Abigail had introduced us to her friends as William and Sandy Winston, and said we would be joining them for dinner. So, we were gathered together on the foredeck as the boat approached its dock. Scanning the pier, I saw a scattering of people standing with joyous countenances, awaiting their friends and families. To one side a man sat whittling on a piling. He drew my attention because he alone had an indifferent, even bored, expression.

The purser was the first one down the ramp and took his station at its foot. The piling man approached him and conversed briefly. The purser shook his head slightly and was given a coin. Then, the man returned to his piling, from which vantage he watched the passengers depart. Sandy and I stayed close to Abigail and her friends, and he took no special note of us. Still, I was concern as he followed us over the bridge. I was relieved when he turned at the foot of the bridge while we continued down State Street toward the Capitol.

Albany is a city of about 50,000 – one of the ten largest in the country – and is the furthest point one can reach by sailing up the Hudson. Still, it is unlike Manhattan in many ways. As we approached it, I saw mills with vast piles of lumber along the shore, and instead of the smell of horse and human offal so prominent in The City, the dominant, almost overpowering, scent was beer! Here, breweries converted the harvest of the interior to liquid form and innumerable barrels of their product sat on the docks awaiting passage.

The group, numbering almost 20, walked to Stanwix Hall, a magnificent five-story marble building on North Broadway, topped by a large dome. They had reserved rooms there, but, as the legislature was not in session, the hotel easily accommodated Sandy and me. Once we were settled, there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to admit Abigail.

“I hope that we may have a frank discussion.”

“I have already given you my confidence.”

“Good. Then you must tell me your situation, so that my friends and I may assist you, if we can.”

I paused to consider how open I wished to be. “I will tell you whatever you wish, but the more you know, the more the danger, not only to Sandy and me, but to you and your friends.”

“Nancy, I think that you will find that we are made of stern stuff. We are not just a group of friends on a summer holiday, but are en route to reform the very foundations of the republic. I told you that we are on our way to Seneca Falls. I did not say that our purpose there is a Woman’s Rights Convention.”

“Women’s rights?”

“Yes, we will demand the legal right to do all that men can do: hold property, make contracts and, most importantly, vote!”

“Vote?” It had never occurred to me that women might vote – if only the law allowed us.

“Yes, why should we not? Has God not endowed us with the same inalienable rights as men?”

“I suppose He has. … Still the idea is … I don’t even know the word.”

“A good one?”

“Oh, indeed! But, more than that … revolutionary! The kind of thing people fight … and die for. I see that you and your friends are not at all timid doves, but mighty eagles.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she demurred. “Still, we will stand up for what is just.”

“I have no doubt. What do you wish to know?”

“You said you evaded two attacks, tell me about them.”

I told her how I came to be Sandy’s governess and of the man in the grey suit.

She recalled reading of a man dying under a locomotive.

Then I told her of the raid on Captain de Peyster’s mansion and how I came to be wounded.

“Yes, there was an account of the attack in the broadsheets. It said his nephew had been kidnapped by his governess.”

I cast my eyes toward Sandy, who had fallen asleep.

“Oh, I see.”

“The child is not merely in disguise, but is epicene – his soul is female through and through.”

“Is that possible?”

“It is how God has created him.”

“Well, that is a discussion for another time. For the present, let us say he is in disguise – as are you.”

“As you think best.”

“So, what is your plan? You said you intend to take a canal boat.”

“Yes. Captain de Peyster has an old army friend at the Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis. He wrote him warning him that we might flee to him.”

“But surely, he could not have expected you, who are not yet twenty, if I am any judge, to have taken Sandy all that way?”

“He did not think I would be going alone. His Sergeant was to have accompanied us.”

“And where is the Sergeant?”

“Dead. Fallen defending us when the mansion was attacked.”

“But, surely, you cannot be expected to take Sandy alone.”

“I am more capable than you imagine. I no longer have to defend us with a hat pin,” I said, showing her my Colt.”

She was taken aback.

“The Sergeant taught me that when one falls, another must take up his task. You are in a struggle for the equality of women. Surely, if we can vote, we can do more.”

“I had not thought through what equality implies.”

“Nor I.”

“May I tell my friends of your situation?”

“If you trust their discretion.”

“I do.”