2005

It was a pleasant morning in New York, and as the sun rose, a British fort resting in a valley began to come alive. Men got out of their bunks and dressed, and those with guard duty went to replace those on the wall. The cook was already up, and was just finishing making breakfast.

Captain Robert Allen strolled across the parade ground and over the wooden walls of the fort. He greeted the guards as he went and found a solitary corner of the battlements. There he stood in thought for several minutes and gazed out across the valley. He breathed in deeply and smiled. Winter had been harsh, but maybe the Colonies could provide an acceptable spring.

Captain Allen's thoughts were broken by the staccato of hoof beats coming from the west. He looked to find five British officers riding towards the camp.

“The major's back,” he thought to himself, a little unhappily. Although he had had worse commanding officers, Allen found Major Anderson a little too arrogant, a little too inhuman. The major rode through the gates just as Allen was descending the ladder off the wall.

“Nothing to report, sir,” replied the captain. “The fort's at full strength, and morale is high. The Colonials should be surrendering within the year.”

“Within a year, eh? We should have had them within the first three months!” He then realized himself, and asked the captain, “And what of that young prisoner?”

“Have him dead by noon. I'll be in my quarters,” commanded Anderson as he rode away.

Robert Allen was a little disturbed. The major hadn't even seen this man, and now he was condemning him to death!

He approached the small, crudely constructed stockade, and the redcoats flanking the door unbarred it for him. Allen ducked under the doorway and surveyed his captive. He was a young man, probably twenty-five, and had just awakened when the door was opened. As the man stretched the stiffness out of his back, Allen spoke.

“Indeed. Well, Ephraim, I'll get right to the point. Do you know where your army is or what they are doing?”

The young man looked at Allen sideways again and stared with a wisdom and sincerity that startled him.

“You can do whatever you want, mister, but that won't make me know any more.”

Allen was surprised to find he believed him. He figured his interrogation would not get much further, so he squatted down to get level with Ephraim's bunk. He hadn't known many Americans, and was eager to learn more about their revolution.

“But you are free,” replied Allen. “Under England, you can go wherever you want, and do whatever you please. The laws we make are no different from the ones a government has for itself.”

“It's not the same,” he said. “We want to rule ourselves. I guess it's something you can't understand until you are ruled by someone else.”

Both sat in silence. Captain Allen now sat on the dirt floor. What was said next surprised him most of all.

“Well, it's my duty, I suppose. The king tells you to cross the ocean to fight the Colonials, so that's what you do. I've never questioned that sort of thing.”

The two men talked for several hours, about the war, taxes, laws, and eventually about home and families. Robert Allen had never met a man like Ephraim Smith, a man that was so quiet, yet showed such confidence and contentment. Ephraim made him question things about himself, and things that he would usually label as “his duty.” Then, at eleven thirty, Allen remembered the major's command, and went to speak to him in his quarters. Anderson looked up from a map of America when Allen entered.

“Ah, Allen,” he rumbled. “Managed to glean anything from that ignorant peasant, have you?”

Allen took offense at this, which he was not used to. This ignorant peasant was his enemy, yet he now seemed much more of a friend than his own officer!

“He knows very little, sir,” said Allen. “He is apparently of very low rank.”

“Shame,” said Major Anderson, obviously preoccupied with his map. “Is he dead yet?”

“Sir, I find it unnecessary to shoot this man. We could keep him in the stockade until we are done here, or we could exchange him for one of our. . . .”

“You find it unnecessary, do you? Unnecessary! Is Robert Allen in command of this fort? I think not! Shoot the dog immediately!”

Allen stood outside and fumed quietly for a moment, then reluctantly approached the stockade. Ephraim Smith was still quietly sitting on his bunk. He smiled when the captain came in. Allen sat down slowly. After some thought he began to speak.

“They're going to shoot me. I know,” he interrupted. He seemed completely calm. Allen didn't know what to say.

“Captain, it's my duty to get captured and get shot, just like it's your duty to order those things. Besides, I know where I'm going.”

Right there, in the words of his enemy, lay the answer to Robert Allen's problem. He stood up.

Many thoughts went through Allen's head as the young American was marched out to the parade ground. Thoughts about freedom, peace, death, and duty. The soldiers lined up.

What was it like to be an oppressed nation? Did these rebels have a cause worth dying for?

What was it like to have that confidence, that lack of fear? Why was this man so sure about his fate?

Ephraim Smith was smiling. The always loyal British captain had so many choices to make, so many doubts. But there, in the smile of the condemned man lay his answer. Duty.

Duty to his country, duty to his king, duty to the God that had put him under those powers. Robert Allen knew his duty.

According to legend, in the spring of 1779, the British ship HMS Ontario set forth from Canada to the Oswego harbor. The ship was laden with $75,000 worth of gold, the payload for the garrison at Oswego. The ship never made it, and all 179 sailors on board were drowned. Nothing was ever found of the ship or its cargo, but one small journal washed up on shore near the rocks. This is what it said:

Journal of Thomas Hood, sailor of the 5^th regiment of the King’s Own, British Navy.

March 17, 1779; We have been given the gold payload for Fort Oswego. Still cold. Ice blocks still float about shore. Danged weather.

March 19, 1779; Too busy yesterday to write. Had to get through ice about us. Didn’t get to sleep. Hard now to write. Too tired. Too cold.

March 20, 1779; Nothing to do now but write. Too cold for deck. Not much light. Danged clouds won’t leave. Every time I go on deck, shiver like a leaf in the wind.

March 24, 1779; Last night, storm wrecked our mast. Ropes wouldn’t bend because of ice frozen in them. Midshipmen Grant lost overboard, Lieutenant Harrison went after him. Hour later, both bodies floated by, frozen like statues. Captain won’t turn back.

March 26, 1779; We are lost to the storms and ghastly weather. Rain pours down in torrents. No end in sight. Captain still won’t turn us around. Says we have just as much distance to go back, it would be pointless. The gold is holding us down, water comes in the rear hold.

March 27, 1779; Ten days at sea. Gold continues to be problem. First mate Joyce asked Captain to dump some of the load overboard. Captain retaliated in anger, said he would bring it all safe to harbor.

March 28, 1779; Winds wrecking the ship. Water coming in fast. Talk of conspiracy.

April 2, 1779; During storm four days ago, five men were drowned, and ship would have been sunk, had not been for Joyce, Smith, and Redruth. The three men threw a third of the gold overboard. Just saved us. Captain was outraged, ordered to have them flogged. Some now plotting mutiny.

April 5, 1779; Plan of mutiny abandoned. Winds have died down, now sailing smoothly. Still cold, but getting better if changing at all. Ship may make it.

April 7, 1779; The men are restless. Boredom preys on patience. Ship not making time. Captain anxious.

April 11, 1779; All hell has broken loose on earth. Ice pelts down with rain, and is thrown about in the waves. Deck has a foot of water covering it. The holds are filling. Ship won’t make it. Too heavy. Captain still won’t lighten load.

April 12, 1779; A miracle to still be alive. Able to pump the water out and keep us up. Ship is low in the water, but not sinking. Ice storm stopped, but rain continues now and then. Still no port in sight. Twenty-five days at sea. We are lost.

April 13, 1779; Now there is fog. One comfort it brings is that warmer weather will follow. Just saw small boat pass by in fog, heading towards Oswego. We started following it, but its lights went out. We are making as straight as can be in direction of it. Captain again urged to lighten load so we could increase our speed. Still will not. Danged fool.

April 14, 1779; Still some fog, but clearing up steadily. No sign of other ships about us.

April 15, 1779; Blast it all, the fog, the ice, the captain, all of it! The fog has cleared, but what it brought with it is worse. We have sighted land about ten miles off by the telescope, and there was much rejoicing at first, but ahead of us and much closer there are great mountains of ice breaking apart and being thrown about on the waves. Any approach will be suicide.

April 16, 1779; The Captain has ordered us onward, and we are attempting to break through the ice to reach the port. It would take too long to make our way around it all, and we would lose sight of land. We have very little food left. God have mercy on our ship.

April 17, 1779; This will be the last entry in this journal. It is only very early, and the sun is still far off from rising, but it is long past midnight. I find it ironic that we left on the 17^th of March, and our voyage will end on the 17^th of April. There is no hope left for our ship. All other hands are scrambling about on deck or below, trying to save the ship, but it is no use. Most of the ship is ruined, and the masts are all broken and fallen overboard. Even as I write, water is hurled on deck above me, and ice breaks on the sides of this wooden prison. I would rather see anything other than this ship. Now that my life is so near its end, I have time to reflect on all that I have seen in it, and on life itself. The only thing that is of any worth is the people a man loves. All else is nonsense. Gold is of no value to man, and it is indeed the downfall of many. Every man on this ship has died for it. For the gold we carry to other men, who would have spent it on meaningless comforts and pleasures that would have been forgotten on their dying day. The only things of my life that I can recollect with any fondness are my wife and children, who will never see me again until we meet in heaven. Also my parents and my brother Alfred whom I left when I was only thirteen, so that I could be a sailing man. None of my voyages have given me any remembrances that I can recollect with fondness. I could have had all of that which is most important, but I chose the way of adventure. I could have lived many long years with my wife, and watched little Timothy and Elizabeth grow up to be fine young adults, and could have taken care of my good mum and dad when they became old and weak. Now, I am to die a slave to my fantasy. I feel regret, but now I know that I will soon be out of my troubles, and I will see my Lord and Savior. These things I still do have, I have the memories of my family, and of the few times that I found enjoyment. I love them all. If any man should ever read this, I would say to him, the only important things in life are what you will leave behind and what you will take with you to the kingdom come. For we have taken no thing of substance into this would, and it is certain we will carry no thing out. Only love will remain after death. As the great writer William Shakespeare once said, “The rest is silence.”

Dedicated to Marv Zimmerman who fought for our freedom during WWII for the U.S.A

It is becoming extremely difficult for me to sit in my small boat for long periods of time. Stiff joints, arthritis, my doctor said. I have always liked the outdoors and salt water from the North Sea. I love the smells. The large thunderclouds as they storm my way. Even now I still drift back to memories of sixty five years ago and my youth and friends long gone. I have a small great grandson now, and I hope he never has to endure what I did.

It had been stormy for the past few days. The overcast was like an infinitely thick, grey blanket over the sea. The enormous waves threw the massive Bismarck from side to side. I was on watch duty. As I scanned the endless gray sea all I could see were the huge walls of water. The cold rain seemed to seep through my heavy raincoat down to my bones, and my face felt frozen and numb. I counted down the seconds remaining on my watch. 5…4…3…2…1… I climbed down the ladder from the small crows nest on the bow and walked towards the hatch on the first gun turret nicknamed “Anton”. We had left the port of Gdynia three days ago and at the moment we were passing the northern part of Iceland. Then we had plans to swing back south into the north Atlantic and prey on Canadian/British shipping thereby cutting the lifeline from North America to England. We had already sunk several merchant vessels carrying allied war materials.

It took a few days to sail past Iceland and into the North Atlantic. It was warm, well warmer than we had been throughout the voyage so far. I had been thinking of my life so far as a German patriot. I was young at the time and had no wife or children to worry about. All my effort was concentrated into being a good sailor. I was at my anti aircraft gun in seconds when the air-raid sirens began to blare. By then I was a veteran at manning my AA gun so I helped my loader, Hans, ram the 30mm flack shell into the breach. He closed it and I trained the gun out to where the officer standing behind me had ordered. A plane, an old swordfish by the look of the ugly biplane design, was flying at twenty degrees to starboard and just feet from the surface of the freezing Atlantic. The officer bellowed FIRE! and I pulled the trigger. With me being only nineteen and only 140 pounds, it took some time for me to get used to the force required to pull the large trigger on the cannon. The shell I had fired arced downward and exploded just yards away from the enemy aircraft, but the plane remained undamaged. By now the rest of Bismarck’s starboard batteries had opened up and the sky around the plane was black with flak and the bright-yellow tracers reached out from the ship to the tiny plane. The plane, now damaged, turned and quickly flew away with black smoke seeping from one wing. Just as he was about to fly out of range, a flack shell scored a direct hit on him. The plane exploded into a thousand pieces and the wreckage rained into the sea. I laid back in the gunners stool exhausted. We had fired twenty three 50lb shells in less than two minutes. I began to realize the importance of Captain Lutjens endless drills. My first real action had been a success.

At almost 5:00 in the morning a couple of days later the battle stations siren went off again waking everyone in my crowded crew quarters. The tension was high as over 500 of my shipmates and I rushed to our stations. As I emerged on deck I ran to my AA gun. Hans was already there loading the gun. We made eye contact and his look showed confidence. I did some last-minute check on the barrel, breach, and range finder. Everything was ok. About twelve miles out from the starboard side a ship came into view. Our two huge bow turrets, “Anton” and “Bruno”, rotated their 380mm main guns to meet the new threat. Our intelligence officer informed the crew that the ship was HMS Suffolk, a light cruiser, via the captain’s loudspeaker. The intelligence officer was our Gestapo morale officer. No one really liked him. He was never once a help to us during the voyage, just an ominous threat. The humming sound of the two stern turrets, “Caesar” and “Dora”, rotating brought me back to the current situation. I could easily see that Hans was scared. So was I, but I was his superior so I did my best to comfort him. A loud siren told us to take cover as the ship’s main guns fired a salvo at the English cruiser. The Bismarck rocked as the huge guns opened up. They were all near misses but we had the range! The ship turned away quickly and ran. Captain Lutjens decided not to follow as we were trying to stay hidden, but we had been located. The easy part of our voyage was over.

Several more days passed with no action. The crew began to get very restless so the captain decided that drills would pass the time better.

The next day the battle station sirens wailed again. When I got to my AA gun I ran the usual checks and I waited for Hans. Two large warships, presumably British appeared on the horizon. They were at least twenty kilometers away and still clearly visible with the use of binoculars. Someone behind and to the left of me murmured in amazement, “That lead ship is the Hood!” At that point a chill ran up my spine. Battleship Hood was the pride of the British navy. There was another ship, the Prince of Wales, a heavy cruiser. At the range of sixteen kilometers the Bismarck fired a massive salvo at the Hood. I could barely make out the massive pillars of water rising hundreds of feet into the air. I could see one plume of black smoke rising. One hit! Seconds later our fellow ship, the Prinz Eugen, opened up and scored another hit on the Hood. Then I saw the bright muzzle flashes as the Hood returned fire. In an instant the sea around the Bismarck erupted into huge pillars of water that towered well above the ship. All of the sudden I felt a crushing concussion wave hit me and I was knocked unconscious milliseconds later. When I awoke several seconds later, I could hear screams and the wailing of incoming shells. My nose was broken and I was very dizzy. I propped myself up. Just fifty feet from my AA gun towards the bow, I saw an area of the ship twisted and burning. The ship seemed fine though. I hadn’t even sat up when our four massive turrets released another salvo on the enemy. I sat up again and watched the Hood, hoping for revenge. The Hood was close now, only about fourteen kilometers. Four of the eight shells hit the Hood with devastating effect. One ripped into what must have been the aft turret’s magazine and for an instant I was blinded by the explosion. The whole of the Hood seemed to lift out of the water as the explosion ripped her apart. In less than thirty seconds one of the largest battleships in the world had been obliterated. I sat there awed for a few seconds not entirely sure if what I had just seen really happened. I was in shock until Hans brought me back to reality. The other enemy cruiser, Prince of Whales, started to turn away just as the Bismarck put four direct hits into her. The Prince of Whales was damaged very badly but it was still afloat. And she was steaming away at her best speed, which was reduced due to the damage. I watched as the ship steamed off leaving a trail of oil black smoke. Just then Hans ran up to me with a medical kit he had run to get when I was first wounded. He bandaged a deep cut on my head which I had not noticed before. I propped myself up and took a drink out of my canteen to moisten my mouth. Acrid smoke filled the air, from the turret guns. Our turrets had fired ninety three 380mm shells at the enemy in less than ten minutes. A couple hours later, after the situation on the bow was in control the Captain put his communiqué to Berlin on the loudspeaker so the crew could hear.

The hit we sustained during the engagement caused some of our fuel to leak and over 2000 tons of water flowed into the bow forecastle. Our speed was reduced to twenty eight knots instead of the normal thirty five to forty. We left the Prinz Eugen and changed course to refuel and repair. British ships closed in on all sides, but still kept their distance. The next day we were attacked by swordfish fighters carrying torpedoes. One of the torpedoes damaged our rudder. We were now sailing in circles due to the jammed rudder. Our mechanics worked hours to try to fix it, but to no avail. The next day the British ships closed in to kill their wounded prey.

The English ships were closing fast as I looked out from my AA gun. Our two bow gun turrets, Anton and Bruno, opened fire on the attackers scoring one hit on the HMS Rodney. Then the Rodney returned fire at the range of eighteen kilometers. One of the shells scored a direct hit on the foretop command post. I hit the deck to avoid the steel shrapnel, which was deadly to anyone that was in the open. The British heavy cruiser Dorchester opened up and knocked out the both of the bow turrets Anton and Bruno. The smoke was blinding and suffocating and the noise was deafening. Anton and Bruno were now twisted hunks of burning steel. My shin was all bloody from a shrapnel wound. I called for a medic but no one could hear me over the noise of the battle raging around me. Our two stern turrets, Caesar and Dora, proceeded to fire at the attackers but with no real effect. I looked out in horror as the HMS Rodney opened fire at relatively point blank range with her 280mm guns. She scored three hits which all but totally destroyed the superstructure of the Bismarck. Captain Lutjens and all who were on the bridge at the time were killed. Two torpedoes launched from the Dorchester slammed into the port side of the already doomed ship. Still the Bismarck stayed afloat. By then though, the crew was jumping overboard to avoid certain death. I told Hans to help me overboard. We both jumped at the same time. The icy cold North Atlantic water was blackened by the oil leaking from the once mighty Bismarck. Before long I was completely covered in oil. There were hundreds of my crewmates, who days earlier I was playing cards with and talking to, who were now drifting helplessly in the ocean. Only minutes after I made my escape from her, the once mighty Bismarck slipped beneath the waves forever. The events of the past hour seemed like a horrible dream. I was in the water for several more long minutes until the HMS Dorchester picked Hans and me from the sea of sailors floating in the water…..

I was startled by my great grandson pulling at my pant leg. He was very young, only eight years old.

For three weeks now I’ve been traveling from house to house, trying desperately to reach some form of safety from my master. I am an escaped slave- and a reward has been put on my head - 250 dollars- 500 If out of state. Every bounty hunter in the entire region can’t resist the lure of that kind of money, and I had barely left Carrol County before I couldn’t move a mile without hearing one asking for ‘a big negro with the gimp finger.’ Even so, I had made it as far as New York, where I could catch a boat to Canada and true freedom.

I wouldn’t have run away in the first place except for my little girl Mira. About a month after the child was born, ’Master’ Dade -I relish the thought of never having to call him that again- came down to speak. He was disgusted that a slave woman would have the audacity to bear a female child when he had specifically told her that another male was needed to do farmwork. Eva, my wife, began to look at him and smile.

“Is something funny?” he hissed. “Because it would be a darn shame if anything was to happen to that girl of yours.”

“I’m thinking about you, sir,” she spoke softly, her face almost dreamlike. “That when the Lord our God comes to judge us all- may he have mercy on your soul.”

The slaver stiffened, and Eva’s face snapped back as he slapped her brutally across the face. He laughed coldly.. “We’ll see how easy it is to break that spirit of yours, woman.” He turned on his sons who stood behind him. “I want that girl sold as soon as possible” he smiled slyly and looked at my wife before continuing. “Send this...thing off to the block as well- she is... dangerous.”

“Don’t do it Charles,” she whispered. “It won’t do you any good.” Then a hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged away.

I had no idea what I should do- for many minutes I stood there dumbly. My wife and child were being stripped from me. My daughter was so young as well- her fragile body would not survive the transfer. I knew that I had to get away before I met the same fate and was unable to help her.

That night, I began packing a few foodstuffs in a small sack to get ready for my journey north. There I would be free- free to work for my own money, my own. It might take years, but I could- I would buy back my family and we could live free and happy in the northern world. Someone coughed behind me, and I turned swiftly. Tom, an ancient slave, hobbled towards me.

I began to sob. “It’s not right, how things are. Why do they think they’re better than us?”

“There there,” he said.. “I was young and bold like you once- and I tried to run away myself. I was caught, beaten, then whipped within an inch of my life- that was a lenient punishment. Now listen- I might be able to help you...”

“It’s mighty simple. Madam Johnson’s down the road is the start to this grand thing called the ‘Underground Railroad’. Once you get on those, there’s no way that any slave hunter’s ever gonna catch you. And if you ever get lost, look to the stars. When everything else has failed you, they will always be a truthful guide.”

“You best be going now. They won’t check in on us till dawn, so you’ll have a few hours head start.”

I nodded in understanding, and quietly opened the door. Tasting my first breath of free air, I hurried down the road in the beginning of my journey.

Three weeks later, I’d arrived at a lonely house in the wild, the next stop in my journey. Quickly, I hurried to the door and knocked. A timid looking white girl answered the door, and let me in.

“It’s so good to see all of you boys escaping,” she said. “I don’t like what those southerners do to you.” She began searching through some papers in her cabinet, and pulled out a tattered old sheet. “Here we are,” she said. Bringing it over, she laid it out flat. I wasn’t any good at reading, so most of it looked like a bunch of jagged lines on the paper, but I could easily read the crude map that was drawn near the bottom. “It’s not that far to the next stop, lucky for you. I can’t let you stay. Slavers have been crawling the area, I think they suspect something. I can lend you some supplies though,”

I stared at the paper. Slightly northwest of this house was a picture of barn, and just north of that was a wide line that wandered across the land, the edge of the lake. My ticket to freedom.

While the woman was taking out a sack of provisions, I noticed a small lantern light out the window. Hearing the gruff voices of possible bounty hunters, the woman went over and lifted a rug near the middle of the floor . A little trap door barely big enough for a man lay underneath, and I was roughly pushed into the darkness of the hole and closed in. A second later, a sharp rap came on the door.

“We suspect that you’ve been hiding one of them black folk in your house- a big negro, with a gimp finer. Mind if we come look for him?”

“Oh, that?” the woman’s voice sounded shaky. “That’s a note to my dear sister... im sending her directions to my house, she’s visiting...” There was a pause, and I could hear someone pick up the paper.

“Hmm. Looks fine to me,” one of the rough voices said. I smiled. The bounty hunter couldn’t read!

Their footfalls eventually stopped, and they apologized to the missus for disturbing her. As soon as they were a reasonable distance away, the trapdoor opened, and I was pulled out.

“Here you are,” the woman said, pressing a laden sack in my hands. “That should be enough to last you for a few days. Now, you best be going before they decide to come back.” she smiled shyly at me. “Take care of yourself now.”

I smiled in return, and left the house. Raising my head to the drinking gourd, I began walking towards the north star.

The fire in the fireplace made the room warm despite the cold, dark Oswego winter outside. The old man replaced a book on its shelf and settled into his rocking chair with a contented sigh. Suddenly his grandchildren ran into the room and crowded around him begging, “A story! A story!”

“But,” said the old man with a twinkle in his eye, “I loved staying up late listening to my grandfather telling me stories. So I will let you, too.”

The children's grandfather leaned forward to the edge of the rocker and, looking each one directly in the eye, said, “Do you know where this chair came from?”

Of course, the children did know because this was their favorite story. The youngest one took his cue.

Each child got into a comfortable position to hear the familiar story. The grandfather leaned back into his chair.

“Well, this rocking chair I'm sitting in was made by my great-great-grandfather. It got passed through the generations to down me. I liked to sit on it on my porch in the summer evenings. In fact, it was so comfortable it was hard to get me out of it! Your grandmother was often irked with me when I was called to dinner and wouldn't come.

Alvin Bronson came to Oswego in 1810, just ten years after the first person was born there. There were only 300 people living there then. Not too long after, he was elected president, or mayor.

On May 8, in 1814, the news came: “Fort Ontario has been taken!” The British with their commanding officer, Sir James Yeo, on board had sailed into the harbor on their ship the Prince Regent and had attacked the fort. The Oswegonians immediately hid their supplies. Because Bronson was in charge, he knew he would be questioned and captured. So, he returned home and sat on the porch in his rocking chair and waited.

After a little while, he saw Sir Yeo and four of his soldiers in their red uniforms marching to his house. Bronson greeted them.

“Get out of that chair at once!” Yeo shouted. “Alvin Bronson, you are now under arrest!”

“Children, time to go up to bed!” came a woman's voice. The children jumped at the sound and turned to see their mother standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, pretending to be stern.

“Oh, I would love to stay and hear the rest of it. Let me take the bedwarming pans off the fire. It will just take a moment. Continue without me.” The mother returned to the kitchen.

“Get out of that chair at once!” Yeo shouted. “You are now under arrest!”

The commander was dumbfounded. He could not believe that a captured man would be so stubborn yet polite.

The children's mother came back into the room and sat down near the warmth of the fire. She closed her eyes in anticipation, knowing that the favorite part of the story was to come next. The children squirmed with excitement.

“I am in charge here! You will do what I say! You'll get on my ship even if you have to be carried there!” Yeo turned to the soldiers with him. “Men!” he ordered. “Carry Mr. Bronson to the Prince Regent.” The men picked up the chair with Alvin Bronson still sitting in it, and carried it through the streets, much to the amusement of the townspeople.

The British took Bronson across Lake Ontario, going finally to Quebec. As the Prince Regent left the harbor, Bronson could see the Union Jack flying over the fort. The British held him in Quebec for a time, but he was later returned to Oswego. His beloved rocking chair was returned with him. A friend kindly placed it on Bronson's porch.

The town of Oswego gave a celebration in honor of Alvin Bronson for his bravery.

After the story had finished, the mother stood slowly and crept over to the youngest who was trying to stay awake for the whole story. She began shepherding the other children towards the door as she picked up the little one.

The little ones called, “Goodnight, Grandfather. Thank you for telling us 'The Rocking Chair.'”

As they were leaving the room, the oldest granddaughter put her hand on the old man's shoulder. “That was the best you ever told it, Grandfather. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Dear,” he replied, patting her hand with his own strong but gentle hand.

As the children's mother was leaving the room, she paused in the doorway. She turned with a quiet smile for the old man.

“Goodnight, Daughter-in-law,” he said. He breathed another contented sigh and started rocking slowly in his beloved chair.

A British naval officer was staying in Oswego. He was getting ready to propose to his love. He owned an emerald that was going to be in the ring that he was going to give her. One night while he slept a thief sneaked into his room and stole the jewel. The thief sold it to a peddler for lots of money. The peddler then sold it to a friend who was a carpenter named Paul Johnson. The peddler suggested he set it into the hands of the figurehead Paul would carve.

CRACK! The sound of ax against wood rang out through the forest. A tree was felled with a thud. A woodsman chopped off the branches with the help of his son William.

“This is such fine wood, Father,” said William. “I will accompany it on the ship to make sure it gets to Port Hope safely.”

William drove the cart to Oswego Harbor. On the way to the dock, he passed Goble Shipyard at the mouth of the Oswego River. A new schooner had just been built and was getting ready to set sail for Port Hope, Canada, in a week. The carpenter Paul was the craftsman of the figurehead to be attached to this new ship. He was supervising the finishing touches on the bow when William approached. He and William were friends because William had often sold wood for him to carve.

“William, come here,” Paul said. “That is beautiful timber you have got there. How much can you spare?”

A fair price was offered and quickly agreed upon. William continued on in the shipyard to deliver the remaining wood to the warehouse. The wood would be carried on this new ship bound for Port Hope at the end of the week when she was finished.

Paul then left the ship's workmen and went to his shop with the newly purchased wood. He worked for several hours carving it into a figurehead of a young lady. In her hands he placed the emerald that the peddler suggested be mounted there.

Paul stepped outside for a pipe and saw William wandering around. He called to the young man who came to watch him work on the figurehead. He offered him lodging and board in his home. William gratefully accepted. Paul headed back inside his shop with William following. He resumed work on the figurehead.

William had business in town and stayed with Paul during the days that Paul worked on the figurehead. When he completed it, Paul stepped back and admired his work.

Over dinner Paul and William discussed what the wood being sent to Port Hope might be used for.

The next day the figurehead was fastened to the stern of the new ship. Then she was christened the Marilyn's Treasure. This pleased Paul.

The British officer noticed his jewel nestled in the hands of the figurehead as he watched the christening of the Marilyn's Treasure. He realized the owners of the schooner must have stolen his emerald! But there was no time to deal with that now. His Majesty's orders must be fulfilled right away. He prepared the George, a small sloop built in 1755, and headed for Canada.

Marilyn's Treasure was ready at last, heading northwest. They moved on for several miles when the lookout spotted a sloop bearing a British flag atop the second mast. The eyeglass revealed her name: George.

After fulfilling his duties in Canada, the officer headed the George southeast on the choppy lake; there was a schooner approaching. The officer recognized her as the one carrying his precious jewel. He ordered his men to increase speed to reach her to reproach the thief.

Just as the George was not far from the Marilyn's Treasure, an unexpected mistake occurred. Below deck, a sailor was lazily mopping. He decided to take a break and smoke his pipe. He was leaning against the cannon when a wave suddenly jolted the sloop. The pipe he was holding jerked from his hand and brushed against the cannon's fuse.

The cannon came alive with a roar! The small ball whistled through the air, rushing towards the schooner. It struck her bow, knocking the figurehead into the waves. It also blasted a hole in the bow, and rolled along the deck towards a startled William. He jumped aside and the ball bumped to a stop against the anchor. He looked up to see where the ball had come from and saw the figurehead bobbing in the lake.

He thought of how hard Paul had worked on it, and how disappointed he would be if he discovered his handiwork had been lost to the swell. He plunged into the water and desperately swam towards the floating treasure. William shivered in the cold wetness.

The British officer spied William and the figurehead buoying in the water close by. The officer struggled with anger, excitement, and compassion, wanting to surrender to all three emotions. He decided to hoist William and the figurehead onto the George.

William's mouth gaped in confusion. He raised his eyebrows and his voice rasped.

“I plainly see the emerald you have in that figurehead. You stole it from my home and told the carpenter to put it in the figurehead so you would be sure I would not get it back,” accused the officer. “But I will get it back now. Hand it over!”

They argued back and forth for several minutes. But as they disputed, the officer realized that William wasn't defending himself, but another. He inquired whom he was defending.

“What is the name of this craftsman that you so ardently justify?” the British officer asked curiously.

“Paul Johnson. He is an honest friend of mine and I know he would not steal anything for any reason. But since it does not truly belong to him but rather to you, then I will return it to you at once.” William stooped down to the level of the form lying the deck of the George. He carefully yet energetically pried the beloved emerald from the carving. He polished it on his shirt and stood up. He then gently handed the jewel to the officer. William picked up the figurehead and held it close.

Upon returning on Marilyn's Treasure to Oswego after selling his wood in Canada, William went to the carpenter's shop in search of Paul. He then told him about the journey, he gave a share of the money he earned in Port Hope to Paul to pay back for the loss of the jewel. Paul understood his act of honesty and gratefully accepted the money.

With the money Paul bought a beautiful ruby to replace the emerald. He then placed the ruby where the emerald had been. Then he refastened the figurehead onto the newly repaired Marilyn's Treasure. The shipyard workers prepared her for yet another adventurous voyage on Lake Ontario.

Yesterday, Mr. George Cobler rode into Port Ontario, on a spectacular vessel, glistening in the morning’s golden sun. “The Ontario” is painted on her right side in large black letters. On the bow, there is a carved, bronze Union flag.

Right in front of all thirty-seven of members of my crew, I, Judson Castell, handed a check for the ship to Mr. Cobler. Mr. Cobler then handed me the key to all the rooms on board.

Hidey holes are little hiding places all over our ship to hide the slaves we are bringing with us to New York Harbor. From New York City, the slaves will be transported across the Erie Canal to Buffalo and then on to true freedom in Canada. They will be picked up from either Virginia or North Carolina. I am an abolitionist and had Mr. Cobler build this boat for me. I have an ingenious plan to get the slaves! It consists of two groups; myself and the crew, and the Union Army. The Army doesn’t even know they’re helping us. Here’s how the plan works; the Union Army will take over an area, near the Atlantic coast. Then the already notified slaves will, at night, when the seaports are closed, secretly run away from the plantation they work on and run as fast as they can to the local sea port and load the ship, then we sail off. Farther out at sea we hide them in different hidey holes.

One of the hidey holes is a hollowed out section of the mast. Another is a secret room behind the chimney. My favorite one is the one in my cabin. There is a dumbwaiter behind my bed. If you move the bed then you can put a grown man or two children in and send down the dumbwaiter to a small room behind the privy in the bottom of the ship.

In my poem about the Ontario, I wrote that the boat smells like rotten milk, mystery solved! This morning at breakfast time I asked my servant, Jemmy, to go down to the cargo level to fetch a bottle of ale. He said when he got back upon deck, he spotted a yellow slab on the air grate and went over to investigate. He said Fredric Nettles, from Scriba, was snacking on cheese on Wednesday and when his shift was over he must have left the cheese on the barrel. The barrel had tipped over leaving the cheese to melt in the sun. The smell spread to the lower levels of The Ontario. Jemmy picked up the rotten cheese and threw it overboard and then brought the ale to my dining area.

A terrible tragedy has occurred on our ship. Victor Chamberlain, today at 3 hundred hours, was doing what the rest of the crew was doing, throwing water from the violent storm overboard with wooden pails, when he was struck by lightning and killed. We held a quick funeral for him and then buried his body at sea in his hammock. The storm has delayed our arrival to Virginia, hopefully the army has been delayed as well, or else the slaves could suffer terrible consequences!

Here we sway in the calm waters of the Atlantic, in Ardensburg Port. Waiting…Praying that the slaves were not caught in their escape from the evil of slavery. And I do not know why I keep referring to them as slaves. They are enslaved, but not slaves, they are human beings, with all rights white man have. So, we are praying the enslaved people have not been caught.

Praise the Lord, the enslaved people have arrived, twenty-eight in all. Seven women, seven men and two baby boys, and seven boys and four girls are now not enslaved, but almost free. I have hidden them all, families together. Below I have a chart of where I put them. And will hide this journal, doubting anyone will stop us here.

All is going well and no more accidents have occurred. No storms either. Only one mishap, my servant got in a fist fight with the cook’s servant and I had to whip them three lashes each.

I hear “Land ho!” Time to caution the blacks to stay put, because slave-hunters could be waiting on the dock of New York Harbor. Cross my fingers, hope to die.

Two slave-hunters came on board and searched the whole ship almost finding the Ale Shelf Hide. It was half surprise, half not, because there aren’t many slave-hunters left in the north, now that the Civil War has started. Now I can relax.

Judson Castell continued making trips back and forth between Lake Ontario and Virginia and South Carolina. Making one trip a month, except for January and February until the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect in January of 1863. He never did get caught. He helped roughly 140 slaves escape. Judson was married to Eloise Grace in 1864, and he started fighting for blacks’ and women’s right to vote, he got half of what he wanted. In 1865 when the Civil War ended, black males got the right to vote. He kept fighting for civil rights until 1921 when he died at the age of 86, but did live to see the grant of his latest wish, women’s right to vote in 1920.

“No, Istas,” said Father. “ We don’t know this land and I’m going with your brother hunting.”

“Yes, Father, “ she mumbled as she backed slowly away. Her tribe always moved to the Valley of the White Tail for the winter, but the herds of deer had been too few lately. This year they decided to move to a different valley called the Winding River Valley. Istas was fascinated by the new place, and wanted to explore everywhere. Her mind was filled with curiosity. Where’s the rabbit’s hole? Where does the owl sleep during the day? What’s beyond the trees? Where does the river flow?

“What’s the fun in going to a new place, if I can’t go anywhere without my brother or father?” Istas thought angrily.

“Coming, “ she shouted as she ran down the hill towards their hut. “ Now I have to weave stupid baskets,” she muttered under her breath.

When she got to their hut, her mother was chatting with one of the other mothers. “Good. You’re here. We’re going to Lato’s hut to weave today, get your things and please hurry.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Istas as she picked up her unfinished basket and began to walk with her mother. As she was weaving, Istas’s mind wandered to the pair of mallards she had seen that morning splashing and feeding in the river.

“Istas,” said her mother as she interrupted her thoughts. “ I know that’s not your best work. That thing probably wouldn’t even carry wood.” Istas glanced down at her work. Her mother was right. Her basket had strands sticking out and most of the lines she had just made were crooked.

“Why don’t you collect firewood for tonight’s cooking, and maybe later you’ll get your mind on your weaving,” said her mother as she shook her head with a sigh.

“Yes,” said Istas as she ran back to her hut to get her carrying basket. With her basket on her back, she started for a new grove of trees that was uphill from the hut and near where her father docked the dugout canoe by the river. After looking for only a short time, Istas found a huge of pile of twisted maple twigs and branches.

“Wow! All this wood will last for days!” she said flabbergasted. She happily started to pick up branches and put them neatly in her pack. “Wait a second,” she thought. “ If I get all the firewood now, Mother will just make me do another job. I could explore a little now and no one will ever know, if I come back soon. I might as well fill my pack before I go, so I don’t have to come back early to finish.” She thought about what place to explore first. She finally decided to take the canoe along the river, but would only go a short way

“Good,” she thought to herself. “No one is by the water. I can go and come back with out being seen.” She untied the canoe and carefully climbed in. “This is a perfect day to go canoeing,” she said as she started to paddle slowly downstream with a carved wooden paddle. Istas felt a bit nervous paddling all by herself, because she was use to having her father’s reassuring help when he was teaching her how to steer and paddle the canoe. She felt important to be the one sitting on the only wooden seat in the back of the dugout canoe.

“Thump, thump,“ went a blue heron as its powerful wings lifted its body out of the water. Suddenly, she heard a crashing noise in the woods and looked over to see a young doe leaping gallantly away from the riverbank.

“Plop,” she heard as she looked toward some rocks and saw a snapping turtle swimming slowly away.

“This would be a perfect place to go fishing,” she said under her breath as she spotted a school of silvery salmon darting by. Suddenly, the water started to get faster. “Yippy!” shouted Istas as she threw her arms in the air. It was so thrilling being out on the river.

Istas studied a bush on the far side of the river because something was shaking it. Suddenly, she was thrown off her canoe by a tree branch that had descended low over the river. Istas clung to the branch that had hit her across the stomach with a shocking blow. Only inches away from the rushing rapids, her feet dangled uselessly.

“No!” shouted Istas as she helplessly watched the canoe drift quickly away from her sight. ”Stupid tree,” said Istas hotly as she tried to pull her feet onto the branch. She slowly crawled along the branch until she reached the trunk. She climbed down the tree and started to run after the dugout canoe. Even though Istas liked to run, she had a difficult time dodging the many trees and fallen logs. She finally saw the canoe. It was barely within her sight and going fast in the middle of the river.

“Come on, Istas. You can do it. Run faster,” she said to herself and she slowly got closer to the canoe. Suddenly, the canoe disappeared from her sight.

“No! I lost it again,” she said as she ran in a panic. At the last minute, she noticed a shear drop off right in front of her. She screamed as she skidded to a stop with dirt and rocks flying everywhere.

“Oh, no!” said Istas as she stared at the waterfall beside her. “I should have obeyed my father and this never would have happened.” She remembered how long it had taken her family to make that canoe. It took so much time just to find the right tree, and than the labor of burning it out and carving it! She looked over the edge to see if the canoe was destroyed. But it was in vain, because she did not see it at all.

“I’m dead,” said Istas as she turned away from the waterfall and towards home. She slowly trudged home not realizing how far she had gone in the canoe. It took her hours just getting back to where she had started. She tiredly walked up the hill and picked up her wood pack that she had packed earlier in the day.

As she walked towards the huts, she heard her brother’s voice shouting, “Istas! Istas! Where were you?” Soon everyone was greeting her and rejoicing with happiness that she was back and safe. After she told her tale, her father was angry but even happier to have her back alive. From that day on, Istas promised to never disobey her parents again especially about exploring new areas all alone.

Dzien dobry. Nazywan sie Kasha. Hello. My name is Kasha. I am Polish and a Jew. I came to America with my family to be free and safe, but even in a country with streets paved with gold some people still treat us poorly.

Back when we were still in Poland, we were free until the Nazis came for us. We went into hiding for as long as we could. Then they came knocking down doors trying to get to us. We got away. Running as fast as we could we got on an American ship handling wounded soldiers. Once we got on we knew we would be free and not going to Auschwitz, a concentration camp in Poland. The Americans kept us safe. We were with 874 Jews, 73 Catholics, 28 Greek Orthodox, and 7 Protestants. Some parts of the trip we had to be very quiet as we were in German water, but other parts we were allowed to entertain the injured soldiers. My Babci, grandmother, played her violin. It was a long scary trip but we made it. When we pulled into the New York Harbor, EVERYONE greeted the beautiful lady in the harbor called the Statue of Liberty.

Once again the Americans guided us to a train that led to Fort Ontario. When we got there bad memories came back. There where barbed fences all around the fort. I thought I was back in Poland in a concentration camp. The Americans said it was for our safety, and it was there before we came. I felt safer, but why would they put us behind fences again when they brought bad memories for so many people. I was mad at the Americans. I thought of them better before. They only let us out to go shopping and to go to school.

At school some people just walked by but some sat next to me. I was good at English, on the journey I had learned much. My teacher Miss Jones was very good at understanding me. I felt at home. Then it was time to go back to the fences. When I got there people were passing presents over the fences! They would use signals to call us over. No one signaled me so I went to bed cold hearted and sad. Now I feel better about Americans especially about the people in Oswego. I wake up and go to school, yet no one is my best friend. I long to find one. I will know I am truly an American when she comes.

Today there is crowd over the fence. I look and look and….. There someone signaled for me. It was a little girl with carrot colored hair and freckles everywhere. I tell her I can speak a little. She says her name is Laura and she handed me a book called The Wizard of Oz. She is in MY class but she never said hi. Now school is fun and I have a Best friend. We no longer live inside the fences. We were let out. I live in an apartment with my Babci: Grandmother, Matka: Mother, Ojciec: Father and Helene: my sisiostra, sister. We are Polish at heart but now truly Americans.

It started out as a regular Friday afternoon. I got off the school but and skipped up our driveway. We lived way out in the country, so our house was one of the last stops. I opened the back door of our old house and looked up at the kitchen clock. It read 4:47 p.m. Good. I had enough time to do my homework and for a short ride on my horse, Sugar, before dinner.

Mom came into the kitchen and gave me a quick hug and hello. “Do you want a snack?” she asked.

“No, I’ll just grab an apple.” I replied. I took the apple and my books to my bedroom. And guess who I found there, acting like she owned the place? My little sister, Anna. She was sprawled out on my bed, reading my diary. How she found it, and the key, I didn’t know.

“I was just… You see, you left your diary on your bed and….you always leave the key in the same place so….” She stammered.

“That’s no excuse for going through my personal belongings,” I yelled. I was ready to punch her. Luckily for her mom came in at that moment. She took one look around the room and knew what had happened. She quickly picked up the now crying Anna and said, “Alice, calm down. Your sister is only six. She didn’t know better. She won’t do it again, will you Anna?” She looked pointedly at Anna. Anna shook her head no. I wasn’t satisfied.

“How come you always side with her?” I shouted at Mom. I didn’t wait for a reply. I ran out of the room. I needed to go to the tunnel. The tears in my eyes almost blinded me but I knew the way by heart.

The tunnel way my favorite spot and I went there when I was angry, sad, or just needed to be alone. Our whole family knew about the tunnel. We also knew that at one time it had been used by run-away slaves. Years before, owners found a diary written by a previous land-owner stating run-away slaves had stayed in this house. The diary talked especially about two slaves, a mother and a daughter who stayed quite a while. The tunnel started in the pantry. Behind some shelves, if you pushed in a certain spot, there was a little room. There was a trap door that opened to the tunnel.

I lifted the trap door and jumped down into the tunnel. I ran, bent over, because you couldn’t stand up all the way to the end of the tunnel. I stopped there and sat down. In front of me was a good size river lined on both sides with willow trees. It was a beautiful place. I felt a little calmed just looking at it. I sat for five minutes then stood up, looking for a stone to skip across the river. I took a few steps. I saw one and headed toward it. Suddenly I tripped and fell forward hitting my head on a large rock. Everything went fuzzy for a minute.

“Good. Now hurry. The boat to take us to the next stop should be here any second. It should be here now. The alarm, warning of slave catchers, must have been sounded eight minutes ago.” She sounded worried.

I looked around. It was night and dark, but it would have been darker if there wasn’t a full moon. Then I heard a whistle.

“Oh! That means run.” The lady sounded panicky. She looked once more at the river. Then she grabbed my hand and whispered, “Come on.”

It was then I noticed my hand and the rest of me was the same color as she was!!!! Now I knew what was happening. We were the mother and daughter that had stayed in the little room. We were running and could hear someone running behind us.

Then the lady whispered, “There’s the boat. Jump when I tell you to. Don’t worry about me.” I didn’t say anything. Then she said, “Jump, Alice! Alice! Alice!” Someone was shaking me. I closed my eyes. Everything was fuzzy again.

When I opened them it was the face of Anna. “Oh Alice, I’m sorry I read your diary. Are you ok?” she asked me.