122 TRUE BEAR STORIES. 



a ship. Here, after setting foot on the 

 levee, we walked down, down, down to 

 reach the level land a vast field of fevers. 



I had a letter of introduction to the 

 "preacher." He was a marvel of rags, 

 preached every day and night, up and 

 down the river, and received 25 cents a day 

 from the few impoverished white planters, 

 too poor to get away, for his influence for 

 good among the voodoo blacks. Not that 

 they could afford to care for the negroes, 

 those few discouraged and fever-stricken 

 planters on their plantations of weeds and 

 water, but they must, now and then, have 

 these indolent and retrograding blacks to 

 plant or cut down their cane, or sow and 

 gather their drowning patches of rice, and 

 the preacher could preach them into work- 

 ing a little, when right hungry. 



The ragged black took my letter and pre- 

 tended to read it. Poor fellow, he could 

 not read, but pride, or rather vanity, made 

 him act a lie. Seeing the fact, I contrived 

 to tell him that it was from a colored cler- 



