Evidence from The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass that talks about the goal of education. I NEED EVIDENCE THAT TALKS ABOUT EDUCATION in the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
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Chapter I
I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age, never having seen any authentic (real) record containing it.
[...] The nearest estimate I can give makes me now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this, from hearing my master say, sometime during 1835, I was about seventeen years old.
[...] I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony—a title which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an overseer (manager). The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable and savage monster. He always went armed with a heavy cudgel (club). I have known him to cut and slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a humane (kind, compassionate) slaveholder. [...] He was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an old aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream and whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue (exhaustion), would he cease to swing the blood-clotted whip. I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember anything. It was the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the blood-stained gate, the entrance to slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle (sight, scene). I wish I could commit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.