Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
“John” or “Susan.” There was seldom occasion for more than the use of
the one name. If “John” or “Susan” belonged to a white man by the name
of “Hatcher,” sometimes he was called “John Hatcher,” or as often
“Hatcher’s John.” But there was a feeling that “John Hatcher” or
“Hatcher’s John” was not the proper title by which to denote a freeman;
and so in many cases “John Hatcher” was changed to “John S. Lincoln” or
“John S. Sherman,” the initial “S” standing for no name, it being
simply a part of what the coloured man proudly called his “entitles.”
As I have stated, most of the coloured people left the old plantation
for a short while at least, so as to be sure, it seemed, that they
could leave and try their freedom on to see how it felt. After they had
remained away for a while, many of the older slaves, especially,
returned to their old homes and made some kind of contract with their
former owners by which they remained on the estate.
My mother’s husband, who was the stepfather of my brother John and
myself, did not belong to the same owners as did my mother. In fact, he
seldom came to our plantation. I remember seeing him there perhaps once
a year, that being about Christmas time. In some way, during the war,
by running away and following the Federal soldiers, it seems, he found
his way into the new state of West Virginia. As soon as freedom was
declared, he sent for my mother to come to the Kanawha Valley, in West
Virginia. At that time a journey from Virginia over the mountains to
West Virginia was rather a tedious and in some cases a painful
undertaking. What little clothing and few household goods we had were
placed in a cart, but the children walked the greater portion of the
distance, which was several hundred miles.
I do not think any of us ever had been very far from the plantation,
and the taking of a long journey into another state was quite an event.
The parting from our former owners and the members of our own race on
the plantation was a serious occasion. From the time of our parting
till their death we kept up a correspondence with the older members of
the family, and in later years we have kept in touch with those who
were the younger members. We were several weeks making the trip, and
most of the time we slept in the open air and did our cooking over a
log fire out-of-doors. One night I recall that we camped near an
abandoned log cabin, and my mother decided to build a fire in that for
cooking, and afterward to make a “pallet” on the floor for our
sleeping. Just as the fire had gotten well started a large black snake
fully a yard and a half long dropped down the chimney and ran out on
the floor. Of course we at once abandoned that cabin. Finally we
reached our destination—a little town called Malden, which is about
five miles from Charleston, the present capital of the state.
At that time salt-mining was the great industry in that part of West
Virginia, and the little town of Malden was right in the midst of the
salt-furnaces. My stepfather had already secured a job at a
salt-furnace, and he had also secured a little cabin for us to live in.
Our new house was no better than the one we had left on the old
plantation in Virginia. In fact, in one respect it was worse.
Notwithstanding the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we were at
all times sure of pure air. Our new home was in the midst of a cluster
of cabins crowded closely together, and as there were no sanitary
regulations, the filth about the cabins was often intolerable. Some of
our neighbours were coloured people, and some were the poorest and most
ignorant and degraded white people. It was a motley mixture. Drinking,
gambling, quarrels, fights, and shockingly immoral practices were
frequent. All who lived in the little town were in one way or another
connected with the salt business. Though I was a mere child, my
stepfather put me and my brother at work in one of the furnaces. Often
I began work as early as four o’clock in the morning.
The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowledge was while
working in this salt-furnace. Each salt-packer had his barrels marked
with a certain number. The number allotted to my stepfather was “18.”
At the close of the day’s work the boss of the packers would come
around and put “18” on each of our barrels, and I soon learned to
recognize that figure wherever I saw it, and after a while got to the
point where I could make that figure, though I knew nothing about any
other figures or letters.
From the time that I can remember having any thoughts about anything, I
recall that I had an intense longing to learn to read. I determined,
when quite a small child, that, if I accomplished nothing else in life,
I would in some way get enough education to enable me to read common
books and newspapers. Soon after we got settled in some manner in our
new cabin in West Virginia, I induced my mother to get hold of a book
for me. How or where she got it I do not know, but in some way she
procured an old copy of Webster’s “blue-back” spelling-book, which
contained the alphabet, followed by such meaningless words as “ab,”
“ba,” “ca,” “da.” I began at once to devour this book, and I think that
it was the first one I ever had in my hands. I had learned from
somebody that the way to begin to read was to learn the alphabet, so I
tried in all the ways I could think of to learn it,—all of course
without a teacher, for I could find no one to teach me. At that time
there was not a single member of my race anywhere near us who could
read, and I was too timid to approach any of the white people. In some
way, within a few weeks, I mastered the greater portion of the
alphabet. In all my efforts to learn to read my mother shared fully my
ambition, and sympathized with me and aided me in every way that she
could. Though she was totally ignorant, she had high ambitions for her
children, and a large fund of good, hard, common sense, which seemed to
enable her to meet and master every situation. If I have done anything
in life worth attention, I feel sure that I inherited the disposition
from my mother.
In the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, a young
coloured boy who had learned to read in the state of Ohio came to
Malden. As soon as the coloured people found out that he could read, a
newspaper was secured, and at the close of nearly every day’s work this
young man would be surrounded by a group of men and women who were
anxious to hear him read the news contained in the papers. How I used
to envy this man! He seemed to me to be the one young man in all the
world who ought to be satisfied with his attainments.
About this time the question of having some kind of a school opened for
the coloured children in the village began to be discussed by members
of the race. As it would be the first school for Negro children that
had ever been opened in that part of Virginia, it was, of course, to be
a great event, and the discussion excited the wildest interest. The
most perplexing question was where to find a teacher. The young man
from Ohio who had learned to read the papers was considered, but his
age was against him. In the midst of the discussion about a teacher,
another young coloured man from Ohio, who had been a soldier, in some
way found his way into town. It was soon learned that he possessed
considerable education, and he was engaged by the coloured people to
teach their first school. As yet no free schools had been started for
coloured people in that section, hence each family agreed to pay a
certain amount per month, with the understanding that the teacher was
to “board ’round”—that is, spend a day with each family. This was not
bad for the teacher, for each family tried to provide the very best on
the day the teacher was to be its guest. I recall that I looked forward
with an anxious appetite to the “teacher’s day” at our little cabin.
This experience of a whole race beginning to go to school for the first
time, presents one of the most interesting studies that has ever
occurred in connection with the development of any race. Few people who
were not right in the midst of the scenes can form any exact idea of
the intense desire which the people of my race showed for an education.
As I have stated, it was a whole race trying to go to school. Few were
too young, and none too old, to make the attempt to learn. As fast as
any kind of teachers could be secured, not only were day-schools
filled, but night-schools as well. The great ambition of the older
people was to try to learn to read the Bible before they died. With
this end in view men and women who were fifty or seventy-five years old
would often be found in the night-school. Some day-schools were formed
soon after freedom, but the principal book studied in the Sunday-school
was the spelling-book. Day-school, night-school, Sunday-school, were
always crowded, and often many had to be turned away for want of room.
The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however, brought to me
one of the keenest disappointments that I ever experienced. I had been
working in a salt-furnace for several months, and my stepfather had
discovered that I had a financial value, and so, when the school
opened, he decided that he could not spare me from my work. This
decision seemed to cloud my every ambition. The disappointment was made
all the more severe by reason of the fact that my place of work was
where I could see the happy children passing to and from school
mornings and afternoons. Despite this disappointment, however, I
determined that I would learn something, anyway. I applied myself with
greater earnestness than ever to the mastering of what was in the
“blue-back” speller.
My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment, and sought to
comfort me in all the ways she could, and to help me find a way to
learn. After a while I succeeded in making arrangements with the
teacher to give me some lessons at night, after the day’s work was
done. These night lessons were so welcome that I think I learned more
at night than the other children did during the day. My own experiences
in the night-school gave me faith in the night-school idea, with which,
in after years, I had to do both at Hampton and Tuskegee. But my boyish
heart was still set upon going to the day-school, and I let no
opportunity slip to push my case. Finally I won, and was permitted to
go to the school in the day for a few months, with the understanding
that I was to rise early in the morning and work in the furnace till
nine o’clock, and return immediately after school closed in the
afternoon for at least two more hours of work.
The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as I had to
work till nine o’clock, and the school opened at nine, I found myself
in a difficulty. School would always be begun before I reached it, and
sometimes my class had recited. To get around this difficulty I yielded
to a temptation for which most people, I suppose, will condemn me; but
since it is a fact, I might as well state it. I have great faith in the
power and influence of facts. It is seldom that anything is permanently
gained by holding back a fact. There was a large clock in a little
office in the furnace. This clock, of course, all the hundred or more
workmen depended upon to regulate their hours of beginning and ending
the day’s work. I got the idea that the way for me to reach school on
time was to move the clock hands from half-past eight up to the nine
o’clock mark. This I found myself doing morning after morning, till the
furnace “boss” discovered that something was wrong, and locked the
clock in a case. I did not mean to inconvenience anybody. I simply
meant to reach that schoolhouse in time.
When, however, I found myself at the school for the first time, I also