29 done; but, Saturday.
as they are not, we will make our escape next " S E P T E M B E R 13th,
1856.
" To-day is the great day, the day of deliverance; to-morrow I shall be free or dead. I f so, I will die like a man attempting to escape. I am much excited ; my blood runs quickly through m y veins ; my head is burning, and my heart beats violently in my breast I can not stay two minutes in the same place, and I cannot walk. " Time seems long to-day. Our guardians used to visit our island three times a week. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays; to-day is Saturday, and they are not yet come. Perhaps they are suspicious and will prevent our escape ! " Two boats are starting from Royal Island, and there are many persons in each. They are coming in our direction, and they move very quick ; they seem to be in haste to arrive. N o doubt we are discovered—we are lost! I have nothing to do but to dash my head against a rock. "Policemen are landing ; they are more numerous than they ever were ; they look at everything ; they search in every place. God of the oppressed, protect us ! "Policemen are walking very slowly; they don't leave Devil's Island ; what is the matter with them ? do they intend to stay here all their life ? God be thanked ! they are gone away; their boats are far, very far; they go farther every minute—we are saved ! " A t the same time all hands are required to assist us ; all hands are heartily working. Some carry the pieces of wood ; others are making bundles of maize: a party is employed to demolish a cottage purposely erected with maise, between the bundles of which are concealed the few planks found in the island. Another party cuts down a tree, clears it of its branches and make a mast. Many are sewing shirts, and we have sails ; many others are making oars. Every one is useful, according to his strength and skillfulness. " A l l right, brethren, all right, every thing is ready ! Our two rafts are floating and provisioned ; we have nothing to do but to ship and sail. " This moment is the most solemn of my life. Thirty-four of us are designated to embark, (our rafts can not bear more,) and fifty-five to stay at Devil's Island. The former are grave but determined ; the last are dull but resigned. They embrace us, and many cannot help a solitary tear. ' I f you escape brethren,' say they, 'avenge our memories, assist our widows and our orphans, and we will die. satisfied.' " A t half past seven P. M. we start from Devil's Island : twenty of us are on the largest raft, and there are fourteen on