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.

 Linda reunites with her daughter Ellen, who has been living and working in New York with Mrs. Hobbs, a cousin of Mr. Sands. Overjoyed at seeing her daughter, Linda is dismayed to discover that Ellen has been neglected. Despite Mr. Sands' promise that Ellen would be sent to school, Linda finds that Ellen has not been given much of an opportunity to attend school, although she has lived with Mrs. Hobbs for two years. As Linda prepares to leave, Mrs. Hobbs tells her that Mr. Sands has given Ellen to her oldest daughter as her maid. Devastated that Mr. Sands has not kept his promise to free her children, Linda realizes that she will have no control over her children's future until she herself is legally free. Consequently, she writes to Dr. Flint and to his daughter to inquire about the terms of her sale. Dr. Flint responds that he will consider her request only if she returns to her rightful owners.

