Collected Articles of Frederick Douglass

by Frederick Douglass

Contents

Douglass,best doll cribs for the whole family Frederick. “My Escape from Slavery.”
The Century Illustrated Magazine 23, n.s. 1 (Nov. 1881): 125-131.

My Escape from Slavery

In the first narrative of my experience in slavery, written nearly forty yearsago, and in various writings since, I have given the public what I consideredvery good reasons for withholding the manner of my escape. In substance thesereasons were, first, that such publication at any time during the existence ofslavery might be used by the master against the slave, and prevent the futureescape of any who might adopt the same means that I did. The second reason was,if possible, still more binding to silence: the publication of details wouldcertainly have put in peril the persons and property of those who assisted.Murder itself was not more sternly and certainly punished in the State ofMaryland than that of aiding and abetting the escape of a slave. Many coloredmen, for no other crime than that of giving aid to a fugitive slave, have, likeCharles T. Torrey, perished in prison. The abolition of slavery in my nativeState and throughout the country, and the lapse of time, render the cautionhitherto observed no longer necessary. But even since the abolition of slavery,I have sometimes thought it well enough to baffle curiosity by saying thatwhile slavery existed there were good reasons for not telling the manner of myescape, and since slavery had ceased to exist, there was no reason for tellingit. I shall now, however, cease to avail myself of this formula, and, as far asI can, endeavor to satisfy this very natural curiosity. I should, perhaps, haveyielded to that feeling sooner, had there been anything very heroic orthrilling in the incidents connected with my escape, for I am sorry to say Ihave nothing of that sort to tell; and yet the courage that could risk betrayaland the bravery which was ready to encounter death, if need be, in pursuit offreedom, were essential features in the undertaking. My success was due toaddress rather than courage, to good luck rather than bravery. My means ofescape were provided for me by the very men who were making laws to hold andbind me more securely in slavery.

It was the custom in the State of Maryland to require the free colored peopleto have what were called free papers. These instruments they were required torenew very often, and by charging a fee for this writing, considerable sumsfrom time to time were collected by the State. In these papers the name, age,color, height, and form of the freeman were described, together with any scarsor other marks upon his person which could assist in his identification. Thisdevice in some measure defeated itself—since more than one man could befound to answer the same general description. Hence many slaves could escape bypersonating the owner of one set of papers; and this was often done as follows:A slave, nearly or sufficiently answering the description set forth in thepapers, would borrow or hire them till by means of them he could escape to afree State, and then, by mail or otherwise, would return them to the owner. Theoperation was a hazardous one for the lender as well as for the borrower. Afailure on the part of the fugitive to send back the papers would imperil hisbenefactor, and the discovery of the papers in possession of the wrong manwould imperil both the fugitive and his friend. It was, therefore, an act ofsupreme trust on the part of a freeman of color thus to put in jeopardy his ownliberty that another might be free. It was, however, not unfrequently bravelydone, and was seldom discovered. I was not so fortunate as to resemble any ofmy free acquaintances sufficiently to answer the description of their papers.But I had a friend—a sailor—who owned a sailor’s protection,which answered somewhat the purpose of free papers—describing his person,and certifying to the fact that he was a free American sailor. The instrumenthad at its head the American eagle, which gave it the appearance at once of anauthorized document. This protection, when in my hands, did not describe itsbearer very accurately. Indeed, it called for a man much darker than myself,and close examination of it would have caused my arrest at the start.

In order to avoid this fatal scrutiny on the part of railroad officials, Iarranged with Isaac Rolls, a Baltimore hackman, to bring my baggage to thePhiladelphia train just on the moment of starting, and jumped upon the carmyself when the train was in motion. Had I gone into the station and offered topurchase a ticket, I should have been instantly and carefully examined, andundoubtedly arrested. In choosing this plan I considered the jostle of thetrain, and the natural haste of the conductor, in a train crowded withpassengers, and relied upon my skill and address in playing the sailor, asdescribed in my protection, to do the rest. One element in my favor was thekind feeling which prevailed in Baltimore and other sea-ports at the time,toward “those who go down to the sea in ships.” “Free tradeand sailors’ rights” just then expressed the sentiment of thecountry. In my clothing I was rigged out in sailor style. I had on a red shirtand a tarpaulin hat, and a black cravat tied in sailor fashion carelessly andloosely about my neck. My knowledge of ships and sailor’s talk came muchto my assistance, for I knew a ship from stem to stern, and from keelson tocross-trees, and could talk sailor like an “old salt.” I was wellon the way to Havre de Grace before the conductor came into the negro car tocollect tickets and examine the papers of his black passengers. This was acritical moment in the drama. My whole future depended upon the decision ofthis conductor. Agitated though I was while this ceremony was proceeding,still, externally, at least, I was apparently calm and self-possessed. He wenton with his duty—examining several colored passengers before reaching me.He was somewhat harsh in tome and peremptory in manner until he reached me,when, strange enough, and to my surprise and relief, his whole manner changed.Seeing that I did not readily produce my free papers, as the other coloredpersons in the car had done, he said to me, in friendly contrast with hisbearing toward the others:

“I suppose you have your free papers?”

To which I answered:

“No sir; I never carry my free papers to sea with me.”

“But you have something to show that you are a freeman, haven’tyou?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered; “I have a paper with the AmericanEagle on it, and that will carry me around the world.”

With this I drew from my deep sailor’s pocket my seaman’sprotection, as before described. The merest glance at the paper satisfied him,and he took my fare and went on about his business. This moment of time was oneof the most anxious I ever experienced. Had the conductor looked closely at thepaper, he could not have failed to discover that it called for a verydifferent-looking person from myself, and in that case it would have been hisduty to arrest me on the instant, and send me back to Baltimore from the firststation. When he left me with the assurance that I was all right, though muchrelieved, I realized that I was still in great danger: I was still in Maryland,and subject to arrest at any moment. I saw on the train several persons whowould have known me in any other clothes, and I feared they might recognize me,even in my sailor “rig,” and report me to the conductor, who wouldthen subject me to a closer examination, which I knew well would be fatal tome.

Though I was not a murderer fleeing from justice, I felt perhaps quite asmiserable as such a criminal. The train was moving at a very high rate of speedfor that epoch of railroad travel, but to my anxious mind it was moving far tooslowly. Minutes were hours, and hours were days during this part of my flight.After Maryland, I was to pass through Delaware—another slave State, whereslave-catchers generally awaited their prey, for it was not in the interior ofthe State, but on its borders, that these human hounds were most vigilant andactive. The border lines between slavery and freedom were the dangerous onesfor the fugitives. The heart of no fox or deer, with hungry hounds on his trailin full chase, could have beaten more anxiously or noisily than did mine fromthe time I left Baltimore till I reached Philadelphia. The passage of theSusquehanna River at Havre de Grace was at that time made by ferry-boat, onboard of which I met a young colored man by the name of Nichols, who came verynear betraying me. He was a “hand” on the boat, but, instead ofminding his business, he insisted upon knowing me, and asking me dangerousquestions as to where I was going, when I was coming back, etc. I got away frommy old and inconvenient acquaintance as soon as I could decently do so, andwent to another part of the boat. Once across the river, I encountered a newdanger. Only a few days before, I had been at work on a revenue cutter, in Mr.Price’s ship-yard in Baltimore, under the care of Captain McGowan. On themeeting at this point of the two trains, the one going south stopped on thetrack just opposite to the one going north, and it so happened that thisCaptain McGowan sat at a window where he could see me very distinctly, andwould certainly have recognized me had he looked at me but for a second.Fortunately, in the hurry of the moment, he did not see me; and the trains soonpassed each other on their respective ways. But this was not my onlyhair-breadth escape. A German blacksmith whom I knew well was on the train withme, and looked at me very intently, as if he thought he had seen me somewherebefore in his travels. I really believe he knew me, but had no heart to betrayme. At any rate, he saw me escaping and held his peace.

The last point of imminent danger, and the one I dreaded most, was Wilmington.Here we left the train and took the steam-boat for Philadelphia. In making thechange here I again apprehended arrest, but no one disturbed me, and I was soonon the broad and beautiful Delaware, speeding away to the Quaker City. Onreaching Philadelphia in the afternoon, I inquired of a colored man how I couldget on to New York. He directed me to the William-street depot, and thither Iwent, taking the train that night. I reached New York Tuesday morning, havingcompleted the journey in less than twenty-four hours.

My free life began on the third of September, 1838. On the morning of thefourth of that month, after an anxious and most perilous but safe journey, Ifound myself in the big city of New York, a free man—one moreadded to the mighty throng which, like the confused waves of the troubled sea,surged to and fro between the lofty walls of Broadway. Though dazzled with thewonders which met me on every hand, my thoughts could not be much withdrawnfrom my strange situation. For the moment, the dreams of my youth and the hopesof my manhood were completely fulfilled. The bonds that had held me to“old master” were broken. No man now had a right to call me hisslave or assert mastery over me. I was in the rough and tumble of an outdoorworld, to take my chance with the rest of its busy number. I have often beenasked how I felt when first I found myself on free soil. There is scarcelyanything in my experience about which I could not give a more satisfactoryanswer. A new world had opened upon me. If life is more than breath and the“quick round of blood,” I lived more in that one day than in a yearof my slave life. It was a time of joyous excitement which words can but tamelydescribe. In a letter written to a friend soon after reaching New York, I said:“I felt as one might feel upon escape from a den of hungry lions.”Anguish and grief, like darkness and rain, may be depicted; but gladness andjoy, like the rainbow, defy the skill of pen or pencil. During ten or fifteenyears I had been, as it were, dragging a heavy chain which no strength of minecould break; I was not only a slave, but a slave for life. I might become ahusband, a father, an aged man, but through all, from birth to death, from thecradle to the grave, I had felt myself doomed. All efforts I had previouslymade to secure my freedom had not only failed, but had seemed only to rivet myfetters the more firmly, and to render my escape more difficult. Baffled,entangled, and discouraged, I had at times asked myself the question, May notmy condition after all be God’s work, and ordered for a wise purpose, andif so, Is not submission my duty? A contest had in fact been going on in mymind for a long time, between the clear consciousness of right and theplausible make-shifts of theology and superstition. The one held me an abjectslave—a prisoner for life, punished for some transgression in which I hadno lot nor part; and the other counseled me to manly endeavor to secure myfreedom. This contest was now ended; my chains were broken, and the victorybrought me unspeakable joy.

But my gladness was short-lived, for I was not yet out of the reach and powerof the slave-holders. I soon found that New York was not quite so free or sosafe a refuge as I had supposed, and a sense of loneliness and insecurity againoppressed me most sadly. I chanced to meet on the street, a few hours after mylanding, a fugitive slave whom I had once known well in slavery. Theinformation received from him alarmed me. The fugitive in question was known inBaltimore as “Allender’s Jake,” but in New York he wore themore respectable name of “William Dixon.” Jake, in law, was theproperty of Doctor Allender, and Tolly Allender, the son of the doctor, hadonce made an effort to recapture Mr. Dixon, but had failed for want ofevidence to support his claim. Jake told me the circumstances of this attempt,and how narrowly he escaped being sent back to slavery and torture. He told methat New York was then full of Southerners returning from the Northernwatering-places; that the colored people of New York were not to be trusted;that there were hired men of my own color who would betray me for a fewdollars; that there were hired men ever on the lookout for fugitives; that Imust trust no man with my secret; that I must not think of going either uponthe wharves or into any colored boarding-house, for all such places wereclosely watched; that he was himself unable to help me; and, in fact, he seemedwhile speaking to me to fear lest I myself might be a spy and a betrayer. Underthis apprehension, as I suppose, he showed signs of wishing to be rid of me,and with whitewash brush in hand, in search of work, he soon disappeared.

This picture, given by poor “Jake,” of New York, was a damper to myenthusiasm. My little store of money would soon be exhausted, and since itwould be unsafe for me to go on the wharves for work, and I had nointroductions elsewhere, the prospect for me was far from cheerful. I saw thewisdom of keeping away from the ship-yards, for, if pursued, as I felt certainI should be, Mr. Auld, my “master,” would naturally seek me thereamong the calkers. Every door seemed closed against me. I was in the midst ofan ocean of my fellow-men, and yet a perfect stranger to every one. I waswithout home, without acquaintance, without money, without credit, withoutwork, and without any definite knowledge as to what course to take, or where tolook for succor. In such an extremity, a man had something besides his new-bornfreedom to think of. While wandering about the streets of New York, and lodgingat least one night among the barrels on one of the wharves, I was indeedfree—from slavery, but free from food and shelter as well. I kept mysecret to myself as long as I could, but I was compelled at last to seek someone who would befriend me without taking advantage of my destitution to betrayme. Such a person I found in a sailor named Stuart, a warm-hearted and generousfellow, who, from his humble home on Centre street, saw me standing on theopposite sidewalk, near the Tombs prison. As he approached me, I ventured aremark to him which at once enlisted his interest in me. He took me to his hometo spend the night, and in the morning went with me to Mr. David Ruggles, thesecretary of the New York Vigilance Committee, a co-worker with Isaac T.Hopper, Lewis and Arthur Tappan, Theodore S. Wright, Samuel Cornish, ThomasDowning, Philip A. Bell, and other true men of their time. All these (save Mr.Bell, who still lives, and is editor and publisher of a paper called the“Elevator,” in San Francisco) have finished their work on earth.Once in the hands of these brave and wise men, I felt comparatively safe. WithMr. Ruggles, on the corner of Lispenard and Church streets, I was hiddenseveral days, during which time my intended wife came on from Baltimore at mycall, to share the burdens of life with me. She was a free woman, and came atonce on getting the good news of my safety. We were married by Rev. J. W. C.Pennington, then a well-known and respected Presbyterian minister. I had nomoney with which to pay the marriage fee, but he seemed well pleased with ourthanks.

Mr. Ruggles was the first officer on the “Underground Railroad”whom I met after coming North, and was, indeed, the only one with whom I hadanything to do till I became such an officer myself. Learning that my trade wasthat of a calker, he promptly decided that the best place for me was in NewBedford, Mass. He told me that many ships for whaling voyages were fitted outthere, and that I might there find work at my trade and make a good living. So,on the day of the marriage ceremony, we took our little luggage to the steamerJohn W. Richmond, which, at that time, was one of the line runningbetween New York and Newport, R. I. Forty-three years ago colored travelerswere not permitted in the cabin, nor allowed abaft the paddle-wheels of a steamvessel. They were compelled, whatever the weather might be,—whether coldor hot, wet or dry,—to spend the night on deck. Unjust as this regulationwas, it did not trouble us much; we had fared much harder before. We arrived atNewport the next morning, and soon after an old fashioned stage-coach, with“New Bedford” in large yellow letters on its sides, came down tothe wharf. I had not money enough to pay our fare, and stood hesitating what todo. Fortunately for us, there were two Quaker gentlemen who were about to takepassage on the stage,—Friends William C. Taber and JosephRicketson,—who at once discerned our true situation, and, in a peculiarlyquiet way, addressing me, Mr. Taber said: “Thee get in.” I neverobeyed an order with more alacrity, and we were soon on our way to our newhome. When we reached “Stone Bridge” the passengers alighted forbreakfast, and paid their fares to the driver. We took no breakfast, and, whenasked for our fares, I told the driver I would make it right with him when wereached New Bedford. I expected some objection to this on his part, but he madenone. When, however, we reached New Bedford, he took our baggage, includingthree music-books,—two of them collections by Dyer, and one byShaw,—and held them until I was able to redeem them by paying to him theamount due for our rides. This was soon done, for Mr. Nathan Johnson not onlyreceived me kindly and hospitably, but, on being informed about our baggage, atonce loaned me the two dollars with which to square accounts with thestage-driver. Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Johnson reached a good old age, and now restfrom their labors. I am under many grateful obligations to them. They not only“took me in when a stranger” and “fed me when hungry,”but taught me how to make an honest living. Thus, in a fortnight after myflight from Maryland, I was safe in New Bedford, a citizen of the grand oldcommonwealth of Massachusetts.

Once initiated into my new life of freedom and assured by Mr. Johnson that Ineed not fear recapture in that city, a comparatively unimportant questionarose as to the name by which I should be known thereafter in my new relationas a free man. The name given me by my dear mother was no less pretentious andlong than Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey. I had, however, while living inMaryland, dispensed with the Augustus Washington, and retained only FrederickBailey. Between Baltimore and New Bedford, the better to conceal myself fromthe slave-hunters, I had parted with Bailey and called myself Johnson; but inNew Bedford I found that the Johnson family was already so numerous as to causesome confusion in distinguishing them, hence a change in this name seemeddesirable. Nathan Johnson, mine host, placed great emphasis upon thisnecessity, and wished me to allow him to select a name for me. I consented, andhe called me by my present name—the one by which I have been known forthree and forty years—Frederick Douglass. Mr. Johnson had just beenreading the “Lady of the Lake,” and so pleased was he with itsgreat character that he wished me to bear his name. Since reading that charmingpoem myself, I have often thought that, considering the noble hospitality andmanly character of Nathan Johnson—black man though he was—he, farmore than I, illustrated the virtues of the Douglas of Scotland. Sure am Ithat, if any slave-catcher had entered his domicile with a view to myrecapture, Johnson would have shown himself like him of the “stalwarthand.”

The reader may be surprised at the impressions I had in some way conceived ofthe social and material condition of the people at the North. I had no properidea of the wealth, refinement, enterprise, and high civilization of thissection of the country. My “Columbian Orator,” almost my only book,had done nothing to enlighten me concerning Northern society. I had been taughtthat slavery was the bottom fact of all wealth. With this foundation idea, Icame naturally to the conclusion that poverty must be the general condition ofthe people of the free States. In the country from which I came, a white manholding no slaves was usually an ignorant and poverty-stricken man, and men ofthis class were contemptuously called “poor white trash.” Hence Isupposed that, since the non-slave-holders at the South were ignorant, poor,and degraded as a class, the non-slave-holders at the North must be in asimilar condition. I could have landed in no part of the United States where Ishould have found a more striking and gratifying contrast, not only to lifegenerally in the South, but in the condition of the colored people there, thanin New Bedford. I was amazed when Mr. Johnson told me that there was nothing inthe laws or constitution of Massachusetts that would prevent a colored man frombeing governor of the State, if the people should see fit to elect him. There,too, the black man’s children attended the public schools with the whiteman’s children, and apparently without objection from any quarter. Toimpress me with my security from recapture and return to slavery, Mr. Johnsonassured me that no slave-holder could take a slave out of New Bedford; thatthere were men there who would lay down their lives to save me from such afate.

The fifth day after my arrival, I put on the clothes of a common laborer, andwent upon the wharves in search of work. On my way down Union street I saw alarge pile of coal in front of the house of Rev. Ephraim Peabody, the Unitarianminister. I went to the kitchen door and asked the privilege of bringing in andputting away this coal. “What will you charge?” said the lady.“I will leave that to you, madam.” “You may put itaway,” she said. I was not long in accomplishing the job, when the dearlady put into my hand two silver half-dollars. To understand the emotionwhich swelled my heart as I clasped this money, realizing that I had no masterwho could take it from me,—that it was mine—that my hands weremy own, and could earn more of the precious coin,—one must have beenin some sense himself a slave. My next job was stowing a sloop at Uncle Gid.Howland’s wharf with a cargo of oil for New York. I was not only afreeman, but a free working-man, and no “master” stood ready at theend of the week to seize my hard earnings.

The season was growing late and work was plenty. Ships were being fitted outfor whaling, and much wood was used in storing them. The sawing this wood wasconsidered a good job. With the help of old Friend Johnson (blessings on hismemory) I got a saw and “buck,” and went at it. When I went into astore to buy a cord with which to brace up my saw in the frame, I asked for a“fip’s” worth of cord. The man behind the counter lookedrather sharply at me, and said with equal sharpness, “You don’tbelong about here.” I was alarmed, and thought I had betrayed myself. Afip in Maryland was six and a quarter cents, called fourpence in Massachusetts.But no harm came from the “fi’penny-bit” blunder, and Iconfidently and cheerfully went to work with my saw and buck. It was newbusiness to me, but I never did better work, or more of it, in the same spaceof time on the plantation for Covey, the negro-breaker, than I did for myselfin these earliest years of my freedom.

Notwithstanding the just and humane sentiment of New Bedford three and fortyyears ago, the place was not entirely free from race and color prejudice. Thegood influence of the Roaches, Rodmans, Arnolds, Grinnells, and Robesons didnot pervade all classes of its people. The test of the real civilization of thecommunity came when I applied for work at my trade, and then my repulse wasemphatic and decisive. It so happened that Mr. Rodney French, a wealthy andenterprising citizen, distinguished as an anti-slavery man, was fitting out avessel for a whaling voyage, upon which there was a heavy job of calking andcoppering to be done. I had some skill in both branches, and applied to Mr.French for work. He, generous man that he was, told me he would employ me, andI might go at once to the vessel. I obeyed him, but upon reaching thefloat-stage, where others [sic] calkers were at work, I was told that everywhite man would leave the ship, in her unfinished condition, if I struck a blowat my trade upon her. This uncivil, inhuman, and selfish treatment was not soshocking and scandalous in my eyes at the time as it now appears to me. Slaveryhad inured me to hardships that made ordinary trouble sit lightly upon me.Could I have worked at my trade I could have earned two dollars a day, but as acommon laborer I received but one dollar. The difference was of greatimportance to me, but if I could not get two dollars, I was glad to get one;and so I went to work for Mr. French as a common laborer. The consciousnessthat I was free—no longer a slave—kept me cheerful under this, andmany similar proscriptions, which I was destined to meet in New Bedford andelsewhere on the free soil of Massachusetts. For instance, though coloredchildren attended the schools, and were treated kindly by their teachers, theNew Bedford Lyceum refused, till several years after my residence in that city,to allow any colored person to attend the lectures delivered in its hall. Notuntil such men as Charles Sumner, Theodore Parker, Ralph Waldo Emerson, andHorace Mann refused to lecture in their course while there was such arestriction, was it abandoned.

Becoming satisfied that I could not rely on my trade in New Bedford to give mea living, I prepared myself to do any kind of work that came to hand. I sawedwood, shoveled coal, dug cellars, moved rubbish from back yards, worked on thewharves, loaded and unloaded vessels, and scoured their cabins.

I afterward got steady work at the brass-foundry owned by Mr. Richmond. My dutyhere was to blow the bellows, swing the crane, and empty the flasks in whichcastings were made; and at times this was hot and heavy work. The articlesproduced here were mostly for ship work, and in the busy season the foundry wasin operation night and day. I have often worked two nights and every workingday of the week. My foreman, Mr. Cobb, was a good man, and more than onceprotected me from abuse that one or more of the hands was disposed to throwupon me. While in this situation I had little time for mental improvement. Hardwork, night and day, over a furnace hot enough to keep the metal running likewater, was more favorable to action than thought; yet here I often nailed anewspaper to the post near my bellows, and read while I was performing the upand down motion of the heavy beam by which the bellows was inflated anddischarged. It was the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, and I look backto it now, after so many years, with some complacency and a little wonder thatI could have been so earnest and persevering in any pursuit other than for mydaily bread. I certainly saw nothing in the conduct of those around to inspireme with such interest: they were all devoted exclusively to what their handsfound to do. I am glad to be able to say that, during my engagement in thisfoundry, no complaint was ever made against me that I did not do my work, anddo it well. The bellows which I worked by main strength was, after I left,moved by a steam-engine.

Douglass, Frederick. “Reconstruction.”
Atlantic Monthly 18 (1866): 761-765.

Reconstruction

The assembling of the Second Session of the Thirty-ninth Congress may veryproperly be made the occasion of a few earnest words on the already much-worntopic of reconstruction.

Seldom has any legislative body been the subject of a solicitude more intense,or of aspirations more sincere and ardent. There are the best of reasons forthis profound interest. Questions of vast moment, left undecided by the lastsession of Congress, must be manfully grappled with by this. No politicalskirmishing will avail. The occasion demands statesmanship.

Whether the tremendous war so heroically fought and so victoriously ended shallpass into history a miserable failure, barren of permanent results,—ascandalous and shocking waste of blood and treasure,—a strife for empire,as Earl Russell characterized it, of no value to liberty orcivilization,—an attempt to re-establish a Union by force, which must bethe merest mockery of a Union,—an effort to bring under Federal authorityStates into which no loyal man from the North may safely enter, and to bringmen into the national councils who deliberate with daggers and vote withrevolvers, and who do not even conceal their deadly hate of the country thatconquered them; or whether, on the other hand, we shall, as the rightful rewardof victory over treason, have a solid nation, entirely delivered from allcontradictions and social antagonisms, based upon loyalty, liberty, andequality, must be determined one way or the other by the present session ofCongress. The last session really did nothing which can be considered final asto these questions. The Civil Rights Bill and the Freedmen’s Bureau Billand the proposed constitutional amendments, with the amendment already adoptedand recognized as the law of the land, do not reach the difficulty, and cannot,unless the whole structure of the government is changed from a government byStates to something like a despotic central government, with power to controleven the municipal regulations of States, and to make them conform to its owndespotic will. While there remains such an idea as the right of each State tocontrol its own local affairs,—an idea, by the way, more deeply rooted inthe minds of men of all sections of the country than perhaps any one otherpolitical idea,—no general assertion of human rights can be of anypractical value. To change the character of the government at this point isneither possible nor desirable. All that is necessary to be done is to make thegovernment consistent with itself, and render the rights of the Statescompatible with the sacred rights of human nature.

The arm of the Federal government is long, but it is far too short to protectthe rights of individuals in the interior of distant States. They must have thepower to protect themselves, or they will go unprotected, spite of all the lawsthe Federal government can put upon the national statute-book.

Slavery, like all other great systems of wrong, founded in the depths of humanselfishness, and existing for ages, has not neglected its own conservation. Ithas steadily exerted an influence upon all around it favorable to its owncontinuance. And to-day it is so strong that it could exist, not only withoutlaw, but even against law. Custom, manners, morals, religion, are all on itsside everywhere in the South; and when you add the ignorance and servility ofthe ex-slave to the intelligence and accustomed authority of the master, youhave the conditions, not out of which slavery will again grow, but under whichit is impossible for the Federal government to wholly destroy it, unless theFederal government be armed with despotic power, to blot out State authority,and to station a Federal officer at every cross-road. This, of course, cannotbe done, and ought not even if it could. The true way and the easiest way is tomake our government entirely consistent with itself, and give to every loyalcitizen the elective franchise,—a right and power which will be everpresent, and will form a wall of fire for his protection.

One of the invaluable compensations of the late Rebellion is the highlyinstructive disclosure it made of the true source of danger to republicangovernment. Whatever may be tolerated in monarchical and despotic governments,no republic is safe that tolerates a privileged class, or denies to any of itscitizens equal rights and equal means to maintain them. What was theory beforethe war has been made fact by the war.

There is cause to be thankful even for rebellion. It is an impressive teacher,though a stern and terrible one. In both characters it has come to us, and itwas perhaps needed in both. It is an instructor never a day before its time,for it comes only when all other means of progress and enlightenment havefailed. Whether the oppressed and despairing bondman, no longer able to represshis deep yearnings for manhood, or the tyrant, in his pride and impatience,takes the initiative, and strikes the blow for a firmer hold and a longer leaseof oppression, the result is the same,—society is instructed, or may be.

Such are the limitations of the common mind, and so thoroughly engrossing arethe cares of common life, that only the few among men can discern through theglitter and dazzle of present prosperity the dark outlines of approachingdisasters, even though they may have come up to our very gates, and are alreadywithin striking distance. The yawning seam and corroded bolt conceal theirdefects from the mariner until the storm calls all hands to the pumps.Prophets, indeed, were abundant before the war; but who cares for prophetswhile their predictions remain unfulfilled, and the calamities of which theytell are masked behind a blinding blaze of national prosperity?

It is asked, said Henry Clay, on a memorable occasion, Will slavery never cometo an end? That question, said he, was asked fifty years ago, and it has beenanswered by fifty years of unprecedented prosperity. Spite of the eloquence ofthe earnest Abolitionists,—poured out against slavery during thirtyyears,—even they must confess, that, in all the probabilities of thecase, that system of barbarism would have continued its horrors far beyond thelimits of the nineteenth century but for the Rebellion, and perhaps only havedisappeared at last in a fiery conflict, even more fierce and bloody than thatwhich has now been suppressed.

It is no disparagement to truth, that it can only prevail where reasonprevails. War begins where reason ends. The thing worse than rebellion is thething that causes rebellion. What that thing is, we have been taught to ourcost. It remains now to be seen whether we have the needed courage to have thatcause entirely removed from the Republic. At any rate, to this grand work ofnational regeneration and entire purification Congress must now address Itself,with full purpose that the work shall this time be thoroughly done. The deadlyupas, root and branch, leaf and fibre, body and sap, must be utterly destroyed.The country is evidently not in a condition to listen patiently to pleas forpostponement, however plausible, nor will it permit the responsibility to beshifted to other shoulders. Authority and power are here commensurate with theduty imposed. There are no cloud-flung shadows to obscure the way. Truth shineswith brighter light and intenser heat at every moment, and a country torn andrent and bleeding implores relief from its distress and agony.

If time was at first needed, Congress has now had time. All the requisitematerials from which to form an intelligent judgment are now before it. Whetherits members look at the origin, the progress, the termination of the war, or atthe mockery of a peace now existing, they will find only one unbroken chain ofargument in favor of a radical policy of reconstruction. For the omissions ofthe last session, some excuses may be allowed. A treacherous President stood inthe way; and it can be easily seen how reluctant good men might be to admit anapostasy which involved so much of baseness and ingratitude. It was naturalthat they should seek to save him by bending to him even when he leaned to theside of error. But all is changed now. Congress knows now that it must go onwithout his aid, and even against his machinations. The advantage of thepresent session over the last is immense. Where that investigated, this has thefacts. Where that walked by faith, this may walk by sight. Where that halted,this must go forward, and where that failed, this must succeed, giving thecountry whole measures where that gave us half-measures, merely as a means ofsaving the elections in a few doubtful districts. That Congress saw what wasright, but distrusted the enlightenment of the loyal masses; but what wasforborne in distrust of the people must now be done with a full knowledge thatthe people expect and require it. The members go to Washington fresh from theinspiring presence of the people. In every considerable public meeting, and inalmost every conceivable way, whether at court-house, school-house, orcross-roads, in doors and out, the subject has been discussed, and the peoplehave emphatically pronounced in favor of a radical policy. Listening to thedoctrines of expediency and compromise with pity, impatience, and disgust, theyhave everywhere broken into demonstrations of the wildest enthusiasm when abrave word has been spoken in favor of equal rights and impartial suffrage.Radicalism, so far from being odious, is not the popular passport to power. Themen most bitterly charged with it go to Congress with the largest majorities,while the timid and doubtful are sent by lean majorities, or else left at home.The strange controversy between the President and the Congress, at one time sothreatening, is disposed of by the people. The high reconstructive powers whichhe so confidently, ostentatiously, and haughtily claimed, have been disallowed,denounced, and utterly repudiated; while those claimed by Congress have beenconfirmed.

Of the spirit and magnitude of the canvass nothing need be said. The appeal wasto the people, and the verdict was worthy of the tribunal. Upon an occasion ofhis own selection, with the advice and approval of his astute Secretary, soonafter the members of the Congress had returned to their constituents, thePresident quitted the executive mansion, sandwiched himself between tworecognized heroes,—men whom the whole country delighted tohonor,—and, with all the advantage which such company could give him,stumped the country from the Atlantic to the Mississippi, advocating everywherehis policy as against that of Congress. It was a strange sight, and perhaps themost disgraceful exhibition ever made by any President; but, as no evil isentirely unmixed, good has come of this, as from many others. Ambitious,unscrupulous, energetic, indefatigable, voluble, and plausible,—apolitical gladiator, ready for a “set-to” in any crowd,—he isbeaten in his own chosen field, and stands to-day before the country as aconvicted usurper, a political criminal, guilty of a bold and persistentattempt to possess himself of the legislative powers solemnly secured toCongress by the Constitution. No vindication could be more complete, nocondemnation could be more absolute and humiliating. Unless reopened by thesword, as recklessly threatened in some circles, this question is now closedfor all time.

Without attempting to settle here the metaphysical and somewhat theologicalquestion (about which so much has already been said and written), whether oncein the Union means always in the Union,—agreeably to the formula, Once ingrace always in grace,—it is obvious to common sense that the rebelliousStates stand to-day, in point of law, precisely where they stood when,exhausted, beaten, conquered, they fell powerless at the feet of Federalauthority. Their State governments were overthrown, and the lives and propertyof the leaders of the Rebellion were forfeited. In reconstructing theinstitutions of these shattered and overthrown States, Congress should beginwith a clean slate, and make clean work of it. Let there be no hesitation. Itwould be a cowardly deference to a defeated and treacherous President, if anyaccount were made of the illegitimate, one-sided, sham governments hurried intoexistence for a malign purpose in the absence of Congress. These pretendedgovernments, which were never submitted to the people, and from participationin which four millions of the loyal people were excluded by Presidential order,should now be treated according to their true character, as shams andimpositions, and supplanted by true and legitimate governments, in theformation of which loyal men, black and white, shall participate.

It is not, however, within the scope of this paper to point out the precisesteps to be taken, and the means to be employed. The people are less concernedabout these than the grand end to be attained. They demand such areconstruction as shall put an end to the present anarchical state of things inthe late rebellious States,—where frightful murders and wholesalemassacres are perpetrated in the very presence of Federal soldiers. Thishorrible business they require shall cease. They want a reconstruction such aswill protect loyal men, black and white, in their persons and property; such aone as will cause Northern industry, Northern capital, and Northerncivilization to flow into the South, and make a man from New England as much athome in Carolina as elsewhere in the Republic. No Chinese wall can now betolerated. The South must be opened to the light of law and liberty, and thissession of Congress is relied upon to accomplish this important work.

The plain, common-sense way of doing this work, as intimated at the beginning,is simply to establish in the South one law, one government, one administrationof justice, one condition to the exercise of the elective franchise, for men ofall races and colors alike. This great measure is sought as earnestly by loyalwhite men as by loyal blacks, and is needed alike by both. Let sound politicalprescience but take the place of an unreasoning prejudice, and this will bedone.

Men denounce the negro for his prominence in this discussion; but it is nofault of his that in peace as in war, that in conquering Rebel armies as inreconstructing the rebellious States, the right of the negro is the truesolution of our national troubles. The stern logic of events, which goesdirectly to the point, disdaining all concern for the color or features of men,has determined the interests of the country as identical with and inseparablefrom those of the negro.

The policy that emancipated and armed the negro—now seen to have beenwise and proper by the dullest—was not certainly more sternly demandedthan is now the policy of enfranchisement. If with the negro was success inwar, and without him failure, so in peace it will be found that the nation mustfall or flourish with the negro.

Fortunately, the Constitution of the United States knows no distinction betweencitizens on account of color. Neither does it know any difference between acitizen of a State and a citizen of the United States. Citizenship evidentlyincludes all the rights of citizens, whether State or national. If theConstitution knows none, it is clearly no part of the duty of a RepublicanCongress now to institute one. The mistake of the last session was the attemptto do this very thing, by a renunciation of its power to secure politicalrights to any class of citizens, with the obvious purpose to allow therebellious States to disfranchise, if they should see fit, their coloredcitizens. This unfortunate blunder must now be retrieved, and the emasculatedcitizenship given to the negro supplanted by that contemplated in theConstitution of the United States, which declares that the citizens of eachState shall enjoy all the rights and immunities of citizens of the severalStates,—so that a legal voter in any State shall be a legal voter in allthe States.