He took me to his house, but it was some time before I could be induced to enter it; not until the old lady came out, did I venture into the house.  I thought I saw something in the old lady’s cap that told me I was not only safe, but welcome, in her house.  I was not, however, prepared to receive their hospitalities.  The only fault I found with them was their being too kind.  I had never had a white man to treat me as an equal, and the idea of a white lady waiting on me at the table was still worse!  Though the table was loaded with the good things of this life, I could not eat.  I thought if I could only be allowed the privilege of eating in the kitchen, I should be more than satisfied!

Finding that I could not eat, the old lady, who was a “Thompsonian,” made me a cup of “composition,” or “number six;” but it was so strong and hot, that I called it “number seven” However, I soon found myself at home in this family.  On different occasions, when telling these facts, I have been asked how I felt upon finding myself regarded as a man by a white family; especially just having run away from one.  I cannot say that I have ever answered the question yet.

The fact that I was in all probability a freeman, sounded in my ears like a charm.  I am satisfied that none but a slave could place such an appreciation upon liberty as I did at that time.  I wanted to see mother and sister, that I might tell them “I was free!” I wanted to see my fellow slaves in St. Louis, and let them know that the chains were no longer upon my limbs.  I wanted to see Captain Price, and let him learn from my own lips that I was no more a chattel, but a man!  I was anxious, too, thus to inform Mrs. Price that she must get another coachman.  And I wanted to see Eliza more than I did either Mr. or Mrs. Price!

The fact that I was a freeman—­could walk, talk, eat and sleep as a man, and no one to stand over me with the blood-clotted cowhide—­all this made me feel that I was not myself.

The kind friend that had taken me in was named Wells Brown.  He was a devoted friend of the slave; but was very old, and not in the enjoyment of good health.  After being by the fire awhile, I found that my feet had been very much frozen.  I was seized with a fever which threatened to confine me to my bed.  But my Thompsonian friends soon raised me, treating me as kindly as if I had been one of their own children.  I remained with them twelve or fifteen days, during which time they made me some clothing, and the old gentleman purchased me a pair of boots.

I found that I was about fifty or sixty miles from Dayton, in the State of Ohio, and between one and two hundred miles from Cleaveland, on lake Erie, a place I was desirous of reaching on my way to Canada.  This I know will sound strangely to the ears of people in foreign lands, but it is nevertheless true.  An American citizen was fleeing from a Democratic, Republican, Christian government, to receive protection under the monarchy of Great Britain.  While the people of the United States boast of their freedom, they at the same time keep three millions of their own citizens in chains; and while I am seated here in sight of Bunker Hill Monument, writing this narrative, I am a slave, and no law, not even in Massachusetts, can protect me from the hands of the slaveholder!