Life and Times, Second Part

SECOND PART.

CHAPTER I. ESCAPE FROM SLAVERY.

Reasons for not having revealed the manner of escape — Nothing of romance in the method — Danger — Free Papers — Unjust tax — Protection papers — "Free trade and sailors' rights" — American eagle—- Railroad train — Unobserving conductor — Capt. McGowan — Honest German — Fears— Safe arrival in Philadelphia — Ditto in New York.

In the first narrative of my experience in slavery, written nearly forty years ago, and in various writings since, I have given the public what I considered very good reasons for withholding the manner of my escape. In substance these reasons were, first, that such publication at any time during the existence of slavery might be used by the master against the slave, and prevent the future escape of any who might adopt the same means that I did. The second reason was, if possible, still more binding to silence— for publication of details would certainly have put in peril the persons and property of those who assisted. Murder itself was not more sternly and certainly punished in the State of Maryland, than was aiding^{†Editorial Emendation: than that of aiding.} and abetting the escape of a slave.^{†Douglass exaggerates. Whereas the crime of murder was subject to a maximum of capital punishment, assisting of fugitive slaves to escape in the state of Maryland was met, according to law, with imprisonment. In 1818 the state of Maryland passed "An act entitled, A further additional supplement to the act entitled, An act concerning Crimes and Punishments," which imposed a penalty of up to six years' imprisonment to any free person in Maryland for the enticing, persuading, or assisting of runaway slaves. Three decades later, in 1849, the state law became more severe, increasing the prison sentence for the assisting of runaway slaves to a span of from six to fifteen years. Laws Made and Passed by the General Assembly of the State of Maryland (1817), chap. 157; Laws Made and Passed by the General Assembly of the State of Maryland (1850), chap. 296.} Many colored men, for no other crime than that of giving aid to a fugitive slave, have, like Charles T. Torrey, perished in prison. The abolition of slavery in my native State and throughout the country, and the lapse of time, render the caution hitherto observed no longer necessary. But even since the abolition of slavery, I have sometimes thought it well enough to baffle curiosity by saying that while slavery existed there were good reasons for not telling the manner of my escape, and since slavery had ceased to exist there was no reason for telling it. I shall now, however, cease to avail myself of this formula, and, as far as I can, endeavor to satisfy this very natural curiosity. I should perhaps have yielded to that feeling sooner, had there been anything very heroic or thrilling in the incidents connecte with my escape, for I am sorry to say I have nothing of that sort to tell; and yet the courage that could risk betrayal and the bravery which was ready to encounter death if need be, in pursuit of freedom, were essential features in the undertaking. My success was due to address rather than courage; to good luck rather than bravery. My means of escape were provided for me by the very men who were making laws to hold and bind me more securely

in slavery. It was the custom in the State of Maryland to require of the free colored people to have what were called free papers. This instrument they were required to renew very often, and by charging a fee for this writing, considerable sums from time to time were collected by the State. In these papers the name, age, color, height, and form of the free man were described, together with any scars or other marks upon his person, which could assist in his identification. This device of slaveholding ingenuity, like other devices of wickedness, in some measure defeated itself —since more than one man could be found to answer the same general description. Hence many slaves could escape by personating the owner of one set of papers; and this was often done as follows: A slave nearly or sufficiently answering the description set forth in the papers, would borrow or hire them till he could by their means escape to a free State, and then, by mail or otherwise, return them to the owner. The operation was a hazardous one for the lender as well as the borrower. A failure on the part of the fugitive to send back the papers would imperil his benefactor, and the discovery of the papers in possession of the wrong man would imperil both the fugitive and his friend. It was therefore an act of supreme trust on the part of a freeman of color thus to put in jeopardy his own liberty that another might be free. It was, however, not unfrequently bravely done, and was seldom discovered. I was not so fortunate as to sufficiently resemble any of my free acquaintances as to answer the description of their papers. But I had one friend—a sailor—who owned a sailor's protection,^{†"Seamen's Protection Certificates" were issued to American seamen, both white and black, to protect merchant sailors from being unduly seized when working. A typical certificate identified its holder's name, age, place of birth, height, and any distinguishing physical features, such as tattoos or scars; nonwhites were additionally required to provide a racial designation. The certificate was signed (or marked) by its holder and included the signature of a witness attesting to the truth of the certificate's information. Because the protection granted its holders American citizenship, many blacks applied for the certificates. The advantages of protection became more and more limited for blacks after South Carolina passed its Negro Seamen Acts in 1822, which prohibited black sailors from debarking in the state's ports. Alabama, Louisiana, and the Spanish Caribbean colonies followed suit with their own variations of the law in the 1830s and 1840s. Despite these restrictions, African Americans often invoked the certificates as evidence of their citizenship rights. W. Jeffrey Bolster, Black Jacks: African American Seamen in the Age of Sail (Cambridge, Mass., 1997), 5, 199-200; Ira Dye, "Early American Merchant Seafarers," Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 120:332-33 (October 1976).} which answered somewhat the purpose of free papers—describing his person, and certifying to the fact that he was a free American sailor. The instrument had at its head the American eagle, which gave it the appearance at once of an authorized document. This protection did not, when in my hands, describe its bearer very accurately. Indeed, it called for a man much darker than myself and close examination of it would have caused my arrest at the start. In order to avoid this fatal scrutiny on the part of the railroad official, I had arranged with Isaac Rolls, a hackman,^{†Driver of a hackney-carriage; a cabman.} to bring my baggage to the train just on the moment of its starting, and jumped upon the car myself when the train was already in motion. Had I gone into the station and offered to purchase a ticket, I should have been instantly and carefully examined, and undoubtedly arrested. In choosing this plan upon which to act, I considered the jostle of the train, and the natural haste of the conductor, in a train crowded with passengers, and relied upon my skill and address in playing the sailor as described in my protection, to do the rest. One element in my favor was the kind feeling which prevailed in Baltimore and other seaports at the

time, towards "those who go down to the sea in ships."^{†Ps. 107:23.} "Free trade and sailors' rights"^{†"Free trade and sailors' rights" refers to the slogan adopted by America during the War of 1812. "Free trade" refers to the ability of one nation to conduct its commercial affairs without interference by a foreign power, and "sailors' rights" refers to the practice of impressment aboard American and British ships. Before and during the War of 1812, it became a war cry of the Americans and could often be seen on banners flying above American ships. Ransom H. Gillet, Democracy in the United States (New York, 1868), 41-42; Alfred Thayer Mahan, Sea Power in Its Relations to the War of 1812, 2 vols. (London, 1905), 1:135-36; Donald R. Hickey, The War of 1812: A Forgotten Conflict (Urbana, Ill., 1989), 156-57.} expressed the sentiment of the country just then. In my clothing I was rigged out in sailor style. I had on a red shirt and a tarpaulin hat^{†Hat worn by sailors, made of canvas impregnated with tar to make it waterproof.} and black cravat,^{†An article of clothing, usually worn by men, tied around the neck.} tied in sailor fashion, carelessly and loosely about my neck. My knowledge of ships and sailor's talk came much to my assistance, for I knew a ship from stem to stern,^{†Fore to aft, or front to back.} and from keelson to cross-trees, and could talk sailor like an "old salt."^{†A common nickname for a well-seasoned sailor.} On sped the train, and I was well on the way to Havre de Grace^{†A community in northeast Maryland on the Chesapeake Bay. Originally settled in 1658, it was incorporated as a town in 1785, burned by the British in the War of 1812, and rebuilt. Seltzer, Gazetteer of the World, 767.} before the conductor came into the negro car to collect tickets and examine the papers of his black passengers. This was a critical moment in the drama. My whole future depended upon the decision of this conductor. Agitated I was while this ceremony was proceeding, but still externally, at least, I was apparently calm and self-possessed. He went on with his duty—examining several colored passengers before reaching me. He was somewhat harsh in tone, and peremptory in manner until he reached me, when, strangely enough, and to my surprise and relief, his whole manner changed. Seeing that I did not readily produce my free papers, as the other colored persons in the car had done, he said to me in a friendly contrast with that observed towards the others: "I suppose you have your free papers?" To which I answered: "No. sir; I never carry my free papers to sea with me." "But you have something to show that you are a free man, have you not?" "Yes, sir." I answered; "I have a paper with the American eagle on it, and that will carry me round the world." With this I drew from my deep sailor's pocket my seaman's protection, as before described. The merest glance at the paper satisfied him, and he took my fare and went on about his business. This moment of time was one of the most anxious I ever experienced. Had the conductor looked closely at the paper, he could not have failed to discover that it called for a very different looking person from myself, and in that case it would have been his duty to arrest me on the instant, and send me back to Baltimore from the first station. When he left me with the assurance that I was all right, though much relieved, I realized that I was still in great danger; I was still in Maryland, and subject to arrest at any moment. I saw on the train several persons who would have known me in any other clothes, and I feared they might recognize me, even in my sailor "rig,"^{†Slang for a nautical uniform.} and report me to the conductor, who would then subject me to a closer examination. which I knew well would be fatal to me.

Though I was not a murderer fleeing from justice I felt perhaps quite as miserable as such a criminal. The train was moving at a very high rate of speed for that time of railroad travel, but to my anxious mind, it was moving

far too slowly. Minutes were hours, and hours were days during this part of my flight. After Maryland I was to pass through Delaware—another slave State, where slave catchers generally awaited their prey, for it was not in the interior of the State, but on its borders, that these human hounds were most vigilant and active. The border lines between slavery and freedom were the dangerous ones, for the fugitives. The heart of no fox or deer, with hungry hounds on his trail, in full chase, could have beaten more anxiously or noisily than did mine, from the time I left Baltimore till I reached Philadelphia. The passage of the Susquehanna river^{†The Susquehanna River originates at Otsego Lake, in central New York, then winds 444 miles south through the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania, emptying into the Chesapeake Bay near Havre de Grace, Maryland. This shallow, rock-filled river is unsuitable for navigation throughout almost its entire length. Cohen, Columbia Gazetteer, 3:3060.} at Havre de Grace was made by ferry boat at that time, on board of which I met a young colored man by the name of Nichols, who came very near betraying me. He was a "hand" on the boat, but instead of minding his business, he insisted upon knowing me, and asking me dangerous questions as to where I was going, and when I was coming back, etc. I got away from my old and inconvenient acquaintance as soon as I could decently do so, and went to another part of the boat. Once across the river I encountered a new danger. Only a few days before I had been at work on a revenue cutter, in Mr. Price's ship-yard, under the care of Captain McGowan. On the meeting at this point of the two trains, the one going south stopped on the track just opposite to the one going north, and it so happened that this Captain McGowan sat at a window where he could see me very distinctly, and would certainly have recognized me had he looked at me but for a second. Fortunately, in the hurry of the moment, he did not see me; and the trains soon passed each other on their respective ways. But this was not my only hair-breadth escape. A German blacksmith whom I knew well, was on the train with me, and looked at me very intently as if he thought he had seen me somewhere before in his travels. I really believe he knew me, but had no heart to betray me. At any rate he saw me escaping and held his peace.

The last point of imminent danger, and the one I dreaded most, was Wilmington. Here we left the train and took the steamboat for Philadelphia. In making the change here I again apprehended arrest, but no one disturbed me, and I was soon on the broad and beautiful Delaware, speeding away to the Quaker City.^{†Quaker City is the nickname attributed to Philadelphia. Founded in 1682 by William Penn, Philadelphia, meaning the "City of Brotherly Love," was established as a safe haven for the peace-loving Quakers. Cohen, Columbia Gazetteer, 3:2423.} On reaching Philadelphia in the afternoon I inquired of a colored man how I could get on to New York. He directed me to the Willow^{†Editorial Emendation: Second American Edition. First Printing Hartford, Conn.: Park Publishing Co., et al., 1882: William.} street depot,^{†The Willow Street Depot was located in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The city's original railroad line traveled through Philadelphia from Eighth Street to Broad, up Broad to Willow, out to Fairmount and the Columbia Railroad Bridge across the Schuylkill, and then up the inclined plane to Belmont and to the West. Francis Burke Brandt and Henry Volkmar Gummere, Byways and Boulevards in and about Historic Philadelphia (Philadelphia, 1925), 206.} and thither I went, taking the train that night. I reached New York Tuesday morning, having completed the journey in less than twenty-four hours. Such is briefly the manner of my escape from slavery—and the end of my experience as a slave. Other chapters will tell the story of my life as a freeman.

CHAPTER II. LIFE AS A FREEMAN.

My free life began on the third of September, 1838. On the morning of the 4th of that month after an anxious and most perilous but safe journey, I found myself in the big city of New York, a free man; one more added to the mighty throng^{†At the time of Douglass's arrival in 1838, New York City was America's largest, with a population of approximately 300,000. Burgeoning with new immigrant populations from Germany and Ireland, the city had become home to peoples from across Europe. The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Wards, located south of Canal Street, were the city's most densely populated and the homes of the majority of the newly immigrated. Douglass found himself in the midst of this community; Ruggles's home on Lispenard Street was one block south of Canal Street. New York Times, 17 July 1921; Jay P. Dolan, "Immigrants in the City: New York's Irish and German Catholics," CH, 41:354-55 (September 1972).} which like the confused waves of the troubled sea, surged to and fro between the lofty walls of Broadway.^{†Central to the culture and business of nineteenth-century New York City, Broadway bustled with activity. The avenue was marked with stores, fancy hotels, and theaters that provided inexpensive entertain-ment to New Yorkers of all social classes. In 1836 John Jacob Astor opened a six-story 300-room hotel on Broadway, just west of City Hall Park. Called first the Park Hotel, and later renamed the Astor House, it would be the most prestigious hotel in the nation for many decades. Broadway was a center of constant activity, and trying to cross the street was considered risky because it was crowded with carriages and omnibuses. The street was home to America's first department stores and gained a reputation as a fashionable shopping district by midcentury. The five-block strip intersected by Canal, Grand, Broome, Spring, Prince, and Houston Streets was an especially popular area for window-shoppers who found Broadway to be the perfect promenade. Broadway became a more serious business district as it reached beyond the City Hall Park area, where publishers, law firms, and newspapers found a fashionable address for their business. Edwin G. Burrows and Mike Wallace, Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898 (New York, 1999), 404, 436, 600, 668, 692 .} Though dazzled with the wonders which met me on every hand my thoughts could not be much withdrawn from my strange situation. For the moment the dreams of my youth and the hopes of my manhood, were completely fulfilled. The bonds that had held me to "old master" were broken. No man now had a right to call me his slave or assert mastery over me. I was in the rough and tumble of an outdoor world, to take my chance with the rest of its busy number. I have often been asked, how I felt, when first I found myself on free soil. And my readers may share the same curiosity. There is scarcely anything in my experience about which I could not give a more satisfactory answer. A new world had opened upon me. If life is more than breath, and the "quick round or blood,"^{†Douglass possibly quotes a passage in Philip James Bailey's (1816-1902) epic poem Festus, which first appeared anonymously in 1839; "Life's more than breath, and the quick round of blood./ It is a great spirit and a busy heart./ The coward and the small in soul scarce do live./ One generous feeling--one great thought--one deed/ Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem/ Than if each year might number a thousand days." Philip James Bailey, Festus, 8th ed. (London, 1866), 47.} I lived more in one day than in a year of my slave life. It was a time of joyous excitement which words can but tamely describe. In a letter written to a friend soon after reaching New York I said: "I felt as one might feel upon escape from a den of hungry lions."^{†Douglass alludes to the story of Daniel and the lions' den. Dan. 6:1-28.} Anguish and grief, like darkness and rain may be depicted; but gladness and joy, like the rainbow, defy the skill of pen or pencil. During ten or fifteen years I had, as it were, been dragging a heavy chain, which no strength of mine could break; I was not only a slave but a slave, for life. I might become a husband, a father, an aged man, but through all, from birth to death, from the cradle to the grave, I had felt myself doomed. All efforts I had previously made to secure my freedom, had not only failed, but had seemed only to rivet my fetters the more firmly, and to render my escape more difficult. Baffled, entangled, and discouraged, I had at times asked myself the question. May not my condition after all be God's work, and ordered for a wise purpose, and if so, was not submission my duty? A contest had in fact been going on in my mind for a long time, between the clear consciousness of right, and the plausible make-shifts of theology and superstition. The one held me an abject slave—a prisoner