He watched the skyline of New York come up out of the dawn. The hoarse whistles along the waterfront made a song; the ships’ bells rang out freedom. He walked across the gangplank, set his battered bag down on the wharf and looked back. The busy river was like a crowded thoroughfare. A barefoot Negro had leaned against a pile, watching him.
“What river is this, boy?” Frederick asked. The boy stared.
“That’s tha Hudson River. Where you come from, sailor?”
The fugitive from slavery’s Eastern Shore smiled.
“A long way, boy. I’ve crossed a heap of rivers!”
Then, early in the morning of September 4, 1838, he walked up into New York City. He was free!
Part II
THE LIGHTNING
And what man moves but on the crest of history!