Frederick Douglass

A Life in Documents

Frederick Douglass, L. Diane Barnes, Orville Vernon Burton

• Publisher: University of Virginia Press
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9780813934365
• eBook ISBN: 9780813934372
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: American Civil War History
• Index: History

Frederick Douglass was born enslaved in February 1818, but from this most humble of beginnings, he rose to become a world-famous orator, newspaper editor, and champion of the rights of women and African Americans. He not only survived slavery to live in freedom but also became an outspoken critic of the institution and an active participant in the U.S. political system. Douglass advised presidents of the United States and formally represented his country in the diplomatic corps. He was the most prominent African American activist of the nineteenth century, and he left a treasure trove of documentary evidence detailing his life in slavery and achievements in freedom. This volume gathers and interprets valuable selections from a variety of Douglass's writings, including speeches, editorials, correspondence, and autobiographies.

PART ONE

The World of Slavery (1818–1838)

Earliest Memory of Slavery

Although the rest of his life was exceptional by many standards, Frederick Douglass’s early years were typical of many enslaved youths. In slavery, families rarely enjoyed the privilege of time together, and members of their extended family or nonrelated individuals in the slave community commonly cared for infants and small children. Douglass was born on Maryland’s Eastern Shore in February 1818. His slave master, and possibly his father, Aaron Anthony (1767–1826), was the chief overseer for the thirteen farms of the Lloyds, one of the wealthiest families in the South. His mother, Harriet Bailey (1792–1825), also an Anthony slave, was hired out to a local farm, where she worked as a field hand. Douglass recalled seeing her on only a few occasions, and almost always at night, when she would walk many miles after working all day in the fields to spend a few precious moments with her children. She died when Douglass was about seven. Although he had five or six siblings, Douglass’s family never lived together and were instead spread among various owners and farms in the county.

With such family separation commonplace, enslaved communities relied on alternative kin structures to raise their offspring. On the plantation, young children were often placed under the care of older enslaved women until they were deemed of sufficient age to work. Douglass’s grandmother Betsey Bailey (1774–1849) filled this role among the Anthony slaves. Douglass lived with her and his grandfather Isaac Bailey (b. ca. 1775) in a small cabin on Tuckahoe Creek in Talbot County. Isaac was a free black sawyer, but the twelve children Betsey bore him were all slaves, as Maryland law determined that the status of children followed that of their mother. With so much experience raising her own offspring and also acting as a midwife, Betsey Bailey was well suited to care for a houseful of growing children. Her loving attention shielded Douglass and the other children in her care from the brutal reality of slavery as long as possible.¹

From My Bondage and My Freedom

The first experience of life with me that I now remember—and I remember it but hazily—began in the family of my grandmother and grandfather, Betsey and Isaac Baily….

The dwelling of my grandmother and grandfather had few pretensions. It was a log hut, or cabin, built of clay, wood, and straw…. In this little hut there was a large family of children: I dare not say how many. My grandmother—whether because too old for field service, or because she had so faithfully discharged the duties of her station in early life, I know not—enjoyed the high privilege of living in a cabin, separate from the quarter, with no other burden than her own support, and the necessary care of the little children, imposed. She evidently esteemed it a great fortune to live so. The children were not her own, but her grandchildren—the children of her daughters….

Living here, with my dear old grandmother and grandfather, it was a long time before I knew myself to be a slave. I knew many other things before I knew that. Grandmother and grandfather were the greatest people in the world to me; and being with them so snugly in their own little cabin—I supposed it be their own—knowing no higher authority over me or the other children than the authority of grandmamma, for a time there was nothing to disturb me; but, as I grew larger and older, I learned by degrees the sad fact, that the “little hut,” and the lot on which it stood, belonged not to my dear old grandparents, but to some person who lived a great distance off, and who was called, by grandmother, “OLD MASTER.” I further learned the sadder fact, that not only the house and lot, but that grandmother herself, (grandfather was free,) and all the little children around her, belonged to this mysterious personage, called by grandmother, with every mark of reverence, “Old Master.” I was not long in finding out another fact, still more grievous to my childish heart. I was told that this “old master,” whose name seemed ever to be mentioned with fear and shuddering, only allowed the children to live with grandmother for a limited time, and that in fact as soon as they were big enough, they were promptly taken away, to live with the said “old master.” …

That mysterious individual referred to … as an object of terror among the inhabitants of our little cabin, under the ominous title of “old master,” was really a man of some consequence. He owned several farms in Tuckahoe; was the chief clerk and butler on the home plantation of Col. Edward Lloyd; had overseers on his own farms; and gave directions to overseers on the farms belonging to Col. Lloyd. This plantation is situated on Wye river—the river receiving its name, doubtless, from Wales, where the Lloyds originated. They (the Lloyds) are an old and honored family in Maryland, exceedingly wealthy. The home plantation, where they have resided, perhaps for a century or more, is one of the largest, most fertile, and best appointed, in the state….

I was A SLAVE—born a slave and though the fact was in comprehensible to me, it conveyed to my mind a sense of my entire dependence on the will of somebody I had never seen; and, from some cause or other, I had been made to fear this somebody above all else on earth. Born for another’s benefit, as the firstling of the cabin flock I was soon to be selected as a meet offering to the fearful and inexorable demigod, whose huge image on so many occasions haunted my childhood’s imagination. When the time of my departure was decided upon, my grandmother, knowing my fears, and in pity for them, kindly kept me ignorant of the dreaded event about to transpire. Up to the morning (a beautiful summer morning) when we were to start, and, indeed, during the whole journey—a journey which, child as I was, I remember as well as if it were yesterday—she kept the sad fact hidden from me. This reserve was necessary; for, could I have known all, I should have given grandmother some trouble in getting me started. As it was, I was helpless, and she—dear woman!—led me along by the hand, resisting, with the reserve and solemnity of a priestess, all my inquiring looks to the last.

The distance from Tuckahoe to Wye river—where my old master lived—was full twelve miles, and the walk was quite a severe test of the endurance of my young legs. The journey would have proved too severe for me, but that my dear old grandmother—blessings on her memory!—afforded occasional relief by “toting” me (as Marylanders have it) on her shoulder….

As the day advanced the heat increased; and it was not until the afternoon that we reached the much dreaded end of the journey. I found myself in the midst of a group of children of many colors; black, brown, copper colored, and nearly white. I had not seen so many children before. Great houses loomed up in different directions, and a great many men and women were at work in the fields. All this hurry, noise, and singing was very different from the stillness of Tuckahoe. As a new comer, I was an object of special interest; and, after laughing and yelling around me, and playing all sorts of wild tricks, they (the children) asked me to go out and play with them….

… Affectionately patting me on the head, and exhorting me to be a good boy, grandmamma told me to go and play with the little children. “They are kin to you,” said she; “go and play with them.” Among a number of cousins were Phil, Tom, Steve, and Jerry, Nance and Betty.

Grandmother pointed out my brother PERRY, my sister SARAH, and my sister ELIZA, who stood in the group. I had never seen my brother nor my sisters before; and, though I had sometimes heard of them, and felt a curious interest in them, I really did not understand what they were to me, or I to them. We were brothers and sisters, but what of that? Why should they be attached to me, or I to them? Brothers and sisters we were by blood; but slavery had made us strangers….

I really wanted to play with my brother and sisters, but they were strangers to me, and I was full of fear that grandmother might leave without taking me with her. Entreated to do so, however, and that, too, by my dear grandmother, I went to the back part of the house, to play with them and the other children. Play, however, I did not, but stood with my back against the wall, witnessing the playing of the others. At last, while standing there, one of the children, who had been in the kitchen, ran up to me, in a sort of roguish glee, exclaiming, “Fed, Fed! grandmammy gone! grandmammy gone!” I could not believe it; yet, fearing the worst, I ran into the kitchen, to see for myself, and found it even so. Grandmammy had indeed gone, and was now far away, “clean” out of sight. I need not tell all that happened now. Almost heart-broken at the discovery, I fell upon the ground, and wept a boy’s bitter tears, refusing to be comforted. My brother and sisters came around me, and said, “Don’t cry,” and gave me peaches and pears, but I flung them away, and refused all their kindly advances. I had never been deceived before; and I felt not only grieved at parting—as I supposed forever—with my grandmother, but indignant that a trick had been played upon me in a matter so serious.

It was now late in the afternoon. The day had been an exciting and wearisome one, and I knew not how or where, but I suppose I sobbed myself to sleep. There is a healing in the angel wing of sleep, even for the slave-boy; and its balm was never more welcome to any wounded soul than it was to mine, the first night I spent at the domicile of old master. The reader may be surprised that I narrate so minutely an incident apparently so trivial, and which must have occurred when I was not more than seven years old; but as I wish to give a faithful history of my experience in slavery, I cannot withhold a circumstance which, at the time, affected me so deeply. Besides, this was, in fact, my first introduction to the realities of slavery.

SOURCE: From Frederick Douglass, My Bondage and My Freedom (New York: Miller, Orton & Mulligan, 1855), 35–39, 43–50.

1. Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, Written by Himself (1845; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 92–93.

Mr. Gore Kills Demby

Most large plantations, especially those with more than twenty slaves, employed white men to supervise the workforce. Overseers were charged with maintaining order, ensuring that the enslaved worked with efficiency and that the plantation was as productive as possible. As such, overseers were often the slaves’ natural enemy. Since discipline was key to an overseer’s authority and control, whippings and other forms of punishment were often public spectacles. A public beating or other violence had the effect of inducing fear in the entire slave community.

During Douglass’s youth, he encountered a succession of plantation overseers, some kind and others cruel. The incident resulting in the death of an enslaved man named Demby left a lasting impression on Douglass, who was but a small boy when it occurred. In 1822 Austin Gore (1794–1871), of Talbot County, Maryland, was the overseer of one of Edward Lloyd V’s numerous plantations. Demby’s refusal to accept punishment, in this case a whipping, was “setting a bad example” that undermined Gore’s authority among the other slaves. Bill Demby (ca. 1802–1822), one of twenty-two slaves who lived and worked on Lloyd’s Davis Farm, was in his early twenties when he challenged the overseer.

The shooting of Demby occurred when Douglass was about five years old and still living with his grandmother, and although it is doubtful that he witnessed it himself, the event must have shocked the entire plantation community. He recounted the incident in each of his three autobiographies as an example of the horrors of the slave system and of the inhumanity of many whites involved. Defending the killing as necessary to maintain discipline, Gore apparently suffered no consequences for his actions. Although under Maryland law killing a slave was technically a crime, in reality few white men received punishment, especially if their actions could be justified. In such cases, the word of the overseer was generally accepted, as enslaved men and women were not permitted to testify against whites in a court of law. In Gore’s case, Edward Lloyd must not have objected too strenuously to the loss of a prime field hand, for he later promoted Gore to the post of overseer of his much larger Wye Plantation.¹

From Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass

Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his career was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of character indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr. Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of overseer, upon one of the out-farms, and had shown himself worthy of the high station of overseer upon the home or Great House Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel, and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all his powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of those who could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of the slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing himself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to the maxim laid down by slaveholders,—“It is better that a dozen slaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer should be convicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault.” No matter how innocent a slave might be—it availed him nothing, when accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to be convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand the most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to crouch, himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be contented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and persevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice of a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most dreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without producing horror and trembling in their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded but to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully with his whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as well. When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no consequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable; always at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil. He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel Lloyd’s slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few stripes, when, to get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a creek, and stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr. Gore told him that he would give him three calls, and that, if he did not come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The first call was given. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The second and third calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without consultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an additional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His mangled body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the water where he had stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation, excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other slaves,—one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration on his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and order upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be corrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves, and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore’s defence was satisfactory. He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation. His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence of slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor testify against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the bloodiest and most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael’s, Talbot county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is still alive, he very probably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as he was then, as highly esteemed and as much respected as though his guilty soul had not been stained with his brother’s blood.

SOURCE: From Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass (Boston: The Anti-Slavery Office, 1845), 23–26.

1. Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, Written by Himself (1845; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 101; Dickson J. Preston, Young Frederick Douglass: The Maryland Years (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980), 72–73.

Douglass Goes to Baltimore

Moving from rural Talbot County to Baltimore, Maryland, was a major turning point in Douglass’s life. There an eight-year-old slave boy experienced for the first time the quasi-freedo...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• List of Illustrations
• Acknowledgments
• Chronology
• Introduction
• Part One The World of Slavery (1818–1838)
• Part Two Reform and Civil Rights (1839–1858)
• Part Three The Nation at War (1859–1865)
• Part Four The Aftermath of War (1866–1876)
• Part Five Aging Reformer and Stalwart Republican (1877–1895)
• Recommended Reading
• Index