to it, cumbering my every motion. I had felt myself
doomed to drag this chain and this block through life. All efforts,
before, to separate myself from the hateful encumbrance, had only seemed
to rivet me the more firmly to it. Baffled and discouraged at times, I
had asked myself the question, May not this, after all, be God's work?
May He not, for wise ends, have doomed me to this lot? A contest had
been going on in my mind for years, between the clear consciousness of
right and the plausible errors of superstition; between the wisdom of
manly courage, and the foolish weakness of timidity. The contest was now
ended; the chain was severed; God and right stood vindicated. I was A
FREEMAN, and the voice of peace and joy thrilled my heart.

Free and joyous, however, as I was, joy was not the only sensation I
experienced. It was like the quick blaze, beautiful at the first, but
which subsiding, leaves the building charred and desolate. I was soon
taught that I was still in an enemy's land. A sense of loneliness and
insecurity oppressed me sadly. I had{263} been but a few hours in New
York, before I was met in the streets by a fugitive slave, well known to
me, and the information I got from him respecting New York, did nothing
to lessen my apprehension of danger. The fugitive in question was
"Allender's Jake," in Baltimore; but, said he, I am "WILLIAM DIXON," in
New York! I knew Jake well, and knew when Tolly Allender and Mr. Price
(for the latter employed Master Hugh as his foreman, in his shipyard on
Fell's Point) made an attempt to recapture Jake, and failed. Jake told
me all about his circumstances, and how narrowly he escaped being taken
back to slavery; that the city was now full of southerners, returning
from the springs; that the black people in New York were not to be
trusted; that there were hired men on the lookout for fugitives from
slavery, and who, for a few dollars, would betray me into the hands of
the slave-catchers; that I must trust no man with my secret; that I must
not think of going either on the wharves to work, or to a boarding-house
to board; and, worse still, this same Jake told me it was not in his
power to help me. He seemed, even while cautioning me, to be fearing
lest, after all, I might be a party to a second attempt to recapture
him. Under the inspiration of this thought, I must suppose it was, he
gave signs of a wish to get rid of me, and soon left me his whitewash
brush in hand--as he said,