more difficult and bring suspicion or punishment upon those who had
assisted fugitives. That this was no idle fear there is abundant
testimony in the annals of the period. But in later years, when there
was no longer any danger of unpleasant consequences, and when it had
become an honor rather than a disgrace to have assisted a distressed
runaway, Douglass published in detail the story of his flight. It
would not compare in dramatic interest with many other celebrated
escapes from slavery or imprisonment. He simply masqueraded as a
sailor, borrowed a sailors "protection," or certificate that he
belonged to the navy, took the train to Baltimore in the evening, and
rode in the negro car until he reached New York City. There were many
anxious moments during this journey. The "protection" he carried
described a man somewhat different from him, but the conductor did not
examine it carefully. Fear clutched at the fugitive's heart whenever
he neared a State border line. He saw several persons whom he knew;
but, if they recognized him or suspected his purpose, they made no
sign. A little boldness, a little address, and a great deal of good
luck carried him safely to his journey's end.

Douglass arrived in New York on September 4, 1838, having attained
only a few months before what would have been in a freeman his legal
majority. But, though landed in a free State, he was by no means a
free man. He was still a piece of property, and could be reclaimed
by the law's aid if his whereabouts were discovered. While local
sentiment at the North afforded a measure of protection to fugitives,
and few were ever returned to bondage compared with the number that
escaped, yet the fear of recapture was ever with them, darkening their
lives and impeding their pursuit of happiness.

But even the partial freedom Douglass had achieved gave birth to a