AUGUSTINE BAY. 203 



in — puny creatures, so small you could hardly 

 see them with the naked eye, yet they had bored 

 those solid white-oak planks into a sieve like a 

 honey-comb. A blow from a hammer on the 

 worm-eaten parts would crush the wood in like an 

 egg shell. There was a weak spot, easily repaired, 

 that might have sent us to Davy Jones. 



Before we left Augustine Bay, a fine clipper 

 swept up the harbor and anchored near us, the 

 French tri-color at her peak. According to the 

 best accounts, she had come into port to procure 

 a cargo of laborers. Innocent word enough, — 

 laborers ! Ah, but she would take them to the 

 island of Bourbon. There they would be paid 

 twelve dollars a month for seven years' service. 



And what of that ? Just this : they would 

 never be able to buy their way out of bondage. 

 The seven years up, they would all be in debt and 

 would have to remain as slaves, powerless even to 

 return home. It was slavery in disguise. 



Out of the remote interior of the island came 

 that sombre procession. A slave trader had them 

 in leash. He herded them all the way to the 

 shore, and he himself brought them, load after 

 load, aboard the French ship. Once on deck the 

 poor creatures were examined by a sort of veteri- 

 nary, who punched their breasts, pinched their 



