Article Response 4

Learning
to
Read
and
Write
by
Frederick
Douglass
 
 
 
 
 I
 lived
 in
 Master
 Hugh's
 family
 about
 seven
 years.
 During
 this
 time,
 I
 succeeded
 in
 learning
to
read
and
write.
In
accomplishing
this,
I
was
compelled
to
resort
to
various
 stratagems.
I
had
no
regular
teacher.
My
mistress,
who
had
kindly
commenced
to
instruct
 me,
had,
in
compliance
with
the
advice
and
direction
of
her
husband,
not
only
ceased
to
 instruct,
 but
 had
 set
 her
 face
 against
 my
 being
 instructed
 by
 anyone
 else.
 It
 is
 due,
 however,
to
my
mistress
to
say
of
her,
that
she
did
not
adopt
this
course
of
treatment
 immediately.
She
at
first
lacked
the
depravity
indispensable
to
shutting
me
up
in
mental
 darkness.
 It
 was
 at
 least
 necessary
 for
 her
 to
 have
 some
 training
 in
 the
 exercise
 of
 irresponsible
 power,
 to
 make
 her
 equal
 to
 the
 task
 of
 treating
 me
 as
 though
 I
 were
 a
 brute.


 
 My
mistress
was,
as
I
have
said,
a
kind
and
tender‐hearted
woman;
and
in
the
simplicity
 of
 her
 soul
 she
 commenced,
 when
 I
 first
 went
 to
 live
 with
 her,
 to
 treat
 me
 as
 she
 supposed
 one
 human
 being
 ought
 to
 treat
 another.
 In
 entering
 upon
 the
 duties
 of
 a
 slaveholder,
she
did
not
seem
to
perceive
that
I
sustained
to
her
the
relation
of
a
mere
 chattel,
 and
 that
 for
 her
 to
 treat
 me
 as
 a
 human
 being
 was
 not
 only
 wrong,
 but
 dangerously
so.
Slavery
proved
as
injurious
to
her
as
it
did
to
me.
When
I
went
there,
she
 was
 a
 pious,
 warm,
 and
 tender‐hearted
 woman.
 There
 was
 no
 sorrow
 or
 suffering
 for
 which
 she
 had
 not
 a
 tear.
 She
 had
 bread
 for
 the
 hungry,
 clothes
 for
 the
 naked,
 and
 comfort
for
every
mourner
that
came
within
her
reach.
Slavery
soon
proved
its
ability
to
 divest
her
of
these
heavenly
qualities.
Under
its
influence,
the
tender
heart
became
stone,
 and
the
lamb‐Iike
disposition
gave
way
to
one
of
tiger‐like
fierce‐
ness.
The
first
step
in
 her
downward
course
was
in
her
ceasing
to
instruct
me.
She
now
commenced
to
practice
 her
husband's
precepts.
She
finally
became
even
more
violent
in
her
opposition
than
her
 husband
himself.
She
was
not
satisfied
with
simply
doing
as
well
as
he
had
commanded;
 she
seemed
anxious
to
do
better.
Nothing
seemed
to
make
her
more
angry
than
to
see
me
 with
a
newspaper.
She
seemed
to
think
that
here
lay
the
danger.
I
have
had
her
rush
at
 me
with
a
face
made
all
up
of
fury,
and
snatch
from
me
a
newspaper,
in
a
manner
that
 fully
 revealed
 her
 apprehension.
 She
 was
 an
 apt
 woman;
 and
 a
 little
 experience
 soon
 demonstrated,
 to
 her
 satisfaction,
 that
 education
 and
 slavery
 were
 incompatible
 with
 each
other.


 
 From
this
time
I
was
most
narrowly
watched.
If
I
was
in
a
separate
room
any
considerable
 length
of
time,
I
was
sure
to
be
suspected
of
having
a
book,
and
was
at
once
called
to
give
 an
 account
 of
 myself.
 All
 this,
 however,
 was
 too
 late.
 The
 first
 step
 had
 been
 taken.
 Mistress,
in
teaching
me
the
alphabet,
had
given
me
the
inch,
and
no
precaution
could
 prevent
me
from
taking
the
ell.


 
 The
 plan
 which
 I
 adopted,
 and
 the
 one
 by
 which
 I
 was
 most
 successful,
 was
 that
 of
 making
friends
of
all
the
little
white
boys
whom
I
met
in
the
street.
As
many
of
these
as
I
 could,
I
converted
into
teachers.
With
their
kindly
aid,
obtained
at
different
times
and
in
 different
 places,
 I
 finally
 succeeded
 in
 learning
 to
 read.
 When
 I
 was
 sent
 to
 errands,
 I


p.
2


always
took
my
book
with
me,
and
by
doing
one
part
of
my
errand
quickly,
I
found
time
 to
get
a
lesson
before
my
return.
I
used
also
to
carry
bread
with
me,
enough
of
which
was
 always
in
the
house,
and
to
which
I
was
always
welcome;
for
I
was
much
better
off
in
this
 regard
than
many
of
the
poor
white
children
in
our
neighborhood.
This
bread
I
used
to
 bestow
upon
the
hungry
little
urchins,
who,
in
return,
would
give
me
that
more
valuable
 bread
of
knowledge.
I
am
strongly
tempted
to
give
the
names
of
two
or
three
of
those
 little
 boys,
 as
 a
 testimonial
 of
 the
 gratitude
 and
 affection
 I
 bear
 them;
 but
 prudence
 forbids‐not
that
it
would
injure
me,
~
but
it
might
embarrass
them;
for
it
is
almost
an
 unpardonable
offense
to
teach
slaves
to
read
in
this
Christian
country.
It
is
enough
to
say
 of
the
dear
little
fellows,
that
they
lived
on
Philpot
Street,
very
near
Durgin
and
Bailey's
 shipyard.
I
used
to
talk
this
matter
of
slavery
over
with
them.
I
would
sometimes
say
to
 them,
I
wished
I
could
be
as
free
as
they
would
be
when
they
got
to
be
men.
"You
will
be
 free
as
soon
as
you
are
twenty‐
one,
but
I
am
a
slave
for
life!
Have
not
I
as
good
a
right
to
 be
free
as
you
have?"
These
words
used
to
trouble
them;
they
would
express
for
me
the
 liveliest
sympathy,
and
console
me
with
the
hope
that
something
would
occur
by
which
I
 might
be
free.


 
 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
 rep‐
resented
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
de‐
sired
 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
 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
band
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


p.
3


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
every
thing.
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
anyone
speak
of
slavery
.I
was
a
ready
listener.
Every
little
while,
I
could
hear
some‐
 thing
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
hear
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
be
 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


p.
4


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.


 
 The
idea
as
to
how
I
might
learn
to
write
was
suggested
to
me
by
being
in
Durgin
and
 Bailey's
ship‐yard,
and
frequently
seeing
the
ship
carpenters,
after
hewing,
and
getting
a
 piece
of
timber
ready
for
use,
write
on
the
timber
the
name
of
that
part
of
the
ship
for
 which
 it
 was
 intended.
 When
 a
 piece
 of
 timber
 was
 intended
 for
 the
 larboard
 side,
 it
 would
be
marked
thus‐"L."
When
apiece
was
for
the
starboard
side,
it
would
be
marked
 thus‐‐S.F."
 A
 piece
 for
 the
 larboard
 side
 forward,
 would
 be
 marked
 thus‐"L.F."
 When
 apiece
was
for
starboard
side
forward,
it
would
be
marked
thus‐"S.F."
For
larboard
aft,
it
 would
 be
 marked
 thus‐"L.A."
 For
 starboard
 aft,
 it
 would
 be
 marked
 thus‐"S.A."
 I
 soon
 learned
the
names
of
these
letters,
and
for
what
they
were
intended
when
placed
upon
a
 piece
of
timber
in
the
shipyard.
I
immediately
commenced
copying
them,
and
in
a
short
 time
was
able
to
make
the
four
letters
named.
After
that,
when
I
met
with
any
boy
who
I
 knew
could
write,
I
would
tell
him
I
could
write
as
well
as
he.
The
next
word
would
be,
"1
 don't
believe
you.
Let
me
see
you
try
it."
I
would
then
make
the
letters
which
I
had
been
 so
fortunate
as
to
learn,
and
ask
him
to
beat
that.
In
this
way
I
got
a
good
many
lessons
in
 writing,
which
it
is
quite
possible
I
should
never
have
gotten
in
any
other
way.
During
 this
time,
my
copy‐
book
was
the
board
fence,
brick
wall,
and
pavement;
my
pen
and
ink
 was
a
lump
of
chalk.
With
these,
I
learned
mainly
how
to
write.
I
then
commenced
and
 continued
 copying
 the
 Italics
 in
 Webster's
 Spelling
 Book,
 until
 I
 could
 make
 them
 all
 without
looking
in
the
book.
By
this
time,
my
little
Master
Thomas
had
gone
to
school,
 and
learned
how
to
write,
and
had
written
over
a
number
of
copy‐books.
These
had
been
 brought
 home,
 and
 shown
 to
 some
 of
 our
 near
 neighbors,
 and
 then
 laid
 aside.
 My
 mistress
 used
 to
 go
 to
 class
 meeting
 at
 the
 Wilk
 Street
 meeting‐house
 every
 Monday
 afternoon,
and
leave
me
to
take
care
of
the
house.
When
left
thus,
I
used
to
spend
the
 time
in
writing
in
the
spaces
left
in
master
Thomas's
copy‐book,
copying
what
he
had
 written.
I
continued
to
do
this
until
I
could
write
a
hand
very
similar
to
that
of
Master
 Thomas.
Thus,
after
a
long,
tedious
effort
for
years,
I
finally
succeeded
in
learning
how
to
 write.
 
 Taken
from:
http://www.gibbsmagazine.com/learning%20to%20read.htm