When the cars were about to start, the whole city seemed to be gathered at the depot; and among the rest the mobocratic portion, who appeared to be determined still that I should not go peaceably away.  Apprehending this, it had been arranged with my friends and the conductor, that my family should be put in the cars and that I should go a distance from the city on foot, and be taken up as they passed.  The mob, therefore, supposing that I was left behind, allowed the cars to start.

Mr. Whiting, known as the agent of the rail road company, was going as far as Petersburg, Va.; and he kindly assisted in purchasing our tickets, and enabling us to pass on unmolested.  After he left, Capt.  Guyan, of Raleigh, performed the same kind office as far as Alexandria, D.C., and then he placed us in the care of a citizen of Philadelphia, whose name I regret to have forgotten, who protected us quite out of the land of slavery.  But for this we should have been liable to be detained at several places on our way, much to our embarrassment, at least, if nothing had occurred of a more serious nature.

One accident only had happened:  we lost at Washington a trunk containing most of our valuable clothing.  This we have, not recovered; but our lives have been spared to bless the day that conferred freedom upon us.  I felt when my feet struck the pavements in Philadelphia, as though I had passed into another world.  I could draw in a full long breath, with no one to say to the ribs, “why do ye so?”

On reaching Philadelphia we found that our money had all been expended, but kind friends furnished us with the means of proceeding as far as New-York; and thence we were with equal kindness aided on to Boston.

In Boston and in the vicinity, are persons almost without number, who have done me favors more than I can express.  The thought that I was now in my new, though recently acquired home—­that my family were with me where the stern, cruel, hated hand of slavery could never reach us more—­the greetings of friends—­the interchange of feeling and sympathy—­the kindness bestowed upon us, more grateful than rain to the thirsty earth,—­the reflections of the past that would rush into my mind,—­these and more almost overwhelmed me with emotion, and I had deep and strange communion with my own soul.  Next to God from whom every good gift proceeds, I feel under the greatest obligations to my kind friends in Massachusetts.  To be rocked in their cradle of Liberty,—­Oh, how unlike being stretched on the pillory of slavery!  May that cradle rock forever; may many a poor care-worn child of sorrow, many a spirit-bruised (worse than lash-mangled) victim of oppression, there sweetly sleep to the lullaby of Freedom, sung by Massachusetts sons and daughters.

A number of meetings have been held at which friends have contributed to our temporal wants, and individuals have sent us various articles of provision and furniture and apparel, so that our souls have been truly made glad.  There are now ten of us in the family, my wife, my mother, and myself, with seven children, and we expect soon to be joined by my father, who several years ago received his freedom by legacy.  The wine fresh from the clustering grapes never filled so sweet a cup as mine.  May I and my family be permitted to drink it, remembering whence it came!