sat down, and slept frequently fifteen or twenty
minutes. At the dawn of the third day I continued my travel. As I had
found my way to a public turnpike road during the night, I came very early
in the morning to a toll-gate, where the only person I saw, was a lad
about twelve years of age. I inquired of him where the road led to. He
informed me it led to Baltimore. I asked him the distance, he said it was
eighteen miles.

This intelligence was perfectly astounding to me. My master lived eighty
miles from Baltimore. I was now sixty-two miles from home. That distance
in the right direction, would have placed me several miles across Mason
and Dixon's line, but I was evidently yet in the state of Maryland.

I ventured to ask the lad at the gate another question--Which is the best
way to Philadelphia? Said he, you can take a road which turns off about
half-a-mile below this, and goes to Getsburgh, or you can go on to
Baltimore and take the packet.

I made no reply, but my thought was, that I was as near Baltimore and
Baltimore-packets as would answer my purpose.

In a few moments I came to the road to which the lad had referred, and
felt some relief when I had gotten out of that great public highway, "The
National Turnpike," which I found it to be.

When I had walked a mile on this road, and when it had now gotten to be
about nine o'clock, I met a young man with a load of hay. He drew up his
horses, and addressed me in a very kind tone, when the following dialogue
took place between us.

"Are you travelling any distance, my friend?"

"I am on my way to Philadelphia."

"Are you free?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose, then, you are provided with free papers?"

"No, sir. I have no papers."

"Well, my friend, you should not travel on this road: you will be taken up
before you have gone three miles. There are men living on this road who
are constantly on the look-out for your people; and it is seldom that one
escapes them who attempts to pass by day."

He then very kindly gave me advice where to turn off the road at a certain
point, and how to find my way to a certain house, where I would meet with
an old gentleman who would further advise me whether I had better remain
till night, or go on.

I left this interesting young man; and such was my surprise and chagrin at
the thought of having so widely missed my way, and my alarm at being in
such a dangerous position, that in ten minutes I had so far forgotten his
directio