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<title>
Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
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<pre xml:space="preserve">
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Narrative of the Life of Frederick
Douglass, by Frederick Douglass
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
An American Slave
Author: Frederick Douglass
Release Date: January 10, 2006 [EBook #23]
Last Updated: October 28, 2020
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FREDERICK DOUGLASS ***
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
</pre>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
Note from the original file: This electronic book is being released at
this time to honor the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. [Born January
15, 1929] [Officially celebrated January 20, 1992]
</pre>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
NARRATIVE<br /> OF THE<br /> LIFE<br /> OF<br />
</h2>
<h1>
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
</h1>
<h2>
AN<br /> AMERICAN SLAVE.<br /> WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h4>
BOSTON<br /><br /> PUBLISHED AT THE ANTI-SLAVERY OFFICE,<br /> NO. 25
CORNHILL<br /> 1845<br /><br />
</h4>
<h5>
ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS,<br /> IN THE YEAR 1845<br /> BY
FREDERICK DOUGLASS,<br /> IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT<br />
OF MASSACHUSETTS.<br />
</h5>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="toc">
<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
</p>
<p>
<br />
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> FREDERICK DOUGLASS. </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX </a>
</p>
<p class="toc">
<a href="#link2H_4_0016"> A PARODY </a>
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
PREFACE
</h2>
<p>
In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention in
Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with
<i>Frederick Douglass</i>, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a
stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made
his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his
curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the
abolitionists,—of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description
while he was a slave,—he was induced to give his attendance, on the
occasion alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.
</p>
<p>
Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!—fortunate for the millions of
his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful
thraldom!—fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of
universal liberty!—fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has
already done so much to save and bless!—fortunate for a large circle
of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly
secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of
character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as
being bound with them!—fortunate for the multitudes, in various
parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of
slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to
virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of
men!—fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field
of public usefulness, "gave the world assurance of a MAN," quickened the
slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work of
breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!
</p>
<p>
I shall never forget his first speech at the convention—the
extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind—the powerful
impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by
surprise—the applause which followed from the beginning to the end
of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as
at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is
inflicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far
more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature
commanding and exact—in intellect richly endowed—in natural
eloquence a prodigy—in soul manifestly "created but a little lower
than the angels"—yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,—trembling
for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a
single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards,
for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an
intellectual and moral being—needing nothing but a comparatively
small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a
blessing to his race—by the law of the land, by the voice of the
people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a
beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!
</p>
<p>
A beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on <i>Mr. Douglass</i> to address the
convention. He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and
embarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a
novel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the
audience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and heart,
he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as a slave,
and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble thoughts and
thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat, filled with hope
and admiration, I rose, and declared that <i>Patrick Henry</i>, of revolutionary
fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the cause of liberty, than the
one we had just listened to from the lips of that hunted fugitive. So I
believed at that time—such is my belief now. I reminded the audience
of the peril which surrounded this self-emancipated young man at the
North,—even in Massachusetts, on the soil of the Pilgrim Fathers,
among the descendants of revolutionary sires; and I appealed to them,
whether they would ever allow him to be carried back into slavery,—law
or no law, constitution or no constitution. The response was unanimous and
in thunder-tones—"NO!" "Will you succor and protect him as a
brother-man—a resident of the old Bay State?" "YES!" shouted the
whole mass, with an energy so startling, that the ruthless tyrants south
of Mason and Dixon's line might almost have heard the mighty burst of
feeling, and recognized it as the pledge of an invincible determination,
on the part of those who gave it, never to betray him that wanders, but to
hide the outcast, and firmly to abide the consequences.
</p>
<p>
It was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if <i>Mr. Douglass</i> could
be persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion of the
anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to it, and a
stunning blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice against a
colored complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope and courage into
his mind, in order that he might dare to engage in a vocation so anomalous
and responsible for a person in his situation; and I was seconded in this
effort by warm-hearted friends, especially by the late General Agent of
the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, <i>Mr. John A. Collins</i>, whose
judgment in this instance entirely coincided with my own. At first, he
could give no encouragement; with unfeigned diffidence, he expressed his
conviction that he was not adequate to the performance of so great a task;
the path marked out was wholly an untrodden one; he was sincerely
apprehensive that he should do more harm than good. After much
deliberation, however, he consented to make a trial; and ever since that
period, he has acted as a lecturing agent, under the auspices either of
the American or the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. In labors he has
been most abundant; and his success in combating prejudice, in gaining
proselytes, in agitating the public mind, has far surpassed the most
sanguine expectations that were raised at the commencement of his
brilliant career. He has borne himself with gentleness and meekness, yet
with true manliness of character. As a public speaker, he excels in
pathos, wit, comparison, imitation, strength of reasoning, and fluency of
language. There is in him that union of head and heart, which is
indispensable to an enlightenment of the heads and a winning of the hearts
of others. May his strength continue to be equal to his day! May he
continue to "grow in grace, and in the knowledge of God," that he may be
increasingly serviceable in the cause of bleeding humanity, whether at
home or abroad!
</p>
<p>
It is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient
advocates of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive
slave, in the person of <i>Frederick Douglass</i>; and that the free colored
population of the United States are as ably represented by one of their
own number, in the person of <i>Charles Lenox Remond</i>, whose eloquent appeals
have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both sides of the
Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored race despise themselves for
their baseness and illiberality of spirit, and henceforth cease to talk of
the natural inferiority of those who require nothing but time and
opportunity to attain to the highest point of human excellence.
</p>
<p>
It may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the
population of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings and
horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale of
humanity than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left undone
to cripple their intellects, darken their minds, debase their moral
nature, obliterate all traces of their relationship to mankind; and yet
how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of a most frightful
bondage, under which they have been groaning for centuries! To illustrate
the effect of slavery on the white man,—to show that he has no
powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior to those of his black
brother,—<i>Daniel O'Connell</i>, the distinguished advocate of universal
emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not conquered
Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered by him in
the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National Repeal
Association, March 31, 1845. "No matter," said <i>Mr. O'Connell</i>, "under what
specious term it may disguise itself, slavery is still hideous. <i>It has
a natural, an inevitable tendency to brutalize every noble faculty of man.</i>
An American sailor, who was cast away on the shore of Africa, where he was
kept in slavery for three years, was, at the expiration of that period,
found to be imbruted and stultified—he had lost all reasoning power;
and having forgotten his native language, could only utter some savage
gibberish between Arabic and English, which nobody could understand, and
which even he himself found difficulty in pronouncing. So much for the
humanizing influence of <i>The Domestic Institution</i>!" Admitting this to have
been an extraordinary case of mental deterioration, it proves at least
that the white slave can sink as low in the scale of humanity as the black
one.
</p>
<p>
<i>Mr. Douglass</i> has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in his
own style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than to employ
some one else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production; and,
considering how long and dark was the career he had to run as a slave,—how
few have been his opportunities to improve his mind since he broke his
iron fetters,—it is, in my judgment, highly creditable to his head
and heart. He who can peruse it without a tearful eye, a heaving breast,
an afflicted spirit,—without being filled with an unutterable
abhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a
determination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable system,—without
trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of a righteous God,
who is ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm is not shortened
that it cannot save,—must have a flinty heart, and be qualified to
act the part of a trafficker "in slaves and the souls of men." I am
confident that it is essentially true in all its statements; that nothing
has been set down in malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing drawn from the
imagination; that it comes short of the reality, rather than overstates a
single fact in regard to <i>slavery as it is</i>. The experience of <i>Frederick
Douglass</i>, as a slave, was not a peculiar one; his lot was not especially a
hard one; his case may be regarded as a very fair specimen of the
treatment of slaves in Maryland, in which State it is conceded that they
are better fed and less cruelly treated than in Georgia, Alabama, or
Louisiana. Many have suffered incomparably more, while very few on the
plantations have suffered less, than himself. Yet how deplorable was his
situation! what terrible chastisements were inflicted upon his person!
what still more shocking outrages were perpetrated upon his mind! with all
his noble powers and sublime aspirations, how like a brute was he treated,
even by those professing to have the same mind in them that was in Christ
Jesus! to what dreadful liabilities was he continually subjected! how
destitute of friendly counsel and aid, even in his greatest extremities!
how heavy was the midnight of woe which shrouded in blackness the last ray
of hope, and filled the future with terror and gloom! what longings after
freedom took possession of his breast, and how his misery augmented, in
proportion as he grew reflective and intelligent,—thus demonstrating
that a happy slave is an extinct man! how he thought, reasoned, felt,
under the lash of the driver, with the chains upon his limbs! what perils
he encountered in his endeavors to escape from his horrible doom! and how
signal have been his deliverance and preservation in the midst of a nation
of pitiless enemies!
</p>
<p>
This Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great
eloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all is the
description <i>Douglass</i> gives of his feelings, as he stood soliloquizing
respecting his fate, and the chances of his one day being a freeman, on
the banks of the Chesapeake Bay—viewing the receding vessels as they
flew with their white wings before the breeze, and apostrophizing them as
animated by the living spirit of freedom. Who can read that passage, and
be insensible to its pathos and sublimity? Compressed into it is a whole
Alexandrian library of thought, feeling, and sentiment—all that can,
all that need be urged, in the form of expostulation, entreaty, rebuke,
against that crime of crimes,—making man the property of his
fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system, which entombs the godlike mind
of man, defaces the divine image, reduces those who by creation were
crowned with glory and honor to a level with four-footed beasts, and
exalts the dealer in human flesh above all that is called God! Why should
its existence be prolonged one hour? Is it not evil, only evil, and that
continually? What does its presence imply but the absence of all fear of
God, all regard for man, on the part of the people of the United States?
Heaven speed its eternal overthrow!
</p>
<p>
So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that
they are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any
recital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They do
not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible fact
seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure to outrage,
or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of mutilations and
brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the banishment of all
light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly indignant at such
enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements, such abominable
libels on the character of the southern planters! As if all these direful
outrages were not the natural results of slavery! As if it were less cruel
to reduce a human being to the condition of a thing, than to give him a
severe flagellation, or to deprive him of necessary food and clothing! As
if whips, chains, thumb-screws, paddles, blood-hounds, overseers, drivers,
patrols, were not all indispensable to keep the slaves down, and to give
protection to their ruthless oppressors! As if, when the marriage
institution is abolished, concubinage, adultery, and incest, must not
necessarily abound; when all the rights of humanity are annihilated, any
barrier remains to protect the victim from the fury of the spoiler; when
absolute power is assumed over life and liberty, it will not be wielded
with destructive sway! Skeptics of this character abound in society. In
some few instances, their incredulity arises from a want of reflection;
but, generally, it indicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield
slavery from the assaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race,
whether bond or free. Such will try to discredit the shocking tales of
slaveholding cruelty which are recorded in this truthful Narrative; but
they will labor in vain. <i>Mr. Douglass</i> has frankly disclosed the place of
his birth, the names of those who claimed ownership in his body and soul,
and the names also of those who committed the crimes which he has alleged
against them. His statements, therefore, may easily be disproved, if they
are untrue.
</p>
<p>
In the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous
cruelty,—in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave
belonging to a neighboring plantation, who had unintentionally gotten
within his lordly domain in quest of fish; and in the other, an overseer
blew out the brains of a slave who had fled to a stream of water to escape
a bloody scourging. <i>Mr. Douglass</i> states that in neither of these instances
was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial investigation. The
Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates a similar case of atrocity,
perpetrated with similar impunity—as follows:—"<i>Shooting a
slave.</i>—We learn, upon the authority of a letter from Charles
county, Maryland, received by a gentleman of this city, that a young man,
named Matthews, a nephew of General Matthews, and whose father, it is
believed, holds an office at Washington, killed one of the slaves upon his
father's farm by shooting him. The letter states that young Matthews had
been left in charge of the farm; that he gave an order to the servant,
which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to the house, <i>obtained a gun,
and, returning, shot the servant.</i> He immediately, the letter
continues, fled to his father's residence, where he still remains
unmolested."—Let it never be forgotten, that no slaveholder or
overseer can be convicted of any outrage perpetrated on the person of a
slave, however diabolical it may be, on the testimony of colored
witnesses, whether bond or free. By the slave code, they are adjudged to
be as incompetent to testify against a white man, as though they were
indeed a part of the brute creation. Hence, there is no legal protection
in fact, whatever there may be in form, for the slave population; and any
amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them with impunity. Is it possible
for the human mind to conceive of a more horrible state of society?
</p>
<p>
The effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters is
vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any thing
but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest degree
pernicious. The testimony of <i>Mr. Douglass</i>, on this point, is sustained by
a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. "A slaveholder's
profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He is a felon of the
highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no importance what you put in
the other scale."
</p>
<p>
Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the
side of their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the
foe of God and man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do and
dare in their behalf? Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your
efforts to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what may—cost
what it may—inscribe on the banner which you unfurl to the breeze,
as your religious and political motto—"NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY!
NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!"
</p>
<p>
WM. LLOYD GARRISON BOSTON,<br /> <i>May</i> 1, 1845.
</p>
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<h2>
LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ.
</h2>
<h3>
BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.
</h3>
<p>
My Dear Friend:
</p>
<p>
You remember the old fable of "The Man and the Lion," where the lion
complained that he should not be so misrepresented "when the lions wrote
history."
</p>
<p>
I am glad the time has come when the "lions write history." We have been
left long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary
evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied
with what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a
relation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in
every instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week,
and love to count the lashes on the slave's back, are seldom the "stuff"
out of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember that,
in 1838, many were waiting for the results of the West India experiment,
before they could come into our ranks. Those "results" have come long ago;
but, alas! few of that number have come with them, as converts. A man must
be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests than whether it has
increased the produce of sugar,—and to hate slavery for other
reasons than because it starves men and whips women,—before he is
ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.
</p>
<p>
I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of God's
children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice done them.
Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had mastered your A B C,
or knew where the "white sails" of the Chesapeake were bound, you began, I
see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by his hunger and want,
not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel and blighting death which
gathers over his soul.
</p>
<p>
In connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your
recollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the more
remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are told
slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what it is
at its best estate—gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and then
imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture, as she
travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the Shadow of
Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along.
</p>
<p>
Again, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in
your truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak has
felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel,
persuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No
one-sided portrait,—no wholesale complaints,—but strict
justice done, whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a
moment, the deadly system with which it was strangely allied. You have
been with us, too, some years, and can fairly compare the twilight of
rights, which your race enjoy at the North, with that "noon of night"
under which they labor south of Mason and Dixon's line. Tell us whether,
after all, the half-free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than
the pampered slave of the rice swamps!
</p>
<p>
In reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out some
rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which even you
have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no individual
ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in the lot of every
slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the occasional results, of
the system.
</p>
<p>
After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years ago,
when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace, you may
remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of all. With the
exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the other day, when
you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time, whether to thank you
or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that it was still
dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell their names! They say
the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of Independence with the
halter about their necks. You, too, publish your declaration of freedom
with danger compassing you around. In all the broad lands which the
Constitution of the United States overshadows, there is no single spot,—however
narrow or desolate,—where a fugitive slave can plant himself and
say, "I am safe." The whole armory of Northern Law has no shield for you.
I am free to say that, in your place, I should throw the MS. into the
fire.
</p>
<p>
You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so
many warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to the
service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the
fearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of the
country under their feet, are determined that they will "hide the
outcast," and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum for
the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our
streets, and bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which he has
been the victim.
</p>
<p>
Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome
your story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating
contrary to the "statute in such case made and provided." Go on, my dear
friend, till you, and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by fire,
from the dark prison-house, shall stereotype these free, illegal pulses
into statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a blood-stained Union,
shall glory in being the house of refuge for the oppressed,—till we
no longer merely "<i>hide</i> the outcast," or make a merit of standing
idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but, consecrating anew the soil
of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the oppressed, proclaim our <i>welcome</i> to
the slave so loudly, that the tones shall reach every hut in the
Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted bondman leap up at the thought of
old Massachusetts.
</p>
<p>
God speed the day!
</p>
<p>
<i>Till then, and ever,</i> <br /> Yours truly, <br /> WENDELL PHILLIPS
</p>
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<h1>
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
</h1>
<p>
Frederick Douglass was born in slavery as Frederick Augustus Washington
Bailey near Easton in Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the
exact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817 or 1818. As a young
boy he was sent to Baltimore, to be a house servant, where he learned to
read and write, with the assistance of his master's wife. In 1838 he
escaped from slavery and went to New York City, where he married Anna
Murray, a free colored woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon thereafter
he changed his name to Frederick Douglass. In 1841 he addressed a
convention of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society in Nantucket and so
greatly impressed the group that they immediately employed him as an
agent. He was such an impressive orator that numerous persons doubted if
he had ever been a slave, so he wrote <i>Narrative Of The Life Of Frederick
Douglass</i>. During the Civil War he assisted in the recruiting of colored
men for the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments and consistently argued
for the emancipation of slaves. After the war he was active in securing
and protecting the rights of the freemen. In his later years, at different
times, he was secretary of the Santo Domingo Commission, marshall and
recorder of deeds of the District of Columbia, and United States Minister
to Haiti. His other autobiographical works are <i>My Bondage And My Freedom</i>
and <i>Life And Times Of Frederick Douglass</i>, published in 1855 and 1881
respectively. He died in 1895.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER I
</h2>
<p>
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, never having seen any authentic record containing it. By far the
larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of
theirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep
their slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever met a slave who
could tell of his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than
planting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A
want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me
even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could
not tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not
allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed all
such inquiries on the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and
evidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me
now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this,
from hearing my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen
years old.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever heard
speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my master was
my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know nothing; the
means of knowing was withheld from me. 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 part 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 hired out on
some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is placed under the
care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For what this separation is
done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development of the child's
affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy the natural
affection of the mother for the child. This is the inevitable result.
</p>
<p>
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 in duration, 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 to
the contrary—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 any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to any
considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care,
I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I should
have probably felt at the death of a stranger.
</p>
<p>
Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation of
who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or may
not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to my
purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that
slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children of
slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers; and
this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and make a
gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as pleasurable;
for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases not a few,
sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and father.
</p>
<p>
I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves
invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with, than
others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their
mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom do
any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees
them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of showing
to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black slaves.
The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out
of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel as the deed may
strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children to human
flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate 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, of but few shades darker
complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his naked back; and if
he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to his parental
partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the
slave whom he would protect and defend.
</p>
<p>
Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was
doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great
statesman of the south predicted the downfall of slavery by the inevitable
laws of population. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled or not, it is
nevertheless plain that a very different-looking class of people are
springing up at the south, and are now held in slavery, from those
originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their increase do
no other good, it will do away the force of the argument, that God cursed
Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the lineal descendants of
Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at
the south must soon become unscriptural; for thousands are ushered into
the world, annually, who, like myself, owe their existence to white
fathers, and those fathers most frequently their own masters.
</p>
<p>
I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not
remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony—a
title which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake
Bay. 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 drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always
went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and
slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged 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
barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man,
hardened by a long life of slaveholding. 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 heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine, whom he
used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she was
literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his
gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody 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 hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would he
cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. 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 whilst I remember any thing. 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 commit
to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.
</p>
<p>
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 belonging to
Colonel Lloyd. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called
Lloyd's Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to
conjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions,
having very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance, among
the colored or white women of our neighborhood.
</p>
<p>
Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been
found in company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from what
he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a man of
pure morals himself, he might have been thought 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 stripped her 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 in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her get upon the
stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair for his infernal
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 learn you how to disobey my orders!" and after rolling up
his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the warm,
red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him)
came dripping to the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the
sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared not venture 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 any thing like it before. I
had always lived with my grandmother on the outskirts 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.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER II
</h2>
<p>
My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one
daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in
one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master was
Colonel Lloyd's clerk and superintendent. He was what might be called the
overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on this
plantation in my old master's family. It was here that I witnessed the
bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received my
first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some
description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is
about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated on
the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were
tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that,
with the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was
able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying them
to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor of one
of the colonel's daughters. My master's son-in-law, Captain Auld, was
master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's own
slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These were esteemed
very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of
the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the eyes of the slaves, to
be allowed to see Baltimore.
</p>
<p>
Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home
plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms
belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation
were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the overseership of a
man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr.
Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms, numbering
over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers of the home
plantation. This was the great business place. It was the seat of
government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers
were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high misdemeanor,
became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run away, he was
brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop,
carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some other
slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.
</p>
<p>
Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly
allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves
received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork, or its
equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly clothing
consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen trousers, like the
shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter, made of coarse negro
cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of shoes; the whole of which
could not have cost more than seven dollars. The allowance of the slave
children was given to their mothers, or the old women having the care of
them. The children unable to work in the field had neither shoes,
stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; their clothing consisted
of two coarse linen shirts per year. When these failed them, they went
naked until the next allowance-day. Children from seven to ten years old,
of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen at all seasons of the year.
</p>
<p>
There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This, however,
is not considered a very great privation. They find less difficulty from
the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep; for when their
day's work in the field is done, the most of them having their washing,
mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of the ordinary
facilities for doing either of these, very many of their sleeping hours
are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day; and when this is
done, old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down side
by side, on one common bed,—the cold, damp floor,—each
covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets; and here they
sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver's horn. At the
sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field. There must be no
halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe betides them who
hear not this morning summons to the field; for if they are not awakened
by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of feeling: no age nor sex
finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the door of
the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick and heavy cowskin, ready to
whip any one who was so unfortunate as not to hear, or, from any other
cause, was prevented from being ready to start for the field at the sound
of the horn.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a
woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too,
in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother's release.
He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to
his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough to chill the blood
and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him talk. Scarce a
sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded by some horrid
oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty and profanity. His
presence made it both the field of blood and of blasphemy. From the rising
till the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving, cutting, and
slashing among the slaves of the field, in the most frightful manner. His
career was short. He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd's; and
he died as he lived, uttering, with his dying groans, bitter curses and
horrid oaths. His death was regarded by the slaves as the result of a
merciful providence.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different
man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr.
Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations of
cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was called
by the slaves a good overseer.
</p>
<p>
The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country
village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed
here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting,
coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves
on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very
unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired to give
it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the slaves the
<i>Great House Farm.</i> Few privileges were esteemed higher, by the
slaves of the out-farms, than that of 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 out-farms would be of his
election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as
evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it
was on this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field
from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one
worth careful living for. He was called the smartest and most trusty
fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him the most frequently. The
competitors for this office sought as diligently to please their
overseers, as the office-seekers in the political parties seek to please
and deceive the people. The same traits of character might be seen in
Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the slaves of the political
parties.
</p>
<p>
The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly
allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly
enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for
miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the
highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they
went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up,
came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as frequently
in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic
sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in
the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave
something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when
leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:—
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
"I am going away to the Great House Farm!
O, yea! O, yea! O!"
</pre>
<p>
This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem
unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to
themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs
would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of
slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject
could do.
</p>
<p>
I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and
apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I
neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a
tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they
were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of
souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony
against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The
hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with
ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing
them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts 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 glimmering 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 brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to
be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to
Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the
deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that
shall pass through the chambers of his soul,—and if he is not thus
impressed, it will only be because "there is no flesh in his obdurate
heart."