"Shall we return again to our dear homes, where we lived happily and enjoyed every blessing?
"But we are in a horrible country; all things frown upon us; we suffer, and are ready to die.
"O God! give us our freedom[48]."
Mr. J. G. Whittier, the distinguished American poet, has rendered these words into verse. He says:—
"The following is an attempt to versify this melancholy appeal of distressed human nature to the help and justice of God. Nothing can be added to its simple pathos.
SONG OF THE SLAVES IN THE DESERT.
Where are we going? Where are we going? Where are we going, Rubee? Hear us! Save us! Make us free; Send our Atka down from thee! Here the Ghiblee wind is blowing, Strange and large the world is growing! Tell us, Rubee, where are we going? Where are we going, Rubee?
Bornou! Bornou! Where is Bornou? Where are we going, Rubee? Bornou-land was rich and good, Wells of water, fields of food; Bornou-land we see no longer, Here we thirst, and here we hunger, Here the Moor man smites in anger; Where are we going, Rubee?
Where are we going? Where are we going? Hear us, save us, Rubee! Moons of marches from our eyes, Bornou-land behind us lies; Hot the desert wind is blowing, Wild the waves of sand are flowing! Hear us! tell us, Where are we going? Where are we going, Rubee?"
Some freed slaves passed to-day on their return to Bornou, their native land. This reminded me of what Mr. Gagliuffi related respecting a female slave, who, after being brought to Mourzuk, was taken back by her master to Bornou. When her master first told her of his intention, she simply replied, "No, you will not take me back." She always persisted in the same reply, when the subject was ever mentioned. At length the time came, and she was mounted on a camel and started off. But her master, on returning, having changed the first part of the route from that which he came, her suspicions and unbelief were at once confirmed. However, a few days elapsed and the old route was resumed, and seeing, at last, from various indications of the road that she was really returning, she burst into convulsions of joy, and with no ordinary care her life was saved. She never properly recovered from the effect of these convulsions of transport. What can be stronger than such feelings of amor patriæ, what more marked proof of intelligent sensibility, allying the negro with the whole human, race? For,