Ch. 4: In the Land of Freedom




On Saturday morning, we bid our kind host and benevolent daughters good-by and started on our journey. On account of not being acquainted with the road, we did not reach our destination until about seven o’clock that night. Going down (what we afterwards learned to be Market Street,) we found the markets open and crowded with people. I cannot say we were surprised, but I must confess that we were wonderfully frightened at seeing so many people at one place at the same time. The like was never seen by either of us before.

We continued down Market Street until we came to the ferry boat. Not daring to look to the right or left, we walked on board supposing all the while we were walking on the street. If it had not been for the guard chain at the bow of the boat, we would have walked overboard, when the waters below would have informed us of the blunder. Soon the whistle sounded, the engine was put in motion, and in a very short time we found ourselves in a little town called Camden. Here we wandered about for a short time, but at last concluded to seek the woods for shelter. We remained in seclusion all day Sunday, not daring to go to anybody’s house for fear of being kidnapped or imprisoned. When night came, we started back by the same way we came, for we had neither money or friends. We knocked around there until the following Sunday; sometimes visiting somebody’s house, and sometimes secreting ourselves in the woods.

One day we were successful in obtaining a job in cutting wood for a farmer who very liberally paid us for our services by giving us a supper and a night’s lodging in his barn. Whether from the fear of us robbing his house, or for the welfare of our safe keeping I know not, but this I do know and well remember, that after we had gone into the barn, he locked the door and, I suppose, put the key in his pocket. By this ingenious precaution of safety, we had to remain whether we wanted to or not.

On the following Sunday during our travels, probably it would seem better to say wanderings, we met an old colored gentleman who very kindly took us to his home, a distance of about half a mile. Our feet at this time had become very much swollen and painful; and we were exceedingly tired. He proved to be “a friend in need as well as a friend indeed.” He fed us sumptuously, and took special care of us. It was our happy lot to remain under his kind hospitality until the following Sunday morning. As was his custom, he went to church and should have us accompany him to the place of worship. After the service was ended, he announced in the church that he had with him three travelers, and wanted some of the brethren to care for them. A woman by the name of Mary Jackson arose and said that her employers wanted a man, and if one of them could go home with her, she thought she could get him a place. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and there was no time to be spent in thought. There was three of us, and one place presented, and it may well be imagined I hastened to speak up quickly, and said I would go. When she got ready we started, leaving my old companions in sorrow. We had to go a distance of five miles. The week’s rest and good care, with the expectation of obtaining work afforded strength and cheer for the journey. This place proved to be Doe Run, in Chester County, and the man’s name was James Pile, a farmer. When I saw him he told me he could give me work with a compensation of four dollars a month, board, lodging and washing. I accepted his terms, and made a bargain to work for him until the first of the coming April. One of the boys (my former associate) procured a situation similar to mine, and the other went to live with a colored family to cut wood for the winter. Just two weeks from the time we started from the land of slavery for that of freedom, we were settled down, independently working for our own bread, and choosing our own employers.

I remained in the employ of James Pile for nearly three months, and then renewed the agreement for an indefinite time, for eight dollars a month. I must mention something here with regard to a daughter of Mr. Pile’s. It was a sight unseen by me in my southern home; and that was the daughter of a farmer or planter standing by the side of her father’s workmen with a hay-fork in her hand, not idly standing by to see the work done properly, or that the men did not idle away their time, but to share in the labor of spreading and stacking the hay. When the time came to take it to the barn, she could do her part in pitching it on the cart. I continued to work on this farm until September.

When I left Mr. Pile’s I went to a place called Chatham, where I hired myself to a man by the name of Sam Hooper, as a farmer; but my particular work was to thrash wheat. He agreed to pay me thirteen dollars a month with board and lodging. I did not remain in his employ very long. I worked around in different places until the month of April of the following year, sometimes thrashing wheat, sometimes quarrying stone and at other times cutting wood. On the 1st day of April, 1848, I entered into an agreement with Mr. David Chambers to work for him for eight months for ten dollars a month as a farmer. He made me his principal farm hand, and I continued in his service until the winter of 1849. On leaving this farm I went to live with a Mr. Joshua Pusey, another farmer, who agreed to give me fifty cents a day, a house to live in and two acres of planting land for my own use, six months firewood, with the use of a horse and team, and a horse to plough the ground. Perhaps some of my readers may wonder why these additions were made to my former contracts; why this house, this garden and firewood? I did not wonder at it, neither will you, dear reader, when I tell you I was making preparations to be married, and wanted a comfortable home for my bride and self. I anticipated great things. Once a slave, but now free and soon to be a married man. Yes, I was building airy castles in my imagination.

As the time advanced and I was to enter upon my new contract, my hopes grew brighter and my joys expanded. When my expectations were at their height, three slave-holders drove up from Maryland in a team and went to a neighboring house that was occupied by a colored man named Tom Mitchell, knocked the door in, took the man out and drove off with him, leaving his wife and children screaming for the loss of a fond, industrious husband and a loving father. This Tom Mitchell was like myself, a runaway slave and came from the same county as I did. That kind of work thoroughly frightened me, and I resolved that I would break the Pusey bargain and leave that region immediately.

Mitchell’s captors were drovers, and knew him as a slave and of his whereabouts, and they made good use of their knowledge; they got fifty dollars for him. The Quakers, moved with sympathy for the wife and children, and knowing the worth of the captive, raised five hundred dollars and went south, purchased his freedom and brought him back.

I had agreed to be married March the first and go housekeeping April the first, but Mitchell’s mishap upset my plans, at least for the time being.

I left and went to Philadelphia where I thought safety would be best secured. I worked there as a hod carrier up to September 12, then I went back to Chester county to fulfil my promise, not as to time, but to the person with whom I had agreed to marry. This was in 1849. After we were married, I took my wife to Philadelphia and went housekeeping.

I had not been long settled at housekeeping before the Fugitive Slave Law came into full force. One day while climbing the ladder with a hod of bricks on my shoulder, I looked down at the passers by, which was not an uncommon thing to do, and who should I see but the son of the man Wallace, who I had occasion to mention in my darkest days of slavery life. I continued my course upwards until I came to the staging. Discontent and fear would not permit me to remain there any time; to descend by the same way I ascended might prove dangerous, as young Wallace might still be somewhere near by, so I concluded to go down the back way. The first impression that came to me was to seek for counsel, so I at once notified some of the leading colored men, in whom I had confidence, of what I had seen and of my great dilemma. They immediately undertook to find out where he was stopping, and what his business was in this city, through lawyer Paul Brown. His business was soon found out and made known. He was searching for his runaway slaves, of whom I was one. As leader of the band, I was advised to make my way into Massachusetts, and that without much delay. “O the terror and curse of Slavery!” I concluded to sell out the little comforts that I had collected to make home pleasant, and leave for regions farther North, where the foot of the slave owner doth not tread. So I thought then, but came to know differently very soon afterwards. We sold what we could, and what we could not dispose of had to be given away.

Home was broken up, and travel or tramp was the order of the hour. I had a letter of recommendation given to me, which I was to present to a Mr. Gibbs, of New York City, on my arrival there, enroute for Boston, Mass. He was a worker in the Under Ground Railroad scheme, and was a colored man. We left Philadelphia by boat, and had a pleasant sail to New York. When we arrived, we did not meet Mr. Gibbs as we anticipated. He was late in getting to the boat. A hack driver came to me and said he worked for Mr. Gibbs. Being an entire stranger in that part of the country, and to the customs of the people, I was easily deluded. Depending on the truthfulness of the hackman, I handed my wife into the hack, put in my choice bundles, and then got in myself, leaving the driver to get the trunk and drive off. But while he was getting the trunk, Mr. Gibbs came and told us we were in the wrong hack, and to get out, to which the hackman objected. After considerable word wrangling, the driver and two other men jumped on Mr. Gibbs, and beat him unmercifully. During the contest I got out of the hack, removing my wife and bundles. The result was that the three hackmen were arrested and put in the lockup. Mr. Gibbs was beaten so badly that he had to be carried to his home. This was one of the unfortunate scenes that caused regret to fill my bosom, as it was on my account that a fellow-man, one of my own race, a helper to the poor tortured slave had been so cruelly handled. Another colored man took Mr. Gibbs’ hack, and drove us to Bonaventure Street where we remained all night, to rest, to think and dream of the future, and to question what shall come next. We remained in this place until three o’clock the next day.

Mr. Gibbs was fortunate enough as to recover from the effects of the beating, so as to be out the next day. He came around to the place where we were stopping, and took us to the Fall River boat. He gave me a recommendation to a man in Boston by the name of Snowdon who would help me as he said. He informed me that it would cost four dollars each to go to Boston, Mass., and to give him the money and he would purchase the tickets. As a stranger I gave him the required sum supposing it was all right, as I was under his direction. He bought the tickets and gave them to me. We shook hands and bade each other good-by. The steam whistle blew, the moorings were loosed, the engine put in motion, the wheels rotated, and we were on our way to Boston. To my surprise I found, after we had reached the stream, that the tickets were second-class and not first, as Mr. Gibbs represented. He only paid two dollars each for them, and kept half the amount for himself. We had got beyond hailing power now; he was on the land and we on the water; perhaps he was out of the sight of the steamboat for all I knew. I pitied him when he got the beating, but on the discovery of deception, and his having taken unlawfully a part of my own hard earned and scanty means, the old Adam rose in my bosom, and destroyed the sympathy that was there, turning pity into passion and disdain. “Some men live by the sweat of their own brow, and some live by the sweat of others.”

Not knowing the difference at first my wife and self went down in the first cabin and as we did not have the right kind of tickets, were ordered out. This was bad for my wife; I did not mind it so much. We had now been married about a month, and for her to be placed in that embarrassing state made me feel the condition more keenly. I paid one dollar more for her so that she could enjoy the comforts of a cabin passenger while I betook my weary self to the smoke-stack and there roasted my sides against the boiler in order to keep warm. So much for Mr. Gibbs’ generosity. Onward glided our steamboat through the quiet sea, bearing us rapidly to a more northern home. Onward sped my wandering thoughts of a near future; what kind of a reception was awaiting me, and what would the prospects of employment and an income for labor be? The arrival of the boat at Fall River, the bustling crowd, the disembarking passengers aroused me from mental roamings. I had to join the busy throng and make my way to the cars, which was done and we were soon comfortably seated. The whistle blew and the train rolled out of the depot. My wife and I occupied seats together, thinking that all was right, but another trouble awaited me, another separation. Oh! those tickets. Oh! that man Gibbs. Our tickets were through ones, I did not understand the difference between first and second-class fares on the trains. I had learnt the method of boat traveling and was now about to take my first lesson on the railroad. The conductor was passing through the car collecting the tickets, everybody appeared to be all right until he came to me. I handed my ticket supposing I was like the rest, but soon found out there was a mistake. He told me to get up and go into the forward car, and wanted to know what I was “doing there.” So I had to get up and leave; yes, to leave my wife to ride alone. When we arrived at Boston the first business my attention was directed to was to find Mr. Snowdon to whom I had a letter of introduction from Mr. Gibbs. After making some inquiry I was sadly disappointed to learn that he was dead. The gloom that began to spread over me was soon to disappear; the silvery lining was near by. A place of rest and shelter was providentially prepared for us in the hospitable residence of the late Lewis Hayden. We stayed with him two or three weeks, and being unsuccessful in obtaining work in that city we were sent to Worcester. In using the term we here is in reference to two young men, like myself seeking liberty and employment. I left my wife in Boston with the Hayden family. Mr. William C. Nell, a colored man, and an agent of the Anti-Slavery Society sent us to Worcester with letters of introduction to Mr. William Brown, now living and widely known. On arriving in this city, we soon found Mr. Brown and stayed with him that night. The next day we secured permanent lodging with Mr. Ebenezer Hemenway.

After jobbing around in various ways, I obtained steady employment on the farm of the late Major Newton on Pleasant Street. I worked on that farm until April 15, 1851, in company with Mr. C. B. Hadwin. Everything went on smoothly up to this time, when those tormenting slave-holders, who had come that winter, began to make themselves very conspicuous in hunting for slave property. The poor despised negro slave was a valuable article. Dollars and cents with thousands of miles of hard travel and privations were no objects of consideration in the long chase and capture of a runaway slave. This hunting slave fever got so high that our sympathizing friends advised me to leave at once and go to Canada. The two men that came with me from Boston, met and consulted at Abram Howland’s store what had best be done. To remain here, there would be a chance of capture, to leave, there would be an opportunity to escape. The latter we agreed on, making our departure a speedy issue. However, before going I hired rooms and had my wife come here to live; for I thought her opportunities to get along would be better than in Boston.

On the fifteenth day of April, 1851, the three of us took the train to Montreal, Dominion of Canada. We left on Saturday and arrived at our destination about eleven o’clock Sunday. The river being frozen over we had to cross on the ice on runners, but I did not know of the change until I got to the depot. The snow was packed up so high in the streets that pedestrians could not see each other from opposite sidewalks. It was soon discovered that Montreal was not the place to welcome the laboring man when a stranger; for there was nothing doing there, or anything we could find to do that would give us an honest living. Consequently we did not stay there but a few days. We went from there to a place called Kingston, on the Lake, and stayed there but one day as the prospects of work was far worse than in Montreal.

Next we went to Toronto where we found the climate warmer, and general business a little better. We concluded to find a boarding place and try our luck there. The place we sought was soon obtained, and agreed to pay three dollars a week for board and lodging. Near the end of the second week after being there, we procured work with an old colored man who done a trucking business. At this time he had taken a contract to move a building, and being in want of assistance, he hired the three of us at rates of fifty cents a day. Just enough to meet our boarding charges. The distance the house was to be moved was about two miles. Work was begun by employers and employees arduously, and progressed as we thought safely. Well it did for nine days, but on the tenth day, a sad disaster was in store for us, and another draw-back to poor Isaac’s progress. On this day we came to the descent of a hill over which our road lay. The old rope was not new nor none of the best, so when the weight of the building becoming greater and greater by the declivity of the road, the hempen or flaxen cords were strained beyond their strength. At last they snapped, they break asunder; and away went the house without the aid of man or beast down the hill. With almost breathless astonishment, we stood gazing at the sliding object, when suddenly a collision is observed, a crushing noise is heard, the house has collapsed and gone to pieces.

The man who owned the building sued the contractor for damages, got judgment against him; and, also, got all the old man owned, horses and trucks. So we unfortunates got nothing for our work and were in debt for board to the amount of six dollars, and nothing to pay it with. It was a sad loss to us. Our clothes and all we had were held in payment for indebtedness. They were placed under lock and key. Among my clothing was my wedding suit that cost me fifty dollars, also a valuable pair of boots. We quitted boarding at that place at once and went to Queen’s Bush, about seven miles from Toronto. There we made arrangements with a man to cut fire wood, at fifty cents a cord—four feet long. He kept a store and promised to furnish us with meat, bread and potatoes; our working tools such as axes, mauls, wedges, &c., &c., were to be had from him. After all necessary arrangements had been perfected, we went into the woods, cut down some logs and put up a log house, covering it with bushes, old boards and slabs which made it pretty tight. With our rude home and home comforts provided, we went into chopping firewood in good earnest. When we had chopped about one hundred cords, we proposed to make a settlement, and get our money and visit Toronto to redeem our clothes. The employer’s account against us was fifteen dollars, which left a balance due us of about thirty-five dollars, which would be more than enough to carry out our honest plan. But instead of receiving that amount we only got fifty cents a piece; yes that was all we got. This was on Saturday and we intended to spend Sunday in Toronto. Being thus disappointed, we concluded to spend the Sabbath in the lonely woods, as we could not then better our condition. He promised to pay us in full the next following Saturday. Monday morning we resumed our work, looking forward to be amply rewarded for the disappointment by the end of the next six days’ labor. On went the days and up and down went our toiling hands cutting, splitting and stacking. At last Saturday arrives, and we appear before our employer for settlement. It is said, “The last state of that man was worse than the first.” This saying was fully verified in this man, for his last state was worse than the first one, and this Saturday was worse than the last one, for we did not get one cent. We found out that he did not own the land on which we worked, but that he himself was hired by a man in Toronto to cut and deliver this wood at the steamboat pier. This Saturday I determined to go to Toronto myself. I left the other boys in the woods and started for the city of Toronto. I began to make search for the man that had the wood cut or owned the land on which we worked, and found he was a steamboat owner. I learned from him that the man who was doing the work for him had been all paid up, and there was not anything due him. Even the horses and carts that were used in drawing the wood were all owned by the same man—that is the owner of the steamboat. He told me if my companions and myself would go back to work chopping wood, he himself would see us paid, but we would have to be the losers of what he had already paid the agent. While we were studying to be honest in paying our board bill; another was studying to dishonestly rob us of strength and labor.

While in Toronto this time, I sought out a friend with whom I had become acquainted with when there before, and got him to write a letter for me to Mr. Joshua Spooner, who was then living on the Major Newton farm in Worcester, Mass., and asking him to send me six dollars as I wanted to come home to Worcester. Within five days from the time I sent the letter his reply came containing the amount I sent for. I did not go back to the woods again. Disgust and discouragement prevented me from laboring for a man who cheated me out of my just due. I left the other boys there, how long they remained I do not know. During these five days of interval between the sending and receiving the Worcester letter, I did a job for the man who had my clothes in bond or locked up, which amounted to three dollars. I left in his hands two, on account, and kept one for myself.

I went to the steamboat pier every day at four o’clock, and became familiar with the faces of the different boats that plied between Toronto and Rochester, N. Y. On the receipt of the money from Worcester, I immediately paid the balance of four dollars due on board bill, redeeming my clothes, and leaving me two dollars for traveling expenses. As soon as I got my goods out of the possession of my former boarding master, I bade him good-by and started for the pier. This was on the night of the same Friday I received the money.

I sought the captain of the boat that left Saturday evening, and asked him to allow me to work my way to Rochester, N. Y. He quickly replied: “No; he would not allow it.” I took out the letter I had received that day from Worcester, Mass., containing an account of my wife’s sickness, and requesting him to read it. He did so, and I informed him how I was compelled to pay away what money I had received. The letter with my pleadings moved his sympathy towards me; he turned and said, I could go but that I should have to work every hour of the time. I said his sympathy was towards me, but that only went as far as being on board the steamboat; I had to pay by hard work and no sleep. I was content to comply with his demands; I had started for home, and could not pay for my traveling expenses with money, so would have to pay it by labor. He told me to go to the steward and get my supper, which I did. That was Friday night, and Saturday morning I went to work helping to load the steamboat. This work continued until four o’clock in the afternoon, the appointed time for the boat to start.

At the hour designated we left the pier and was stopping at different places off and on all night, putting off and taking on freight and passengers until eight o’clock Sunday morning, when we arrived in Rochester. I had not taken off my clothes or taken a wink of sleep all night. Being tired and sleepy after a day and night’s hard toil, I took a conveyance and went to hunt for a lodging house, and my search was soon found. I went to bed and slept soundly until four o’clock in the afternoon. When I landed in Rochester I was the owner of two dollars and no more. This was the extent of my cash account. It cost me twenty-five cents for conveyance, and fifty cents for lodging and dinner. Here I was in the western part of New York state, miles from the city of Worcester, Mass., my place of destination, with one dollar and twenty-five cents to purchase a railroad ticket.

I went to the depot and inquired the fare to Worcester, and was informed it would be fifteen dollars. My readers who may have been placed in such a predicament can have some idea of the situation and can extend some sympathy; and those who have not may draw upon their imagination and perhaps gain a faint knowledge of the condition of an almost penniless traveler. With wishful eyes I gazed at the departing trains with their freight of living beings, but that was only vexation of spirit to me, and a force of circumstances beyond my control.

Worcester and my sick wife loomed up before me demanding my appearance. To purchase a ticket was impossible, to beg one was decidedly out of the question. At last I concluded it was no use of tarrying any longer in that place. My feet and legs had done me good service in my flight from Chestertown, Maryland to Philadelphia, Penn. I now made up my mind to trust to them at this time to reach my home, so off I started with the determination to walk to Worcester. It was about half past five P. M. with my knapsack on my back, I started on my long tedious march without friend, guide or compass. I followed the railroad track going east as a conductor on the way. Soon night began to spread its dark mantle around me, yet undismayed, I pressed forward deeply occupied with thoughts of the future. Midnight came in its stillness finding me still widening the distance between myself and the Rochester depot. Midnight passes, the small hours of the morn increase, until at last the light of a new day begins to dawn upon the world, when men begin to rise from their warm comfortable beds after a night of refreshing sleep. In rapid flight of early dawn, the king of day, the centre of celestial light, rises in majestic splendor over the eastern hills, indicating the cardinal point to which my journey lay. With it came the cheer that one night had passed away, shortening the distance between the starting point and that of my destination. At eight o’clock to my surprise, I found I had covered a distance of seventy-five miles that night. A night’s walk without a halt to rest or refresh. As the day began to grow I determined to change my road of travel. I now abandoned the railroad for the tow-path, thinking to facilitate the travel; but I soon found out I did not get along so fast. My feet became sore and lame, the continual walking was beginning to manifest itself on my physical constitution; but ambition with the force of will obviated the pain and urged the man of suffering and disappointment onward.

After continuing in this condition for two or three days, the captain of a canal boat asked me how I would like to ride one of the horses at night, and remain on the boat during the day. The proposal had its charms for me. There would be a chance for sleep during the day, there was an opportunity for a good warm meal, and at night to sit on the horse’s back. The offer was accepted and I went on board the boat.

The first night passed off without anything to cause alarm or to hinder the work. In the morning I did a little work on the boat, got my own breakfast and sought to lie down and sleep. On the second night I resumed my task, mounted the horse, who with slow, steady tread, tramped out the time allotted him. Night wore on, all on board the boat was stillness; all had retired for the night to enjoy Nature’s refreshing invigorator, sleep. As the light of early dawn lifted the curtain of night, so that surrounding objects could be distinctly descerned, it brought another gleam of light, for I was so much farther advanced on my journey, and had enjoyed a little sleep and rest. We had reached Utica, N. Y. The time would soon come when I should dismount my horse to betake myself to the boat for rest and sleep. Sometimes it is remarkable easy to plan out a few hours or days, but they are not as soon brought to perfection. Difficulties in some form are apt to appear before us and impede our progress. Surprises are constantly—well nearly so—approaching us. There is the agreeable and disagreeable. Well there was a surprise in reserve for this morning. I leave my reader to judge whether it was a disagreeable or agreeable one after I have related it.

As we drew near a bridge under which we had to pass, I cast my eyes upwards and to my utter surprise and astonishment what should I see but the form of a man looking down on me. How quickly I remembered those well known features. The man who five years ago was my master, who held me in the bonds of slavery, who had cut and slashed my back; from whom I had fled to enjoy the pure air of liberty.

He did not recognize me, but I did him, and that was enough for the hunted. I at once took in the whole situation of the present and future. I felt positive he was hunting for me. To remain long exposed to his gaze would cause me danger and trouble. I dropped my head to conceal my face from his longing, anxious eyes, and as soon as I had gone out of his sight, I dismounted the horse, went on board the boat, got my little bundle of goods and left the boat and horses in a great hurry. I did not see the captain or any of the hands as they were all asleep, and I had no time to call them. The horses were left to take care of themselves, and go on of their own accord, as far as I know. These moments with me were most precious for self preservation. The hunter was on my track, had seen but not scented out my course. The necessity of the hour compelled me to be as agile as a hare and as cunning as a fox.

I took to the main road intending to continue my journey on foot the remainder of the way. Once more I found myself alone, with the end of my destination before me and not the means to buy the cheapest means of travel; depending upon the charity of the world. With a spirit of determination and courage I pressed forward hour after hour in the cheering light of day. Night overtakes me, a weary traveler, without shelter or food. To lie down and rest I could not, in fact rest had no charms for me in this lonely journey. Worcester and those who were all to me in this life were anxious companions of my nocturnal travel. Saturday night I found myself at the railroad station in the city of Albany, N. Y. Crossing the ferry, a thunder storm coming up suddenly, I took shelter in an inviting freight car, which was standing conveniently near the landing. I sat down, or rather lay down, to rest and await the conclusion of the storm, but tired and weary nature asserted her rights, and I was soon fast asleep. When I awoke I found the car had been traveling, and I became somewhat alarmed, as I did not know the route I had been going, or where I might possibly be. But my doubts were soon dispelled, for the car stopped at a way station and switched, so getting out, and looking up to the sun I soon discovered that I had been traveling in the right direction, and upon inquiry found that I had come ten miles due east on my direct road to Worcester. The day being Sunday I strayed out to a camp meeting of colored people and had a pleasant time with them.

Finding my efforts had been so satisfactory, my hopes revived, and my courage enlivened at the thought of soon ending this toilsome labor. Starting off again Sunday night, I continued my travel until reaching Worcester, Mass., which was on the second day of July, 1851, just two weeks from the day I went on board the steamboat at Toronto, Canada. The relief of over exertion, of physical fatigue, mental anxiety and the privation of natural comforts are better felt and appreciated in thought than expressed in words.

Having again joined my family and friends, I concluded to remain in Worcester, Mass., or I may say to make it my home, as I had not found a place in preference. It was not long before I found plenty of good employment and benevolent sympathizers, and for forty-three years Worcester has been my residence.




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