overboard, to feed the monsters of the deep. Not one tear; not one sigh, on the occasion. Are the sorrowing wretches treated with any greater humanity than before? Quite the reverse. The recollection of what I have witnessed on such occasions cannot fail to shock my readers. The survivors have I seen severely flogged, for no reason, that I could perceive, but to gratify the infernal malevolence of those diabolical tyrants, who now had them perfectly in their power, and seemed to sport with their misery. To those, who are in a state of such debility and sickness, that they are utterly unable to walk, it is not unprecedented or even uncommon to apply scalding water. Apply scalding water! For what crime, for what purpose, is the miserable being tormented in this manner? For no crime, for no purpose, but to force him to move, while his strength will not permit him. Often, not once, or twice, but often, have I seen the sick and the dying, in the hold, crying most bitterly for a drop of water to quench their burning thirst; but crying in vain. These, and ten thousand other sufferings, which the brevity of my plan forbids me to introduce, befal the poor slaves, every year, in their passage from Africa to the West-Indies. According to a calculation made by well-informed persons, it.

is supposed, that of those, who are annually transported from Africa to the West-India settlements, not less than thirty thousand die, I ought rather to have said, are murdered, on their passage. I might add the thousands, who annually die during the seasoning time, in the West-Indies.

5

On their arrival in the islands, they are exposed to every insult and abuse, that can befal the most wretched of human beings. Surgeons, called to inspect them, examine men and women enrirely naked, more minutely than a butcher does the cattle he intends to purchase. The poor female slaves, innocent and unaccustomed to debauchery, are ready to sink with shame and grief. Like so many horses or hogs, they are driven to market, and sold to the highest bidder. Whether he be a humane or inhumane man; whether he will treat them with lenity or severity; is no question at all with the sellers. He has them, in consequence of the purchase, entirely at his mercy; and the tender mercies of the masters and managers of West-India slaves, God knows, are cruel.

The sale is now over; the slaves are assigned to their respective purchasers; and separated ne ver to see one another again on earth. Is care taken, that husbands and their wives, parents and

their children, shall always be sold to one master? Far from it. This would be an instance of humanity and compassion, which we must not expect in a slave-trader. Compassion in a slavetrader! To suppose any such thing, is absurd in the extreme. Light and darkness are not more opposed to one another, than the slave-trader and compassion. A very small degree of the latter utterly disqualifies a person for the former. Were near relatives sold to one master, and permitted, during their captivity, to enjoy each other's company and friendship; this circumstance would be no inconsiderable alleviation of their misery. The separation of the loving husband and his beloved wife; the affectionate parent and the dutiful child, is one of the tenderest and most moving scenes at which I ever was present. As I do not know how to express this cruel and painful separation better than I have done in my manuscript poem, I will take the liberty to introduce the following lines from that work.

'Twas now the morning of the fatal day;
The universe in solemn sadness lay,

The murmurs of the woodland monsters die,
The morning star ascends the glowing sky;
Thro' all the verdant groves a silence reigns;
The flocks and herds lie stretch'd along the plains.

When, lo, Aurora, daughter of the dawn,
Fring'd with her orient light the dewy lawn.
And then bright Sol, all beauteous to behold,
Tipt the green mountains with a gleam of gold.
While from their dens the slaves are driv'n along;
And scourg'd to market with the knotted thong.
Like flocks of sheep, alas! they're driven about,
The drudge and scorn of an insulting rout.

They move along with pensive steps, and slow;
And, as they move, the tears spontaneous flow.
With red-hot irons now they brand the crew;
While, lo, the briny tears descend anew.
In vain they strive ten thousand things to say;
In vain they strive, for groans stop up the way.
But speaking tears the want of words supply;
And the full soul bursts copious from each eye.
They strive their tyrants' pity to command:
The ruffians hear, but will not understand.
To what submissions, in what low degree
Are mortals plac'd, dire avarice, by thee!
Once more they strive, by melting tears, to move
Those tyrants' hearts to sympathetic love;
Try all their suppliant arts, and try again,
To move their pity; but they try in vain.
No hope the poor unhappy creatures find;
In body tortur'd, and distress'd in mind.
They curse their natal, and their nuptial hour:
Tears flow amain in one unceasing show'r,

And peals of groans in mighty columns rise,
Ascend the heav'ns, and thunder in the skies.
Pierc'd with the noise, the wretched babes, in vain,
With tender cries, repeat the sound again.
And, at the mournful call, the mothers prest
Their starting infants, screaching, to the breast.
They scream with dread, to hear the dire alarms,
And shrink for shelter in their mothers' arms.
When, lo, a matron wearied heaven with pray'r;
While on the precipice of black despair.

The wretched mother then embrac'd her son,
First shed a tender tear, and thus began-
Alas! my poor unhappy boy, she cries,
While silver sorrows trickle from her eyes;
And have I borne thee, with a mother's throes,
To suffer thus? Nurs'd thee for future woes?
How short the space allow'd my boy to view!
How short the space; and fill'd with anguish too!
And, as she speaks, the tears pour down again;
A cloud of grief o'erwhelm the weeping train.
They view their foes, and sicken at the sight;
In bitterness of soul, they long for night.

Again she cries, These floods of grief restrain;
Vengeance will soon o'ertake the Christian train.
Let us be patient, and let us prepare

To move great Jove, our heav'nly sire, by pray'r. Our wrongs to him are known; to him belong The stranger's cause, and the revenge of wrong.