THE CABIN IN OLD VIRGINIA WHERE BOOKER T. WASHINGTON LIVED WHEN A SMALL BOY.
CHAPTER II.
BOYHOOD IN WEST VIRGINIA.
We began life in West Virginia in a little shanty, and lived in it for several years. My step-father soon obtained work for my brother John and myself in the salt furnaces and coal mines, and we worked alternately in them until about the year 1871. Soon after we reached West Virginia a school teacher, Mr. William Davis, came into the community, and the colored people induced him to open a school. My step-father was not able to spare me from work, so that I could attend this school, when it was first opened, and this proved a sore disappointment to me. I remember that soon after going to Malden, West Virginia, I saw a young colored man among a large number of colored people, reading a newspaper, and this fired my ambition to learn to read as nothing had done before. I said to myself, if I could ever reach the point where I could read as this man was doing, the acme of my ambition would be reached. Although I could not attend the school, I remember that, in some way, my mother secured a book for me, and although she could not read herself, she tried in every way possible to help me to do so.
“THIS FIRED MY AMBITION TO LEARN TO READ AS NOTHING HAD DONE BEFORE.”
In some way, I cannot now recall how, I learned my letters while working in the salt furnace and coal mines. As time went on, after considerable persuasion on my part, my step-father consented to permit me to attend the public school half of the day, provided I would get up very early in the morning and perform as much work as possible before school time. This permission brought me great joy. By four o’clock in the morning I was up and at my work, which continued until nearly nine o’clock. The first day I entered school, it seems to me, was the happiest day that I have ever known. The first embarrassment I experienced at school was in the matter of finding a name for myself. I had always been called “Booker,” and had not known that one had use for more than one name. Some of the slaves took the sirnames of their owners, but after freedom there was a prejudice against doing this, and a large part of the colored people gave themselves new names. When the teacher called the roll, I noticed that he called each pupil by two names, that is a given name and a sirname. When he came to me he asked for my full name, and I told him to put me down as “Booker Washington,” and that name I have borne ever since. It is not every school boy who has the privilege of choosing his own name. In introducing me to an audience in Essex Hall,
