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.

 Upon arriving in Philadelphia, the ship's captain introduces Fanny and Linda to Rev. Jeremiah Durham, a kind man who invites Linda to stay with him and his wife, and finds a place for Fanny with one of his friends. After Linda spends five days with Rev. and Mrs. Durham, who treat her like family, she and Fanny continue their journey to New York. During this trip, Linda has her first taste of discrimination in the North when she learns that blacks are not allowed to ride in the first-class section of trains.

