doctor, had once made an effort to recapture MR. DIXON, but had
failed for want of evidence to support his claim. Jake told me the
circumstances of this attempt, and how narrowly he escaped being sent
back to slavery and torture. He told me that New York was then full of
Southerners returning from the Northern watering-places; that the colored
people of New York were not to be trusted; that there were hired men of
my own color who would betray me for a few dollars; that there were hired
men ever on the lookout for fugitives; that I must trust no man with my
secret; that I must not think of going either upon the wharves or into
any colored boarding-house, for all such places were closely watched;
that he was himself unable to help me; and, in fact, he seemed while
speaking to me to fear lest I myself might be a spy and a betrayer.
Under this apprehension, as I suppose, he showed signs of wishing to be
rid of me, and with whitewash brush in hand, in search of work, he soon
disappeared.

This picture, given by poor "Jake," of New York, was a damper to my
enthusiasm. My little store of money would soon be exhausted, and since
it would be unsafe for me to go on the wharves for work, and I had no
introductions elsewhere, the prospect for me was far from cheerful. I
saw the wisdom of keeping away from the ship-yards, for, if pursued, as I
felt certain I should be, Mr. Auld, my "master," would naturally seek me
there among the calkers. Every door seemed closed against me. I was in
the midst of an ocean of my fellow-men, and yet a perfect stranger to
every one. I was without home, without acquaintance, without money,
without credit, without work, and without any definite knowledge as to
what course to take, or where to look for succor. In such an extremity,
a man had something besides his new-born freedom to think of. While
wandering about the streets of New York, and lodging at least one night
among the barrels on one of the wharves, I was indeed free--from slavery,
but free from food and shelter as well. I kept my secret to myself as
long as I could, but I was compelled at last to seek some one who would
befriend me without taking advantage of my destitution to betray me.
Such a person I found in a sailor named Stuart, a warm-hearted and
generous fellow, who, from his humble home on Centre street, saw me
standing on the opposite sidewalk, near the Tombs prison. As he
approached me, I ventured a remark to him which a