Heart of Darkness: Section Three

Joseph Conrad in The Heart of Darkness and Chinua Achebe in Things Fall Apart are offering stern critiques of colonialism. Achebe is writing in the more conventional third-person omniscient author mode, whereas Conrad is writing impressionistically and symbolically. Conrad is incorporating in his vision a very pessimistic view of human nature, and of nature itself. He is voicing a spirit of rebellion and irreligion that was particularly strong in the literature of the early modern period.

The culture of the West has essentially moved from its base in Christian humanism through a period of irregilion and rebellion to that of secularism. The spirit of Christian humanism pertained well into the nineteenth century when it began to be challenged by leading authors. The rise of Darwinian thought during the later half of the century greatly augmented the challenge and issued in the outright rebellion voiced by such authors as A. E. Housman, Algernon Swinburne, Thomas Hardy and James Joyce. This gave rise to the secular spirit that--as we well know today--attempts to ignore or dismiss religion altogether, seeing it as held only by ignorant fanatics.

We see Conrad's attitude represented in his depiction of Kurtz and Kurtz's Intended. Kurtz is a figure larger than himself: he symbolizes complete man. He is presented as a "universal genius," a musician, a painter, a writer, and especially, an idealist and an orator. The strong voice that he is able to give to his mistaken idealism renders him a complete fraud. The power of his personality together with the desire for wealth and fame lead him to exercise complete power over the native Africans, and such power precipitated his fall into sensuality and complete moral disintegration. Assuming the role of a god, he became a devil.

Conrad is not consciously writing from a Christian point of view, but from a Christian standpoint one cannot but see in his depiction of Kurtz a warning for all Christian workers. The human self perennially offers the main obstacle to the successful Christian life. Conversion is effected initially by the self dying into life: Christian baptism symbolizes the dying into life without which no individual is Christian. The constant denying of self-will is the indispensable component of effective Christian service and spiritual growth. The esteem that is often extended to Christian workers can subtly issue in self-congratulation and inadvertent self-esteem. The indispensable antidote and correction is to maintain the mind of Christ, as outlined in Phillipians chapter 2. Christ advised, "he that would be great among you, let him serve."

Kurtz's dying cry, "The horror! The horror!" (144) poses the problem of interpretation. What is meant? Is he making a pronouncement on the nature of the wilderness, hence, the nature of creation itself? The text has repeatedly presented it in its primeval state as a dark expression of evil. Marlow comments that life is "that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose" (144). Is this Kurtz's view? Or is he lamenting the great gulf in life between the ideal and actual? Marlow affirms that Kurtz's cry was a "moral victory" (146). How so? Perhaps in the sense that in dying Kurtz has attained to the clarity to view life as it really is, a clarity so few people achieve.

But is there not a Christian interpretation as well? We are told that in dying Kurtz achieved "that supreme moment of complete knowledge" (144). He can well be seen as catching a glimpse of the eternal damnation that is his destiny. His cry is rather like David's : "My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me. Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me" (Psalm 55: 4, 5).

The ironic comment of the native boy who sticks his head in the door, "Mistah Kurtz--he dead." becomes the epitaph for one of the signature poems of the modern period, T. S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men." The poem begins: "We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men / Leaning together / Headpiece filled with straw . . . . Those who have crossed / With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom [i.e., the Christian saints, who have died triumphantly] / Remember us--if at all--not as lost / Violent souls, but only / As the hollow men / the stuffed men . . . ." Eliot, like C. S. Lewis, viewed modern man from the standpoint of a full and comprehensive knowledge of the history of Western Civilization, and he saw them immensely diminished in moral and spiritual capacity, a view that is precisely opposite to modern man's view of himself. We pride ourselves for our amazing "progress" and technological prowess. Interestingly, Marlow back in the "sepulchral city" of London sees people in a similar light (146).

Marlow, entrusted with Kurtz's papers, awkwardly makes distribution of them to relevant parties, and lastly makes a visit to Kurtz's Intended to return a packet of letters and her picture. In response to her rapturous idealizations of her fiance, Marlow embarrassingly makes ambiguous comments in a desperate attempt not to disillusion her by giving any indication as to the actual circumstances of Kurtz's career and death. When she asks for his dying words, Marlow mutters that he pronounced her name, and, dumbfounded by what he has said, quickly makes his departure. "I could not tell her. It would have been too dark--too dark altogether" (155).

Thus Marlow justifies his lie to himself. But is there a sense--from Conrad's point of view--in which "The horror, the horror" could be taken as referring to the Intended (the pun value aside, though some critics would have it so)? The thematic thrust of the entire novella is to expose all religious idealism as utter sham. In Conrad's terms, the illusion of all religion is itself a horror, a great delusion.

The Return of the King: First Session

Have you ever thought of your life as a story, and wondered what type of story you are in? One of my favorite passages in The Lord of the Rings occurs in The Two Towers, in the chapter entitled "The Stairs of Cirith Ungol," as Frodo, Sam, and Gollum are taking their last meal before entering the Nameless Land. Frodo and Sam are talking of the extreme difficulties of their journey, and Frodo remarks: "Earth, air and water all seem accursed. But so our path is laid." and Sam starts musing about the people in tales of adventure, especially about "the tales that really mattered . . . . folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually--their paths were laid that way . . . . We hear about those as just went on--and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. . . . I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?" "I wonder," said Frodo, "But I don't know. And that's the way of a real tale . . . ." (407, 08)

Note the sense of destiny: "their paths are laid that way"; the need for faithful adherence to a purpose: "We hear about those as just went on"; the impossibility of judging the value of one's story from inside it; and the sense of being within a larger story that has no ending.

Anyone who has read The Lord of the Rings and felt its fascination has certainly asked, "What type of story is this?" Of the books I have looked at, among the many that have been written on Tolkien's work, the two I have found most helpful in understanding what type of story this is are Peter Kreeft's The Philosophy of Tolkien and Ralph Woods The Gospel According to Tolkien. I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the impact these two have had upon my own thinking.

Numerous polls were taken among a wide sampling of people at the close of the last century as to what was the most significant book of the century. In poll after poll Tolkien's work rose to the top. Many literary critics fumed and raged, blaming popular ignorance. No wonder, inasmuch as most of the artists whom they acclaim prefer ugliness to beauty and lawlessness to morality, scorn and dismiss goodness and see truth only in ideology or in power. But the deep longing of the human heart still cries out for the good, the true, and the beautiful. These qualities, embodied as they are in two heroic quests, form the substructure of The Lord of the Rings.

Tolkien said that his work was Christian, yet there are no references to God, to worship, or to religious ritual of any kind. In a letter to Father Robert Murray he wrote: "The Lord of the Rings is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work; unconsciously so at first, but consciously in the revision. That is why I have not put in, or have cut out, practically all references to anything like 'religion,' to cults or practices, in the imaginary world. For the religious element is absorbed into the story and the symbolism" (The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, Humphrey Carpenter, ed, #142). How is this so? In the manner in which his imaginative vision captures something of the truly good, true, and beautiful.

In another letter he remarked: "The mere stories were the thing. They arose in my mind as 'given' things, and as they came, separately, so too the links grew. . . yet always I had the sense of recording what was already there, somewhere, not inventing" (L. 131). Where is this "somewhere"? It is deeply embedded in the human mind, answering as it does to something in the realm of spirit, as millions of avid readers attest. A sense of the perfect, of the ideal, is in the mind: ideal kings, ideal men, ideal women, etc. Tolkien succeeds in showing us something of the nature of these ideals--of clarifying for us something that resides already in our minds--and arousing our desires toward the triumph of the good and the ultimate annihilation of evil. Flannery O'Connor defined the Christian novel as "one in which the truth as Christians know it has been used as a light to see the world by" (Mystery and Manners, 173). Hers is a good description of Tolkien's work.

Another reason why his work is Christian is that he achieves the condition and aura of myth. He remarks in a letter to a prospective publisher: "I believe that legends and myths are largely made of 'truth,'' and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode; and long ago certain truths and modes of this kind were discovered and must always reappear" (L 131). In "On Fairy Stores" he wrote: "Something really 'higher' is occasionally glimpsed in mythology: Divinity, the right to power (as distinct from its possession), the due worship. in fact, 'religion.'"

Early critics complained that The Lord of the Rings was a simple story of the conflict between good and evil. The "good guys" and the "bad guys" were too simply identified, and there was much gratuitous violence. The way the film portrays the wars furthers this view. But Tolkien's conflict is indeed raised to a higher level: he is addressing the ultimate conflict between God and Satan. He wrote: "In The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom,' though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour. . . . Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants; if he had been victorious he would have demanded divine honour from all rational creatures and absolute temporal power over the whole world" (L. 183). God is ostensibly absent in the story (as he is in the real world), but he is present in his people who work for the triumph of good, inspiring and executing righteous acts, and opposing and defeating evil.

What is Tolkien saying about the exact form that this conflict must necessarily take? How is evil really to be defeated? What does the Bible say? Does Tolkien's presentation answer to it?

Interestingly, there is a large quantity of war imagery in Scripture. Israel fought many bloody wars at the command of God. Metaphorically, the Christian is told to assume the whole armor of God in opposing the evil one. In Rev. 19 we read: "I saw heaven opened, and there was a white horse! Its rider is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war . . ." The armies of heaven follow him, as the kings of the earth gather with their armies to make war; they are all slain, and "all the birds were gorged with their flesh."

But what about such passages as that of Christ commanding: "You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I way to you, do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also," etc. (Matt. 5:38). Christians are instructed not to return evil for evil, but to avoid conflict, to be peacemakers, to serve others. How one is to reconcile these two seemingly conflicting positions is a challenge. As you read, note how Tolkien rises to the occasion.

He gives us two heroes, Aragorn and Frodo. They embody two views of the nature of true heroism. At the ending of the first volume of the story, or Book Two, they are separated, and they go their separate ways throughout Books Three, Four, Five, and well into Book Six, until each has executed his concept of the nature of heroism.

Aragorn represents the warrior-hero type, and as such bears comparison with the ancient archetype embodied in such mythical figures as Achilles and Aeneas. As you read, look for ways in which he is distinguished from his secular counterparts. He is a fascinating figure in the story. We are told early on that he is a king incognito. He attaches himself to Frodo at the outset of the journey as Frodo's guide and helper, fulfilling a servant role for as long as they are together. He is, in a sense, remarkably like Christ in his presence with believers. After they are separated, Aragorn engages in fierce battles, while Frodo proceeds on his quest separately with Sam, and later with Gollum as well.

Is Frodo a hero of a higher type? In many ways he is the opposite of the secular archetype of hero: he is humble, self-effacing, reluctant. One is reminded of Paul's remarking in the first epistle to the Corinthians that God chooses what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak to shame the strong. Frodo's journey is one of faith, his goal the final overcoming of evil, his means renunciation. Evil is to be overcome by the utter destruction of the Ring, the symbol of the exercise of power in dominating the earth and other people. Only God has a right to such power. This higher purpose will never be accomplished by opposing evil with its own means, the exercise of power; i.e. war.

As you read, note carefully how Tolkien develops and relates these two concepts of heroism. Also, consider how the following statement of Tolkien's is worked out: "I do not think that even Power or Domination is the real centre of my story. It provides the theme of a War, about something dark and threatening enough to seem at that time of supreme importance, but that is mainly a setting for characters to show themselves. The real theme for me is about something much more permanent and difficult: Death and immortality: the mystery of the love of the world in the hearts of a race doomed to leave and seemingly lose it; the anguish in the hearts of a race doomed not to leave it, until its whole evil-aroused story is complete. But if you have now read Vol. III and the story of Aragorn, you will have perceived that . . . ." (L. 186). As you read, see if you perceive it.

Heart of Darkness: Section Two

Section Two takes us up the river with Marlow to Kurtz's station. Marlow has been hearing rumors and remarks about Kurtz ever since he arrived at the first trading station. He has learned that Kurtz sends more ivory out of the jungle than all the other traders put together (74), that he is an exceptional man, of great importance to the company (79), and that he is "an emissary of pity and science and progress" . . . a man of "higher intelligence, wide sympathies, a singleness of purpose" (83). What is that singleness of purpose? Can economic and humanitarian purposes be successfully united into one? The section begins with Marlow overhearing a conversation in which Kurtz is envied and condemned as a scoundrel, and Marlow's curiosity is intensified.

As he steams up the Congo, Marlow feels the immense mystery of the jungle as though he were "travelling back into the earliest beginnings of the world, penetrating into the presence of an "implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention" (95). The jungle appears an evil entity, and he realizes that he is surrounded by a crew of cannibals on a rickety steamer that has run out of provisions. He comments" "It was unearthly, and the men were--No, they were not inhuman. . . that was the worst of it--this suspicion of their not being inhuman" (98). Why is this thought so unnerving? He begins to realized that there is a breadth to human nature of which he has not been aware. This realization must be met, not with principles, but with a "deliberate belief." Why won't principles do? Because they are held by the mind only. Belief encompasses the emotions and plumbs the true nature of a person, issuing in commitment and action.

The description of the native fireman (98, 99) vividly depicts Marlow's view of the natives. Suddenly an unearthly shriek arises from the jungle, and as they near Kurtz's station, they are startled to be met with a hail of arrows. We are told (108) that the natives fear invasion and are merely being protective, but the white pilgrims on the steamer do not understand the attack in that light and begin firing back, randomly, into the jungle. Marlow's native helmsman is struck and killed by a spear.

Marlow desperately enlists a novice to continue steering and tries to cope with the attack. But he is preoccupied with his desire to met Kurtz, to hear his voice, his words. Marlow wonders: are his words "a pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness"? (113) For knows that Kurtz has fallen prey to savage rituals (115, 117), and the absurdity of the situation hits him.

As Marlow recalls Kurtz's words, the story of his tragic spiritual fall unfolds (117). Kurtz had accepted the role of a supernatural being to the natives, and had assumed the authority and prerogatives of a god, exercising complete power over the natives. If you are a part of the Saturday group that has been discussing Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, you no doubt recognize that what Conrad is saying here is very like what Tolkien has in mind in the symbol of the Ring: the great wrong of exercising coercive power over other human beings. Kurtz's arrogance degenerates his soul to the extent of his writing a postscript to the pamphlet he entrusted to Marlow: "Exterminate all the brutes!"

The mystery of Kurtz is further deepened as Marlow, when he arrives at Kurtz station, is met by a curiously dressed Russian who attests that Kurtz "has enlarged my mind," and has the utmost reverence for him. How can this be? Conrad is deepening the mystery of human nature by suggesting how gullible people can be, how easily they may be taken in by an idealistic lie.

Heart of Darkness: Section one

The British Empire in the 19th Century was immense; the Brits boasted that the sun never set on the Union Jack, as indeed it did not. Among those nations the empire included were Canada, Australia, Egypt, South Africa, Kenya, India and Nigeria. Britain's interests were primarily economic; she was not interested in governing these countries any more than was necessary for her economic purposes. Since she was the first of the nations to industrialize, her plants needed raw materials for manufacture and markets to sell her goods. She desired the amassing of wealth through free trade. As a means to furthering this end she brought the British version of civilization: the "white man's burden."

For the purposes of this study our interests are twofold. First, What is Conrad saying about British imperialism? How is he evaluating it? Second, what are the implications for us as Americans, as America today seeks to impose her values on our world?

The Heart of Darkness begins with 5 seaman sitting on the deck of a yawl at evening in the London harbor. Behind them stretches the London metropolis, "the biggest and greatest town on earth," but we are repeatedly told that a "mournful gloom" rests upon it. The captain standing before them was the Director of Companies, "trustworthiness personified," but his work was "within the brooding gloom" (53).

The narrator's attention is focused upon Marlow who, sitting Buddha-like, begins to relate one of his "inconclusive experiences" (58). Note what type of man he is. Later in our reading we are told he greatly values work and hates lying above all things (85, 88). He muses that London itself was once "one of the dark places on the earth" (55) until the Romans and the Gauls brought civilization to it. "The conquest of the earth . . . is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only (58). We are not told the precise nature of that idea. What does Marlow have in mind? Probably the ideal of humanistic attitudes.

As Christians we must conclude that the idea which best redeems an uncivilized society is derived from Judeo-Christian values. What are these? The importance of the individual, of freedom of choice, of the rule of law, are among them. It is only in the instilling of such values in a people that the "conquest of the earth" may be said to be redeemed. Whether or not Conrad understood this is unclear from the text; he focuses on the negative underside of things, and leaves the reader to conclude for himself the nature of the "redeeming idea."

Marlow begins by relating how as a child he gazed at maps (this is strongly autobiographical) and dreamed of sailing up rivers, especially the Congo, that resembled "an immense snake uncoiled" as it serpintined its way into the heart of Africa (60). To receive his assignment he visits the headquarters of the Continental Trading Company in Europe (probably Brussels) where, in the office he meets women that remind him of those mythical figures that guard the entrance to the underworld. In mythology there were three: Clotho, who spun the thread of life, Lachesis, who measured its length, and Atropos, who cut the thread.

After being examined by a doctor, who wants to measure his skull, he visits his aunt to bid her good-bye. She represents a blind idealism which Marlow quickly sees as being completely out of touch with reality. In an aside he remarks that women in general are out of touch with reality, a remark which not only tells the reader more about the character of Marlow, but also has thematic significance for the story. Since the reader disagrees with him on his assessment of the feminine nature, one is inclined to suspect other of his judgments, which is Conrad's intention, as he is writing in the impressionist literary genre.

After a slow and tedious trip by sea, Marlow arrives at the company station where he encounters blacks in the most abject and inhuman conditions, some in chains as criminals, herded by other blacks with guns, and many lying prone "in attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair (71). In contrast to them is an immaculately dressed bookkeeper, whose appearance and bearing are completely incongruous with his surroundings. Marlow soon discovers that the prevailing motivation of all the whites he meets is simply to make money (76).

Soon Marlow begins to hear about Kurtz, a figure about whom everyone stands in awe. He is a "first class agent," who sends more ivory than all other agents put together (74), and who, at the same time has a reputation for being "an emissary of pity and science and progress." When Marlow is accused of being one of "the new gang--the gang of virtue" (83), he says he was suddenly enlightened, and almost laughs. What insight has he achieved? That Kurtz is using idealism as a cover-up for his own ambitions for wealth and personal advancement? Is it impossible to wed humanist idealism with ambitions for economic gain?

Reading Classics at the Wade

This fall we will be considering some fiction and autobiographies that present experiences of native Africans: colonialist attitudes, ancient customs and traditions of the Igbo peoples in Nigeria, and classic autobiographies of escaped slaves. Joseph Conrad's The Heart of Darkness offers a commentary on colonialist attitudes, Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart depicts Igbo customs and traditions, and Frederick Douglas's Narrative together with Harriet Jacobs Incidents present graphic accounts of their experiences in slavery and in escaping. This lecture gives some background for each of these authors and some suggestions for approaching The Heart of Darkness, which we will be considering next session.

Among those authors whose lives are utterly fascinating Joseph Conrad's certain ranks high. His life falls into three distinct phases: his youth in Poland, his years on the sea, and his career as an author who became a master stylist and a leading writer of impressionist literature. He was born in 1874 into the life of the Polish landed gentry as Jozef Korzeniowski. Poland was at that time under Russian rule and his father, being on the wrong side of the political fence, was exiled into Russia. Conrad's mother died when he was 8, and he was raised by his uncle.

As a youth Conrad was an avid reader, particularly of the works, in translation, of Dickens and Shakespeare. But he was especially fascinated by the study geography and the lives of men who devoted themselves to the exploration of land and sea. One day as a child gazing at a map of Africa, he put his finger down on the Congo River and declared that one day he would go there. The wish was realized in 1890 when as a steamboat captain he navigated up the Congo, an experience that offered the inspiration for The Heart of Darkness.

He astounded his uncle when as a teenager he declared his determination to leave his land-locked Poland and go to sea. Finally securing permission, with the help of a tutor he made his way down to Marseilles, France, where in 1874 he entered the French navy, and his naval career began. As a neophyte sailor he had many adventures, including participating in smuggling goods into Spain during the Carlos uprisings.

Conrad recounts how--in 1874 or 75, he forgot which--he first heard words in the English language when a sailor shouted "Look out, there," and was enchanted by the sound. Joining the English merchant marine, he rises in its ranks to its highest by 1886. In 1890 he realized the dream of his youth by taking command of a river steamer and sailing up the Congo. But he contracted malaria, which necessitated a year of convalescence in England. Having made an attempt at writing a story--Almayer's Folly--prior to this time, and finding it well received, he soon abandoned his life on the sea, married, and quickly rose to become a master writer of English fiction.

Musing on his adopted career, he writes: "The truth of the matter is that my faculty to write in English is as natural as any other aptitude with which I might have been born. I have a strange and overpowering feeling that it had always been an inherent part of myself. English was for me neither a matter of choice nor adoption. The merest idea of choice had never entered my head. And as to adoption--well, yes, there was adoption; but it was I who was adopted by the genius of the language, which, directly I came out of the stammer stage, made me its own so completely that its very idioms, I truly believe, had a direct action on my temperament and fashioned my still plastic character." He speaks of "the sheer appeal of the language, my quickly awakened love for its prose cadences, a subtle and unforeseen accord of my emotional nature with its genius . . . You may take it from me that if I had not known English I wouldn't have written a line for print, in my life." (Cushwa, An Introduction to Conrad, 209, 210).

Conrad entered the fiction-writing profession at a time when its leading English practitioners--e.g., Henry James, Ford Maddox Ford--were experimenting with point of view, and developed what is know as literary impressionism. Quickly adopting the technique, Conrad becomes one of its masters, and The Heart of Darkness is a good example. Impressionism is motivated by the desire to explore the nature of personal reality. The Impressionists ask, "Where does reality really lie?" and answer, "Not simply out there, in the external world, but rather within the human breast." They therefore turn away from the objective points of view of an author like Dickens and position in their writings one or more characters from whose consciousness they relate their story.

Impressionist techniques have many advantages, among them an enhanced sense of immediacy on the part of the reader, together with a certain aesthetic distance, as the reader is seeing external details "second-hand," as it were. Impressionist authors carefully depict the development of awareness on the part of a viewing consciousness, thus giving them an additional tool for keeping the interest of the reader. The focus is often on confronting a mystery and exploring various interpretations of it. The convention of the unreliable narrator quickly develops, so that readers feel, were they in such a situation, they would see it differently. Thus impressionist stories often are ambiguous, inviting more than one interpretation, each quite plausible.

Therefore, as you read The Heart of Darkness, note carefully what type of person Marlow is. We see him becoming fascinated with the mystery of Kurtz and gradually learning about this strange idealist. Precisely what does Marlow learn, from his adventure up the Congo, about Africa, about Kurtz, about the human nature? Why does he draw the conclusions he does? Do you agree, or take issue? To what extent do your Christian convictions shape your own impressions? We should have much to take about in our forthcoming sessions.

Chinua Achebe, in Things Fall Apart, adopts a more traditional third-person point of view to his story. His purpose is to give a fair and objective presentation of the time-honored customs and traditions of the African tribe in which he was himself born and raised. Born in 1930 into a Christian family in the Igbo tribe of Nigeria, he was raised in what he describes as the "crossroads of cultures." "On one arm of the cross," he explains,"we sang hymns and read the Bible night and day. On the other, my father's brother and his family, blinded by heathenism, offered food to idols." He was educated in a missionary school and an African university, where he read much colonial literature. He recounts how he unconsciously identified with the white man in these stories until he read The Heart of Darkness and realized that he really belonged with the savages Marlow saw dancing on the shores of the Congo, and he condemned Conrad's work as racist. When Things Fall Apart was widely hailed as a master novel, he continued to write novels in which he explores the nature of European colonialism and its effect upon the African peoples.

Things Fall Apart does not deal with the horrendous wrong of the slave trade, but an untold quantity of native Africans were captured, herded on ships like cattle, and taken to Europe and America to be sold into slavery. In America, several Africans managed to escape and gain a measure of freedom in the North. Some fifty book-length slave narratives exist, most of them published by the Abolitionist Movement in the North. Frederick Douglas's Narrative and Harriet Jacob's Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl are the most famous.

Douglas was born and raised a slave in Maryland, from which he devised his escape in 1838. A self-educated, brilliant man, he rose to become a powerful orator and ardent advocate for emancipation of his fellow Africans. During the days of Reconstruction, he was appointed to various governmental positions, finally becoming minister to Haiti in 1889. He publishes several accounts of his experiences; we will read the first of these, published in 1845 and very influential in effecting Emancipation.

As horrendous as the fate of male salves was, that of female slaves was still worse. Harriet Jacobs's graphic account of her experiences brings into sharp focus the plight of the black woman. If time affords us opportunity, we will close on a lighter note, considering how Joel Chandler Harris's Adventures of Briar Rabbit offers, in quite another vein, comments on Southern social realities.