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