disproven by the slave. The slave said 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 master deciding to free the slave.
In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on freedom from slavery. These were excellent documents for me. I read them over and over again with great interest. They expressed interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently run through my mind, and died quickly because I could not speak them. The conclusion which I gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the sense of right and wrong of even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a bold criticism of slavery, and a powerful justification of human rights. The reading of these documents enabled me to express my thoughts, and to meet the arguments brought forward to support slavery; but while they helped me with one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful one. The more I read, the more I was led to hate 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 brought us to slavery. I hated them as being the meanest as well as the wicked of men. As I read and thought deeply about the subject, that very discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning to read had already come, to torment and hurt my soul to unspeakable suffering. As I struggled 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 horrible condition, without the cure. It opened my eyes to the awful pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of pain, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity…Anything, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that distressed me. There was no getting rid of it…The reward of freedom had woken my soul. Freedom now appeared, and would never disappear. It was heard in every sound, and seen in everything. It was always present to make me suffer with a sense of my poor 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.
I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing myself dead; and except for the hope of being free, I have no doubt 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 to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in escaping, or if a slave killed his master, burned a building, or did anything very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of as the achievement of ABOLITION. Hearing the word in this connection very often, I set about learning what it meant... The understanding of it came slowly. I went one day down on the dock of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading cargo, 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 you 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 that it might be a trick. 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 try to do this to me; but I nevertheless remembered their advice, and from that time I decided to run away. I looked forward to a time when 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 the need to write my own pass. I consoled myself with the hope that I should one day find a good chance to escape. Meanwhile, I would learn to write. . . .
*****
My object in working steadily was to remove any suspicion he [Douglass’s master] might have of my desire to run away; and in this I succeeded well. I suppose he thought I was never happier with my life than at the very time during which I was planning my escape.
The thought of leaving my friends was definitely the most painful thought I had. The love of them was my tender point, and shook my decision more than all other things. Besides the pain of separation, the fear of failure was greater than what I had experienced at my first attempt [Douglass’s first attempt to escape failed]. The awful defeat I experienced then returned to pain me. I felt certain that, if I failed in this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one—it would make it certain that I would be a slave forever. I could not hope to receive anything less than the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the possibility of escape. It required no very great imagination to show the most frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, if I failed. The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were always 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 methods I used,—what direction I travelled, and by what way,—I must leave unexplained, for the reasons mentioned before [earlier Douglass explains that he cannot give the details of how he escaped because it would endanger those who helped him and give slaveholders useful information].
*****
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 like those on a ship who escaped pirates. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my arrival in New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon lessened; and I was again seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I was still able to be found and taken back to all the horrors of slavery.
*****
About four months after I went to New Bedford [New York], a young man came to me, and asked if I wished to subscribe to the "Liberator" [an abolitionist newspaper]. I told him I did; but since I had just escaped from slavery, I was unable to pay for it then. However, I finally became a subscriber to it. The paper came, and I read it from week to week with such feelings, which would be impossible to describe. The paper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set on fire. Its sympathy for my bothers still in slavery -- its harsh criticisms of slaveholders -- its faithful exposures of slavery -- and its powerful attacks upon the supporters of the institution -- sent a thrill of joy through my soul, such as I had never felt before!
*****
I had not long been a reader of the "Liberator," before I got a pretty correct idea of the principles, methods and spirit of the anti-slavery reform movement. I enthusiastically joined the cause. I could not do much; but what I could do, 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 difficult challenge, and I did it reluctantly. The truth was, I still felt like 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 significant ease. From that time until now, I have been involved in struggling for the cause of my brothers, and with what success and with what devotion, I will let those acquainted with my efforts decide.
No comments:
Post a Comment