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UP FROM SLAVERY: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

By Booker T. Washington




     This volume is dedicated to my Wife
     Margaret James Washington
     And to my Brother John H. Washington
     Whose patience, fidelity,
     and hard work have gone far to make the
     work at Tuskegee successful.




Preface

This volume is the outgrowth of a series of articles, dealing with
incidents in my life, which were published consecutively in the Outlook.
While they were appearing in that magazine I was constantly surprised at
the number of requests which came to me from all parts of the country,
asking that the articles be permanently preserved in book form. I am
most grateful to the Outlook for permission to gratify these requests.

I have tried to tell a simple, straightforward story, with no attempt
at embellishment. My regret is that what I have attempted to do has
been done so imperfectly. The greater part of my time and strength is
required for the executive work connected with the Tuskegee Normal
and Industrial Institute, and in securing the money necessary for the
support of the institution. Much of what I have said has been written
on board trains, or at hotels or railroad stations while I have been
waiting for trains, or during the moments that I could spare from my
work while at Tuskegee. Without the painstaking and generous assistance
of Mr. Max Bennett Thrasher I could not have succeeded in any
satisfactory degree.




Introduction

The details of Mr. Washington's early life, as frankly set down in "Up
from Slavery," do not give quite a whole view of his education. He had
the training that a coloured youth receives at Hampton, which, indeed,
the autobiography does explain. But the reader does not get his
intellectual pedigree, for Mr. Washington himself, perhaps, does not
as clearly understand it as another man might. The truth is he had a
training during the most impressionable period of his life that was very
extraordinary, such a training as few men of his generation have had.
To see its full meaning one must start in the Hawaiian Islands half
a century or more ago.* There Samuel Armstrong, a youth of missionary
parents, earned enough money to pay his expenses at an American college.
Equipped with this small sum and the earnestness that the undertaking
implied, he came to Williams College when Dr. Mark Hopkins was
president. Williams College had many good things for youth in that day,
as it has in this, but the greatest was the strong personality of its
famous president. Every student does not profit by a great teacher; but
perhaps no young man ever came under the influence of Dr. Hopkins,
whose whole nature was so ripe for profit by such an experience as young
Armstrong. He lived in the family of President Hopkins, and thus had a
training that was wholly out of the common; and this training had
much to do with the development of his own strong character, whose
originality and force we are only beginning to appreciate.

     * For this interesting view of Mr. Washington's education, I
     am indebted to Robert C. Ogden, Esq., Chairman of the Board
     of Trustees of Hampton Institute and the intimate friend of
     General Armstrong during the whole period of his educational
     work.

In turn, Samuel Armstrong, the founder of Hampton Institute, took up his
work as a trainer of youth. He had very raw material, and doubtless most
of his pupils failed to get the greatest lessons from him; but, as
he had been a peculiarly receptive pupil of Dr. Hopkins, so Booker
Washington became a peculiarly receptive pupil of his. To the formation
of Mr. Washington's character, then, went the missionary zeal of New
England, influenced by one of the strongest personalities in modern
education, and the wide-reaching moral earnestness of General Armstrong
himself. These influences are easily recognizable in Mr. Washington
to-day by men who knew Dr. Hopkins and General Armstrong.

I got the cue to Mr. Washington's character from a very simple incident
many years ago. I had never seen him, and I knew little about him,
except that he was the head of a school at Tuskegee, Alabama. I had
occasion to write to him, and I addressed him as "The Rev. Booker T.
Washington." In his reply there was no mention of my addressing him as a
clergyman. But when I had occasion to write to him again, and persisted
in making him a preacher, his second letter brought a postscript: "I
have no claim to 'Rev.'" I knew most of the coloured men who at that
time had become prominent as leaders of their race, but I had not then
known one who was neither a politician nor a preacher; and I had
not heard of the head of an important coloured school who was not
a preacher. "A new kind of man in the coloured world," I said to
myself--"a new kind of man surely if he looks upon his task as an
economic one instead of a theological one." I wrote him an apology for
mistaking him for a preacher.

The first time that I went to Tuskegee I was asked to make an address
to the school on Sunday evening. I sat upon the platform of the large
chapel and looked forth on a thousand coloured faces, and the choir of
a hundred or more behind me sang a familiar religious melody, and the
whole company joined in the chorus with unction. I was the only white
man under the roof, and the scene and the songs made an impression on me
that I shall never forget. Mr. Washington arose and asked them to sing
one after another of the old melodies that I had heard all my life;
but I had never before heard them sung by a thousand voices nor by the
voices of educated Negroes. I had associated them with the Negro of the
past, not with the Negro who was struggling upward. They brought to my
mind the plantation, the cabin, the slave, not the freedman in quest of
education. But on the plantation and in the cabin they had never been
sung as these thousand students sang them. I saw again all the old
plantations that I had ever seen; the whole history of the Negro
ran through my mind; and the inexpressible pathos of his life found
expression in these songs as I had never before felt it.

And the future? These were the ambitious youths of the race, at work
with an earnestness that put to shame the conventional student life of
most educational institutions. Another song rolled up along the
rafters. And as soon as silence came, I found myself in front of this
extraordinary mass of faces, thinking not of them, but of that long and
unhappy chapter in our country's history which followed the one great
structural mistake of the Fathers of the Republic; thinking of the one
continuous great problem that generations of statesmen had wrangled
over, and a million men fought about, and that had so dwarfed the mass
of English men in the Southern States as to hold them back a hundred
years behind their fellows in every other part of the world--in England,
in Australia, and in the Northern and Western States; I was thinking of
this dark shadow that had oppressed every large-minded statesman from
Jefferson to Lincoln. These thousand young men and women about me were
victims of it. I, too, was an innocent victim of it. The whole Republic
was a victim of that fundamental error of importing Africa into America.
I held firmly to the first article of my faith that the Republic
must stand fast by the principle of a fair ballot; but I recalled the
wretched mess that Reconstruction had made of it; I recalled the
low level of public life in all the "black" States. Every effort of
philanthropy seemed to have miscarried, every effort at correcting
abuses seemed of doubtful value, and the race friction seemed to become
severer. Here was the century-old problem in all its pathos seated
singing before me. Who were the more to be pitied--these innocent
victims of an ancient wrong, or I and men like me, who had inherited
the problem? I had long ago thrown aside illusions and theories, and was
willing to meet the facts face to face, and to do whatever in God's name
a man might do towards saving the next generation from such a burden.
But I felt the weight of twenty well-nigh hopeless years of thought and
reading and observation; for the old difficulties remained and new
ones had sprung up. Then I saw clearly that the way out of a century
of blunders had been made by this man who stood beside me and was
introducing me to this audience. Before me was the material he had used.
All about me was the indisputable evidence that he had found the
natural line of development. He had shown the way. Time and patience and
encouragement and work would do the rest.

It was then more clearly than ever before that I understood the
patriotic significance of Mr. Washington's work. It is this conception
of it and of him that I have ever since carried with me. It is on this
that his claim to our gratitude rests.

To teach the Negro to read, whether English, or Greek, or Hebrew,
butters no parsnips. To make the Negro work, that is what his master did
in one way and hunger has done in another; yet both these left Southern
life where they found it. But to teach the Negro to do skilful work,
as men of all the races that have risen have worked,--responsible work,
which IS education and character; and most of all when Negroes so teach
Negroes to do this that they will teach others with a missionary zeal
that puts all ordinary philanthropic efforts to shame,--this is to
change the whole economic basis of life and the whole character of a
people.

The plan itself is not a new one. It was worked out at Hampton
Institute, but it was done at Hampton by white men. The plan had, in
fact, been many times theoretically laid down by thoughtful students of
Southern life. Handicrafts were taught in the days of slavery on most
well-managed plantations. But Tuskegee is, nevertheless, a brand-new
chapter in the history of the Negro, and in the history of the knottiest
problem we have ever faced. It not only makes "a carpenter of a man; it
makes a man of a carpenter." In one sense, therefore, it is of greater
value than any other institution for the training of men and women that
we have, from Cambridge to Palo Alto. It is almost the only one of which
it may be said that it points the way to a new epoch in a large area of
our national life.

To work out the plan on paper, or at a distance--that is one thing. For
a white man to work it out--that too, is an easy thing. For a coloured
man to work it out in the South, where, in its constructive period,
he was necessarily misunderstood by his own people as well as by the
whites, and where he had to adjust it at every step to the strained race
relations--that is so very different and more difficult a thing that the
man who did it put the country under lasting obligations to him.

It was not and is not a mere educational task. Anybody could teach boys
trades and give them an elementary education. Such tasks have been done
since the beginning of civilization. But this task had to be done with
the rawest of raw material, done within the civilization of the dominant
race, and so done as not to run across race lines and social lines that
are the strongest forces in the community. It had to be done for the
benefit of the whole community. It had to be done, moreover, without
local help, in the face of the direst poverty, done by begging, and done
in spite of the ignorance of one race and the prejudice of the other.

No man living had a harder task, and a task that called for more wisdom
to do it right. The true measure of Mr. Washington's success is, then,
not his teaching the pupils of Tuskegee, nor even gaining the support of
philanthropic persons at a distance, but this--that every Southern white
man of character and of wisdom has been won to a cordial recognition
of the value of the work, even men who held and still hold to the
conviction that a mere book education for the Southern blacks under
present conditions is a positive evil. This is a demonstration of
the efficiency of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea that stands like the
demonstration of the value of democratic institutions themselves--a
demonstration made so clear in spite of the greatest odds that it is no
longer open to argument.

Consider the change that has come in twenty years in the discussion
of the Negro problem. Two or three decades ago social philosophers and
statisticians and well-meaning philanthropists were still talking and
writing about the deportation of the Negroes, or about their settlement
within some restricted area, or about their settling in all parts of the
Union, or about their decline through their neglect of their children,
or about their rapid multiplication till they should expel the whites
from the South--of every sort of nonsense under heaven. All this has
given place to the simple plan of an indefinite extension among the
neglected classes of both races of the Hampton-Tuskegee system of
training. The "problem" in one sense has disappeared. The future will
have for the South swift or slow development of its masses and of its
soil in proportion to the swift or slow development of this kind of
training. This change of view is a true measure of Mr. Washington's
work.

The literature of the Negro in America is colossal, from political
oratory through abolitionism to "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Cotton is
King"--a vast mass of books which many men have read to the waste of
good years (and I among them); but the only books that I have read a
second time or ever care again to read in the whole list (most of them
by tiresome and unbalanced "reformers") are "Uncle Remus" and "Up from
Slavery"; for these are the great literature of the subject. One has all
the best of the past, the other foreshadows a better future; and the
men who wrote them are the only men who have written of the subject with
that perfect frankness and perfect knowledge and perfect poise whose
other name is genius.

Mr. Washington has won a world-wide fame at an early age. His story
of his own life already has the distinction of translation into more
languages, I think, than any other American book; and I suppose that
he has as large a personal acquaintance among men of influence as any
private citizen now living.

His own teaching at Tuskegee is unique. He lectures to his advanced
students on the art of right living, not out of text-books, but
straight out of life. Then he sends them into the country to visit Negro
families. Such a student will come back with a minute report of the way
in which the family that he has seen lives, what their earnings are,
what they do well and what they do ill; and he will explain how they
might live better. He constructs a definite plan for the betterment
of that particular family out of the resources that they have. Such a
student, if he be bright, will profit more by an experience like this
than he could profit by all the books on sociology and economics that
ever were written. I talked with a boy at Tuskegee who had made such a
study as this, and I could not keep from contrasting his knowledge and
enthusiasm with what I heard in a class room at a Negro university
in one of the Southern cities, which is conducted on the idea that a
college course will save the soul. Here the class was reciting a lesson
from an abstruse text-book on economics, reciting it by rote, with so
obvious a failure to assimilate it that the waste of labour was pitiful.

I asked Mr. Washington years ago what he regarded as the most important
result of his work, and he replied:

"I do not know which to put first, the effect of Tuskegee's work on the
Negro, or the effect on the attitude of the white man to the Negro."

The race divergence under the system of miseducation was fast getting
wider. Under the influence of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea the races
are coming into a closer sympathy and into an honourable and helpful
relation. As the Negro becomes economically independent, he becomes a
responsible part of the Southern life; and the whites so recognize
him. And this must be so from the nature of things. There is nothing
artificial about it. It is development in a perfectly natural way. And
the Southern whites not only so recognize it, but they are imitating it
in the teaching of the neglected masses of their own race. It has thus
come about that the school is taking a more direct and helpful hold on
life in the South than anywhere else in the country. Education is not
a thing apart from life--not a "system," nor a philosophy; it is direct
teaching how to live and how to work.

To say that Mr. Washington has won the gratitude of all thoughtful
Southern white men, is to say that he has worked with the highest
practical wisdom at a large constructive task; for no plan for the
up-building of the freedman could succeed that ran counter to Southern
opinion. To win the support of Southern opinion and to shape it was a
necessary part of the task; and in this he has so well succeeded that
the South has a sincere and high regard for him. He once said to me that
he recalled the day, and remembered it thankfully, when he grew large
enough to regard a Southern white man as he regarded a Northern one. It
is well for our common country that the day is come when he and his work
are regarded as highly in the South as in any other part of the Union. I
think that no man of our generation has a more noteworthy achievement to
his credit than this; and it is an achievement of moral earnestness of
the strong character of a man who has done a great national service.

Walter H. Page.




UP FROM SLAVERY



Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am
not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at
any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time.
As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads
post-office called Hale's Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. I do not
know the month or the day. The earliest impressions I can now recall are
of the plantation and the slave quarters--the latter being the part of
the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.

My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate,
and discouraging surroundings. This was so, however, not because my
owners were especially cruel, for they were not, as compared with many
others. I was born in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen
feet square. In this cabin I lived with my mother and a brother and
sister till after the Civil War, when we were all declared free.

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, and even
later, I heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of
the tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my
mother's side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while
being conveyed from Africa to America. I have been unsuccessful in
securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon
the history of my family beyond my mother. She, I remember, had a
half-brother and a half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much
attention was given to family history and family records--that is,
black family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of a
purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the slave
family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new horse
or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I do not even
know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he was a white
man who lived on one of the near-by plantations. Whoever he was, I never
heard of his taking the least interest in me or providing in any way
for my rearing. But I do not find especial fault with him. He was simply
another unfortunate victim of the institution which the Nation unhappily
had engrafted upon it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the
kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The cabin
was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side which let in
the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter. There was a door to
the cabin--that is, something that was called a door--but the uncertain
hinges by which it was hung, and the large cracks in it, to say nothing
of the fact that it was too small, made the room a very uncomfortable
one. In addition to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand
corner of the room, the "cat-hole,"--a contrivance which almost every
mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed during the ante-bellum period.
The "cat-hole" was a square opening, about seven by eight inches,
provided for the purpose of letting the cat pass in and out of the house
at will during the night. In the case of our particular cabin I could
never understand the necessity for this convenience, since there were
at least a half-dozen other places in the cabin that would have
accommodated the cats. There was no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked
earth being used as a floor. In the centre of the earthen floor there
was a large, deep opening covered with boards, which was used as a place
in which to store sweet potatoes during the winter. An impression of
this potato-hole is very distinctly engraved upon my memory, because I
recall that during the process of putting the potatoes in or taking them
out I would often come into possession of one or two, which I roasted
and thoroughly enjoyed. There was no cooking-stove on our plantation,
and all the cooking for the whites and slaves my mother had to do over
an open fireplace, mostly in pots and "skillets." While the poorly built
cabin caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat from the
open fireplace in summer was equally trying.

The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin, were
not very different from those of thousands of other slaves. My mother,
of course, had little time in which to give attention to the training of
her children during the day. She snatched a few moments for our care in
the early morning before her work began, and at night after the day's
work was done. One of my earliest recollections is that of my mother
cooking a chicken late at night, and awakening her children for the
purpose of feeding them. How or where she got it I do not know. I
presume, however, it was procured from our owner's farm. Some people may
call this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I should condemn it
as theft myself. But taking place at the time it did, and for the reason
that it did, no one could ever make me believe that my mother was guilty
of thieving. She was simply a victim of the system of slavery. I cannot
remember having slept in a bed until after our family was declared
free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Three children--John, my older
brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself--had a pallet on the dirt floor,
or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy rags laid
upon the dirt floor.

I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and pastimes
that I engaged in during my youth. Until that question was asked it
had never occurred to me that there was no period of my life that was
devoted to play. From the time that I can remember anything, almost
every day of my life had been occupied in some kind of labour; though
I think I would now be a more useful man if I had had time for sports.
During the period that I spent in slavery I was not large enough to be
of much service, still I was occupied most of the time in cleaning the
yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going to the mill to
which I used to take the corn, once a week, to be ground. The mill was
about three miles from the plantation. This work I always dreaded. The
heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back of the horse, and the
corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some way, almost
without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as to become
unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often I would fall with it.
As I was not strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would
have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance passer-by came
along who would help me out of my trouble. The hours while waiting for
some one were usually spent in crying. The time consumed in this way
made me late in reaching the mill, and by the time I got my corn ground
and reached home it would be far into the night. The road was a lonely
one, and often led through dense forests. I was always frightened. The
woods were said to be full of soldiers who had deserted from the army,
and I had been told that the first thing a deserter did to a Negro boy
when he found him alone was to cut off his ears. Besides, when I was
late in getting home I knew I would always get a severe scolding or a
flogging.

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on
several occasions I went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my
young mistresses to carry her books. The picture of several dozen boys
and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon
me, and I had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in
this way would be about the same as getting into paradise.

So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of the fact
that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being discussed,
was early one morning before day, when I was awakened by my mother
kneeling over her children and fervently praying that Lincoln and his
armies might be successful, and that one day she and her children might
be free. In this connection I have never been able to understand how the
slaves throughout the South, completely ignorant as were the masses so
far as books or newspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves
so accurately and completely informed about the great National questions
that were agitating the country. From the time that Garrison, Lovejoy,
and others began to agitate for freedom, the slaves throughout the South
kept in close touch with the progress of the movement. Though I was a
mere child during the preparation for the Civil War and during the war
itself, I now recall the many late-at-night whispered discussions that I
heard my mother and the other slaves on the plantation indulge in. These
discussions showed that they understood the situation, and that they
kept themselves informed of events by what was termed the "grape-vine"
telegraph.

During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for the
Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any
railroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues involved
were. When war was begun between the North and the South, every slave on
our plantation felt and knew that, though other issues were discussed,
the primal one was that of slavery. Even the most ignorant members of
my race on the remote plantations felt in their hearts, with a certainty
that admitted of no doubt, that the freedom of the slaves would be the
one great result of the war, if the Northern armies conquered. Every
success of the Federal armies and every defeat of the Confederate forces
was watched with the keenest and most intense interest. Often the slaves
got knowledge of the results of great battles before the white people
received it. This news was usually gotten from the coloured man who was
sent to the post-office for the mail. In our case the post-office was
about three miles from the plantation, and the mail came once or twice
a week. The man who was sent to the office would linger about the place
long enough to get the drift of the conversation from the group of white
people who naturally congregated there, after receiving their mail,
to discuss the latest news. The mail-carrier on his way back to our
master's house would as naturally retail the news that he had secured
among the slaves, and in this way they often heard of important events
before the white people at the "big house," as the master's house was
called.

I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early
boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and God's
blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner.
On the plantation in Virginia, and even later, meals were gotten by the
children very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a piece of bread
here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of milk at one time and
some potatoes at another. Sometimes a portion of our family would eat
out of the skillet or pot, while some one else would eat from a tin
plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but the hands with
which to hold the food. When I had grown to sufficient size, I was
required to go to the "big house" at meal-times to fan the flies from
the table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a pulley.
Naturally much of the conversation of the white people turned upon the
subject of freedom and the war, and I absorbed a good deal of it. I
remember that at one time I saw two of my young mistresses and some
lady visitors eating ginger-cakes, in the yard. At that time those cakes
seemed to me to be absolutely the most tempting and desirable things
that I had ever seen; and I then and there resolved that, if I ever got
free, the height of my ambition would be reached if I could get to the
point where I could secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that I saw
those ladies doing.

Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases,
often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. I think the
slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites, because the usual diet
for slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the
plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which the whites
had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the plantation, and
the conditions brought about by the war frequently made it impossible
to secure these things. The whites were often in great straits. Parched
corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black molasses was used instead
of sugar. Many times nothing was used to sweeten the so-called tea and
coffee.

The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones. They
had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an
inch thick, were of wood. When I walked they made a fearful noise, and
besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding
to the natural pressure of the foot. In wearing them one presented an
exceedingly awkward appearance. The most trying ordeal that I was forced
to endure as a slave boy, however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. In
the portion of Virginia where I lived it was common to use flax as part
of the clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from which our
clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was the
cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any torture, except,
perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that caused by putting
on a new flax shirt for the first time. It is almost equal to the
feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or more chestnut
burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in contact with his flesh. Even
to this day I can recall accurately the tortures that I underwent when
putting on one of these garments. The fact that my flesh was soft and
tender added to the pain. But I had no choice. I had to wear the flax
shirt or none; and had it been left to me to choose, I should have
chosen to wear no covering. In connection with the flax shirt, my
brother John, who is several years older than I am, performed one of
the most generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative doing for
another. On several occasions when I was being forced to wear a new flax
shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead and wear it for
several days, till it was "broken in." Until I had grown to be quite a
youth this single garment was all that I wore.

One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was bitter
feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the
fact that most of the white population was away fighting in a war
which would result in keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was
successful. In the case of the slaves on our place this was not true,
and it was not true of any large portion of the slave population in the
South where the Negro was treated with anything like decency. During
the Civil War one of my young masters was killed, and two were severely
wounded. I recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the slaves
when they heard of the death of "Mars' Billy." It was no sham sorrow,
but real. Some of the slaves had nursed "Mars' Billy"; others had played
with him when he was a child. "Mars' Billy" had begged for mercy in
the case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing them. The
sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to that in the "big house."
When the two young masters were brought home wounded, the sympathy of
the slaves was shown in many ways. They were just as anxious to assist
in the nursing as the family relatives of the wounded. Some of the
slaves would even beg for the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse
their wounded masters. This tenderness and sympathy on the part of those
held in bondage was a result of their kindly and generous nature. In
order to defend and protect the women and children who were left on the
plantations when the white males went to war, the slaves would have laid
down their lives. The slave who was selected to sleep in the "big house"
during the absence of the males was considered to have the place of
honour. Any one attempting to harm "young Mistress" or "old Mistress"
during the night would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to
do so. I do not know how many have noticed it, but I think that it will
be found to be true that there are few instances, either in slavery
or freedom, in which a member of my race has been known to betray a
specific trust.

As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of
bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are
many instances of Negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and
mistresses who for some reason have become poor and dependent since the
war. I know of instances where the former masters of slaves have for
years been supplied with money by their former slaves to keep them from
suffering. I have known of still other cases in which the former slaves
have assisted in the education of the descendants of their former
owners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South in which a
young white man, the son of the former owner of the estate, has become
so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of drink that he is a
pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty of the coloured
people themselves on this plantation, they have for years supplied this
young white man with the necessities of life. One sends him a little
coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on. Nothing that the
coloured people possess is too good for the son of "old Mars' Tom," who
will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the place
who knew directly or indirectly of "old Mars' Tom."

I have said that there are few instances of a member of my race
betraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of this which
I know of is in the case of an ex-slave from Virginia whom I met not
long ago in a little town in the state of Ohio. I found that this man
had made a contract with his master, two or three years previous to
the Emancipation Proclamation, to the effect that the slave was to be
permitted to buy himself, by paying so much per year for his body; and
while he was paying for himself, he was to be permitted to labour where
and for whom he pleased. Finding that he could secure better wages in
Ohio, he went there. When freedom came, he was still in debt to his
master some three hundred dollars. Notwithstanding that the Emancipation
Proclamation freed him from any obligation to his master, this black man
walked the greater portion of the distance back to where his old master
lived in Virginia, and placed the last dollar, with interest, in his
hands. In talking to me about this, the man told me that he knew that
he did not have to pay the debt, but that he had given his word to the
master, and his word he had never broken. He felt that he could not
enjoy his freedom till he had fulfilled his promise.

From some things that I have said one may get the idea that some of the
slaves did not want freedom. This is not true. I have never seen one who
did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.

I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that is
so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery. I have long
since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the Southern
white people on account of the enslavement of my race. No one section of
our country was wholly responsible for its introduction, and, besides,
it was recognized and protected for years by the General Government.
Having once got its tentacles fastened on to the economic and social
life of the Republic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve
itself of the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of prejudice, or
racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must acknowledge that,
notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery, the ten million
Negroes inhabiting this country, who themselves or whose ancestors
went through the school of American slavery, are in a stronger and more
hopeful condition, materially, intellectually, morally, and religiously,
than is true of an equal number of black people in any other portion of
the globe. This is so to such an extent that Negroes in this country,
who themselves or whose forefathers went through the school of slavery,
are constantly returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten those
who remained in the fatherland. This I say, not to justify slavery--on
the other hand, I condemn it as an institution, as we all know that in
America it was established for selfish and financial reasons, and not
from a missionary motive--but to call attention to a fact, and to
show how Providence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish
a purpose. When persons ask me in these days how, in the midst of what
sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, I can have such
faith in the future of my race in this country, I remind them of the
wilderness through which and out of which, a good Providence has already
led us.

Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I have
entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted
upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white
man did. The hurtful influences of the institution were not by any means
confined to the Negro. This was fully illustrated by the life upon our
own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery was so constructed as to
cause labour, as a rule, to be looked upon as a badge of degradation,
of inferiority. Hence labour was something that both races on the slave
plantation sought to escape. The slave system on our place, in a large
measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and self-help out of the white
people. My old master had many boys and girls, but not one, so far as
I know, ever mastered a single trade or special line of productive
industry. The girls were not taught to cook, sew, or to take care of the
house. All of this was left to the slaves. The slaves, of course,
had little personal interest in the life of the plantation, and their
ignorance prevented them from learning how to do things in the most
improved and thorough manner. As a result of the system, fences were
out of repair, gates were hanging half off the hinges, doors creaked,
window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but was not replaced, weeds
grew in the yard. As a rule, there was food for whites and blacks, but
inside the house, and on the dining-room table, there was wanting that
delicacy and refinement of touch and finish which can make a home the
most convenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world. Withal
there was a waste of food and other materials which was sad. When
freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew
as the master, except in the matter of book-learning and ownership of
property. The slave owner and his sons had mastered no special industry.
They unconsciously had imbibed the feeling that manual labour was not
the proper thing for them. On the other hand, the slaves, in many cases,
had mastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed, and few unwilling,
to labour.

Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was a momentous
and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We had been expecting it.
Freedom was in the air, and had been for months. Deserting soldiers
returning to their homes were to be seen every day. Others who had been
discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled, were constantly passing
near our place. The "grape-vine telegraph" was kept busy night and day.
The news and mutterings of great events were swiftly carried from one
plantation to another. In the fear of "Yankee" invasions, the silverware
and other valuables were taken from the "big house," buried in the
woods, and guarded by trusted slaves. Woe be to any one who would have
attempted to disturb the buried treasure. The slaves would give the
Yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing--anything but that which had been
specifically intrusted to their care and honour. As the great day drew
nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than usual. It
was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of the
verses of the plantation songs had some reference to freedom. True, they
had sung those same verses before, but they had been careful to explain
that the "freedom" in these songs referred to the next world, and had
no connection with life in this world. Now they gradually threw off the
mask, and were not afraid to let it be known that the "freedom" in their
songs meant freedom of the body in this world. The night before the
eventful day, word was sent to the slave quarters to the effect that
something unusual was going to take place at the "big house" the next
morning. There was little, if any, sleep that night. All as excitement
and expectancy. Early the next morning word was sent to all the slaves,
old and young, to gather at the house. In company with my mother,
brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, I went to
the master's house. All of our master's family were either standing or
seated on the veranda of the house, where they could see what was to
take place and hear what was said. There was a feeling of deep interest,
or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness. As I now recall
the impression they made upon me, they did not at the moment seem to be
sad because of the loss of property, but rather because of parting with
those whom they had reared and who were in many ways very close to them.
The most distinct thing that I now recall in connection with the scene
was that some man who seemed to be a stranger (a United States officer,
I presume) made a little speech and then read a rather long paper--the
Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we were told that
we were all free, and could go when and where we pleased. My mother,
who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her children, while
tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us what it all
meant, that this was the day for which she had been so long praying, but
fearing that she would never live to see.

For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and wild
scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of bitterness. In fact,
there was pity among the slaves for our former owners. The wild
rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but for
a brief period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to their
cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great responsibility of
being free, of having charge of themselves, of having to think and plan
for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of them. It
was very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve years
out into the world to provide for himself. In a few hours the great
questions with which the Anglo-Saxon race had been grappling for
centuries had been thrown upon these people to be solved. These were
the questions of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education,
citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches. Was it any
wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling
of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave quarters? To some it seemed
that, now that they were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more
serious thing than they had expected to find it. Some of the slaves
were seventy or eighty years old; their best days were gone. They had
no strength with which to earn a living in a strange place and among
strange people, even if they had been sure where to find a new place of
abode. To this class the problem seemed especially hard. Besides, deep
down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar attachment to "old
Marster" and "old Missus," and to their children, which they found it
hard to think of breaking off. With these they had spent in some cases
nearly a half-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting.
Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began
to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big house" to have a
whispered conversation with their former owners as to the future.



Chapter II. Boyhood Days

After the coming of freedom there were two points upon which practically
all the people on our place were agreed, and I found that this was
generally true throughout the South: that they must change their names,
and that they must leave the old plantation for at least a few days or
weeks in order that they might really feel sure that they were free.

In some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it was far from
proper for them to bear the surname of their former owners, and a great
many of them took other surnames. This was one of the first signs of
freedom. When they were slaves, a coloured person was simply called
"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
found myself confronted with two other difficulties. In the first place,
I found that all the other children wore hats or caps on their heads,
and I had neither hat nor cap. In fact, I do not remember that up to
the time of going to school I had ever worn any kind of covering upon
my head, nor do I recall that either I or anybody else had even thought
anything about the need of covering for my head. But, of course, when
I saw how all the other boys were dressed, I began to feel quite
uncomfortable. As usual, I put the case before my mother, and she
explained to me that she had no money with which to buy a "store hat,"
which was a rather new institution at that time among the members of my
race and was considered quite the thing for young and old to own,
but that she would find a way to help me out of the difficulty.
She accordingly got two pieces of "homespun" (jeans) and sewed them
together, and I was soon the proud possessor of my first cap.

The lesson that my mother taught me in this has always remained with me,
and I have tried as best as I could to teach it to others. I have
always felt proud, whenever I think of the incident, that my mother
had strength of character enough not to be led into the temptation
of seeming to be that which she was not--of trying to impress my
schoolmates and others with the fact that she was able to buy me a
"store hat" when she was not. I have always felt proud that she refused
to go into debt for that which she did not have the money to pay for.
Since that time I have owned many kinds of caps and hats, but never one
of which I have felt so proud as of the cap made of the two pieces of
cloth sewed together by my mother. I have noted the fact, but without
satisfaction, I need not add, that several of the boys who began their
careers with "store hats" and who were my schoolmates and used to join
in the sport that was made of me because I had only a "homespun" cap,
have ended their careers in the penitentiary, while others are not able
now to buy any kind of hat.

My second difficulty was with regard to my name, or rather A name.
From the time when I could remember anything, I had been called simply
"Booker." Before going to school it had never occurred to me that it
was needful or appropriate to have an additional name. When I heard the
school-roll called, I noticed that all of the children had at least two
names, and some of them indulged in what seemed to me the extravagance
of having three. I was in deep perplexity, because I knew that the
teacher would demand of me at least two names, and I had only one.
By the time the occasion came for the enrolling of my name, an idea
occurred to me which I thought would make me equal to the situation; and
so, when the teacher asked me what my full name was, I calmly told him
"Booker Washington," as if I had been called by that name all my life;
and by that name I have since been known. Later in my life I found that
my mother had given me the name of "Booker Taliaferro" soon after I was
born, but in some way that part of my name seemed to disappear and for a
long while was forgotten, but as soon as I found out about it I revived
it, and made my full name "Booker Taliaferro Washington." I think there
are not many men in our country who have had the privilege of naming
themselves in the way that I have.

More than once I have tried to picture myself in the position of a boy
or man with an honoured and distinguished ancestry which I could
trace back through a period of hundreds of years, and who had not only
inherited a name, but fortune and a proud family homestead; and yet I
have sometimes had the feeling that if I had inherited these, and had
been a member of a more popular race, I should have been inclined to
yield to the temptation of depending upon my ancestry and my colour to
do that for me which I should do for myself. Years ago I resolved that
because I had no ancestry myself I would leave a record of which my
children would be proud, and which might encourage them to still higher
effort.

The world should not pass judgment upon the Negro, and especially the
Negro youth, too quickly or too harshly. The Negro boy has obstacles,
discouragements, and temptations to battle with that are little known to
those not situated as he is. When a white boy undertakes a task, it is
taken for granted that he will succeed. On the other hand, people are
usually surprised if the Negro boy does not fail. In a word, the Negro
youth starts out with the presumption against him.

The influence of ancestry, however, is important in helping forward any
individual or race, if too much reliance is not placed upon it. Those
who constantly direct attention to the Negro youth's moral weaknesses,
and compare his advancement with that of white youths, do not consider
the influence of the memories which cling about the old family
homesteads. I have no idea, as I have stated elsewhere, who my
grandmother was. I have, or have had, uncles and aunts and cousins,
but I have no knowledge as to where most of them are. My case will
illustrate that of hundreds of thousands of black people in every part
of our country. The very fact that the white boy is conscious that, if
he fails in life, he will disgrace the whole family record, extending
back through many generations, is of tremendous value in helping him
to resist temptations. The fact that the individual has behind and
surrounding him proud family history and connection serves as a stimulus
to help him to overcome obstacles when striving for success.

The time that I was permitted to attend school during the day was short,
and my attendance was irregular. It was not long before I had to stop
attending day-school altogether, and devote all of my time again to
work. I resorted to the night-school again. In fact, the greater part
of the education I secured in my boyhood was gathered through the
night-school after my day's work was done. I had difficulty often in
securing a satisfactory teacher. Sometimes, after I had secured some one
to teach me at night, I would find, much to my disappointment, that
the teacher knew but little more than I did. Often I would have to walk
several miles at night in order to recite my night-school lessons. There
was never a time in my youth, no matter how dark and discouraging the
days might be, when one resolve did not continually remain with me, and
that was a determination to secure an education at any cost.

Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother adopted into our family,
notwithstanding our poverty, an orphan boy, to whom afterward we gave
the name of James B. Washington. He has ever since remained a member of
the family.

After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work was secured
for me in a coal-mine which was operated mainly for the purpose of
securing fuel for the salt-furnace. Work in the coal-mine I always
dreaded. One reason for this was that any one who worked in a coal-mine
was always unclean, at least while at work, and it was a very hard job
to get one's skin clean after the day's work was over. Then it was fully
a mile from the opening of the coal-mine to the face of the coal, and
all, of course, was in the blackest darkness. I do not believe that one
ever experiences anywhere else such darkness as he does in a coal-mine.
The mine was divided into a large number of different "rooms" or
departments, and, as I never was able to learn the location of all
these "rooms," I many times found myself lost in the mine. To add to the
horror of being lost, sometimes my light would go out, and then, if I
did not happen to have a match, I would wander about in the darkness
until by chance I found some one to give me a light. The work was not
only hard, but it was dangerous. There was always the danger of being
blown to pieces by a premature explosion of powder, or of being crushed
by falling slate. Accidents from one or the other of these causes were
frequently occurring, and this kept me in constant fear. Many children
of the tenderest years were compelled then, as is now true I fear, in
most coal-mining districts, to spend a large part of their lives in
these coal-mines, with little opportunity to get an education; and, what
is worse, I have often noted that, as a rule, young boys who begin life
in a coal-mine are often physically and mentally dwarfed. They soon lose
ambition to do anything else than to continue as a coal-miner.

In those days, and later as a young man, I used to try to picture in my
imagination the feelings and ambitions of a white boy with absolutely
no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. I used to envy
the white boy who had no obstacles placed in the way of his becoming a
Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President by reason of the accident of
his birth or race. I used to picture the way that I would act under such
circumstances; how I would begin at the bottom and keep rising until I
reached the highest round of success.

In later years, I confess that I do not envy the white boy as I once
did. I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the
position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has
overcome while trying to succeed. Looked at from this standpoint, I
almost reached the conclusion that often the Negro boy's birth and
connection with an unpopular race is an advantage, so far as real life
is concerned. With few exceptions, the Negro youth must work harder and
must perform his tasks even better than a white youth in order to secure
recognition. But out of the hard and unusual struggle through which he
is compelled to pass, he gets a strength, a confidence, that one misses
whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth and race.

From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a member of the Negro
race, than be able to claim membership with the most favoured of any
other race. I have always been made sad when I have heard members of any
race claiming rights or privileges, or certain badges of distinction,
on the ground simply that they were members of this or that race,
regardless of their own individual worth or attainments. I have been
made to feel sad for such persons because I am conscious of the fact
that mere connection with what is known as a superior race will not
permanently carry an individual forward unless he has individual worth,
and mere connection with what is regarded as an inferior race will not
finally hold an individual back if he possesses intrinsic, individual
merit. Every persecuted individual and race should get much consolation
out of the great human law, which is universal and eternal, that merit,
no matter under what skin found, is, in the long run, recognized and
rewarded. This I have said here, not to call attention to myself as an
individual, but to the race to which I am proud to belong.



Chapter III. The Struggle For An Education

One day, while at work in the coal-mine, I happened to overhear two
miners talking about a great school for coloured people somewhere in
Virginia. This was the first time that I had ever heard anything about
any kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the little
coloured school in our town.

In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as I could to
the two men who were talking. I heard one tell the other that not
only was the school established for the members of any race, but the
opportunities that it provided by which poor but worthy students could
work out all or a part of the cost of a board, and at the same time be
taught some trade or industry.

As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must
be the greatest place on earth, and not even Heaven presented more
attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal and
Agricultural Institute in Virginia, about which these men were talking.
I resolved at once to go to that school, although I had no idea where
it was, or how many miles away, or how I was going to reach it; I
remembered only that I was on fire constantly with one ambition, and
that was to go to Hampton. This thought was with me day and night.

After hearing of the Hampton Institute, I continued to work for a few
months longer in the coal-mine. While at work there, I heard of a vacant
position in the household of General Lewis Ruffner, the owner of the
salt-furnace and coal-mine. Mrs. Viola Ruffner, the wife of General
Ruffner, was a "Yankee" woman from Vermont. Mrs. Ruffner had a
reputation all through the vicinity for being very strict with her
servants, and especially with the boys who tried to serve her. Few of
them remained with her more than two or three weeks. They all left with
the same excuse: she was too strict. I decided, however, that I would
rather try Mrs. Ruffner's house than remain in the coal-mine, and so my
mother applied to her for the vacant position. I was hired at a salary
of $5 per month.

I had heard so much about Mrs. Ruffner's severity that I was almost
afraid to see her, and trembled when I went into her presence. I had not
lived with her many weeks, however, before I began to understand her. I
soon began to learn that, first of all, she wanted everything kept clean
about her, that she wanted things done promptly and systematically,
and that at the bottom of everything she wanted absolute honesty and
frankness. Nothing must be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence,
must be kept in repair.

I cannot now recall how long I lived with Mrs. Ruffner before going to
Hampton, but I think it must have been a year and a half. At any rate,
I here repeat what I have said more than once before, that the lessons
that I learned in the home of Mrs. Ruffner were as valuable to me as any
education I have ever gotten anywhere else. Even to this day I never see
bits of paper scattered around a house or in the street that I do not
want to pick them up at once. I never see a filthy yard that I do not
want to clean it, a paling off of a fence that I do not want to put it
on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house that I do not want to paint or
whitewash it, or a button off one's clothes, or a grease-spot on them or
on a floor, that I do not want to call attention to it.

From fearing Mrs. Ruffner I soon learned to look upon her as one of
my best friends. When she found that she could trust me she did so
implicitly. During the one or two winters that I was with her she
gave me an opportunity to go to school for an hour in the day during a
portion of the winter months, but most of my studying was done at night,
sometimes alone, sometimes under some one whom I could hire to teach me.
Mrs. Ruffner always encouraged and sympathized with me in all my efforts
to get an education. It was while living with her that I began to get
together my first library. I secured a dry-goods box, knocked out one
side of it, put some shelves in it, and began putting into it every kind
of book that I could get my hands upon, and called it my "library."

Notwithstanding my success at Mrs. Ruffner's I did not give up the idea
of going to the Hampton Institute. In the fall of 1872 I determined
to make an effort to get there, although, as I have stated, I had no
definite idea of the direction in which Hampton was, or of what it would
cost to go there. I do not think that any one thoroughly sympathized
with me in my ambition to go to Hampton unless it was my mother, and she
was troubled with a grave fear that I was starting out on a "wild-goose
chase." At any rate, I got only a half-hearted consent from her that
I might start. The small amount of money that I had earned had been
consumed by my stepfather and the remainder of the family, with the
exception of a very few dollars, and so I had very little with which to
buy clothes and pay my travelling expenses. My brother John helped me
all that he could, but of course that was not a great deal, for his work
was in the coal-mine, where he did not earn much, and most of what he
did earn went in the direction of paying the household expenses.

Perhaps the thing that touched and pleased me most in connection with
my starting for Hampton was the interest that many of the older coloured
people took in the matter. They had spent the best days of their lives
in slavery, and hardly expected to live to see the time when they would
see a member of their race leave home to attend a boarding-school. Some
of these older people would give me a nickel, others a quarter, or a
handkerchief.

Finally the great day came, and I started for Hampton. I had only a
small, cheap satchel that contained a few articles of clothing I could
get. My mother at the time was rather weak and broken in health. I
hardly expected to see her again, and thus our parting was all the more
sad. She, however, was very brave through it all. At that time there
were no through trains connecting that part of West Virginia with
eastern Virginia. Trains ran only a portion of the way, and the
remainder of the distance was travelled by stage-coaches.

The distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hundred miles. I had
not been away from home many hours before it began to grow painfully
evident that I did not have enough money to pay my fare to Hampton.
One experience I shall long remember. I had been travelling over the
mountains most of the afternoon in an old-fashion stage-coach, when,
late in the evening, the coach stopped for the night at a common,
unpainted house called a hotel. All the other passengers except myself
were whites. In my ignorance I supposed that the little hotel existed
for the purpose of accommodating the passengers who travelled on the
stage-coach. The difference that the colour of one's skin would make I
had not thought anything about. After all the other passengers had been
shown rooms and were getting ready for supper, I shyly presented myself
before the man at the desk. It is true I had practically no money in my
pocket with which to pay for bed or food, but I had hoped in some way to
beg my way into the good graces of the landlord, for at that season
in the mountains of Virginia the weather was cold, and I wanted to get
indoors for the night. Without asking as to whether I had any money, the
man at the desk firmly refused to even consider the matter of providing
me with food or lodging. This was my first experience in finding out
what the colour of my skin meant. In some way I managed to keep warm by
walking about, and so got through the night. My whole soul was so bent
upon reaching Hampton that I did not have time to cherish any bitterness
toward the hotel-keeper.

By walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, in some way,
after a number of days, I reached the city of Richmond, Virginia, about
eighty-two miles from Hampton. When I reached there, tired, hungry, and
dirty, it was late in the night. I had never been in a large city,
and this rather added to my misery. When I reached Richmond, I was
completely out of money. I had not a single acquaintance in the place,
and, being unused to city ways, I did not know where to go. I applied at
several places for lodging, but they all wanted money, and that was what
I did not have. Knowing nothing else better to do, I walked the streets.
In doing this I passed by many food-stands where fried chicken and
half-moon apple pies were piled high and made to present a most tempting
appearance. At that time it seemed to me that I would have promised all
that I expected to possess in the future to have gotten hold of one of
those chicken legs or one of those pies. But I could not get either of
these, nor anything else to eat.

I must have walked the streets till after midnight. At last I became so
exhausted that I could walk no longer. I was tired, I was hungry, I was
everything but discouraged. Just about the time when I reached extreme
physical exhaustion, I came upon a portion of a street where the board
sidewalk was considerably elevated. I waited for a few minutes, till
I was sure that no passers-by could see me, and then crept under the
sidewalk and lay for the night upon the ground, with my satchel of
clothing for a pillow. Nearly all night I could hear the tramp of feet
over my head. The next morning I found myself somewhat refreshed, but
I was extremely hungry, because it had been a long time since I had
had sufficient food. As soon as it became light enough for me to see my
surroundings I noticed that I was near a large ship, and that this ship
seemed to be unloading a cargo of pig iron. I went at once to the vessel
and asked the captain to permit me to help unload the vessel in order
to get money for food. The captain, a white man, who seemed to be
kind-hearted, consented. I worked long enough to earn money for my
breakfast, and it seems to me, as I remember it now, to have been about
the best breakfast that I have ever eaten.

My work pleased the captain so well that he told me if I desired I could
continue working for a small amount per day. This I was very glad to do.
I continued working on this vessel for a number of days. After buying
food with the small wages I received there was not much left to add on
the amount I must get to pay my way to Hampton. In order to economize
in every way possible, so as to be sure to reach Hampton in a reasonable
time, I continued to sleep under the same sidewalk that gave me shelter
the first night I was in Richmond. Many years after that the coloured
citizens of Richmond very kindly tendered me a reception at which there
must have been two thousand people present. This reception was held not
far from the spot where I slept the first night I spent in the city, and
I must confess that my mind was more upon the sidewalk that first gave
me shelter than upon the recognition, agreeable and cordial as it was.

When I had saved what I considered enough money with which to reach
Hampton, I thanked the captain of the vessel for his kindness, and
started again. Without any unusual occurrence I reached Hampton, with a
surplus of exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education. To me
it had been a long, eventful journey; but the first sight of the large,
three-story, brick school building seemed to have rewarded me for all
that I had undergone in order to reach the place. If the people who gave
the money to provide that building could appreciate the influence the
sight of it had upon me, as well as upon thousands of other youths, they
would feel all the more encouraged to make such gifts. It seemed to me
to be the largest and most beautiful building I had ever seen. The sight
of it seemed to give me new life. I felt that a new kind of existence
had now begun--that life would now have a new meaning. I felt that I had
reached the promised land, and I resolved to let no obstacle prevent me
from putting forth the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the
most good in the world.

As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the Hampton Institute,
I presented myself before the head teacher for an assignment to a
class. Having been so long without proper food, a bath, and a change of
clothing, I did not, of course, make a very favourable impression upon
her, and I could see at once that there were doubts in her mind about
the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I felt that I could hardly
blame her if she got the idea that I was a worthless loafer or tramp.
For some time she did not refuse to admit me, neither did she decide in
my favour, and I continued to linger about her, and to impress her
in all the ways I could with my worthiness. In the meantime I saw her
admitting other students, and that added greatly to my discomfort, for I
felt, deep down in my heart, that I could do as well as they, if I could
only get a chance to show what was in me.

After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me: "The adjoining
recitation-room needs sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it."

It occurred to me at once that here was my chance. Never did I receive
an order with more delight. I knew that I could sweep, for Mrs. Ruffner
had thoroughly taught me how to do that when I lived with her.

I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a dusting-cloth and
dusted it four times. All the woodwork around the walls, every bench,
table, and desk, I went over four times with my dusting-cloth. Besides,
every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and corner in
the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the feeling that in a large
measure my future depended upon the impression I made upon the teacher
in the cleaning of that room. When I was through, I reported to the head
teacher. She was a "Yankee" woman who knew just where to look for dirt.
She went into the room and inspected the floor and closets; then she
took her handkerchief and rubbed it on the woodwork about the walls, and
over the table and benches. When she was unable to find one bit of dirt
on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the furniture, she quietly
remarked, "I guess you will do to enter this institution."

I was one of the happiest souls on Earth. The sweeping of that room was
my college examination, and never did any youth pass an examination for
entrance into Harvard or Yale that gave him more genuine satisfaction. I
have passed several examinations since then, but I have always felt that
this was the best one I ever passed.

I have spoken of my own experience in entering the Hampton Institute.
Perhaps few, if any, had anything like the same experience that I had,
but about the same period there were hundreds who found their way to
Hampton and other institutions after experiencing something of the
same difficulties that I went through. The young men and women were
determined to secure an education at any cost.

The sweeping of the recitation-room in the manner that I did it seems to
have paved the way for me to get through Hampton. Miss Mary F. Mackie,
the head teacher, offered me a position as janitor. This, of course, I
gladly accepted, because it was a place where I could work out nearly
all the cost of my board. The work was hard and taxing but I stuck to
it. I had a large number of rooms to care for, and had to work late into
the night, while at the same time I had to rise by four o'clock in the
morning, in order to build the fires and have a little time in which to
prepare my lessons. In all my career at Hampton, and ever since I have
been out in the world, Miss Mary F. Mackie, the head teacher to whom I
have referred, proved one of my strongest and most helpful friends. Her
advice and encouragement were always helpful in strengthening to me in
the darkest hour.

I have spoken of the impression that was made upon me by the buildings
and general appearance of the Hampton Institute, but I have not spoken
of that which made the greatest and most lasting impression on me, and
that was a great man--the noblest, rarest human being that it has
ever been my privilege to meet. I refer to the late General Samuel C.
Armstrong.

It has been my fortune to meet personally many of what are called great
characters, both in Europe and America, but I do not hesitate to say
that I never met any man who, in my estimation, was the equal of General
Armstrong. Fresh from the degrading influences of the slave plantation
and the coal-mines, it was a rare privilege for me to be permitted to
come into direct contact with such a character as General Armstrong. I
shall always remember that the first time I went into his presence he
made the impression upon me of being a perfect man: I was made to
feel that there was something about him that was superhuman. It was my
privilege to know the General personally from the time I entered Hampton
till he died, and the more I saw of him the greater he grew in my
estimation. One might have removed from Hampton all the buildings,
class-rooms, teachers, and industries, and given the men and women there
the opportunity of coming into daily contact with General Armstrong, and
that alone would have been a liberal education. The older I grow, the
more I am convinced that there is no education which one can get from
books and costly apparatus that is equal to that which can be gotten
from contact with great men and women. Instead of studying books so
constantly, how I wish that our schools and colleges might learn to
study men and things!

General Armstrong spent two of the last six months of his life in my
home at Tuskegee. At that time he was paralyzed to the extent that
he had lost control of his body and voice in a very large degree.
Notwithstanding his affliction, he worked almost constantly night and
day for the cause to which he had given his life. I never saw a man
who so completely lost sight of himself. I do not believe he ever had
a selfish thought. He was just as happy in trying to assist some other
institution in the South as he was when working for Hampton. Although he
fought the Southern white man in the Civil War, I never heard him
utter a bitter word against him afterward. On the other hand, he was
constantly seeking to find ways by which he could be of service to the
Southern whites.

It would be difficult to describe the hold that he had upon the students
at Hampton, or the faith they had in him. In fact, he was worshipped by
his students. It never occurred to me that General Armstrong could fail
in anything that he undertook. There is almost no request that he could
have made that would not have been complied with. When he was a guest at
my home in Alabama, and was so badly paralyzed that he had to be wheeled
about in an invalid's chair, I recall that one of the General's former
students had occasion to push his chair up a long, steep hill that taxed
his strength to the utmost. When the top of the hill was reached, the
former pupil, with a glow of happiness on his face, exclaimed, "I am so
glad that I have been permitted to do something that was real hard
for the General before he dies!" While I was a student at Hampton, the
dormitories became so crowded that it was impossible to find room for
all who wanted to be admitted. In order to help remedy the difficulty,
the General conceived the plan of putting up tents to be used as rooms.
As soon as it became known that General Armstrong would be pleased if
some of the older students would live in the tents during the winter,
nearly every student in school volunteered to go.

I was one of the volunteers. The winter that we spent in those tents
was an intensely cold one, and we suffered severely--how much I am sure
General Armstrong never knew, because we made no complaints. It was
enough for us to know that we were pleasing General Armstrong, and
that we were making it possible for an additional number of students to
secure an education. More than once, during a cold night, when a stiff
gale would be blowing, our tent was lifted bodily, and we would find
ourselves in the open air. The General would usually pay a visit to the
tents early in the morning, and his earnest, cheerful, encouraging voice
would dispel any feeling of despondency.

I have spoken of my admiration for General Armstrong, and yet he was but
a type of that Christlike body of men and women who went into the Negro
schools at the close of the war by the hundreds to assist in lifting
up my race. The history of the world fails to show a higher, purer, and
more unselfish class of men and women than those who found their way
into those Negro schools.

Life at Hampton was a constant revelation to me; was constantly taking
me into a new world. The matter of having meals at regular hours, of
eating on a tablecloth, using a napkin, the use of the bath-tub and of
the tooth-brush, as well as the use of sheets upon the bed, were all new
to me.

I sometimes feel that almost the most valuable lesson I got at the
Hampton Institute was in the use and value of the bath. I learned there
for the first time some of its value, not only in keeping the body
healthy, but in inspiring self-respect and promoting virtue. In all my
travels in the South and elsewhere since leaving Hampton I have always
in some way sought my daily bath. To get it sometimes when I have been
the guest of my own people in a single-roomed cabin has not always been
easy to do, except by slipping away to some stream in the woods. I have
always tried to teach my people that some provision for bathing should
be a part of every house.

For some time, while a student at Hampton, I possessed but a single pair
of socks, but when I had worn these till they became soiled, I would
wash them at night and hang them by the fire to dry, so that I might
wear them again the next morning.

The charge for my board at Hampton was ten dollars per month. I was
expected to pay a part of this in cash and to work out the remainder. To
meet this cash payment, as I have stated, I had just fifty cents when I
reached the institution. Aside from a very few dollars that my brother
John was able to send me once in a while, I had no money with which to
pay my board. I was determined from the first to make my work as janitor
so valuable that my services would be indispensable. This I succeeded in
doing to such an extent that I was soon informed that I would be allowed
the full cost of my board in return for my work. The cost of tuition was
seventy dollars a year. This, of course, was wholly beyond my ability to
provide. If I had been compelled to pay the seventy dollars for tuition,
in addition to providing for my board, I would have been compelled to
leave the Hampton school. General Armstrong, however, very kindly got
Mr. S. Griffitts Morgan, of New Bedford, Mass., to defray the cost of
my tuition during the whole time that I was at Hampton. After I finished
the course at Hampton and had entered upon my lifework at Tuskegee, I
had the pleasure of visiting Mr. Morgan several times.

After having been for a while at Hampton, I found myself in difficulty
because I did not have books and clothing. Usually, however, I got
around the trouble about books by borrowing from those who were more
fortunate than myself. As to clothes, when I reached Hampton I had
practically nothing. Everything that I possessed was in a small hand
satchel. My anxiety about clothing was increased because of the fact
that General Armstrong made a personal inspection of the young men in
ranks, to see that their clothes were clean. Shoes had to be polished,
there must be no buttons off the clothing, and no grease-spots. To wear
one suit of clothes continually, while at work and in the schoolroom,
and at the same time keep it clean, was rather a hard problem for me to
solve. In some way I managed to get on till the teachers learned that
I was in earnest and meant to succeed, and then some of them were kind
enough to see that I was partly supplied with second-hand clothing that
had been sent in barrels from the North. These barrels proved a blessing
to hundreds of poor but deserving students. Without them I question
whether I should ever have gotten through Hampton.

When I first went to Hampton I do not recall that I had ever slept in
a bed that had two sheets on it. In those days there were not many
buildings there, and room was very precious. There were seven other boys
in the same room with me; most of them, however, students who had been
there for some time. The sheets were quite a puzzle to me. The first
night I slept under both of them, and the second night I slept on top
of them; but by watching the other boys I learned my lesson in this, and
have been trying to follow it ever since and to teach it to others.

I was among the youngest of the students who were in Hampton at the
time. Most of the students were men and women--some as old as forty
years of age. As I now recall the scene of my first year, I do not
believe that one often has the opportunity of coming into contact with
three or four hundred men and women who were so tremendously in earnest
as these men and women were. Every hour was occupied in study or work.
Nearly all had had enough actual contact with the world to teach them
the need of education. Many of the older ones were, of course, too old
to master the text-books very thoroughly, and it was often sad to watch
their struggles; but they made up in earnest much of what they lacked
in books. Many of them were as poor as I was, and, besides having to
wrestle with their books, they had to struggle with a poverty which
prevented their having the necessities of life. Many of them had aged
parents who were dependent upon them, and some of them were men who had
wives whose support in some way they had to provide for.

The great and prevailing idea that seemed to take possession of every
one was to prepare himself to lift up the people at his home. No one
seemed to think of himself. And the officers and teachers, what a rare
set of human beings they were! They worked for the students night and
day, in seasons and out of season. They seemed happy only when they were
helping the students in some manner. Whenever it is written--and I hope
it will be--the part that the Yankee teachers played in the education
of the Negroes immediately after the war will make one of the most
thrilling parts of the history off this country. The time is not far
distant when the whole South will appreciate this service in a way that
it has not yet been able to do.



Chapter IV. Helping Others

At the end of my first year at Hampton I was confronted with another
difficulty. Most of the students went home to spend their vacation. I
had no money with which to go home, but I had to go somewhere. In those
days very few students were permitted to remain at the school during
vacation. It made me feel very sad and homesick to see the other
students preparing to leave and starting for home. I not only had no
money with which to go home, but I had none with which to go anywhere.

In some way, however, I had gotten hold of an extra, second-hand coat
which I thought was a pretty valuable coat. This I decided to sell, in
order to get a little money for travelling expenses. I had a good deal
of boyish pride, and I tried to hide, as far as I could, from the other
students the fact that I had no money and nowhere to go. I made it known
to a few people in the town of Hampton that I had this coat to sell,
and, after a good deal of persuading, one coloured man promised to come
to my room to look the coat over and consider the matter of buying it.
This cheered my drooping spirits considerably. Early the next morning my
prospective customer appeared. After looking the garment over carefully,
he asked me how much I wanted for it. I told him I thought it was worth
three dollars. He seemed to agree with me as to price, but remarked in
the most matter-of-fact way: "I tell you what I will do; I will take the
coat, and will pay you five cents, cash down, and pay you the rest of
the money just as soon as I can get it." It is not hard to imagine what
my feelings were at the time.

With this disappointment I gave up all hope of getting out of the town
of Hampton for my vacation work. I wanted very much to go where I
might secure work that would at least pay me enough to purchase some
much-needed clothing and other necessities. In a few days practically
all the students and teachers had left for their homes, and this served
to depress my spirits even more.

After trying for several days in and near the town of Hampton, I finally
secured work in a restaurant at Fortress Monroe. The wages, however,
were very little more than my board. At night, and between meals, I
found considerable time for study and reading; and in this direction I
improved myself very much during the summer.

When I left school at the end of my first year, I owed the institution
sixteen dollars that I had not been able to work out. It was my greatest
ambition during the summer to save money enough with which to pay this
debt. I felt that this was a debt of honour, and that I could hardly
bring myself to the point of even trying to enter school again till it
was paid. I economized in every way that I could think of--did my own
washing, and went without necessary garments--but still I found my
summer vacation ending and I did not have the sixteen dollars.

One day, during the last week of my stay in the restaurant, I found
under one of the tables a crisp, new ten-dollar bill. I could hardly
contain myself, I was so happy. As it was not my place of business I
felt it to be the proper thing to show the money to the proprietor. This
I did. He seemed as glad as I was, but he coolly explained to me that,
as it was his place of business, he had a right to keep the money, and
he proceeded to do so. This, I confess, was another pretty hard blow
to me. I will not say that I became discouraged, for as I now look
back over my life I do not recall that I ever became discouraged over
anything that I set out to accomplish. I have begun everything with
the idea that I could succeed, and I never had much patience with the
multitudes of people who are always ready to explain why one cannot
succeed. I determined to face the situation just as it was. At the end
of the week I went to the treasurer of the Hampton Institute, General
J.F.B. Marshall, and told him frankly my condition. To my gratification
he told me that I could reenter the institution, and that he would trust
me to pay the debt when I could. During the second year I continued to
work as a janitor.

The education that I received at Hampton out of the text-books was but
a small part of what I learned there. One of the things that impressed
itself upon me deeply, the second year, was the unselfishness of the
teachers. It was hard for me to understand how any individuals could
bring themselves to the point where they could be so happy in working
for others. Before the end of the year, I think I began learning that
those who are happiest are those who do the most for others. This lesson
I have tried to carry with me ever since.

I also learned a valuable lesson at Hampton by coming into contact with
the best breeds of live stock and fowls. No student, I think, who
has had the opportunity of doing this could go out into the world and
content himself with the poorest grades.

Perhaps the most valuable thing that I got out of my second year was an
understanding of the use and value of the Bible. Miss Nathalie Lord, one
of the teachers, from Portland, Me., taught me how to use and love the
Bible. Before this I had never cared a great deal about it, but now I
learned to love to read the Bible, not only for the spiritual help which
it gives, but on account of it as literature. The lessons taught me in
this respect took such a hold upon me that at the present time, when I
am at home, no matter how busy I am, I always make it a rule to read a
chapter or a portion of a chapter in the morning, before beginning the
work of the day.

Whatever ability I may have as a public speaker I owe in a measure
to Miss Lord. When she found out that I had some inclination in this
direction, she gave me private lessons in the matter of breathing,
emphasis, and articulation. Simply to be able to talk in public for the
sake of talking has never had the least attraction to me. In fact,
I consider that there is nothing so empty and unsatisfactory as mere
abstract public speaking; but from my early childhood I have had a
desire to do something to make the world better, and then to be able to
speak to the world about that thing.

The debating societies at Hampton were a constant source of delight to
me. These were held on Saturday evening; and during my whole life at
Hampton I do not recall that I missed a single meeting. I not only
attended the weekly debating society, but was instrumental in organizing
an additional society. I noticed that between the time when supper was
over and the time to begin evening study there were about twenty minutes
which the young men usually spent in idle gossip. About twenty of us
formed a society for the purpose of utilizing this time in debate or in
practice in public speaking. Few persons ever derived more happiness or
benefit from the use of twenty minutes of time than we did in this way.

At the end of my second year at Hampton, by the help of some money sent
me by my mother and brother John, supplemented by a small gift from
one of the teachers at Hampton, I was enabled to return to my home in
Malden, West Virginia, to spend my vacation. When I reached home I found
that the salt-furnaces were not running, and that the coal-mine was not
being operated on account of the miners being out on "strike." This was
something which, it seemed, usually occurred whenever the men got two or
three months ahead in their savings. During the strike, of course, they
spent all that they had saved, and would often return to work in debt at
the same wages, or would move to another mine at considerable expense.
In either case, my observations convinced me that the miners were worse
off at the end of the strike. Before the days of strikes in that section
of the country, I knew miners who had considerable money in the bank,
but as soon as the professional labour agitators got control, the
savings of even the more thrifty ones began disappearing.

My mother and the other members of my family were, of course, much
rejoiced to see me and to note the improvement that I had made during
my two years' absence. The rejoicing on the part of all classes of the
coloured people, and especially the older ones, over my return, was
almost pathetic. I had to pay a visit to each family and take a meal
with each, and at each place tell the story of my experiences at
Hampton. In addition to this I had to speak before the church and
Sunday-school, and at various other places. The thing that I was most in
search of, though, work, I could not find. There was no work on account
of the strike. I spent nearly the whole of the first month of my
vacation in an effort to find something to do by which I could earn
money to pay my way back to Hampton and save a little money to use after
reaching there.

Toward the end of the first month, I went to a place a considerable
distance from my home, to try to find employment. I did not succeed, and
it was night before I got started on my return. When I had gotten within
a mile or so of my home I was so completely tired out that I could not
walk any farther, and I went into an old, abandoned house to spend the
remainder of the night. About three o'clock in the morning my brother
John found me asleep in this house, and broke to me, as gently as he
could, the sad news that our dear mother had died during the night.

This seemed to me the saddest and blankest moment in my life. For
several years my mother had not been in good health, but I had no idea,
when I parted from her the previous day, that I should never see her
alive again. Besides that, I had always had an intense desire to be with
her when she did pass away. One of the chief ambitions which spurred
me on at Hampton was that I might be able to get to be in a position in
which I could better make my mother comfortable and happy. She had so
often expressed the wish that she might be permitted to live to see her
children educated and started out in the world.

In a very short time after the death of my mother our little home was
in confusion. My sister Amanda, although she tried to do the best
she could, was too young to know anything about keeping house, and my
stepfather was not able to hire a housekeeper. Sometimes we had food
cooked for us, and sometimes we did not. I remember that more than once
a can of tomatoes and some crackers constituted a meal. Our clothing
went uncared for, and everything about our home was soon in a
tumble-down condition. It seems to me that this was the most dismal
period of my life.

My good friend, Mrs. Ruffner, to whom I have already referred, always
made me welcome at her home, and assisted me in many ways during this
trying period. Before the end of the vacation she gave me some work, and
this, together with work in a coal-mine at some distance from my home,
enabled me to earn a little money.

At one time it looked as if I would have to give up the idea of
returning to Hampton, but my heart was so set on returning that I
determined not to give up going back without a struggle. I was very
anxious to secure some clothes for the winter, but in this I was
disappointed, except for a few garments which my brother John secured
for me. Notwithstanding my need of money and clothing, I was very
happy in the fact that I had secured enough money to pay my travelling
expenses back to Hampton. Once there, I knew that I could make myself
so useful as a janitor that I could in some way get through the school
year.

Three weeks before the time for the opening of the term at Hampton, I
was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from my good friend Miss
Mary F. Mackie, the lady principal, asking me to return to Hampton two
weeks before the opening of the school, in order that I might assist her
in cleaning the buildings and getting things in order for the new school
year. This was just the opportunity I wanted. It gave me a chance to
secure a credit in the treasurer's office. I started for Hampton at
once.

During these two weeks I was taught a lesson which I shall never forget.
Miss Mackie was a member of one of the oldest and most cultured families
of the North, and yet for two weeks she worked by my side cleaning
windows, dusting rooms, putting beds in order, and what not. She felt
that things would not be in condition for the opening of school unless
every window-pane was perfectly clean, and she took the greatest
satisfaction in helping to clean them herself. The work which I have
described she did every year that I was at Hampton.

It was hard for me at this time to understand how a woman of her
education and social standing could take such delight in performing such
service, in order to assist in the elevation of an unfortunate race.
Ever since then I have had no patience with any school for my race in
the South which did not teach its students the dignity of labour.

During my last year at Hampton every minute of my time that was not
occupied with my duties as janitor was devoted to hard study. I was
determined, if possible, to make such a record in my class as would
cause me to be placed on the "honour roll" of Commencement speakers.
This I was successful in doing. It was June of 1875 when I finished the
regular course of study at Hampton. The greatest benefits that I got out
of my my life at the Hampton Institute, perhaps, may be classified under
two heads:--

First was contact with a great man, General S.C. Armstrong, who, I
repeat, was, in my opinion, the rarest, strongest, and most beautiful
character that it has ever been my privilege to meet.

Second, at Hampton, for the first time, I learned what education was
expected to do for an individual. Before going there I had a good deal
of the then rather prevalent idea among our people that to secure an
education meant to have a good, easy time, free from all necessity for
manual labour. At Hampton I not only learned that it was not a disgrace
to labour, but learned to love labour, not alone for its financial
value, but for labour's own sake and for the independence and
self-reliance which the ability to do something which the world wants
done brings. At that institution I got my first taste of what it meant
to live a life of unselfishness, my first knowledge of the fact that the
happiest individuals are those who do the most to make others useful and
happy.

I was completely out of money when I graduated. In company with other
Hampton students, I secured a place as a table waiter in a summer hotel
in Connecticut, and managed to borrow enough money with which to get
there. I had not been in this hotel long before I found out that I knew
practically nothing about waiting on a hotel table. The head waiter,
however, supposed that I was an accomplished waiter. He soon gave me
charge of the table at which there sat four or five wealthy and rather
aristocratic people. My ignorance of how to wait upon them was so
apparent that they scolded me in such a severe manner that I became
frightened and left their table, leaving them sitting there without
food. As a result of this I was reduced from the position of waiter to
that of a dish-carrier.

But I determined to learn the business of waiting, and did so within
a few weeks and was restored to my former position. I have had the
satisfaction of being a guest in this hotel several times since I was a
waiter there.

At the close of the hotel season I returned to my former home in Malden,
and was elected to teach the coloured school at that place. This was the
beginning of one of the happiest periods of my life. I now felt that I
had the opportunity to help the people of my home town to a higher life.
I felt from the first that mere book education was not all that the
young people of that town needed. I began my work at eight o'clock in
the morning, and, as a rule, it did not end until ten o'clock at night.
In addition to the usual routine of teaching, I taught the pupils to
comb their hair, and to keep their hands and faces clean, as well as
their clothing. I gave special attention to teaching them the proper
use of the tooth-brush and the bath. In all my teaching I have watched
carefully the influence of the tooth-brush, and I am convinced
that there are few single agencies of civilization that are more
far-reaching.

There were so many of the older boys and girls in the town, as well as
men and women, who had to work in the daytime and still were craving an
opportunity for an education, that I soon opened a night-school. From
the first, this was crowded every night, being about as large as the
school that I taught in the day. The efforts of some of the men and
women, who in many cases were over fifty years of age, to learn, were in
some cases very pathetic.

My day and night school work was not all that I undertook. I established
a small reading-room and a debating society. On Sundays I taught two
Sunday-schools, one in the town of Malden in the afternoon, and the
other in the morning at a place three miles distant from Malden. In
addition to this, I gave private lessons to several young men whom I was
fitting to send to the Hampton Institute. Without regard to pay and with
little thought of it, I taught any one who wanted to learn anything that
I could teach him. I was supremely happy in the opportunity of being
able to assist somebody else. I did receive, however, a small salary
from the public fund, for my work as a public-school teacher.

During the time that I was a student at Hampton my older brother, John,
not only assisted me all that he could, but worked all of the time in
the coal-mines in order to support the family. He willingly neglected
his own education that he might help me. It was my earnest wish to help
him to prepare to enter Hampton, and to save money to assist him in his
expenses there. Both of these objects I was successful in accomplishing.
In three years my brother finished the course at Hampton, and he is
now holding the important position of Superintendent of Industries at
Tuskegee. When he returned from Hampton, we both combined our efforts
and savings to send our adopted brother, James, through the Hampton
Institute. This we succeeded in doing, and he is now the postmaster
at the Tuskegee Institute. The year 1877, which was my second year of
teaching in Malden, I spent very much as I did the first.

It was while my home was at Malden that what was known as the "Ku Klux
Klan" was in the height of its activity. The "Ku Klux" were bands of
men who had joined themselves together for the purpose of regulating the
conduct of the coloured people, especially with the object of preventing
the members of the race from exercising any influence in politics. They
corresponded somewhat to the "patrollers" of whom I used to hear a
great deal during the days of slavery, when I was a small boy. The
"patrollers" were bands of white men--usually young men--who were
organized largely for the purpose of regulating the conduct of the
slaves at night in such matters as preventing the slaves from going from
one plantation to another without passes, and for preventing them from
holding any kind of meetings without permission and without the presence
at these meetings of at least one white man.

Like the "patrollers" the "Ku Klux" operated almost wholly at night.
They were, however, more cruel than the "patrollers." Their objects, in
the main, were to crush out the political aspirations of the Negroes,
but they did not confine themselves to this, because schoolhouses as
well as churches were burned by them, and many innocent persons were
made to suffer. During this period not a few coloured people lost their
lives.

As a young man, the acts of these lawless bands made a great impression
upon me. I saw one open battle take place at Malden between some of the
coloured and white people. There must have been not far from a hundred
persons engaged on each side; many on both sides were seriously injured,
among them General Lewis Ruffner, the husband of my friend Mrs. Viola
Ruffner. General Ruffner tried to defend the coloured people, and
for this he was knocked down and so seriously wounded that he never
completely recovered. It seemed to me as I watched this struggle between
members of the two races, that there was no hope for our people in this
country. The "Ku Klux" period was, I think, the darkest part of the
Reconstruction days.

I have referred to this unpleasant part of the history of the South
simply for the purpose of calling attention to the great change that has
taken place since the days of the "Ku Klux." To-day there are no such
organizations in the South, and the fact that such ever existed is
almost forgotten by both races. There are few places in the South now
where public sentiment would permit such organizations to exist.



Chapter V. The Reconstruction Period

The years from 1867 to 1878 I think may be called the period of
Reconstruction. This included the time that I spent as a student at
Hampton and as a teacher in West Virginia. During the whole of the
Reconstruction period two ideas were constantly agitating in the minds
of the coloured people, or, at least, in the minds of a large part of
the race. One of these was the craze for Greek and Latin learning, and
the other was a desire to hold office.

It could not have been expected that a people who had spent generations
in slavery, and before that generations in the darkest heathenism, could
at first form any proper conception of what an education meant. In every
part of the South, during the Reconstruction period, schools, both
day and night, were filled to overflowing with people of all ages and
conditions, some being as far along in age as sixty and seventy
years. The ambition to secure an education was most praiseworthy and
encouraging. The idea, however, was too prevalent that, as soon as one
secured a little education, in some unexplainable way he would be free
from most of the hardships of the world, and, at any rate, could live
without manual labour. There was a further feeling that a knowledge,
however little, of the Greek and Latin languages would make one a very
superior human being, something bordering almost on the supernatural. I
remember that the first coloured man whom I saw who knew something about
foreign languages impressed me at the time as being a man of all others
to be envied.

Naturally, most of our people who received some little education became
teachers or preachers. While among those two classes there were many
capable, earnest, godly men and women, still a large proportion took
up teaching or preaching as an easy way to make a living. Many became
teachers who could do little more than write their names. I remember
there came into our neighbourhood one of this class, who was in search
of a school to teach, and the question arose while he was there as to
the shape of the earth and how he could teach the children concerning
the subject. He explained his position in the matter by saying that he
was prepared to teach that the earth was either flat or round, according
to the preference of a majority of his patrons.

The ministry was the profession that suffered most--and still suffers,
though there has been great improvement--on account of not only ignorant
but in many cases immoral men who claimed that they were "called to
preach." In the earlier days of freedom almost every coloured man who
learned to read would receive "a call to preach" within a few days
after he began reading. At my home in West Virginia the process of being
called to the ministry was a very interesting one. Usually the "call"
came when the individual was sitting in church. Without warning the one
called would fall upon the floor as if struck by a bullet, and would lie
there for hours, speechless and motionless. Then the news would spread
all through the neighborhood that this individual had received a "call."
If he were inclined to resist the summons, he would fall or be made to
fall a second or third time. In the end he always yielded to the call.
While I wanted an education badly, I confess that in my youth I had a
fear that when I had learned to read and write very well I would receive
one of these "calls"; but, for some reason, my call never came.

When we add the number of wholly ignorant men who preached or "exhorted"
to that of those who possessed something of an education, it can be seen
at a glance that the supply of ministers was large. In fact, some time
ago I knew a certain church that had a total membership of about two
hundred, and eighteen of that number were ministers. But, I repeat, in
many communities in the South the character of the ministry is being
improved, and I believe that within the next two or three decades a very
large proportion of the unworthy ones will have disappeared. The "calls"
to preach, I am glad to say, are not nearly so numerous now as they were
formerly, and the calls to some industrial occupation are growing more
numerous. The improvement that has taken place in the character of the
teachers is even more marked than in the case of the ministers.

During the whole of the Reconstruction period our people throughout the
South looked to the Federal Government for everything, very much as
a child looks to its mother. This was not unnatural. The central
government gave them freedom, and the whole Nation had been enriched for
more than two centuries by the labour of the Negro. Even as a youth,
and later in manhood, I had the feeling that it was cruelly wrong in
the central government, at the beginning of our freedom, to fail to make
some provision for the general education of our people in addition
to what the states might do, so that the people would be the better
prepared for the duties of citizenship.

It is easy to find fault, to remark what might have been done, and
perhaps, after all, and under all the circumstances, those in charge
of the conduct of affairs did the only thing that could be done at the
time. Still, as I look back now over the entire period of our freedom,
I cannot help feeling that it would have been wiser if some plan could
have been put in operation which would have made the possession of
a certain amount of education or property, or both, a test for the
exercise of the franchise, and a way provided by which this test should
be made to apply honestly and squarely to both the white and black
races.

Though I was but little more than a youth during the period of
Reconstruction, I had the feeling that mistakes were being made, and
that things could not remain in the condition that they were in then
very long. I felt that the Reconstruction policy, so far as it related
to my race, was in a large measure on a false foundation, was artificial
and forced. In many cases it seemed to me that the ignorance of my race
was being used as a tool with which to help white men into office,
and that there was an element in the North which wanted to punish the
Southern white men by forcing the Negro into positions over the heads
of the Southern whites. I felt that the Negro would be the one to suffer
for this in the end. Besides, the general political agitation drew
the attention of our people away from the more fundamental matters of
perfecting themselves in the industries at their doors and in securing
property.

The temptations to enter political life were so alluring that I came
very near yielding to them at one time, but I was kept from doing so
by the feeling that I would be helping in a more substantial way by
assisting in the laying of the foundation of the race through a generous
education of the hand, head, and heart. I saw coloured men who were
members of the state legislatures, and county officers, who, in some
cases, could not read or write, and whose morals were as weak as their
education. Not long ago, when passing through the streets of a certain
city in the South, I heard some brick-masons calling out, from the
top of a two-story brick building on which they were working, for the
"Governor" to "hurry up and bring up some more bricks." Several times
I heard the command, "Hurry up, Governor!" "Hurry up, Governor!" My
curiosity was aroused to such an extent that I made inquiry as to who
the "Governor" was, and soon found that he was a coloured man who at one
time had held the position of Lieutenant-Governor of his state.

But not all the coloured people who were in office during Reconstruction
were unworthy of their positions, by any means. Some of them, like
the late Senator B.K. Bruce, Governor Pinchback, and many others, were
strong, upright, useful men. Neither were all the class designated as
carpetbaggers dishonourable men. Some of them, like ex-Governor Bullock,
of Georgia, were men of high character and usefulness.

Of course the coloured people, so largely without education, and wholly
without experience in government, made tremendous mistakes, just as many
people similarly situated would have done. Many of the Southern whites
have a feeling that, if the Negro is permitted to exercise his political
rights now to any degree, the mistakes of the Reconstruction period will
repeat themselves. I do not think this would be true, because the Negro
is a much stronger and wiser man than he was thirty-five years ago, and
he is fast learning the lesson that he cannot afford to act in a manner
that will alienate his Southern white neighbours from him. More and more
I am convinced that the final solution of the political end of our race
problem will be for each state that finds it necessary to change the law
bearing upon the franchise to make the law apply with absolute honesty,
and without opportunity for double dealing or evasion, to both races
alike. Any other course my daily observation in the South convinces me,
will be unjust to the Negro, unjust to the white man, and unfair to the
rest of the state in the Union, and will be, like slavery, a sin that at
some time we shall have to pay for.

In the fall of 1878, after having taught school in Malden for two years,
and after I had succeeded in preparing several of the young men and
women, besides my two brothers, to enter the Hampton Institute, I
decided to spend some months in study at Washington, D.C. I remained
there for eight months. I derived a great deal of benefit from the
studies which I pursued, and I came into contact with some strong
men and women. At the institution I attended there was no industrial
training given to the students, and I had an opportunity of comparing
the influence of an institution with no industrial training with that of
one like the Hampton Institute, that emphasizes the industries. At this
school I found the students, in most cases, had more money, were better
dressed, wore the latest style of all manner of clothing, and in some
cases were more brilliant mentally. At Hampton it was a standing rule
that, while the institution would be responsible for securing some one
to pay the tuition for the students, the men and women themselves must
provide for their own board, books, clothing, and room wholly by work,
or partly by work and partly in cash. At the institution at which I
now was, I found that a large portion of the students by some means
had their personal expenses paid for them. At Hampton the student was
constantly making the effort through the industries to help himself,
and that very effort was of immense value in character-building. The
students at the other school seemed to be less self-dependent. They
seemed to give more attention to mere outward appearances. In a word,
they did not appear to me to be beginning at the bottom, on a real,
solid foundation, to the extent that they were at Hampton. They knew
more about Latin and Greek when they left school, but they seemed to
know less about life and its conditions as they would meet it at their
homes. Having lived for a number of years in the midst of comfortable
surroundings, they were not as much inclined as the Hampton students to
go into the country districts of the South, where there was little of
comfort, to take up work for our people, and they were more inclined to
yield to the temptation to become hotel waiters and Pullman-car porters
as their life-work.

During the time I was a student at Washington the city was crowded with
coloured people, many of whom had recently come from the South. A large
proportion of these people had been drawn to Washington because they
felt that they could lead a life of ease there. Others had secured minor
government positions, and still another large class was there in the
hope of securing Federal positions. A number of coloured men--some of
them very strong and brilliant--were in the House of Representatives
at that time, and one, the Hon. B.K. Bruce, was in the Senate. All
this tended to make Washington an attractive place for members of the
coloured race. Then, too, they knew that at all times they could have
the protection of the law in the District of Columbia. The public
schools in Washington for coloured people were better then than they
were elsewhere. I took great interest in studying the life of our people
there closely at that time. I found that while among them there was
a large element of substantial, worthy citizens, there was also a
superficiality about the life of a large class that greatly alarmed me.
I saw young coloured men who were not earning more than four dollars a
week spend two dollars or more for a buggy on Sunday to ride up and down
Pennsylvania Avenue in, in order that they might try to convince the
world that they were worth thousands. I saw other young men who received
seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from the Government, who
were in debt at the end of every month. I saw men who but a few months
previous were members of Congress, then without employment and in
poverty. Among a large class there seemed to be a dependence upon the
Government for every conceivable thing. The members of this class had
little ambition to create a position for themselves, but wanted the
Federal officials to create one for them. How many times I wished then,
and have often wished since, that by some power of magic I might remove
the great bulk of these people into the county districts and plant them
upon the soil, upon the solid and never deceptive foundation of Mother
Nature, where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have gotten
their start,--a start that at first may be slow and toilsome, but one
that nevertheless is real.

In Washington I saw girls whose mothers were earning their living by
laundrying. These girls were taught by their mothers, in rather a crude
way it is true, the industry of laundrying. Later, these girls entered
the public schools and remained there perhaps six or eight years. When
the public school course was finally finished, they wanted more costly
dresses, more costly hats and shoes. In a word, while their wants
have been increased, their ability to supply their wants had not been
increased in the same degree. On the other hand, their six or eight
years of book education had weaned them away from the occupation of
their mothers. The result of this was in too many cases that the girls
went to the bad. I often thought how much wiser it would have been to
give these girls the same amount of maternal training--and I favour any
kind of training, whether in the languages or mathematics, that gives
strength and culture to the mind--but at the same time to give them the
most thorough training in the latest and best methods of laundrying and
other kindred occupations.



Chapter VI. Black Race And Red Race

During the year that I spent in Washington, and for some little time
before this, there had been considerable agitation in the state of
West Virginia over the question of moving the capital of the state
from Wheeling to some other central point. As a result of this, the
Legislature designated three cities to be voted upon by the citizens of
the state as the permanent seat of government. Among these cities was
Charleston, only five miles from Malden, my home. At the close of my
school year in Washington I was very pleasantly surprised to receive,
from a committee of three white people in Charleston, an invitation
to canvass the state in the interests of that city. This invitation I
accepted, and spent nearly three months in speaking in various parts of
the state. Charleston was successful in winning the prize, and is now
the permanent seat of government.

The reputation that I made as a speaker during this campaign induced a
number of persons to make an earnest effort to get me to enter political
life, but I refused, still believing that I could find other service
which would prove of more permanent value to my race. Even then I had a
strong feeling that what our people most needed was to get a foundation
in education, industry, and property, and for this I felt that they
could better afford to strive than for political preferment. As for my
individual self, it appeared to me to be reasonably certain that I could
succeed in political life, but I had a feeling that it would be a rather
selfish kind of success--individual success at the cost of failing to do
my duty in assisting in laying a foundation for the masses.

At this period in the progress of our race a very large proportion of
the young men who went to school or to college did so with the expressed
determination to prepare themselves to be great lawyers, or Congressmen,
and many of the women planned to become music teachers; but I had a
reasonably fixed idea, even at that early period in my life, that there
was a need for something to be done to prepare the way for successful
lawyers, Congressmen, and music teachers.

I felt that the conditions were a good deal like those of an old
coloured man, during the days of slavery, who wanted to learn how to
play on the guitar. In his desire to take guitar lessons he applied to
one of his young masters to teach him, but the young man, not having
much faith in the ability of the slave to master the guitar at his age,
sought to discourage him by telling him: "Uncle Jake, I will give you
guitar lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you three dollars for
the first lesson, two dollars for the second lesson, and one dollar for
the third lesson. But I will charge you only twenty-five cents for the
last lesson."

Uncle Jake answered: "All right, boss, I hires you on dem terms. But,
boss! I wants yer to be sure an' give me dat las' lesson first."

Soon after my work in connection with the removal of the capital was
finished, I received an invitation which gave me great joy and which
at the same time was a very pleasant surprise. This was a letter
from General Armstrong, inviting me to return to Hampton at the next
Commencement to deliver what was called the "post-graduate address."
This was an honour which I had not dreamed of receiving. With much
care I prepared the best address that I was capable of. I chose for my
subject "The Force That Wins."

As I returned to Hampton for the purpose of delivering this address,
I went over much of the same ground--now, however, covered entirely by
railroad--that I had traversed nearly six years before, when I first
sought entrance into Hampton Institute as a student. Now I was able to
ride the whole distance in the train. I was constantly contrasting this
with my first journey to Hampton. I think I may say, without seeming
egotism, that it is seldom that five years have wrought such a change in
the life and aspirations of an individual.

At Hampton I received a warm welcome from teachers and students. I found
that during my absence from Hampton the institute each year had been
getting closer to the real needs and conditions of our people; that the
industrial teaching, as well as that of the academic department, had
greatly improved. The plan of the school was not modelled after that of
any other institution then in existence, but every improvement was made
under the magnificent leadership of General Armstrong solely with the
view of meeting and helping the needs of our people as they presented
themselves at the time. Too often, it seems to me, in missionary
and educational work among underdeveloped races, people yield to the
temptation of doing that which was done a hundred years before, or is
being done in other communities a thousand miles away. The temptation
often is to run each individual through a certain educational
mould, regardless of the condition of the subject or the end to be
accomplished. This was not so at Hampton Institute.

The address which I delivered on Commencement Day seems to have pleased
every one, and many kind and encouraging words were spoken to me
regarding it. Soon after my return to my home in West Virginia, where
I had planned to continue teaching, I was again surprised to receive a
letter from General Armstrong, asking me to return to Hampton partly as
a teacher and partly to pursue some supplementary studies. This was
in the summer of 1879. Soon after I began my first teaching in West
Virginia I had picked out four of the brightest and most promising of my
pupils, in addition to my two brothers, to whom I have already referred,
and had given them special attention, with the view of having them go
to Hampton. They had gone there, and in each case the teachers had found
them so well prepared that they entered advanced classes. This fact, it
seems, led to my being called back to Hampton as a teacher. One of
the young men that I sent to Hampton in this way is now Dr. Samuel E.
Courtney, a successful physician in Boston, and a member of the School
Board of that city.

About this time the experiment was being tried for the first time, by
General Armstrong, of educating Indians at Hampton. Few people then had
any confidence in the ability of the Indians to receive education and
to profit by it. General Armstrong was anxious to try the experiment
systematically on a large scale. He secured from the reservations in
the Western states over one hundred wild and for the most part perfectly
ignorant Indians, the greater proportion of whom were young men. The
special work which the General desired me to do was to be a sort of "house
father" to the Indian young men--that is, I was to live in the building
with them and have the charge of their discipline, clothing, rooms, and
so on. This was a very tempting offer, but I had become so much absorbed
in my work in West Virginia that I dreaded to give it up. However, I
tore myself away from it. I did not know how to refuse to perform any
service that General Armstrong desired of me.

On going to Hampton, I took up my residence in a building with about
seventy-five Indian youths. I was the only person in the building who
was not a member of their race. At first I had a good deal of doubt
about my ability to succeed. I knew that the average Indian felt himself
above the white man, and, of course, he felt himself far above the
Negro, largely on account of the fact of the Negro having submitted to
slavery--a thing which the Indian would never do. The Indians, in the
Indian Territory, owned a large number of slaves during the days of
slavery. Aside from this, there was a general feeling that the attempt
to educate and civilize the red men at Hampton would be a failure.
All this made me proceed very cautiously, for I felt keenly the great
responsibility. But I was determined to succeed. It was not long before
I had the complete confidence of the Indians, and not only this, but
I think I am safe in saying that I had their love and respect. I found
that they were about like any other human beings; that they responded
to kind treatment and resented ill-treatment. They were continually
planning to do something that would add to my happiness and comfort. The
things that they disliked most, I think, were to have their long hair
cut, to give up wearing their blankets, and to cease smoking; but no
white American ever thinks that any other race is wholly civilized until
he wears the white man's clothes, eats the white man's food, speaks the
white man's language, and professes the white man's religion.

When the difficulty of learning the English language was subtracted, I
found that in the matter of learning trades and in mastering academic
studies there was little difference between the coloured and Indian
students. It was a constant delight to me to note the interest which
the coloured students took in trying to help the Indians in every way
possible. There were a few of the coloured students who felt that the
Indians ought not to be admitted to Hampton, but these were in the
minority. Whenever they were asked to do so, the Negro students gladly
took the Indians as room-mates, in order that they might teach them to
speak English and to acquire civilized habits.

I have often wondered if there was a white institution in this country
whose students would have welcomed the incoming of more than a hundred
companions of another race in the cordial way that these black students
at Hampton welcomed the red ones. How often I have wanted to say to
white students that they lift themselves up in proportion as they help
to lift others, and the more unfortunate the race, and the lower in the
scale of civilization, the more does one raise one's self by giving the
assistance.

This reminds me of a conversation which I once had with the Hon.
Frederick Douglass. At one time Mr. Douglass was travelling in the state
of Pennsylvania, and was forced, on account of his colour, to ride in
the baggage-car, in spite of the fact that he had paid the same price
for his passage that the other passengers had paid. When some of the
white passengers went into the baggage-car to console Mr. Douglass, and
one of them said to him: "I am sorry, Mr. Douglass, that you have been
degraded in this manner," Mr. Douglass straightened himself up on
the box upon which he was sitting, and replied: "They cannot degrade
Frederick Douglass. The soul that is within me no man can degrade. I
am not the one that is being degraded on account of this treatment, but
those who are inflicting it upon me."

In one part of the country, where the law demands the separation of
the races on the railroad trains, I saw at one time a rather amusing
instance which showed how difficult it sometimes is to know where the
black begins and the white ends.

There was a man who was well known in his community as a Negro, but who
was so white that even an expert would have hard work to classify him as
a black man. This man was riding in the part of the train set aside for
the coloured passengers. When the train conductor reached him, he showed
at once that he was perplexed. If the man was a Negro, the conductor did
not want to send him to the white people's coach; at the same time, if
he was a white man, the conductor did not want to insult him by asking
him if he was a Negro. The official looked him over carefully, examining
his hair, eyes, nose, and hands, but still seemed puzzled. Finally, to
solve the difficulty, he stooped over and peeped at the man's feet. When
I saw the conductor examining the feet of the man in question, I said to
myself, "That will settle it;" and so it did, for the trainman promptly
decided that the passenger was a Negro, and let him remain where he was.
I congratulated myself that my race was fortunate in not losing one of
its members.

My experience has been that the time to test a true gentleman is to
observe him when he is in contact with individuals of a race that is
less fortunate than his own. This is illustrated in no better way than
by observing the conduct of the old-school type of Southern gentleman
when he is in contact with his former slaves or their descendants.

An example of what I mean is shown in a story told of George Washington,
who, meeting a coloured man in the road once, who politely lifted his
hat, lifted his own in return. Some of his white friends who saw
the incident criticised Washington for his action. In reply to their
criticism George Washington said: "Do you suppose that I am going to
permit a poor, ignorant, coloured man to be more polite than I am?"

While I was in charge of the Indian boys at Hampton, I had one or two
experiences which illustrate the curious workings of caste in America.
One of the Indian boys was taken ill, and it became my duty to take him
to Washington, deliver him over to the Secretary of the Interior, and
get a receipt for him, in order that he might be returned to his Western
reservation. At that time I was rather ignorant of the ways of the
world. During my journey to Washington, on a steamboat, when the bell
rang for dinner, I was careful to wait and not enter the dining room
until after the greater part of the passengers had finished their meal.
Then, with my charge, I went to the dining saloon. The man in charge
politely informed me that the Indian could be served, but that I could
not. I never could understand how he knew just where to draw the colour
line, since the Indian and I were of about the same complexion. The
steward, however, seemed to be an expert in this manner. I had been
directed by the authorities at Hampton to stop at a certain hotel in
Washington with my charge, but when I went to this hotel the clerk
stated that he would be glad to receive the Indian into the house, but
said that he could not accommodate me.

An illustration of something of this same feeling came under my
observation afterward. I happened to find myself in a town in which
so much excitement and indignation were being expressed that it seemed
likely for a time that there would be a lynching. The occasion of the
trouble was that a dark-skinned man had stopped at the local hotel.
Investigation, however, developed the fact that this individual was a
citizen of Morocco, and that while travelling in this country he spoke
the English language. As soon as it was learned that he was not an
American Negro, all the signs of indignation disappeared. The man who
was the innocent cause of the excitement, though, found it prudent after
that not to speak English.

At the end of my first year with the Indians there came another opening
for me at Hampton, which, as I look back over my life now, seems to
have come providentially, to help to prepare me for my work at Tuskegee
later. General Armstrong had found out that there was quite a number of
young coloured men and women who were intensely in earnest in wishing to
get an education, but who were prevented from entering Hampton Institute
because they were too poor to be able to pay any portion of the cost of
their board, or even to supply themselves with books. He conceived the
idea of starting a night-school in connection with the Institute, into
which a limited number of the most promising of these young men and
women would be received, on condition that they were to work for ten
hours during the day, and attend school for two hours at night. They
were to be paid something above the cost of their board for their work.
The greater part of their earnings was to be reserved in the school's
treasury as a fund to be drawn on to pay their board when they had
become students in the day-school, after they had spent one or two years
in the night-school. In this way they would obtain a start in their
books and a knowledge of some trade or industry, in addition to the
other far-reaching benefits of the institution.

General Armstrong asked me to take charge of the night-school, and I
did so. At the beginning of this school there were about twelve strong,
earnest men and women who entered the class. During the day the greater
part of the young men worked in the school's sawmill, and the young
women worked in the laundry. The work was not easy in either place,
but in all my teaching I never taught pupils who gave me much genuine
satisfaction as these did. They were good students, and mastered their
work thoroughly. They were so much in earnest that only the ringing of
the retiring-bell would make them stop studying, and often they would
urge me to continue the lessons after the usual hour for going to bed
had come.

These students showed so much earnestness, both in their hard work
during the day, as well as in their application to their studies at
night, that I gave them the name of "The Plucky Class"--a name which
soon grew popular and spread throughout the institution. After a student
had been in the night-school long enough to prove what was in him, I
gave him a printed certificate which read something like this:--

"This is to certify that James Smith is a member of The Plucky Class of
the Hampton Institute, and is in good and regular standing."

The students prized these certificates highly, and they added greatly to
the popularity of the night-school. Within a few weeks this department
had grown to such an extent that there were about twenty-five students
in attendance. I have followed the course of many of these twenty-five
men and women ever since then, and they are now holding important and
useful positions in nearly every part of the South. The night-school at
Hampton, which started with only twelve students, now numbers between
three and four hundred, and is one of the permanent and most important
features of the institution.



Chapter VII. Early Days At Tuskegee

During the time that I had charge of the Indians and the night-school
at Hampton, I pursued some studies myself, under the direction of
the instructors there. One of these instructors was the Rev. Dr. H.B.
Frissell, the present Principal of the Hampton Institute, General
Armstrong's successor.

In May, 1881, near the close of my first year in teaching the
night-school, in a way that I had not dared expect, the opportunity
opened for me to begin my life-work. One night in the chapel, after the
usual chapel exercises were over, General Armstrong referred to the fact
that he had received a letter from some gentlemen in Alabama asking him
to recommend some one to take charge of what was to be a normal school
for the coloured people in the little town of Tuskegee in that state.
These gentlemen seemed to take it for granted that no coloured man
suitable for the position could be secured, and they were expecting the
General to recommend a white man for the place. The next day General
Armstrong sent for me to come to his office, and, much to my surprise,
asked me if I thought I could fill the position in Alabama. I told him
that I would be willing to try. Accordingly, he wrote to the people
who had applied to him for the information, that he did not know of any
white man to suggest, but if they would be willing to take a coloured
man, he had one whom he could recommend. In this letter he gave them my
name.

Several days passed before anything more was heard about the matter.
Some time afterward, one Sunday evening during the chapel exercises, a
messenger came in and handed the general a telegram. At the end of the
exercises he read the telegram to the school. In substance, these were
its words: "Booker T. Washington will suit us. Send him at once."

There was a great deal of joy expressed among the students and teachers,
and I received very hearty congratulations. I began to get ready at once
to go to Tuskegee. I went by way of my old home in West Virginia, where
I remained for several days, after which I proceeded to Tuskegee. I
found Tuskegee to be a town of about two thousand inhabitants, nearly
one-half of whom were coloured. It was in what was known as the Black
Belt of the South. In the county in which Tuskegee is situated the
coloured people outnumbered the whites by about three to one. In some of
the adjoining and near-by counties the proportion was not far from six
coloured persons to one white.

I have often been asked to define the term "Black Belt." So far as I can
learn, the term was first used to designate a part of the country which
was distinguished by the colour of the soil. The part of the country
possessing this thick, dark, and naturally rich soil was, of course,
the part of the South where the slaves were most profitable, and
consequently they were taken there in the largest numbers. Later,
and especially since the war, the term seems to be used wholly in a
political sense--that is, to designate the counties where the black
people outnumber the white.

Before going to Tuskegee I had expected to find there a building and
all the necessary apparatus ready for me to begin teaching. To my
disappointment, I found nothing of the kind. I did find, though, that
which no costly building and apparatus can supply,--hundreds of hungry,
earnest souls who wanted to secure knowledge.

Tuskegee seemed an ideal place for the school. It was in the midst of
the great bulk of the Negro population, and was rather secluded, being
five miles from the main line of railroad, with which it was connected
by a short line. During the days of slavery, and since, the town had
been a centre for the education of the white people. This was an added
advantage, for the reason that I found the white people possessing
a degree of culture and education that is not surpassed by many
localities. While the coloured people were ignorant, they had not, as a
rule, degraded and weakened their bodies by vices such as are common to
the lower class of people in the large cities. In general, I found the
relations between the two races pleasant. For example, the largest, and
I think at that time the only hardware store in the town was owned and
operated jointly by a coloured man and a white man. This copartnership
continued until the death of the white partner.

I found that about a year previous to my going to Tuskegee some of the
coloured people who had heard something of the work of education being
done at Hampton had applied to the state Legislature, through their
representatives, for a small appropriation to be used in starting a
normal school in Tuskegee. This request the Legislature had complied
with to the extent of granting an annual appropriation of two thousand
dollars. I soon learned, however, that this money could be used only for
the payment of the salaries of the instructors, and that there was no
provision for securing land, buildings, or apparatus. The task before me
did not seem a very encouraging one. It seemed much like making bricks
without straw. The coloured people were overjoyed, and were constantly
offering their services in any way in which they could be of assistance
in getting the school started.

My first task was to find a place in which to open the school. After
looking the town over with some care, the most suitable place that could
be secured seemed to be a rather dilapidated shanty near the coloured
Methodist church, together with the church itself as a sort of
assembly-room. Both the church and the shanty were in about as bad
condition as was possible. I recall that during the first months of
school that I taught in this building it was in such poor repair that,
whenever it rained, one of the older students would very kindly leave
his lessons and hold an umbrella over me while I heard the recitations
of the others. I remember, also, that on more than one occasion my
landlady held an umbrella over me while I ate breakfast.

At the time I went to Alabama the coloured people were taking
considerable interest in politics, and they were very anxious that I
should become one of them politically, in every respect. They seemed to
have a little distrust of strangers in this regard. I recall that one
man, who seemed to have been designated by the others to look after my
political destiny, came to me on several occasions and said, with a
good deal of earnestness: "We wants you to be sure to vote jes' like we
votes. We can't read de newspapers very much, but we knows how to vote,
an' we wants you to vote jes' like we votes." He added: "We watches de
white man, and we keeps watching de white man till we finds out which
way de white man's gwine to vote; an' when we finds out which way de
white man's gwine to vote, den we votes 'xactly de other way. Den we
knows we's right."

I am glad to add, however, that at the present time the disposition
to vote against the white man merely because he is white is largely
disappearing, and the race is learning to vote from principle, for what
the voter considers to be for the best interests of both races.

I reached Tuskegee, as I have said, early in June, 1881. The first month
I spent in finding accommodations for the school, and in travelling
through Alabama, examining into the actual life of the people,
especially in the court districts, and in getting the school advertised
among the class of people that I wanted to have attend it. The most of
my travelling was done over the country roads, with a mule and a cart
or a mule and a buggy wagon for conveyance. I ate and slept with the
people, in their little cabins. I saw their farms, their schools, their
churches. Since, in the case of the most of these visits, there had
been no notice given in advance that a stranger was expected, I had the
advantage of seeing the real, everyday life of the people.

In the plantation districts I found that, as a rule, the whole family
slept in one room, and that in addition to the immediate family there
sometimes were relatives, or others not related to the family, who slept
in the same room. On more than one occasion I went outside the house
to get ready for bed, or to wait until the family had gone to bed. They
usually contrived some kind of a place for me to sleep, either on the
floor or in a special part of another's bed. Rarely was there any place
provided in the cabin where one could bathe even the face and hands, but
usually some provision was made for this outside the house, in the yard.

The common diet of the people was fat pork and corn bread. At times I
have eaten in cabins where they had only corn bread and "black-eye peas"
cooked in plain water. The people seemed to have no other idea than to
live on this fat meat and corn bread,--the meat, and the meal of which
the bread was made, having been bought at a high price at a store in
town, notwithstanding the fact that the land all about the cabin homes
could easily have been made to produce nearly every kind of garden
vegetable that is raised anywhere in the country. Their one object
seemed to be to plant nothing but cotton; and in many cases cotton was
planted up to the very door of the cabin.

In these cabin homes I often found sewing-machines which had been
bought, or were being bought, on instalments, frequently at a cost of
as much as sixty dollars, or showy clocks for which the occupants of
the cabins had paid twelve or fourteen dollars. I remember that on one
occasion when I went into one of these cabins for dinner, when I sat
down to the table for a meal with the four members of the family, I
noticed that, while there were five of us at the table, there was but
one fork for the five of us to use. Naturally there was an awkward pause
on my part. In the opposite corner of that same cabin was an organ
for which the people told me they were paying sixty dollars in monthly
instalments. One fork, and a sixty-dollar organ!

In most cases the sewing-machine was not used, the clocks were so
worthless that they did not keep correct time--and if they had, in nine
cases out of ten there would have been no one in the family who could
have told the time of day--while the organ, of course, was rarely used
for want of a person who could play upon it.

In the case to which I have referred, where the family sat down to the
table for the meal at which I was their guest, I could see plainly that
this was an awkward and unusual proceeding, and was done in my honour.
In most cases, when the family got up in the morning, for example, the
wife would put a piece of meat in a frying-pan and put a lump of dough
in a "skillet," as they called it. These utensils would be placed on the
fire, and in ten or fifteen minutes breakfast would be ready. Frequently
the husband would take his bread and meat in his hand and start for the
field, eating as he walked. The mother would sit down in a corner and
eat her breakfast, perhaps from a plate and perhaps directly from the
"skillet" or frying-pan, while the children would eat their portion of
the bread and meat while running about the yard. At certain seasons of
the year, when meat was scarce, it was rarely that the children who were
not old enough or strong enough to work in the fields would have the
luxury of meat.

The breakfast over, and with practically no attention given to the
house, the whole family would, as a general thing, proceed to the
cotton-field. Every child that was large enough to carry a hoe was put
to work, and the baby--for usually there was at least one baby--would be
laid down at the end of the cotton row, so that its mother could give
it a certain amount of attention when she had finished chopping her
row. The noon meal and the supper were taken in much the same way as the
breakfast.

All the days of the family would be spent after much this same routine,
except Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday the whole family would spent at
least half a day, and often a whole day, in town. The idea in going to
town was, I suppose, to do shopping, but all the shopping that the whole
family had money for could have been attended to in ten minutes by one
person. Still, the whole family remained in town for most of the day,
spending the greater part of the time in standing on the streets, the
women, too often, sitting about somewhere smoking or dipping snuff.
Sunday was usually spent in going to some big meeting. With few
exceptions, I found that the crops were mortgaged in the counties where
I went, and that the most of the coloured farmers were in debt. The
state had not been able to build schoolhouses in the country districts,
and, as a rule, the schools were taught in churches or in log cabins.
More than once, while on my journeys, I found that there was no
provision made in the house used for school purposes for heating the
building during the winter, and consequently a fire had to be built in
the yard, and teacher and pupils passed in and out of the house as they
got cold or warm. With few exceptions, I found the teachers in these
country schools to be miserably poor in preparation for their work, and
poor in moral character. The schools were in session from three to five
months. There was practically no apparatus in the schoolhouses, except
that occasionally there was a rough blackboard. I recall that one day I
went into a schoolhouse--or rather into an abandoned log cabin that was
being used as a schoolhouse--and found five pupils who were studying a
lesson from one book. Two of these, on the front seat, were using
the book between them; behind these were two others peeping over the
shoulders of the first two, and behind the four was a fifth little
fellow who was peeping over the shoulders of all four.

What I have said concerning the character of the schoolhouses and
teachers will also apply quite accurately as a description of the church
buildings and the ministers.

I met some very interesting characters during my travels. As
illustrating the peculiar mental processes of the country people, I
remember that I asked one coloured man, who was about sixty years old,
to tell me something of his history. He said that he had been born in
Virginia, and sold into Alabama in 1845. I asked him how many were sold
at the same time. He said, "There were five of us; myself and brother
and three mules."

In giving all these descriptions of what I saw during my month of travel
in the country around Tuskegee, I wish my readers to keep in mind the
fact that there were many encouraging exceptions to the conditions which
I have described. I have stated in such plain words what I saw, mainly
for the reason that later I want to emphasize the encouraging changes
that have taken place in the community, not wholly by the work of the
Tuskegee school, but by that of other institutions as well.



Chapter VIII. Teaching School In A Stable And A Hen-House

I confess that what I saw during my month of travel and investigation
left me with a very heavy heart. The work to be done in order to lift
these people up seemed almost beyond accomplishing. I was only one
person, and it seemed to me that the little effort which I could put
forth could go such a short distance toward bringing about results. I
wondered if I could accomplish anything, and if it were worth while for
me to try.

Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever, after spending
this month in seeing the actual life of the coloured people, and that
was that, in order to lift them up, something must be done more than
merely to imitate New England education as it then existed. I saw more
clearly than ever the wisdom of the system which General Armstrong had
inaugurated at Hampton. To take the children of such people as I had
been among for a month, and each day give them a few hours of mere book
education, I felt would be almost a waste of time.

After consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set July 4, 1881,
as the day for the opening of the school in the little shanty and church
which had been secured for its accommodation. The white people, as well
as the coloured, were greatly interested in the starting of the new
school, and the opening day was looked forward to with much earnest
discussion. There were not a few white people in the vicinity of
Tuskegee who looked with some disfavour upon the project. They
questioned its value to the coloured people, and had a fear that it
might result in bringing about trouble between the races. Some had the
feeling that in proportion as the Negro received education, in the same
proportion would his value decrease as an economic factor in the state.
These people feared the result of education would be that the Negroes
would leave the farms, and that it would be difficult to secure them for
domestic service.

The white people who questioned the wisdom of starting this new school
had in their minds pictures of what was called an educated Negro, with a
high hat, imitation gold eye-glasses, a showy walking-stick, kid gloves,
fancy boots, and what not--in a word, a man who was determined to live
by his wits. It was difficult for these people to see how education
would produce any other kind of a coloured man.

In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered in getting
the little school started, and since then through a period of nineteen
years, there are two men among all the many friends of the school in
Tuskegee upon whom I have depended constantly for advice and guidance;
and the success of the undertaking is largely due to these men, from
whom I have never sought anything in vain. I mention them simply as
types. One is a white man and an ex-slaveholder, Mr. George W. Campbell;
the other is a black man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis Adams. These were
the men who wrote to General Armstrong for a teacher.

Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had little experience in
dealing with matters pertaining to education. Mr. Adams was a
mechanic, and had learned the trades of shoemaking, harness-making, and
tinsmithing during the days of slavery. He had never been to school a
day in his life, but in some way he had learned to read and write while
a slave. From the first, these two men saw clearly what my plan of
education was, sympathized with me, and supported me in every effort. In
the days which were darkest financially for the school, Mr. Campbell was
never appealed to when he was not willing to extend all the aid in his
power. I do not know two men, one an ex-slaveholder, one an ex-slave,
whose advice and judgment I would feel more like following in everything
which concerns the life and development of the school at Tuskegee than
those of these two men.

I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree, derived his
unusual power of mind from the training given his hands in the process
of mastering well three trades during the days of slavery. If one
goes to-day into any Southern town, and asks for the leading and most
reliable coloured man in the community, I believe that in five cases
out of ten he will be directed to a Negro who learned a trade during the
days of slavery.

On the morning that the school opened, thirty students reported for
admission. I was the only teacher. The students were about equally
divided between the sexes. Most of them lived in Macon County,
the county in which Tuskegee is situated, and of which it is the
county-seat. A great many more students wanted to enter the school, but
it had been decided to receive only those who were above fifteen years
of age, and who had previously received some education. The greater part
of the thirty were public-school teachers, and some of them were nearly
forty years of age. With the teachers came some of their former pupils,
and when they were examined it was amusing to note that in several cases
the pupil entered a higher class than did his former teacher. It was
also interesting to note how many big books some of them had studied,
and how many high-sounding subjects some of them claimed to have
mastered. The bigger the book and the longer the name of the subject,
the prouder they felt of their accomplishment. Some had studied Latin,
and one or two Greek. This they thought entitled them to special
distinction.

In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month of travel
which I have described was a young man, who had attended some high
school, sitting down in a one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing,
filth all around him, and weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in
studying a French grammar.

The students who came first seemed to be fond of memorizing long and
complicated "rules" in grammar and mathematics, but had little thought
or knowledge of applying these rules to their everyday affairs of their
life. One subject which they liked to talk about, and tell me that they
had mastered, in arithmetic, was "banking and discount," but I soon
found out that neither they nor almost any one in the neighbourhood in
which they had lived had ever had a bank account. In registering the
names of the students, I found that almost every one of them had one or
more middle initials. When I asked what the "J" stood for, in the name
of John J. Jones, it was explained to me that this was a part of his
"entitles." Most of the students wanted to get an education because they
thought it would enable them to earn more money as school-teachers.

Notwithstanding what I have said about them in these respects, I have
never seen a more earnest and willing company of young men and women
than these students were. They were all willing to learn the right thing
as soon as it was shown them what was right. I was determined to start
them off on a solid and thorough foundation, so far as their books were
concerned. I soon learned that most of them had the merest smattering of
the high-sounding things that they had studied. While they could locate
the Desert of Sahara or the capital of China on an artificial globe,
I found out that the girls could not locate the proper places for the
knives and forks on an actual dinner-table, or the places on which the
bread and meat should be set.

I had to summon a good deal of courage to take a student who had been
studying cube root and "banking and discount," and explain to him
that the wisest thing for him to do first was thoroughly master the
multiplication table.

The number of pupils increased each week, until by the end of the first
month there were nearly fifty. Many of them, however, said that, as they
could remain only for two or three months, they wanted to enter a high
class and get a diploma the first year if possible.

At the end of the first six weeks a new and rare face entered the school
as a co-teacher. This was Miss Olivia A. Davidson, who later became
my wife. Miss Davidson was born in Ohio, and received her preparatory
education in the public schools of that state. When little more than a
girl, she heard of the need of teachers in the South. She went to the
state of Mississippi and began teaching there. Later she taught in the
city of Memphis. While teaching in Mississippi, one of her pupils became
ill with smallpox. Every one in the community was so frightened that no
one would nurse the boy. Miss Davidson closed her school and remained by
the bedside of the boy night and day until he recovered. While she was
at her Ohio home on her vacation, the worst epidemic of yellow fever
broke out in Memphis, Tenn., that perhaps has ever occurred in the
South. When she heard of this, she at once telegraphed the Mayor of
Memphis, offering her services as a yellow-fever nurse, although she had
never had the disease.

Miss Davidon's experience in the South showed her that the people needed
something more than mere book-learning. She heard of the Hampton system
of education, and decided that this was what she wanted in order to
prepare herself for better work in the South. The attention of Mrs. Mary
Hemenway, of Boston, was attracted to her rare ability. Through Mrs.
Hemenway's kindness and generosity, Miss Davidson, after graduating
at Hampton, received an opportunity to complete a two years' course of
training at the Massachusetts State Normal School at Framingham.

Before she went to Framingham, some one suggested to Miss Davidson
that, since she was so very light in colour, she might find it more
comfortable not to be known as a coloured women in this school in
Massachusetts. She at once replied that under no circumstances and for
no considerations would she consent to deceive any one in regard to her
racial identity.

Soon after her graduation from the Framingham institution, Miss Davidson
came to Tuskegee, bringing into the school many valuable and fresh ideas
as to the best methods of teaching, as well as a rare moral character
and a life of unselfishness that I think has seldom been equalled. No
single individual did more toward laying the foundations of the Tuskegee
Institute so as to insure the successful work that has been done there
than Olivia A. Davidson.

Miss Davidson and I began consulting as to the future of the school from
the first. The students were making progress in learning books and in
developing their minds; but it became apparent at once that, if we
were to make any permanent impression upon those who had come to us
for training we must do something besides teach them mere books. The
students had come from homes where they had had no opportunities for
lessons which would teach them how to care for their bodies. With few
exceptions, the homes in Tuskegee in which the students boarded were
but little improvement upon those from which they had come. We wanted
to teach the students how to bathe; how to care for their teeth and
clothing. We wanted to teach them what to eat, and how to eat it
properly, and how to care for their rooms. Aside from this, we wanted to
give them such a practical knowledge of some one industry, together with
the spirit of industry, thrift, and economy, that they would be sure of
knowing how to make a living after they had left us. We wanted to teach
them to study actual things instead of mere books alone.

We found that the most of our students came from the country districts,
where agriculture in some form or other was the main dependence of
the people. We learned that about eighty-five per cent of the coloured
people in the Gulf states depended upon agriculture for their living.
Since this was true, we wanted to be careful not to educate our students
out of sympathy with agricultural life, so that they would be attracted
from the country to the cities, and yield to the temptation of trying
to live by their wits. We wanted to give them such an education as would
fit a large proportion of them to be teachers, and at the same time
cause them to return to the plantation districts and show the people
there how to put new energy and new ideas into farming, as well as into
the intellectual and moral and religious life of the people.

All these ideas and needs crowded themselves upon us with a seriousness
that seemed well-nigh overwhelming. What were we to do? We had only
the little old shanty and the abandoned church which the good
coloured people of the town of Tuskegee had kindly loaned us for the
accommodation of the classes. The number of students was increasing
daily. The more we saw of them, and the more we travelled through the
country districts, the more we saw that our efforts were reaching, to
only a partial degree, the actual needs of the people whom we wanted to
lift up through the medium of the students whom we should educate and
send out as leaders.

The more we talked with the students, who were then coming to us from
several parts of the state, the more we found that the chief ambition
among a large proportion of them was to get an education so that they
would not have to work any longer with their hands.

This is illustrated by a story told of a coloured man in Alabama, who,
one hot day in July, while he was at work in a cotton-field, suddenly
stopped, and, looking toward the skies, said: "O Lawd, de cotton am
so grassy, de work am so hard, and the sun am so hot dat I b'lieve dis
darky am called to preach!"

About three months after the opening of the school, and at the time when
we were in the greatest anxiety about our work, there came into market
for sale an old and abandoned plantation which was situated about a
mile from the town of Tuskegee. The mansion house--or "big house," as
it would have been called--which had been occupied by the owners during
slavery, had been burned. After making a careful examination of the
place, it seemed to be just the location that we wanted in order to make
our work effective and permanent.

But how were we to get it? The price asked for it was very little--only
five hundred dollars--but we had no money, and we were strangers in the
town and had no credit. The owner of the land agreed to let us occupy
the place if we could make a payment of two hundred and fifty dollars
down, with the understanding that the remaining two hundred and fifty
dollars must be paid within a year. Although five hundred dollars was
cheap for the land, it was a large sum when one did not have any part of
it.

In the midst of the difficulty I summoned a great deal of courage and
wrote to my friend General J.F.B. Marshall, the Treasurer of the Hampton
Institute, putting the situation before him and beseeching him to lend
me the two hundred and fifty dollars on my own personal responsibility.
Within a few days a reply came to the effect that he had no authority to
lend me the money belonging to the Hampton Institute, but that he would
gladly lend me the amount needed from his own personal funds.

I confess that the securing of this money in this way was a great
surprise to me, as well as a source of gratification. Up to that time I
never had had in my possession so much money as one hundred dollars at
a time, and the loan which I had asked General Marshall for seemed a
tremendously large sum to me. The fact of my being responsible for the
repaying of such a large amount of money weighed very heavily upon me.

I lost no time in getting ready to move the school on to the new farm.
At the time we occupied the place there were standing upon it a cabin,
formerly used as a dining room, an old kitchen, a stable, and an old
hen-house. Within a few weeks we had all of these structures in use. The
stable was repaired and used as a recitation-room, and very presently
the hen-house was utilized for the same purpose.

I recall that one morning, when I told an old coloured man who lived
near, and who sometimes helped me, that our school had grown so large
that it would be necessary for us to use the hen-house for school
purposes, and that I wanted him to help me give it a thorough cleaning
out the next day, he replied, in the most earnest manner: "What
you mean, boss? You sholy ain't gwine clean out de hen-house in de
day-time?"

Nearly all the work of getting the new location ready for school
purposes was done by the students after school was over in the
afternoon. As soon as we got the cabins in condition to be used, I
determined to clear up some land so that we could plant a crop. When I
explained my plan to the young men, I noticed that they did not seem
to take to it very kindly. It was hard for them to see the connection
between clearing land and an education. Besides, many of them had been
school-teachers, and they questioned whether or not clearing land would
be in keeping with their dignity. In order to relieve them from any
embarrassment, each afternoon after school I took my axe and led the way
to the woods. When they saw that I was not afraid or ashamed to work,
they began to assist with more enthusiasm. We kept at the work each
afternoon, until we had cleared about twenty acres and had planted a
crop.

In the meantime Miss Davidson was devising plans to repay the loan. Her
first effort was made by holding festivals, or "suppers." She made a
personal canvass among the white and coloured families in the town
of Tuskegee, and got them to agree to give something, like a cake, a
chicken, bread, or pies, that could be sold at the festival. Of course
the coloured people were glad to give anything that they could spare,
but I want to add that Miss Davidson did not apply to a single white
family, so far as I now remember, that failed to donate something; and
in many ways the white families showed their interest in the school.

Several of these festivals were held, and quite a little sum of money
was raised. A canvass was also made among the people of both races for
direct gifts of money, and most of those applied to gave small sums. It
was often pathetic to note the gifts of the older coloured people, most
of whom had spent their best days in slavery. Sometimes they would give
five cents, sometimes twenty-five cents. Sometimes the contribution was
a quilt, or a quantity of sugarcane. I recall one old coloured women who
was about seventy years of age, who came to see me when we were raising
money to pay for the farm. She hobbled into the room where I was,
leaning on a cane. She was clad in rags; but they were clean. She said:
"Mr. Washin'ton, God knows I spent de bes' days of my life in slavery.
God knows I's ignorant an' poor; but," she added, "I knows what you an'
Miss Davidson is tryin' to do. I knows you is tryin' to make better men
an' better women for de coloured race. I ain't got no money, but I wants
you to take dese six eggs, what I's been savin' up, an' I wants you to
put dese six eggs into the eddication of dese boys an' gals."

Since the work at Tuskegee started, it has been my privilege to receive
many gifts for the benefit of the institution, but never any, I think,
that touched me so deeply as this one.



Chapter IX. Anxious Days And Sleepless Nights

The coming of Christmas, that first year of our residence in Alabama,
gave us an opportunity to get a farther insight into the real life of
the people. The first thing that reminded us that Christmas had arrived
was the "foreday" visits of scores of children rapping at our doors,
asking for "Chris'mus gifts! Chris'mus gifts!" Between the hours of two
o'clock and five o'clock in the morning I presume that we must have had
a half-hundred such calls. This custom prevails throughout this portion
of the South to-day.

During the days of slavery it was a custom quite generally observed
throughout all the Southern states to give the coloured people a week of
holiday at Christmas, or to allow the holiday to continue as long as the
"yule log" lasted. The male members of the race, and often the female
members, were expected to get drunk. We found that for a whole week
the coloured people in and around Tuskegee dropped work the day before
Christmas, and that it was difficult for any one to perform any service
from the time they stopped work until after the New Year. Persons who at
other times did not use strong drink thought it quite the proper thing
to indulge in it rather freely during the Christmas week. There was
a widespread hilarity, and a free use of guns, pistols, and gunpowder
generally. The sacredness of the season seemed to have been almost
wholly lost sight of.

During this first Christmas vacation I went some distance from the town
to visit the people on one of the large plantations. In their poverty
and ignorance it was pathetic to see their attempts to get joy out of
the season that in most parts of the country is so sacred and so dear to
the heart. In one cabin I notice that all that the five children had to
remind them of the coming of Christ was a single bunch of firecrackers,
which they had divided among them. In another cabin, where there were
at least a half-dozen persons, they had only ten cents' worth of
ginger-cakes, which had been bought in the store the day before. In
another family they had only a few pieces of sugarcane. In still another
cabin I found nothing but a new jug of cheap, mean whiskey, which the
husband and wife were making free use of, notwithstanding the fact that
the husband was one of the local ministers. In a few instances I found
that the people had gotten hold of some bright-coloured cards that had
been designed for advertising purposes, and were making the most of
these. In other homes some member of the family had bought a new pistol.
In the majority of cases there was nothing to be seen in the cabin to
remind one of the coming of the Saviour, except that the people had
ceased work in the fields and were lounging about their homes. At night,
during Christmas week, they usually had what they called a "frolic," in
some cabin on the plantation. That meant a kind of rough dance, where
there was likely to be a good deal of whiskey used, and where there
might be some shooting or cutting with razors.

While I was making this Christmas visit I met an old coloured man who
was one of the numerous local preachers, who tried to convince me, from
the experience Adam had in the Garden of Eden, that God had cursed all
labour, and that, therefore, it was a sin for any man to work. For that
reason this man sought to do as little work as possible. He seemed at
that time to be supremely happy, because he was living, as he expressed
it, through one week that was free from sin.

In the school we made a special effort to teach our students the meaning
of Christmas, and to give them lessons in its proper observance. In this
we have been successful to a degree that makes me feel safe in saying
that the season now has a new meaning, not only through all that
immediate region, but, in a measure, wherever our graduates have gone.

At the present time one of the most satisfactory features of the
Christmas and Thanksgiving season at Tuskegee is the unselfish and
beautiful way in which our graduates and students spend their time in
administering to the comfort and happiness of others, especially the
unfortunate. Not long ago some of our young men spent a holiday
in rebuilding a cabin for a helpless coloured women who was about
seventy-five years old. At another time I remember that I made it known
in chapel, one night, that a very poor student was suffering from cold,
because he needed a coat. The next morning two coats were sent to my
office for him.

I have referred to the disposition on the part of the white people in
the town of Tuskegee and vicinity to help the school. From the first, I
resolved to make the school a real part of the community in which it was
located. I was determined that no one should have the feeling that it
was a foreign institution, dropped down in the midst of the people, for
which they had no responsibility and in which they had no interest.
I noticed that the very fact that they had been asking to contribute
toward the purchase of the land made them begin to feel as if it was
going to be their school, to a large degree. I noted that just in
proportion as we made the white people feel that the institution was
a part of the life of the community, and that, while we wanted to make
friends in Boston, for example, we also wanted to make white friends in
Tuskegee, and that we wanted to make the school of real service to all
the people, their attitude toward the school became favourable.

Perhaps I might add right here, what I hope to demonstrate later, that,
so far as I know, the Tuskegee school at the present time has no warmer
and more enthusiastic friends anywhere than it has among the white
citizens of Tuskegee and throughout the state of Alabama and the entire
South. From the first, I have advised our people in the South to
make friends in every straightforward, manly way with their next-door
neighbour, whether he be a black man or a white man. I have also advised
them, where no principle is at stake, to consult the interests of their
local communities, and to advise with their friends in regard to their
voting.

For several months the work of securing the money with which to pay for
the farm went on without ceasing. At the end of three months enough was
secured to repay the loan of two hundred and fifty dollars to General
Marshall, and within two months more we had secured the entire five
hundred dollars and had received a deed of the one hundred acres of
land. This gave us a great deal of satisfaction. It was not only a
source of satisfaction to secure a permanent location for the school,
but it was equally satisfactory to know that the greater part of the
money with which it was paid for had been gotten from the white and
coloured people in the town of Tuskegee. The most of this money was
obtained by holding festivals and concerts, and from small individual
donations.

Our next effort was in the direction of increasing the cultivation of
the land, so as to secure some return from it, and at the same time give
the students training in agriculture. All the industries at Tuskegee
have been started in natural and logical order, growing out of the needs
of a community settlement. We began with farming, because we wanted
something to eat.

Many of the students, also, were able to remain in school but a few
weeks at a time, because they had so little money with which to pay
their board. Thus another object which made it desirable to get an
industrial system started was in order to make it available as a means
of helping the students to earn money enough so that they might be able
to remain in school during the nine months' session of the school year.

The first animal that the school came into possession of was an old
blind horse given us by one of the white citizens of Tuskegee. Perhaps
I may add here that at the present time the school owns over two hundred
horses, colts, mules, cows, calves, and oxen, and about seven hundred
hogs and pigs, as well as a large number of sheep and goats.

The school was constantly growing in numbers, so much so that, after we
had got the farm paid for, the cultivation of the land begun, and the
old cabins which we had found on the place somewhat repaired, we turned
our attention toward providing a large, substantial building. After
having given a good deal of thought to the subject, we finally had the
plans drawn for a building that was estimated to cost about six thousand
dollars. This seemed to us a tremendous sum, but we knew that the school
must go backward or forward, and that our work would mean little unless
we could get hold of the students in their home life.

One incident which occurred about this time gave me a great deal of
satisfaction as well as surprise. When it became known in the town that
we were discussing the plans for a new, large building, a Southern white
man who was operating a sawmill not far from Tuskegee came to me and
said that he would gladly put all the lumber necessary to erect the
building on the grounds, with no other guarantee for payment than my
word that it would be paid for when we secured some money. I told the
man frankly that at the time we did not have in our hands one dollar of
the money needed. Notwithstanding this, he insisted on being allowed to
put the lumber on the grounds. After we had secured some portion of the
money we permitted him to do this.

Miss Davidson again began the work of securing in various ways small
contributions for the new building from the white and coloured people
in and near Tuskegee. I think I never saw a community of people so happy
over anything as were the coloured people over the prospect of this new
building. One day, when we were holding a meeting to secure funds for
its erection, an old, ante-bellum coloured man came a distance of twelve
miles and brought in his ox-cart a large hog. When the meeting was in
progress, he rose in the midst of the company and said that he had no
money which he could give, but he had raised two fine hogs, and that
he had brought one of them as a contribution toward the expenses of the
building. He closed his announcement by saying: "Any nigger that's got
any love for his race, or any respect for himself, will bring a hog
to the next meeting." Quite a number of men in the community also
volunteered to give several days' work, each, toward the erection of the
building.

After we had secured all the help that we could in Tuskegee, Miss
Davidson decided to go North for the purpose of securing additional
funds. For weeks she visited individuals and spoke in churches and
before Sunday schools and other organizations. She found this work quite
trying, and often embarrassing. The school was not known, but she was
not long in winning her way into the confidence of the best people in
the North.

The first gift from any Northern person was received from a New York
lady whom Miss Davidson met on the boat that was bringing her North.
They fell into a conversation, and the Northern lady became so much
interested in the effort being made at Tuskegee that before they parted
Miss Davidson was handed a check for fifty dollars. For some time before
our marriage, and also after it, Miss Davidson kept up the work of
securing money in the North and in the South by interesting people by
personal visits and through correspondence. At the same time she kept in
close touch with the work at Tuskegee, as lady principal and classroom
teacher. In addition to this, she worked among the older people in and
near Tuskegee, and taught a Sunday school class in the town. She was
never very strong, but never seemed happy unless she was giving all
of her strength to the cause which she loved. Often, at night, after
spending the day in going from door to door trying to interest persons
in the work at Tuskegee, she would be so exhausted that she could not
undress herself. A lady upon whom she called, in Boston, afterward told
me that at one time when Miss Davidson called her to see and send up her
card the lady was detained a little before she could see Miss Davidson,
and when she entered the parlour she found Miss Davidson so exhausted
that she had fallen asleep.

While putting up our first building, which was named Porter Hall, after
Mr. A.H. Porter, of Brooklyn, N.Y., who gave a generous sum toward
its erection, the need for money became acute. I had given one of our
creditors a promise that upon a certain day he should be paid four
hundred dollars. On the morning of that day we did not have a dollar.
The mail arrived at the school at ten o'clock, and in this mail there
was a check sent by Miss Davidson for exactly four hundred dollars.
I could relate many instances of almost the same character. This four
hundred dollars was given by two ladies in Boston. Two years later, when
the work at Tuskegee had grown considerably, and when we were in the
midst of a season when we were so much in need of money that the future
looked doubtful and gloomy, the same two Boston ladies sent us
six thousand dollars. Words cannot describe our surprise, or the
encouragement that the gift brought to us. Perhaps I might add here that
for fourteen years these same friends have sent us six thousand dollars
a year.

As soon as the plans were drawn for the new building, the students began
digging out the earth where the foundations were to be laid, working
after the regular classes were over. They had not fully outgrown the
idea that it was hardly the proper thing for them to use their hands,
since they had come there, as one of them expressed it, "to be educated,
and not to work." Gradually, though, I noted with satisfaction that a
sentiment in favour of work was gaining ground. After a few weeks of
hard work the foundations were ready, and a day was appointed for the
laying of the corner-stone.

When it is considered that the laying of this corner-stone took place in
the heart of the South, in the "Black Belt," in the centre of that
part of our country that was most devoted to slavery; that at that time
slavery had been abolished only about sixteen years; that only sixteen
years before no Negro could be taught from books without the teacher
receiving the condemnation of the law or of public sentiment--when all
this is considered, the scene that was witnessed on that spring day at
Tuskegee was a remarkable one. I believe there are few places in the
world where it could have taken place.

The principal address was delivered by the Hon. Waddy Thompson, the
Superintendent of Education for the county. About the corner-stone were
gathered the teachers, the students, their parents and friends, the
county officials--who were white--and all the leading white men in that
vicinity, together with many of the black men and women whom the same
white people but a few years before had held a title to as property. The
members of both races were anxious to exercise the privilege of placing
under the corner-stone some momento.

Before the building was completed we passed through some very trying
seasons. More than once our hearts were made to bleed, as it were,
because bills were falling due that we did not have the money to meet.
Perhaps no one who has not gone through the experience, month after
month, of trying to erect buildings and provide equipment for a
school when no one knew where the money was to come from, can properly
appreciate the difficulties under which we laboured. During the first
years at Tuskegee I recall that night after night I would roll and toss
on my bed, without sleep, because of the anxiety and uncertainty which
we were in regarding money. I knew that, in a large degree, we were
trying an experiment--that of testing whether or not it was possible
for Negroes to build up and control the affairs of a large education
institution. I knew that if we failed it would injure the whole race.
I knew that the presumption was against us. I knew that in the case of
white people beginning such an enterprise it would be taken for granted
that they were going to succeed, but in our case I felt that people
would be surprised if we succeeded. All this made a burden which pressed
down on us, sometimes, it seemed, at the rate of a thousand pounds to
the square inch.

In all our difficulties and anxieties, however, I never went to a white
or a black person in the town of Tuskegee for any assistance that was
in their power to render, without being helped according to their means.
More than a dozen times, when bills figuring up into the hundreds of
dollars were falling due, I applied to the white men of Tuskegee for
small loans, often borrowing small amounts from as many as a half-dozen
persons, to meet our obligations. One thing I was determined to do from
the first, and that was to keep the credit of the school high; and
this, I think I can say without boasting, we have done all through these
years.

I shall always remember a bit of advice given me by Mr. George W.
Campbell, the white man to whom I have referred to as the one who
induced General Armstrong to send me to Tuskegee. Soon after I entered
upon the work Mr. Campbell said to me, in his fatherly way: "Washington,
always remember that credit is capital."

At one time when we were in the greatest distress for money that we ever
experienced, I placed the situation frankly before General Armstrong.
Without hesitation he gave me his personal check for all the money which
he had saved for his own use. This was not the only time that General
Armstrong helped Tuskegee in this way. I do not think I have ever made
this fact public before.

During the summer of 1882, at the end of the first year's work of the
school, I was married to Miss Fannie N. Smith, of Malden, W. Va. We
began keeping house in Tuskegee early in the fall. This made a home for
our teachers, who now had been increased to four in number. My wife was
also a graduate of the Hampton Institute. After earnest and constant
work in the interests of the school, together with her housekeeping
duties, my wife passed away in May, 1884. One child, Portia M.
Washington, was born during our marriage.

From the first, my wife most earnestly devoted her thoughts and time to
the work of the school, and was completely one with me in every interest
and ambition. She passed away, however, before she had an opportunity of
seeing what the school was designed to be.



Chapter X. A Harder Task Than Making Bricks Without Straw

From the very beginning, at Tuskegee, I was determined to have the
students do not only the agricultural and domestic work, but to
have them erect their own buildings. My plan was to have them, while
performing this service, taught the latest and best methods of labour,
so that the school would not only get the benefit of their efforts,
but the students themselves would be taught to see not only utility in
labour, but beauty and dignity; would be taught, in fact, how to lift
labour up from mere drudgery and toil, and would learn to love work for
its own sake. My plan was not to teach them to work in the old way,
but to show them how to make the forces of nature--air, water, steam,
electricity, horse-power--assist them in their labour.

At first many advised against the experiment of having the buildings
erected by the labour of the students, but I was determined to stick to
it. I told those who doubted the wisdom of the plan that I knew that
our first buildings would not be so comfortable or so complete in their
finish as buildings erected by the experienced hands of outside workmen,
but that in the teaching of civilization, self-help, and self-reliance,
the erection of buildings by the students themselves would more than
compensate for any lack of comfort or fine finish.

I further told those who doubted the wisdom of this plan, that the
majority of our students came to us in poverty, from the cabins of the
cotton, sugar, and rice plantations of the South, and that while I knew
it would please the students very much to place them at once in finely
constructed buildings, I felt that it would be following out a more
natural process of development to teach them how to construct their own
buildings. Mistakes I knew would be made, but these mistakes would teach
us valuable lessons for the future.

During the now nineteen years' existence of the Tuskegee school, the
plan of having the buildings erected by student labour has been adhered
to. In this time forty buildings, counting small and large, have been
built, and all except four are almost wholly the product of student
labour. As an additional result, hundreds of men are now scattered
throughout the South who received their knowledge of mechanics while
being taught how to erect these buildings. Skill and knowledge are now
handed down from one set of students to another in this way, until
at the present time a building of any description or size can be
constructed wholly by our instructors and students, from the drawing of
the plans to the putting in of the electric fixtures, without going off
the grounds for a single workman.

Not a few times, when a new student has been led into the temptation of
marring the looks of some building by leadpencil marks or by the cuts
of a jack-knife, I have heard an old student remind him: "Don't do that.
That is our building. I helped put it up."

In the early days of the school I think my most trying experience was
in the matter of brickmaking. As soon as we got the farm work reasonably
well started, we directed our next efforts toward the industry of making
bricks. We needed these for use in connection with the erection of our
own buildings; but there was also another reason for establishing this
industry. There was no brickyard in the town, and in addition to our own
needs there was a demand for bricks in the general market.

I had always sympathized with the "Children of Israel," in their task
of "making bricks without straw," but ours was the task of making bricks
with no money and no experience.

In the first place, the work was hard and dirty, and it was difficult
to get the students to help. When it came to brickmaking, their distaste
for manual labour in connection with book education became especially
manifest. It was not a pleasant task for one to stand in the mud-pit for
hours, with the mud up to his knees. More than one man became disgusted
and left the school.

We tried several locations before we opened up a pit that furnished
brick clay. I had always supposed that brickmaking was very simple, but
I soon found out by bitter experience that it required special skill and
knowledge, particularly in the burning of the bricks. After a good deal
of effort we moulded about twenty-five thousand bricks, and put them
into a kiln to be burned. This kiln turned out to be a failure, because
it was not properly constructed or properly burned. We began at once,
however, on a second kiln. This, for some reason, also proved a failure.
The failure of this kiln made it still more difficult to get the
students to take part in the work. Several of the teachers, however,
who had been trained in the industries at Hampton, volunteered their
services, and in some way we succeeded in getting a third kiln ready for
burning. The burning of a kiln required about a week. Toward the latter
part of the week, when it seemed as if we were going to have a good
many thousand bricks in a few hours, in the middle of the night the kiln
fell. For the third time we had failed.

The failure of this last kiln left me without a single dollar with which
to make another experiment. Most of the teachers advised the abandoning
of the effort to make bricks. In the midst of my troubles I thought of
a watch which had come into my possession years before. I took the watch
to the city of Montgomery, which was not far distant, and placed it in a
pawn-shop. I secured cash upon it to the amount of fifteen dollars, with
which to renew the brickmaking experiment. I returned to Tuskegee, and,
with the help of the fifteen dollars, rallied our rather demoralized and
discouraged forces and began a fourth attempt to make bricks. This time,
I am glad to say, we were successful. Before I got hold of any money,
the time-limit on my watch had expired, and I have never seen it since;
but I have never regretted the loss of it.

Brickmaking has now become such an important industry at the school
that last season our students manufactured twelve hundred thousand of
first-class bricks, of a quality suitable to be sold in any market. Aside
from this, scores of young men have mastered the brickmaking trade--both
the making of bricks by hand and by machinery--and are now engaged in
this industry in many parts of the South.

The making of these bricks taught me an important lesson in regard to
the relations of the two races in the South. Many white people who had
had no contact with the school, and perhaps no sympathy with it, came to
us to buy bricks because they found out that ours were good bricks.
They discovered that we were supplying a real want in the community.
The making of these bricks caused many of the white residents of the
neighbourhood to begin to feel that the education of the Negro was not
making him worthless, but that in educating our students we were adding
something to the wealth and comfort of the community. As the people of
the neighbourhood came to us to buy bricks, we got acquainted with them;
they traded with us and we with them. Our business interests became
intermingled. We had something which they wanted; they had something
which we wanted. This, in a large measure, helped to lay the foundation
for the pleasant relations that have continued to exist between us and
the white people in that section, and which now extend throughout the
South.

Wherever one of our brickmakers has gone in the South, we find that
he has something to contribute to the well-being of the community into
which he has gone; something that has made the community feel that, in
a degree, it is indebted to him, and perhaps, to a certain extent,
dependent upon him. In this way pleasant relations between the races
have been stimulated.

My experience is that there is something in human nature which always
makes an individual recognize and reward merit, no matter under what
colour of skin merit is found. I have found, too, that it is the
visible, the tangible, that goes a long ways in softening prejudices.
The actual sight of a first-class house that a Negro has built is ten
times more potent than pages of discussion about a house that he ought
to build, or perhaps could build.

The same principle of industrial education has been carried out in the
building of our own wagons, carts, and buggies, from the first. We now
own and use on our farm and about the school dozens of these vehicles,
and every one of them has been built by the hands of the students. Aside
from this, we help supply the local market with these vehicles. The
supplying of them to the people in the community has had the same effect
as the supplying of bricks, and the man who learns at Tuskegee to build
and repair wagons and carts is regarded as a benefactor by both races in
the community where he goes. The people with whom he lives and works are
going to think twice before they part with such a man.

The individual who can do something that the world wants done will,
in the end, make his way regardless of race. One man may go into a
community prepared to supply the people there with an analysis of Greek
sentences. The community may not at the time be prepared for, or feel
the need of, Greek analysis, but it may feel its need of bricks and
houses and wagons. If the man can supply the need for those, then, it
will lead eventually to a demand for the first product, and with the
demand will come the ability to appreciate it and to profit by it.

About the time that we succeeded in burning our first kiln of bricks
we began facing in an emphasized form the objection of the students
to being taught to work. By this time it had gotten to be pretty well
advertised throughout the state that every student who came to Tuskegee,
no matter what his financial ability might be, must learn some industry.
Quite a number of letters came from parents protesting against their
children engaging in labour while they were in the school. Other parents
came to the school to protest in person. Most of the new students
brought a written or a verbal request from their parents to the effect
that they wanted their children taught nothing but books. The more
books, the larger they were, and the longer the titles printed upon
them, the better pleased the students and their parents seemed to be.

I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost no opportunity
to go into as many parts of the state as I could, for the purpose
of speaking to the parents, and showing them the value of industrial
education. Besides, I talked to the students constantly on the subject.
Notwithstanding the unpopularity of industrial work, the school
continued to increase in numbers to such an extent that by the middle of
the second year there was an attendance of about one hundred and fifty,
representing almost all parts of the state of Alabama, and including a
few from other states.

In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went North and engaged in
the work of raising funds for the completion of our new building. On my
way North I stopped in New York to try to get a letter of recommendation
from an officer of a missionary organization who had become somewhat
acquainted with me a few years previous. This man not only refused to
give me the letter, but advised me most earnestly to go back home at
once, and not make any attempt to get money, for he was quite sure that
I would never get more than enough to pay my travelling expenses. I
thanked him for his advice, and proceeded on my journey.

The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton, Mass., where
I spent nearly a half-day in looking for a coloured family with whom I
could board, never dreaming that any hotel would admit me. I was
greatly surprised when I found that I would have no trouble in being
accommodated at a hotel.

We were successful in getting money enough so that on Thanksgiving Day
of that year we held our first service in the chapel of Porter Hall,
although the building was not completed.

In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiving sermon, I found
one of the rarest men that it has ever been my privilege to know. This
was the Rev. Robert C. Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin, who was then
pastor of a little coloured Congregational church in Montgomery, Ala.
Before going to Montgomery to look for some one to preach this sermon
I had never heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never heard of me. He gladly
consented to come to Tuskegee and hold the Thanksgiving service. It was
the first service of the kind that the coloured people there had ever
observed, and what a deep interest they manifested in it! The sight
of the new building made it a day of Thanksgiving for them never to be
forgotten.

Mr. Bedford consented to become one of the trustees of the school, and
in that capacity, and as a worker for it, he has been connected with it
for eighteen years. During this time he has borne the school upon his
heart night and day, and is never so happy as when he is performing some
service, no matter how humble, for it. He completely obliterates himself
in everything, and looks only for permission to serve where service is
most disagreeable, and where others would not be attracted. In all my
relations with him he has seemed to me to approach as nearly to the
spirit of the Master as almost any man I ever met.

A little later there came into the service of the school another man,
quite young at the time, and fresh from Hampton, without whose service
the school never could have become what it is. This was Mr. Warren
Logan, who now for seventeen years has been the treasurer of the
Institute, and the acting principal during my absence. He has always
shown a degree of unselfishness and an amount of business tact, coupled
with a clear judgment, that has kept the school in good condition no
matter how long I have been absent from it. During all the financial
stress through which the school has passed, his patience and faith in
our ultimate success have not left him.

As soon as our first building was near enough to completion so that we
could occupy a portion of it--which was near the middle of the second
year of the school--we opened a boarding department. Students had begun
coming from quite a distance, and in such increasing numbers that we
felt more and more that we were merely skimming over the surface, in
that we were not getting hold of the students in their home life.

We had nothing but the students and their appetites with which to begin
a boarding department. No provision had been made in the new building
for a kitchen and dining room; but we discovered that by digging out a
large amount of earth from under the building we could make a partially
lighted basement room that could be used for a kitchen and dining room.
Again I called on the students to volunteer for work, this time to
assist in digging out the basement. This they did, and in a few weeks
we had a place to cook and eat in, although it was very rough and
uncomfortable. Any one seeing the place now would never believe that it
was once used for a dining room.

The most serious problem, though, was to get the boarding department
started off in running order, with nothing to do with in the way of
furniture, and with no money with which to buy anything. The merchants
in the town would let us have what food we wanted on credit. In fact, in
those earlier years I was constantly embarrassed because people seemed
to have more faith in me than I had in myself. It was pretty hard to
cook, however, without stoves, and awkward to eat without dishes. At
first the cooking was done out-of-doors, in the old-fashioned, primitive
style, in pots and skillets placed over a fire. Some of the carpenters'
benches that had been used in the construction of the building were
utilized for tables. As for dishes, there were too few to make it worth
while to spend time in describing them.

No one connected with the boarding department seemed to have any idea
that meals must be served at certain fixed and regular hours, and this
was a source of great worry. Everything was so out of joint and so
inconvenient that I feel safe in saying that for the first two weeks
something was wrong at every meal. Either the meat was not done or had
been burnt, or the salt had been left out of the bread, or the tea had
been forgotten.

Early one morning I was standing near the dining-room door listening
to the complaints of the students. The complaints that morning were
especially emphatic and numerous, because the whole breakfast had been
a failure. One of the girls who had failed to get any breakfast came out
and went to the well to draw some water to drink and take the place of
the breakfast which she had not been able to get. When she reached
the well, she found that the rope was broken and that she could get no
water. She turned from the well and said, in the most discouraged tone,
not knowing that I was where I could hear her, "We can't even get
water to drink at this school." I think no one remark ever came so near
discouraging me as that one.

At another time, when Mr. Bedford--whom I have already spoken of as one
of our trustees, and a devoted friend of the institution--was visiting
the school, he was given a bedroom immediately over the dining room.
Early in the morning he was awakened by a rather animated discussion
between two boys in the dining room below. The discussion was over the
question as to whose turn it was to use the coffee-cup that morning. One
boy won the case by proving that for three mornings he had not had an
opportunity to use the cup at all.

But gradually, with patience and hard work, we brought order out of
chaos, just as will be true of any problem if we stick to it with
patience and wisdom and earnest effort.

As I look back now over that part of our struggle, I am glad to see
that we had it. I am glad that we endured all those discomforts and
inconveniences. I am glad that our students had to dig out the place for
their kitchen and dining room. I am glad that our first boarding-place
was in the dismal, ill-lighted, and damp basement. Had we started in a
fine, attractive, convenient room, I fear we would have "lost our heads"
and become "stuck up." It means a great deal, I think, to start off on a
foundation which one has made for one's self.

When our old students return to Tuskegee now, as they often do, and
go into our large, beautiful, well-ventilated, and well-lighted dining
room, and see tempting, well-cooked food--largely grown by the students
themselves--and see tables, neat tablecloths and napkins, and vases of
flowers upon the tables, and hear singing birds, and note that each meal
is served exactly upon the minute, with no disorder, and with almost no
complaint coming from the hundreds that now fill our dining room, they,
too, often say to me that they are glad that we started as we did,
and built ourselves up year by year, by a slow and natural process of
growth.



Chapter XI. Making Their Beds Before They Could Lie On Them

A little later in the history of the school we had a visit from General
J.F.B. Marshall, the Treasurer of the Hampton Institute, who had had
faith enough to lend us the first two hundred and fifty dollars with
which to make a payment down on the farm. He remained with us a week,
and made a careful inspection of everything. He seemed well pleased
with our progress, and wrote back interesting and encouraging reports to
Hampton. A little later Miss Mary F. Mackie, the teacher who had given
me the "sweeping" examination when I entered Hampton, came to see us,
and still later General Armstrong himself came.

At the time of the visits of these Hampton friends the number of
teachers at Tuskegee had increased considerably, and the most of the new
teachers were graduates of the Hampton Institute. We gave our Hampton
friends, especially General Armstrong, a cordial welcome. They were all
surprised and pleased at the rapid progress that the school had made
within so short a time. The coloured people from miles around came to
the school to get a look at General Armstrong, about whom they had heard
so much. The General was not only welcomed by the members of my own
race, but by the Southern white people as well.

This first visit which General Armstrong made to Tuskegee gave me an
opportunity to get an insight into his character such as I had not
before had. I refer to his interest in the Southern white people. Before
this I had had the thought that General Armstrong, having fought the
Southern white man, rather cherished a feeling of bitterness toward the
white South, and was interested in helping only the coloured man there.
But this visit convinced me that I did not know the greatness and the
generosity of the man. I soon learned, by his visits to the Southern
white people, and from his conversations with them, that he was as
anxious about the prosperity and the happiness of the white race as the
black. He cherished no bitterness against the South, and was happy
when an opportunity offered for manifesting his sympathy. In all my
acquaintance with General Armstrong I never heard him speak, in public
or in private, a single bitter word against the white man in the South.
From his example in this respect I learned the lesson that great men
cultivate love, and that only little men cherish a spirit of hatred.
I learned that assistance given to the weak makes the one who gives it
strong; and that oppression of the unfortunate makes one weak.

It is now long ago that I learned this lesson from General Armstrong,
and resolved that I would permit no man, no matter what his colour might
be, to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him. With God's
help, I believe that I have completely rid myself of any ill feeling
toward the Southern white man for any wrong that he may have inflicted
upon my race. I am made to feel just as happy now when I am rendering
service to Southern white men as when the service is rendered to a
member of my own race. I pity from the bottom of my heart any individual
who is so unfortunate as to get into the habit of holding race
prejudice.

The more I consider the subject, the more strongly I am convinced that
the most harmful effect of the practice to which the people in certain
sections of the South have felt themselves compelled to resort, in order
to get rid of the force of the Negroes' ballot, is not wholly in the
wrong done to the Negro, but in the permanent injury to the morals of
the white man. The wrong to the Negro is temporary, but to the morals of
the white man the injury is permanent. I have noted time and time again
that when an individual perjures himself in order to break the force of
the black man's ballot, he soon learns to practise dishonesty in other
relations of life, not only where the Negro is concerned, but equally so
where a white man is concerned. The white man who begins by cheating a
Negro usually ends by cheating a white man. The white man who begins to
break the law by lynching a Negro soon yields to the temptation to lynch
a white man. All this, it seems to me, makes it important that the whole
Nation lend a hand in trying to lift the burden of ignorance from the
South.

Another thing that is becoming more apparent each year in the
development of education in the South is the influence of General
Armstrong's idea of education; and this not upon the blacks alone, but
upon the whites also. At the present time there is almost no Southern
state that is not putting forth efforts in the direction of securing
industrial education for its white boys and girls, and in most cases it
is easy to trace the history of these efforts back to General Armstrong.

Soon after the opening of our humble boarding department students began
coming to us in still larger numbers. For weeks we not only had to
contend with the difficulty of providing board, with no money, but also
with that of providing sleeping accommodations. For this purpose we
rented a number of cabins near the school. These cabins were in a
dilapidated condition, and during the winter months the students who
occupied them necessarily suffered from the cold. We charge the students
eight dollars a month--all they were able to pay--for their board.
This included, besides board, room, fuel, and washing. We also gave the
students credit on their board bills for all the work which they did
for the school which was of any value to the institution. The cost of
tuition, which was fifty dollars a year for each student, we had to
secure then, as now, wherever we could.

This small charge in cash gave us no capital with which to start a
boarding department. The weather during the second winter of our work
was very cold. We were not able to provide enough bed-clothes to keep
the students warm. In fact, for some time we were not able to provide,
except in a few cases, bedsteads and mattresses of any kind. During the
coldest nights I was so troubled about the discomfort of the students
that I could not sleep myself. I recall that on several occasions I went
in the middle of the night to the shanties occupied by the young men,
for the purpose of confronting them. Often I found some of them sitting
huddled around a fire, with the one blanket which we had been able to
provide wrapped around them, trying in this way to keep warm. During the
whole night some of them did not attempt to lie down. One morning,
when the night previous had been unusually cold, I asked those of the
students in the chapel who thought that they had been frostbitten during
the night to raise their hands. Three hands went up. Notwithstanding
these experiences, there was almost no complaining on the part of the
students. They knew that we were doing the best that we could for them.
They were happy in the privilege of being permitted to enjoy any kind of
opportunity that would enable them to improve their condition. They
were constantly asking what they might do to lighten the burdens of the
teachers.

I have heard it stated more than once, both in the North and in the
South, that coloured people would not obey and respect each other when
one member of the race is placed in a position of authority over others.
In regard to this general belief and these statements, I can say that
during the nineteen years of my experience at Tuskegee I never, either
by word or act, have been treated with disrespect by any student
or officer connected with the institution. On the other hand, I am
constantly embarrassed by the many acts of thoughtful kindness. The
students do not seem to want to see me carry a large book or a satchel
or any kind of a burden through the grounds. In such cases more than one
always offers to relieve me. I almost never go out of my office when
the rain is falling that some student does not come to my side with an
umbrella and ask to be allowed to hold it over me.

While writing upon this subject, it is a pleasure for me to add that in
all my contact with the white people of the South I have never received
a single personal insult. The white people in and near Tuskegee, to
an especial degree, seem to count it as a privilege to show me all the
respect within their power, and often go out of their way to do this.

Not very long ago I was making a journey between Dallas (Texas) and
Houston. In some way it became known in advance that I was on the train.
At nearly every station at which the train stopped, numbers of white
people, including in most cases of the officials of the town, came
aboard and introduced themselves and thanked me heartily for the work
that I was trying to do for the South.

On another occasion, when I was making a trip from Augusta, Georgia,
to Atlanta, being rather tired from much travel, I rode in a Pullman
sleeper. When I went into the car, I found there two ladies from Boston
whom I knew well. These good ladies were perfectly ignorant, it seems,
of the customs of the South, and in the goodness of their hearts
insisted that I take a seat with them in their section. After some
hesitation I consented. I had been there but a few minutes when one of
them, without my knowledge, ordered supper to be served for the three
of us. This embarrassed me still further. The car was full of Southern
white men, most of whom had their eyes on our party. When I found that
supper had been ordered, I tried to contrive some excuse that would
permit me to leave the section, but the ladies insisted that I must eat
with them. I finally settled back in my seat with a sigh, and said to
myself, "I am in for it now, sure."

To add further to the embarrassment of the situation, soon after the
supper was placed on the table one of the ladies remembered that she had
in her satchel a special kind of tea which she wished served, and as
she said she felt quite sure the porter did not know how to brew it
properly, she insisted upon getting up and preparing and serving it
herself. At last the meal was over; and it seemed the longest one that I
had ever eaten. When we were through, I decided to get myself out of the
embarrassing situation and go to the smoking-room, where most of the men
were by that time, to see how the land lay. In the meantime, however, it
had become known in some way throughout the car who I was. When I went
into the smoking-room I was never more surprised in my life than when
each man, nearly every one of them a citizen of Georgia, came up and
introduced himself to me and thanked me earnestly for the work that I
was trying to do for the whole South. This was not flattery, because
each one of these individuals knew that he had nothing to gain by trying
to flatter me.

From the first I have sought to impress the students with the idea that
Tuskegee is not my institution, or that of the officers, but that it is
their institution, and that they have as much interest in it as any of
the trustees or instructors. I have further sought to have them feel
that I am at the institution as their friend and adviser, and not as
their overseer. It has been my aim to have them speak with directness
and frankness about anything that concerns the life of the school.
Two or three times a year I ask the students to write me a letter
criticising or making complaints or suggestions about anything connected
with the institution. When this is not done, I have them meet me in the
chapel for a heart-to-heart talk about the conduct of the school. There
are no meetings with our students that I enjoy more than these, and none
are more helpful to me in planning for the future. These meetings, it
seems to me, enable me to get at the very heart of all that concerns the
school. Few things help an individual more than to place responsibility
upon him, and to let him know that you trust him. When I have read of
labour troubles between employers and employees, I have often thought
that many strikes and similar disturbances might be avoided if
the employers would cultivate the habit of getting nearer to their
employees, of consulting and advising with them, and letting them feel
that the interests of the two are the same. Every individual responds to
confidence, and this is not more true of any race than of the Negroes.
Let them once understand that you are unselfishly interested in them,
and you can lead them to any extent.

It was my aim from the first at Tuskegee to not only have the buildings
erected by the students themselves, but to have them make their own
furniture as far as was possible. I now marvel at the patience of the
students while sleeping upon the floor while waiting for some kind of a
bedstead to be constructed, or at their sleeping without any kind of a
mattress while waiting for something that looked like a mattress to be
made.

In the early days we had very few students who had been used to handling
carpenters' tools, and the bedsteads made by the students then were very
rough and very weak. Not unfrequently when I went into the students'
rooms in the morning I would find at least two bedsteads lying about on
the floor. The problem of providing mattresses was a difficult one to
solve. We finally mastered this, however, by getting some cheap cloth
and sewing pieces of this together as to make large bags. These bags
we filled with the pine straw--or, as it is sometimes called, pine
needles--which we secured from the forests near by. I am glad to say
that the industry of mattress-making has grown steadily since then, and
has been improved to such an extent that at the present time it is an
important branch of the work which is taught systematically to a
number of our girls, and that the mattresses that now come out of the
mattress-shop at Tuskegee are about as good as those bought in
the average store. For some time after the opening of the boarding
department we had no chairs in the students' bedrooms or in the dining
rooms. Instead of chairs we used stools which the students constructed
by nailing together three pieces of rough board. As a rule, the
furniture in the students' rooms during the early days of the school
consisted of a bed, some stools, and sometimes a rough table made by the
students. The plan of having the students make the furniture is still
followed, but the number of pieces in a room has been increased, and
the workmanship has so improved that little fault can be found with the
articles now. One thing that I have always insisted upon at Tuskegee
is that everywhere there should be absolute cleanliness. Over and over
again the students were reminded in those first years--and are reminded
now--that people would excuse us for our poverty, for our lack of
comforts and conveniences, but that they would not excuse us for dirt.

Another thing that has been insisted upon at the school is the use of
the tooth-brush. "The gospel of the tooth-brush," as General Armstrong
used to call it, is part of our creed at Tuskegee. No student is
permitted to retain who does not keep and use a tooth-brush. Several
times, in recent years, students have come to us who brought with them
almost no other article except a tooth-brush. They had heard from the
lips of other students about our insisting upon the use of this, and
so, to make a good impression, they brought at least a tooth-brush with
them. I remember that one morning, not long ago, I went with the lady
principal on her usual morning tour of inspection of the girls' rooms.
We found one room that contained three girls who had recently arrived
at the school. When I asked them if they had tooth-brushes, one of the
girls replied, pointing to a brush: "Yes, sir. That is our brush. We
bought it together, yesterday." It did not take them long to learn a
different lesson.

It has been interesting to note the effect that the use of the
tooth-brush has had in bringing about a higher degree of civilization
among the students. With few exceptions, I have noticed that, if we can
get a student to the point where, when the first or second tooth-brush
disappears, he of his own motion buys another, I have not been
disappointed in the future of that individual. Absolute cleanliness of
the body has been insisted upon from the first. The students have been
taught to bathe as regularly as to take their meals. This lesson we
began teaching before we had anything in the shape of a bath-house.
Most of the students came from plantation districts, and often we had
to teach them how to sleep at night; that is, whether between the
two sheets--after we got to the point where we could provide them two
sheets--or under both of them. Naturally I found it difficult to teach
them to sleep between two sheets when we were able to supply but one.
The importance of the use of the night-gown received the same attention.

For a long time one of the most difficult tasks was to teach the
students that all the buttons were to be kept on their clothes, and that
there must be no torn places or grease-spots. This lesson, I am pleased
to be able to say, has been so thoroughly learned and so faithfully
handed down from year to year by one set of students to another that
often at the present time, when the students march out of the chapel in
the evening and their dress is inspected, as it is every night, not one
button is found to be missing.



Chapter XII. Raising Money

When we opened our boarding department, we provided rooms in the attic
of Porter Hall, our first building, for a number of girls. But the
number of students, of both sexes, continued to increase. We could find
rooms outside the school grounds for many of the young men, but the
girls we did not care to expose in this way. Very soon the problem
of providing more rooms for the girls, as well as a larger boarding
department for all the students, grew serious. As a result, we finally
decided to undertake the construction of a still larger building--a
building that would contain rooms for the girls and boarding
accommodations for all.

After having had a preliminary sketch of the needed building made, we
found that it would cost about ten thousand dollars. We had no money
whatever with which to begin; still we decided to give the needed
building a name. We knew we could name it, even though we were in doubt
about our ability to secure the means for its construction. We decided
to call the proposed building Alabama Hall, in honour of the state in
which we were labouring. Again Miss Davidson began making efforts to
enlist the interest and help of the coloured and white people in and
near Tuskegee. They responded willingly, in proportion to their means.
The students, as in the case of our first building, Porter Hall, began
digging out the dirt in order to allow the laying of the foundations.

When we seemed at the end of our resources, so far as securing money
was concerned, something occurred which showed the greatness of General
Armstrong--something which proved how far he was above the ordinary
individual. When we were in the midst of great anxiety as to where and
how we were to get funds for the new building, I received a telegram
from General Armstrong asking me if I could spend a month travelling
with him through the North, and asking me, if I could do so, to come to
Hampton at once. Of course I accepted General Armstrong's invitation,
and went to Hampton immediately. On arriving there I found that the
General had decided to take a quartette of singers through the North,
and hold meetings for a month in important cities, at which meetings
he and I were to speak. Imagine my surprise when the General told me,
further, that these meetings were to be held, not in the interests
of Hampton, but in the interests of Tuskegee, and that the Hampton
Institute was to be responsible for all the expenses.

Although he never told me so in so many words, I found that General
Armstrong took this method of introducing me to the people of the North,
as well as for the sake of securing some immediate funds to be used in
the erection of Alabama Hall. A weak and narrow man would have reasoned
that all the money which came to Tuskegee in this way would be just
so much taken from the Hampton Institute; but none of these selfish or
short-sighted feelings ever entered the breast of General Armstrong. He
was too big to be little, too good to be mean. He knew that the people
in the North who gave money gave it for the purpose of helping the whole
cause of Negro civilization, and not merely for the advancement of any
one school. The General knew, too, that the way to strengthen Hampton
was to make it a centre of unselfish power in the working out of the
whole Southern problem.

In regard to the addresses which I was to make in the North, I recall
just one piece of advice which the General gave me. He said: "Give them
an idea for every word." I think it would be hard to improve upon this
advice; and it might be made to apply to all public speaking. From that
time to the present I have always tried to keep his advice in mind.

Meetings were held in New York, Brooklyn, Boston, Philadelphia, and
other large cities, and at all of these meetings General Armstrong
pleaded, together with myself, for help, not for Hampton, but for
Tuskegee. At these meetings an especial effort was made to secure help
for the building of Alabama Hall, as well as to introduce the school to
the attention of the general public. In both these respects the meetings
proved successful.

After that kindly introduction I began going North alone to secure
funds. During the last fifteen years I have been compelled to spend a
large proportion of my time away from the school, in an effort to secure
money to provide for the growing needs of the institution. In my efforts
to get funds I have had some experiences that may be of interest to my
readers. Time and time again I have been asked, by people who are
trying to secure money for philanthropic purposes, what rule or rules
I followed to secure the interest and help of people who were able to
contribute money to worthy objects. As far as the science of what is
called begging can be reduced to rules, I would say that I have had but
two rules. First, always to do my whole duty regarding making our work
known to individuals and organizations; and, second, not to worry about
the results. This second rule has been the hardest for me to live up to.
When bills are on the eve of falling due, with not a dollar in hand
with which to meet them, it is pretty difficult to learn not to worry,
although I think I am learning more and more each year that all worry
simply consumes, and to no purpose, just so much physical and mental
strength that might otherwise be given to effective work. After
considerable experience in coming into contact with wealthy and noted
men, I have observed that those who have accomplished the greatest
results are those who "keep under the body"; are those who never grow
excited or lose self-control, but are always calm, self-possessed,
patient, and polite. I think that President William McKinley is the best
example of a man of this class that I have ever seen.

In order to be successful in any kind of undertaking, I think the
main thing is for one to grow to the point where he completely forgets
himself; that is, to lose himself in a great cause. In proportion as
one loses himself in the way, in the same degree does he get the highest
happiness out of his work.

My experience in getting money for Tuskegee has taught me to have no
patience with those people who are always condemning the rich because
they are rich, and because they do not give more to objects of charity.
In the first place, those who are guilty of such sweeping criticisms
do not know how many people would be made poor, and how much suffering
would result, if wealthy people were to part all at once with any large
proportion of their wealth in a way to disorganize and cripple great
business enterprises. Then very few persons have any idea of the large
number of applications for help that rich people are constantly being
flooded with. I know wealthy people who receive as much as twenty calls
a day for help. More than once when I have gone into the offices of rich
men, I have found half a dozen persons waiting to see them, and all come
for the same purpose, that of securing money. And all these calls in
person, to say nothing of the applications received through the mails.
Very few people have any idea of the amount of money given away by
persons who never permit their names to be known. I have often heard
persons condemned for not giving away money, who, to my own knowledge,
were giving away thousands of dollars every year so quietly that the
world knew nothing about it.

As an example of this, there are two ladies in New York, whose names
rarely appear in print, but who, in a quiet way, have given us the means
with which to erect three large and important buildings during the last
eight years. Besides the gift of these buildings, they have made other
generous donations to the school. And they not only help Tuskegee, but
they are constantly seeking opportunities to help other worthy causes.

Although it has been my privilege to be the medium through which a
good many hundred thousand dollars have been received for the work at
Tuskegee, I have always avoided what the world calls "begging." I often
tell people that I have never "begged" any money, and that I am not
a "beggar." My experience and observation have convinced me that
persistent asking outright for money from the rich does not, as a rule,
secure help. I have usually proceeded on the principle that persons who
possess sense enough to earn money have sense enough to know how to give
it away, and that the mere making known of the facts regarding Tuskegee,
and especially the facts regarding the work of the graduates, has been
more effective than outright begging. I think that the presentation of
facts, on a high, dignified plane, is all the begging that most rich
people care for.

While the work of going from door to door and from office to office
is hard, disagreeable, and costly in bodily strength, yet it has some
compensations. Such work gives one a rare opportunity to study human
nature. It also has its compensations in giving one an opportunity to
meet some of the best people in the world--to be more correct, I think
I should say the best people in the world. When one takes a broad survey
of the country, he will find that the most useful and influential people
in it are those who take the deepest interest in institutions that exist
for the purpose of making the world better.

At one time, when I was in Boston, I called at the door of a rather
wealthy lady, and was admitted to the vestibule and sent up my card.
While I was waiting for an answer, her husband came in, and asked me in
the most abrupt manner what I wanted. When I tried to explain the object
of my call, he became still more ungentlemanly in his words and manner,
and finally grew so excited that I left the house without waiting for
a reply from the lady. A few blocks from that house I called to see a
gentleman who received me in the most cordial manner. He wrote me his
check for a generous sum, and then, before I had had an opportunity to
thank him, said: "I am so grateful to you, Mr. Washington, for giving me
the opportunity to help a good cause. It is a privilege to have a share
in it. We in Boston are constantly indebted to you for doing our work."
My experience in securing money convinces me that the first type of
man is growing more rare all the time, and that the latter type is
increasing; that is, that, more and more, rich people are coming to
regard men and women who apply to them for help for worthy objects, not
as beggars, but as agents for doing their work.

In the city of Boston I have rarely called upon an individual for funds
that I have not been thanked for calling, usually before I could get an
opportunity to thank the donor for the money. In that city the donors
seem to feel, in a large degree, that an honour is being conferred upon
them in their being permitted to give. Nowhere else have I met with, in
so large a measure, this fine and Christlike spirit as in the city of
Boston, although there are many notable instances of it outside that
city. I repeat my belief that the world is growing in the direction
of giving. I repeat that the main rule by which I have been guided in
collecting money is to do my full duty in regard to giving people who
have money an opportunity for help.

In the early years of the Tuskegee school I walked the streets or
travelled country roads in the North for days and days without receiving
a dollar. Often as it happened, when during the week I had been
disappointed in not getting a cent from the very individuals from whom
I most expected help, and when I was almost broken down and discouraged,
that generous help has come from some one who I had had little idea
would give at all.

I recall that on one occasion I obtained information that led me to
believe that a gentleman who lived about two miles out in the country
from Stamford, Conn., might become interested in our efforts at Tuskegee
if our conditions and needs were presented to him. On an unusually cold
and stormy day I walked the two miles to see him. After some difficulty
I succeeded in securing an interview with him. He listened with some
degree of interest to what I had to say, but did not give me anything.
I could not help having the feeling that, in a measure, the three
hours that I had spent in seeing him had been thrown away. Still, I had
followed my usual rule of doing my duty. If I had not seen him, I should
have felt unhappy over neglect of duty.

Two years after this visit a letter came to Tuskegee from this man,
which read like this: "Enclosed I send you a New York draft for ten
thousand dollars, to be used in furtherance of your work. I had placed
this sum in my will for your school, but deem it wiser to give it to you
while I live. I recall with pleasure your visit to me two years ago."

I can hardly imagine any occurrence which could have given me more
genuine satisfaction than the receipt of this draft. It was by far
the largest single donation which up to that time the school had ever
received. It came at a time when an unusually long period had passed
since we had received any money. We were in great distress because of
lack of funds, and the nervous strain was tremendous. It is difficult
for me to think of any situation that is more trying on the nerves than
that of conducting a large institution, with heavy obligations to
meet, without knowing where the money is to come from to meet these
obligations from month to month.

In our case I felt a double responsibility, and this made the anxiety
all the more intense. If the institution had been officered by white
persons, and had failed, it would have injured the cause of Negro
education; but I knew that the failure of our institution, officered
by Negroes, would not only mean the loss of a school, but would cause
people, in a large degree, to lose faith in the ability of the entire
race. The receipt of this draft for ten thousand dollars, under all
these circumstances, partially lifted a burden that had been pressing
down upon me for days.

From the beginning of our work to the present I have always had the
feeling, and lose no opportunity to impress our teachers with the same
idea, that the school will always be supported in proportion as the
inside of the institution is kept clean and pure and wholesome.

The first time I ever saw the late Collis P. Huntington, the great
railroad man, he gave me two dollars for our school. The last time I saw
him, which was a few months before he died, he gave me fifty thousand
dollars toward our endowment fund. Between these two gifts there were
others of generous proportions which came every year from both Mr. and
Mrs. Huntington.

Some people may say that it was Tuskegee's good luck that brought to us
this gift of fifty thousand dollars. No, it was not luck. It was hard
work. Nothing ever comes to me, that is worth having, except as the
result of hard work. When Mr. Huntington gave me the first two dollars,
I did not blame him for not giving me more, but made up my mind that
I was going to convince him by tangible results that we were worthy of
larger gifts. For a dozen years I made a strong effort to convince Mr.
Huntington of the value of our work. I noted that just in proportion as
the usefulness of the school grew, his donations increased. Never did
I meet an individual who took a more kindly and sympathetic interest in
our school than did Mr. Huntington. He not only gave money to us, but
took time in which to advise me, as a father would a son, about the
general conduct of the school.

More than once I have found myself in some pretty tight places while
collecting money in the North. The following incident I have never
related but once before, for the reason that I feared that people would
not believe it. One morning I found myself in Providence, Rhode Island,
without a cent of money with which to buy breakfast. In crossing the
street to see a lady from whom I hoped to get some money, I found a
bright new twenty-five-cent piece in the middle of the street track. I
not only had this twenty-five cents for my breakfast, but within a few
minutes I had a donation from the lady on whom I had started to call.

At one of our Commencements I was bold enough to invite the Rev. E.
Winchester Donald, D.D., rector of Trinity Church, Boston, to preach the
Commencement sermon. As we then had no room large enough to accommodate
all who would be present, the place of meeting was under a large
improvised arbour, built partly of brush and partly of rough boards.
Soon after Dr. Donald had begun speaking, the rain came down in
torrents, and he had to stop, while someone held an umbrella over him.

The boldness of what I had done never dawned upon me until I saw the
picture made by the rector of Trinity Church standing before that large
audience under an old umbrella, waiting for the rain to cease so that he
could go on with his address.

It was not very long before the rain ceased and Dr. Donald finished his
sermon; and an excellent sermon it was, too, in spite of the weather.
After he had gone to his room, and had gotten the wet threads of his
clothes dry, Dr. Donald ventured the remark that a large chapel at
Tuskegee would not be out of place. The next day a letter came from two
ladies who were then travelling in Italy, saying that they had decided
to give us the money for such a chapel as we needed.

A short time ago we received twenty thousand dollars from Mr. Andrew
Carnegie, to be used for the purpose of erecting a new library building.
Our first library and reading-room were in a corner of a shanty, and the
whole thing occupied a space about five by twelve feet. It required ten
years of work before I was able to secure Mr. Carnegie's interest and
help. The first time I saw him, ten years ago, he seemed to take but
little interest in our school, but I was determined to show him that
we were worthy of his help. After ten years of hard work I wrote him a
letter reading as follows:

December 15, 1900.

Mr. Andrew Carnegie, 5 W. Fifty-first St., New York.

Dear Sir: Complying with the request which you made of me when I saw you
at your residence a few days ago, I now submit in writing an appeal for
a library building for our institution.

We have 1100 students, 86 officers and instructors, together with their
families, and about 200 coloured people living near the school, all of
whom would make use of the library building.

We have over 12,000 books, periodicals, etc., gifts from our friends,
but we have no suitable place for them, and we have no suitable
reading-room.

Our graduates go to work in every section of the South, and whatever
knowledge might be obtained in the library would serve to assist in the
elevation of the whole Negro race.

Such a building as we need could be erected for about $20,000. All
of the work for the building, such as brickmaking, brick-masonry,
carpentry, blacksmithing, etc., would be done by the students. The
money which you would give would not only supply the building, but
the erection of the building would give a large number of students an
opportunity to learn the building trades, and the students would use the
money paid to them to keep themselves in school. I do not believe that
a similar amount of money often could be made go so far in uplifting a
whole race.

If you wish further information, I shall be glad to furnish it.

Yours truly,

Booker T. Washington, Principal.


The next mail brought back the following reply: "I will be very glad
to pay the bills for the library building as they are incurred, to the
extent of twenty thousand dollars, and I am glad of this opportunity to
show the interest I have in your noble work."

I have found that strict business methods go a long way in securing
the interest of rich people. It has been my constant aim at Tuskegee to
carry out, in our financial and other operations, such business methods
as would be approved of by any New York banking house.

I have spoken of several large gifts to the school; but by far the
greater proportion of the money that has built up the institution has
come in the form of small donations from persons of moderate means.
It is upon these small gifts, which carry with them the interest of
hundreds of donors, that any philanthropic work must depend largely for
its support. In my efforts to get money I have often been surprised at
the patience and deep interest of the ministers, who are besieged
on every hand and at all hours of the day for help. If no other
consideration had convinced me of the value of the Christian life, the
Christlike work which the Church of all denominations in America has
done during the last thirty-five years for the elevation of the black
man would have made me a Christian. In a large degree it has been
the pennies, the nickels, and the dimes which have come from the
Sunday-schools, the Christian Endeavour societies, and the missionary
societies, as well as from the church proper, that have helped to
elevate the Negro at so rapid a rate.

This speaking of small gifts reminds me to say that very few Tuskegee
graduates fail to send us an annual contribution. These contributions
range from twenty-five cents up to ten dollars.

Soon after beginning our third year's work we were surprised to receive
money from three special sources, and up to the present time we have
continued to receive help from them. First, the State Legislature of
Alabama increased its annual appropriation from two thousand dollars to
three thousand dollars; I might add that still later it increased this
sum to four thousand five hundred dollars a year. The effort to secure
this increase was led by the Hon. M.F. Foster, the member of the
Legislature from Tuskegee. Second, we received one thousand dollars from
the John F. Slater Fund. Our work seemed to please the trustees of this
fund, as they soon began increasing their annual grant. This has been
added to from time to time until at present we receive eleven thousand
dollars annually from the Fund. The other help to which I have referred
came in the shape of an allowance from the Peabody Fund. This was at
first five hundred dollars, but it has since been increased to fifteen
hundred dollars.

The effort to secure help from the Slater and Peabody Funds brought me
into contact with two rare men--men who have had much to do in shaping
the policy for the education of the Negro. I refer to the Hon. J.L.M.
Curry, of Washington, who is the general agent for these two funds, and
Mr. Morris K. Jessup, of New York. Dr. Curry is a native of the South,
an ex-Confederate soldier, yet I do not believe there is any man in
the country who is more deeply interested in the highest welfare of the
Negro than Dr. Curry, or one who is more free from race prejudice.
He enjoys the unique distinction of possessing to an equal degree the
confidence of the black man and the Southern white man. I shall never
forget the first time I met him. It was in Richmond, Va., where he was
then living. I had heard much about him. When I first went into his
presence, trembling because of my youth and inexperience, he took me
by the hand so cordially, and spoke such encouraging words, and gave me
such helpful advice regarding the proper course to pursue, that I came
to know him then, as I have known him ever since, as a high example
of one who is constantly and unselfishly at work for the betterment of
humanity.

Mr. Morris K. Jessup, the treasurer of the Slater Fund, I refer to
because I know of no man of wealth and large and complicated business
responsibilities who gives not only money but his time and thought to
the subject of the proper method of elevating the Negro to the extent
that is true of Mr. Jessup. It is very largely through this effort
and influence that during the last few years the subject of industrial
education has assumed the importance that it has, and been placed on its
present footing.



Chapter XIII. Two Thousand Miles For A Five-Minute Speech

Soon after the opening of our boarding department, quite a number of
students who evidently were worthy, but who were so poor that they did
not have any money to pay even the small charges at the school, began
applying for admission. This class was composed of both men and women.
It was a great trial to refuse admission to these applicants, and in
1884 we established a night-school to accommodate a few of them.

The night-school was organized on a plan similar to the one which I
had helped to establish at Hampton. At first it was composed of about
a dozen students. They were admitted to the night-school only when they
had no money with which to pay any part of their board in the regular
day-school. It was further required that they must work for ten hours
during the day at some trade or industry, and study academic branches
for two hours during the evening. This was the requirement for the first
one or two years of their stay. They were to be paid something above the
cost of their board, with the understanding that all of their earnings,
except a very small part, were to be reserved in the school's treasury,
to be used for paying their board in the regular day-school after they
had entered that department. The night-school, started in this manner,
has grown until there are at present four hundred and fifty-seven
students enrolled in it alone.

There could hardly be a more severe test of a student's worth than this
branch of the Institute's work. It is largely because it furnishes such
a good opportunity to test the backbone of a student that I place such
high value upon our night-school. Any one who is willing to work ten
hours a day at the brick-yard, or in the laundry, through one or two
years, in order that he or she may have the privilege of studying
academic branches for two hours in the evening, has enough bottom to
warrant being further educated.

After the student has left the night-school he enters the day-school,
where he takes academic branches four days in a week, and works at his
trade two days. Besides this he usually works at his trade during the
three summer months. As a rule, after a student has succeeded in going
through the night-school test, he finds a way to finish the regular
course in industrial and academic training. No student, no matter how
much money he may be able to command, is permitted to go through school
without doing manual labour. In fact, the industrial work is now as
popular as the academic branches. Some of the most successful men and
women who have graduated from the institution obtained their start in
the night-school.

While a great deal of stress is laid upon the industrial side of the
work at Tuskegee, we do not neglect or overlook in any degree the
religious and spiritual side. The school is strictly undenominational,
but it is thoroughly Christian, and the spiritual training of the
students is not neglected. Our preaching service, prayer-meetings,
Sunday-school, Christian Endeavour Society, Young Men's Christian
Association, and various missionary organizations, testify to this.

In 1885, Miss Olivia Davidson, to whom I have already referred as being
largely responsible for the success of the school during its early
history, and I were married. During our married life she continued
to divide her time and strength between our home and the work for the
school. She not only continued to work in the school at Tuskegee, but
also kept up her habit of going North to secure funds. In 1889 she died,
after four years of happy married life and eight years of hard and happy
work for the school. She literally wore herself out in her never ceasing
efforts in behalf of the work that she so dearly loved. During our
married life there were born to us two bright, beautiful boys, Booker
Taliaferro and Ernest Davidson. The older of these, Booker, has already
mastered the brick-maker's trade at Tuskegee.

I have often been asked how I began the practice of public speaking.
In answer I would say that I never planned to give any large part of my
life to speaking in public. I have always had more of an ambition to DO
things than merely to talk ABOUT doing them. It seems that when I went
North with General Armstrong to speak at the series of public meetings
to which I have referred, the President of the National Educational
Association, the Hon. Thomas W. Bicknell, was present at one of
those meetings and heard me speak. A few days afterward he sent me an
invitation to deliver an address at the next meeting of the Educational
Association. This meeting was to be held in Madison, Wis. I accepted the
invitation. This was, in a sense, the beginning of my public-speaking
career.

On the evening that I spoke before the Association there must have been
not far from four thousand persons present. Without my knowing it, there
were a large number of people present from Alabama, and some from the
town of Tuskegee. These white people afterward frankly told me that they
went to this meeting expecting to hear the South roundly abused, but
were pleasantly surprised to find that there was no word of abuse in
my address. On the contrary, the South was given credit for all the
praiseworthy things that it had done. A white lady who was teacher in
a college in Tuskegee wrote back to the local paper that she was
gratified, as well as surprised, to note the credit which I gave the
white people of Tuskegee for their help in getting the school started.
This address at Madison was the first that I had delivered that in any
large measure dealt with the general problem of the races. Those who
heard it seemed to be pleased with what I said and with the general
position that I took.

When I first came to Tuskegee, I determined that I would make it my
home, that I would take as much pride in the right actions of the people
of the town as any white man could do, and that I would, at the same
time, deplore the wrong-doing of the people as much as any white man. I
determined never to say anything in a public address in the North that
I would not be willing to say in the South. I early learned that it is
a hard matter to convert an individual by abusing him, and that this
is more often accomplished by giving credit for all the praiseworthy
actions performed than by calling attention alone to all the evil done.

While pursuing this policy I have not failed, at the proper time and
in the proper manner, to call attention, in no uncertain terms, to the
wrongs which any part of the South has been guilty of. I have found
that there is a large element in the South that is quick to respond to
straightforward, honest criticism of any wrong policy. As a rule, the
place to criticise the South, when criticism is necessary, is in the
South--not in Boston. A Boston man who came to Alabama to criticise
Boston would not effect so much good, I think, as one who had his word
of criticism to say in Boston.

In this address at Madison I took the ground that the policy to be
pursued with references to the races was, by every honourable means,
to bring them together and to encourage the cultivation of friendly
relations, instead of doing that which would embitter. I further
contended that, in relation to his vote, the Negro should more and more
consider the interests of the community in which he lived, rather than
seek alone to please some one who lived a thousand miles away from him
and from his interests.

In this address I said that the whole future of the Negro rested largely
upon the question as to whether or not he should make himself, through
his skill, intelligence, and character, of such undeniable value to the
community in which he lived that the community could not dispense with
his presence. I said that any individual who learned to do something
better than anybody else--learned to do a common thing in an uncommon
manner--had solved his problem, regardless of the colour of his skin,
and that in proportion as the Negro learned to produce what other people
wanted and must have, in the same proportion would he be respected.

I spoke of an instance where one of our graduates had produced two
hundred and sixty-six bushels of sweet potatoes from an acre of ground,
in a community where the average production had been only forty-nine
bushels to the acre. He had been able to do this by reason of his
knowledge of the chemistry of the soil and by his knowledge of improved
methods of agriculture. The white farmers in the neighbourhood respected
him, and came to him for ideas regarding the raising of sweet potatoes.
These white farmers honoured and respected him because he, by his skill
and knowledge, had added something to the wealth and the comfort of the
community in which he lived. I explained that my theory of education
for the Negro would not, for example, confine him for all time to farm
life--to the production of the best and the most sweet potatoes--but
that, if he succeeded in this line of industry, he could lay the
foundations upon which his children and grand-children could grow to
higher and more important things in life.

Such, in brief, were some of the views I advocated in this first address
dealing with the broad question of the relations of the two races, and
since that time I have not found any reason for changing my views on any
important point.

In my early life I used to cherish a feeling of ill will toward any one
who spoke in bitter terms against the Negro, or who advocated measures
that tended to oppress the black man or take from him opportunities
for growth in the most complete manner. Now, whenever I hear any
one advocating measures that are meant to curtail the development of
another, I pity the individual who would do this. I know that the one
who makes this mistake does so because of his own lack of opportunity
for the highest kind of growth. I pity him because I know that he is
trying to stop the progress of the world, and because I know that in
time the development and the ceaseless advance of humanity will make him
ashamed of his weak and narrow position. One might as well try to stop
the progress of a mighty railroad train by throwing his body across the
track, as to try to stop the growth of the world in the direction
of giving mankind more intelligence, more culture, more skill, more
liberty, and in the direction of extending more sympathy and more
brotherly kindness.

The address which I delivered at Madison, before the National
Educational Association, gave me a rather wide introduction in the
North, and soon after that opportunities began offering themselves for
me to address audiences there.

I was anxious, however, that the way might also be opened for me to
speak directly to a representative Southern white audience. A partial
opportunity of this kind, one that seemed to me might serve as an
entering wedge, presented itself in 1893, when the international meeting
of Christian Workers was held at Atlanta, Ga. When this invitation came
to me, I had engagements in Boston that seemed to make it impossible for
me to speak in Atlanta. Still, after looking over my list of dates and
places carefully, I found that I could take a train from Boston that
would get me into Atlanta about thirty minutes before my address was to
be delivered, and that I could remain in that city before taking another
train for Boston. My invitation to speak in Atlanta stipulated that
I was to confine my address to five minutes. The question, then, was
whether or not I could put enough into a five-minute address to make it
worth while for me to make such a trip.

I knew that the audience would be largely composed of the most
influential class of white men and women, and that it would be a
rare opportunity for me to let them know what we were trying to do at
Tuskegee, as well as to speak to them about the relations of the races.
So I decided to make the trip. I spoke for five minutes to an audience
of two thousand people, composed mostly of Southern and Northern whites.
What I said seemed to be received with favour and enthusiasm. The
Atlanta papers of the next day commented in friendly terms on my
address, and a good deal was said about it in different parts of the
country. I felt that I had in some degree accomplished my object--that
of getting a hearing from the dominant class of the South.

The demands made upon me for public addresses continued to increase,
coming in about equal numbers from my own people and from Northern
whites. I gave as much time to these addresses as I could spare from the
immediate work at Tuskegee. Most of the addresses in the North were
made for the direct purpose of getting funds with which to support the
school. Those delivered before the coloured people had for their
main object the impressing upon them the importance of industrial and
technical education in addition to academic and religious training.

I now come to that one of the incidents in my life which seems to have
excited the greatest amount of interest, and which perhaps went further
than anything else in giving me a reputation that in a sense might be
called National. I refer to the address which I delivered at the opening
of the Atlanta Cotton states and International Exposition, at Atlanta,
Ga., September 18, 1895.

So much has been said and written about this incident, and so many
questions have been asked me concerning the address, that perhaps I may
be excused for taking up the matter with some detail. The five-minute
address in Atlanta, which I came from Boston to deliver, was possibly
the prime cause for an opportunity being given me to make the second
address there. In the spring of 1895 I received a telegram from
prominent citizens in Atlanta asking me to accompany a committee from
that city to Washington for the purpose of appearing before a committee
of Congress in the interest of securing Government help for the
Exposition. The committee was composed of about twenty-five of the most
prominent and most influential white men of Georgia. All the members of
this committee were white men except Bishop Grant, Bishop Gaines, and
myself. The Mayor and several other city and state officials spoke
before the committee. They were followed by the two coloured bishops. My
name was the last on the list of speakers. I had never before appeared
before such a committee, nor had I ever delivered any address in the
capital of the Nation. I had many misgivings as to what I ought to say,
and as to the impression that my address would make. While I cannot
recall in detail what I said, I remember that I tried to impress upon
the committee, with all the earnestness and plainness of any language
that I could command, that if Congress wanted to do something which
would assist in ridding the South of the race question and making
friends between the two races, it should, in every proper way, encourage
the material and intellectual growth of both races. I said that the
Atlanta Exposition would present an opportunity for both races to show
what advance they had made since freedom, and would at the same time
afford encouragement to them to make still greater progress.

I tried to emphasize the fact that while the Negro should not be
deprived by unfair means of the franchise, political agitation alone
would not save him, and that back of the ballot he must have property,
industry, skill, economy, intelligence, and character, and that no
race without these elements could permanently succeed. I said that in
granting the appropriation Congress could do something that would prove
to be of real and lasting value to both races, and that it was the first
great opportunity of the kind that had been presented since the close of
the Civil War.

I spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, and was surprised at the close
of my address to receive the hearty congratulations of the Georgia
committee and of the members of Congress who were present. The Committee
was unanimous in making a favourable report, and in a few days the
bill passed Congress. With the passing of this bill the success of the
Atlanta Exposition was assured.

Soon after this trip to Washington the directors of the Exposition
decided that it would be a fitting recognition of the coloured race to
erect a large and attractive building which should be devoted wholly to
showing the progress of the Negro since freedom. It was further decided
to have the building designed and erected wholly by Negro mechanics.
This plan was carried out. In design, beauty, and general finish the
Negro Building was equal to the others on the grounds.

After it was decided to have a separate Negro exhibit, the question
arose as to who should take care of it. The officials of the Exposition
were anxious that I should assume this responsibility, but I declined
to do so, on the plea that the work at Tuskegee at that time demanded
my time and strength. Largely at my suggestion, Mr. I. Garland Penn, of
Lynchburg, Va., was selected to be at the head of the Negro department.
I gave him all the aid that I could. The Negro exhibit, as a whole,
was large and creditable. The two exhibits in this department which
attracted the greatest amount of attention were those from the Hampton
Institute and the Tuskegee Institute. The people who seemed to be
the most surprised, as well as pleased, at what they saw in the Negro
Building were the Southern white people.

As the day for the opening of the Exposition drew near, the Board of
Directors began preparing the programme for the opening exercises.
In the discussion from day to day of the various features of this
programme, the question came up as to the advisability of putting a
member of the Negro race on for one of the opening addresses, since the
Negroes had been asked to take such a prominent part in the Exposition.
It was argued, further, that such recognition would mark the good
feeling prevailing between the two races. Of course there were those who
were opposed to any such recognition of the rights of the Negro, but the
Board of Directors, composed of men who represented the best and most
progressive element in the South, had their way, and voted to invite a
black man to speak on the opening day. The next thing was to decide upon
the person who was thus to represent the Negro race. After the question
had been canvassed for several days, the directors voted unanimously to
ask me to deliver one of the opening-day addresses, and in a few days
after that I received the official invitation.

The receiving of this invitation brought to me a sense of responsibility
that it would be hard for any one not placed in my position to
appreciate. What were my feelings when this invitation came to me? I
remembered that I had been a slave; that my early years had been spent
in the lowest depths of poverty and ignorance, and that I had had little
opportunity to prepare me for such a responsibility as this. It was only
a few years before that time that any white man in the audience might
have claimed me as his slave; and it was easily possible that some of my
former owners might be present to hear me speak.

I knew, too, that this was the first time in the entire history of the
Negro that a member of my race had been asked to speak from the same
platform with white Southern men and women on any important National
occasion. I was asked now to speak to an audience composed of the
wealth and culture of the white South, the representatives of my former
masters. I knew, too, that while the greater part of my audience would
be composed of Southern people, yet there would be present a large
number of Northern whites, as well as a great many men and women of my
own race.

I was determined to say nothing that I did not feel from the bottom of
my heart to be true and right. When the invitation came to me, there
was not one word of intimation as to what I should say or as to what
I should omit. In this I felt that the Board of Directors had paid a
tribute to me. They knew that by one sentence I could have blasted, in
a large degree, the success of the Exposition. I was also painfully
conscious of the fact that, while I must be true to my own race in my
utterances, I had it in my power to make such an ill-timed address as
would result in preventing any similar invitation being extended to a
black man again for years to come. I was equally determined to be true
to the North, as well as to the best element of the white South, in what
I had to say.

The papers, North and South, had taken up the discussion of my coming
speech, and as the time for it drew near this discussion became more and
more widespread. Not a few of the Southern white papers were unfriendly
to the idea of my speaking. From my own race I received many suggestions
as to what I ought to say. I prepared myself as best I could for the
address, but as the eighteenth of September drew nearer, the heavier my
heart became, and the more I feared that my effort would prove a failure
and a disappointment.

The invitation had come at a time when I was very busy with my school
work, as it was the beginning of our school year. After preparing my
address, I went through it, as I usually do with those utterances
which I consider particularly important, with Mrs. Washington, and she
approved of what I intended to say. On the sixteenth of September, the
day before I was to start for Atlanta, so many of the Tuskegee teachers
expressed a desire to hear my address that I consented to read it to
them in a body. When I had done so, and had heard their criticisms and
comments, I felt somewhat relieved, since they seemed to think well of
what I had to say.

On the morning of September 17, together with Mrs. Washington and my
three children, I started for Atlanta. I felt a good deal as I suppose
a man feels when he is on his way to the gallows. In passing through the
town of Tuskegee I met a white farmer who lived some distance out in the
country. In a jesting manner this man said: "Washington, you have spoken
before the Northern white people, the Negroes in the South, and to us
country white people in the South; but Atlanta, to-morrow, you will have
before you the Northern whites, the Southern whites, and the Negroes all
together. I am afraid that you have got yourself in a tight place." This
farmer diagnosed the situation correctly, but his frank words did not
add anything to my comfort.

In the course of the journey from Tuskegee to Atlanta both coloured
and white people came to the train to point me out, and discussed with
perfect freedom, in my hearings, what was going to take place the next
day. We were met by a committee in Atlanta. Almost the first thing
that I heard when I got off the train in that city was an expression
something like this, from an old coloured man near by: "Dat's de man of
my race what's gwine to make a speech at de Exposition to-morrow. I'se
sho' gwine to hear him."

Atlanta was literally packed, at the time, with people from all parts of
the country, and with representatives of foreign governments, as well
as with military and civic organizations. The afternoon papers had
forecasts of the next day's proceedings in flaring headlines. All this
tended to add to my burden. I did not sleep much that night. The next
morning, before day, I went carefully over what I planned to say. I
also kneeled down and asked God's blessing upon my effort. Right here,
perhaps, I ought to add that I make it a rule never to go before an
audience, on any occasion, without asking the blessing of God upon what
I want to say.

I always make it a rule to make especial preparation for each separate
address. No two audiences are exactly alike. It is my aim to reach
and talk to the heart of each individual audience, taking it into my
confidence very much as I would a person. When I am speaking to an
audience, I care little for how what I am saying is going to sound in
the newspapers, or to another audience, or to an individual. At the
time, the audience before me absorbs all my sympathy, thought, and
energy.

Early in the morning a committee called to escort me to my place in
the procession which was to march to the Exposition grounds. In this
procession were prominent coloured citizens in carriages, as well
as several Negro military organizations. I noted that the Exposition
officials seemed to go out of their way to see that all of the coloured
people in the procession were properly placed and properly treated. The
procession was about three hours in reaching the Exposition grounds, and
during all of this time the sun was shining down upon us disagreeably
hot. When we reached the grounds, the heat, together with my nervous
anxiety, made me feel as if I were about ready to collapse, and to
feel that my address was not going to be a success. When I entered the
audience-room, I found it packed with humanity from bottom to top, and
there were thousands outside who could not get in.

The room was very large, and well suited to public speaking. When I
entered the room, there were vigorous cheers from the coloured portion
of the audience, and faint cheers from some of the white people. I had
been told, while I had been in Atlanta, that while many white people
were going to be present to hear me speak, simply out of curiosity,
and that others who would be present would be in full sympathy with me,
there was a still larger element of the audience which would consist of
those who were going to be present for the purpose of hearing me make
a fool of myself, or, at least, of hearing me say some foolish thing
so that they could say to the officials who had invited me to speak, "I
told you so!"

One of the trustees of the Tuskegee Institute, as well as my personal
friend, Mr. William H. Baldwin, Jr. was at the time General Manager of
the Southern Railroad, and happened to be in Atlanta on that day. He was
so nervous about the kind of reception that I would have, and the effect
that my speech would produce, that he could not persuade himself to
go into the building, but walked back and forth in the grounds outside
until the opening exercises were over.



Chapter XIV. The Atlanta Exposition Address

The Atlanta Exposition, at which I had been asked to make an address as
a representative of the Negro race, as stated in the last chapter,
was opened with a short address from Governor Bullock. After other
interesting exercises, including an invocation from Bishop Nelson, of
Georgia, a dedicatory ode by Albert Howell, Jr., and addresses by the
President of the Exposition and Mrs. Joseph Thompson, the President of
the Woman's Board, Governor Bullock introduce me with the words, "We
have with us to-day a representative of Negro enterprise and Negro
civilization."

When I arose to speak, there was considerable cheering, especially from
the coloured people. As I remember it now, the thing that was uppermost
in my mind was the desire to say something that would cement the
friendship of the races and bring about hearty cooperation between them.
So far as my outward surroundings were concerned, the only thing that
I recall distinctly now is that when I got up, I saw thousands of eyes
looking intently into my face. The following is the address which I
delivered:--

Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board of Directors and Citizens.

One-third of the population of the South is of the Negro race. No
enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral welfare of this section
can disregard this element of our population and reach the highest
success. I but convey to you, Mr. President and Directors, the sentiment
of the masses of my race when I say that in no way have the value
and manhood of the American Negro been more fittingly and generously
recognized than by the managers of this magnificent Exposition at every
stage of its progress. It is a recognition that will do more to cement
the friendship of the two races than any occurrence since the dawn of
our freedom.

Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will awaken among us
a new era of industrial progress. Ignorant and inexperienced, it is
not strange that in the first years of our new life we began at the
top instead of at the bottom; that a seat in Congress or the state
legislature was more sought than real estate or industrial skill; that
the political convention or stump speaking had more attractions than
starting a dairy farm or truck garden.

A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel.
From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal, "Water,
water; we die of thirst!" The answer from the friendly vessel at once
came back, "Cast down your bucket where you are." A second time the
signal, "Water, water; send us water!" ran up from the distressed
vessel, and was answered, "Cast down your bucket where you are." And a
third and fourth signal for water was answered, "Cast down your bucket
where you are." The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heading
the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh,
sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River. To those of my
race who depend on bettering their condition in a foreign land or who
underestimate the importance of cultivating friendly relations with the
Southern white man, who is their next-door neighbour, I would say: "Cast
down your bucket where you are"--cast it down in making friends in every
manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded.

Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in domestic
service, and in the professions. And in this connection it is well to
bear in mind that whatever other sins the South may be called to bear,
when it comes to business, pure and simple, it is in the South that the
Negro is given a man's chance in the commercial world, and in nothing
is this Exposition more eloquent than in emphasizing this chance. Our
greatest danger is that in the great leap from slavery to freedom we may
overlook the fact that the masses of us are to live by the productions
of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall prosper in
proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify common labour and put
brains and skill into the common occupations of life; shall prosper in
proportion as we learn to draw the line between the superficial and the
substantial, the ornamental gewgaws of life and the useful. No race can
prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field
as in writing a poem. It is at the bottom of life we must begin, and
not at the top. Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our
opportunities.

To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those of foreign
birth and strange tongue and habits of the prosperity of the South, were
I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own race: "Cast down your
bucket where you are." Cast it down among the eight millions of Negroes
whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love you have tested in days
when to have proved treacherous meant the ruin of your firesides. Cast
down your bucket among these people who have, without strikes and labour
wars, tilled your fields, cleared your forests, builded your railroads
and cities, and brought forth treasures from the bowels of the earth,
and helped make possible this magnificent representation of the progress
of the South. Casting down your bucket among my people, helping and
encouraging them as you are doing on these grounds, and to education
of head, hand, and heart, you will find that they will buy your surplus
land, make blossom the waste places in your fields, and run your
factories. While doing this, you can be sure in the future, as in the
past, that you and your families will be surrounded by the most patient,
faithful, law-abiding, and unresentful people that the world has seen.
As we have proved our loyalty to you in the past, nursing your children,
watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and fathers, and often
following them with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the future,
in our humble way, we shall stand by you with a devotion that no
foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our lives, if need be, in
defence of yours, interlacing our industrial, commercial, civil, and
religious life with yours in a way that shall make the interests of both
races one. In all things that are purely social we can be as separate
as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual
progress.

There is no defence or security for any of us except in the highest
intelligence and development of all. If anywhere there are efforts
tending to curtail the fullest growth of the Negro, let these efforts be
turned into stimulating, encouraging, and making him the most useful and
intelligent citizen. Effort or means so invested will pay a thousand per
cent interest. These efforts will be twice blessed--"blessing him that
gives and him that takes."

There is no escape through law of man or God from the inevitable:--

     The laws of changeless justice bind
     Oppressor with oppressed;
     And close as sin and suffering joined
     We march to fate abreast.

Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling the load
upward, or they will pull against you the load downward. We shall
constitute one-third and more of the ignorance and crime of the
South, or one-third its intelligence and progress; we shall contribute
one-third to the business and industrial prosperity of the South, or we
shall prove a veritable body of death, stagnating, depressing, retarding
every effort to advance the body politic.

Gentlemen of the Exposition, as we present to you our humble effort at
an exhibition of our progress, you must not expect overmuch. Starting
thirty years ago with ownership here and there in a few quilts and
pumpkins and chickens (gathered from miscellaneous sources), remember
the path that has led from these to the inventions and production of
agricultural implements, buggies, steam-engines, newspapers, books,
statuary, carving, paintings, the management of drug-stores and banks,
has not been trodden without contact with thorns and thistles. While we
take pride in what we exhibit as a result of our independent efforts, we
do not for a moment forget that our part in this exhibition would fall
far short of your expectations but for the constant help that has come
to our education life, not only from the Southern states, but especially
from Northern philanthropists, who have made their gifts a constant
stream of blessing and encouragement.

The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions
of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the
enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result
of severe and constant struggle rather than of artificial forcing. No
race that has anything to contribute to the markets of the world is long
in any degree ostracized. It is important and right that all privileges
of the law be ours, but it is vastly more important that we be prepared
for the exercises of these privileges. The opportunity to earn a dollar
in a factory just now is worth infinitely more than the opportunity to
spend a dollar in an opera-house.

In conclusion, may I repeat that nothing in thirty years has given us
more hope and encouragement, and drawn us so near to you of the white
race, as this opportunity offered by the Exposition; and here bending,
as it were, over the altar that represents the results of the struggles
of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-handed three
decades ago, I pledge that in your effort to work out the great and
intricate problem which God has laid at the doors of the South, you
shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic help of my race; only
let this be constantly in mind, that, while from representations in
these buildings of the product of field, of forest, of mine, of factory,
letters, and art, much good will come, yet far above and beyond material
benefits will be that higher good, that, let us pray God, will come,
in a blotting out of sectional differences and racial animosities and
suspicions, in a determination to administer absolute justice, in a
willing obedience among all classes to the mandates of law. This, this,
coupled with our material prosperity, will bring into our beloved South
a new heaven and a new earth.


The first thing that I remember, after I had finished speaking, was that
Governor Bullock rushed across the platform and took me by the hand,
and that others did the same. I received so many and such hearty
congratulations that I found it difficult to get out of the building.
I did not appreciate to any degree, however, the impression which my
address seemed to have made, until the next morning, when I went into
the business part of the city. As soon as I was recognized, I was
surprised to find myself pointed out and surrounded by a crowd of men
who wished to shake hands with me. This was kept up on every street on
to which I went, to an extent which embarrassed me so much that I went
back to my boarding-place. The next morning I returned to Tuskegee. At
the station in Atlanta, and at almost all of the stations at which the
train stopped between that city and Tuskegee, I found a crowd of people
anxious to shake hands with me.

The papers in all parts of the United States published the address
in full, and for months afterward there were complimentary editorial
references to it. Mr. Clark Howell, the editor of the Atlanta
Constitution, telegraphed to a New York paper, among other words, the
following, "I do not exaggerate when I say that Professor Booker T.
Washington's address yesterday was one of the most notable speeches,
both as to character and as to the warmth of its reception, ever
delivered to a Southern audience. The address was a revelation. The
whole speech is a platform upon which blacks and whites can stand with
full justice to each other."

The Boston Transcript said editorially: "The speech of Booker T.
Washington at the Atlanta Exposition, this week, seems to have dwarfed
all the other proceedings and the Exposition itself. The sensation that
it has caused in the press has never been equalled."

I very soon began receiving all kinds of propositions from lecture
bureaus, and editors of magazines and papers, to take the lecture
platform, and to write articles. One lecture bureau offered me fifty
thousand dollars, or two hundred dollars a night and expenses, if I
would place my services at its disposal for a given period. To all these
communications I replied that my life-work was at Tuskegee; and that
whenever I spoke it must be in the interests of Tuskegee school and my
race, and that I would enter into no arrangements that seemed to place a
mere commercial value upon my services.

Some days after its delivery I sent a copy of my address to the
President of the United States, the Hon. Grover Cleveland. I received
from him the following autograph reply:--


Gray Gables, Buzzard's Bay, Mass.,

October 6, 1895.

Booker T. Washington, Esq.:

My Dear Sir: I thank you for sending me a copy of your address delivered
at the Atlanta Exposition.

I thank you with much enthusiasm for making the address. I have read
it with intense interest, and I think the Exposition would be fully
justified if it did not do more than furnish the opportunity for its
delivery. Your words cannot fail to delight and encourage all who wish
well for your race; and if our coloured fellow-citizens do not from your
utterances gather new hope and form new determinations to gain every
valuable advantage offered them by their citizenship, it will be strange
indeed.

Yours very truly,

Grover Cleveland.


Later I met Mr. Cleveland, for the first time, when, as President, he
visited the Atlanta Exposition. At the request of myself and others he
consented to spend an hour in the Negro Building, for the purpose
of inspecting the Negro exhibit and of giving the coloured people in
attendance an opportunity to shake hands with him. As soon as I met Mr.
Cleveland I became impressed with his simplicity, greatness, and rugged
honesty. I have met him many times since then, both at public functions
and at his private residence in Princeton, and the more I see of him
the more I admire him. When he visited the Negro Building in Atlanta he
seemed to give himself up wholly, for that hour, to the coloured
people. He seemed to be as careful to shake hands with some old coloured
"auntie" clad partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in doing
so, as if he were greeting some millionaire. Many of the coloured people
took advantage of the occasion to get him to write his name in a book or
on a slip of paper. He was as careful and patient in doing this as if he
were putting his signature to some great state document.

Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me in many personal
ways, but has always consented to do anything I have asked of him for
our school. This he has done, whether it was to make a personal donation
or to use his influence in securing the donations of others. Judging
from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I do not believe that
he is conscious of possessing any colour prejudice. He is too great for
that. In my contact with people I find that, as a rule, it is only
the little, narrow people who live for themselves, who never read good
books, who do not travel, who never open up their souls in a way to
permit them to come into contact with other souls--with the great
outside world. No man whose vision is bounded by colour can come into
contact with what is highest and best in the world. In meeting men, in
many places, I have found that the happiest people are those who do the
most for others; the most miserable are those who do the least. I have
also found that few things, if any, are capable of making one so blind
and narrow as race prejudice. I often say to our students, in the course
of my talks to them on Sunday evenings in the chapel, that the longer
I live and the more experience I have of the world, the more I am
convinced that, after all, the one thing that is most worth living
for--and dying for, if need be--is the opportunity of making some one
else more happy and more useful.

The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at first seemed to be
greatly pleased with the character of my Atlanta address, as well as
with its reception. But after the first burst of enthusiasm began to
die away, and the coloured people began reading the speech in cold type,
some of them seemed to feel that they had been hypnotized. They seemed
to feel that I had been too liberal in my remarks toward the Southern
whites, and that I had not spoken out strongly enough for what they
termed the "rights" of my race. For a while there was a reaction, so
far as a certain element of my own race was concerned, but later these
reactionary ones seemed to have been won over to my way of believing and
acting.

While speaking of changes in public sentiment, I recall that about ten
years after the school at Tuskegee was established, I had an experience
that I shall never forget. Dr. Lyman Abbott, then the pastor of Plymouth
Church, and also editor of the Outlook (then the Christian Union),
asked me to write a letter for his paper giving my opinion of the exact
condition, mental and moral, of the coloured ministers in the South, as
based upon my observations. I wrote the letter, giving the exact facts
as I conceived them to be. The picture painted was a rather black
one--or, since I am black, shall I say "white"? It could not be
otherwise with a race but a few years out of slavery, a race which had
not had time or opportunity to produce a competent ministry.

What I said soon reached every Negro minister in the country, I think,
and the letters of condemnation which I received from them were not
few. I think that for a year after the publication of this article every
association and every conference or religious body of any kind, of my
race, that met, did not fail before adjourning to pass a resolution
condemning me, or calling upon me to retract or modify what I had said.
Many of these organizations went so far in their resolutions as
to advise parents to cease sending their children to Tuskegee. One
association even appointed a "missionary" whose duty it was to warn the
people against sending their children to Tuskegee. This missionary had
a son in the school, and I noticed that, whatever the "missionary" might
have said or done with regard to others, he was careful not to take his
son away from the institution. Many of the coloured papers, especially
those that were the organs of religious bodies, joined in the general
chorus of condemnation or demands for retraction.

During the whole time of the excitement, and through all the criticism,
I did not utter a word of explanation or retraction. I knew that I was
right, and that time and the sober second thought of the people would
vindicate me. It was not long before the bishops and other church
leaders began to make careful investigation of the conditions of the
ministry, and they found out that I was right. In fact, the oldest and
most influential bishop in one branch of the Methodist Church said that
my words were far too mild. Very soon public sentiment began making
itself felt, in demanding a purifying of the ministry. While this is
not yet complete by any means, I think I may say, without egotism, and I
have been told by many of our most influential ministers, that my words
had much to do with starting a demand for the placing of a higher type
of men in the pulpit. I have had the satisfaction of having many who
once condemned me thank me heartily for my frank words.

The change of the attitude of the Negro ministry, so far as regards
myself, is so complete that at the present time I have no warmer friends
among any class than I have among the clergymen. The improvement in the
character and life of the Negro ministers is one of the most gratifying
evidences of the progress of the race. My experience with them, as well
as other events in my life, convince me that the thing to do, when one
feels sure that he has said or done the right thing, and is condemned,
is to stand still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.

In the midst of the discussion which was going on concerning my Atlanta
speech, I received the letter which I give below, from Dr. Gilman, the
President of Johns Hopkins University, who had been made chairman of the
judges of award in connection with the Atlanta Exposition:--

Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,

President's Office, September 30, 1895.

Dear Mr. Washington: Would it be agreeable to you to be one of the
Judges of Award in the Department of Education at Atlanta? If so, I
shall be glad to place your name upon the list. A line by telegraph will
be welcomed.

Yours very truly,

D.C. Gilman


I think I was even more surprised to receive this invitation than I
had been to receive the invitation to speak at the opening of the
Exposition. It was to be a part of my duty, as one of the jurors, to
pass not only upon the exhibits of the coloured schools, but also upon
those of the white schools. I accepted the position, and spent a month
in Atlanta in performance of the duties which it entailed. The board of
jurors was a large one, containing in all of sixty members. It was about
equally divided between Southern white people and Northern white people.
Among them were college presidents, leading scientists and men of
letters, and specialists in many subjects. When the group of jurors to
which I was assigned met for organization, Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, who
was one of the number, moved that I be made secretary of that division,
and the motion was unanimously adopted. Nearly half of our division
were Southern people. In performing my duties in the inspection of the
exhibits of white schools I was in every case treated with respect, and
at the close of our labours I parted from my associates with regret.

I am often asked to express myself more freely than I do upon the
political condition and the political future of my race. These
recollections of my experience in Atlanta give me the opportunity to do
so briefly. My own belief is, although I have never before said so in so
many words, that the time will come when the Negro in the South will
be accorded all the political rights which his ability, character,
and material possessions entitle him to. I think, though, that the
opportunity to freely exercise such political rights will not come in
any large degree through outside or artificial forcing, but will be
accorded to the Negro by the Southern white people themselves, and that
they will protect him in the exercise of those rights. Just as soon
as the South gets over the old feeling that it is being forced by
"foreigners," or "aliens," to do something which it does not want to
do, I believe that the change in the direction that I have indicated
is going to begin. In fact, there are indications that it is already
beginning in a slight degree.

Let me illustrate my meaning. Suppose that some months before the
opening of the Atlanta Exposition there had been a general demand from
the press and public platform outside the South that a Negro be given
a place on the opening programme, and that a Negro be placed upon the
board of jurors of award. Would any such recognition of the race have
taken place? I do not think so. The Atlanta officials went as far as
they did because they felt it to be a pleasure, as well as a duty, to
reward what they considered merit in the Negro race. Say what we will,
there is something in human nature which we cannot blot out, which makes
one man, in the end, recognize and reward merit in another, regardless
of colour or race.

I believe it is the duty of the Negro--as the greater part of the race
is already doing--to deport himself modestly in regard to political
claims, depending upon the slow but sure influences that proceed from
the possession of property, intelligence, and high character for the
full recognition of his political rights. I think that the according
of the full exercise of political rights is going to be a matter of
natural, slow growth, not an over-night, gourd-vine affair. I do not
believe that the Negro should cease voting, for a man cannot learn the
exercise of self-government by ceasing to vote, any more than a boy can
learn to swim by keeping out of the water, but I do believe that in his
voting he should more and more be influenced by those of intelligence
and character who are his next-door neighbours.

I know coloured men who, through the encouragement, help, and advice of
Southern white people, have accumulated thousands of dollars' worth of
property, but who, at the same time, would never think of going to those
same persons for advice concerning the casting of their ballots. This,
it seems to me, is unwise and unreasonable, and should cease. In saying
this I do not mean that the Negro should truckle, or not vote from
principle, for the instant he ceases to vote from principle he loses the
confidence and respect of the Southern white man even.

I do not believe that any state should make a law that permits an
ignorant and poverty-stricken white man to vote, and prevents a black
man in the same condition from voting. Such a law is not only unjust,
but it will react, as all unjust laws do, in time; for the effect of
such a law is to encourage the Negro to secure education and property,
and at the same time it encourages the white man to remain in
ignorance and poverty. I believe that in time, through the operation of
intelligence and friendly race relations, all cheating at the ballot-box
in the South will cease. It will become apparent that the white man
who begins by cheating a Negro out of his ballot soon learns to cheat a
white man out of his, and that the man who does this ends his career of
dishonesty by the theft of property or by some equally serious crime. In
my opinion, the time will come when the South will encourage all of
its citizens to vote. It will see that it pays better, from every
standpoint, to have healthy, vigorous life than to have that political
stagnation which always results when one-half of the population has no
share and no interest in the Government.

As a rule, I believe in universal, free suffrage, but I believe that in
the South we are confronted with peculiar conditions that justify the
protection of the ballot in many of the states, for a while at least,
either by an education test, a property test, or by both combined; but
whatever tests are required, they should be made to apply with equal and
exact justice to both races.



Chapter XV. The Secret Of Success In Public Speaking

As to how my address at Atlanta was received by the audience in the
Exposition building, I think I prefer to let Mr. James Creelman, the
noted war correspondent, tell. Mr. Creelman was present, and telegraphed
the following account to the New York World:--

Atlanta, September 18.

While President Cleveland was waiting at Gray Gables to-day, to send the
electric spark that started the machinery of the Atlanta Exposition, a
Negro Moses stood before a great audience of white people and delivered
an oration that marks a new epoch in the history of the South; and a
body of Negro troops marched in a procession with the citizen soldiery
of Georgia and Louisiana. The whole city is thrilling to-night with a
realization of the extraordinary significance of these two unprecedented
events. Nothing has happened since Henry Grady's immortal speech before
the New England society in New York that indicates so profoundly the
spirit of the New South, except, perhaps, the opening of the Exposition
itself.

When Professor Booker T. Washington, Principal of an industrial school
for coloured people in Tuskegee, Ala. stood on the platform of the
Auditorium, with the sun shining over the heads of his auditors into his
eyes, and with his whole face lit up with the fire of prophecy, Clark
Howell, the successor of Henry Grady, said to me, "That man's speech is
the beginning of a moral revolution in America."

It is the first time that a Negro has made a speech in the South on any
important occasion before an audience composed of white men and women.
It electrified the audience, and the response was as if it had come from
the throat of a whirlwind.

Mrs. Thompson had hardly taken her seat when all eyes were turned on
a tall tawny Negro sitting in the front row of the platform. It was
Professor Booker T. Washington, President of the Tuskegee (Alabama)
Normal and Industrial Institute, who must rank from this time forth
as the foremost man of his race in America. Gilmore's Band played the
"Star-Spangled Banner," and the audience cheered. The tune changed to
"Dixie" and the audience roared with shrill "hi-yis." Again the music
changed, this time to "Yankee Doodle," and the clamour lessened.

All this time the eyes of the thousands present looked straight at the
Negro orator. A strange thing was to happen. A black man was to speak
for his people, with none to interrupt him. As Professor Washington
strode to the edge of the stage, the low, descending sun shot fiery rays
through the windows into his face. A great shout greeted him. He turned
his head to avoid the blinding light, and moved about the platform for
relief. Then he turned his wonderful countenance to the sun without a
blink of the eyelids, and began to talk.

There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a Sioux chief,
high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and strong, determined mouth,
with big white teeth, piercing eyes, and a commanding manner. The sinews
stood out on his bronzed neck, and his muscular right arm swung high in
the air, with a lead-pencil grasped in the clinched brown fist. His big
feet were planted squarely, with the heels together and the toes turned
out. His voice range out clear and true, and he paused impressively as
he made each point. Within ten minutes the multitude was in an uproar of
enthusiasm--handkerchiefs were waved, canes were flourished, hats were
tossed in the air. The fairest women of Georgia stood up and cheered. It
was as if the orator had bewitched them.

And when he held his dusky hand high above his head, with the fingers
stretched wide apart, and said to the white people of the South on
behalf of his race, "In all things that are purely social we can be as
separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential
to mutual progress," the great wave of sound dashed itself against the
walls, and the whole audience was on its feet in a delirium of applause,
and I thought at that moment of the night when Henry Grady stood among
the curling wreaths of tobacco-smoke in Delmonico's banquet-hall and
said, "I am a Cavalier among Roundheads."

I have heard the great orators of many countries, but not even Gladstone
himself could have pleased a cause with most consummate power than did
this angular Negro, standing in a nimbus of sunshine, surrounded by the
men who once fought to keep his race in bondage. The roar might swell
ever so high, but the expression of his earnest face never changed.

A ragged, ebony giant, squatted on the floor in one of the aisles,
watched the orator with burning eyes and tremulous face until the
supreme burst of applause came, and then the tears ran down his face.
Most of the Negroes in the audience were crying, perhaps without knowing
just why.

At the close of the speech Governor Bullock rushed across the stage and
seized the orator's hand. Another shout greeted this demonstration, and
for a few minutes the two men stood facing each other, hand in hand.


So far as I could spare the time from the immediate work at Tuskegee,
after my Atlanta address, I accepted some of the invitations to speak
in public which came to me, especially those that would take me into
territory where I thought it would pay to plead the cause of my race,
but I always did this with the understanding that I was to be free
to talk about my life-work and the needs of my people. I also had it
understood that I was not to speak in the capacity of a professional
lecturer, or for mere commercial gain.

In my efforts on the public platform I never have been able to
understand why people come to hear me speak. This question I never can
rid myself of. Time and time again, as I have stood in the street in
front of a building and have seen men and women passing in large numbers
into the audience room where I was to speak, I have felt ashamed that
I should be the cause of people--as it seemed to me--wasting a valuable
hour of their time. Some years ago I was to deliver an address before a
literary society in Madison, Wis. An hour before the time set for me
to speak, a fierce snow-storm began, and continued for several hours. I
made up my mind that there would be no audience, and that I should not
have to speak, but, as a matter of duty, I went to the church, and
found it packed with people. The surprise gave me a shock that I did not
recover from during the whole evening.

People often ask me if I feel nervous before speaking, or else they
suggest that, since I speak often, they suppose that I get used to it.
In answer to this question I have to say that I always suffer intensely
from nervousness before speaking. More than once, just before I was to
make an important address, this nervous strain has been so great that
I have resolved never again to speak in public. I not only feel nervous
before speaking, but after I have finished I usually feel a sense of
regret, because it seems to me as if I had left out of my address the
main thing and the best thing that I had meant to say.

There is a great compensation, though, for this preliminary nervous
suffering, that comes to me after I have been speaking for about ten
minutes, and have come to feel that I have really mastered my audience,
and that we have gotten into full and complete sympathy with each other.
It seems to me that there is rarely such a combination of mental and
physical delight in any effort as that which comes to a public speaker
when he feels that he has a great audience completely within his
control. There is a thread of sympathy and oneness that connects a
public speaker with his audience, that is just as strong as though it
was something tangible and visible. If in an audience of a thousand
people there is one person who is not in sympathy with my views, or is
inclined to be doubtful, cold, or critical, I can pick him out. When
I have found him I usually go straight at him, and it is a great
satisfaction to watch the process of his thawing out. I find that the
most effective medicine for such individuals is administered at first
in the form of a story, although I never tell an anecdote simply for the
sake of telling one. That kind of thing, I think, is empty and hollow,
and an audience soon finds it out.

I believe that one always does himself and his audience an injustice
when he speaks merely for the sake of speaking. I do not believe that
one should speak unless, deep down in his heart, he feels convinced that
he has a message to deliver. When one feels, from the bottom of his feet
to the top of his head, that he has something to say that is going
to help some individual or some cause, then let him say it; and in
delivering his message I do not believe that many of the artificial
rules of elocution can, under such circumstances, help him very much.
Although there are certain things, such as pauses, breathing, and pitch
of voice, that are very important, none of these can take the place of
soul in an address. When I have an address to deliver, I like to forget
all about the rules for the proper use of the English language, and all
about rhetoric and that sort of thing, and I like to make the audience
forget all about these things, too.

Nothing tends to throw me off my balance so quickly, when I am speaking,
as to have some one leave the room. To prevent this, I make up my mind,
as a rule, that I will try to make my address so interesting, will try
to state so many interesting facts one after another, that no one can
leave. The average audience, I have come to believe, wants facts rather
than generalities or sermonizing. Most people, I think, are able to draw
proper conclusions if they are given the facts in an interesting form on
which to base them.

As to the kind of audience that I like best to talk to, I would put at
the top of the list an organization of strong, wide-awake, business
men, such, for example, as is found in Boston, New York, Chicago, and
Buffalo. I have found no other audience so quick to see a point, and
so responsive. Within the last few years I have had the privilege of
speaking before most of the leading organizations of this kind in the
large cities of the United States. The best time to get hold of an
organization of business men is after a good dinner, although I think
that one of the worst instruments of torture that was ever invented
is the custom which makes it necessary for a speaker to sit through a
fourteen-course dinner, every minute of the time feeling sure that his
speech is going to prove a dismal failure and disappointment.

I rarely take part in one of these long dinners that I do not wish that
I could put myself back in the little cabin where I was a slave boy, and
again go through the experience there--one that I shall never forget--of
getting molasses to eat once a week from the "big house." Our usual
diet on the plantation was corn bread and pork, but on Sunday morning
my mother was permitted to bring down a little molasses from the "big
house" for her three children, and when it was received how I did wish
that every day was Sunday! I would get my tin plate and hold it up for
the sweet morsel, but I would always shut my eyes while the molasses was
being poured out into the plate, with the hope that when I opened them
I would be surprised to see how much I had got. When I opened my eyes
I would tip the plate in one direction and another, so as to make the
molasses spread all over it, in the full belief that there would be more
of it and that it would last longer if spread out in this way. So strong
are my childish impressions of those Sunday morning feasts that it
would be pretty hard for any one to convince me that there is not more
molasses on a plate when it is spread all over the plate than when it
occupies a little corner--if there is a corner in a plate. At any rate,
I have never believed in "cornering" syrup. My share of the syrup was
usually about two tablespoonfuls, and those two spoonfuls of molasses
were much more enjoyable to me than is a fourteen-course dinner after
which I am to speak.

Next to a company of business men, I prefer to speak to an audience of
Southern people, of either race, together or taken separately. Their
enthusiasm and responsiveness are a constant delight. The "amens" and
"dat's de truf" that come spontaneously from the coloured individuals
are calculated to spur any speaker on to his best efforts. I think that
next in order of preference I would place a college audience. It has
been my privilege to deliver addresses at many of our leading colleges
including Harvard, Yale, Williams, Amherst, Fisk University, the
University of Pennsylvania, Wellesley, the University of Michigan,
Trinity College in North Carolina, and many others.

It has been a matter of deep interest to me to note the number of people
who have come to shake hands with me after an address, who say that this
is the first time they have ever called a Negro "Mister."

When speaking directly in the interests of the Tuskegee Institute, I
usually arrange, some time in advance, a series of meetings in important
centres. This takes me before churches, Sunday-schools, Christian
Endeavour Societies, and men's and women's clubs. When doing this I
sometimes speak before as many as four organizations in a single day.

Three years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. Morris K. Jessup, of New York,
and Dr. J.L.M. Curry, the general agent of the fund, the trustees of
the John F. Slater Fund voted a sum of money to be used in paying
the expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself while holding a series
of meetings among the coloured people in the large centres of Negro
population, especially in the large cities of the ex-slaveholding
states. Each year during the last three years we have devoted some weeks
to this work. The plan that we have followed has been for me to speak
in the morning to the ministers, teachers, and professional men. In the
afternoon Mrs. Washington would speak to the women alone, and in the
evening I spoke to a large mass-meeting. In almost every case the
meetings have been attended not only by the coloured people in large
numbers, but by the white people. In Chattanooga, Tenn., for example,
there was present at the mass-meeting an audience of not less than three
thousand persons, and I was informed that eight hundred of these were
white. I have done no work that I really enjoyed more than this, or that
I think has accomplished more good.

These meetings have given Mrs. Washington and myself an opportunity to
get first-hand, accurate information as to the real condition of
the race, by seeing the people in their homes, their churches, their
Sunday-schools, and their places of work, as well as in the prisons and
dens of crime. These meetings also gave us an opportunity to see the
relations that exist between the races. I never feel so hopeful about
the race as I do after being engaged in a series of these meetings. I
know that on such occasions there is much that comes to the surface that
is superficial and deceptive, but I have had experience enough not to be
deceived by mere signs and fleeting enthusiasms. I have taken pains
to go to the bottom of things and get facts, in a cold, business-like
manner.

I have seen the statement made lately, by one who claims to know what he
is talking about, that, taking the whole Negro race into account, ninety
per cent of the Negro women are not virtuous. There never was a baser
falsehood uttered concerning a race, or a statement made that was less
capable of being proved by actual facts.

No one can come into contact with the race for twenty years, as I have
done in the heart of the South, without being convinced that the race is
constantly making slow but sure progress materially, educationally, and
morally. One might take up the life of the worst element in New
York City, for example, and prove almost anything he wanted to prove
concerning the white man, but all will agree that this is not a fair
test.

Early in the year 1897 I received a letter inviting me to deliver an
address at the dedication of the Robert Gould Shaw monument in Boston.
I accepted the invitation. It is not necessary for me, I am sure, to
explain who Robert Gould Shaw was, and what he did. The monument to
his memory stands near the head of the Boston Common, facing the State
House. It is counted to be the most perfect piece of art of the kind to
be found in the country.

The exercises connected with the dedication were held in Music Hall, in
Boston, and the great hall was packed from top to bottom with one of
the most distinguished audiences that ever assembled in the city. Among
those present were more persons representing the famous old anti-slavery
element that it is likely will ever be brought together in the country
again. The late Hon. Roger Wolcott, then Governor of Massachusetts,
was the presiding officer, and on the platform with him were many other
officials and hundreds of distinguished men. A report of the meeting
which appeared in the Boston Transcript will describe it better than any
words of mine could do:--

The core and kernel of yesterday's great noon meeting, in honour of the
Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb address of the Negro
President of Tuskegee. "Booker T. Washington received his Harvard A.M.
last June, the first of his race," said Governor Wolcott, "to receive an
honorary degree from the oldest university in the land, and this for
the wise leadership of his people." When Mr. Washington rose in the
flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and glowing atmosphere of
Music Hall, people felt keenly that here was the civic justification of
the old abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof
of her ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong thought and rich
oratory, the crown and glory of the old war days of suffering and
strife. The scene was full of historic beauty and deep significance.
"Cold" Boston was alive with the fire that is always hot in her heart
for righteousness and truth. Rows and rows of people who are seldom seen
at any public function, whole families of those who are certain to be
out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to overflowing. The city was
at her birthright _fête_ in the persons of hundreds of her best citizens,
men and women whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for
honourable civic pride.

Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation, applause warm
and prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends of Colonel Shaw,
the sculptor, St. Gaudens, the memorial Committee, the Governor and his
staff, and the Negro soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as
they came upon the platform or entered the hall. Colonel Henry Lee,
of Governor Andrew's old staff, had made a noble, simple presentation
speech for the committee, paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose
stead he served. Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable speech,
saying, "Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a race, and
called it into manhood." Mayor Quincy had received the monument for the
city of Boston. The story of Colonel Shaw and his black regiment had
been told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of

     Mine eyes have seen the glory
     Of the coming of the Lord,

Booker Washington arose. It was, of course, just the moment for him. The
multitude, shaken out of its usual symphony-concert calm, quivered with
an excitement that was not suppressed. A dozen times it had sprung to
its feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person. When this man of
culture and voice and power, as well as a dark skin, began, and uttered
the names of Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began to mount. You could
see tears glisten in the eyes of soldiers and civilians. When the orator
turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the colour-bearer of
Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the flag he had never lowered even
when wounded, and said, "To you, to the scarred and scattered remnants
of the Fifty-fourth, who, with empty sleeve and wanting leg, have
honoured this occasion with your presence, to you, your commander is not
dead. Though Boston erected no monument and history recorded no story,
in you and in the loyal race which you represent, Robert Gould Shaw
would have a monument which time could not wear away," then came the
climax of the emotion of the day and the hour. It was Roger Wolcott, as
well as the Governor of Massachusetts, the individual representative of
the people's sympathy as well as the chief magistrate, who had sprung
first to his feet and cried, "Three cheers to Booker T. Washington!"


Among those on the platform was Sergeant William H. Carney, of New
Bedford, Mass., the brave coloured officer who was the colour-bearer
at Fort Wagner and held the American flag. In spite of the fact that a
large part of his regiment was killed, he escaped, and exclaimed, after
the battle was over, "The old flag never touched the ground."

This flag Sergeant Carney held in his hands as he sat on the platform,
and when I turned to address the survivors of the coloured regiment
who were present, and referred to Sergeant Carney, he rose, as if by
instinct, and raised the flag. It has been my privilege to witness
a good many satisfactory and rather sensational demonstrations in
connection with some of my public addresses, but in dramatic effect
I have never seen or experienced anything which equalled this. For
a number of minutes the audience seemed to entirely lose control of
itself.

In the general rejoicing throughout the country which followed the close
of the Spanish-American war, peace celebrations were arranged in several
of the large cities. I was asked by President William R. Harper, of the
University of Chicago, who was chairman of the committee of invitations
for the celebration to be held in the city of Chicago, to deliver one of
the addresses at the celebration there. I accepted the invitation, and
delivered two addresses there during the Jubilee week. The first of
these, and the principal one, was given in the Auditorium, on the
evening of Sunday, October 16. This was the largest audience that I have
ever addressed, in any part of the country; and besides speaking in
the main Auditorium, I also addressed, that same evening, two overflow
audiences in other parts of the city.

It was said that there were sixteen thousand persons in the Auditorium,
and it seemed to me as if there were as many more on the outside trying
to get in. It was impossible for any one to get near the entrance
without the aid of a policeman. President William McKinley attended this
meeting, as did also the members of his Cabinet, many foreign ministers,
and a large number of army and navy officers, many of whom had
distinguished themselves in the war which had just closed. The speakers,
besides myself, on Sunday evening, were Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Father
Thomas P. Hodnett, and Dr. John H. Barrows.

The Chicago Times-Herald, in describing the meeting, said of my
address:--

He pictured the Negro choosing slavery rather than extinction; recalled
Crispus Attucks shedding his blood at the beginning of the American
Revolution, that white Americans might be free, while black Americans
remained in slavery; rehearsed the conduct of the Negroes with Jackson
at New Orleans; drew a vivid and pathetic picture of the Southern slaves
protecting and supporting the families of their masters while the latter
were fighting to perpetuate black slavery; recounted the bravery of
coloured troops at Port Hudson and Forts Wagner and Pillow, and praised
the heroism of the black regiments that stormed El Caney and Santiago
to give freedom to the enslaved people of Cuba, forgetting, for the time
being, the unjust discrimination that law and custom make against them
in their own country.

In all of these things, the speaker declared, his race had chosen the
better part. And then he made his eloquent appeal to the consciences of
the white Americans: "When you have gotten the full story of the heroic
conduct of the Negro in the Spanish-American war, have heard it from the
lips of Northern soldier and Southern soldier, from ex-abolitionist and
ex-masters, then decide within yourselves whether a race that is
thus willing to die for its country should not be given the highest
opportunity to live for its country."


The part of the speech which seems to arouse the wildest and most
sensational enthusiasm was that in which I thanked the President for his
recognition of the Negro in his appointments during the Spanish-American
war. The President was sitting in a box at the right of the stage. When
I addressed him I turned toward the box, and as I finished the sentence
thanking him for his generosity, the whole audience rose and cheered
again and again, waving handkerchiefs and hats and canes, until the
President arose in the box and bowed his acknowledgements. At that
the enthusiasm broke out again, and the demonstration was almost
indescribable.

One portion of my address at Chicago seemed to have been misunderstood
by the Southern press, and some of the Southern papers took occasion
to criticise me rather strongly. These criticisms continued for
several weeks, until I finally received a letter from the editor of the
Age-Herald, published in Birmingham, Ala., asking me if I would say just
what I meant by this part of the address. I replied to him in a letter
which seemed to satisfy my critics. In this letter I said that I had
made it a rule never to say before a Northern audience anything that
I would not say before an audience in the South. I said that I did not
think it was necessary for me to go into extended explanations; if
my seventeen years of work in the heart of the South had not been
explanation enough, I did not see how words could explain. I said that
I made the same plea that I had made in my address at Atlanta, for the
blotting out of race prejudice in "commercial and civil relations." I
said that what is termed social recognition was a question which I never
discussed, and then I quoted from my Atlanta address what I had said
there in regard to that subject.

In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there is one type of
individual that I dread. I mean the crank. I have become so accustomed
to these people now that I can pick them out at a distance when I see
them elbowing their way up to me. The average crank has a long beard,
poorly cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a black coat. The front
of his vest and coat are slick with grease, and his trousers bag at the
knees.

In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one of these fellows.
They usually have some process for curing all of the ills of the world
at once. This Chicago specimen had a patent process by which he said
Indian corn could be kept through a period of three or four years, and
he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as a whole,
adopt his process, it would settle the whole race question. It mattered
nothing that I tried to convince him that our present problem was to
teach the Negroes how to produce enough corn to last them through one
year. Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he wanted me to join
him in an effort to close up all the National banks in the country. If
that was done, he felt sure it would put the Negro on his feet.

The number of people who stand ready to consume one's time, to no
purpose, is almost countless. At one time I spoke before a large
audience in Boston in the evening. The next morning I was awakened by
having a card brought to my room, and with it a message that some
one was anxious to see me. Thinking that it must be something very
important, I dressed hastily and went down. When I reached the hotel
office I found a blank and innocent-looking individual waiting for me,
who coolly remarked: "I heard you talk at a meeting last night. I rather
liked your talk, and so I came in this morning to hear you talk some
more."

I am often asked how it is possible for me to superintend the work
at Tuskegee and at the same time be so much away from the school. In
partial answer to this I would say that I think I have learned, in some
degree at least, to disregard the old maxim which says, "Do not get
others to do that which you can do yourself." My motto, on the other
hand, is, "Do not do that which others can do as well."

One of the most encouraging signs in connection with the Tuskegee school
is found in the fact that the organization is so thorough that the
daily work of the school is not dependent upon the presence of any one
individual. The whole executive force, including instructors and clerks,
now numbers eighty-six. This force is so organized and subdivided that
the machinery of the school goes on day by day like clockwork. Most of
our teachers have been connected with the institutions for a number
of years, and are as much interested in it as I am. In my absence, Mr.
Warren Logan, the treasurer, who has been at the school seventeen years,
is the executive. He is efficiently supported by Mrs. Washington, and by
my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, who handles the bulk of my
correspondence and keeps me in daily touch with the life of the school,
and who also keeps me informed of whatever takes place in the South that
concerns the race. I owe more to his tact, wisdom, and hard work than I
can describe.

The main executive work of the school, whether I am at Tuskegee or not,
centres in what we call the executive council. This council meets twice
a week, and is composed of the nine persons who are at the head of the
nine departments of the school. For example: Mrs. B.K. Bruce, the Lady
Principal, the widow of the late ex-senator Bruce, is a member of the
council, and represents in it all that pertains to the life of the girls
at the school. In addition to the executive council there is a
financial committee of six, that meets every week and decides upon the
expenditures for the week. Once a month, and sometimes oftener, there
is a general meeting of all the instructors. Aside from these there are
innumerable smaller meetings, such as that of the instructors in
the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, or of the instructors in the
agricultural department.

In order that I may keep in constant touch with the life of the
institution, I have a system of reports so arranged that a record of the
school's work reaches me every day of the year, no matter in what part
of the country I am. I know by these reports even what students are
excused from school, and why they are excused--whether for reasons of
ill health or otherwise. Through the medium of these reports I know each
day what the income of the school in money is; I know how many gallons
of milk and how many pounds of butter come from the dairy; what the bill
of fare for the teachers and students is; whether a certain kind of meat
was boiled or baked, and whether certain vegetables served in the dining
room were bought from a store or procured from our own farm. Human
nature I find to be very much the same the world over, and it is
sometimes not hard to yield to the temptation to go to a barrel of rice
that has come from the store--with the grain all prepared to go in the
pot--rather than to take the time and trouble to go to the field and dig
and wash one's own sweet potatoes, which might be prepared in a manner
to take the place of the rice.

I am often asked how, in the midst of so much work, a large part of
which is for the public, I can find time for any rest or recreation,
and what kind of recreation or sports I am fond of. This is rather
a difficult question to answer. I have a strong feeling that every
individual owes it to himself, and to the cause which he is serving,
to keep a vigorous, healthy body, with the nerves steady and strong,
prepared for great efforts and prepared for disappointments and trying
positions. As far as I can, I make it a rule to plan for each day's
work--not merely to go through with the same routine of daily duties,
but to get rid of the routine work as early in the day as possible, and
then to enter upon some new or advance work. I make it a rule to clear
my desk every day, before leaving my office, of all correspondence and
memoranda, so that on the morrow I can begin a NEW day of work. I make
it a rule never to let my work drive me, but to so master it, and keep
it in such complete control, and to keep so far ahead of it, that I will
be the master instead of the servant. There is a physical and mental
and spiritual enjoyment that comes from a consciousness of being
the absolute master of one's work, in all its details, that is very
satisfactory and inspiring. My experience teaches me that, if one learns
to follow this plan, he gets a freshness of body and vigour of mind out
of work that goes a long way toward keeping him strong and healthy. I
believe that when one can grow to the point where he loves his work,
this gives him a kind of strength that is most valuable.

When I begin my work in the morning, I expect to have a successful and
pleasant day of it, but at the same time I prepare myself for unpleasant
and unexpected hard places. I prepared myself to hear that one of our
school buildings is on fire, or has burned, or that some disagreeable
accident has occurred, or that some one has abused me in a public
address or printed article, for something that I have done or omitted
to do, or for something that he had heard that I had said--probably
something that I had never thought of saying.

In nineteen years of continuous work I have taken but one vacation. That
was two years ago, when some of my friends put the money into my hands
and forced Mrs. Washington and myself to spend three months in Europe. I
have said that I believe it is the duty of every one to keep his body in
good condition. I try to look after the little ills, with the idea that
if I take care of the little ills the big ones will not come. When I
find myself unable to sleep well, I know that something is wrong. If I
find any part of my system the least weak, and not performing its duty,
I consult a good physician. The ability to sleep well, at any time and
in any place, I find of great advantage. I have so trained myself that
I can lie down for a nap of fifteen or twenty minutes, and get up
refreshed in body and mind.

I have said that I make it a rule to finish up each day's work before
leaving it. There is, perhaps, one exception to this. When I have an
unusually difficult question to decide--one that appeals strongly to the
emotions--I find it a safe rule to sleep over it for a night, or to
wait until I have had an opportunity to talk it over with my wife and
friends.

As to my reading; the most time I get for solid reading is when I am
on the cars. Newspapers are to me a constant source of delight and
recreation. The only trouble is that I read too many of them. Fiction
I care little for. Frequently I have to almost force myself to read a
novel that is on every one's lips. The kind of reading that I have the
greatest fondness for is biography. I like to be sure that I am reading
about a real man or a real thing. I think I do not go too far when I say
that I have read nearly every book and magazine article that has been
written about Abraham Lincoln. In literature he is my patron saint.

Out of the twelve months in a year I suppose that, on an average, I
spend six months away from Tuskegee. While my being absent from the
school so much unquestionably has its disadvantages, yet there are at
the same time some compensations. The change of work brings a certain
kind of rest. I enjoy a ride of a long distance on the cars, when I am
permitted to ride where I can be comfortable. I get rest on the cars,
except when the inevitable individual who seems to be on every
train approaches me with the now familiar phrase: "Isn't this Booker
Washington? I want to introduce myself to you." Absence from the school
enables me to lose sight of the unimportant details of the work, and
study it in a broader and more comprehensive manner than I could do on
the grounds. This absence also brings me into contact with the best
work being done in educational lines, and into contact with the best
educators in the land.

But, after all this is said, the time when I get the most solid rest and
recreation is when I can be at Tuskegee, and, after our evening meal is
over, can sit down, as is our custom, with my wife and Portia and Baker
and Davidson, my three children, and read a story, or each take turns in
telling a story. To me there is nothing on earth equal to that, although
what is nearly equal to it is to go with them for an hour or more, as we
like to do on Sunday afternoons, into the woods, where we can live for
a while near the heart of nature, where no one can disturb or vex us,
surrounded by pure air, the trees, the shrubbery, the flowers, and the
sweet fragrance that springs from a hundred plants, enjoying the chirp
of the crickets and the songs of the birds. This is solid rest.

My garden, also, what little time I can be at Tuskegee, is another
source of rest and enjoyment. Somehow I like, as often as possible, to
touch nature, not something that is artificial or an imitation, but
the real thing. When I can leave my office in time so that I can spend
thirty or forty minutes in spading the ground, in planting seeds, in
digging about the plants, I feel that I am coming into contact with
something that is giving me strength for the many duties and hard places
that await me out in the big world. I pity the man or woman who has
never learned to enjoy nature and to get strength and inspiration out of
it.

Aside from the large number of fowls and animals kept by the school, I
keep individually a number of pigs and fowls of the best grades, and
in raising these I take a great deal of pleasure. I think the pig is
my favourite animal. Few things are more satisfactory to me than a
high-grade Berkshire or Poland China pig.

Games I care little for. I have never seen a game of football. In cards
I do not know one card from another. A game of old-fashioned marbles
with my two boys, once in a while, is all I care for in this direction.
I suppose I would care for games now if I had had any time in my youth
to give to them, but that was not possible.



Chapter XVI. Europe

In 1893 I was married to Miss Margaret James Murray, a native of
Mississippi, and a graduate of Fisk University, in Nashville, Tenn., who
had come to Tuskegee as a teacher several years before, and at the time
we were married was filling the position of Lady Principal. Not only is
Mrs. Washington completely one with me in the work directly connected
with the school, relieving me of many burdens and perplexities, but
aside from her work on the school grounds, she carries on a mothers'
meeting in the town of Tuskegee, and a plantation work among the women,
children, and men who live in a settlement connected with a large
plantation about eight miles from Tuskegee. Both the mothers' meeting
and the plantation work are carried on, not only with a view to helping
those who are directly reached, but also for the purpose of furnishing
object-lessons in these two kinds of work that may be followed by our
students when they go out into the world for their own life-work.

Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also largely
responsible for a woman's club at the school which brings together,
twice a month, the women who live on the school grounds and those who
live near, for the discussion of some important topic. She is also
the President of what is known as the Federation of Southern Coloured
Women's Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the
National Federation of Coloured Women's Clubs.

Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned dressmaking. She
has unusual ability in instrumental music. Aside from her studies at
Tuskegee, she has already begun to teach there.

Booker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is, he has
already nearly mastered the brickmason's trade. He began working at this
trade when he was quite small, dividing his time between this and class
work; and he has developed great skill in the trade and a fondness for
it. He says that he is going to be an architect and brickmason. One of
the most satisfactory letters that I have ever received from any one
came to me from Booker last summer. When I left home for the summer, I
told him that he must work at his trade half of each day, and that the
other half of the day he could spend as he pleased. When I had been away
from home two weeks, I received the following letter from him:

Tuskegee, Alabama.

My dear Papa: Before you left home you told me to work at my trade half
of each day. I like my work so much that I want to work at my trade all
day. Besides, I want to earn all the money I can, so that when I go to
another school I shall have money to pay my expenses.

Your son,

Booker.


My youngest child, Ernest Davidson Washington, says that he is going to
be a physician. In addition to going to school, where he studies books
and has manual training, he regularly spends a portion of his time in
the office of our resident physician, and has already learned to do many
of the duties which pertain to a doctor's office.

The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret is that my work
in connection with public affairs keeps me for so much of the time away
from my family, where, of all places in the world, I delight to be. I
always envy the individual whose life-work is so laid that he can spend
his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that people who have this
rare privilege do not appreciate it as they should. It is such a rest
and relief to get away from crowds of people, and handshaking, and
travelling, to get home, even if it be for but a very brief while.

Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great deal of pleasure
and satisfaction is in the meeting with our students, and teachers, and
their families, in the chapel for devotional exercises every evening at
half-past eight, the last thing before retiring for the night. It is an
inspiring sight when one stands on the platform there and sees before
him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men and women; and one cannot
but feel that it is a privilege to help to guide them to a higher and
more useful life.

In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might describe as almost
the greatest surprise of my life. Some good ladies in Boston arranged
a public meeting in the interests of Tuskegee, to be held in the Hollis
Street Theatre. This meeting was attended by large numbers of the best
people of Boston, of both races. Bishop Lawrence presided. In addition
to an address made by myself, Mr. Paul Lawrence Dunbar read from his
poems, and Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois read an original sketch.

Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I seemed unusually
tired, and some little time after the close of the meeting, one of the
ladies who had been interested in it asked me in a casual way if I had
ever been to Europe. I replied that I never had. She asked me if I had
ever thought of going, and I told her no; that it was something entirely
beyond me. This conversation soon passed out of my mind, but a few days
afterward I was informed that some friends in Boston, including Mr.
Francis J. Garrison, had raised a sum of money sufficient to pay all the
expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself during a three or four months'
trip to Europe. It was added with emphasis that we MUST go. A year
previous to this Mr. Garrison had attempted to get me to promise to go
to Europe for a summer's rest, with the understanding that he would be
responsible for raising the money among his friends for the expenses
of the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so entirely foreign to
anything that I should ever be able to undertake that I did confess I
did not give the matter very serious attention; but later Mr. Garrison
joined his efforts to those of the ladies whom I have mentioned, and
when their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison not only had the
route mapped out, but had, I believe, selected the steamer upon which we
were to sail.

The whole thing was so sudden and so unexpected that I was completely
taken off my feet. I had been at work steadily for eighteen years in
connection with Tuskegee, and I had never thought of anything else but
ending my life in that way. Each day the school seemed to depend upon
me more largely for its daily expenses, and I told these Boston friends
that, while I thanked them sincerely for their thoughtfulness and
generosity, I could not go to Europe, for the reason that the school
could not live financially while I was absent. They then informed me
that Mr. Henry L. Higginson, and some other good friends who I know do
not want their names made public, were then raising a sum of money which
would be sufficient to keep the school in operation while I was away. At
this point I was compelled to surrender. Every avenue of escape had been
closed.

Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more like a dream than
like reality, and for a long time it was difficult for me to make myself
believe that I was actually going to Europe. I had been born and largely
reared in the lowest depths of slavery, ignorance, and poverty. In my
childhood I had suffered for want of a place to sleep, for lack of food,
clothing, and shelter. I had not had the privilege of sitting down to a
dining-table until I was quite well grown. Luxuries had always seemed to
me to be something meant for white people, not for my race. I had always
regarded Europe, and London, and Paris, much as I regarded heaven. And
now could it be that I was actually going to Europe? Such thoughts as
these were constantly with me.

Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared that people who
heard that Mrs. Washington and I were going to Europe might not know all
the circumstances, and might get the idea that we had become, as some
might say, "stuck up," and were trying to "show off." I recalled that
from my youth I had heard it said that too often, when people of my
race reached any degree of success, they were inclined to unduly exalt
themselves; to try and ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose their
heads. The fear that people might think this of us haunted me a good
deal. Then, too, I could not see how my conscience would permit me to
spare the time from my work and be happy. It seemed mean and selfish in
me to be taking a vacation while others were at work, and while there
was so much that needed to be done. From the time I could remember, I
had always been at work, and I did not see how I could spend three or
four months in doing nothing. The fact was that I did not know how to
take a vacation.

Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty in getting away, but she
was anxious to go because she thought that I needed the rest. There
were many important National questions bearing upon the life of the race
which were being agitated at that time, and this made it all the harder
for us to decide to go. We finally gave our Boston friends our promise
that we would go, and then they insisted that the date of our departure
be set as soon as possible. So we decided upon May 10. My good friend
Mr. Garrison kindly took charge of all the details necessary for the
success of the trip, and he, as well as other friends, gave us a great
number of letters of introduction to people in France and England, and
made other arrangements for our comfort and convenience abroad. Good-bys
were said at Tuskegee, and we were in New York May 9, ready to sail
the next day. Our daughter Portia, who was then studying in South
Framingham, Mass., came to New York to see us off. Mr. Scott, my
secretary, came with me to New York, in order that I might clear up the
last bit of business before I left. Other friends also came to New York
to see us off. Just before we went on board the steamer another pleasant
surprise came to us in the form of a letter from two generous ladies,
stating that they had decided to give us the money with which to erect a
new building to be used in properly housing all our industries for girls
at Tuskegee.

We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line, and a beautiful
vessel she was. We went on board just before noon, the hour of sailing.
I had never before been on board a large ocean steamer, and the feeling
which took possession of me when I found myself there is rather hard
to describe. It was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled with delight. We
were agreeably surprised to find that the captain, as well as several of
the other officers, not only knew who we were, but was expecting us and
gave us a pleasant greeting. There were several passengers whom we
knew, including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey, and Edward Marshall, the
newspaper correspondent. I had just a little fear that we would not be
treated civilly by some of the passengers. This fear was based upon
what I had heard other people of my race, who had crossed the ocean, say
about unpleasant experiences in crossing the ocean in American vessels.
But in our case, from the captain down to the most humble servant, we
were treated with the greatest kindness. Nor was this kindness confined
to those who were connected with the steamer; it was shown by all the
passengers also. There were not a few Southern men and women on board,
and they were as cordial as those from other parts of the country.

As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer had cut loose
from the wharf, the load of care, anxiety, and responsibility which I
had carried for eighteen years began to lift itself from my shoulders at
the rate, it seemed to me, of a pound a minute. It was the first time in
all those years that I had felt, even in a measure, free from care; and
my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on paper. Added to this was
the delightful anticipation of being in Europe soon. It all seemed more
like a dream than like a reality.

Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have one of the most
comfortable rooms on the ship. The second or third day out I began
to sleep, and I think that I slept at the rate of fifteen hours a day
during the remainder of the ten days' passage. Then it was that I began
to understand how tired I really was. These long sleeps I kept up for a
month after we landed on the other side. It was such an unusual feeling
to wake up in the morning and realize that I had no engagements; did not
have to take a train at a certain hour; did not have an appointment to
meet some one, or to make an address, at a certain hour. How different
all this was from the experiences that I have been through when
travelling, when I have sometimes slept in three different beds in a
single night!

When Sunday came, the captain invited me to conduct the religious
services, but, not being a minister, I declined. The passengers,
however, began making requests that I deliver an address to them in the
dining-saloon some time during the voyage, and this I consented to do.
Senator Sewell presided at this meeting. After ten days of delightful
weather, during which I was not seasick for a day, we landed at the
interesting old city of Antwerp, in Belgium.

The next day after we landed happened to be one of those numberless
holidays which the people of those countries are in the habit of
observing. It was a bright, beautiful day. Our room in the hotel faced
the main public square, and the sights there--the people coming in
from the country with all kinds of beautiful flowers to sell, the women
coming in with their dogs drawing large, brightly polished cans filled
with milk, the people streaming into the cathedral--filled me with a
sense of newness that I had never before experienced.

After spending some time in Antwerp, we were invited to go with a part
of a half-dozen persons on a trip through Holland. This party included
Edward Marshall and some American artists who had come over on the
same steamer with us. We accepted the invitation, and enjoyed the trip
greatly. I think it was all the more interesting and instructive
because we went for most of the way on one of the slow, old-fashioned
canal-boats. This gave us an opportunity of seeing and studying the real
life of the people in the country districts. We went in this way as far
as Rotterdam, and later went to The Hague, where the Peace Conference
was then in session, and where we were kindly received by the American
representatives.

The thing that impressed itself most on me in Holland was the
thoroughness of the agriculture and the excellence of the Holstein
cattle. I never knew, before visiting Holland, how much it was possible
for people to get out of a small plot of ground. It seemed to me that
absolutely no land was wasted. It was worth a trip to Holland, too, just
to get a sight of three or four hundred fine Holstein cows grazing in
one of those intensely green fields.

From Holland we went to Belgium, and made a hasty trip through that
country, stopping at Brussels, where we visited the battlefield of
Waterloo. From Belgium we went direct to Paris, where we found that Mr.
Theodore Stanton, the son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, had kindly
provided accommodations for us. We had barely got settled in Paris
before an invitation came to me from the University Club of Paris to be
its guest at a banquet which was soon to be given. The other guests were
ex-President Benjamin Harrison and Archbishop Ireland, who were in Paris
at the time. The American Ambassador, General Horace Porter, presided at
the banquet. My address on this occasion seemed to give satisfaction to
those who heard it. General Harrison kindly devoted a large portion
of his remarks at dinner to myself and to the influence of the work at
Tuskegee on the American race question. After my address at this banquet
other invitations came to me, but I declined the most of them, knowing
that if I accepted them all, the object of my visit would be defeated.
I did, however, consent to deliver an address in the American chapel the
following Sunday morning, and at this meeting General Harrison, General
Porter, and other distinguished Americans were present.

Later we received a formal call from the American Ambassador, and were
invited to attend a reception at his residence. At this reception we
met many Americans, among them Justices Fuller and Harlan, of the United
States Supreme Court. During our entire stay of a month in Paris,
both the American Ambassador and his wife, as well as several other
Americans, were very kind to us.

While in Paris we saw a good deal of the now famous American Negro
painter, Mr. Henry O. Tanner, whom we had formerly known in America. It
was very satisfactory to find how well known Mr. Tanner was in the field
of art, and to note the high standing which all classes accorded to him.
When we told some Americans that we were going to the Luxembourg Palace
to see a painting by an American Negro, it was hard to convince them
that a Negro had been thus honoured. I do not believe that they were
really convinced of the fact until they saw the picture for themselves.
My acquaintance with Mr. Tanner reenforced in my mind the truth which
I am constantly trying to impress upon our students at Tuskegee--and on
our people throughout the country, as far as I can reach them with
my voice--that any man, regardless of colour, will be recognized and
rewarded just in proportion as he learns to do something well--learns to
do it better than some one else--however humble the thing may be. As
I have said, I believe that my race will succeed in proportion as it
learns to do a common thing in an uncommon manner; learns to do a thing
so thoroughly that no one can improve upon what it has done; learns
to make its services of indispensable value. This was the spirit
that inspired me in my first effort at Hampton, when I was given the
opportunity to sweep and dust that schoolroom. In a degree I felt that
my whole future life depended upon the thoroughness with which I cleaned
that room, and I was determined to do it so well that no one could find
any fault with the job. Few people ever stopped, I found, when looking
at his pictures, to inquire whether Mr. Tanner was a Negro painter, a
French painter, or a German painter. They simply knew that he was able
to produce something which the world wanted--a great painting--and the
matter of his colour did not enter into their minds. When a Negro girl
learns to cook, to wash dishes, to sew, or write a book, or a Negro boy
learns to groom horses, or to grow sweet potatoes, or to produce butter,
or to build a house, or to be able to practise medicine, as well or
better than some one else, they will be rewarded regardless of race or
colour. In the long run, the world is going to have the best, and any
difference in race, religion, or previous history will not long keep the
world from what it wants.

I think that the whole future of my race hinges on the question as to
whether or not it can make itself of such indispensable value that the
people in the town and the state where we reside will feel that our
presence is necessary to the happiness and well-being of the community.
No man who continues to add something to the material, intellectual,
and moral well-being of the place in which he lives is long left without
proper reward. This is a great human law which cannot be permanently
nullified.

The love of pleasure and excitement which seems in a large measure to
possess the French people impressed itself upon me. I think they are
more noted in this respect than is true of the people of my own race. In
point of morality and moral earnestness I do not believe that the French
are ahead of my own race in America. Severe competition and the great
stress of life have led them to learn to do things more thoroughly and
to exercise greater economy; but time, I think, will bring my race to
the same point. In the matter of truth and high honour I do not believe
that the average Frenchman is ahead of the American Negro; while so far
as mercy and kindness to dumb animals go, I believe that my race is far
ahead. In fact, when I left France, I had more faith in the future of
the black man in America than I had ever possessed.

From Paris we went to London, and reached there early in July, just
about the height of the London social season. Parliament was in session,
and there was a great deal of gaiety. Mr. Garrison and other friends had
provided us with a large number of letters of introduction, and they
had also sent letters to other persons in different parts of the United
Kingdom, apprising these people of our coming. Very soon after reaching
London we were flooded with invitations to attend all manner of social
functions, and a great many invitations came to me asking that I deliver
public addresses. The most of these invitations I declined, for the
reason that I wanted to rest. Neither were we able to accept more than
a small proportion of the other invitations. The Rev. Dr. Brooke
Herford and Mrs. Herford, whom I had known in Boston, consulted with
the American Ambassador, the Hon. Joseph Choate, and arranged for me to
speak at a public meeting to be held in Essex Hall. Mr. Choate kindly
consented to preside. The meeting was largely attended. There were many
distinguished persons present, among them several members of Parliament,
including Mr. James Bryce, who spoke at the meeting. What the American
Ambassador said in introducing me, as well as a synopsis of what I said,
was widely published in England and in the American papers at the time.
Dr. and Mrs. Herford gave Mrs. Washington and myself a reception,
at which we had the privilege of meeting some of the best people in
England. Throughout our stay in London Ambassador Choate was most kind
and attentive to us. At the Ambassador's reception I met, for the first
time, Mark Twain.

We were the guests several times of Mrs. T. Fisher Unwin, the daughter
of the English statesman, Richard Cobden. It seemed as if both Mr. and
Mrs. Unwin could not do enough for our comfort and happiness. Later, for
nearly a week, we were the guests of the daughter of John Bright, now
Mrs. Clark, of Street, England. Both Mr. and Mrs. Clark, with their
daughter, visited us at Tuskegee the next year. In Birmingham, England,
we were the guests for several days of Mr. Joseph Sturge, whose father
was a great abolitionist and friend of Whittier and Garrison. It was
a great privilege to meet throughout England those who had known and
honoured the late William Lloyd Garrison, the Hon. Frederick Douglass,
and other abolitionists. The English abolitionists with whom we came
in contact never seemed to tire of talking about these two Americans.
Before going to England I had had no proper conception of the deep
interest displayed by the abolitionists of England in the cause of
freedom, nor did I realize the amount of substantial help given by them.

In Bristol, England, both Mrs. Washington and I spoke at the Women's
Liberal Club. I was also the principal speaker at the Commencement
exercises of the Royal College for the Blind. These exercises were held
in the Crystal Palace, and the presiding officer was the late Duke of
Westminster, who was said to be, I believe, the richest man in England,
if not in the world. The Duke, as well as his wife and their daughter,
seemed to be pleased with what I said, and thanked me heartily. Through
the kindness of Lady Aberdeen, my wife and I were enabled to go with a
party of those who were attending the International Congress of Women,
then in session in London, to see Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle,
where, afterward, we were all the guests of her Majesty at tea. In our
party was Miss Susan B. Anthony, and I was deeply impressed with the
fact that one did not often get an opportunity to see, during the same
hour, two women so remarkable in different ways as Susan B. Anthony and
Queen Victoria.

In the House of Commons, which we visited several times, we met Sir
Henry M. Stanley. I talked with him about Africa and its relation to the
American Negro, and after my interview with him I became more convinced
than ever that there was no hope of the American Negro's improving his
condition by emigrating to Africa.

On various occasions Mrs. Washington and I were the guests of Englishmen
in their country homes, where, I think, one sees the Englishman at his
best. In one thing, at least, I feel sure that the English are ahead of
Americans, and that is, that they have learned how to get more out of
life. The home life of the English seems to me to be about as perfect as
anything can be. Everything moves like clockwork. I was impressed,
too, with the deference that the servants show to their "masters" and
"mistresses,"--terms which I suppose would not be tolerated in America.
The English servant expects, as a rule, to be nothing but a servant, and
so he perfects himself in the art to a degree that no class of servants
in America has yet reached. In our country the servant expects to
become, in a few years, a "master" himself. Which system is preferable?
I will not venture an answer.

Another thing that impressed itself upon me throughout England was the
high regard that all classes have for law and order, and the ease and
thoroughness with which everything is done. The Englishmen, I found,
took plenty of time for eating, as for everything else. I am not
sure if, in the long run, they do not accomplish as much or more than
rushing, nervous Americans do.

My visit to England gave me a higher regard for the nobility than I had
had. I had no idea that they were so generally loved and respected by
the classes, nor had I any correct conception of how much time and
money they spent in works of philanthropy, and how much real heart they
put into this work. My impression had been that they merely spent money
freely and had a "good time."

It was hard for me to get accustomed to speaking to English audiences.
The average Englishman is so serious, and is so tremendously in earnest
about everything, that when I told a story that would have made an
American audience roar with laughter, the Englishmen simply looked me
straight in the face without even cracking a smile.

When the Englishman takes you into his heart and friendship, he binds
you there as with cords of steel, and I do not believe that there are
many other friendships that are so lasting or so satisfactory. Perhaps
I can illustrate this point in no better way than by relating the
following incident. Mrs. Washington and I were invited to attend a
reception given by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, at Stafford
House--said to be the finest house in London; I may add that I believe
the Duchess of Sutherland is said to be the most beautiful woman in
England. There must have been at least three hundred persons at this
reception. Twice during the evening the Duchess sought us out for a
conversation, and she asked me to write her when we got home, and tell
her more about the work at Tuskegee. This I did. When Christmas came
we were surprised and delighted to receive her photograph with her
autograph on it. The correspondence has continued, and we now feel that
in the Duchess of Sutherland we have one of our warmest friends.

After three months in Europe we sailed from Southampton in the steamship
St. Louis. On this steamer there was a fine library that had been
presented to the ship by the citizens of St. Louis, Mo. In this library
I found a life of Frederick Douglass, which I began reading. I became
especially interested in Mr. Douglass's description of the way he was
treated on shipboard during his first or second visit to England. In
this description he told how he was not permitted to enter the cabin,
but had to confine himself to the deck of the ship. A few minutes after
I had finished reading this description I was waited on by a committee
of ladies and gentlemen with the request that I deliver an address at
a concert which was to begin the following evening. And yet there are
people who are bold enough to say that race feeling in America is not
growing less intense! At this concert the Hon. Benjamin B. Odell, Jr.,
the present governor of New York, presided. I was never given a more
cordial hearing anywhere. A large proportion of the passengers were
Southern people. After the concert some of the passengers proposed that
a subscription be raised to help the work at Tuskegee, and the money to
support several scholarships was the result.

While we were in Paris I was very pleasantly surprised to receive the
following invitation from the citizens of West Virginia and of the city
near which I had spent my boyhood days:--

Charleston, W. Va., May 16, 1899.

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: Many of the best citizens of West Virginia have united in
liberal expressions of admiration and praise of your worth and work, and
desire that on your return from Europe you should favour them with
your presence and with the inspiration of your words. We must sincerely
indorse this move, and on behalf of the citizens of Charleston extend
to your our most cordial invitation to have you come to us, that we may
honour you who have done so much by your life and work to honour us.

We are,

Very truly yours,

The Common Council of the City of Charleston,

By W. Herman Smith, Mayor.


This invitation from the City Council of Charleston was accompanied by
the following:--

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: We, the citizens of Charleston and West Virginia, desire to
express our pride in you and the splendid career that you have thus
far accomplished, and ask that we be permitted to show our pride and
interest in a substantial way.

Your recent visit to your old home in our midst awoke within us the
keenest regret that we were not permitted to hear you and render some
substantial aid to your work, before you left for Europe.

In view of the foregoing, we earnestly invite you to share the
hospitality of our city upon your return from Europe, and give us the
opportunity to hear you and put ourselves in touch with your work in a
way that will be most gratifying to yourself, and that we may receive
the inspiration of your words and presence.

An early reply to this invitation, with an indication of the time you
may reach our city, will greatly oblige,

Yours very respectfully,

The Charleston Daily Gazette, The Daily Mail-Tribune; G.W. Atkinson,
Governor; E.L. Boggs, Secretary to Governor; Wm. M.O. Dawson, Secretary
of State; L.M. La Follette, Auditor; J.R. Trotter, Superintendent of
Schools; E.W. Wilson, ex-Governor; W.A. MacCorkle, ex-Governor; John
Q. Dickinson, President Kanawha Valley Bank; L. Prichard, President
Charleston National Bank; Geo. S. Couch, President Kanawha National
Bank; Ed. Reid, Cashier Kanawha National Bank; Geo. S. Laidley,
Superintended City Schools; L.E. McWhorter, President Board of
Education; Chas. K. Payne, wholesale merchant; and many others.


This invitation, coming as it did from the City Council, the state
officers, and all the substantial citizens of both races of the
community where I had spent my boyhood, and from which I had gone a
few years before, unknown, in poverty and ignorance, in quest of an
education, not only surprised me, but almost unmanned me. I could not
understand what I had done to deserve it all.

I accepted the invitation, and at the appointed day was met at the
railway station at Charleston by a committee headed by ex-Governor W.A.
MacCorkle, and composed of men of both races. The public reception was
held in the Opera-House at Charleston. The Governor of the state, the
Hon. George W. Atkinson, presided, and an address of welcome was made
by ex-Governor MacCorkle. A prominent part in the reception was taken by
the coloured citizens. The Opera-House was filled with citizens of both
races, and among the white people were many for whom I had worked when
I was a boy. The next day Governor and Mrs. Atkinson gave me a public
reception at the State House, which was attended by all classes.

Not long after this the coloured people in Atlanta, Georgia, gave me
a reception at which the Governor of the state presided, and a similar
reception was given me in New Orleans, which was presided over by the
Mayor of the city. Invitations came from many other places which I was
not able to accept.



Chapter XVII. Last Words

Before going to Europe some events came into my life which were
great surprises to me. In fact, my whole life has largely been one of
surprises. I believe that any man's life will be filled with constant,
unexpected encouragements of this kind if he makes up his mind to do his
level best each day of his life--that is, tries to make each day reach
as nearly as possible the high-water mark of pure, unselfish, useful
living. I pity the man, black or white, who has never experienced the
joy and satisfaction that come to one by reason of an effort to assist
in making some one else more useful and more happy.

Six months before he died, and nearly a year after he had been stricken
with paralysis, General Armstrong expressed a wish to visit Tuskegee
again before he passed away. Notwithstanding the fact that he had lost
the use of his limbs to such an extent that he was practically helpless,
his wish was gratified, and he was brought to Tuskegee. The owners of
the Tuskegee Railroad, white men living in the town, offered to run a
special train, without cost, out of the main station--Chehaw, five miles
away--to meet him. He arrived on the school grounds about nine o'clock
in the evening. Some one had suggested that we give the General a
"pine-knot torchlight reception." This plan was carried out, and the
moment that his carriage entered the school grounds he began passing
between two lines of lighted and waving "fat pine" wood knots held by
over a thousand students and teachers. The whole thing was so novel and
surprising that the General was completely overcome with happiness. He
remained a guest in my home for nearly two months, and, although almost
wholly without the use of voice or limb, he spent nearly every hour in
devising ways and means to help the South. Time and time again he said
to me, during this visit, that it was not only the duty of the country
to assist in elevating the Negro of the South, but the poor white man
as well. At the end of his visit I resolved anew to devote myself more
earnestly than ever to the cause which was so near his heart. I said
that if a man in his condition was willing to think, work, and act, I
should not be wanting in furthering in every possible way the wish of
his heart.

The death of General Armstrong, a few weeks later, gave me the privilege
of getting acquainted with one of the finest, most unselfish, and most
attractive men that I have ever come in contact with. I refer to the
Rev. Dr. Hollis B. Frissell, now the Principal of the Hampton Institute,
and General Armstrong's successor. Under the clear, strong, and
almost perfect leadership of Dr. Frissell, Hampton has had a career of
prosperity and usefulness that is all that the General could have wished
for. It seems to be the constant effort of Dr. Frissell to hide his own
great personality behind that of General Armstrong--to make himself of
"no reputation" for the sake of the cause.

More than once I have been asked what was the greatest surprise that
ever came to me. I have little hesitation in answering that question. It
was the following letter, which came to me one Sunday morning when I was
sitting on the veranda of my home at Tuskegee, surrounded by my wife and
three children:--

Harvard University, Cambridge, May 28, 1896.

President Booker T. Washington,

My Dear Sir: Harvard University desired to confer on you at the
approaching Commencement an honorary degree; but it is our custom to
confer degrees only on gentlemen who are present. Our Commencement
occurs this year on June 24, and your presence would be desirable
from about noon till about five o'clock in the afternoon. Would it be
possible for you to be in Cambridge on that day?

Believe me, with great regard,

Very truly yours,

Charles W. Eliot.


This was a recognition that had never in the slightest manner entered
into my mind, and it was hard for me to realize that I was to be
honoured by a degree from the oldest and most renowned university in
America. As I sat upon my veranda, with this letter in my hand, tears
came into my eyes. My whole former life--my life as a slave on the
plantation, my work in the coal-mine, the times when I was without food
and clothing, when I made my bed under a sidewalk, my struggles for an
education, the trying days I had had at Tuskegee, days when I did
not know where to turn for a dollar to continue the work there, the
ostracism and sometimes oppression of my race,--all this passed before
me and nearly overcame me.

I had never sought or cared for what the world calls fame. I have always
looked upon fame as something to be used in accomplishing good. I have
often said to my friends that if I can use whatever prominence may have
come to me as an instrument with which to do good, I am content to have
it. I care for it only as a means to be used for doing good, just as
wealth may be used. The more I come into contact with wealthy people,
the more I believe that they are growing in the direction of looking
upon their money simply as an instrument which God has placed in their
hand for doing good with. I never go to the office of Mr. John D.
Rockefeller, who more than once has been generous to Tuskegee, without
being reminded of this. The close, careful, and minute investigation
that he always makes in order to be sure that every dollar that he gives
will do the most good--an investigation that is just as searching as if
he were investing money in a business enterprise--convinces me that the
growth in this direction is most encouraging.

At nine o'clock, on the morning of June 24, I met President Eliot, the
Board of Overseers of Harvard University, and the other guests, at the
designated place on the university grounds, for the purpose of being
escorted to Sanders Theatre, where the Commencement exercises were to be
held and degrees conferred. Among others invited to be present for the
purpose of receiving a degree at this time were General Nelson A. Miles,
Dr. Bell, the inventor of the Bell telephone, Bishop Vincent, and the
Rev. Minot J. Savage. We were placed in line immediately behind the
President and the Board of Overseers, and directly afterward the
Governor of Massachusetts, escorted by the Lancers, arrived and took his
place in the line of march by the side of President Eliot. In the line
there were also various other officers and professors, clad in cap and
gown. In this order we marched to Sanders Theatre, where, after the
usual Commencement exercises, came the conferring of the honorary
degrees. This, it seems, is always considered the most interesting
feature at Harvard. It is not known, until the individuals appear, upon
whom the honorary degrees are to be conferred, and those receiving these
honours are cheered by the students and others in proportion to
their popularity. During the conferring of the degrees excitement and
enthusiasm are at the highest pitch.

When my name was called, I rose, and President Eliot, in beautiful and
strong English, conferred upon me the degree of Master of Arts. After
these exercises were over, those who had received honorary degrees were
invited to lunch with the President. After the lunch we were formed in
line again, and were escorted by the Marshal of the day, who that year
happened to be Bishop William Lawrence, through the grounds, where, at
different points, those who had been honoured were called by name and
received the Harvard yell. This march ended at Memorial Hall, where
the alumni dinner was served. To see over a thousand strong men,
representing all that is best in State, Church, business, and
education, with the glow and enthusiasm of college loyalty and college
pride,--which has, I think, a peculiar Harvard flavour,--is a sight that
does not easily fade from memory.

Among the speakers after dinner were President Eliot, Governor Roger
Wolcott, General Miles, Dr. Minot J. Savage, the Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge,
and myself. When I was called upon, I said, among other things:--

It would in some measure relieve my embarrassment if I could, even in
a slight degree, feel myself worthy of the great honour which you do me
to-day. Why you have called me from the Black Belt of the South, from
among my humble people, to share in the honours of this occasion, is not
for me to explain; and yet it may not be inappropriate for me to suggest
that it seems to me that one of the most vital questions that touch
our American life is how to bring the strong, wealthy, and learned into
helpful touch with the poorest, most ignorant, and humblest, and at the
same time make one appreciate the vitalizing, strengthening influence of
the other. How shall we make the mansion on yon Beacon Street feel
and see the need of the spirits in the lowliest cabin in Alabama
cotton-fields or Louisiana sugar-bottoms? This problem Harvard
University is solving, not by bringing itself down, but by bringing the
masses up.

              *   *   *   *   *

If my life in the past has meant anything in the lifting up of my people
and the bringing about of better relations between your race and mine, I
assure you from this day it will mean doubly more. In the economy of God
there is but one standard by which an individual can succeed--there is
but one for a race. This country demands that every race shall measure
itself by the American standard. By it a race must rise or fall, succeed
or fail, and in the last analysis mere sentiment counts for little.
During the next half-century and more, my race must continue passing
through the severe American crucible. We are to be tested in our
patience, our forbearance, our perseverance, our power to endure wrong,
to withstand temptations, to economize, to acquire and use skill; in our
ability to compete, to succeed in commerce, to disregard the superficial
for the real, the appearance for the substance, to be great and yet
small, learned and yet simple, high and yet the servant of all.


As this was the first time that a New England university had conferred
an honorary degree upon a Negro, it was the occasion of much newspaper
comment throughout the country. A correspondent of a New York paper
said:--

When the name of Booker T. Washington was called, and he arose to
acknowledge and accept, there was such an outburst of applause as
greeted no other name except that of the popular soldier patriot,
General Miles. The applause was not studied and stiff, sympathetic and
condoling; it was enthusiasm and admiration. Every part of the audience
from pit to gallery joined in, and a glow covered the cheeks of those
around me, proving sincere appreciation of the rising struggle of an
ex-slave and the work he has accomplished for his race.


A Boston paper said, editorially:--

In conferring the honorary degree of Master of Arts upon the Principal
of Tuskegee Institute, Harvard University has honoured itself as well
as the object of this distinction. The work which Professor Booker T.
Washington has accomplished for the education, good citizenship,
and popular enlightenment in his chosen field of labour in the South
entitles him to rank with our national benefactors. The university which
can claim him on its list of sons, whether in regular course or honoris
causa, may be proud.

It has been mentioned that Mr. Washington is the first of his race
to receive an honorary degree from a New England university. This, in
itself, is a distinction. But the degree was not conferred because Mr.
Washington is a coloured man, or because he was born in slavery, but
because he has shown, by his work for the elevation of the people of the
Black Belt of the South, a genius and a broad humanity which count for
greatness in any man, whether his skin be white or black.


Another Boston paper said:--

It is Harvard which, first among New England colleges, confers an
honorary degree upon a black man. No one who has followed the history of
Tuskegee and its work can fail to admire the courage, persistence, and
splendid common sense of Booker T. Washington. Well may Harvard honour
the ex-slave, the value of whose services, alike to his race and
country, only the future can estimate.


The correspondent of the New York Times wrote:--

All the speeches were enthusiastically received, but the coloured man
carried off the oratorical honours, and the applause which broke out
when he had finished was vociferous and long-continued.


Soon after I began work at Tuskegee I formed a resolution, in the secret
of my heart, that I would try to build up a school that would be of
so much service to the country that the President of the United States
would one day come to see it. This was, I confess, rather a bold
resolution, and for a number of years I kept it hidden in my own
thoughts, not daring to share it with any one.

In November, 1897, I made the first move in this direction, and that was
in securing a visit from a member of President McKinley's Cabinet,
the Hon. James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture. He came to deliver
an address at the formal opening of the Slater-Armstrong Agricultural
Building, our first large building to be used for the purpose of giving
training to our students in agriculture and kindred branches.

In the fall of 1898 I heard that President McKinley was likely to visit
Atlanta, Georgia, for the purpose of taking part in the Peace Jubilee
exercises to be held there to commemorate the successful close of the
Spanish-American war. At this time I had been hard at work, together
with our teachers, for eighteen years, trying to build up a school that
we thought would be of service to the Nation, and I determined to make
a direct effort to secure a visit from the President and his Cabinet. I
went to Washington, and I was not long in the city before I found my way
to the White House. When I got there I found the waiting rooms full of
people, and my heart began to sink, for I feared there would not be much
chance of my seeing the President that day, if at all. But, at any rate,
I got an opportunity to see Mr. J. Addison Porter, the secretary to the
President, and explained to him my mission. Mr. Porter kindly sent my
card directly to the President, and in a few minutes word came from Mr.
McKinley that he would see me.

How any man can see so many people of all kinds, with all kinds of
errands, and do so much hard work, and still keep himself calm, patient,
and fresh for each visitor in the way that President McKinley does, I
cannot understand. When I saw the President he kindly thanked me for the
work which we were doing at Tuskegee for the interests of the country. I
then told him, briefly, the object of my visit. I impressed upon him the
fact that a visit from the Chief Executive of the Nation would not only
encourage our students and teachers, but would help the entire race. He
seemed interested, but did not make a promise to go to Tuskegee, for the
reason that his plans about going to Atlanta were not then fully made;
but he asked me to call the matter to his attention a few weeks later.

By the middle of the following month the President had definitely
decided to attend the Peace Jubilee at Atlanta. I went to Washington
again and saw him, with a view of getting him to extend his trip to
Tuskegee. On this second visit Mr. Charles W. Hare, a prominent white
citizen of Tuskegee, kindly volunteered to accompany me, to reenforce my
invitation with one from the white people of Tuskegee and the vicinity.

Just previous to my going to Washington the second time, the country
had been excited, and the coloured people greatly depressed, because of
several severe race riots which had occurred at different points in the
South. As soon as I saw the President, I perceived that his heart was
greatly burdened by reason of these race disturbances. Although there
were many people waiting to see him, he detained me for some time,
discussing the condition and prospects of the race. He remarked several
times that he was determined to show his interest and faith in the race,
not merely in words, but by acts. When I told him that I thought that
at that time scarcely anything would go farther in giving hope and
encouragement to the race than the fact that the President of the Nation
would be willing to travel one hundred and forty miles out of his way to
spend a day at a Negro institution, he seemed deeply impressed.

While I was with the President, a white citizen of Atlanta, a Democrat
and an ex-slaveholder, came into the room, and the President asked his
opinion as to the wisdom of his going to Tuskegee. Without hesitation
the Atlanta man replied that it was the proper thing for him to do. This
opinion was reenforced by that friend of the race, Dr. J.L.M. Curry.
The President promised that he would visit our school on the 16th of
December.

When it became known that the President was going to visit our school,
the white citizens of the town of Tuskegee--a mile distant from the
school--were as much pleased as were our students and teachers. The
white people of this town, including both men and women, began arranging
to decorate the town, and to form themselves into committees for the
purpose of cooperating with the officers of our school in order that the
distinguished visitor might have a fitting reception. I think I never
realized before this how much the white people of Tuskegee and vicinity
thought of our institution. During the days when we were preparing for
the President's reception, dozens of these people came to me and said
that, while they did not want to push themselves into prominence, if
there was anything they could do to help, or to relieve me personally,
I had but to intimate it and they would be only too glad to assist. In
fact, the thing that touched me almost as deeply as the visit of the
President itself was the deep pride which all classes of citizens in
Alabama seemed to take in our work.

The morning of December 16th brought to the little city of Tuskegee
such a crowd as it had never seen before. With the President came Mrs.
McKinley and all of the Cabinet officers but one; and most of them
brought their wives or some members of their families. Several prominent
generals came, including General Shafter and General Joseph Wheeler, who
were recently returned from the Spanish-American war. There was also a
host of newspaper correspondents. The Alabama Legislature was in session
in Montgomery at this time. This body passed a resolution to adjourn
for the purpose of visiting Tuskegee. Just before the arrival of the
President's party the Legislature arrived, headed by the governor and
other state officials.

The citizens of Tuskegee had decorated the town from the station to
the school in a generous manner. In order to economize in the matter
of time, we arranged to have the whole school pass in review before the
President. Each student carried a stalk of sugar-cane with some open
bolls of cotton fastened to the end of it. Following the students the
work of all departments of the school passed in review, displayed on
"floats" drawn by horses, mules, and oxen. On these floats we tried
to exhibit not only the present work of the school, but to show the
contrasts between the old methods of doing things and the new. As an
example, we showed the old method of dairying in contrast with the
improved methods, the old methods of tilling the soil in contrast with
the new, the old methods of cooking and housekeeping in contrast with
the new. These floats consumed an hour and a half of time in passing.

In his address in our large, new chapel, which the students had recently
completed, the President said, among other things:--

To meet you under such pleasant auspices and to have the opportunity
of a personal observation of your work is indeed most gratifying. The
Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute is ideal in its conception, and
has already a large and growing reputation in the country, and is
not unknown abroad. I congratulate all who are associated in this
undertaking for the good work which it is doing in the education of its
students to lead lives of honour and usefulness, thus exalting the race
for which it was established.

Nowhere, I think, could a more delightful location have been chosen for
this unique educational experiment, which has attracted the attention
and won the support even of conservative philanthropists in all sections
of the country.

To speak of Tuskegee without paying special tribute to Booker T.
Washington's genius and perseverance would be impossible. The inception
of this noble enterprise was his, and he deserves high credit for it.
His was the enthusiasm and enterprise which made its steady progress
possible and established in the institution its present high standard
of accomplishment. He has won a worthy reputation as one of the great
leaders of his race, widely known and much respected at home and abroad
as an accomplished educator, a great orator, and a true philanthropist.


The Hon. John D. Long, the Secretary of the Navy, said in part:--

I cannot make a speech to-day. My heart is too full--full of hope,
admiration, and pride for my countrymen of both sections and both
colours. I am filled with gratitude and admiration for your work, and
from this time forward I shall have absolute confidence in your progress
and in the solution of the problem in which you are engaged.

The problem, I say, has been solved. A picture has been presented to-day
which should be put upon canvas with the pictures of Washington and
Lincoln, and transmitted to future time and generations--a picture which
the press of the country should spread broadcast over the land, a most
dramatic picture, and that picture is this: The President of the United
States standing on this platform; on one side the Governor of Alabama,
on the other, completing the trinity, a representative of a race only a
few years ago in bondage, the coloured President of the Tuskegee Normal
and Industrial Institute.

God bless the President under whose majesty such a scene as that is
presented to the American people. God bless the state of Alabama, which
is showing that it can deal with this problem for itself. God bless the
orator, philanthropist, and disciple of the Great Master--who, if he
were on earth, would be doing the same work--Booker T. Washington.


Postmaster General Smith closed the address which he made with these
words:--

We have witnessed many spectacles within the last few days. We have seen
the magnificent grandeur and the magnificent achievements of one of the
great metropolitan cities of the South. We have seen heroes of the war
pass by in procession. We have seen floral parades. But I am sure
my colleagues will agree with me in saying that we have witnessed no
spectacle more impressive and more encouraging, more inspiring for our
future, than that which we have witnessed here this morning.


Some days after the President returned to Washington I received the
letter which follows:--

Executive Mansion, Washington, Dec. 23, 1899.

Dear Sir: By this mail I take pleasure in sending you engrossed copies
of the souvenir of the visit of the President to your institution.
These sheets bear the autographs of the President and the members of the
Cabinet who accompanied him on the trip. Let me take this opportunity of
congratulating you most heartily and sincerely upon the great success
of the exercises provided for and entertainment furnished us under your
auspices during our visit to Tuskegee. Every feature of the programme
was perfectly executed and was viewed or participated in with the
heartiest satisfaction by every visitor present. The unique exhibition
which you gave of your pupils engaged in their industrial vocations was
not only artistic but thoroughly impressive. The tribute paid by the
President and his Cabinet to your work was none too high, and forms
a most encouraging augury, I think, for the future prosperity of your
institution. I cannot close without assuring you that the modesty shown
by yourself in the exercises was most favourably commented upon by all
the members of our party.

With best wishes for the continued advance of your most useful and
patriotic undertaking, kind personal regards, and the compliments of the
season, believe me, always,

Very sincerely yours,

John Addison Porter,

Secretary to the President.

To President Booker T. Washington, Tuskegee Normal and Industrial
Institute, Tuskegee, Ala.



Twenty years have now passed since I made the first humble effort at
Tuskegee, in a broken-down shanty and an old hen-house, without owning
a dollar's worth of property, and with but one teacher and thirty
students. At the present time the institution owns twenty-three hundred
acres of land, one thousand of which are under cultivation each year,
entirely by student labour. There are now upon the grounds, counting
large and small, sixty-six buildings; and all except four of these have
been almost wholly erected by the labour of our students. While the
students are at work upon the land and in erecting buildings, they are
taught, by competent instructors, the latest methods of agriculture and
the trades connected with building.

There are in constant operation at the school, in connection with
thorough academic and religious training, thirty industrial departments.
All of these teach industries at which our men and women can find
immediate employment as soon as they leave the institution. The only
difficulty now is that the demand for our graduates from both white and
black people in the South is so great that we cannot supply more than
one-half the persons for whom applications come to us. Neither have we
the buildings nor the money for current expenses to enable us to admit
to the school more than one-half the young men and women who apply to us
for admission.

In our industrial teaching we keep three things in mind: first, that the
student shall be so educated that he shall be enabled to meet conditions
as they exist now, in the part of the South where he lives--in a word,
to be able to do the thing which the world wants done; second, that
every student who graduates from the school shall have enough skill,
coupled with intelligence and moral character, to enable him to make a
living for himself and others; third, to send every graduate out feeling
and knowing that labour is dignified and beautiful--to make each
one love labour instead of trying to escape it. In addition to the
agricultural training which we give to young men, and the training
given to our girls in all the usual domestic employments, we now train
a number of girls in agriculture each year. These girls are taught
gardening, fruit-growing, dairying, bee-culture, and poultry-raising.

While the institution is in no sense denominational, we have a
department known as the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, in which
a number of students are prepared for the ministry and other forms
of Christian work, especially work in the country districts. What is
equally important, each one of the students works half of each day at
some industry, in order to get skill and the love of work, so that when
he goes out from the institution he is prepared to set the people with
whom he goes to labour a proper example in the matter of industry.

The value of our property is now over $700,000. If we add to this our
endowment fund, which at present is $1,000,000, the value of the total
property is now $1,700,000. Aside from the need for more buildings and
for money for current expenses, the endowment fund should be increased
to at least $3,000,000. The annual current expenses are now about
$150,000. The greater part of this I collect each year by going from
door to door and from house to house. All of our property is free from
mortgage, and is deeded to an undenominational board of trustees who
have the control of the institution.

From thirty students the number has grown to fourteen hundred, coming
from twenty-seven states and territories, from Africa, Cuba, Porto Rico,
Jamaica, and other foreign countries. In our departments there are one
hundred and ten officers and instructors; and if we add the families of
our instructors, we have a constant population upon our grounds of not
far from seventeen hundred people.

I have often been asked how we keep so large a body of people together,
and at the same time keep them out of mischief. There are two answers:
that the men and women who come to us for an education are in earnest;
and that everybody is kept busy. The following outline of our daily work
will testify to this:--

5 a.m., rising bell; 5.50 a.m., warning breakfast bell; 6 a.m.,
breakfast bell; 6.20 a.m., breakfast over; 6.20 to 6.50 a.m., rooms
are cleaned; 6.50, work bell; 7.30, morning study hours; 8.20, morning
school bell; 8.25, inspection of young men's toilet in ranks; 8.40,
devotional exercises in chapel; 8.55, "five minutes with the daily
news;" 9 a.m., class work begins; 12, class work closes; 12.15 p.m.,
dinner; 1 p.m., work bell; 1.30 p.m., class work begins; 3.30 p.m.,
class work ends; 5.30 p.m., bell to "knock off" work; 6 p.m., supper;
7.10 p.m., evening prayers; 7.30 p.m., evening study hours; 8.45 p.m.,
evening study hour closes; 9.20 p.m., warning retiring bell; 9.30 p.m.,
retiring bell.

We try to keep constantly in mind the fact that the worth of the school
is to be judged by its graduates. Counting those who have finished
the full course, together with those who have taken enough training to
enable them to do reasonably good work, we can safely say that at least
six thousand men and women from Tuskegee are now at work in different
parts of the South; men and women who, by their own example or by
direct efforts, are showing the masses of our race now to improve their
material, educational, and moral and religious life. What is equally
important, they are exhibiting a degree of common sense and self-control
which is causing better relations to exist between the races, and is
causing the Southern white man to learn to believe in the value of
educating the men and women of my race. Aside from this, there is the
influence that is constantly being exerted through the mothers' meeting
and the plantation work conducted by Mrs. Washington.

Wherever our graduates go, the changes which soon begin to appear in the
buying of land, improving homes, saving money, in education, and in
high moral characters are remarkable. Whole communities are fast being
revolutionized through the instrumentality of these men and women.

Ten years ago I organized at Tuskegee the first Negro Conference. This
is an annual gathering which now brings to the school eight or nine
hundred representative men and women of the race, who come to spend
a day in finding out what the actual industrial, mental, and moral
conditions of the people are, and in forming plans for improvement. Out
from this central Negro Conference at Tuskegee have grown numerous state
and local conferences which are doing the same kind of work. As a result
of the influence of these gatherings, one delegate reported at the last
annual meeting that ten families in his community had bought and paid
for homes. On the day following the annual Negro Conference, there is
the "Workers' Conference." This is composed of officers and teachers who
are engaged in educational work in the larger institutions in the South.
The Negro Conference furnishes a rare opportunity for these workers to
study the real condition of the rank and file of the people.

In the summer of 1900, with the assistance of such prominent coloured
men as Mr. T. Thomas Fortune, who has always upheld my hands in every
effort, I organized the National Negro Business League, which held its
first meeting in Boston, and brought together for the first time a large
number of the coloured men who are engaged in various lines of trade
or business in different parts of the United States. Thirty states were
represented at our first meeting. Out of this national meeting grew
state and local business leagues.

In addition to looking after the executive side of the work at Tuskegee,
and raising the greater part of the money for the support of the school,
I cannot seem to escape the duty of answering at least a part of the
calls which come to me unsought to address Southern white audiences and
audiences of my own race, as well as frequent gatherings in the North.
As to how much of my time is spent in this way, the following clipping
from a Buffalo (N.Y.) paper will tell. This has reference to an occasion
when I spoke before the National Educational Association in that city.

Booker T. Washington, the foremost educator among the coloured people of
the world, was a very busy man from the time he arrived in the city the
other night from the West and registered at the Iroquois. He had hardly
removed the stains of travel when it was time to partake of supper.
Then he held a public levee in the parlours of the Iroquois until eight
o'clock. During that time he was greeted by over two hundred eminent
teachers and educators from all parts of the United States. Shortly
after eight o'clock he was driven in a carriage to Music Hall, and in
one hour and a half he made two ringing addresses, to as many as five
thousand people, on Negro education. Then Mr. Washington was taken in
charge by a delegation of coloured citizens, headed by the Rev. Mr.
Watkins, and hustled off to a small informal reception, arranged in
honour of the visitor by the people of his race.


Nor can I, in addition to making these addresses, escape the duty
of calling the attention of the South and of the country in general,
through the medium of the press, to matters that pertain to the
interests of both races. This, for example, I have done in regard to
the evil habit of lynching. When the Louisiana State Constitutional
Convention was in session, I wrote an open letter to that body pleading
for justice for the race. In all such efforts I have received warm and
hearty support from the Southern newspapers, as well as from those in
all other parts of the country.

Despite superficial and temporary signs which might lead one to
entertain a contrary opinion, there was never a time when I felt more
hopeful for the race than I do at the present. The great human law that
in the end recognizes and rewards merit is everlasting and universal.
The outside world does not know, neither can it appreciate, the struggle
that is constantly going on in the hearts of both the Southern white
people and their former slaves to free themselves from racial prejudice;
and while both races are thus struggling they should have the sympathy,
the support, and the forbearance of the rest of the world.


As I write the closing words of this autobiography I find myself--not
by design--in the city of Richmond, Virginia: the city which only a
few decades ago was the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and where,
about twenty-five years ago, because of my poverty I slept night after
night under a sidewalk.

This time I am in Richmond as the guest of the coloured people of the
city; and came at their request to deliver an address last night to both
races in the Academy of Music, the largest and finest audience room in
the city. This was the first time that the coloured people had ever
been permitted to use this hall. The day before I came, the City Council
passed a vote to attend the meeting in a body to hear me speak. The
state Legislature, including the House of Delegates and the Senate, also
passed a unanimous vote to attend in a body. In the presence of hundreds
of coloured people, many distinguished white citizens, the City Council,
the state Legislature, and state officials, I delivered my message,
which was one of hope and cheer; and from the bottom of my heart I
thanked both races for this welcome back to the state that gave me
birth.