Up from Slavery: An AutobiographyWashington, Booker T.
History
Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
Washington, Booker T.
African Americans -- Biography; Educators -- United States -- Biography; Tuskegee Institute; Washington, Booker T., 1856-1915
The distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hundred miles. I had
not been away from home many hours before it began to grow painfully
evident that I did not have enough money to pay my fare to Hampton. One
experience I shall long remember. I had been travelling over the
mountains most of the afternoon in an old-fashion stage-coach, when,
late in the evening, the coach stopped for the night at a common,
unpainted house called a hotel. All the other passengers except myself
were whites. In my ignorance I supposed that the little hotel existed
for the purpose of accommodating the passengers who travelled on the
stage-coach. The difference that the colour of one’s skin would make I
had not thought anything about. After all the other passengers had been
shown rooms and were getting ready for supper, I shyly presented myself
before the man at the desk. It is true I had practically no money in my
pocket with which to pay for bed or food, but I had hoped in some way
to beg my way into the good graces of the landlord, for at that season
in the mountains of Virginia the weather was cold, and I wanted to get
indoors for the night. Without asking as to whether I had any money,
the man at the desk firmly refused to even consider the matter of
providing me with food or lodging. This was my first experience in
finding out what the colour of my skin meant. In some way I managed to
keep warm by walking about, and so got through the night. My whole soul
was so bent upon reaching Hampton that I did not have time to cherish
any bitterness toward the hotel-keeper.
By walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, in some way,
after a number of days, I reached the city of Richmond, Virginia, about
eighty-two miles from Hampton. When I reached there, tired, hungry, and
dirty, it was late in the night. I had never been in a large city, and
this rather added to my misery. When I reached Richmond, I was
completely out of money. I had not a single acquaintance in the place,
and, being unused to city ways, I did not know where to go. I applied
at several places for lodging, but they all wanted money, and that was
what I did not have. Knowing nothing else better to do, I walked the
streets. In doing this I passed by many food-stands where fried chicken
and half-moon apple pies were piled high and made to present a most
tempting appearance. At that time it seemed to me that I would have
promised all that I expected to possess in the future to have gotten
hold of one of those chicken legs or one of those pies. But I could not
get either of these, nor anything else to eat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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