the secretary of the New
York Vigilance Committee, a co-worker with Isaac T. Hopper, Lewis and
Arthur Tappan, Theodore S. Wright, Samuel Cornish, Thomas Downing,
Philip A. Bell, and other true men of their time. All these (save Mr.
Bell, who still lives, and is editor and publisher of a paper called the
"Elevator," in San Francisco) have finished their work on earth. Once in
the hands of these brave and wise men, I felt comparatively safe. With
Mr. Ruggles, on the corner of Lispenard and Church streets, I was hidden
several days, during which time my intended wife came on from Baltimore
at my call, to share the burdens of life with me. She was a free woman,
and came at once on getting the good news of my safety. We were
married by Rev. J. W. C. Pennington, then a well-known and respected
Presbyterian minister. I had no money with which to pay the marriage
fee, but he seemed well pleased with our thanks.

Mr. Ruggles was the first officer on the "Underground Railroad" whom I
met after coming North, and was, indeed, the only one with whom I had
anything to do till I became such an officer myself. Learning that my
trade was that of a calker, he promptly decided that the best place
for me was in New Bedford, Mass. He told me that many ships for whaling
voyages were fitted out there, and that I might there find work at my
trade and make a good living. So, on the day of the marriage ceremony,
we took our little luggage to the steamer JOHN W. RICHMOND, which, at
that time, was one of the line running between New York and Newport,
R. I. Forty-three years ago colored travelers were not permitted in the
cabin, nor allowed abaft the paddle-wheels of a steam vessel. They were
compelled, whatever the weather might be,--whether cold or hot, wet or
dry,--to spend the night on deck. Unjust as this regulation was, it
did not trouble us much; we had fared much harder before. We arrived at
Newport the next morning, and soon after an old fashioned stage-coach,
with "New Bedford" in large yellow letters on its sides, came down to
the wharf. I had not money enough to pay our fare, and stood hesitating
what to do. Fortunately for us, there were two Quaker gentlemen who were
about to take passage on the stage,--Friends William C. Taber and
Joseph Ricketson,--who at once discerned our true situation, and, in a
peculiarly quiet way, addressing me, Mr. Taber said: "Thee get in." I
never obeyed an order with more alacrity, and we were soon on our