The End of the World and Beyond

by Avi

  It was I who said, “Please you, sir, are you . . . dead . . . or alive?”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The Swamp Man.

  Who are you?” replied the man. “Why are you here?” He had halted knee-deep in the water, as if uncertain about coming closer or what to do with us.

  “We’re trying to get free,” said Bara. “Do you mean to do us any harm?”

  The man pointed to Bara. “Are you a slave? And you”—he pointed at me—“you’ve got a convict collar.”

  “We’re runaways,” I called.

  “Both?” The man continued to hold his stick as if to strike.

  “Both,” returned Bara. He pointed to himself. “Slave.” He pointed to me. “Transported convict.”

  “How far have you come?”

  “Miles. From the bay,” I said.

  “Where are you heading?”

  I looked to Bara that he might answer.

  “To the free people. Maroons.”

  “How do you know about them?”

  “Talk in Annapolis,” Bara replied, and quickly gave such particulars that he could.

  At Bara’s words, the man lowered his stick and actually offered up a smile. “Then you’ve done well,” he said. “I’m one of the free people. I keep watch. I can take you there.”

  To say we felt release is the least of it. We had finally arrived where we wanted to be, as if the way to Heaven had been revealed.

  The man said, “My name is Ellick. What are your names?”

  “Bara.”

  “Oliver.”

  “Are there any more with you?”

  “Just us.”

  “You can follow me,” said the man. He spoke with slow clarity, while his gaze shifted back and forth between Bara and me, as if to make sure we both understood him.

  He turned and we went along. As we moved I saw Ellick fully. He was a large, powerful man. His body—he wore no shirt—was muscular. He was wearing some kind of cloth trousers. As for his face, such as I could see, it was broad, with a large nose and a big mouth, his eyes capped by bushy eyebrows. He also had a dark, full beard. I hardly had to wonder why such a man might be a sentry. He would be hard to get around.

  As we climbed on the island where he had been on watch, he held out a large hand to us. “You are welcome,” he said, first to Bara and then to me. Powerful though he was, there was an ease about him, as if he was confident of his strength.

  He led us to a cleared space from where he must have been watching. “Sit,” he said. “I need to hear your stories.”

  Bara quickly told Ellick who he was and where he had come from. Then I told my tale. He made no comment on what we said, though now and again he nodded as if to say, “I know of that.”

  “Fine,” said Ellick when we had finished, “I’ll lead you to our settlement.”

  “Is it far?” I asked.

  “No,” was all he would say.

  Bara and I exchanged looks of relief, and I tell you true, the looks were more grins than anything else.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  The Secret People.

  Just how Ellick made his way through the thick swamp, I could not determine, but lead us he did. Nor can I accurately explain the path we followed. What’s more, even if I could, I would not. The maroon community lay hidden in the swamp, its existence needing to remain secret. If discovered by Fitzhugh and his like, it would have been destroyed and the people who lived there slaughtered—like Clark had been—or returned to slavery.

  Eventually we arrived at another island, bigger than most we had seen. As with other swamp isles, its topmost ground was a few feet higher than the water level and hidden by thick foliage and trees. Completely concealed among the greenery and cypress trunks were some five huts—as I believe they were called.

  They stood on posts that lifted them higher than the land—protection against rising waters—and were built of cypress staves held together, as far as I could see, by vines and mud. A ladder stood before each entryway. Layers of swamp grass lay upon the roofs. I saw one log canoe.

  Each hut provided shelter for two or three adults. Thus, in this community, some fourteen adults—men and women both—and two children made up the entire group. Most were former black slaves. Two had been indentured whites. All were runaways and had lived together some while, one or two for a number of years. Others had come recently, but I did not seek to learn the particulars. If I had asked, I don’t believe I’d have been informed.

  We were welcomed, given food and drink, and asked to tell our story. There was much concern about who had chased us—when, where, how many—which we answered as best we could. Then we were given a place to sleep, on grass mats under one of the huts.

  That night Bara and I slept—oh rarity!—with perfect calm.

  In the morning, I learned more about these people. They lived as one large clan. They worked and gathered food together, supported one another. They struggled with the swamp, struggled for food—which was not abundant—sometimes argued or disputed, but overall existed in harmony. They were a serious people but could laugh. The two children ran about—as much as they could. Everyone looked after them.

  There was one elderly, white-haired woman, her face quite wrinkled, to whom all paid much respect. In the time that I was there, perhaps a month, when important decisions were made—to build another hut, to talk to another maroon community once about whether a marriage should take place—they gathered together and always requested of this woman what she thought.

  For the most part these people spent their time surviving: taking care of the children, repairing huts (which were flimsy and easily damaged), hunting and fishing, growing enough food to sustain themselves. Their clothing was a mix of old cloth and animal skins. They had no firearms, but had fashioned wooden spears, fishing hooks made from a few bent nails, and one bow (that I saw) with a few arrows. One person had a knife. Bara gave Fitzhugh’s knife to someone, so they had two. Over time I saw a hammer, a small scythe, and an iron pincer, or what was called pliers. Also, an iron pot. How they got them I have no idea.

  Two days after we arrived, Ellick came to me. “Oliver, do you wish us to take off your collar?” More than willing, I went with him. First, he used that small iron pincer, and after twisting the nail that kept my collar together, removed it. Then he and another man, whose name was Joshua, bade me stand still. Each gripped the iron band with their two hands. Though I felt some pain, they wrenched the collar open and were able to pull the hateful thing away. Once off they dangled the iron collar before me, and I was able to rejoice, free of that ghastly weight, emblem of my harsh condition.

  But note: The iron was not thrown away. Nor was that nail. Metal was too rare a thing for them to waste. To what use they were put I don’t know, but these people kept to the maxim “Good or bad, all things have purpose.”

  While we were there one of the men, named Joseph, left for a few days. When he returned he brought five iron nails. Since they were used as spear points and for fishing, they were deemed a great treasure.

  As for meat, the people fished and hunted small creatures such as raccoon and squirrel. They made do with traps and wooden spears. They dried the meat in the open air. Skins were used for many things, from shoes to bags to haul water.

  On nearby islands they grew patches of corn, sweet potatoes, and squash. The husks of dried squash were cut into spoons and other utensils. Cooking was done in small fire pits, so smoke would be slight and not give them away. The food was often wrapped in leaves and baked in hot ash, and indeed they called what they made ash cakes. It was good.

  We learned there were several such small communities nearby in the swamp area—at most a mile apart but all distinct from one another. They stayed small for safety’s sake, but could join together in defense of their existence when or if necessary. They had that canoe,
by which they could, and did, visit one another.

  Their major task was to protect themselves from the villains of the outside world. No matter how long they were free, there was always the danger of recapture by slaveholders. Much time then was spent on watch, as Ellick had been, so as not to be discovered. I think they always were on guard and prepared for flight, assuming they were being forever hunted.

  In the time I was with them, Bara and I were required to be part of all. Thus I learned to harvest food from the swamp from plants that grew there, to hunt creatures that lived about. To fish.

  Bara and I were taken to a little island where corn was grown. We were set to weed, which was hard, but as we worked I thought how different it was to tend the land for your people and not a master.

  I learned more of field work in the time I was among those people than in all my time with Fitzhugh. I cannot know if I changed, but surely Bara did. The silence that was so much of him melted away. He talked readily to these people and did so constantly, as if he had stored up his words for a long time and only now found full release. He talked more to me, too, and everything he said was painted with eager thoughts and ideas, what he might do and become. He was simmering with excitement, happy to be himself as never before. It was indeed as if he had grown wings.

  While no one told Bara and me that we had to leave the community, in our private talk we felt obliged to do so. It was but a tiny group, and though we worked alongside them, more than once we had been asked if we had plans. We were told that there were other communities—farther west—that needed people. The meaning was clear. For safety’s sake, it could only be so big. At some point, we must go. Nonetheless, Bara and I took great pleasure in living there, and for that short while, chose not to do anything but live.

  I did ask if anyone knew about Philadelphia. One man did—his name was Ned. He confirmed what Mr. Lunbog said, that it was north and best reached by water.

  I told Bara.

  “We should stay together,” he said. “Go farther west. One of their other places. Ellick told me there were Indians who would welcome us. He also said that in the south the Spanish would welcome us.”

  I could not, would not say anything against that except, “I promised I would find my sister.”

  Bara remained silent for some time, staring out into the swamp. At length he turned to me. “Then we’ll have to go different ways,” he said. “I won’t be a slave again.”

  I said, “You saved me.”

  “And you saved me,” he returned.

  But by unspoken consent, we did not talk further about this matter. We just knew a parting would soon come.

  And sure enough, early one morning there came a cry: “They’re coming. They’re coming.”

  Chapter Sixty

  In Which My Life Turns a Different Way.

  In an instant, all became commotion. We hardly understood what was happening, but learned soon enough. A watchman had detected a party of white men—armed with muskets—working through the swamp. Whether they were looking for this particular community or Bara and me hardly mattered. The people had to flee deeper into the swamp, moving farther west.

  They were dashing about, gathering what things they could. The old woman was led into the dugout canoe, the two children with her, fore and aft. Two other women got into the water, and with one on either side, guided the craft away.

  It was astonishing to me how quickly the maroons fled. Within moments, Bara and I were the only ones on the island. We stood on its edge watching the last of the island people moving through the swamp, becoming invisible.

  “I’m going with them,” Bara announced. “You should come with me.”

  I made no answer but looked toward the east. I could not see anyone coming, but I had no doubt hunters were there, moving toward us.

  Bara stepped into the water. “Oliver, we need to go now. If we lose them we may not find them again.”

  I said, “I’m going to Philadelphia.”

  “Then you’ll have to go alone. I won’t go back.”

  “I know.”

  “What if you can’t find Charity?”

  “Bara, I have to try.”

  He stared at me for a moment then went farther into the water.

  Remaining where I was, I hardly knew what to say. How was I to say good-bye to the one who had saved my life so many times, in so many ways? How to say good-bye to him I admired above all, who I wished I might become? All well to say I must find my sister. Bara had become my brother. In Bara I had never known a braver, smarter person. I am not ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes. I could see it was the same for him.

  “I think you’ll find her,” he said.

  “Do you really believe it?”

  He smiled. “You’ve become bigger, smarter.”

  I said, “Who will you find?”

  “I’ve already found my people.”

  We gave each other an embrace. Then he stepped farther away into the swamp waters.

  “Bara,” I called.

  He looked back.

  “Do you think,” I cried, “we’ll ever see each other again?”

  “In this world, the only way they’ll let us be together is in our thoughts. Seek me there. I’ll seek you.”

  Then he moved off, wading through the swamp in the direction the others had gone.

  I wanted to shout after him. But—thinking of those who were coming—I felt constrained to whisper, “Stay free.”

  He did not look back again. I chose to think he could not.

  I waited until I could see him no more, until he was gathered into the swamp. As I stood there my heart misgave me. You cannot do this alone, I told myself. Go with him.

  I suspect if I had seen my friend one more time, if he had turned, I think I would have followed. But when I looked west, Bara was no longer in sight. Perhaps it was my tears that blinded my eyes.

  I turned to face east. Can I do it? I asked myself.

  The only answer I received was: You either do or die.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  In Which I, Quite Alone, Travel into the Swamp.

  Let it be understood: I didn’t know who was coming. Was it Fitzhugh? Even if Fitzhugh was not among them, I assumed there were many, and well armed. Yet, I could neither hear nor see anything of them. It was as if I was being chased by unseeable men.

  Feeling urgency I stepped into the swamp and moved as fast as I could from the maroon island, hoping I would not be heard. I reached one island. A second. A third. I climbed the fourth and all but buried myself in its leafy center. Then all I could do was wait, listen, and hope. I had two great fears: what these people might do to me, and what they might force me to say about the maroons. If they caught the smallest sight of me, all would be lost.

  At one point, I heard voices from a distance. Not anyone in particular. What I heard loudest was my beating heart. Happily, I never heard gunshots, which suggested the maroons were free. But that, too, I would never truly learn. Then, after a goodly time, I heard no more threatening sounds. I told myself it was safe.

  All the same, I kept thinking about Bara. Had I done the right thing to separate from him? To contain myself and keep still, I tried to think about Charity, how I might reach her.

  All very well to say I would find her in Philadelphia. My sole sense of the proper path was what the maroon and Mr. Lunbog told me: that the city was north and east from Annapolis. Clearly, I must travel that way.

  The direction from which Bara and I had fled from Fitzhugh held, for an absolute certainty, the greatest danger. But I had been informed that the best way to reach Philadelphia was by water. One hundred and twenty miles north, said Mr. Lunbog. The great bay ran north, the very direction I needed to go. Surely it would be far easier to paddle up the bay than to walk. There was a canoe at Fitzhugh’s plantation. I might use it but I k
new to get to it would take days of sodden marching.

  Foolhardy, perhaps, to return to Fitzhugh’s place to secure that canoe, but had not my life worked that way so far? It could not be all folly. Surely, at some point, risk might become reward. Besides, I had absolutely no knowledge of where else I might find another boat.

  When Bara looked for the maroon community, he said we must go straight west. Well then, I must go straight east. Pleased to have a strategy, however hazardous, I paused long enough to find a stout stick to help me walk. If I waited any longer, I would lose whatever courage—you may just as well call it folly—I had.

  I stepped into the swamp, using my stick as prod, and set off. Going from island to island, I moved opposite from the way Bara and I had come.

  The water, to be sure, was not solid, but nonetheless required effort to push through. Many a time I slipped and dropped down, floundering up to my neck. At such moments, panic would seize me, and the stick became my vital if humble rescuer. Oh, how I missed Bara. But rather than dwell on that, I kept telling myself, I must do this.

  When I reached islands, I climbed on and made myself rest. In spite of my hunger I paused only long enough to determine my position and gather my strength. Then I selected my next goal—another island—and waded on, yet again, as if I were a skipping stone.

  I shall not bore you with the small particulars of my journey, because it was much the same no matter how far I went. Of course, I grew exhausted. At such times, I would find an island, get on it, reach its middle place, and sleep, albeit restlessly. Food—scant, to be sure—was where I found it: cattails, and twice a fish. I did not travel at night.

  After three days, I was cold, numb, and beyond tired. Still, I sensed I was approaching my goal. I therefore forced myself on until I recognized the area. Then I was sure I had come close to Fitzhugh’s land. That meant, of course, I had come to the hardest part of my journey: to get hold of the canoe.

  You must believe me but it was only then did I remember that whereas the canoe was presumably by Fitzhugh’s wharf, the paddle was in the chest inside his house. I had no doubt I would be able to get the canoe, but it would be useless without the paddle.