The mother of the boy given to us by Almamy, came to our huts to see her son, whom we had by this time so convinced of his real situation, that he implored us on his knees and with tears in his eyes to work the same change in his unfortunate mother’s situation, who together with his brother, an infant, were in the most deplorable state of slavery, in the possession of Moosa Yeona Malick. The poor woman herself was too much pleased with the respectable appearance of her son, and with the account he gave her of the comparative happiness of his present situation, to prevent a gleam of satisfaction from making itself evident, through the otherwise truly miserable and desponding evidence of her feelings but too strongly depicted in her face and actions; the former being bathed in tears, and the latter more becoming of a person imploring assistance or protection from the divine, than a human being. It is needless to say we promised her every exertion in her favour, and fulfilled the promise, but alas! without effect:—the answer we got from her inhuman master to an offer of three times the value of a prime slave, or indeed any price he might demand, was “that it was much fitter for us to make him a present of the son, who would thereby be enabled to enjoy the society of his mother and brother.” The poor woman was a constant visitor at our huts, where she every day got one good meal, but it would have been useless to give her any thing else, as her master would not have left it (let it be of never so little value) with her. Since our arrival at Boolibany we had been as badly supplied with provisions as at Goodeerie. Almamy made us a present of a bullock, but we found it impossible to purchase any, and as to rice or corn it was extremely scarce and dear. So small was the quantity of milk purchased that the officers were stinted to a few spoonfulls each, which, with as limited a quantity of rice, meal, or meat, constituted our daily bill of fare.