Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the
opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to
the whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to
my mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always
felt worse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving
me a few cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to
be a pretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was
ever on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means,
I determined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with
which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came
to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and
applied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused
my request, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape.
He told me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in
the event of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts
to catch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told
me, if I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He
said, if I behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed,
he advised me to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me
to depend solely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the
pressing necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to
contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of
myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my
enslavement, and the means of escape.
About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege
of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had
applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first,
seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me
the privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed
all my time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find
my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him
three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools,
and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per
week. This, with the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made
my regular expenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was
compelled to make up, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time.
Rain or shine, work or no work, at the end of each week the money must
be forthcoming, or I must give up my privilege. This arrangement, it
will be perceived, was decidedly in my master’s favor. It relieved him
of all need of looking after me. His money was sure. He received all
the benefits of slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the
evils of a slave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I
found it a hard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than
the old mode of getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be
allowed to bear the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined
to hold on upon it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was
ready to work at night as well as day, and by the most untiring
perseverance and industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay
up a little money every week. I went on thus from May till August.
Master Hugh then refused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground
for his refusal was a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay
him for my week’s time. This failure was occasioned by my attending a
camp meeting about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had
entered into an engagement with a number of young friends to start from
Baltimore to the camp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained
by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master Hugh’s without
disappointing the company. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special
need of the money that night. I therefore decided to go to camp
meeting, and upon my return pay him the three dollars. I staid at the
camp meeting one day longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as
I returned, I called upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I
found him very angry; he could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he
had a great mind to give me a severe whipping. He wished to know how I
dared go out of the city without asking his permission. I told him I
hired my time and while I paid him the price which he asked for it, I
did not know that I was bound to ask him when and where I should go.
This reply troubled him; and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned
to me, and said I should hire my time no longer; that the next thing he
should know of, I would be running away. Upon the same plea, he told me
to bring my tools and clothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of
seeking work, as I had been accustomed to do previously to hiring my
time, I spent the whole week without the performance of a single stroke
of work. I did this in retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me
as usual for my week’s wages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no
work that week. Here we were upon the point of coming to blows. He
raved, and swore his determination to get hold of me. I did not allow
myself a single word; but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his
hand upon me, it should be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but
told me that he would find me in constant employment in future. I
thought the matter over during the next day, Sunday, and finally
resolved upon the third day of September, as the day upon which I would
make a second attempt to secure my freedom. I now had three weeks
during which to prepare for my journey. Early on Monday morning, before
Master Hugh had time to make any engagement for me, I went out and got
employment of Mr. Butler, at his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon
what is called the City Block, thus making it unnecessary for him to
seek employment for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between
eight and nine dollars. He seemed very well pleased, and asked why I
did not do the same the week before. He little knew what my plans were.
My object in working steadily was to remove any suspicion he might
entertain of my intent to run away; and in this I succeeded admirably.
I suppose he thought I was never better satisfied with my condition
than at the very time during which I was planning my escape. The second
week passed, and again I carried him my full wages; and so well pleased
was he, that he gave me twenty-five cents, (quite a large sum for a
slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it. I
told him I would.
Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was
trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of
my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends
in Baltimore,—friends that I loved almost as I did my life,—and the
thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond
expression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery,
who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to
their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most
painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my
tender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides
the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure
exceeded what I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling
defeat I then sustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if
I failed in this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one—it would seal
my fate as a slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing
less than the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of
escape. It required no very vivid imagination to depict the most
frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, in case I failed.
The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were
perpetually before me. It was life and death with me. But I remained
firm, and, according to my resolution, on the third day of September,
1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reaching New York without the
slightest interruption of any kind. How I did so,—what means I
adopted,—what direction I travelled, and by what mode of conveyance,—I
must leave unexplained, for the reasons before mentioned.
I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a free
State. I have never been able to answer the question with any
satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I
ever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed
mariner to feel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the
pursuit of a pirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my
arrival at New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of
hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I
was again seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I
was yet liable to be taken back, and subjected to all the tortures of
slavery. This in itself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm.
But the loneliness overcame me. There I was in the midst of thousands,
and yet a perfect stranger; without home and without friends, in the
midst of thousands of my own brethren—children of a common Father, and
yet I dared not to unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was
afraid to speak to any one for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and
thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kidnappers, whose
business it was to lie in wait for the panting fugitive, as the
ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait for their prey. The motto
which I adopted when I started from slavery was this—“Trust no man!” I
saw in every white man an enemy, and in almost every colored man cause
for distrust. It was a most painful situation; and, to understand it,
one must needs experience it, or imagine himself in similar
circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave in a strange land—a land
given up to be the hunting-ground for slaveholders—whose inhabitants
are legalized kidnappers—where he is every moment subjected to the
terrible liability of being seized upon by his fellowmen, as the
hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!—I say, let him place himself in
my situation—without home or friends—without money or credit—wanting
shelter, and no one to give it—wanting bread, and no money to buy
it,—and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by merciless
men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to go, or
where to stay,—perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and
means of escape,—in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible
gnawings of hunger,—in the midst of houses, yet having no home,—among
fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose
greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is
only equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up
the helpless fish upon which they subsist,—I say, let him be placed in
this most trying situation,—the situation in which I was placed,—then,
and not till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know
how to sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.
Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation.
I was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose
vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad
of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and
gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and
is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so
forward in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but