prompt:
Chapter: I never could tell how we reached the wharf. My brain was all of a whirl,
and my limbs tottered under me. At an appointed place we met my uncle
Phillip, who had started before us on a different route, that he might
reach the wharf first, and give us timely warning if there was any danger.
A row-boat was in readiness. As I was about to step in, I felt something
pull me gently, and turning round I saw Benny, looking pale and anxious. He
whispered in my ear, "I've been peeping into the doctor's window, and he's
at home. Good by, mother. Don't cry; I'll come." He hastened away. I
clasped the hand of my good uncle, to whom I owed so much, and of Peter,
the brave, generous friend who had volunteered to run such terrible risks
to secure my safety. To this day I remember how his bright face beamed with
joy, when he told me he had discovered a safe method for me to escape. Yet
that intelligent, enterprising, noble-hearted man was a chattel! Liable, by
the laws of a country that calls itself civilized, to be sold with horses
and pigs! We parted in silence. Our hearts were all too full for words!

Swiftly the boat glided over the water. After a while, one of the sailors
said, "Don't be down-hearted, madam. We will take you safely to your
husband, in ----." At first I could not imagine what he meant; but I had
presence of mind to think that it probably referred to something the
captain had told him; so I thanked him, and said I hoped we should have
pleasant weather.

When I entered the vessel the captain came forward to meet me. He was an
elderly man, with a pleasant countenance. He showed me to a little box of a
cabin, where sat my friend Fanny. She started as if she had seen a spectre.
She gazed on me in utter astonishment, and exclaimed, "Linda, can this be
_you_? or is it your ghost?" When we were locked in each other's arms, my
overwrought feelings could no longer be restrained. My sobs reached the
ears of the captain, who came and very kindly reminded us, that for his
safety, as well as our own, it would be prudent for us not to attract any
attention. He said that when there was a sail in sight he wished us to keep
below; but at other times, he had no objection to our being on deck. He
assured us that he would keep a good lookout, and if we acted prudently, he
thought we should be in no danger. He had represented us as women going to
meet our husbands in ----. We thanked him, and promised to observe
carefully all the directions he gave us.

Fanny and I now talked by ourselves, low and quietly, in our little cabin.
She told me of the suffering she had gone through in making her escape, and
of her terrors while she was concealed in her mother's house. Above all,
she dwelt on the agony of separation from all her children on that dreadful
auction day. She could scarcely credit me, when I told her of the place
where I had passed nearly seven years. "We have the same sorrows," said I.
"No," replied she, "you are going to see your children soon, and there is
no hope that I shall ever even hear from mine."

The vessel was soon under way, but we made slow progress. The wind was
against us, I should not have cared for this, if we had been out of sight
of the town; but until there were miles of water between us and our
enemies, we were filled with constant apprehensions that the constables
would come on board. Neither could I feel quite at ease with the captain
and his men. I was an entire stranger to that class of people, and I had
heard that sailors were rough, and sometimes cruel. We were so completely
in their power, that if they were bad men, our situation would be dreadful.
Now that the captain was paid for our passage, might he not be tempted to
make more money by giving us up to those who claimed us as property? I was
naturally of a confiding disposition, but slavery had made me suspicious of
every body. Fanny did not share my distrust of the captain or his men. She
said she was afraid at first, but she had been on board three days while
the vessel lay in the dock, and nobody had betrayed her, or treated her
otherwise than kindly.

The captain soon came to advise us to go on deck for fresh air. His
friendly and respectful manner, combined with Fanny's testimony, reassured
me, and we went with him. He placed us in a comfortable seat, and
occasionally entered into conversation. He told us he was a Southerner by
birth, and had spent the greater part of his life in the Slave States, and
that he had recently lost a brother who traded in slaves. "But," said he,
"it is a pitiable and degrading business, and I always felt ashamed to
acknowledge my brother in connection with it." As we passed Snaky Swamp, he
pointed to it, and said, "There is a slave territory that defies all the
laws." I thought of the terrible days I had spent there, and though it was
not called Dismal Swamp, it made me feel very dismal as I looked at it.

I shall never forget that night. The balmy air of spring was so refreshing!
And how shall I describe my sensations when we were fairly sailing on
Chesapeake Bay? O, the beautiful sunshine! the exhilarating breeze! And I
could enjoy them without fear or restraint. I had never realized what grand
things air and sunlight are till I had been deprived of them.

Ten days after we left land we were approaching Philadelphia. The captain
said we should arrive there in the night, but he thought we had better wait
till morning, and go on shore in broad daylight, as the best way to avoid
suspicion.

I replied, "You know best. But will you stay on board and protect us?"

He saw that I was suspicious, and he said he was sorry, now that he had
brought us to the end of our voyage, to find I had so little confidence in
him. Ah, if he had ever been a slave he would have known how difficult it
was to trust a white man. He assured us that we might sleep through the
night without fear; that he would take care we were not left unprotected.
Be it said to the honor of this captain, Southerner as he was, that if
Fanny and I had been white ladies, and our passage lawfully engaged, he
could not have treated us more respectfully. My intelligent friend, Peter,
had rightly estimated the character of the man to whose honor he had
intrusted us. The next morning I was on deck as soon as the day dawned. I
called Fanny to see the sun rise, for the first time in our lives, on free
soil; for such I _then_ believed it to be. We watched the reddening sky,
and saw the great orb come up slowly out of the water, as it seemed. Soon
the waves began to sparkle, and every thing caught the beautiful glow.
Before us lay the city of strangers. We looked at each other, and the eyes
of both were moistened with tears. We had escaped from slavery, and we
supposed ourselves to be safe from the hunters. But we were alone in the
world, and we had left dear ties behind us; ties cruelly sundered by the
demon Slavery.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Northward Bound Fanny and Harriet reunited on the ship and were overjoyed to be with each other. They were pleased that the white captain was so kind to them, explaining that he thought the slave trade was "a pitiable and degrading business. He treated them both with immense respect and their journey to the Free states was a pleasant one


prompt:
Chapter: I had heard that the poor slave had many friends at the north. I trusted we
should find some of them. Meantime, we would take it for granted that all
were friends, till they proved to the contrary. I sought out the kind
captain, thanked him for his attentions, and told him I should never cease
to be grateful for the service he had rendered us. I gave him a message to
the friends I had left at home, and he promised to deliver it. We were
placed in a row-boat, and in about fifteen minutes were landed on a wood
wharf in Philadelphia. As I stood looking round, the friendly captain
touched me on the shoulder, and said, "There is a respectable-looking
colored man behind you. I will speak to him about the New York trains, and
tell him you wish to go directly on." I thanked him, and asked him to
direct me to some shops where I could buy gloves and veils. He did so, and
said he would talk with the colored man till I returned. I made what haste
I could. Constant exercise on board the vessel, and frequent rubbing with
salt water, had nearly restored the use of my limbs. The noise of the great
city confused me, but I found the shops, and bought some double veils and
gloves for Fanny and myself. The shopman told me they were so many levies.
I had never heard the word before, but I did not tell him so. I thought if
he knew I was a stranger he might ask me where I came from. I gave him a
gold piece, and when he returned the change, I counted it, and found out
how much a levy was. I made my way back to the wharf, where the captain
introduced me to the colored man, as the Rev. Jeremiah Durham, minister of
Bethel church. He took me by the hand, as if I had been an old friend. He
told us we were too late for the morning cars to New York, and must wait
until the evening, or the next morning. He invited me to go home with him,
assuring me that his wife would give me a cordial welcome; and for my
friend he would provide a home with one of his neighbors. I thanked him for
so much kindness to strangers, and told him if I must be detained, I should
like to hunt up some people who formerly went from our part of the country.
Mr. Durham insisted that I should dine with him, and then he would assist
me in finding my friends. The sailors came to bid us good by. I shook their
hardy hands, with tears in my eyes. They had all been kind to us, and they
had rendered us a greater service than they could possibly conceive of.

I had never seen so large a city, or been in contact with so many people in
the streets. It seemed as if those who passed looked at us with an
expression of curiosity. My face was so blistered and peeled, by sitting on
deck, in wind and sunshine, that I thought they could not easily decide to
what nation I belonged.

Mrs. Durham met me with a kindly welcome, without asking any questions. I
was tired, and her friendly manner was a sweet refreshment. God bless her!
I was sure that she had comforted other weary hearts, before I received her
sympathy. She was surrounded by her husband and children, in a home made
sacred by protecting laws. I thought of my own children, and sighed.

After dinner Mr. Durham went with me in quest of the friends I had spoken
of. They went from my native town, and I anticipated much pleasure in
looking on familiar faces. They were not at home, and we retracted our
steps through streets delightfully clean. On the way, Mr. Durham observed
that I had spoken to him of a daughter I expected to meet; that he was
surprised, for I looked so young he had taken me for a single woman. He was
approaching a subject on which I was extremely sensitive. He would ask
about my husband next, I thought, and if I answered him truly, what would
he think of me? I told him I had two children, one in New York the other at
the south. He asked some further questions, and I frankly told him some of
the most important events of my life. It was painful for me to do it; but I
would not deceive him. If he was desirous of being my friend, I thought he
ought to know how far I was worthy of it. "Excuse me, if I have tried your
feelings," said he. "I did not question you from idle curiosity. I wanted
to understand your situation, in order to know whether I could be of any
service to you, or your little girl. Your straight-forward answers do you
credit; but don't answer every body so openly. It might give some heartless
people a pretext for treating you with contempt."

That word _contempt_ burned me like coals of fire. I replied, "God alone
knows how I have suffered; and He, I trust, will forgive me. If I am
permitted to have my children, I intend to be a good mother, and to live in
such a manner that people cannot treat me with contempt."

"I respect your sentiments," said he. "Place your trust in God, and be
governed by good principles, and you will not fail to find friends."

When we reached home, I went to my room, glad to shut out the world for a
while. The words he had spoken made an indelible impression upon me. They
brought up great shadows from the mournful past. In the midst of my
meditations I was startled by a knock at the door. Mrs. Durham entered, her
face all beaming with kindness, to say that there was an anti-slavery
friend down stairs, who would like to see me. I overcame my dread of
encountering strangers, and went with her. Many questions were asked
concerning my experiences, and my escape from slavery; but I observed how
careful they all were not to say any thing that might wound my feelings.
How gratifying this was, can be fully understood only by those who have
been accustomed to be treated as if they were not included within the pale
of human beings. The anti-slavery friend had come to inquire into my plans,
and to offer assistance, if needed. Fanny was comfortably established, for
the present, with a friend of Mr. Durham. The Anti-Slavery Society agreed
to pay her expenses to New York. The same was offered to me, but I declined
to accept it, telling them that my grandmother had given me sufficient to
pay my expenses to the end of my journey. We were urged to remain in
Philadelphia a few days, until some suitable escort could be found for us.
I gladly accepted the proposition, for I had a dread of meeting
slaveholders, and some dread also of railroads. I had never entered a
railroad car in my life, and it seemed to me quite an important event.

That night I sought my pillow with feelings I had never carried to it
before. I verily believed myself to be a free woman. I was wakeful for a
long time, and I had no sooner fallen asleep, than I was roused by
fire-bells. I jumped up, and hurried on my clothes. Where I came from,
every body hastened to dress themselves on such occasions. The white people
thought a great fire might be used as a good opportunity for insurrection,
and that it was best to be in readiness; and the colored people were
ordered out to labor in extinguishing the flames. There was but one engine
in our town, and colored women and children were often required to drag it
to the river's edge and fill it. Mrs. Durham's daughter slept in the same
room with me, and seeing that she slept through all the din, I thought it
was my duty to wake her. "What's the matter?" said she, rubbing her eyes.

"They're screaming fire in the streets, and the bells are ringing," I
replied.

"What of that?" said she, drowsily. "We are used to it. We never get up,
without the fire is very near. What good would it do?"

I was quite surprised that it was not necessary for us to go and help fill
the engine. I was an ignorant child, just beginning to learn how things
went on in great cities.

At daylight, I heard women crying fresh fish, berries, radishes, and
various other things. All this was new to me. I dressed myself at an early
hour, and sat at the window to watch that unknown tide of life.
Philadelphia seemed to me a wonderfully great place. At the breakfast
table, my idea of going out to drag the engine was laughed over, and I
joined in the mirth.

I went to see Fanny, and found her so well contented among her new friends
that she was in no haste to leave. I was also very happy with my kind
hostess. She had had advantages for education, and was vastly my superior.
Every day, almost every hour, I was adding to my little stock of knowledge.
She took me out to see the city as much as she deemed prudent. One day she
took me to an artist's room, and showed me the portraits of some of her
children. I had never seen any paintings of colored people before, and they
seemed to be beautiful.

At the end of five days, one of Mrs. Durham's friends offered to accompany
us to New York the following morning. As I held the hand of my good hostess
in a parting clasp, I longed to know whether her husband had repeated to
her what I had told him. I supposed he had, but she never made any allusion
to it. I presume it was the delicate silence of womanly sympathy.

When Mr. Durham handed us our tickets, he said, "I am afraid you will have
a disagreeable ride; but I could not procure tickets for the first-class
cars."

Supposing I had not given him money enough, I offered more. "O, no," said
he, "they could not be had for any money. They don't allow colored people
to go in the first-class cars."

This was the first chill to my enthusiasm about the Free States. Colored
people were allowed to ride in a filthy box, behind white people, at the
south, but there they were not required to pay for the privilege. It made
me sad to find how the north aped the customs of slavery.

We were stowed away in a large, rough car, with windows on each side, too
high for us to look out without standing up. It was crowded with people,
apparently of all nations. There were plenty of beds and cradles,
containing screaming and kicking babies. Every other man had a cigar or
pipe in his mouth, and jugs of whiskey were handed round freely. The fumes
of the whiskey and the dense tobacco smoke were sickening to my senses, and
my mind was equally nauseated by the coarse jokes and ribald songs around
me. It was a very disagreeable ride. Since that time there has been some
improvement in these matters.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Incidents In Philadelphia When the boat reached Philadelphia, Harriet earnestly thanked the captain for his kindness. He introduced her to the Rev. Jeremiah Durham, who said that Harriet could stay with him for a few days before she was able to get to New York. Fanny was placed with another family. Mrs. Durham was an extremely pleasant and solicitous woman and made Harriet feel very welcome. Harriet was awed by the bustle and diversity of Philadelphia. It was very different from her home in the south; that evening when the bells signaling a fire were heard, Harriet assumed the whole town had to get up and respond. She considered herself "an ignorant child, just beginning to learn how things went on in great cities. After five days one of Mrs. Durham's friends decided to accompany Harriet and Fanny to New York. In their travels Harriet observed that the North was in some ways no better than the south, for colored people were treated quite differently


prompt:
Chapter: When we arrived in New York, I was half crazed by the crowd of coachmen
calling out, "Carriage, ma'am?" We bargained with one to take us to
Sullivan Street for twelve shillings. A burly Irishman stepped up and said,
"I'll tak' ye for sax shillings." The reduction of half the price was an
object to us, and we asked if he could take us right away. "Troth an I
will, ladies," he replied. I noticed that the hackmen smiled at each other,
and I inquired whether his conveyance was decent. "Yes, it's dacent it is,
marm. Devil a bit would I be after takin' ladies in a cab that was not
dacent." We gave him our checks. He went for the baggage, and soon
reappeared, saying, "This way, if you plase, ladies." We followed, and
found our trunks on a truck, and we were invited to take our seats on them.
We told him that was not what we bargained for, and he must take the trunks
off. He swore they should not be touched till we had paid him six
shillings. In our situation it was not prudent to attract attention, and I
was about to pay him what he required, when a man near by shook his head
for me not to do it. After a great ado we got rid of the Irishman, and had
our trunks fastened on a hack. We had been recommended to a boarding-house
in Sullivan Street, and thither we drove. There Fanny and I separated. The
Anti-Slavery Society provided a home for her, and I afterwards heard of her
in prosperous circumstances. I sent for an old friend from my part of the
country, who had for some time been doing business in New York. He came
immediately. I told him I wanted to go to my daughter, and asked him to aid
me in procuring an interview.

I cautioned him not to let it be known to the family that I had just
arrived from the south, because they supposed I had been at the north seven
years. He told me there was a colored woman in Brooklyn who came from the
same town I did, and I had better go to her house, and have my daughter
meet me there. I accepted the proposition thankfully, and he agreed to
escort me to Brooklyn. We crossed Fulton ferry, went up Myrtle Avenue, and
stopped at the house he designated. I was just about to enter, when two
girls passed. My friend called my attention to them. I turned, and
recognized in the eldest, Sarah, the daughter of a woman who used to live
with my grandmother, but who had left the south years ago. Surprised and
rejoiced at this unexpected meeting, I threw my arms round her, and
inquired concerning her mother.

"You take no notice of the other girl," said my friend. I turned, and there
stood my Ellen! I pressed her to my heart, then held her away from me to
take a look at her. She had changed a good deal in the two years since I
parted from her. Signs of neglect could be discerned by eyes less observing
than a mother's. My friend invited us all to go into the house; but Ellen
said she had been sent of an errand, which she would do as quickly as
possible, and go home and ask Mrs. Hobbs to let her come and see me. It was
agreed that I should send for her the next day. Her companion, Sarah,
hastened to tell her mother of my arrival. When I entered the house, I
found the mistress of it absent, and I waited for her return. Before I saw
her, I heard her saying, "Where is Linda Brent? I used to know her father
and mother." Soon Sarah came with her mother. So there was quite a company
of us, all from my grandmother's neighborhood. These friends gathered round
me and questioned me eagerly. They laughed, they cried, and they shouted.
They thanked God that I had got away from my persecutors and was safe on
Long Island. It was a day of great excitement. How different from the
silent days I had passed in my dreary den!

The next morning was Sunday. My first waking thoughts were occupied with
the note I was to send to Mrs. Hobbs, the lady with whom Ellen lived. That
I had recently come into that vicinity was evident; otherwise I should have
sooner inquired for my daughter. It would not do to let them know I had
just arrived from the south, for that would involve the suspicion of my
having been harbored there, and might bring trouble, if not ruin, on
several people.

I like a straightforward course, and am always reluctant to resort to
subterfuges. So far as my ways have been crooked, I charge them all upon
slavery. It was that system of violence and wrong which now left me no
alternative but to enact a falsehood. I began my note by stating that I had
recently arrived from Canada, and was very desirous to have my daughter
come to see me. She came and brought a message from Mrs. Hobbs, inviting me
to her house, and assuring me that I need not have any fears. The
conversation I had with my child did not leave my mind at ease. When I
asked if she was well treated, she answered yes; but there was no
heartiness in the tone, and it seemed to me that she said it from an
unwillingness to have me troubled on her account. Before she left me, she
asked very earnestly, "Mother, will you take me to live with you?" It made
me sad to think that I could not give her a home till I went to work and
earned the means; and that might take me a long time. When she was placed
with Mrs. Hobbs, the agreement was that she should be sent to school She
had been there two years, and was now nine years old, and she scarcely knew
her letters. There was no excuse for this, for there were good public
schools in Brooklyn, to which she could have been sent without expense.

She staid with me till dark, and I went home with her. I was received in a
friendly manner by the family, and all agreed in saying that Ellen was a
useful, good girl. Mrs. Hobbs looked me coolly in the face, and said, "I
suppose you know that my cousin, Mr. Sands, has _given_ her to my eldest
daughter. She will make a nice waiting-maid for her when she grows up." I
did not answer a word. How _could_ she, who knew by experience the strength
of a mother's love, and who was perfectly aware of the relation Mr. Sands
bore to my children,--how _could_ she look me in the face, while she thrust
such a dagger into my heart?

I was no longer surprised that they had kept her in such a state of
ignorance. Mr. Hobbs had formerly been wealthy, but he had failed, and
afterwards obtained a subordinate situation in the Custom House. Perhaps
they expected to return to the south some day; and Ellen's knowledge was
quite sufficient for a slave's condition. I was impatient to go to work and
earn money, that I might change the uncertain position of my children. Mr.
Sands had not kept his promise to emancipate them. I had also been deceived
about Ellen. What security had I with regard to Benjamin? I felt that I had
none.

I returned to my friend's house in an uneasy state of mind. In order to
protect my children, it was necessary that I should own myself. I called
myself free, and sometimes felt so; but I knew I was insecure. I sat down
that night and wrote a civil letter to Dr. Flint, asking him to state the
lowest terms on which he would sell me; and as I belonged by law to his
daughter, I wrote to her also, making a similar request.

Since my arrival at the north I had not been unmindful of my dear brother
William. I had made diligent inquiries for him, and having heard of him in
Boston, I went thither. When I arrived there, I found he had gone to New
Bedford. I wrote to that place, and was informed he had gone on a whaling
voyage, and would not return for some months. I went back to New York to
get employment near Ellen. I received an answer from Dr. Flint, which gave
me no encouragement. He advised me to return and submit myself to my
rightful owners, and then any request I might make would be granted. I lent
this letter to a friend, who lost it; otherwise I would present a copy to
my readers.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Meeting Of Mother And Daughter After navigating a maze of coachmen, Harriet and Fanny made it to a boarding-house on Sullivan Street. They separated, and Fanny was provided a comfortable home by the Anti-Slavery Society. Harriet sent for an old friend who told her that there was a colored woman in Brooklyn who came from the same southern town and whose home would be a convenient place for Harriet to meet up with her daughter. Harriet traveled to the house in question with her friend, who, as they neared the house, pointed out two girls in the street. One was the daughter of a woman who used to live with her grandmother, and the other was Ellen, her own daughter. Mother and daughter embraced, and Harriet could tell Ellen was not happy, although she said nothing to imply that outright. Harriet decided to send a note to Mrs. Hobbs, the woman with whom Ellen resided, to have her daughter come and see her. She could not be completely honest that she had just arrived from the south as a runaway, so she explained that she had been in Canada for a while. Ellen came to visit and Harriet was saddened that it would take her so long to raise the money to have Ellen come live with her on her own. When Harriet accompanied her home, Mrs. Hobbs made it clear that Ellen had been given to her eldest daughter and would be a waiting-maid when she was older. Harriet was distressed that Mr. Sands had clearly not emancipated her children. Any thought that she was free upon coming to the north dissipated; she knew she was still a slave and wrote to Dr. Flint asking at what price he might sell her. His reply suggested she come back to the south


prompt:
Chapter: My greatest anxiety now was to obtain employment. My health was greatly
improved, though my limbs continued to trouble me with swelling whenever I
walked much. The greatest difficulty in my way was, that those who employed
strangers required a recommendation; and in my peculiar position, I could,
          of course, obtain no certificates from the families I had so faithfully
          served.

          One day an acquaintance told me of a lady who wanted a nurse for her babe,
          and I immediately applied for the situation. The lady told me she preferred
          to have one who had been a mother, and accustomed to the care of infants. I
          told her I had nursed two babes of my own. She asked me many questions,
          but, to my great relief, did not require a recommendation from my former
          employers. She told me she was an English woman, and that was a pleasant
          circumstance to me, because I had heard they had less prejudice against
          color than Americans entertained. It was agreed that we should try each
          other for a week. The trial proved satisfactory to both parties, and I was
          engaged for a month.

          The heavenly Father had been most merciful to me in leading me to this
          place. Mrs. Bruce was a kind and gentle lady, and proved a true and
          sympathizing friend. Before the stipulated month expired, the necessity of
          passing up and down stairs frequently, caused my limbs to swell so
          painfully, that I became unable to perform my duties. Many ladies would
          have thoughtlessly discharged me; but Mrs. Bruce made arrangements to save
          me steps, and employed a physician to attend upon me. I had not yet told
          her that I was a fugitive slave. She noticed that I was often sad, and
          kindly inquired the cause. I spoke of being separated from my children, and
          from relatives who were dear to me; but I did not mention the constant
          feeling of insecurity which oppressed my spirits. I longed for some one to
          confide it; but I had been so deceived by white people, that I had lost all
          confidence in them. If they spoke kind words to me, I thought it was for
          some selfish purpose. I had entered this family with the distrustful
          feelings I had brought with me out of slavery; but ere six months had
          passed, I found that the gentle deportment of Mrs. Bruce and the smiles of
          her lovely babe were thawing my chilled heart. My narrow mind also began to
          expand under the influences of her intelligent conversation, and the
          opportunities for reading, which were gladly allowed me whenever I had
          leisure from my duties. I gradually became more energetic and more
          cheerful.

          The old feeling of insecurity, especially with regard to my children, often
          threw its dark shadow across my sunshine. Mrs. Bruce offered me a home for
          Ellen; but pleasant as it would have been, I did not dare to accept it, for
          fear of offending the Hobbs family. Their knowledge of my precarious
          situation placed me in their power; and I felt that it was important for me
          to keep on the right side of them, till, by dint of labor and economy, I
          could make a home for my children. I was far from feeling satisfied with
          Ellen's situation. She was not well cared for. She sometimes came to New
          York to visit me; but she generally brought a request from Mrs. Hobbs that
          I would buy her a pair of shoes, or some article of clothing. This was
          accompanied by a promise of payment when Mr. Hobbs's salary at the Custom
          House became due; but some how or other the pay-day never came. Thus many
          dollars of my earnings were expended to keep my child comfortably clothed.
          That, however, was a slight trouble, compared with the fear that their
          pecuniary embarrassments might induce them to sell my precious young
          daughter. I knew they were in constant communication with Southerners, and
          had frequent opportunities to do it. I have stated that when Dr. Flint put
          Ellen in jail, at two years old, she had an inflammation of the eyes,
          occasioned by measles. This disease still troubled her; and kind Mrs. Bruce
          proposed that she should come to New York for a while, to be under the care
          of Dr. Elliott, a well known oculist. It did not occur to me that there was
          any thing improper in a mother's making such a request; but Mrs. Hobbs was
          very angry, and refused to let her go. Situated as I was, it was not
          politic to insist upon it. I made no complaint, but I longed to be entirely
          free to act a mother's part towards my children. The next time I went over
          to Brooklyn, Mrs. Hobbs, as if to apologize for her anger, told me she had
          employed her own physician to attend to Ellen's eyes, and that she had
          refused my request because she did not consider it safe to trust her in New
          York. I accepted the explanation in silence; but she had told me that my
          child _belonged_ to her daughter, and I suspected that her real motive was
          a fear of my conveying her property away from her. Perhaps I did her
          injustice; but my knowledge of Southerners made it difficult for me to feel
          otherwise.

          Sweet and bitter were mixed in the cup of my life, and I was thankful that
          it had ceased to be entirely bitter. I loved Mrs. Bruce's babe. When it
          laughed and crowed in my face, and twined its little tender arms
          confidingly about my neck, it made me think of the time when Benny and
          Ellen were babies, and my wounded heart was soothed. One bright morning, as
          I stood at the window, tossing baby in my arms, my attention was attracted
          by a young man in sailor's dress, who was closely observing every house as
          he passed. I looked at him earnestly. Could it be my brother William? It
          _must_ be he--and yet, how changed! I placed the baby safely, flew down
          stairs, opened the front door, beckoned to the sailor, and in less than a
          minute I was clasped in my brother's arms. How much we had to tell each
          other! How we laughed, and how we cried, over each other's adventures! I
          took him to Brooklyn, and again saw him with Ellen, the dear child whom he
          had loved and tended so carefully, while I was shut up in my miserable den.
          He staid in New York a week. His old feelings of affection for me and Ellen
          were as lively as ever. There are no bonds so strong as those which are
          formed by suffering together.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: A Home Found Harriet fretted about finding a job because she could obviously not use recommendations from her former "employer", the Flints. Finally she heard of an English woman who needed a nurse for her child. This woman, Mrs. Bruce, liked Harriet and agreed to employ her. She was a "kind and gentle lady, and proved a true and sympathizing friend. Harriet was skeptical about being open and honest with white people, as they had deceived her before, but she thawed her icy heart before this woman. She continued to worry about the power the Hobbs family had over Ellen. They did not have much money and Harriet had to furnish articles of clothing for her daughter. She also worried they would sell Ellen. One silver lining was her feelings of love toward Mary, Mrs. Bruce's baby; another was that William finally returned and the brother and sister were joyfully reunited after years of separation


prompt:
Chapter: My young mistress, Miss Emily Flint, did not return any answer to my letter
requesting her to consent to my being sold. But after a while, I received a
reply, which purported to be written by her younger brother. In order
rightly to enjoy the contents of this letter, the reader must bear in mind
that the Flint family supposed I had been at the north many years. They had
no idea that I knew of the doctor's three excursions to New York in search
of me; that I had heard his voice, when he came to borrow five hundred
dollars for that purpose; and that I had seen him pass on his way to the
steamboat. Neither were they aware that all the particulars of aunt Nancy's
death and burial were conveyed to me at the time they occurred. I have kept
the letter, of which I herewith subjoin a copy:--

   Your letter to sister was received a few days ago. I gather from
   it that you are desirous of returning to your native place, among
   your friends and relatives. We were all gratified with the
   contents of your letter; and let me assure you that if any
   members of the family have had any feeling of resentment towards
   you, they feel it no longer. We all sympathize with you in your
   unfortunate condition, and are ready to do all in our power to
   make you contented and happy. It is difficult for you to return
   home as a free person. If you were purchased by your grandmother,
   it is doubtful whether you would be permitted to remain, although
   it would be lawful for you to do so. If a servant should be
   allowed to purchase herself, after absenting herself so long from
   her owners, and return free, it would have an injurious effect.
   From your letter, I think your situation must be hard and
   uncomfortable. Come home. You have it in your power to be
   reinstated in our affections. We would receive you with open arms
   and tears of joy. You need not apprehend any unkind treatment, as
   we have not put ourselves to any trouble or expense to get you.
   Had we done so, perhaps we should feel otherwise. You know my
   sister was always attached to you, and that you were never
   treated as a slave. You were never put to hard work, nor exposed
   to field labor. On the contrary, you were taken into the house,
   and treated as one of us, and almost as free; and we, at least,
   felt that you were above disgracing yourself by running away.
   Believing you may be induced to come home voluntarily has induced
   me to write for my sister. The family will be rejoiced to see
   you; and your poor old grandmother expressed a great desire to
   have you come, when she heard your letter read. In her old age
   she needs the consolation of having her children round her.
   Doubtless you have heard of the death of your aunt. She was a
   faithful servant, and a faithful member of the Episcopal church.
   In her Christian life she taught us how to live--and, O, too high
   the price of knowledge, she taught us how to die! Could you have
   seen us round her death bed, with her mother, all mingling our
   tears in one common stream, you would have thought the same
   heartfelt tie existed between a master and his servant, as
   between a mother and her child. But this subject is too painful
   to dwell upon. I must bring my letter to a close. If you are
   contented to stay away from your old grandmother, your child, and
   the friends who love you, stay where you are. We shall never
   trouble ourselves to apprehend you. But should you prefer to come
   home, we will do all that we can to make you happy. If you do not
   wish to remain in the family, I know that father, by our
   persuasion, will be induced to let you be purchased by any person
   you may choose in our community. You will please answer this as
   soon as possible, and let us know your decision. Sister sends
   much love to you. In the mean time believe me your sincere friend
   and well wisher.

This letter was signed by Emily's brother, who was as yet a mere lad. I
knew, by the style, that it was not written by a person of his age, and
though the writing was disguised, I had been made too unhappy by it, in
former years, not to recognize at once the hand of Dr. Flint. O, the
hypocrisy of slaveholders! Did the old fox suppose I was goose enough to go
into such a trap? Verily, he relied too much on "the stupidity of the
African race." I did not return the family of Flints any thanks for their
cordial invitation--a remissness for which I was, no doubt, charged with
base ingratitude.

Not long afterwards I received a letter from one of my friends at the
south, informing me that Dr. Flint was about to visit the north. The letter
had been delayed, and I supposed he might be already on the way. Mrs. Bruce
did not know I was a fugitive. I told her that important business called me
to Boston, where my brother then was, and asked permission to bring a
friend to supply my place as nurse, for a fortnight. I started on my
journey immediately; and as soon as I arrived, I wrote to my grandmother
that if Benny came, he must be sent to Boston. I knew she was only waiting
for a good chance to send him north, and, fortunately, she had the legal
power to do so, without asking leave of any body. She was a free woman; and
when my children were purchased, Mr. Sands preferred to have the bill of
sale drawn up in her name. It was conjectured that he advanced the money,
but it was not known. At the south, a gentleman may have a shoal of colored
children without any disgrace; but if he is known to purchase them, with
the view of setting them free, the example is thought to be dangerous to
their "peculiar institution," and he becomes unpopular.

There was a good opportunity to send Benny in a vessel coming directly to
New York. He was put on board with a letter to a friend, who was requested
to see him off to Boston. Early one morning, there was a loud rap at my
door, and in rushed Benjamin, all out of breath. "O mother!" he exclaimed,
"here I am! I run all the way; and I come all alone. How d'you do?"

O reader, can you imagine my joy? No, you cannot, unless you have been a
slave mother. Benjamin rattled away as fast as his tongue could go.
"Mother, why don't you bring Ellen here? I went over to Brooklyn to see
her, and she felt very bad when I bid her good by. She said, 'O Ben, I wish
I was going too.' I thought she'd know ever so much; but she don't know so
much as I do; for I can read, and she can't. And, mother, I lost all my
clothes coming. What can I do to get some more? I 'spose free boys can get
along here at the north as well as white boys."

I did not like to tell the sanguine, happy little fellow how much he was
mistaken. I took him to a tailor, and procured a change of clothes. The
rest of the day was spent in mutual asking and answering of questions, with
the wish constantly repeated that the good old grandmother was with us, and
frequent injunctions from Benny to write to her immediately, and be sure to
tell her every thing about his voyage, and his journey to Boston.

Dr. Flint made his visit to New York, and made every exertion to call upon
me, and invite me to return with him, but not being able to ascertain where
I was, his hospitable intentions were frustrated, and the affectionate
family, who were waiting for me with "open arms," were doomed to
disappointment.

As soon as I knew he was safely at home, I placed Benjamin in the care of
my brother William, and returned to Mrs. Bruce. There I remained through
the winter and spring, endeavoring to perform my duties faithfully, and
finding a good degree of happiness in the attractions of baby Mary, the
considerate kindness of her excellent mother, and occasional interviews
with my darling daughter.

But when summer came, the old feeling of insecurity haunted me. It was
necessary for me to take little Mary out daily, for exercise and fresh air,
and the city was swarming with Southerners, some of whom might recognize
me. Hot weather brings out snakes and slaveholders, and I like one class of
the venomous creatures as little as I do the other. What a comfort it is,
to be free to _say_ so!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Old Enemy Again Harriet received a letter of reply from Miss Flint, purportedly written by her younger brother. It expressed the family's joy that she had written them and begged her to come home. It promised they would be kind and take care of her, reminding her of how well she was treated when she was there. It was full of forgiveness and warmth, but Harriet saw right through it - it was written by Dr. Flint and was nothing more than a collection of lies. She soon learned that Dr. Flint planned to come north again, so she wrote to her grandmother that Benny should be sent to Boston, not New York, so he would be safer. When Harriet and her son were reunited, her joy knew no bounds. Benny was loquacious and lively, and was thrilled to see his mother. Dr. Flint's visit was unsuccessful and he returned south. Benny was placed in the care of his uncle William and Harriet returned to Mrs. Bruce. She was happy, but worried about summer's influx of southerners, some of whom might recognize her


prompt:
Chapter: It was a relief to my mind to see preparations for leaving the city. We
went to Albany in the steamboat Knickerbocker. When the gong sounded for
tea, Mrs. Bruce said, "Linda, it is late, and you and baby had better come
to the table with me." I replied, "I know it is time baby had her supper,
but I had rather not go with you, if you please. I am afraid of being
insulted." "O no, not if you are with _me_," she said. I saw several white
nurses go with their ladies, and I ventured to do the same. We were at the
extreme end of the table. I was no sooner seated, than a gruff voice said,
"Get up! You know you are not allowed to sit here." I looked up, and, to my
astonishment and indignation, saw that the speaker was a colored man. If
his office required him to enforce the by-laws of the boat, he might, at
least, have done it politely. I replied, "I shall not get up, unless the
captain comes and takes me up." No cup of tea was offered me, but Mrs.
Bruce handed me hers and called for another. I looked to see whether the
other nurses were treated in a similar manner. They were all properly
waited on.

Next morning, when we stopped at Troy for breakfast, every body was making
a rush for the table. Mrs. Bruce said, "Take my arm, Linda, and we'll go in
together." The landlord heard her, and said, "Madam, will you allow your
nurse and baby to take breakfast with my family?" I knew this was to be
attributed to my complexion; but he spoke courteously, and therefore I did
not mind it.

At Saratoga we found the United States Hotel crowded, and Mr. Bruce took
one of the cottages belonging to the hotel. I had thought, with gladness,
of going to the quiet of the country, where I should meet few people, but
here I found myself in the midst of a swarm of Southerners. I looked round
me with fear and trembling, dreading to see some one who would recognize
me. I was rejoiced to find that we were to stay but a short time.

We soon returned to New York, to make arrangements for spending the
remainder of the summer at Rockaway. While the laundress was putting the
clothes in order, I took an opportunity to go over to Brooklyn to see
Ellen. I met her going to a grocery store, and the first words she said,
were, "O, mother, don't go to Mrs. Hobbs's. Her brother, Mr. Thorne, has
come from the south, and may be he'll tell where you are." I accepted the
warning. I told her I was going away with Mrs. Bruce the next day, and
would try to see her when I came back.

Being in servitude to the Anglo-Saxon race, I was not put into a "Jim Crow
car," on our way to Rockaway, neither was I invited to ride through the
streets on the top of trunks in a truck; but every where I found the same
manifestations of that cruel prejudice, which so discourages the feelings,
and represses the energies of the colored people. We reached Rockaway
before dark, and put up at the Pavilion--a large hotel, beautifully
situated by the sea-side--a great resort of the fashionable world. Thirty
or forty nurses were there, of a great variety of nations. Some of the
ladies had colored waiting-maids and coachmen, but I was the only nurse
tinged with the blood of Africa. When the tea bell rang, I took little Mary
and followed the other nurses. Supper was served in a long hall. A young
man, who had the ordering of things, took the circuit of the table two or
three times, and finally pointed me to a seat at the lower end of it. As
there was but one chair, I sat down and took the child in my lap. Whereupon
the young man came to me and said, in the blandest manner possible, "Will
you please to seat the little girl in the chair, and stand behind it and
feed her? After they have done, you will be shown to the kitchen, where you
will have a good supper."

This was the climax! I found it hard to preserve my self-control, when I
looked round, and saw women who were nurses, as I was, and only one shade
lighter in complexion, eyeing me with a defiant look, as if my presence
were a contamination. However, I said nothing. I quietly took the child in
my arms, went to our room, and refused to go to the table again. Mr. Bruce
ordered meals to be sent to the room for little Mary and I. This answered
for a few days; but the waiters of the establishment were white, and they
soon began to complain, saying they were not hired to wait on negroes. The
landlord requested Mr. Bruce to send me down to my meals, because his
servants rebelled against bringing them up, and the colored servants of
other boarders were dissatisfied because all were not treated alike.

My answer was that the colored servants ought to be dissatisfied with
_themselves_, for not having too much self-respect to submit to such
treatment; that there was no difference in the price of board for colored
and white servants, and there was no justification for difference of
treatment. I staid a month after this, and finding I was resolved to stand
up for my rights, they concluded to treat me well. Let every colored man
and woman do this, and eventually we shall cease to be trampled under foot
by our oppressors.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Prejudice Against Color Mrs. Bruce and Harriet ventured north to Albany, then to Saratoga. Harriet marveled at how poorly blacks were treated in the north. Between the two visits Harriet had been back in the city, and Ellen warned her not to come over because Mrs. Hobbs's brother Mr. Thorne was in town, and he was suspicious


prompt:
Chapter: After we returned to New York, I took the earliest opportunity to go and
see Ellen. I asked to have her called down stairs; for I supposed Mrs.
Hobbs's southern brother might still be there, and I was desirous to avoid
seeing him, if possible. But Mrs. Hobbs came to the kitchen, and insisted
on my going up stairs. "My brother wants to see you," said she, "and he is
sorry you seem to shun him. He knows you are living in New York. He told me
to say to you that he owes thanks to good old aunt Martha for too many
little acts of kindness for him to be base enough to betray her
grandchild."

This Mr. Thorne had become poor and reckless long before he left the south,
and such persons had much rather go to one of the faithful old slaves to
borrow a dollar, or get a good dinner, than to go to one whom they consider
an equal. It was such acts of kindness as these for which he professed to
feel grateful to my grandmother. I wished he had kept at a distance, but as
he was here, and knew where I was, I concluded there was nothing to be
gained by trying to avoid him; on the contrary, it might be the means of
exciting his ill will. I followed his sister up stairs. He met me in a very
friendly manner, congratulated me on my escape from slavery, and hoped I
had a good place, where I felt happy.

I continued to visit Ellen as often as I could. She, good thoughtful child,
never forgot my hazardous situation, but always kept a vigilant lookout for
my safety. She never made any complaint about her own inconveniences and
troubles; but a mother's observing eye easily perceived that she was not
happy. On the occasion of one of my visits I found her unusually serious.
When I asked her what was the matter, she said nothing was the matter. But
I insisted upon knowing what made her look so very grave. Finally, I
ascertained that she felt troubled about the dissipation that was
continually going on in the house. She was sent to the store very often for
rum and brandy, and she felt ashamed to ask for it so often; and Mr. Hobbs
and Mr. Thorne drank a great deal, and their hands trembled so that they
had to call her to pour out the liquor for them. "But for all that," said
she, "Mr. Hobbs is good to me, and I can't help liking him. I feel sorry
for him." I tried to comfort her, by telling her that I had laid up a
hundred dollars, and that before long I hoped to be able to give her and
Benjamin a home, and send them to school. She was always desirous not to
add to my troubles more than she could help, and I did not discover till
years afterwards that Mr. Thorne's intemperance was not the only annoyance
she suffered from him. Though he professed too much gratitude to my
grandmother to injure any of her descendants, he had poured vile language
into the ears of her innocent great-grandchild.

I usually went to Brooklyn to spend Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, I found
Ellen anxiously waiting for me near the house. "O, mother," said she, "I've
been waiting for you this long time. I'm afraid Mr. Thorne has written to
tell Dr. Flint where you are. Make haste and come in. Mrs. Hobbs will tell
you all about it!"

The story was soon told. While the children were playing in the grape-vine
arbor, the day before, Mr. Thorne came out with a letter in his hand, which
he tore up and scattered about. Ellen was sweeping the yard at the time,
and having her mind full of suspicions of him, she picked up the pieces and
carried them to the children, saying, "I wonder who Mr. Thorne has been
writing to."

"I'm sure I don't know, and don't care," replied the oldest of the
children; "and I don't see how it concerns you."

"But it does concern me," replied Ellen; "for I'm afraid he's been
writing to the south about my mother."

They laughed at her, and called her a silly thing, but good-naturedly put
the fragments of writing together, in order to read them to her. They were
no sooner arranged, than the little girl exclaimed, "I declare, Ellen, I
believe you are right."

The contents of Mr. Thorne's letter, as nearly as I can remember, were as
follows: "I have seen your slave, Linda, and conversed with her. She can be
taken very easily, if you manage prudently. There are enough of us here to
swear to her identity as your property. I am a patriot, a lover of my
country, and I do this as an act of justice to the laws." He concluded by
informing the doctor of the street and number where I lived. The children
carried the pieces to Mrs. Hobbs, who immediately went to her brother's
room for an explanation. He was not to be found. The servants said they saw
him go out with a letter in his hand, and they supposed he had gone to the
post office. The natural inference was, that he had sent to Dr. Flint a
copy of those fragments. When he returned, his sister accused him of it,
and he did not deny the charge. He went immediately to his room, and the
next morning he was missing. He had gone over to New York, before any of
the family were astir.

It was evident that I had no time to lose; and I hastened back to the city
with a heavy heart. Again I was to be torn from a comfortable home, and all
my plans for the welfare of my children were to be frustrated by that demon
Slavery! I now regretted that I never told Mrs. Bruce my story. I had not
concealed it merely on account of being a fugitive; that would have made
her anxious, but it would have excited sympathy in her kind heart. I valued
her good opinion, and I was afraid of losing it, if I told her all the
particulars of my sad story. But now I felt that it was necessary for her
to know how I was situated. I had once left her abruptly, without
explaining the reason, and it would not be proper to do it again. I went
home resolved to tell her in the morning. But the sadness of my face
attracted her attention, and, in answer to her kind inquiries, I poured out
my full heart to her, before bed time. She listened with true womanly
sympathy, and told me she would do all she could to protect me. How my
heart blessed her!

Early the next morning, Judge Vanderpool and Lawyer Hopper were consulted.
They said I had better leave the city at once, as the risk would be great
if the case came to trial. Mrs. Bruce took me in a carriage to the house of
one of her friends, where she assured me I should be safe until my brother
could arrive, which would be in a few days. In the interval my thoughts
were much occupied with Ellen. She was mine by birth, and she was also mine
by Southern law, since my grandmother held the bill of sale that made her
so. I did not feel that she was safe unless I had her with me. Mrs. Hobbs,
who felt badly about her brother's treachery, yielded to my entreaties, on
condition that she should return in ten days. I avoided making any promise.
She came to me clad in very thin garments, all outgrown, and with a school
satchel on her arm, containing a few articles. It was late in October, and
I knew the child must suffer; and not daring to go out in the streets to
purchase any thing, I took off my own flannel skirt and converted it into
one for her. Kind Mrs. Bruce came to bid me good by, and when she saw that
I had taken off my clothing for my child, the tears came to her eyes. She
said, "Wait for me, Linda," and went out. She soon returned with a nice
warm shawl and hood for Ellen. Truly, of such souls as hers are the kingdom
of heaven.

My brother reached New York on Wednesday. Lawyer Hopper advised us to go to
Boston by the Stonington route, as there was less Southern travel in that
direction. Mrs. Bruce directed her servants to tell all inquirers that I
formerly lived there, but had gone from the city. We reached the steamboat
Rhode Island in safety. That boat employed colored hands, but I knew that
colored passengers were not admitted to the cabin. I was very desirous for
the seclusion of the cabin, not only on account of exposure to the night
air, but also to avoid observation. Lawyer Hopper was waiting on board for
us. He spoke to the stewardess, and asked, as a particular favor, that she
would treat us well. He said to me, "Go and speak to the captain yourself
by and by. Take your little girl with you, and I am sure that he will not
let her sleep on deck." With these kind words and a shake of the hand he
departed.

The boat was soon on her way, bearing me rapidly from the friendly home
where I had hoped to find security and rest. My brother had left me to
purchase the tickets, thinking that I might have better success than he
would. When the stewardess came to me, I paid what she asked, and she gave
me three tickets with clipped corners. In the most unsophisticated manner I
said, "You have made a mistake; I asked you for cabin tickets. I cannot
possibly consent to sleep on deck with my little daughter." She assured me
there was no mistake. She said on some of the routes colored people were
allowed to sleep in the cabin, but not on this route, which was much
travelled by the wealthy. I asked her to show me to the captain's office,
and she said she would after tea. When the time came, I took Ellen by the
hand and went to the captain, politely requesting him to change our
tickets, as we should be very uncomfortable on deck. He said it was
contrary to their custom, but he would see that we had berths below; he
would also try to obtain comfortable seats for us in the cars; of that he
was not certain, but he would speak to the conductor about it, when the
boat arrived. I thanked him, and returned to the ladies' cabin. He came
afterwards and told me that the conductor of the cars was on board, that he
had spoken to him, and he had promised to take care of us. I was very much
surprised at receiving so much kindness. I don't know whether the pleasing
face of my little girl had won his heart, or whether the stewardess
inferred from Lawyer Hopper's manner that I was a fugitive, and had pleaded
with him in my behalf.

When the boat arrived at Stonington, the conductor kept his promise, and
showed us to seats in the first car, nearest the engine. He asked us to
take seats next the door, but as he passed through, we ventured to move on
toward the other end of the car. No incivility was offered us, and we
reached Boston in safety.

The day after my arrival was one of the happiest of my life. I felt as if I
was beyond the reach of the bloodhounds; and, for the first time during
many years, I had both my children together with me. They greatly enjoyed
their reunion, and laughed and chatted merrily. I watched them with a
swelling heart. Their every motion delighted me.

I could not feel safe in New York, and I accepted the offer of a friend,
that we should share expenses and keep house together. I represented to
Mrs. Hobbs that Ellen must have some schooling, and must remain with me for
that purpose. She felt ashamed of being unable to read or spell at her age,
so instead of sending her to school with Benny, I instructed her myself
till she was fitted to enter an intermediate school. The winter passed
pleasantly, while I was busy with my needle, and my children with their
books.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Hairbreadth Escape While visiting Ellen, Mrs. Hobbs told Harriet that her brother wanted to see her. Harriet felt she had no choice but to comply, and went to see Mr. Thorne. He was very friendly, but Harriet was still wary. Ellen told her that Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Thorne drank excessively, and years later Harriet found out that the latter whispered lascivious things in Ellen's ear. One day Ellen was playing with the Hobbs children when Mr. Thorne came outside and tore up a letter into small fragments. Ellen was nervous about this, and with the children's help, they pieced the letter back together. Her suspicions were confirmed: Mr. Thorne had written to Dr. Flint telling him about Harriet. Harriet was shocked and distressed to have to leave the place where she felt so comfortable. She decided to tell Mrs. Bruce everything, and "she listened with true womanly sympathy, and told me she would do all she could to protect me. How my heart blessed her. Two prominent men, Judge Vanderpool and Lawyer Hopper, were consulted. They suggested Harriet go to Boston. Harriet wanted to take Ellen with her, and to her surprise, Mrs. Hobbs in her regret over her brother's actions, agreed to let her go if she would return in ten days. Harriet avoided making that promise. Mother and daughter made it to the steamboat Rhode Island and were taken aboard. The captain was very kind to them and they were accommodated pleasantly though it was not customary for blacks to sleep below deck. When they reached Boston Harriet was filled with elation; "for the first time in many years, I had both my children together with me. Harriet and a friend decided to live together and share expenses. Harriet undertook the task of teaching Ellen to read so she could enter an intermediate school


prompt:
Chapter: In the spring, sad news came to me. Mrs. Bruce was dead. Never again, in
this world, should I see her gentle face, or hear her sympathizing voice. I
had lost an excellent friend, and little Mary had lost a tender mother. Mr.
Bruce wished the child to visit some of her mother's relatives in England,
      and he was desirous that I should take charge of her. The little motherless
      one was accustomed to me, and attached to me, and I thought she would be
      happier in my care than in that of a stranger. I could also earn more in
      this way than I could by my needle. So I put Benny to a trade, and left
      Ellen to remain in the house with my friend and go to school.

      We sailed from New York, and arrived in Liverpool after a pleasant voyage
      of twelve days. We proceeded directly to London, and took lodgings at the
      Adelaide Hotel. The supper seemed to me less luxurious than those I had
      seen in American hotels; but my situation was indescribably more pleasant.
      For the first time in my life I was in a place where I was treated
      according to my deportment, without reference to my complexion. I felt as
      if a great millstone had been lifted from my breast. Ensconced in a
      pleasant room, with my dear little charge, I laid my head on my pillow, for
      the first time, with the delightful consciousness of pure, unadulterated
      freedom.

      As I had constant care of the child, I had little opportunity to see the
      wonders of that great city; but I watched the tide of life that flowed
      through the streets, and found it a strange contrast to the stagnation in
      our Southern towns. Mr. Bruce took his little daughter to spend some days
      with friends in Oxford Crescent, and of course it was necessary for me to
      accompany her. I had heard much of the systematic method of English
      education, and I was very desirous that my dear Mary should steer straight
      in the midst of so much propriety. I closely observed her little playmates
      and their nurses, being ready to take any lessons in the science of good
      management. The children were more rosy than American children, but I did
      not see that they differed materially in other respects. They were like all
      children--sometimes docile and sometimes wayward.

      We next went to Steventon, in Berkshire. It was a small town, said to be
      the poorest in the county. I saw men working in the fields for six
      shillings, and seven shillings, a week, and women for sixpence, and
      sevenpence, a day, out of which they boarded themselves. Of course they
      lived in the most primitive manner; it could not be otherwise, where a
      woman's wages for an entire day were not sufficient to buy a pound of meat.
      They paid very low rents, and their clothes were made of the cheapest
      fabrics, though much better than could have been procured in the United
      States for the same money. I had heard much about the oppression of the
      poor in Europe. The people I saw around me were, many of them, among the
      poorest poor. But when I visited them in their little thatched cottages, I
      felt that the condition of even the meanest and most ignorant among them
      was vastly superior to the condition of the most favored slaves in America.
      They labored hard; but they were not ordered out to toil while the stars
      were in the sky, and driven and slashed by an overseer, through heat and
      cold, till the stars shone out again. Their homes were very humble; but
      they were protected by law. No insolent patrols could come, in the dead of
      night, and flog them at their pleasure. The father, when he closed his
      cottage door, felt safe with his family around him. No master or overseer
      could come and take from him his wife, or his daughter. They must separate
      to earn their living; but the parents knew where their children were going,
      and could communicate with them by letters. The relations of husband and
      wife, parent and child, were too sacred for the richest noble in the land
      to violate with impunity. Much was being done to enlighten these poor
      people. Schools were established among them, and benevolent societies were
      active in efforts to ameliorate their condition. There was no law
      forbidding them to learn to read and write; and if they helped each other
      in spelling out the Bible, they were in no danger of thirty-nine lashes, as
      was the case with myself and poor, pious, old uncle Fred. I repeat that the
      most ignorant and the most destitute of these peasants was a thousand fold
      better off than the most pampered American slave.

      I do not deny that the poor are oppressed in Europe. I am not disposed to
      paint their condition so rose-colored as the Hon. Miss Murray paints the
      condition of the slaves in the United States. A small portion of _my_
      experience would enable her to read her own pages with anointed eyes. If
      she were to lay aside her title, and, instead of visiting among the
      fashionable, become domesticated, as a poor governess, on some plantation
      in Louisiana or Alabama, she would see and hear things that would make her
      tell quite a different story.

      My visit to England is a memorable event in my life, from the fact of my
      having there received strong religious impressions. The contemptuous manner
      in which the communion had been administered to colored people, in my
      native place; the church membership of Dr. Flint, and others like him; and
      the buying and selling of slaves, by professed ministers of the gospel, had
      given me a prejudice against the Episcopal church. The whole service seemed
      to me a mockery and a sham. But my home in Steventon was in the family of a
      clergyman, who was a true disciple of Jesus. The beauty of his daily life
      inspired me with faith in the genuineness of Christian professions. Grace
      entered my heart, and I knelt at the communion table, I trust, in true
      humility of soul.

      I remained abroad ten months, which was much longer than I had anticipated.
      During all that time, I never saw the slightest symptom of prejudice
      against color. Indeed, I entirely forgot it, till the time came for us to
      return to America.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: A Visit To England Harriet learned that her beloved Mrs. Bruce was dead. Her husband desired that Harriet accompany Mary, her little charge, to visit relatives in England. Harriet agreed, and putting Benny in a trade and leaving Ellen with her friend, traveled to England. She was amazed at how "for the first time in my life I was in a place where I was treated according to my deportment, without reference to my complexion. There she felt a sense of "pure, unadulterated freedom. England seemed in strong contrast to the "stagnation in our Southern towns" and she delighted in how busy and contented people seemed. She did not want to romanticize the situation of the poor people of England however, because they truly did lack money and were subject to oppression, but "the condition of even the meanest and most ignorant among them was vastly superior to the condition of the most favored slaves in America. They were protected by law, the bonds of parent and child and husband and wife were sacred, and they could receive education without fear of retribution. In England Harriet also embraced religion, for it was much different from the religion she experienced in the south. It was truly inspiring that while in England she "never saw the slightest symptom of prejudice against color


prompt:
Chapter: We had a tedious winter passage, and from the distance spectres seemed to
rise up on the shores of the United States. It is a sad feeling to be
afraid of one's native country. We arrived in New York safely, and I
hastened to Boston to look after my children. I found Ellen well, and
improving at her school; but Benny was not there to welcome me. He had been
left at a good place to learn a trade, and for several months every thing
worked well. He was liked by the master, and was a favorite with his
fellow-apprentices; but one day they accidentally discovered a fact they
had never before suspected--that he was colored! This at once transformed
him into a different being. Some of the apprentices were Americans, others
American-born Irish; and it was offensive to their dignity to have a
"nigger" among them, after they had been told that he _was_ a "nigger."
They began by treating him with silent scorn, and finding that he returned
the same, they resorted to insults and abuse. He was too spirited a boy to
stand that, and he went off. Being desirous to do something to support
himself, and having no one to advise him, he shipped for a whaling voyage.
When I received these tidings I shed many tears, and bitterly reproached
myself for having left him so long. But I had done it for the best, and now
all I could do was to pray to the heavenly Father to guide and protect him.

Not long after my return, I received the following letter from Miss Emily
Flint, now Mrs. Dodge:--

   In this you will recognize the hand of your friend and mistress.
   Having heard that you had gone with a family to Europe, I have
   waited to hear of your return to write to you. I should have
   answered the letter you wrote to me long since, but as I could
   not then act independently of my father, I knew there could be
   nothing done satisfactory to you. There were persons here who
   were willing to buy you and run the risk of getting you. To this
   I would not consent. I have always been attached to you, and
   would not like to see you the slave of another, or have unkind
   treatment. I am married now, and can protect you. My husband
   expects to move to Virginia this spring, where we think of
   settling. I am very anxious that you should come and live with
   me. If you are not willing to come, you may purchase yourself;
   but I should prefer having you live with me. If you come, you
   may, if you like, spend a month with your grandmother and
   friends, then come to me in Norfolk, Virginia. Think this over,
   and write as soon as possible, and let me know the conclusion.
   Hoping that your children are well, I remain your friend and
   mistress.

Of course I did not write to return thanks for this cordial invitation. I
felt insulted to be thought stupid enough to be caught by such professions.

   "Come up into my parlor," said the spider to the fly;
   "Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy."

It was plain that Dr. Flint's family were apprised of my movements, since
they knew of my voyage to Europe. I expected to have further trouble from
them; but having eluded them thus far, I hoped to be as successful in
future. The money I had earned, I was desirous to devote to the education
of my children, and to secure a home for them. It seemed not only hard, but
unjust, to pay for myself. I could not possibly regard myself as a piece of
property. Moreover, I had worked many years without wages, and during that
time had been obliged to depend on my grandmother for many comforts in food
and clothing. My children certainly belonged to me; but though Dr. Flint
had incurred no expense for their support, he had received a large sum of
money for them. I knew the law would decide that I was his property, and
would probably still give his daughter a claim to my children; but I
regarded such laws as the regulations of robbers, who had no rights that I
was bound to respect.

The Fugitive Slave Law had not then passed. The judges of Massachusetts had
not then stooped under chains to enter her courts of justice, so called. I
knew my old master was rather skittish of Massachusetts. I relied on her
love of freedom, and felt safe on her soil. I am now aware that I honored
the old Commonwealth beyond her deserts.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Renewed Invitations To Go South The time came to return to America, and Harriet lamented how it was a sad thing to be afraid of one's native country. When she returned she found Ellen well, but, after being discriminated against for his color while taking up a trade, Benny had decided to ship out on a whaling voyage. Harriet received a letter from Miss Emily Flint, now Mrs. Dodge, that expressed in flowery terms her desire that Harriet come live with her and her husband in Virginia. Harriet did not fall for this trap, as she discerned Dr. Flint's influence in this suggestion. Even though Harriet knew she was technically his property, she "regarded such laws as the regulations of robbers, who had no rights that I was bound to respect. The Fugitive Slave Law had not yet been passed, and Harriet felt safe remaining in Massachusetts


prompt:
Chapter: For two years my daughter and I supported ourselves comfortably in Boston.
At the end of that time, my brother William offered to send Ellen to a
boarding school. It required a great effort for me to consent to part with
her, for I had few near ties, and it was her presence that made my two
little rooms seem home-like. But my judgment prevailed over my selfish
feelings. I made preparations for her departure. During the two years we
had lived together I had often resolved to tell her something about her
father; but I had never been able to muster sufficient courage. I had a
shrinking dread of diminishing my child's love. I knew she must have
curiosity on the subject, but she had never asked a question. She was
always very careful not to say any thing to remind me of my troubles. Now
that she was going from me, I thought if I should die before she returned,
she might hear my story from some one who did not understand the palliating
circumstances; and that if she were entirely ignorant on the subject, her
sensitive nature might receive a rude shock.

When we retired for the night, she said, "Mother, it is very hard to leave
you alone. I am almost sorry I am going, though I do want to improve
myself. But you will write to me often; won't you, mother?"

I did not throw my arms round her. I did not answer her. But in a calm,
solemn way, for it cost me great effort, I said, "Listen to me, Ellen; I
have something to tell you!" I recounted my early sufferings in slavery,
and told her how nearly they had crushed me. I began to tell her how they
had driven me into a great sin, when she clasped me in her arms, and
exclaimed, "O, don't, mother! Please don't tell me any more."

I said, "But, my child, I want you to know about your father."

"I know all about it, mother," she replied; "I am nothing to my father, and
he is nothing to me. All my love is for you. I was with him five months in
Washington, and he never cared for me. He never spoke to me as he did to
his little Fanny. I knew all the time he was my father, for Fanny's nurse
told me so, but she said I must never tell any body, and I never did. I
used to wish he would take me in his arms and kiss me, as he did Fanny; or
that he would sometimes smile at me, as he did at her. I thought if he was
my own father, he ought to love me. I was a little girl then, and didn't
know any better. But now I never think any thing about my father. All my
love is for you." She hugged me closer as she spoke, and I thanked God that
the knowledge I had so much dreaded to impart had not diminished the
affection of my child. I had not the slightest idea she knew that portion
of my history. If I had, I should have spoken to her long before; for my
pent-up feelings had often longed to pour themselves out to some one I
could trust. But I loved the dear girl better for the delicacy she had
manifested towards her unfortunate mother.

The next morning, she and her uncle started on their journey to the village
in New York, where she was to be placed at school. It seemed as if all the
sunshine had gone away. My little room was dreadfully lonely. I was
thankful when a message came from a lady, accustomed to employ me,
requesting me to come and sew in her family for several weeks. On my
return, I found a letter from brother William. He thought of opening an
anti-slavery reading room in Rochester, and combining with it the sale of
some books and stationery; and he wanted me to unite with him. We tried it,
but it was not successful. We found warm anti-slavery friends there, but
the feeling was not general enough to support such an establishment. I
passed nearly a year in the family of Isaac and Amy Post, practical
believers in the Christian doctrine of human brotherhood. They measure a
man's worth by his character, not by his complexion. The memory of those
beloved and honored friends will remain with me to my latest hour.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Confession William put up the funds to send Ellen away to a boarding school to improve her education. Harriet knew this was the right thing to do, but it did not make it easier for her to part with her daughter. Her conscience regarding Mr. Sands troubled her, and she gathered enough courage to tell Ellen about her father. Ellen stopped her and said she knew all and, furthermore, that she did not care for Mr. Sands; after spending time with him in Washington, she saw how dismissive he was of her and how kind he was to his white daughter. All of her love was for her mother. Harriet was mightily relieved that her daughter did not think less of her for her past. Ellen departed. William and Harriet tried to start an anti-slavery reading room in Rochester, but it did not succeed. Harriet worked in the employ of Isaac and Amy Post, Christians who "measured a man's worth by his character, not by his complexion


prompt:
Chapter: My brother, being disappointed in his project, concluded to go to
California; and it was agreed that Benjamin should go with him. Ellen liked
her school, and was a great favorite there. They did not know her history,
and she did not tell it, because she had no desire to make capital out of
their sympathy. But when it was accidentally discovered that her mother was
a fugitive slave, every method was used to increase her advantages and
diminish her expenses.

I was alone again. It was necessary for me to be earning money, and I
preferred that it should be among those who knew me. On my return from
Rochester, I called at the house of Mr. Bruce, to see Mary, the darling
little babe that had thawed my heart, when it was freezing into a cheerless
distrust of all my fellow-beings. She was growing a tall girl now, but I
loved her always. Mr. Bruce had married again, and it was proposed that I
should become nurse to a new infant. I had but one hesitation, and that was
feeling of insecurity in New York, now greatly increased by the passage of
the Fugitive Slave Law. However, I resolved to try the experiment. I was
again fortunate in my employer. The new Mrs. Bruce was an American, brought
up under aristocratic influences, and still living in the midst of them;
but if she had any prejudice against color, I was never made aware of it;
and as for the system of slavery, she had a most hearty dislike of it. No
sophistry of Southerners could blind her to its enormity. She was a person
of excellent principles and a noble heart. To me, from that hour to the
present, she has been a true and sympathizing friend. Blessings be with her
and hers!

About the time that I reentered the Bruce family, an event occurred of
disastrous import to the colored people. The slave Hamlin, the first
fugitive that came under the new law, was given up by the bloodhounds of
the north to the bloodhounds of the south. It was the beginning of a reign
of terror to the colored population. The great city rushed on in its whirl
of excitement, taking no note of the "short and simple annals of the poor."
But while fashionables were listening to the thrilling voice of Jenny Lind
in Metropolitan Hall, the thrilling voices of poor hunted colored people
went up, in an agony of supplication, to the Lord, from Zion's church. Many
families, who had lived in the city for twenty years, fled from it now.
Many a poor washerwoman, who, by hard labor, had made herself a comfortable
home, was obliged to sacrifice her furniture, bid a hurried farewell to
friends, and seek her fortune among strangers in Canada. Many a wife
discovered a secret she had never known before--that her husband was a
fugitive, and must leave her to insure his own safety. Worse still, many a
husband discovered that his wife had fled from slavery years ago, and as
"the child follows the condition of its mother," the children of his love
were liable to be seized and carried into slavery. Every where, in those
humble homes, there was consternation and anguish. But what cared the
legislators of the "dominant race" for the blood they were crushing out of
trampled hearts?

When my brother William spent his last evening with me, before he went to
California, we talked nearly all the time of the distress brought on our
oppressed people by the passage of this iniquitous law; and never had I
seen him manifest such bitterness of spirit, such stern hostility to our
oppressors. He was himself free from the operation of the law; for he did
not run from any Slaveholding State, being brought into the Free States by
his master. But I was subject to it; and so were hundreds of intelligent
and industrious people all around us. I seldom ventured into the streets;
and when it was necessary to do an errand for Mrs. Bruce, or any of the
family, I went as much as possible through back streets and by-ways. What a
disgrace to a city calling itself free, that inhabitants, guiltless of
offence, and seeking to perform their duties conscientiously, should be
condemned to live in such incessant fear, and have nowhere to turn for
protection! This state of things, of course, gave rise to many impromptu
vigilance committees. Every colored person, and every friend of their
persecuted race, kept their eyes wide open. Every evening I examined the
newspapers carefully, to see what Southerners had put up at the hotels. I
did this for my own sake, thinking my young mistress and her husband might
be among the list; I wished also to give information to others, if
necessary; for if many were "running to and fro," I resolved that
"knowledge should be increased."

This brings up one of my Southern reminiscences, which I will here briefly
relate. I was somewhat acquainted with a slave named Luke, who belonged to
a wealthy man in our vicinity. His master died, leaving a son and daughter
heirs to his large fortune. In the division of the slaves, Luke was
included in the son's portion. This young man became a prey to the vices he
went to the north, to complete his education, he carried his vices with
him. He was brought home, deprived of the use of his limbs, by excessive
dissipation. Luke was appointed to wait upon his bed-ridden master, whose
despotic habits were greatly increased by exasperation at his own
helplessness. He kept a cowhide beside him, and, for the most trivial
occurrence, he would order his attendant to bare his back, and kneel beside
the couch, while he whipped him till his strength was exhausted. Some days
he was not allowed to wear any thing but his shirt, in order to be in
readiness to be flogged. A day seldom passed without his receiving more or
less blows. If the slightest resistance was offered, the town constable was
sent for to execute the punishment, and Luke learned from experience how
much more the constable's strong arm was to be dreaded than the
comparatively feeble one of his master. The arm of his tyrant grew weaker,
and was finally palsied; and then the constable's services were in constant
requisition. The fact that he was entirely dependent on Luke's care, and
was obliged to be tended like an infant, instead of inspiring any gratitude
or compassion towards his poor slave, seemed only to increase his
irritability and cruelty. As he lay there on his bed, a mere degraded wreck
of manhood, he took into his head the strangest freaks of despotism; and if
Luke hesitated to submit to his orders, the constable was immediately sent
for. Some of these freaks were of a nature too filthy to be repeated. When
I fled from the house of bondage, I left poor Luke still chained to the
bedside of this cruel and disgusting wretch.

One day, when I had been requested to do an errand for Mrs. Bruce, I was
hurrying through back streets, as usual, when I saw a young man
approaching, whose face was familiar to me. As he came nearer, I recognized
Luke. I always rejoiced to see or hear of any one who had escaped from the
black pit; I was peculiarly glad to see him on Northern soil, though I no
longer called it _free_ soil. I well remembered what a desolate feeling it
was to be alone among strangers, and I went up to him and greeted him
cordially. At first, he did not know me; but when I mentioned my name, he
remembered all about me. I told him of the Fugitive Slave Law, and asked
him if he did not know that New York was a city of kidnappers.

He replied, "De risk ain't so bad for me, as 'tis fur you. 'Cause I runned
away from de speculator, and you runned away from de massa. Dem speculators
vont spen dar money to come here fur a runaway, if dey ain't sartin sure to
put dar hans right on him. An I tell you I's tuk good car 'bout dat. I had
too hard times down dar, to let 'em ketch dis nigger."

He then told me of the advice he had received, and the plans he had laid. I
asked if he had money enough to take him to Canada. "'Pend upon it, I hab,"
he replied. "I tuk car fur dat. I'd bin workin all my days fur dem cussed
whites, an got no pay but kicks and cuffs. So I tought dis nigger had a
right to money nuff to bring him to de Free States. Massa Henry he lib till
ebery body vish him dead; an ven he did die, I knowed de debbil would hab
him, an vouldn't vant him to bring his money 'long too. So I tuk some of
his bills, and put 'em in de pocket of his ole trousers. An ven he was
buried, dis nigger ask fur dem ole trousers, an dey gub 'em to me." With a
low, chuckling laugh, he added, "You see I didn't _steal_ it; dey _gub_ it
to me. I tell you, I had mighty hard time to keep de speculator from findin
it; but he didn't git it."

This is a fair specimen of how the moral sense is educated by slavery. When
a man has his wages stolen from him, year after year, and the laws sanction
and enforce the theft, how can he be expected to have more regard to
honesty than has the man who robs him? I have become somewhat enlightened,
but I confess that I agree with poor, ignorant, much-abused Luke, in
thinking he had a _right_ to that money, as a portion of his unpaid wages.
He went to Canada forthwith, and I have not since heard from him.

All that winter I lived in a state of anxiety. When I took the children out
to breathe the air, I closely observed the countenances of all I met. I
dreaded the approach of summer, when snakes and slaveholders make their
appearance. I was, in fact, a slave in New York, as subject to slave laws
as I had been in a Slave State. Strange incongruity in a State called free!

Spring returned, and I received warning from the south that Dr. Flint knew
of my return to my old place, and was making preparations to have me
caught. I learned afterwards that my dress, and that of Mrs. Bruce's
children, had been described to him by some of the Northern tools, which
slaveholders employ for their base purposes, and then indulge in sneers at
their cupidity and mean servility.

I immediately informed Mrs. Bruce of my danger, and she took prompt
measures for my safety. My place as nurse could not be supplied
immediately, and this generous, sympathizing lady proposed that I should
carry her baby away. It was a comfort to me to have the child with me; for
the heart is reluctant to be torn away from every object it loves. But how
few mothers would have consented to have one of their own babes become a
fugitive, for the sake of a poor, hunted nurse, on whom the legislators of
the country had let loose the bloodhounds! When I spoke of the sacrifice
she was making, in depriving herself of her dear baby, she replied, "It is
better for you to have baby with you, Linda; for if they get on your track,
they will be obliged to bring the child to me; and then, if there is a
possibility of saving you, you shall be saved."

This lady had a very wealthy relative, a benevolent gentleman in many
respects, but aristocratic and pro-slavery. He remonstrated with her for
harboring a fugitive slave; told her she was violating the laws of her
country; and asked her if she was aware of the penalty. She replied, "I am
very well aware of it. It is imprisonment and one thousand dollars fine.
Shame on my country that it _is_ so! I am ready to incur the penalty. I
will go to the state's prison, rather than have any poor victim torn from
_my_ house, to be carried back to slavery."

The noble heart! The brave heart! The tears are in my eyes while I write of
her. May the God of the helpless reward her for her sympathy with my
persecuted people!

I was sent into New England, where I was sheltered by the wife of a
senator, whom I shall always hold in grateful remembrance. This honorable
gentleman would not have voted for the Fugitive Slave Law, as did the
senator in "Uncle Tom's Cabin;" on the contrary, he was strongly opposed to
it; but he was enough under its influence to be afraid of having me remain
in his house many hours. So I was sent into the country, where I remained a
month with the baby. When it was supposed that Dr. Flint's emissaries had
lost track of me, and given up the pursuit for the present, I returned to
New York.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Fugitive Slave Law William, thwarted in his project, decided to take Benny to California with him. Ellen remained and prospered in boarding school. Harriet returned to the Bruce household in New York City. Mr. Bruce had remarried and there was a new baby for Harriet to nurse. Mrs. Bruce was not English, but she was a benevolent and warm woman who never evinced any prejudice. She possessed "excellent principles and a noble heart". The Fugitive Slave Law of 1850 was passed and terror struck the heart of every colored person in the northern states. The city was frantic, and many households were torn apart with fear and the admission of secrets. Harriet was of course subject to the law, as well as many around her. The colored people of the north worked together to set up vigilance committees to try and inform each other of the presence of southerners in town. Harriet tried to stay indoors for fear of being caught. Harriet relates the story of a man named Luke, whom she knew from her days in the south. He was monstrously abused by his master and had escaped to New York. She was pleased to see him but was dismayed that his years of captivity had warped his moral sense. Throughout the winter Harriet lived in "a state of anxiety" and wondered at the "strange incongruity in a State called free. She learned that Dr. Flint knew she was back in New York and was making plans to bring her back. She informed Mrs. Bruce of the danger. That noble woman decided to aid Harriet in any way possible, and gave her her own baby to take with her. This meant that if Harriet was caught, the captors would be obliged to bring the baby back and Harriet as well, giving Mrs. Bruce the opportunity to intervene on her behalf. Mrs. Bruce had Harriet sent to New England to stay with a senator. She was there for a short time and then went to the country, remaining a month with the baby. After Dr. Flint's men lost track of her, she returned to New York