He was deeply interested in the moral, social, and political elevation of the free colored men of the North, and to that end published and edited for several years the “Mirror of Liberty,” a quarterly magazine, devoted to the advocacy of the rights of his race.
As a writer, Mr. Ruggles was keen and witty,—always logical,—sending his arrows directly at his opponent. The first thing we ever read, coming from the pen of a colored man, was “David M. Reese, M. D., used up by David Ruggles, a man of color.” Dr. Reese was a noted colonizationist, and had written a work in which he advocated the expatriation of the blacks from the American continent; and Mr. Ruggles’s work was in reply to it. In this argument the negro proved too much for the Anglo-Saxon, and exhibited in Mr. Ruggles those qualities of keen perception, deep thought, and originality, that mark the critic and man of letters.
He was of unmixed blood, of medium size, genteel address, and interesting in conversation.
Attacked with a disease which resulted in total blindness, Mr. Ruggles visited Northampton, Massachusetts, for the benefit of his health. Here he founded a “Water Cure,” which became famous, and to which a large number of the better classes resorted. In this new field, Mr. Ruggles won honorable distinction as a most successful practitioner, secured the warm regard of the public, and left a name embalmed in the hearts of many who feel that they owe life to his eminent skill and careful practice. Mr. Ruggles was conscientious, upright, and just in all his dealings. He died in 1849, universally respected and esteemed.
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
The career of this distinguished individual whose name heads this sketch, is more widely known than that of any other living colored man. Born and brought up under the institution of slavery, which denied its victims the right of developing those natural powers that adorn the children of men, and distinguish them from the beasts of the forest,—an institution that gave a premium to ignorance, and made intelligence a crime, when the possessor was a negro,—Frederick Douglass is, indeed, the most wonderful man that America has ever produced, white or black.
His days of servitude were like those of his race who were born at the South, differing but little from the old routine of plantation life. Douglass, however, possessed superior natural gifts, which began to show themselves even when a boy, but his history has become too well known for us to dwell on it here. The narrative of his life, published in 1845, gave a new impetus to the black man’s literature. All other stories of fugitive slaves faded away before the beautifully-written, highly-descriptive, and thrilling memoir of Frederick Douglass. Other narratives had only brought before the public a few heart-rending scenes connected with the person described. But Mr. Douglass, in his book, brought not only his old master’s farm and its occupants before the reader, but the entire country around him, including Baltimore and its shipyard. The manner in which he obtained his education, and especially his learning to write, has been read and re-read by thousands in both hemispheres. His escape from slavery is too well understood to need a recapitulation here.
He took up his residence in New Bedford, where he still continued the assiduous student, mastering the different branches of education which the accursed institution had deprived him of in early life.
His advent as a lecturer was a remarkable one. White men and black men had talked against slavery, but none had ever spoken like Frederick Douglass. Throughout the North the newspapers were filled with the sayings of the “eloquent fugitive.” He often travelled with others, but they were all lost sight of in the eagerness to hear Douglass. His travelling companions would sometimes get angry, and would speak first at the meetings; then they would take the last turn; but it was all the same—the fugitive’s impression was the one left upon the mind. He made more persons angry, and pleased more, than any other man. He was praised, and he was censured. He made them laugh, he made them weep, and he made them swear.
His “Slaveholders’ Sermon” was always a trump card. He awakened an interest in the hearts of thousands who before were dead to the slave and his condition. Many kept away from his lectures, fearing lest they should be converted against their will. Young men and women, in those days of pro-slavery hatred, would return to their fathers’ roofs filled with admiration for the “runaway slave,” and would be rebuked by hearing the old ones grumble out, “You’d better stay at home and study your lessons, and not be running after the nigger meetings.”