It described the heart-breaking efforts made by a slave to obtain his freedom.

How bloodhounds were put upon his track; how he is at last cornered in a swamp, and as he looks helplessly up at the stars he asks himself, "Is it life, or is it death ?" As I hung on to the little dug- out, chilled to the very marrow, and more than half drowned by the enormous seas, I recalled the whole poem and applied the slave's remarks to myself.

"Can it be possible," I said, "after all the struggles I have made against varying fortune, that I am to meet death now ?" I was in absolute despair.

Towards the early hours of the morning Yamba advised me to get into the canoe for a spell, but she herself remained hanging on to the gunwale, trying to keep the head of the little canoe before the immense waves that were still running.

I was very cold and stiff, and found it difficult to climb aboard.