The perforated tin beacon, spreading its bits of
light like a circular shower of silver on the gallery floor, was held
high for the struggling slaves. Heads as grotesque as the waterspouts on
old cathedrals craned through the darkness and up to the gallery posts.
The men breasted the deepening water first, and howling little blacks
rode on their fathers' shoulders. Captain Saucier pulled the trembling
creatures in, standing waist-deep at the foot of the steps. The
shrieking women balanced light bundles of dry clothes on their heads,
and the cook brought useless kettles and pans, not realizing that all
the food of the house was lost in a water-filled cellar.
The entire white-eyed colony were landed, but scarcely before it was
time to close the doors of the ark. A far-off roar and a swell like that
of the ocean came across the submerged country. No slave had a chance to
stand whimpering and dripping in the hall. Captain Saucier put up the
bars, and started a black line of men and women, with pieces of
furniture, loads of clothing and linen, bedding and pewter and silver,
and precious baskets of china, or tiers of books, upon their heads, up
the attic stairs.
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