Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
connected with the school, relieving me of many burdens and
perplexities, but aside from her work on the school grounds, she
carries on a mothers’ meeting in the town of Tuskegee, and a plantation
work among the women, children, and men who live in a settlement
connected with a large plantation about eight miles from Tuskegee. Both
the mothers’ meeting and the plantation work are carried on, not only
with a view to helping those who are directly reached, but also for the
purpose of furnishing object-lessons in these two kinds of work that
may be followed by our students when they go out into the world for
their own life-work.
Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also largely
responsible for a woman’s club at the school which brings together,
twice a month, the women who live on the school grounds and those who
live near, for the discussion of some important topic. She is also the
President of what is known as the Federation of Southern Coloured
Women’s Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the
National Federation of Coloured Women’s Clubs.
Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned dressmaking. She
has unusual ability in instrumental music. Aside from her studies at
Tuskegee, she has already begun to teach there.
Booker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is, he has
already nearly mastered the brickmason’s trade. He began working at
this trade when he was quite small, dividing his time between this and
class work; and he has developed great skill in the trade and a
fondness for it. He says that he is going to be an architect and
brickmason. One of the most satisfactory letters that I have ever
received from any one came to me from Booker last summer. When I left
home for the summer, I told him that he must work at his trade half of
each day, and that the other half of the day he could spend as he
pleased. When I had been away from home two weeks, I received the
following letter from him:
Tuskegee, Alabama.
My dear Papa: Before you left home you told me to work at my trade half
of each day. I like my work so much that I want to work at my trade all
day. Besides, I want to earn all the money I can, so that when I go to
another school I shall have money to pay my expenses.
Your son,
Booker.
My youngest child, Ernest Davidson Washington, says that he is going to
be a physician. In addition to going to school, where he studies books
and has manual training, he regularly spends a portion of his time in
the office of our resident physician, and has already learned to do
many of the duties which pertain to a doctor’s office.
The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret is that my work
in connection with public affairs keeps me for so much of the time away
from my family, where, of all places in the world, I delight to be. I
always envy the individual whose life-work is so laid that he can spend
his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that people who have
this rare privilege do not appreciate it as they should. It is such a
rest and relief to get away from crowds of people, and handshaking, and
travelling, to get home, even if it be for but a very brief while.
Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great deal of pleasure
and satisfaction is in the meeting with our students, and teachers, and
their families, in the chapel for devotional exercises every evening at
half-past eight, the last thing before retiring for the night. It is an
inspiring sight when one stands on the platform there and sees before
him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men and women; and one
cannot but feel that it is a privilege to help to guide them to a
higher and more useful life.
In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might describe as almost
the greatest surprise of my life. Some good ladies in Boston arranged a
public meeting in the interests of Tuskegee, to be held in the Hollis
Street Theatre. This meeting was attended by large numbers of the best
people of Boston, of both races. Bishop Lawrence presided. In addition
to an address made by myself, Mr. Paul Lawrence Dunbar read from his
poems, and Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois read an original sketch.
Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I seemed unusually
tired, and some little time after the close of the meeting, one of the
ladies who had been interested in it asked me in a casual way if I had
ever been to Europe. I replied that I never had. She asked me if I had
ever thought of going, and I told her no; that it was something
entirely beyond me. This conversation soon passed out of my mind, but a
few days afterward I was informed that some friends in Boston,
including Mr. Francis J. Garrison, had raised a sum of money sufficient
to pay all the expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself during a three or
four months’ trip to Europe. It was added with emphasis that we _must_
go. A year previous to this Mr. Garrison had attempted to get me to
promise to go to Europe for a summer’s rest, with the understanding
that he would be responsible for raising the money among his friends
for the expenses of the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so
entirely foreign to anything that I should ever be able to undertake
that I did confess I did not give the matter very serious attention;
but later Mr. Garrison joined his efforts to those of the ladies whom I
have mentioned, and when their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison
not only had the route mapped out, but had, I believe, selected the
steamer upon which we were to sail.
The whole thing was so sudden and so unexpected that I was completely
taken off my feet. I had been at work steadily for eighteen years in
connection with Tuskegee, and I had never thought of anything else but
ending my life in that way. Each day the school seemed to depend upon
me more largely for its daily expenses, and I told these Boston friends
that, while I thanked them sincerely for their thoughtfulness and
generosity, I could not go to Europe, for the reason that the school
could not live financially while I was absent. They then informed me
that Mr. Henry L. Higginson, and some other good friends who I know do
not want their names made public, were then raising a sum of money
which would be sufficient to keep the school in operation while I was
away. At this point I was compelled to surrender. Every avenue of
escape had been closed.
Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more like a dream than
like reality, and for a long time it was difficult for me to make
myself believe that I was actually going to Europe. I had been born and
largely reared in the lowest depths of slavery, ignorance, and poverty.
In my childhood I had suffered for want of a place to sleep, for lack
of food, clothing, and shelter. I had not had the privilege of sitting
down to a dining-table until I was quite well grown. Luxuries had
always seemed to me to be something meant for white people, not for my
race. I had always regarded Europe, and London, and Paris, much as I
regarded heaven. And now could it be that I was actually going to
Europe? Such thoughts as these were constantly with me.
Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared that people who
heard that Mrs. Washington and I were going to Europe might not know
all the circumstances, and might get the idea that we had become, as
some might say, “stuck up,” and were trying to “show off.” I recalled
that from my youth I had heard it said that too often, when people of
my race reached any degree of success, they were inclined to unduly
exalt themselves; to try and ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose
their heads. The fear that people might think this of us haunted me a
good deal. Then, too, I could not see how my conscience would permit me
to spare the time from my work and be happy. It seemed mean and selfish
in me to be taking a vacation while others were at work, and while
there was so much that needed to be done. From the time I could
remember, I had always been at work, and I did not see how I could
spend three or four months in doing nothing. The fact was that I did
not know how to take a vacation.
Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty in getting away, but she
was anxious to go because she thought that I needed the rest. There
were many important National questions bearing upon the life of the
race which were being agitated at that time, and this made it all the
harder for us to decide to go. We finally gave our Boston friends our
promise that we would go, and then they insisted that the date of our
departure be set as soon as possible. So we decided upon May 10. My
good friend Mr. Garrison kindly took charge of all the details
necessary for the success of the trip, and he, as well as other
friends, gave us a great number of letters of introduction to people in
France and England, and made other arrangements for our comfort and
convenience abroad. Good-bys were said at Tuskegee, and we were in New
York May 9, ready to sail the next day. Our daughter Portia, who was
then studying in South Framingham, Mass., came to New York to see us
off. Mr. Scott, my secretary, came with me to New York, in order that I
might clear up the last bit of business before I left. Other friends
also came to New York to see us off. Just before we went on board the
steamer another pleasant surprise came to us in the form of a letter
from two generous ladies, stating that they had decided to give us the
money with which to erect a new building to be used in properly housing
all our industries for girls at Tuskegee.
We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line, and a beautiful
vessel she was. We went on board just before noon, the hour of sailing.
I had never before been on board a large ocean steamer, and the feeling
which took possession of me when I found myself there is rather hard to
describe. It was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled with delight. We
were agreeably surprised to find that the captain, as well as several
of the other officers, not only knew who we were, but was expecting us
and gave us a pleasant greeting. There were several passengers whom we
knew, including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey, and Edward Marshall, the
newspaper correspondent. I had just a little fear that we would not be
treated civilly by some of the passengers. This fear was based upon
what I had heard other people of my race, who had crossed the ocean,
say about unpleasant experiences in crossing the ocean in American
vessels. But in our case, from the captain down to the most humble
servant, we were treated with the greatest kindness. Nor was this
kindness confined to those who were connected with the steamer; it was
shown by all the passengers also. There were not a few Southern men and
women on board, and they were as cordial as those from other parts of
the country.
As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer had cut loose
from the wharf, the load of care, anxiety, and responsibility which I
had carried for eighteen years began to lift itself from my shoulders
at the rate, it seemed to me, of a pound a minute. It was the first
time in all those years that I had felt, even in a measure, free from
care; and my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on paper. Added
to this was the delightful anticipation of being in Europe soon. It all
seemed more like a dream than like a reality.
Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have one of the most
comfortable rooms on the ship. The second or third day out I began to
sleep, and I think that I slept at the rate of fifteen hours a day
during the remainder of the ten days’ passage. Then it was that I began
to understand how tired I really was. These long sleeps I kept up for a