Free Zack by William Bell

take Montreal and Upper Canada both. He must have been embarrassed when he learned that part of Washington was burned down and that the Redcoats invaded as far as New Orleans. The Americans won the last battle in 1815—two weeks
after
the peace terms had been negotiated and the war ended. Most of the war had been fought on Canadian soil. Not a single acre of land changed hands.
    Pawpine’s name is on the papers that officially disbanded Runchey’s “Coloured Corps” in 1815. He went back to scratching a living as a labourer and slipped out of sight for another six years.When he was seventy-seven years old, Pawpine was living in Niagara-on-the-Lake, a lonely old man with no family and few friends. Vouched for by the adjutant general of militia, who praised the service in two wars of “a faithful and deserving old Negro,” he petitioned Lieutenant Governor Maitland on July 21, 1821: “Old and without property,” he found it “extremely hard to obtain a livelihood by my labour.”
    What did he ask for? Land? Money? A job? No.
    “Desirous above all things to return to my native country,” he requested a ticket home to Africa.
    Pawpine got a ticket, all right—a “location ticket” for a parcel of unbroken wilderness land a hundred miles as the crow flies from Niagara-on-the-Lake, with the usual conditions—clear the land, build a house.
    It took four years, but he did it. His cabin was built on the bank of the Grand River. If it was still there it would be standing in my yard, right behind my house. I live on his farm.
    As he sat in his cabin door gazing over the grey frozen river at fields of snow, how could he not dream of the hot steamy Gambia, of his village and family and friends? I wonder if he recalled stories and songs, if he evenremembered his language. He came to North America alone, and he died alone eleven years after he cleared his land. He was more than ninety years old.
    Some time before he died he took his leather-covered document box and inside it he placed his old Butler’s Ranger shoulder straps. He must have been proud to be a Ranger. He wrapped his slave’s collar in greased leather and put it into the box, too. Why had he kept the collar? Because it was a link to his boyhood? He then added his bit of gold and buried the box where my mother’s lilac bushes now grow.
    Ms. Song, whenever we finish a unit, you always give us a test. You want to know what we learned.
    Although he spent his life in a strange land, I’m certain that in his own mind Pawpine was always an African. He never gave up, never bowed his head to anyone, and never, never forgot who he was or where he came from.
    I wasn’t born in Africa, but my mother’s ancestors were. They were taken from their homes, they survived the middle passage, they lived and died, had families, worked hard.
    I know it sounds crazy, Ms. Song, but I feel linked to Pawpine, as if he was part of myfamily. He gave me something I never thought I had. And his bit of gold is like a gift that was waiting all those years for me to find it.
    I have a plan that I haven’t told anyone about yet, and the gold will help me carry it out. I think he would have been pleased.
    THE END

PART THREE

Chapter 1
    I did have a plan. But I also had a few problems. The scheme came to mind after Mom told me that she had a ten-day gig in Montreal at the Maple Leaf Blues Festival, and that Dad was going too. He hated it when she was away for more than a couple of days. When Mom asked if I’d like to go along, it hit me: while they were gone I could take a trip of my own. So I told her no thanks.
    Since my visit to the Wellington County Museum, I had done a lot of heavy thinking. Probably nothing looked different on the outside, but inside I felt myself changing. It sounds strange, but when Knox gave me the news about the half-rings I felt ashamed and humiliated, as if I had been diminished somehow. I had never given much thought to the fact that my ancestors on Mom’s