The boat began to founder. The water lapped the thwarts. Olakunde no longer bailed, for fear of the element roiling all around him; he gripped the gunwales and sat inclined as if the dinghy barreled down a slope.

Bono had, through his exertions — the boat being well nigh intractable, now swamped — snapped off the rowlock and a stave of the gunwale, wet with rot. We used the oars as paddles, now, perched on either side of the boat; but the hull would not support us for long.

Clippinger swore at us at first, calling us fools; and, when he saw that this booted him nothing, grew fearful as the boat dipped lower in the current. He demanded we row to shore, there to steal another.

This course was not unwelcome nor unwise; we beat toward the land.

“I don’t know no swim!” Olakunde repeated to us; and for his sake, we paddled the faster.

The boat all but sank as we approached the bank. Tripping and lifting out Olakunde and the sack of muskets, we floundered through the water to the grass, captives again of the grosser elements. We drew ourselves out of the river and lay for a moment at rest.

The only course which remained to us was to abandon our late conveyance and seek another. This agreed, we started along the shore.

For ten minutes, we passed through fields in the moonlight.

At the end of that time, we spotted a modest house and made our way toward its dock, where we hoped to find a suitable boat.

We were passing near to the house when a voice hailed us; and we found a man stood before us with a fowling-gun; his daughter stood beside him. He wore a hunting shirt and a look of discontent; his girl was perhaps sixteen, and regarded us with distrust. Her hand was upon her father’s back.

Clippinger, considerably discomfited by this vision, exclaimed, “Sir! Good sir! Some supper!”

This exclamation startled us all; but Clippinger repeated his request, and added that he should pay handsomely for a meal for him and his captives, explaining that we were escaped slaves who he transported in the name of the Virginia Assembly, and he begged some small repast for us.

’Twas a small house, likely without servants, but the owner was generous. He assented joyfully, declaring that he should always be pleased to aid the cause of liberty. He suggested that Clippinger tie us up to the hitching post and come in; but Clippinger, with a sharp look at Pro Bono, replied that he should prefer rather to sit with us while we ate, because we was rascals of considerable science and deepness. The man guided us to a lean-to in the yard and bade us all wait while he requested his daughter heat us some mash. Before he departed, he congratulated Clippinger and the Virginia Assembly upon the glorious move to indepedency and a nation free entirely from England’s yoke; which bewildering commendation Clippinger had the good sense to nod to without further response.

So soon as our host was gone, we began a fierce whisper, discussing the man’s meaning, which was, clearly, that the Colonies were voting to cast aside the King entirely, a thought shocking in the extreme.

“They can’t simply declare independency,” said the Serjeant. “A child don’t simply declare he ain’t a child of his father.”

“This is chaos,” said Bono, and shook his head. “A universal jumble.”

“In Oyo,” said Olakunde, “if the King is a good king, yes, good. If the King is a bad king, then basorun and people say, ‘No more.’ He must take poison. Special poison, in eggs. He die.”

“That,” said Clippinger, “is utter savagery.”

“I see,” said the gentleman of the house, standing in the door, “that you disputes nicely with your slaves.”

“I says they was deep ones.”

“Real deep ones,” said the man, laying corn mush on the table. He set down a sausage for Clippinger. “You took their bonds off?”

“Don’t want to cut them too much,” said Clippinger.

“I see,” said the man. “One moment, and I has some water.” He left us once more.

No sooner had he stepped away than I said, “Something is not well.”

“No,” said Bono.

Clippinger did not speak, but opened the bag and gave us our wet muskets. We lay them upon our knees beneath the table in readiness.

Clippinger had no sooner distributed the firearms than the man returned, holding his fowling-piece charged.

“I hear word,” he said, “that a few miles up that way, they lost some Ethiopian devils.”

“These is some of them,” said Clippinger. “I found them.”

“You ain’t who you seem,” said the man.

That was all.