and the dear children's, and my old dead father's; all the scenes and associations of childhood and youth; all the friends of other and happier days, appeared and disappeared, flitting and floating like dissolving shadows before the vision of my imagination, until at last the perfect memory of the man recurred to me, and throwing up my hands towards Heaven, I exclaimed, in a voice louder than I could utter in a less exciting moment—
"Henry B. Northup! Thank God—thank God!"
In an instant I comprehended the nature of his business, and felt that the hour of my deliverance was at hand. I started towards him, but the sheriff stepped before me.
"Stop a moment," said he; "have you any other name than Platt?"
"Solomon Northup is my name, master," I replied.
"Have you a family?" he inquired.
"I had a wife and three children."
"What were your children's names?"
"Elizabeth, Margaret and Alonzo."
"And your wife's name before her marriage?"
"Anne Hampton."
"Who married you?"
"Timothy Eddy, of Fort Edward."
"Where does that gentleman live?" again pointing to Northup, who remained standing in the same place where I had first recognized him.
"He lives in Sandy Hill, Washington county, New York," was the reply.
