This is the memory palace. I'm Nate de Mayo.

Picture a box.

It's made of wood.

Maybe pine. It's simple.

Three feet long, two feet wide, two and a half feet deep, and open at the top.

Now, picture yourself climbing inside.

Sit down.

Feel the wood against your back.

Run your fingers along the rough surface of the boards.

Maybe you have to hug your knees to your chest just to fit inside.

Picture someone closing the box.

Nailing at shud.

Picture the darkness.

Picture a man, five foot eight, but big, barrel chested, nearly 200 pounds.

His hair is parted in a thick wave, like Frederick Douglass when he was young.

His hand is wrapped in a bandage.

This man is Henry Brown.

He was born bound in 1815 on a Virginia plantation owned by a man who treated Henry and his family well,

which is a relative term.

They weren't beaten.

They were well fed and clothed and sheltered.

But even as a boy, Henry Brown knew that wasn't enough.

...