“We were sold to the white men.”
“Did you come of your own free will?”
“Of course not.”
“Where did you come from?”
“From Bihé.”
“Are you slaves or not?”
“Of course we are slaves!”
“Would you like to go back?”
The delicate little brown hands were stretched out, palms downward, and the crying began afresh.
That night the slaves were left on board, but next morning (June 17th) when I went down to the pier about nine o’clock, I found them being landed in two great lighters. One by one the men and women were dragged up on to the pier by their arms and loin-cloths and dumped down like bales of goods. There they sat in four lines till all were ready, and then, carrying their mats and babies, they were marched off in file to the Curador’s house in the town beside the bay. Here they were driven through large iron gates into a court-yard and divided up into gangs according to the names of the planters who had requisitioned for them. When the parties were complete, they were put under the charge of gangers belonging to various plantations, and so they set out on foot upon the last stage of their journey. When they reached their plantation (which would usually be on the same day or the next, for the island is only thirty-five miles long by fifteen broad) they would be given a day or two for rest, and then the daily round of labor would begin. For them there are no more journeyings, till that last short passage when their dead bodies are lashed to poles and carried out to be flung away in the forest.