Home was broken up, and travel or tramp was the order of the hour. I had a letter of recommendation given to me, which I was to present to a Mr. Gibbs, of New York City, on my arrival there, enroute for Boston, Mass. He was a worker in the Under Ground Railroad scheme, and was a colored man. We left Philadelphia by boat, and had a pleasant sail to New York. When we arrived, we did not meet Mr. Gibbs as we anticipated. He was late in getting to the boat. A hack driver came to me and said he worked for Mr. Gibbs. Being an entire stranger in that part of the country, and to the customs of the people, I was easily deluded. Depending on the truthfulness of the hackman, I handed my wife into the hack, put in my choice bundles, and then got in myself, leaving the driver to get the trunk and drive off. But while he was getting the trunk, Mr. Gibbs came and told us we were in the wrong hack, and to get out, to which the hackman objected. After considerable word wrangling, the driver and two other men jumped on Mr. Gibbs, and beat him unmercifully. During the contest I got out of the hack, removing my wife and bundles. The result was that the three hackmen were arrested and put in the lockup. Mr. Gibbs was beaten so badly that he had to be carried to his home. This was one of the unfortunate scenes that caused regret to fill my bosom, as it was on my account that a fellow-man, one of my own race, a helper to the poor tortured slave had been so cruelly handled. Another colored man took Mr. Gibbs’ hack, and drove us to Bonaventure Street where we remained all night, to rest, to think and dream of the future, and to question what shall come next. We remained in this place until three o’clock the next day.