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Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave

the testimony of colored witnesses, whether bond

or free. By the slave code, they are adjudged to be

as incompetent to testify against a white man, as

though they were indeed a part of the brute creation.

Hence, there is no legal protection in fact, whatever

there may be in form, for the slave population; and

any amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them

with impunity. Is it possible for the human mind

to conceive of a more horrible state of society?

The effect of a religious profession on the conduct

of southern masters is vividly described in the fol-

lowing Narrative, and shown to be any thing but

salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in

the highest degree pernicious. The testimony of Mr.

DOUGLASS, on this point, is sustained by a cloud of

witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. “A slave-

holder’s profession of Christianity is a palpable im-

posture. He is a felon of the highest grade. He is a

man-stealer. It is of no importance what you put in

the other scale.”

Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy

and purpose, or on the side of their down-trodden

victims? If with the former, then are you the foe of

God and man. If with the latter, what are you pre-

pared to do and dare in their behalf? Be faithful,

be vigilant, be untiring in your efforts to break every

yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what may

— cost what it may — inscribe on the banner which

you unfurl to the breeze, as your religious and po-

litical motto — “NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY! NO

UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!”

WM. LLOYD GARRISON

BOSTON, MAY 1, 1845.

LETTER

FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ.

BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.

My Dear Friend:

You remember the old fable of “The Man and

the Lion,” where the lion complained that he should

not be so misrepresented “when the lions wrote his-

tory.”

I am glad the time has come when the “lions

write history.” We have been left long enough to

gather the character of slavery from the involuntary

evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest

sufficiently satisfied with what, it is evident, must

be, in general, the results of such a relation, with-

out seeking farther to find whether they have fol-

lowed in every instance. Indeed, those who stare at

the half-peck of corn a week, and love to count the

lashes on the slave’s back, are seldom the “stuff” out

of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made.

I remember that, in 1838, many were waiting for

the results of the West India experiment, before

they could come into our ranks. Those “results” have

come long ago; but, alas! few of that number have

come with them, as converts. A man must be dis-

posed to judge of emancipation by other tests than

whether it has increased the produce of sugar, — and

to hate slavery for other reasons than because it

starves men and whips women, — before he is ready

to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.

I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the

most neglected of God’s children waken to a sense

of their rights, and of the injustice done them. Ex-

perience is a keen teacher; and long before you had

mastered your A B C, or knew where the “white

sails” of the Chesapeake were bound, you began, I

see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by

his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but

by the cruel and blighting death which gathers over

his soul.

In connection with this, there is one circumstance

which makes your recollections peculiarly valuable,

and renders your early insight the more remarkable.

You come from that part of the country where we

are told slavery appears with its fairest features. Let

us hear, then, what it is at its best estate — gaze on

its bright side, if it has one; and then imagination

may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture,

as she travels southward to that (for the colored

man) Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the

Mississippi sweeps along.

Again, we have known you long, and can put the

most entire confidence in your truth, candor, and

sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak has

felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your

book will feel, persuaded that you give them a fair

specimen of the whole truth. No one-sided portrait,

— no wholesale complaints, — but strict justice done,

whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for

a moment, the deadly system with which it was

strangely allied. You have been with us, too, some

years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights,

which your race enjoy at the North, with that “noon

of night” under which they labor south of Mason

and Dixon’s line. Tell us whether, after all, the half-

free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than

the pampered slave of the rice swamps!

In reading your life, no one can say that we have

unfairly picked out some rare specimens of cruelty.

We know that the bitter drops, which even you have

drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations,

no individual ills, but such as must mingle always

and necessarily in the lot of every slave. They are the

essential ingredients, not the occasional results, of

the system.

After all, I shall read your book with trembling

for you. Some years ago, when you were beginning

to tell me your real name and birthplace, you may

remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain

ignorant of all. With the exception of a vague de-

scription, so I continued, till the other day, when

you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the

time, whether to thank you or not for the sight of

them, when I reflected that it was still dangerous,

in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell their names!

They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration

of Independence with the halter about their necks.

You, too, publish your declaration of freedom with

danger compassing you around. In all the broad lands

which the Constitution of the United States over-

shadows, there is no single spot, — however narrow or

desolate, — where a fugitive slave can plant himself

and say, “I am safe.” The whole armory of North-

ern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that,

in your place, I should throw the MS. into the fire.

You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, en-

deared as you are to so many warm hearts by rare

gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to the service

of others. But it will be owing only to your labors,

and the fearless efforts of those who, trampling the

laws and Constitution of the country under their

feet, are determined that they will “hide the out-

cast,” and that their hearths shall be, spite of the

law, an asylum for the oppressed, if, some time or

other, the humblest may stand in our streets, and

bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which

he has been the victim.

Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing

hearts which welcome your story, and form your best

safeguard in telling it, are all beating contrary to the

“statute in such case made and provided.” Go on,

my dear friend, till you, and those who, like you,

have been saved, so as by fire, from the dark prison-

house, shall stereotype these free, illegal pulses into

statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a

blood-stained Union, shall glory in being the house

of refuge for the oppressed, — till we no longer merely

“HIDE the outcast,” or make a merit of standing idly

by while he is hunted in our midst; but, consecrat-

ing anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the

oppressed, proclaim our WELCOME to the slave so

loudly, that the tones shall reach every hut in the

Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted bondman

leap up at the thought of old Massachusetts.

God speed the day!

TILL THEN, AND EVER,

YOURS TRULY,

WENDELL PHILLIPS

FREDERICK DOUGLASS.

Frederick Douglass was born in slavery as Fred-

erick Augustus Washington Bailey near Easton in

Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the

exact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817

or 1818. As a young boy he was sent to Baltimore,

to be a house servant, where he learned to read and

write, with the assistance of his master’s wife. In

1838 he escaped from slavery and went to New York

City, where he married Anna Murray, a free colored

woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon there-

after he changed his name to Frederick Douglass.

In 1841 he addressed a convention of the Massa-

chusetts Anti-Slavery Society in Nantucket and so

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