Document 5

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a slave for

life began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got

hold of a book entitled “The Columbian Orator.

” Every opportunity I

got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter,

I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave

was represented as having run away from his master three times.

The dialogue represented the conversation which took place between

them, when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the

whole argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the

master, all of which was disposed of by the slave. The slave was

made to say some very smart as well as impressive things in reply to

his master—things which had the desired though unexpected effect;

for the conversation resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the

slave on the part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of [British politician Richard B.]

Sheridan’s mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic

emancipation. These were choice documents to me. I read them over

and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue to

interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed

through my mind, and died away for want of utterance. The moral

which I gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the

conscience of even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a

bold denunciation of slavery, and a powerful vindication of human

rights. The reading of these documents enabled me to utter my

thoughts, and to meet the arguments brought forward to sustain

slavery; but while they relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on

another even more painful than the one of which I was relieved. The

more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. I

could regard them in no other light than a hand of successful robbers,

who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and stolen us from our

homes, and in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as

being the meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I read and

contemplated the subject, behold! that very discontentment which

Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning to read had

already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish.

As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to read had

been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my

wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the

horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of

agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often

wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile

to my own. Anything, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this

everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no

getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or

hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom had

roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to

disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in

everything. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my

wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing

without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from

every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved

in every storm.

I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing

myself dead; and but for the hope of being free, I have no doubt but

that I should have killed myself, or done something for which I should

have been killed. While in this state of mind, I was eager to hear any

one speak of slavery. I was a ready listener. Every little while, I could

hear something about the abolitionists. It was some time before I

found what the word meant. It was always used in such connections

as to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and

succeeded in getting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a

barn, or did anything very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was

spoken of as the fruit of abolition. Hearing the word in this connection

very often, I set about learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded

me little or no help. I found it was “the act of abolishing;

” but then I did

not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not

dare to ask anyone about its meaning, for I was satisfied that it was

something they wanted me to know very little about. After a patient

waiting, I got one of our city papers, containing an account of the

number of petitions from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery 

in the District of Columbia, and of the slave trade between the States.

From this time I understood the words abolition and abolitionist, and

always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to bear

something of importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke

in upon me by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of Mr.

Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading a scow of stone, I went,

unasked, and helped them. When we had finished, one of them came

to me and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, “Are

ye a slave for life?” I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed

to he deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other that it

was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He

said it was a shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to

the north; that I should find friends there, and that I should be free. I

pretended not to be interested in what they said, and treated them as

if I did not understand them; for I feared they might be treacherous.

White men have been known to encourage slaves to escape, and

then, to get the reward, catch them and return them to their masters. I

was afraid that these seemingly good men might use me so; but I

nevertheless remembered their advice, and from that time I resolved

to run away. I looked forward to a time at which it would be safe for

me to escape. I was too young to think of doing so immediately;

besides, I wished to learn how to write, as I might have occasion to

write my own pass. I consoled myself with the hope that I should one

day find a good chance.

Meanwhile, I would learn to write.

Source: Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick

Douglass (Boston: Anti-Slavery Office, 1845), 39–43,

https://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/douglass/douglass.html.