Abolitionist author, orator and statesman Frederick Douglass (1818 to 1895) is well-known for his speeches, autobiography, and other works addressing the issue of slavery in the United States in the 19th century, but, in 1853, he wrote his only work of fiction – the novella The Heroic Slave – based on the Creole Mutiny/Creole Rebellion of 1841 and its leader, Madison Washington.

Douglass was approached by the British abolitionist Julia Griffiths (1811 to 1895), whom he had met in England, then a founder of the Rochester Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society, and was asked to write a short story for an anthology she was preparing, Autographs of Freedom, which would present fictional works on the institution of slavery and, hopefully, reach a large audience in the same way that Harriet Beecher Stowe's abolitionist novel Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852) recently had.

The Heroic Slave was published in 1853 by John P. Jewett and Company of Cleveland, Ohio, and, while it never attained the commercial or critical success of Uncle Tom's Cabin, it enjoyed respectable sales and, among the abolitionist community at least, was a bestseller.

Douglass could have chosen any event to deal with in his piece of historical fiction, but he chose the Creole Mutiny, as this event was of particular interest to him and had formed the basis of several speeches, lectures, and other works since 1841. The historical figure of Madison Washington, about whom almost nothing is known outside of the narrative of the Creole Mutiny, offered Douglass the opportunity to create a character, in the words of scholar David W. Blight, "of transformative eloquence as well as action" (250) and present the rebel slave leader to a White audience not only as a noble hero but also as a warning that there were many more "Madison Washingtons" among the slave population and, sooner or later, they would act just as he had done on board the Creole, though most likely with far more bloodshed.

The Creole Mutiny/Creole Rebellion was an insurrection led by Madison Washington on 7 November 1841 aboard the slave ship Creole, bound from Richmond, Virginia, to the slave markets of New Orleans, Louisiana. Washington had escaped slavery in Virginia in 1839 but returned in 1841 to free his wife, Susan, who was held on the same plantation he had been. Washington was recognized before he could locate Susan, re-enslaved, and sold to one Thomas McCargo of Richmond, a slave trader who was planning on selling a large number of slaves in New Orleans.

Washington was among the 135 enslaved men, women, and children aboard the Creole and, it is thought, prepared to take the ship before he ever set foot on board. He was acquainted with the story of the Amistad Seizure of 1839 in which illegally kidnapped Africans successfully took over the schooner La Amistad and eventually won their freedom as well as with the wreck of the Hermosa off the British territory of the Bahamas in 1840, which resulted in all the slaves on board freed by British authorities, as Great Britain had abolished slavery by this time.

Washington and 18 others took the Creole, resulting in the death of only one White man – the slave trader William Henry Merritt – and had the ship redirected to the port at Nassau in the Bahamas, where all the slaves were freed except the 19 who had taken part in the mutiny. These 19, including Washington, were finally also freed in April 1842. Washington and his wife, who was also aboard the Creole, then presumably began their new life as free people in the Bahamas and vanished from the historical record.

Douglass does not address what happened to Washington and his wife after 1842 because this is of no interest to him. His focus is solely on Washington as a noble rebel slave leader, an articulate, pious man of action, who sees what needs to be done and is able to do it. As Blight notes:

Douglass' increasingly strident advocacy of violent resistance against the terror practiced against fugitive slaves found an interesting outlet in Washington's story. "The Heroic Slave" allowed Douglass, as one critic has argued, to create "a new edition of himself." He had always portrayed himself as a reluctant fighter, a rebel in self-defense only, the means directed to the end of natural, God-given liberty and self-possession. Douglass was primarily a man of intellect, not brawn, words, not military action. But in Washington he created a character who was a noble combination of all those elements.

(249 to 250)

Douglass' Madison Washington towers over the other characters in the novella, especially the White crew members of the Creole, as the archetypal hero, the rebel leader willing to die to free his people. Although, as Blight and others have noted, the novella is not of the same literary quality as Douglass' other works, it is still worthy of consideration for the place it holds in 19th-century abolitionist literature and its popularity on publication also speaks to the enduring fascination people had with the Creole Mutiny and its leader, even over ten years after the event.

The following excerpt is taken from Part IV of The Heroic Slave (1853) by Frederick Douglass, as given on the site Documenting the American South, pp. 232 to 238. The narrative is spoken by Tom Grant, the first mate of the Creole, the fictional version of the actual first mate, Zephaniah Gifford. In Douglass' version of the event, the captain of the ship and a slave trader are killed in the rebellion, while, in the actual event, as noted, only a slave trader was killed.

At this point in the novella, Grant has been accused of cowardice and "abolitionist sympathies" by his White comrades for allowing the Blacks aboard the Creole to take the ship and, later, free themselves. Grant responds by telling the story of the revolt and highlighting the nobility and courage of its leader.

The leader of the mutiny in question was just as shrewd a fellow as ever I met in my life and was as well fitted to lead in a dangerous enterprise as any one white man in ten thousand. The name of this man was Madison Washington. In the short time he had been on board, he had secured the confidence of every officer. The negroes fairly worshipped him. His manner and bearing were such, that no one could suspect him of a murderous purpose. The only feeling with which we regarded him was, that he was a powerful, good-disposed negro.

He seldom spake to anyone, and when he did speak, it was with the utmost propriety. His words were well chosen, and his pronunciation equal to that of any schoolmaster. It was a mystery to us where he got his knowledge of language; but as little was said to him, none of us knew the extent of his intelligence and ability till it was too late. It seems he brought three files with him on board and must have gone to work upon his fetters the first night out; and he must have worked well at that; for on the day of the rising, he got the irons off eighteen besides himself.

The attack began just about twilight in the evening. Apprehending a squall, I had commanded the second mate to order all hands on deck, to take in sail. A few minutes before this I had seen Madison's head above the hatchway, looking out upon the white-capped waves at the leeward. I think I never saw him look more good-natured. I stood just about midship, on the larboard side. The captain was pacing the quarter-deck on the starboard side, in company with Mr. Jameson, the owner of most of the slaves on board. Both were armed.

I had just told the men to lay aloft, and was looking to see my orders obeyed, when I heard the discharge of a pistol on the starboard side; and turning suddenly around, the very deck seemed covered with fiends from the pit. The nineteen negroes were all on deck, with their broken fetters in their hands, rushing in all directions. I put my hand quickly in my pocket to draw out my jack-knife; but before I could draw it, I was knocked senseless to the deck.

When I came to myself, (which I did in a few minutes, I suppose, for it was yet quite light,) there was not a white man on deck. The sailors were all aloft in the rigging and dared not come down. Captain Clarke and Mr. Jameson lay stretched on the quarter-deck, – both dying, – while Madison himself stood at the helm unhurt.

I was completely weakened by the loss of blood and had not recovered from the stunning blow which felled me to the deck; but it was a little too much for me, even in my prostrate condition, to see our good brig commanded by a black murderer. So I called out to the men to come down and take the ship, or die in the attempt. Suiting the action to the word, I started aft.

'You murderous villain', said I, to the imp at the helm, and rushed upon him to deal him a blow, when he pushed me back with his strong, black arm, as though I had been a boy of twelve. I looked around for the men. They were still in the rigging. Not one had come down. I started towards Madison again. The rascal now told me to stand back. 'Sir,' said he, 'your life is in my hands. I could have killed you a dozen times over during this last half hour and could kill you now. You call me a black murderer. I am not a murderer. God is my witness that liberty, not malice, is the motive for this night's work. I have done no more to those dead men yonder, than they would have done to me in like circumstances. We have struck for our freedom, and if a true man's heart be in you, you will honor us for the deed. We have done that which you applaud your fathers for doing, and if we are murderers, so were they.'

I felt little disposition to reply to this impudent speech. By heaven, it disarmed me. The fellow loomed up before me. I forgot his blackness in the dignity of his manner, and the eloquence of his speech. It seemed as if the souls of both the great dead (whose names he bore) had entered him.

To the sailors in the rigging, he said: 'Men! the battle is over, – your captain is dead. I have complete command of this vessel. All resistance to my authority will be in vain. My men have won their liberty, with no other weapons but their own broken fetters. We are nineteen in number. We do not thirst for your blood; we demand only our rightful freedom. Do not flatter yourselves that I am ignorant of chart or compass. I know both. We are now only about sixty miles from Nassau. Come down and do your duty. Land us in Nassau, and not a hair of your heads shall be hurt.'

I shouted, 'Stay where you are, men,' – when a sturdy black fellow ran at me with a handspike, and would have split my head open, but for the interference of Madison, who darted between me and the blow. 'I know what you are up to,' said the latter to me. 'You want to navigate this brig into a slave port, where you would have us all hanged; but you'll miss it; before this brig shall touch a slave-cursed shore while I am on board, I will myself put a match to the magazine, and blow her, and be blown with her, into a thousand fragments. Now I have saved your life twice within these last twenty minutes, – for, when you lay helpless on deck, my men were about to kill you. I held them in check. And if you now (seeing I am your friend and not your enemy) persist in your resistance to my authority, I give you fair warning, you shall die.'

Saying this to me, he cast a glance into the rigging where the terror-stricken sailors were clinging, like so many frightened monkeys, and commanded them to come down, in a tone from which there was no appeal; for four men stood by with muskets in hand, ready at the word of command to shoot them down.

I now became satisfied that resistance was out of the question; that my best policy was to put the brig into Nassau and secure the assistance of the American consul at that port. I felt sure that the authorities would enable us to secure the murderers and bring them to trial.

By this time the apprehended squall had burst upon us. The wind howled furiously, – the ocean was white with foam, which, on account of the darkness, we could see only by the quick flashes of lightning that darted occasionally from the angry sky. All was alarm and confusion. Hideous cries came up from the slave women. Above the roaring billows a succession of heavy thunder rolled along, swelling the terrific din.

Owing to the great darkness, and a sudden shift of the wind, we found ourselves in the trough of the sea. When shipping a heavy sea over the starboard bow, the bodies of the captain and Mr. Jameson were washed overboard. For a while, we had dearer interests to look after than slave property. A more savage thunder-gust never swept the ocean. Our brig rolled and creaked as if every bolt would be started, and every thread of oakum would be pressed out of the seams. To the pumps! to the pumps! I cried, but not a sailor would quit his grasp. Fortunately, this squall soon passed over, or we must have been food for sharks.

During all the storm, Madison stood firmly at the helm, – his keen eye fixed upon the binnacle. He was not indifferent to the dreadful hurricane; yet he met it with the equanimity of an old sailor. He was silent but not agitated. The first words he uttered after the storm had slightly subsided, were characteristic of the man. 'Mr. mate, you cannot write the bloody laws of slavery on those restless billows. The ocean, if not the land, is free.'

I confess, gentlemen, I felt myself in the presence of a superior man; one who, had he been a white man, I would have followed willingly and gladly in any honorable enterprise. Our difference of color was the only ground for difference of action. It was not that his principles were wrong in the abstract; for they are the principles of 1776. But I could not bring myself to recognize their application to one whom I deemed my inferior.