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I have not added any thing to the incidents, or changed the import of her very pertinent remarks.With trifling exceptions, both the ideas and the language are her own.In this story, I take on the persona of Asha Larai, a young twelve-year-old girl on a slave ship during 1624.

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At her request, I have revised her manuscript; but such changes as I have made have been mainly for purposes of condensation and orderly arrangement.

Only those who have endured this would side with us and surely we would lose. I wouldn’t be fed this slop, using an overflowing bucket for a restroom, or dying slowly at such a young age. I wouldn’t be here now- afraid, lonely, and waiting to arrive at a destination I’m unsure of. Grandmother Etana, I wish with all my tears to be in that little hut with you again. Here I have none and everything is so overwhelming. I have awful nightmares and I always wake up with sweat and tears dripping off my body. Would I have been better off shot by one of the white men?

The loneliness makes me miss everyone- even the people I despised. I miss my family and friends and I cannot bear to think that they are going through the same things I am right now. Would I rather stay here and wilt like a dying rose?

As a young woman she ran away from her master, hiding out in a crawl space above a storeroom in her grandmother’s house for seven years.

In 1842, she escaped to the North and lived as a fugitive while she worked to reunite herself with her two children.

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