textfiles/etext/FICTION/washington-up-194.txt

              The Internet Wiretap Electronic Edition of

                  UP FROM SLAVERY: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

                       by Booker T. Washington

                         A Public Domain Text

                       Released September 1993

                   Entered by Aloysius &tSftDotIotE

                      aloysius@west.darkside.com

                              ---------

                           UP FROM SLAVERY

                           An Autobiography

                                  by

                     Booker Taliaferro Washington

                      Boston  New York  Chicago

                       Houghton Mifflin Company

                    The Riverside Press, Cambridge

                         Copyright 1900, 1901

               A Public Domain Text, Copyright Expired

                               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.

                           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 and 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 carrying 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 extend 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 
saves.  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 have 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 
[sic] 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 slaver 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 his 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 schoolroll 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 know 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 pain 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 fair 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 a 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 dependent 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 tend 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 book 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 ago.  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 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 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 
our 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 their 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 be 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, [sic] 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 them, 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 reaching, 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 education 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 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 education 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 salves 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 men 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 designated 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 glass 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 face 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 [sic], 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 [sic].  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 mouth 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 weeks 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 development 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 
education 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-night 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 education 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 
cottom 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 [sic] 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 interested 
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 in 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-card 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 e 
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 education, 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 increase 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, 
four 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 
AI 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 stable 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 simulated.

    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, with 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 increase 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 [sic] 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 road 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 [sic] 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 [sic] 
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 
pleased, together with myself, for help, not for Hampton, but for 
Tuskegee.  At these meetings an especial [sic] 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 interest 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 interest 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 of 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 complication 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 worth.  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 
[sic], but it is thoroughly Christian, and the spiritual training or 
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 [sic] 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 [sic] 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 [sic] 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 [sic].  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 [sic] 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 [sic] 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 [sic].  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, [sic] 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 
millionnaire [sic].  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 form 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 of 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 through 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 

    _fete_ 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 escape, 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 or 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 diary; 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 -- 
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 [sic] 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 
teachers 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 brick-mason'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 

    traded 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, Earnest 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 studies 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 [sic] 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 
[sic] 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 indispensible 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 that 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 with 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 [sic] 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 of _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 
[sic] 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 father 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 [sic] 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 visited 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 [sic] 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 . . . 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 [sic] 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 [sic], 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 an 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 
[sic].  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 support.  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 unaminous 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.

[End.]
.