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We
left
Washington
on
the
20th
of
January
,
and
proceeding
by
the
way
of
Philadelphia
,
New-York
,
and
Albany
,
reached
Sandy
Hill
in
the
night
of
the
21st
.
My
heart
overflowed
with
happiness
as
I
looked
around
upon
old
familiar
scenes
,
and
found
myself
in
the
midst
of
friends
of
other
days
.
The
following
morning
I
started
,
in
company
with
several
acquaintances
,
for
Glens
Falls
,
the
residence
of
Anne
and
our
children
.
As
I
entered
their
comfortable
cottage
,
Margaret
was
the
first
that
met
me
.
She
did
not
recognize
me
.
When
I
left
her
,
she
was
but
seven
years
old
,
a
little
prattling
girl
,
playing
with
her
toys
.
Now
she
was
grown
to
womanhood
--
was
married
,
with
a
bright-eyed
boy
standing
by
her
side
.
Not
forgetful
of
his
enslaved
,
unfortunate
grand-father
,
she
had
named
the
child
Solomon
Northup
Staunton
.
When
told
who
I
was
,
she
was
overcome
with
emotion
,
and
unable
to
speak
.
Presently
Elizabeth
entered
the
room
,
and
Anne
came
running
from
the
hotel
,
having
been
informed
of
my
arrival
.
They
embraced
me
,
and
with
tears
flowing
down
their
cheeks
,
hung
upon
my
neck
.
But
I
draw
a
veil
over
a
scene
which
can
better
be
imagined
than
described
.
When
the
violence
of
our
emotions
had
subsided
to
a
sacred
joy
--
when
the
household
gathered
round
the
fire
,
that
sent
out
its
warm
and
crackling
comfort
through
the
room
,
we
conversed
of
the
thousand
events
that
had
occurred
--
the
hopes
and
fears
,
the
joys
and
sorrows
,
the
trials
and
troubles
we
had
each
experienced
during
the
long
separation
.
Alonzo
was
absent
in
the
western
part
of
the
State
.
The
boy
had
written
to
his
mother
a
short
time
previous
,
of
the
prospect
of
his
obtaining
sufficient
money
to
purchase
my
freedom
.
From
his
earliest
years
,
that
had
been
the
chief
object
of
his
thoughts
and
his
ambition
.
They
knew
I
was
in
bondage
.
The
letter
written
on
board
the
brig
,
and
Clem
Ray
himself
,
had
given
them
that
information
.
But
where
I
was
,
until
the
arrival
of
Bass
'
letter
,
was
a
matter
of
conjecture
.
Elizabeth
and
Margaret
once
returned
from
school
--
so
Anne
informed
me
--
weeping
bitterly
.
On
inquiring
the
cause
of
the
children
's
sorrow
,
it
was
found
that
,
while
studying
geography
,
their
attention
had
been
attracted
to
the
picture
of
slaves
working
in
the
cotton-field
,
and
an
overseer
following
them
with
his
whip
.
It
reminded
them
of
the
sufferings
their
father
might
be
,
and
,
as
it
happened
,
actually
was
,
enduring
in
the
South
.
Numerous
incidents
,
such
as
these
,
were
related
--
incidents
showing
they
still
held
me
in
constant
remembrance
,
but
not
,
perhaps
,
of
sufficient
interest
to
the
reader
,
to
be
recounted
.
*
*
*
My
narrative
is
at
an
end
.
I
have
no
comments
to
make
upon
the
subject
of
Slavery
.
Those
who
read
this
book
may
form
their
own
opinions
of
the
"
peculiar
institution
.
"
What
it
may
be
in
other
States
,
I
do
not
profess
to
know
;
what
it
is
in
the
region
of
Red
River
,
is
truly
and
faithfully
delineated
in
these
pages
.
This
is
no
fiction
,
no
exaggeration
.
If
I
have
failed
in
anything
,
it
has
been
in
presenting
to
the
reader
too
prominently
the
bright
side
of
the
picture
.
I
doubt
not
hundreds
have
been
as
unfortunate
as
myself
;
that
hundreds
of
free
citizens
have
been
kidnapped
and
sold
into
slavery
,
and
are
at
this
moment
wearing
out
their
lives
on
plantations
in
Texas
and
Louisiana
.
But
I
forbear
.
Chastened
and
subdued
in
spirit
by
the
sufferings
I
have
borne
,
and
thankful
to
that
good
Being
through
whose
mercy
I
have
been
restored
to
happiness
and
liberty
,
I
hope
henceforward
to
lead
an
upright
though
lowly
life
,
and
rest
at
last
in
the
church
yard
where
my
father
sleeps
.