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.