My Bondage and My Freedom
reach the hotel—I enter the same door—I am shown into the same parlor—I
dine at the same table and no one is offended. No delicate nose grows
deformed in my presence. I find no difficulty here in obtaining
admission into any place of worship, instruction, or amusement, on
equal terms with people as white as any I ever saw in the United
States. I meet nothing to remind me of my complexion. I find myself
regarded and treated at every turn with the kindness and deference paid
to white people. When I go to church, I am met by no upturned nose and
scornful lip to tell me, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!”
I remember, about two years ago, there was in Boston, near the
south-west corner of Boston Common, a menagerie. I had long desired to
see such a collection as I understood was being exhibited there. Never
having had an opportunity while a slave, I resolved to seize this, my
first, since my escape. I went, and as I approached the entrance to
gain admission, I was met and told by the door-keeper, in a harsh and
contemptuous tone, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_.” I also remember
attending a revival meeting in the Rev. Henry Jackson’s meeting-house,
at New Bedford, and going up the broad aisle to find a seat, I was met
by a good deacon, who told me, in a pious tone, “_We don’t allow
niggers in here_!” Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, from the
south, I had a strong desire to attend the Lyceum, but was told, “_They
don’t allow niggers in here_!” While passing from New York to Boston,
on the steamer Massachusetts, on the night of the 9th of December,
1843, when chilled almost through with the cold, I went into the cabin
to get a little warm. I was soon touched upon the shoulder, and told,
“_We don’t allow niggers in here_!” On arriving in Boston, from an
anti-slavery tour, hungry and tired, I went into an eating-house, near
my friend, Mr. Campbell’s to get some refreshments. I was met by a lad
in a white apron, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!” A week or two
before leaving the United States, I had a meeting appointed at
Weymouth, the home of that glorious band of true abolitionists, the
Weston family, and others. On attempting to take a seat in the omnibus
to that place, I was told by the driver (and I never shall forget his
fiendish hate). “_I don’t allow niggers in here_!” Thank heaven for the
respite I now enjoy! I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a
gentleman of great respectability kindly offered to conduct me through
all the public buildings of that beautiful city; and a little
afterward, I found myself dining with the lord mayor of Dublin. What a
pity there was not some American democratic Christian at the door of
his splendid mansion, to bark out at my approach, “_They don’t allow
niggers in here_!” The truth is, the people here know nothing of the
republican Negro hate prevalent in our glorious land. They measure and
esteem men according to their moral and intellectual worth, and not
according to the color of their skin. Whatever may be said of the
aristocracies here, there is none based on the color of a man’s skin.
This species of aristocracy belongs preeminently to “the land of the
free, and the home of the brave.” I have never found it abroad, in any
but Americans. It sticks to them wherever they go. They find it almost
as hard to get rid of, as to get rid of their skins.
The second day after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my
friend, Buffum, and several other friends, I went to Eaton Hall, the
residence of the Marquis of Westminster, one of the most splendid
buildings in England. On approaching the door, I found several of our
American passengers, who came out with us in the “Cambria,” waiting for
admission, as but one party was allowed in the house at a time. We all
had to wait till the company within came out. And of all the faces,
expressive of chagrin, those of the Americans were preeminent. They
looked as sour as vinegar, and as bitter as gall, when they found I was
to be admitted on equal terms with themselves. When the door was
opened, I walked in, on an equal footing with my white fellow-citizens,
and from all I could see, I had as much attention paid me by the
servants that showed us through the house, as any with a paler skin. As
I walked through the building, the statuary did not fall down, the
pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not refuse to
open, and the servants did not say, “_We don’t allow niggers in here_!”
A happy new-year to you, and all the friends of freedom.
My time and labors, while abroad were divided between England, Ireland,
Scotland, and Wales. Upon this experience alone, I might write a book
twice the size of this, _My Bondage and My Freedom_. I visited and
lectured in nearly all the large towns and cities in the United
Kingdom, and enjoyed many favorable opportunities for observation and
information. But books on England are abundant, and the public may,
therefore, dismiss any fear that I am meditating another infliction in
that line; though, in truth, I should like much to write a book on
those countries, if for nothing else, to make grateful mention of the
many dear friends, whose benevolent actions toward me are ineffaceably
stamped upon my memory, and warmly treasured in my heart. To these
friends I owe my freedom in the United States. On their own motion,
without any solicitation from me (Mrs. Henry Richardson, a clever lady,
remarkable for her devotion to every good work, taking the lead), they
raised a fund sufficient to purchase my freedom, and actually paid it
over, and placed the papers 8 of my manumission in my hands, before
they would tolerate the idea of my returning to this, my native
country. To this commercial transaction I owe my exemption from the
democratic operation of the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850. But for this,
I might at any time become a victim of this most cruel and scandalous
enactment, and be doomed to end my life, as I began it, a slave. The
sum paid for my freedom was one hundred and fifty pounds sterling.
Some of my uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country failed
to see the wisdom of this arrangement, and were not pleased that I
consented to it, even by my silence. They thought it a violation of
anti-slavery principles—conceding a right of property in man—and a
wasteful expenditure of money. On the other hand, viewing it simply in
the light of a ransom, or as money extorted by a robber, and my liberty
of more value than one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, I could not
see either a violation of the laws of morality, or those of economy, in
the transaction.
It is true, I was not in the possession of my claimants, and could have
easily remained in England, for the same friends who had so generously
purchased my freedom, would have assisted me in establishing myself in
that country. To this, however, I could not consent. I felt that I had
a duty to perform—and that was, to labor and suffer with the oppressed
in my native land. Considering, therefore, all the circumstances—the
fugitive slave bill included—I think the very best thing was done in
letting Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and
leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor. Had I been
a private person, having no other relations or duties than those of a
personal and family nature, I should never have consented to the
payment of so large a sum for the privilege of living securely under
our glorious republican form of government. I could have remained in
England, or have gone to some other country; and perhaps I could even
have lived unobserved in this. But to this I could not consent. I had
already become somewhat notorious, and withal quite as unpopular as
notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and recapture.
The main object to which my labors in Great Britain were directed, was
the concentration of the moral and religious sentiment of its people
against American slavery. England is often charged with having
established slavery in the United States, and if there were no other
justification than this, for appealing to her people to lend their
moral aid for the abolition of slavery, I should be justified. My
speeches in Great Britain were wholly extemporaneous, and I may not
always have been so guarded in my expressions, as I otherwise should
have been. I was ten years younger then than now, and only seven years
from slavery. I cannot give the reader a better idea of the nature of
my discourses, than by republishing one of them, delivered in Finsbury
chapel, London, to an audience of about two thousand persons, and which
was published in the _London Universe_, at the time. 9
Those in the United States who may regard this speech as being harsh in
its spirit and unjust in its statements, because delivered before an
audience supposed to be anti-republican in their principles and
feelings, may view the matter differently, when they learn that the
case supposed did not exist. It so happened that the great mass of the
people in England who attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings,
were, in truth, about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and
with this decided advantage over the latter—they are lovers of
republicanism for all men, for black men as well as for white men. They
are the people who sympathize with Louis Kossuth and Mazzini, and with
the oppressed and enslaved, of every color and nation, the world over.
They constitute the democratic element in British politics, and are as
much opposed to the union of church and state as we, in America, are to
such an union. At the meeting where this speech was delivered, Joseph
Sturge—a world-wide philanthropist, and a member of the society of
Friends—presided, and addressed the meeting. George William Alexander,
another Friend, who has spent more than an Ameriacn(sic) fortune in
promoting the anti-slavery cause in different sections of the world,
was on the platform; and also Dr. Campbell (now of the _British
Banner_) who combines all the humane tenderness of Melanchthon, with
the directness and boldness of Luther. He is in the very front ranks of
non-conformists, and looks with no unfriendly eye upon America. George
Thompson, too, was there; and America will yet own that he did a true
man’s work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire of true
republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the treatment he
met at her hands. Coming generations in this country will applaud the
spirit of this much abused republican friend of freedom. There were
others of note seated on the platform, who would gladly ingraft upon
English institutions all that is purely republican in the institutions
of America. Nothing, therefore, must be set down against this speech on
the score that it was delivered in the presence of those who cannot
appreciate the many excellent things belonging to our system of
government, and with a view to stir up prejudice against republican
institutions.
Again, let it also be remembered—for it is the simple truth—that
neither in this speech, nor in any other which I delivered in England,
did I ever allow myself to address Englishmen as against Americans. I
took my stand on the high ground of human brotherhood, and spoke to
Englishmen as men, in behalf of men. Slavery is a crime, not against
Englishmen, but against God, and all the members of the human family;
and it belongs to the whole human family to seek its suppression. In a
letter to Mr. Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I
said:
I am, nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of one
nation in the ear of another, has been seriously questioned by good and
clear-sighted people, both on this and on your side of the Atlantic.
And the thought is not without weight on my own mind. I am satisfied