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, when 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.