This was the first chill to my enthusiasm about the Free States.  Colored people were allowed to ride in a filthy box, behind white people, at the south, but there they were not required to pay for the privilege.  It made me sad to find how the north aped the customs of slavery.

We were stowed away in a large, rough car, with windows on each side, too high for us to look out without standing up.  It was crowded with people, apparently of all nations.  There were plenty of beds and cradles, containing screaming and kicking babies.  Every other man had a cigar or pipe in his mouth, and jugs of whiskey were handed round freely.  The fumes of the whiskey and the dense tobacco smoke were sickening to my senses, and my mind was equally nauseated by the coarse jokes and ribald songs around me.  It was a very disagreeable ride.  Since that time there has been some improvement in these matters.

XXXII.  The Meeting Of Mother And Daughter.

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.