them across the sea to Canada.
Along with the chilly wind and the strength of the foaming waves crashing against the port town, this brutish group of protestors only serves to frighten the girls. There is much excitement at the port as the ships returned from distant, mostly warmer, seas are unloaded of riches: coffee, sugar, cotton, tobacco, and spices. Already this merchandise is being bargained for and sold for dispersal down the very river Laure has just left behind. Laure has never felt smaller or more alone in all her life. Madeleine has been praying her rosary for most of the journey and conversing with some of the other girls from the hospital, who talk mostly of the contents of their coffers, the ribbons and fabric they have brought with them. Madeleine is so kind to all of them, listening to their plans for marriage and a better life in Canada. Laure wishes Madeleine would stop talking to these girls.
Beyond, at some distance into the sea, is the ship they will board for Canada. Laure doesn’t know if it is the cold misty air or terror at what lies ahead that makes her shiver. The boat, although one of the largest of its type, looks fragile, almost ridiculous, against the immense backdrop of the ocean. Laure has heard that early summer is the best time to undertake this journey to New France. Attempted too early or too late, their vessel would be shattered on rocks along the coast before they even reached the cruel centre of the North Atlantic.
9
S ince the passengers bound for Canada boarded the Saint-Jean-Baptiste almost three weeks ago, the vessel has not moved out of the Bay of the Seine. The sailors worry that the lack of wind is an inauspicious sign that the journey to Canada will be a long one. Throughout the late spring days, Laure has been standing with the other passengers on deck looking back across the calm water to the shore. It is too far to swim back, to scream across to the tiny bodies moving on the land, but too close to feel that they have really left France behind.
Beside them, also waiting for the winds to pick up, is another ship, the Amitié . Laure has heard much talk on the deck about this other ship. The Amitié is bound for the sugar plantations of Saint-Domingue and carries in its hold three hundred nègres recently acquired from the Dahomey coast in Africa. The slave ship is larger than the Saint-Jean-Baptiste . Normally, Laure only sees the sailors and patrolling soldiers of the Amitié , but today there are commands being shouted out and weapons raised. The nègres from below deck will be brought up for air.
One of the soldiers on the Amitié yells across to a sailor on their ship that it is time to have a little dance. The men incharge of sailing the Saint-Jean-Baptiste have spent the past few days grumbling at the sight of the Amitié . Laure heard one of them say that there is no money in bringing nuns and priests and a few starving women to Canada, that it costs more to feed them on the journey than they get paid to carry them across.
According to the crew of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste , the trade of nègres to the Islands is the way for a seaman to make money. One particularly spindly sailor bragged about how he once had to fit a nègre the size of a horse with an iron mask to keep him from the sugar cane onboard the ship. Laure could not imagine this sailor with wrists as thin as her own doing anything of the sort. Today this sailor and the others are quiet as they wait with the other passengers for a glimpse of the Amitié ’s cargo.
After some time, three male slaves, two adults and a child, are brought up on the deck of the Amitié . One of the sailors, a fat and bearded man, bends to unbind their legs, but he keeps their hands shackled in iron. A dozen or so soldiers and sailors make a circle around the two adult nègres and the négrillon . The two large slaves raise their shackled hands to cover their faces as the men around them jeer. But the
Along with the chilly wind and the strength of the foaming waves crashing against the port town, this brutish group of protestors only serves to frighten the girls. There is much excitement at the port as the ships returned from distant, mostly warmer, seas are unloaded of riches: coffee, sugar, cotton, tobacco, and spices. Already this merchandise is being bargained for and sold for dispersal down the very river Laure has just left behind. Laure has never felt smaller or more alone in all her life. Madeleine has been praying her rosary for most of the journey and conversing with some of the other girls from the hospital, who talk mostly of the contents of their coffers, the ribbons and fabric they have brought with them. Madeleine is so kind to all of them, listening to their plans for marriage and a better life in Canada. Laure wishes Madeleine would stop talking to these girls.
Beyond, at some distance into the sea, is the ship they will board for Canada. Laure doesn’t know if it is the cold misty air or terror at what lies ahead that makes her shiver. The boat, although one of the largest of its type, looks fragile, almost ridiculous, against the immense backdrop of the ocean. Laure has heard that early summer is the best time to undertake this journey to New France. Attempted too early or too late, their vessel would be shattered on rocks along the coast before they even reached the cruel centre of the North Atlantic.
9
S ince the passengers bound for Canada boarded the Saint-Jean-Baptiste almost three weeks ago, the vessel has not moved out of the Bay of the Seine. The sailors worry that the lack of wind is an inauspicious sign that the journey to Canada will be a long one. Throughout the late spring days, Laure has been standing with the other passengers on deck looking back across the calm water to the shore. It is too far to swim back, to scream across to the tiny bodies moving on the land, but too close to feel that they have really left France behind.
Beside them, also waiting for the winds to pick up, is another ship, the Amitié . Laure has heard much talk on the deck about this other ship. The Amitié is bound for the sugar plantations of Saint-Domingue and carries in its hold three hundred nègres recently acquired from the Dahomey coast in Africa. The slave ship is larger than the Saint-Jean-Baptiste . Normally, Laure only sees the sailors and patrolling soldiers of the Amitié , but today there are commands being shouted out and weapons raised. The nègres from below deck will be brought up for air.
One of the soldiers on the Amitié yells across to a sailor on their ship that it is time to have a little dance. The men incharge of sailing the Saint-Jean-Baptiste have spent the past few days grumbling at the sight of the Amitié . Laure heard one of them say that there is no money in bringing nuns and priests and a few starving women to Canada, that it costs more to feed them on the journey than they get paid to carry them across.
According to the crew of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste , the trade of nègres to the Islands is the way for a seaman to make money. One particularly spindly sailor bragged about how he once had to fit a nègre the size of a horse with an iron mask to keep him from the sugar cane onboard the ship. Laure could not imagine this sailor with wrists as thin as her own doing anything of the sort. Today this sailor and the others are quiet as they wait with the other passengers for a glimpse of the Amitié ’s cargo.
After some time, three male slaves, two adults and a child, are brought up on the deck of the Amitié . One of the sailors, a fat and bearded man, bends to unbind their legs, but he keeps their hands shackled in iron. A dozen or so soldiers and sailors make a circle around the two adult nègres and the négrillon . The two large slaves raise their shackled hands to cover their faces as the men around them jeer. But the
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