The Underground Railroad (4 page)

Professor Tuesday tipped his teacup toward Mr. Douglass. “Please tell my friends how you learned to write.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Douglass. He poured himself more tea and filled the professor's cup. “While in Baltimore, I was occasionally sent out on errands— picking up groceries, delivering messages, dropping off packages, and so on. I would run to do my errands so I could steal a few moments for some learning. At a nearby shipyard, I watched a carpenter carving timbers for the ships being built there. When a piece was intended for the larboard side, the carpenter would label it with an ‘L.' I watched how he made the letter and practiced doing it myself.”

“What does ‘larboard' mean?” Tamika asked.

“When you are standing at the back of a ship, facing forward, larboard is to your left,” the professor replied. Then he leaned in close to Tamika and whispered, “In our time, we call it the port side.”

Mr. Douglass continued, “By watching the carpenter, I learned how to write several different letters. Once I practiced writing those letters, I looked around for other boys who knew how to write. When I found a group of boys playing in an alley, I challenged them to a contest, by bragging that I knew how to write as well as they did. That would begin my contest of learning. I would start out the contest by writing the letters I knew in the dirt. The other boys would share their letter-writing skills. Little by little, I learned how to write all the letters of the alphabet.”

“How ingenious,” said the professor.

“I also took advantage of my position with Master Thomas. He was attending school and learning how to write in a copybook. When Mrs. Auld would leave the house, I would spend my time writing between the lines of his books. I practiced my letters on board fences, walls, in the dirt, and any other surfaces that would work. My pen was a tiny piece of chalk or a loose stone that left its impression in the dirt. Regardless, I succeeded in learning to read and write.”

“Mr. Douglass,” Tamika asked, “can you tell us how you escaped slavery?”

“
T
he first time I tried to escape,” Mr. Douglass began, “I gathered others who wanted to join me in a run for freedom. But our secret plans were revealed.”

“Did you get into trouble?” I asked.

“My companions and I were captured before our escape and thrown into prison. While the thought of prison is awful, this particular jail was clean and it even had windows that allowed us to look out at the world around us. Imagine,” Mr. Douglass whispered thoughtfully, “within the span of just one day, I went from being excited about my escape to freedom to the despair of being locked up behind prison walls, waiting for a terrible punishment.”

“What happened?” Professor Tuesday asked.

“After I spent some time in prison, I was given over to Master Hugh, the uncle of Mr. Auld. Master Hugh hired me out to Mr. William Gardner, a shipbuilder in Baltimore. There I was put to work caulking.”

“What's that?” Tamika asked.

The professor laid his hands flat, then placed them side-by-side. “When wooden boats are built, there is a space between the boards that are used to make the hull of the ship. In order to make the boat water-tight, the seams between the boards are filled with a material called ‘caulk.'”

“Oh,” Tamika said. “I guess that makes sense.”

“In Baltimore, I became an expert in the tools and trade of caulking ships. Over time, I was able to command top wages for this skill. My earnings amounted to $1.50 a day. However, at the end of each week, I had to give my master all of the money I earned for my work.”

“What?” I asked. “You couldn't keep any of the money you earned?”

“That is correct, my young friend,” Mr. Douglass answered as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Being a slave owner is often like being a pirate. All of my earnings were taken up by Master Hugh. You could even say they were stolen from me.

“I can tell that you don't think that is fair, but there is nothing fair or humane when it comes to slavery,” Mr. Douglass noted. “By learning to both read and write, I became more aware of my condition. The more knowledge and information I obtained, the stronger was my desire to escape.”

“How did you eventually escape?” I asked.

“I can't explain how I escaped, and I never will. Telling anyone exactly how I did it might lead to the punishment of the wonderful people who helped me. However, I successfully arrived in New York City on the third day of September in 1838.”

Mr. Douglass put his teacup down on the table. “I was in trouble from the very moment I arrived. I couldn't trust anyone. If I told anyone that I was an escaped slave looking for freedom, I could be turned in to the police for a reward. I didn't have food or shelter. I was confused and all alone.”

“What happened?” Tamika asked.

“A man named Mr. David Ruggles rescued me. I will never forget his kindness and generosity. Mr. Ruggles took me to his boarding house in the city and gave me food and a place to rest.”

“If my memory is correct,” the professor said, “Mr. Ruggles was a famous black abolitionist who lived in New York. I think he even opened the first African-American bookstore in the city.”

“What is an abolitionist?” I asked.

The professor turned toward me. “The word ‘abolish' means to ‘get rid of' or ‘destroy' something. So, someone who was an abolitionist wanted to destroy slavery in the United States.”

“Oh, I get it!” I said. Tamika nodded her head in agreement.

All the while Professor Tuesday was answering my question; Mr. Douglass seemed to have a question of his own. “African-American, you say?” asked Mr. Douglass. “I am not familiar with the term African-American. I have been away from America for some time.”

“Oh, right,” said the professor, attempting to explain himself clearly. “Some in the United States refer to black people as African-American.”

“I see,” said Mr. Douglass. “I had not heard such a term before.”

“Please continue with your story,” the professor said.

“Well, Mr. Ruggles said that it wasn't safe for me in New York. So he asked me if I had any particular work skills. I mentioned that I was an accomplished ship caulker. Mr. Ruggles immediately suggested that I move to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where I could find work in the local shipbuilding trades. During the brief period I stayed in New York, the love of my life, Anna, came to join me. The Rev. J.W.C. Pennington performed our marriage ceremony. Shortly after the wedding, Anna and I were on a steamboat headed for New Bedford. Within a few days, I was able to find a job. For the first time in my life, I was allowed to keep all of my wages and spend the money any way I wanted.”

“Mr. Douglass,” Tamika asked, “how did you get here? To London, I mean.”

“While living in New Bedford, I was fairly safe from slave hunters who wanted to take me back to my master. And I became aware of an abolitionist movement in the New Bedford area.

“In 1841, I was first exposed to
The Liberator
, a newspaper written by the famous white abolitionist, William Henry Garrison. That same year I was invited to attend the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society on Nantucket Island.”

“I've been to Nantucket Island,” I said.

Mr. Douglass nodded his head approvingly. “At the conference on Nantucket Island, I was asked to speak about my life as a slave in America. Imagine how nervous I was. It was not common for slaves to speak boldly.”

“Your speech on Nantucket Island left a very powerful impression on everyone at the conference,” the professor noted.

“Thank you for your kind comment,” replied Mr. Douglass. “After the conference I was asked to be a traveling speaker, talking about the awful nature of slavery. People in the abolitionist movement helped fund me. On the tour, I visited several states, including New York, Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania.”

“Wasn't that dangerous?” Tamika asked.

“Not everybody liked, or agreed with, what I had to say,” Mr. Douglass replied with a chuckle. “Fortunately, I managed to escape from people who wanted to do me harm. At the same time I was lecturing about the evils of slavery, I was writing a narrative of my life.”

“What's a narrative?” I asked.

Professor Tuesday turned to me. “The best way to explain narrative is to say that it was the story of his life.”

“Quite correct, professor,” Mr. Douglass said. “Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass was first published in 1845 and sold very well. Along with its surprising success came a frightening sense of danger.

“I told the terrible details of my past life as a slave,” Mr. Douglass said. “My little book angered slaveholders and those who believed that human bondage was a God-given right. Because of the danger, I was encouraged to travel here to London in order to avoid being captured by slave hunters.”

“Has anyone tried to catch you here?” Tamika asked. Her voice shook with fear. “I wouldn't want to be captured.”

“You are perfectly safe,” Mr. Douglass replied. “The British Empire outlawed slavery with the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833. In fact, kind people from this fine country actually purchased me from my owner. So I am now a free man.”

“Mr. Douglass, we must be going soon,” said Professor Tuesday. “However, I have one more question. Was there one particular thing that made you seek freedom at all costs?”

“Education changed my life,” Mr. Douglass replied thoughtfully. “Reading succeeded in opening my eyes to the terrible life of slavery. Writing allowed me to express myself and my beliefs with clarity. Knowledge brings freedom.”

Mr. Douglass leaned in closely to Tamika and me. “Now, before you go, I have one final request. You came to me to learn about slavery. You must continue your search for knowledge.”

“It's kinda scary,” Tamika said.

“You must find the courage to continue learning,” Mr. Douglass said.

A
fter we said our good-byes, Mr. Douglass walked us to the front door and helped us with our rain jackets. Tamika gave Mr. Douglass a big hug. I think it surprised him. When she reached for him, he took a half step back. Then his face broke out in a wide smile, and he gently returned her hug. I couldn't help but think that maybe people didn't hug much back in Mr. Douglass' time.

The professor led us back down the cobblestone street. It had stopped raining, but the sky was dark and grey. More people were milling about than before, and the man was still selling dead chickens on the corner. The woman who had the vegetables was gone.

We found the entryway to the Tuesday Teleporter right where we left it in the park. The green cloud glowed and hummed softly next to a tall tree. The professor turned to us. “Let's go.”

I followed right behind him, but Tamika stopped. “I don't want to go through that thing again.”

“Tamika,” I said, “stop being such a scaredy cat. You want to go home, don't you?”

“Yes,” Tamika answered, “but going through that thing scares me. Isn't there another way we can get back to our time?”

Professor Tuesday bent down and looked Tamika in the eye. “You must go through the Tuesday Teleporter. There is no other way to get back home.”

“B-B-But, I'm afraid,” Tamika answered. Her voice was shaky, and she was near tears.

The professor took her by the hand. “Tamika,” he said, “do you remember the last words that Mr. Douglass spoke to us?”

“I think so,” she replied as she turned her head away. “He said something about having the courage to learn about my past.”

“That's right,” answered the professor kindly. “You must have courage now.”

Tamika nodded slowly and followed the professor and me into the Tuesday Teleporter.

Though I knew Tamika was scared, she didn't cry out as we tumbled through time. Before long we were back in the professor's office. It was getting dark outside.

“I don't want to walk home in the dark,” Tamika said timidly.

“You are getting to be a real pain, Tamika,” I replied.

“Now, now,” said the professor, “neither of you should walk home in the dark. Why don't you call your parents and see if they can come to get you?”

I called home while Tamika gathered up her schoolbooks. My mother said she would pick us up in front of the professor's office in a half hour. While we waited, we talked about our visit with Mr. Douglass.

“Did Mr. Douglass and his wife have any kids?” I asked.

“Yes,” answered the professor, “he and his wife Anna had five children in all. Rosetta, Lewis, Frederick, Charles, and Annie. Sadly, Annie died when she was just 10.”

“That must have been terrible,” I said. “You know, to have a child who died when she was only ten years old.”

“Yes,” said the professor, “but they didn't have the same kind of medical care like we do in our time. In the 1800s, it was not uncommon for people to die at a very early age.”

“Did he ever come back to America?” Tamika asked. “Or did he stay in London his whole life?”

“He and his family moved back to America about a year after our visit. That would have been in 1847,” said the professor. “They settled in Rochester, New York.”

“Why there?” Tamika asked.

Professor Tuesday went to his desk as he answered. “His decision to move to Rochester was inspired by Susan B. Anthony.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “my dad collects coins. Isn't there a dollar coin with Susan B. Anthony's face on it?”

“Yes, there is,” the professor answered. “Susan B. Anthony was one of the early pioneers in the women's rights movement.”

“What do women's rights and slavery have to do with each other?” Tamika asked.