One by one we arrived at the appointed number and street in New Albany, and here we dressed for the immediate journey by rail. Having blessed one another, and made many promises to write to these friends also, we hurriedly betook ourselves to the station. Tom marched up to the ticket office, two tickets were quickly secured, and at last the supreme moment of happiness arrived when we took our seats for the far-famed city of Cincinnati. I have seen many horses in my time, and mules like the sands of the sea, in my native State of Kentucky, but the nicest, dearest, most lamb-like and sweetest horse I ever saw in all my life was that strong, iron horse named "Steam Engine," that stood ready in the station waiting for the command to start. We were now in the carriage: it was just twelve o’clock, and the glorious free sun shone down upon us. The train began to move, and when it did so, I felt as though I would faint for very joy. I don’t believe that Tom was any better than myself, the transition from slavery to happiness came with such a rush. But, then, I was only a sensitive young woman of seventeen, whereas Tom was an experienced man ten years my senior, and, in appearance, at least, he managed to bear things with more composure than did I. As our train rushed along through the beautiful land, all adorned with the thousand beauties of the pleasant month of May, all things looked to me like consecutive scenes in a new paradise, as when we look through rose-colored glasses all things are colored like the rose. The winds played, the sun shone brightly, and all nature’s face was gay, and as our mighty iron steed sped along in his vigor. Tom and I talked but little. The time for talking would come another day, never fear! In truth, we were too happy to talk. The afternoon wore on, and we crossed the Indiana State line and entered Ohio, the sight of which gave our eyes the most unbounded pleasure. On, on, sped our devoted iron horse, until at last he came to the end of his race in the beautiful city of Cincinnati. When we two fugitives from the land of slavery stepped on the platform here, all safe and sound, we were reminded of a ship entering, after many risks in the voyages of life, the port of Heaven, with all sails spread, and never an injured plank. I looked across the "beautiful river," and beheld the hills of my native State coming down to the water’s edge, and laving their feet in the cooling waves. An immense traffic was rolling down, down, down to the Mississippi and the Gulf States, and everything was hum and bustle. Thus I stood musing at the top of one of the steep streets that run down to the Ohio river, while Tom nearby entered into some serious conversation with a gentleman. At last he came back to me and said, "Beulah, let us go this way."