It was perfectly natural that when Tommy began to read he eagerly shared the new and fascinating game with his companion. The mother was amused at how quickly the black child caught on. She encouraged both children because she considered the exchange good for Tommy. But one day she boasted of Freddy’s accomplishment to her husband. Mr. Auld was horrified.
“It’s against the law,” he stormed. “Learning will spoil the best nigger in the world. If he learns to read he’ll never be any good as a slave. The first thing you know he’ll be writing, and then look out. A writing nigger is dangerous!”
It was difficult for Mrs. Auld to see the curly-headed dark boy as a menace. His devotion to Tommy was complete. But she was an obedient wife. Furthermore she had heard dreadful stories of slaves who “went bad.”
“Oh, well, no harm’s done,” she consoled herself. “Freddy’s just a child; he’ll soon forget all about this.” And she took pains to see that no more books or papers fell into his hands.
But Freddy did not forget. The seed was planted. Now he wanted to know, and he developed a cunning far beyond his years. It was not too difficult to salvage school books as they were thrown away. He invented “games” for Tommy and his friends—games which involved reading and spelling. The white boys slipped chalk from their schoolrooms and drew letters and words on sidewalks and fences. By the time Tommy was twelve years old, Freddy could read anything that came his way. And Tommy had somehow guessed that it was best not to mention such things. Freddy really was a great help.
The time came when they were all learning speeches from The Columbian Orator. Freddy quite willingly held the book while they recited Sheridan’s impressive lines on the subject of Catholic emancipation, Lord Chatham’s speech on the American War, speeches by the great William Pitt and by Fox. Some things about those speeches troubled the boys—especially those on the American Revolution.
“Them folks—you mean they fight to be free?” Freddy asked.
The four boys were comfortably sprawled out on the cellar door, well out of earshot of grownups, but the question made them look over their shoulders in alarm.
“Hush your big mouth!”
“Slaves fight?” Freddy persisted.