ABSTRACT
We were met at the door of Goodin’s yard by that gentleman himself —a short, fat man, with a round, plump face, black hair and whiskers, and a complexion almost as dark as some of his own negroes. He had a hard, stern look, and was perhaps about fifty years of age. Burch and he met with great cordiality. They were evidently old friends. Shaking each other warmly by the hand, Burch remarked he had brought some com-
13 Solomon Northup, Twelve Years a Slave . . . (New York, 1857), 59, 60-61, 240-241, 274.
