Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

by Booker T. Washington

　　I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia.I am not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth,but at any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and atsome time. As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was bornnear a cross-roads post-office called Hale's Ford, and the yearwas 1858 or 1859. I do not know the month or the day. Theearliest impressions I can now recall are of the plantation andthe slave quarters--the latter being the part of the plantationwhere the slaves had their cabins.My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable,desolate, and discouraging surroundings. This was so, however,not because my owners were especially cruel, for they were not,as compared with many others. I was born in a typical log cabin,about fourteen by sixteen feet square. In this cabin I lived withmy mother and a brother and sister till after the Civil War, whenwe were all declared free.Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, andeven later, I heard whispered conversations among the colouredpeople of the tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, myancestors on my mother's side, suffered in the middle passage ofthe slave ship while being conveyed from Africa to America. Ihave been unsuccessful in securing any information that wouldthrow any accurate light upon the history of my family beyond mymother. She, I remember, had a half-brother and a half-sister. Inthe days of slavery not very much attention was given to familyhistory and family records--that is, black family records. Mymother, I suppose, attracted the attention of a purchaser who wasafterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the slave familyattracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new horseor cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do noteven know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that hewas a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations.Whoever he was, I never heard of his taking the least interest inme or providing in any way for my rearing. But I do not findespecial fault with him. He was simply another unfortunate victimof the institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted uponit at that time.The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as thekitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook.The cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in theside which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air ofwinter. There was a door to the cabin--that is, something thatwas called a door--but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung,and the large cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that itwas too small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. Inaddition to these openings there was, in the lower right-handcorner of the room, the "cat-hole," --a contrivance which almostevery mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during theante-bellum period. The "cat-hole" was a square opening, aboutseven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting thecat pass in and out of the house at will during the night. In thecase of our particular cabin I could never understand thenecessity for this convenience, since there were at least ahalf-dozen other places in the cabin that would have accommodatedthe cats. There was no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earthbeing used as a floor. In the centre of the earthen floor therewas a large, deep opening covered with boards, which was used asa place in which to store sweet potatoes during the winter. Animpression of this potato-hole is very distinctly engraved uponmy memory, because I recall that during the process of puttingthe potatoes in or taking them out I would often come intopossession of one or two, which I roasted and thoroughly enjoyed.There was no cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the cookingfor the whites and slaves my mother had to do over an openfireplace, mostly in pots and "skillets." While the poorly builtcabin caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat fromthe open fireplace in summer was equally trying.The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin,were not very different from those of thousands of other slaves.My mother, of course, had little time in which to give attentionto the training of her children during the day. She snatched afew moments for our care in the early morning before her workbegan, and at night after the day's work was done. One of myearliest recollections is that of my mother cooking a chickenlate at night, and awakening her children for the purpose offeeding them. How or where she got it I do not know. I presume,however, it was procured from our owner's farm. Some people maycall this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I shouldcondemn it as theft myself. But taking place at the time it did,and for the reason that it did, no one could ever make me believethat my mother was guilty of thieving. She was simply a victim ofthe system of slavery. I cannot remember having slept in a beduntil after our family was declared free by the EmancipationProclamation. Three children--John, my older brother, Amanda, mysister, and myself--had a pallet on the dirt floor, or, to bemore correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy rags laidupon the dirt floor.I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports andpastimes that I engaged in during my youth. Until that questionwas asked it had never occurred to me that there was no period ofmy life that was devoted to play. From the time that I canremember anything, almost every day of my life had been occupiedin some kind of labour; though I think I would now be a moreuseful man if I had had time for sports. During the period that Ispent in slavery I was not large enough to be of much service,still I was occupied most of the time in cleaning the yards,carrying water to the men in the fields, or going to the mill towhich I used to take the corn, once a week, to be ground. Themill was about three miles from the plantation. This work Ialways dreaded. The heavy bag of corn would be thrown across theback of the horse, and the corn divided about evenly on eachside; but in some way, almost without exception, on these trips,the corn would so shift as to become unbalanced and would falloff the horse, and often I would fall with it. As I was notstrong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would have towait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance passer-by camealong who would help me out of my trouble. The hours whilewaiting for some one were usually spent in crying. The timeconsumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and bythe time I got my corn ground and reached home it would be farinto the night. The road was a lonely one, and often led throughdense forests. I was always frightened. The woods were said to befull of soldiers who had deserted from the army, and I had beentold that the first thing a deserter did to a Negro boy when hefound him alone was to cut off his ears. Besides, when I was latein getting home I knew I would always get a severe scolding or aflogging.I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though Iremember on several occasions I went as far as the schoolhousedoor with one of my young mistresses to carry her books. Thepicture of several dozen boys and girls in a schoolroom engagedin study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the feelingthat to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would beabout the same as getting into paradise.So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of thefact that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves wasbeing discussed, was early one morning before day, when I wasawakened by my mother kneeling over her children and ferventlypraying that Lincoln and his armies might be successful, and thatone day she and her children might be free. In this connection Ihave never been able to understand how the slaves throughout theSouth, completely ignorant as were the masses so far as books ornewspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves soaccurately and completely informed about the great Nationalquestions that were agitating the country. From the time thatGarrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom, theslaves throughout the South kept in close touch with the progressof the movement. Though I was a mere child during the preparationfor the Civil War and during the war itself, I now recall themany late-at-night whispered discussions that I heard my motherand the other slaves on the plantation indulge in. Thesediscussions showed that they understood the situation, and thatthey kept themselves informed of events by what was termed the"grape-vine" telegraph.During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for thePresidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from anyrailroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issuesinvolved were. When war was begun between the North and theSouth, every slave on our plantation felt and knew that, thoughother issues were discussed, the primal one was that of slavery.Even the most ignorant members of my race on the remoteplantations felt in their hearts, with a certainty that admittedof no doubt, that the freedom of the slaves would be the onegreat result of the war, if the northern armies conquered. Everysuccess of the Federal armies and every defeat of the Confederateforces was watched with the keenest and most intense interest.Often the slaves got knowledge of the results of great battlesbefore the white people received it. This news was usually gottenfrom the coloured man who was sent to the post-office for themail. In our case the post-office was about three miles from theplantation, and the mail came once or twice a week. The man whowas sent to the office would linger about the place long enoughto get the drift of the conversation from the group of whitepeople who naturally congregated there, after receiving theirmail, to discuss the latest news. The mail-carrier on his wayback to our master's house would as naturally retail the newsthat he had secured among the slaves, and in this way they oftenheard of important events before the white people at the "bighouse," as the master's house was called.I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or earlyboyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together,and God's blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in acivilized manner. On the plantation in Virginia, and even later,meals were gotten by the children very much as dumb animals gettheirs. It was a piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there.It was a cup of milk at one time and some potatoes at another.Sometimes a portion of our family would eat out of the skillet orpot, while some one else would eat from a tin plate held on theknees, and often using nothing but the hands with which to holdthe food. When I had grown to sufficient size, I was required togo to the "big house" at meal-times to fan the flies from thetable by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a pulley.Naturally much of the conversation of the white people turnedupon the subject of freedom and the war, and I absorbed a gooddeal of it. I remember that at one time I saw two of my youngmistresses and some lady visitors eating ginger-cakes, in theyard. At that time those cakes seemed to me to be absolutely themost tempting and desirable things that I had ever seen; and Ithen and there resolved that, if I ever got free, the height ofmy ambition would be reached if I could get to the point where Icould secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that I saw thoseladies doing.Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in manycases, often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. Ithink the slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites,because the usual diet for slaves was corn bread and pork, andthese could be raised on the plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar,and other articles which the whites had been accustomed to usecould not be raised on the plantation, and the conditions broughtabout by the war frequently made it impossible to secure thesethings. The whites were often in great straits. Parched corn wasused for coffee, and a kind of black molasses was used instead ofsugar. Many times nothing was used to sweeten the so-called teaand coffee.The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones.They had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which wereabout an inch thick, were of wood. When I walked they made afearful noise, and besides this they were very inconvenient,since there was no yielding to the natural pressure of the foot.In wearing them one presented and exceedingly awkward appearance.The most trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slaveboy, however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. In the portion ofVirginia where I lived it was common to use flax as part of theclothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from which ourclothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was thecheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any torture,except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to thatcaused by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. It isalmost equal to the feeling that one would experience if he had adozen or more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, incontact with his flesh. Even to this day I can recall accuratelythe tortures that I underwent when putting on one of thesegarments. The fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to thepain. But I had no choice. I had to wear the flax shirt or none;and had it been left to me to choose, I should have chosen towear no covering. In connection with the flax shirt, my brotherJohn, who is several years older than I am, performed one of themost generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative doingfor another. On several occasions when I was being forced to weara new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my steadand wear it for several days, till it was "broken in." Until Ihad grown to be quite a youth this single garment was all that Iwore.One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there wasbitter feeling toward the white people on the part of my race,because of the fact that most of the white population was awayfighting in a war which would result in keeping the Negro inslavery if the South was successful. In the case of the slaves onour place this was not true, and it was not true of any largeportion of the slave population in the South where the Negro wastreated with anything like decency. During the Civil War one ofmy young masters was killed, and two were severely wounded. Irecall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the slaves whenthey heard of the death of "Mars' Billy." It was no sham sorrow,but real. Some of the slaves had nursed "Mars' Billy"; others hadplayed with him when he was a child. "Mars' Billy" had begged formercy in the case of others when the overseer or master wasthrashing them. The sorrow in the slave quarter was only secondto that in the "big house." When the two young masters werebrought home wounded, the sympathy of the slaves was shown inmany ways. They were just as anxious to assist in the nursing asthe family relatives of the wounded. Some of the slaves wouldeven beg for the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse theirwounded masters. This tenderness and sympathy on the part ofthose held in bondage was a result of their kindly and generousnature. In order to defend and protect the women and children whowere left on the plantations when the white males went to war,the slaves would have laid down their lives. The slave who wasselected to sleep in the "big house" during the absence of themales was considered to have the place of honour. Any oneattempting to harm "young Mistress" or "old Mistress" during thenight would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to doso. I do not know how many have noticed it, but I think that itwill be found to be true that there are few instances, either inslavery or freedom, in which a member of my race has been knownto betray a specific trust.As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain nofeelings of bitterness against the whites before and during thewar, but there are many instances of Negroes tenderly carryingfor their former masters and mistresses who for some reason havebecome poor and dependent since the war. I know of instanceswhere the former masters of slaves have for years been suppliedwith money by their former slaves to keep them from suffering. Ihave known of still other cases in which the former slaves haveassisted in the education of the descendants of their formerowners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South inwhich a young white man, the son of the former owner of theestate, has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reasonof drink that he is a pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstandingthe poverty of the coloured people themselves on this plantation,they have for years supplied this young white man with thenecessities of life. One sends him a little coffee or sugar,another a little meat, and so on. Nothing that the colouredpeople possess is too good for the son of "old Mars' Tom," whowill perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on theplace who knew directly or indirectly of "old Mars' Tom."I have said that there are few instances of a member of my racebetraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of thiswhich I know of is in the case of an ex-slave from Virginia whomI met not long ago in a little town in the state of Ohio. I foundthat this man had made a contract with his master, two or threeyears previous to the Emancipation Proclamation, to the effectthat the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying somuch per year for his body; and while he was paying for himself,he was to be permitted to labour where and for whom he pleased.Finding that he could secure better wages in Ohio, he went there.When freedom came, he was still in debt to his master some threehundred dollars. Notwithstanding that the EmancipationProclamation freed him from any obligation to his master, thisblack man walked the greater portion of the distance back towhere his old master lived in Virginia, and placed the lastdollar, with interest, in his hands. In talking to me about this,the man told me that he knew that he did not have to pay thedebt, but that he had given his word to the master, and his wordhe had never broken. He felt that he could not enjoy his freedomtill he had fulfilled his promise.From some things that I have said one may get the idea that someof the slaves did not want freedom. This is not true. I havenever seen one who did not want to be free, or one who wouldreturn to slavery.I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of peoplethat is so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery.I have long since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitternessagainst the Southern white people on account of the enslavementof my race. No one section of our country was wholly responsiblefor its introduction, and, besides, it was recognized andprotected for years by the General Government. Having once gotits tentacles fastened on to the economic and social life of theRepublic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve itselfof the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of prejudice, orracial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must acknowledgethat, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery, theten million Negroes inhabiting this country, who themselves orwhose ancestors went through the school of American slavery, arein a stronger and more hopeful condition, materially,intellectually, morally, and religiously, than is true of anequal number of black people in any other portion of the globe.This is so to such an extend that Negroes in this country, whothemselves or whose forefathers went through the school ofslavery, are constantly returning to Africa as missionaries toenlighten those who remained in the fatherland. This I say, notto justify slavery--on the other hand, I condemn it as aninstitution, as we all know that in America it was establishedfor selfish and financial reasons, and not from a missionarymotive--but to call attention to a fact, and to show howProvidence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish apurpose. When persons ask me in these days how, in the midst ofwhat sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, I canhave such faith in the future of my race in this country, Iremind them of the wilderness through which and out of which, agood Providence has already led us.Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I haveentertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongsinflicted upon us, the black man got nearly as much out ofslavery as the white man did. The hurtful influences of theinstitution were not by any means confined to the Negro. This wasfully illustrated by the life upon our own plantation. The wholemachinery of slavery was so constructed as to cause labour, as arule, to be looked upon as a badge of degradation, ofinferiority. Hence labour was something that both races on theslave plantation sought to escape. The slave system on our place,in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance andself-help out of the white people. My old master had many boysand girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever mastered a singletrade or special line of productive industry. The girls were nottaught to cook, sew, or to take care of the house. All of thiswas left to the slaves. The slaves, of course, had littlepersonal interest in the life of the plantation, and theirignorance prevented them from learning how to do things in themost improved and thorough manner. As a result of the system,fences were out of repair, gates were hanging half off thehinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out, plastering hadfallen but was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard. As a rule,there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, andon the dining-room table, there was wanting that delicacy andrefinement of touch and finish which can make a home the mostconvenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world.Withal there was a waste of food and other materials which wassad. When freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted tobegin life anew as the master, except in the matter ofbook-learning and ownership of property. The slave owner and hissons had mastered no special industry. They unconsciously hadimbibed the feeling that manual labour was not the proper thingfor them. On the other hand, the slaves, in many cases, hadmastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed, and fewunwilling, to labour.Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was amomentous and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We hadbeen expecting it. Freedom was in the air, and had been formonths. Deserting soldiers returning to their homes were to beseen every day. Others who had been discharged, or whoseregiments had been paroled, were constantly passing near ourplace. The "grape-vine telegraph" was kept busy night and day.The news and mutterings of great events were swiftly carried fromone plantation to another. In the fear of "Yankee" invasions, thesilverware and other valuables were taken from the "big house,"buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves. Woe be to anyone who would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure. Theslaves would give the Yankee soldiers food, drink,clothing--anything but that which had been specifically intrustedto their care and honour. As the great day drew nearer, there wasmore singing in the slave quarters than usual. It was bolder, hadmore ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of the verses ofthe plantation songs had some reference to freedom. True, theyhad sung those same verses before, but they had been careful toexplain that the "freedom" in these songs referred to the nextworld, and had no connection with life in this world. Now theygradually threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it beknown that the "freedom" in their songs meant freedom of the bodyin this world. The night before the eventful day, word was sentto the slave quarters to the effect that something unusual wasgoing to take place at the "big house" the next morning. Therewas little, if any, sleep that night. All as excitement andexpectancy. Early the next morning word was sent to all theslaves, old and young, to gather at the house. In company with mymother, brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves,I went to the master's house. All of our master's family wereeither standing or seated on the veranda of the house, where theycould see what was to take place and hear what was said. Therewas a feeling of deep interest, or perhaps sadness, on theirfaces, but not bitterness. As I now recall the impression theymade upon me, they did not at the moment seem to be sad becauseof the loss of property, but rather because of parting with thosewhom they had reared and who were in many ways very close tothem. The most distinct thing that I now recall in connectionwith the scene was that some man who seemed to be a stranger (aUnited States officer, I presume) made a little speech and thenread a rather long paper--the Emancipation Proclamation, I think.After the reading we were told that we were all free, and couldgo when and where we pleased. My mother, who was standing by myside, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy randown her cheeks. She explained to us what it all meant, that thiswas the day for which she had been so long praying, but fearingthat she would never live to see.For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, andwild scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of bitterness.In fact, there was pity among the slaves for our former owners.The wild rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured peoplelasted but for a brief period, for I noticed that by the timethey returned to their cabins there was a change in theirfeelings. The great responsibility of being free, of havingcharge of themselves, of having to think and plan for themselvesand their children, seemed to take possession of them. It wasvery much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve yearsout into the world to provide for himself. In a few hours thegreat questions with which the Anglo-Saxon race had beengrappling for centuries had been thrown upon these people to besolved. These were the questions of a home, a living, the rearingof children, education, citizenship, and the establishment andsupport of churches. Was it any wonder that within a few hoursthe wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed topervade the slave quarters? To some it seemed that, now that theywere in actual possession of it, freedom was a more serious thingthan they had expected to find it. Some of the slaves wereseventy or eighty years old; their best days were gone. They hadno strength with which to earn a living in a strange place andamong strange people, even if they had been sure where to find anew place of abode. To this class the problem seemed especiallyhard. Besides, deep down in their hearts there was a strange andpeculiar attachment to "old Marster" and "old Missus," and totheir children, which they found it hard to think of breakingoff. With these they had spent in some cases nearly ahalf-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting.Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slavesbegan to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big house"to have a whispered conversation with their former owners as tothe future.