He was a man of very regular habits and almost every waking moment was spent at his work of reading and writing. He rose as early as four o'clock in the morning, did a little gardening, then worked in his study nearly all day long. Several people visited him and tried to carry on some kind of a conversation, but seldom with much success. At first the method of talking by finger signs was tried, but few could understand it. Later he tried to hold some kind of intercourse by writing everything down; but this was so painfully slow that it was given up. Thus it came about that even those who wanted to help him, realized that their visits were a strain upon him and that he seemed happier when left alone.
There was one family, however, where there were several children, all of whom loved him very much. Each one of them learned to use finger signs and were never so proud as when they would carry on some sort of conversation with the great scholar. He was deeply touched by the friendship of these children, and although he could not hear them as they practised on the piano, he could feel the vibration by placing his fingers on the soundingboard and in that way marked their progress in music.
John Kitto married and had children of his own, whom he loved dearly, although he never heard them speak. In spite of the great value of his books his income was never very large at any time. In 1850 he was granted a civic pension of five hundred pounds a year. In those days that was considered a good income and no doubt it did much to lift the burden of anxiety from his mind. There certainly was no mistaking the high regard which was felt for him everywhere. Although a layman he was granted the degree of Doctor of Divinity by the University of Giessen in 1845. He was also made a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries the same year.
In 1851 his health began to fail and some time later he went to Germany to try the mineral waters there. He did not obtain the desired benefit, however, and he died at Cannstadt in 1854, having reached the age of fifty. His passing was greatly mourned in England, for the boy from Plymouth workhouse, living for nearly forty years under a terrible handicap, had found a place of very great usefulness in the world.
CHAPTER V.
THE SLAVE BOY WHO BECAME A GREAT LEADER.
Some time about the year 1858 or 1859 a negro child was born in a log cabin in Virginia, U.S.A. The parents of the child were slaves, and utterly without education. When the child grew to be a man he could never find out the exact date, or even the year of his birth. The first things he remembered were the scenes around the squalid, little log cabin, where his earliest years were spent. The cabin itself was sixteen feet by fourteen. It not only had to serve as the sole home for the family, but was used as the kitchen for the plantation. There were no windows in it, only openings in the side which let in the light. The same openings, of course, let in the chilly air in winter. A broken-down door hung on uncertain hinges. In one corner of the miserable cabin there was a "cat hole"—a hole about seven or eight inches square—to enable the family cat to pass in or out. As there were half a dozen other holes in the cabin walls, this contrivance seemed unnecessary. There was no wooden floor to the cabin, the bare earth being considered all that was necessary. In the centre of the floor there was a large, deep hole which was used to store sweet potatoes during the winter. There was no stove in the cabin, all the cooking being done over an open fireplace.
The little negro boy—whose name was Booker Taliaferro Washington—never knew what it was to sleep in a bed. With his brother, John, and his sister, Amanda, he slept on a bundle of filthy rags on the dirty floor. The poor mother, who acted as cook to the slaves on the plantation, had little or no time to give to the training of her children, so they just grew up, and early learned to do hard work.
The family never sat down around the table together for a meal, nor was God's blessing ever asked upon the food. Like most other slaves at that time, they hardly ate like civilized beings. The children got their meals very much like dumb animals. It was a piece of bread here, and a scrap of meat there, and perhaps a potato in another place. Sometimes one member of the family would eat out of a pot, or skillet, while another would be eating from a tin plate on his knees, often using nothing but the hands to hold the food. One day, when young Booker was over at the slave-owner's house, he saw two of the young ladies eating gingerbread. It seemed to him, at that time, that the most tempting thing in the world was a piece of gingerbread, and he made a solemn vow that if ever he could afford to buy some gingerbread he would do so.
Young Booker had little time for play, in fact he hardly understood what the word meant. He cleaned the yard, carried water to the slaves in the field, and once a week took corn to the mill. This last job was heartbreaking. A heavy bag of corn would be thrown over the back of a horse, but as the horse jogged along the uneven road, often the bag would fall off, and probably young Booker would fall with it. He was not strong enough to get it back upon the horse, and so he would have to wait, maybe for several hours, for a chance passer-by to help him. These hours of waiting would often bring bitter tears, for he knew he would be late in reaching home. It was a lonely, dark road, and he was much afraid, and besides, when he did get home, he generally received a severe flogging for being so late.