MENT, FROM THE MAN-OF-WAR'S BOATS, ALONG THE COAST. I found myself once
more exposed to the pestilential air of an African river. I in vain
tried to sleep. All night long I heard the sound of the carpenters at
work fitting the slave decks, and fixing the bars across them, to which
the captive negroes were to be secured. The crew were employed most of
their time in hoisting water casks, and a further supply of farinha, on
board. At length when morning broke I went on deck to breathe the air,
which I hoped would be somewhat cooler than that of the calm. Through an
opening in the trees I saw several long low sheds with cottages and huts
scattered round them, while a number of people were moving about. The
door in the end of one of the sheds was thrown open, and there issued
forth a long line of black figures, walking two and two, and secured
together by iron shackles round their wrists. They staggered along with
unwilling steps, looking round on the trees and distant blue hills,
which they were destined never again to see, and even now it seemed to
me that could they have wrenched their hands from those iron bonds they
would have attempted to strike a blow for freedom, and make their escape
into the forest. On either side of them, however, walked ruffianly
looking fellows, with pistols in their belts and heavy whips in their
hands, with which, if their captives attempted to lag behind, they urged
them on. One or two were whites, but most of them were negroes, and
seemed to have no scruple in leading their countrymen into captivity
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