The Egg of Martha

The Egg of Martha

A Story by R J Fuller

Someone had a revolutionary idea. Trial and error.

We have been captured. The village was destroyed. Our elderly were killed. I fought valiantly and pleaded with one of the men to spare my father as he pointed the gun at him. He hesitated and ordered me away. I don't know if my father was still alive or not. Perhaps it would be best for him to have died, instead of existing in the ruins of our once-proud village. What would there be left for him if he were still alive? 

I sought out the captor I had asked to not kill my father. I wanted to know if he was still alive or not. I spied him toward the front of the line. I would keep an eye on him so I could learn the fate of my father. We were marched through the dry, grassy fields. We sang to ease our misery. It was all we had left and it seemed to cheer up the children. Nearly the entire tribe was bound to each other, again, minus the elderly and a few who resisted. How could our world end in such a manner?

A commotion began sounding at the front of the assembly. Some of our people began screaming in fright at what they saw. The whips soon brought them under control. I looked ahead, then looked about at others to see some idea of what was going on. The whip cracked with submission to continue the procession. Gradually, with each continuance, there would be more commotion, followed once again by the snapping of the whip and shoves and strikes. Everyone would quieten, then the uproar would return with the next assembly stepping into the open. 

I wondered what all the fuss was over, what was going on, then spied the strange object over the top of the trees. It seemed an odd placement for the evening moon. I looked up into the sky in the other direction. There was the sun. So what was this in our presence? Whatever it was, we were being taken to it. More objections and yells to stay away, again met with the whips. Now I stepped into view with others to see clearly what was so distressing. 

It was an egg. A massive, gargantuan egg the likes of which we had never seen before. I cast my eyes upward once more, searching for the bird who laid this egg. Clearly we were going to be fed to the creature. The egg seemed to billow, to ripple like the waves on the water. Was it about to hatch? As had all the others, I too felt hesitation at drawing near the huge egg. I looked for where we were being led, all those who had come out before me, and could see we were marching toward the egg, but it wasn't to the egg we journeyed. There was a large basket, no, a cage beneath the egg. We were being corralled into this enclosure beneath the egg. Clearly we were going to be sacrificed to whatever hatched from within. 

I looked to all the white men standing about, as well as those who captured us. I listened to the white men, tho I could not understand their language, I heard words unfamiliar to me, but I sought to remember. One was Carolina. Carolina? Yes, that was it. The other was Martha. Was that the name of the one in charge here? I looked to see who might be the one all others answered to, then felt a whip pop near me, stinging my shoulder. Martha. Must remember that. Martha. Who is Martha? And Carolina. Caroline? Carolina. 

We were marched into the cage, actually two cages. Men on one side. Women and children on the other. The men were bound in our cage, along the walls and suspended from the roof. Only the roof was a solid surface. Everything else was opened up with sturdy wooden poles enclosing us within. Once inside, we waited. And waited some more. Our captors carried on outside. Once the last of us was in the cage, the door was shut. There didn't seem to be much of a floor to our prison. We began thinking if we wait them out and they leave, we can work on escaping, then digging through the ground beneath us. 

The white men began filing into an area we couldn't see. They were walking up a ramp. Were they entering the egg? We heard thumping above us. Was the egg about to hatch? Then we detected voices, the men's voices. They were in compartments above us. Between us and the egg. There was a sense of relief that if something did hatch from the egg, it would at least eat the white men first, unless there was just something here we were not comprehending. We were about to find out what was really going on around us. Martha. Carolina. Martha. Carolina. 

As we stood in our prison, there seemed to be a sensation suddenly overtaking us. The women detected it too. Were we imagining it? Was it a breeze blowing through our cage? There it was again. Martha. Carolina. The cage seemed to move. A slight jostle. We looked at each other, confused, puzzled by what was going on. The cage moved once more, then it slowly lifted into the air. We stood on ground as long as possible, until finally the sand was beyond the reach of our feet. The women screamed and the children cried as there seemed to be nothing more for them to reside upon but a heavy netting stretched across the floor of their entire prison. It was concealed by the sand while we were on the ground. 

In our prison, we now had visible boards situated across running beneath our feet, tho not everyone had near enough access to these boards. Some of us managed to perch, rather uncomfortably, on the board beneath us, while others were suspended over open air, unless their legs were long enough to stretch across and they squeeze a foot in between the others. Even then, it didn't feel safe. We watched below us as the ground seemed to go further and further away, with us being raised higher and higher into the air. Had the mother bird returned and picked up her egg and was taking us with her? Why were we being subjected to this? Over all the hysteria from the children and women, I strained to hear if the white men were still above us, and indeed they were. Even if I understood the language, I wouldn't be able to hear what they were saying, but they spoke calmly, sensibly, with no care in the world. This gave me a sense that there was more than we knew was going on here, obviously. Martha. Carolina. Martha. Carolina. 

Higher into the air we seemed to go and was now even more shocking to see we were venturing over the water. The screams persisted, so I began passing word around to the ones near me if we were to figure out what was going on, everyone had to be quiet. Gradually word was carried out, until finally it reached the women and children, and they too settled down. It was very distressing for them, I knew, to strain to perch on boards on their side as well, or step into the netting, which might have supported them, but they didn't know, as well as it was an uneasy sensation carried so high up in the air in such a manner. 

We were growing colder in the open air and in our minimal state of attire. Still I heard voices above us, speaking calmly, laughing. What had become of the egg, I thought. How high were we going to go up in the air? I looked back to try to see if our land was still visible, but it was gone. Long gone. I wondered if we would ever see it again. Martha. Carolina. 

It was growing dark. We grew even colder still. I sent word for the women and children to try to rest and get some sleep. We all should as the night surrounded us and we could no longer see anything outside the prison. It was cold. Unimaginably cold. What were these white men doing this to us for? What had we done to them? The women huddled around the children as best as they could to try to keep them warm in the cold night air. We were suspended like carcasses very close together, but it was hardly sufficient. Many of those on the outside of the group endured the worst. Nothing else to do, we nodded into sleep. Martha. Carolina. 

I awoke just before dawn, sore, aching. Unbelievable pain. Others around me were in the same condition. We were hungry. As the children woke, they wept from hunger and the cold. The women still struggled to keep them warm from our high perch. We were so high above the water below. Nothing to be seen but water. Where had our land gone? I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember the sprawling green fields. And my father. Was he still alive? Still standing on the ground. I could all but see him standing amidst the tall grass, the sun shining high in the sky. 

My remembrance was suddenly cut short by screams of terror all around me. I opened my eyes to see where we were when the ice cold water enveloped us from our feet and quickly rose up to engulf us. There was no sound. Nothing to be heard. A fellow here or there opened his mouth to yell, with bubbles emitting forth. 

Just as hurriedly, we came out of the water. The children were screaming and crying in absolute fear at this treatment. We all shivered now from the cold water. Many of us had not managed to hold our breath and were coughing. I looked about to see if there were any who had not survived. Then someone said we were going down once more. There was actually some children trying to climb their cage over women and anyone else, to keep from being dunked in the water again, to no avail. We submerged a second moment. This time, I opened my eyes and gazed around me, beyond the men with me, and through the cage that held us, into the dark blue waters. I quickly looked beneath my feet, through the cage openings as water was brushed around me. I wanted to fall and just keep on falling, taking the cage, the egg and everyone with me. Especially the white men. 

We emerged out of the water once more, children distraught, but not as severely it seemed as the first time, though some of them still cried uncontrollably. Great amounts of anguish were all about me. I continued to look down and saw the water moving further and further away. We were floating into the sky once more, going back up. How was it possible? We were weakened from the ordeal with the water and groaned pitifully. Those who could endure no more would give in to the misery. Young ones who never had a chance but could just take no more of this torture. 

My thoughts were numb from the immersion, then the exposure to the air once more. A rising sun gradually offered up sufficient warmth to enable me to clear my focus, to think once more and I listened and heard beyond the moans of grief and anguish that were muffled and low, the laughter from the white men above us. They had controlled everything. How were they doing this, I wondered. It had to be the egg, but what could the egg be doing? Had the bird within hatched? The names. What were the names? Don't forget the names. Martha. Carolina. I decided then and there we had to escape this torture. We would be free, but I understood so little of what was going on, where should I begin? Where should any of us begin? 

A cry of sorrow now gave way. I looked to see the young man wailing fiercely from his bondage. He was protesting what he saw. Others followed through with distress as well. I tried to see what was hurting him so and spied a young woman in the other cage, her face given way with dread. She held a small infant in her arms. The child seemed to have not fared well from the water and was giving way with faint whimpers. The infant was weak and would not survive much more of this horror. 

The young man stomped and kicked and screamed, gnashing his teeth as he looked at the woman. She was his spouse and the child was his offspring. He shrieked loudly as she made her way to the side of the cage. The gaps were not big enough for a man to fit through, but a small infant child, not being careful in this death chamber, could very easily tumble through. And this was the woman's intention; to put their child out of his misery. She looked at her man, sadness in her eyes, and held the infant between the gaps and let it go. The man made no sound as he gasped for air. I closed my eyes at the tragic decision she made, but before I could ponder this predicament any further, more shrieks and wails followed and the roar of the young man was heard over all. 

The woman, small in stature, had managed to get herself up and through the slats, so she too plummeted to the waters below after her child. My thoughts were distorted. All I could wonder was why didn't she hold her child with her while she fell? Why did she drop the child first? 

My attention suddenly gave way to the young man, the husband and father, growling in rage and lifting his foot, as he was suspended from above, and kicked as hard as he could against the side of the cage, on one of the wooden dividers. He was enraged and on the first kick, the breaking sound was heard by all. The strike was vicious and those who could see from their standpoint looked on startled as he kicked the board and very hard once more. 
His foot had fractured on the first kick, yet he did so again. He was feeling no pain. He stopped after the second kick and just hung like dead meat. The white men would not save him if he was damaged. He knew that. He was done. 

Then I spied the board he had struck. I waited to see if the white men were going to venture below to check on us, for screams or anything else, but they never did. I considered this to be fortuitous. I looked at the broken, splintered board and saw how he had indeed succeeded in breaking the wood and there, visibly exposed and very accessible, was the head of a nail. It was similar to what I had seen the white men lock us up and chain us with. If I could get that nail, it may work as a similar device for undoing our bonds. But how to get it? 

My only option was a small child who could squeeze through the boards from their prison to ours and work a way to the splintered board and retrieve the nail. Upon getting it to me, I would then have to figure out how
to manuveur the object into the lock. I looked up to see the metal hole on the bonds that was used to trap these chains about me. 

I called out for a small boy who was brave enough to make his way over and go to the broken board and get the nail to me. Two boys started toward the closest corner to the fracture. The first one there made his way through and slowly inched along to the desired object. He reached the board and I told him what I needed; that nail object, the dark iron object. He grabbed the nail and pulled it loose with ease, then he proceeded to make his way to me, making sure not to fall between any of the gaps. While most men were too big to fall straight through the openings, this young boy and unattached to any linkage, could slip through very easily
and plummet to the waters below. 
The boy inched his way between the other men, being careful not to step the wrong way in the holes beneath his feet. Then he did just that. He misjudged where his foot would go and down he went. I held my breath as i watched him catch himself not with just his hands, but also the other leg. He was suspended there, petrified at the thought of moving any such way causing him to fall further. The men around him, as best they could, reached a foot over to support him. Getting his nerve again, he began hauling himself up, aided by several feet and legs. Just stay with us, boy. 

He came back up and proceeded on, ignoring a reddened, visible scrape up one side. As he came closer, I watched to see if he remembered and was relieved to see that yes, he did remember. He still held on to the nail. He had not lost it. The men in his path did everything they could to stretch across the openings, provide any solid surface for him to cover. As he came closer, he was all but walking on a bridge of extended legs. 

The child now stood before me, holding the nail, but we then realized our next dilemma. How was he going to get it to my hand? He had no choice. He would have to climb up my torso and reach my hand. As he did so, I too lifted my leg to give him support. He was up to my face and raised his hand to give me the nail. The nail looked smaller than I realized. I hoped it would work. I got a steady grip on the nail and moved it to the lock on the other hand. 

The boy meanwhile began climbing back down and was watching me to see what I intended to do. And he completely forgot. There were others who saw what he was doing and cried out to him, but he was going down to quickly to heed their words in time. Upon realizing what was happening, I also tried to use my leg to his benefit. He was just too absorbed in how the nail would aid in our freedom. 

Our young hero. 

I watched him grow smaller and smaller. I didn't want him to be alone when he struck the water was all I could think. Soon he was just out of my sight. I didn't know if he was in the water or not. I was now more determined than ever to do what must be done. I was actually driven by the prospect of taking over this craft and going back to retrieve him, but I knew that would not be. 

I twisted the nail around and around in the lock. I had no idea how this would undo this confinement, but I just persisted. The young boy had sacrificed his life for this chance. Do what it is you are supposed to do, I thought to myself. We've got to rescue the boy! 

I pulled the nail back out of the lock and studied the opposite end, the flat end. Would this way be any better? I didn't know but decided to try it. I knew there was no way we could save the child, but at this moment, that was my greatest motivator. I now entered the opening with the flat end of this nail and began rattling it about in the same manner. I could all but detect what was supposed to move to undo these chains, but wasn't sure where I was supposed to go with it. I hoped I would just strike it the right way and it would be undone. Frustration ate at me as I persisted with this task, the pointed end jabbing me in the palm of my hand. I was so desperate for it to work. To succeed. Martha. Carolina. 

The lock clicked. Everyone around me grew silent. Slowly I pushed the cuffs apart and feebly brought my hand down. It ached. It was so painful. So excruciatingly painful. Having been suspended in that manner. I worked my hand to try to get it moving again, then once it was sufficient, I took the nail from the manacled hand and proceeded to do the same thing, having an idea of what I needed to do. It popped open very quickly. 

One by one, I made my way through the group, unshackling each wrist then assisting each man to rest. There was so many of us. Some were not well, having endured this cold air so high and at night. I placed them down very gently. We would decide what to do with them later. I guess I could have left them suspended, should the white men check on us. 

Now I was at our other savior, our rescuer; the man who kicked the board and broke it. He said nothing as I began unlocking his bonds. He held his leg up like a wounded animal. It was swollen and distorted and taking on a different color. Once I had him free, I slowly brought him down to the side as well. As I did so, I saw another visible nail from the board he had struck. I pulled the second nail out and turned to find another guy to aid me in making our freedom come about quicker. One fellow came toward me to take the nail and follow my instructions, then I saw him look beyond me and take on a shocked expression. Others cried out once again as well. 
I turned to see what had everyone so upset and there was the rescuer. He had pushed the remaining broken board out of the way to give him room to fit through the opening. All I could do was watch as he fell through the gap and vanished from sight. I looked through the holes on our floor to see him dive head first. Once the screams died down, I turned to the other fellow and handed him the second nail. We then made our way to release everyone left. 
When we were all no longer manacled, it was nightfall. 

We climbed out through the broken hole our hero had made for us out of his rage over losing his wife and child. I climbed out first, then made myself up, using the manacles that held us to aid the others in their climb, and just in case I slipped. 
But I didn't. I scaled to the top of the cage, then up the side of the white men's dwelling. What was this, I thought. A boat of some kind? In the dark, I could see the egg, higher than everyone and everything else. I climbed over the railing on top of the compartments to come face-to-face with a young sailor, looking fair-haired and afraid. Before he could act, I grabbed him and hurled him over the side. 

I secured the chain for others to begin climbing up as well. Once again, no sooner had I taken a few steps. There was another white man. He was startled to see me, and that was all I needed. I grabbed him too and, before he could realize it, I hurled him over the side as well. By now, about six other men had joined me. I told them they knew what to do. 

A sailor was snoozing on the deck. He was easy to shove over the side. Other sailors sought to scream, but not all, yet it did them no good. We were catching them too much by surprise for them to manage any kind of alarm. Now we ventured below deck into the white man's dwelling. Some were startled as they were awoke, others were killed by a newly discovered knife as they slept, but regardless, they were all taken up on deck and  sent over the side. The intention was to spare none of them. 

Then he appeared. The man to whom I had begged for my father's life. I instructed the others to do him no harm, but keep him under watch. 

A sailor tried to fight back to no avail. Several white men tried in vain to even the odds and gang up on us, even a handful of us, again with no luck. Each and everyone went over the side. Now we were hearing them scream as they fell, not caring if their cries warned others. There weren't many men left. 

Then the small young fellow was brought forth. He mimicked as though he intended to fight us, to which all we could do was laugh. Then he raced to the side himself, to try to hurl himself over the side. A tribesman caught him, he was so small and frail, he was no problem to hold on to. I called out to spare him for now as well, this comical brave one. He was sat over beside the other white sailor still alive. 

In no time, we were done. All of the crew, save for this pair who we saw not to dispose of, had left the ship. 

The next thought seemed to be how to bring the women and children up from their prison. We didn't expect the women and many of the small children to climb up the chain. Several of the boys and actually several women had done just that. There were those exploring the confines of the structure and had deduced a hole cut in a certain location could serve as a safer opening for the women. 

I wandered down amongst the area to see what I could find. I entered one well attended room and looked around. I instructed for the two white men to be brought here. As they were pushed into the room, I asked if this was the captain's quarters. I had no idea who the captain had been or when we threw him off the ship, but I didn't care. 

The two men said something back, but I couldn't understand them. I think they were talking about the commander of the ship, but I couldn't be sure. Then I heard a name. 


I looked to the young man and repeated the name to him. He seemed surprised I knew it. Was he Martha? The young man motioned to the whole room as Martha. The room was Martha. The captain was Martha? No, it was the room. How was the room Martha? 

At this moment, I was summoned to another area and took these two fellows with me. There was a large oven-type boiler, making a room extremely hot, almost like the open fields back home. 

Home. I turned to the first white man and asked him was my father still alive. He stuttered a response. I turned away from him. 

I asked the native near the oven what was it for? The young sailor spoke up that it did something, concluding with the name again, Martha. Who was Martha? 

The white youth motioned for us to follow him, seeing as how we were all in this predicament together. We followed him to the deck once more, slowly, cautiously, and he showed us a round piping of some sort going up. 

To the egg. 

So it wasn't an egg. It was causing the craft to float through the air. Then he mentioned the name once more: Martha. Looking about as he did so. 

I looked at him, then waved my arm as well, repeating, "Martha." 

He nodded. 

So Martha was the name of this vessel, high in the sky. Martha. 

Before I could ponder what that was like, the young man took advantage of the distraction and raced to the side. I was actually growing fond of his bravery, but to no avail. Like the husband who broke us an opening to our cage and the small boy who gave me the makeshift key to our freedom, the white youth who was so unafraid persisted in his courage and leapt over the side of the ship. I had actually anticipated sparing him to some extent, but now he had seen otherwise. 

I looked up to the egg once more, secured in ropes and bonds and lifting us into the air. I wondered if there was some way to take this object back to our homeland, wherever that may be. A sufficient hole had been broken through to the women's prison to allow them out of their confinement, then a door leading down to the cages was discovered. We wondered why it seemed the men never checked on us while we were escaping. 

I looked to the lone white man. I tried asking where we were going. He spoke something back I couldn't understand. Then he started motioning with his hands, shaking his head. I got the impression he was trying to tell me the fate of my father, but at the moment, it didn't seem to matter either way. He was now either dead or man left to wander alone in his native land. 

The women discovered what appeared to be the diet of these men. They foraged through what there was. We consumed what we could. 

I approached the white sailor to try to determine where we were going in this Martha. He spoke words to me as I looked out over the water. Nothing but water. Then he said the other name. Carolina. I looked at him and repeated the word. He pointed out toward the water and again said other words, including Carolina. So this was where we were going. 

Why the egg? I wanted to ask him about the egg, but knew I would never understand. Why were we carried by the egg? He motioned for me and several others to follow him down to the galley and, taking a piece of cloth, he managed to fashion it in a curved shape, then held it over the cooking flame. He released the cloth and we watched as it temporarily floated in the air. So we were floating with the encased heat of the fire. 

I walked back up to the deck, the white man was nearby, following slowly behind me. He had deduced I was the one wanting him alive, to tell me about my father. I looked out over the endless water and thought about when we were dunked in the water, resulting in the mother's decision to drop her baby then herself into the water and end their lives, and the father who became so angry, he kicked and broke the board, providing us with the nail to our freedom. I was certain this white man was aware of when we were treated in such a manner. I was sure he laughed at our sorrow. I didn't know if he knew about any of the deaths, others who perished from the cold nights. Surely he knew about them. 
I wanted to throw him over the side, send him falling to the waters below, but I had to keep him, for all our sakes. 

He showed us how to keep the fire burning and keep the egg in the air. We ran out of wood, so he showed us we could go to the prisons and break lumber away that way and use it to burn. He seemed startled when he saw the broken hole in the prison. He looked at me to see I was aware of his astonishment. I could see on his face, he wanted to know who and how that was done. I had no intention of telling him.  

There was still several men who had not survived remaining in the prison. We decided it was best to give them a burial at see and toss them out. Several of us drew near the corpses, careful not to fall between the slats, when we were astonished by movement among the bodies. 

The young, brave sailor was hiding among them. He looked at us, shocked and surprised. I motioned for the other men not to touch him. That he had jumped over the side and managed to catch hold of the prison and climb in, I could tell this was indeed a person of courage. Perhaps it was a mistake letting him live, but I could not dismiss a possible advantage to keeping him as well. 

I slept in the captain's quarters, and when I wasn't asleep, I was on deck, looking out onto the waters and staring up at the egg. Suddenly a cry came out. Carolina had been seen. The two white men looked at me as to what my intentions might be. I knew we couldn't land amongst the white people. They would not spare us an attack. The brave youth seemed to be motioning that we must keep the egg in the air and sail over the other white people. That would need lumber. Several of us made our way below and broke up more pieces of the prison. This time, unfortunately, my young brave white man did slip and fall to the water below. Were we close enough to land that he might be able to be rescued? It didn't seem possible. And if he was, there was no way I'd ever know. Same way I'd never know what actually become of my father. 

There were shouts and yells from the land as we sailed over. I told everyone to get below. The other white man tried to get me to do the same, but I wanted to see this world of torment. I looked at the developments, the structures, the situations as they were arranged. I could not comprehend why some things I viewed were done, or why we were needed for this spectacle. 

Then I saw others as we were, realizing what was occurring or to the best of their understanding, this egg was floating overhead with those from their native land within the craft. Suddenly sounds rang out and the white man gestured they were trying to shoot down the egg. More shots rang out and I looked down to see various forms on land making way to follow us, wherever we may go, it seemed. Unfortunately for them, we flew over a mountainous region covered with woods, so they couldn't stay with us so easily. They had to follow their paths they had made for their horses and carts and go around the forest, while we were flying far away. 

After some time, we began to lower. It seemed best to do to try to get away from these white people and their ways. I deduced we'd have to take the white man with us, unless he thought otherwise. He gestured for everyone to set upon the floor for reasons we did not understand. He instructed me to do the same, but again, I wanted to see what the egg would do. We were indeed lowering, slowly, gradually in this countryside where the white men would not discover us, all mountains and trees. So many trees. 

I was flung to the front of the deck in a very quick manner. Somewhat dazed, I looked around. The white man appeared from where he had been below with the others to show me what had happened. 

The prisons had caught on some trees. Actually we were being slowed down and dragged leaning by the limbs grabbing the cages. We were close to tipping over as the prisons snagged on more branches and the egg persisted in wanting to fly. The white man motioned something that seemed damaging to the egg, but I couldn't grasp what he wanted. Finally, he summoned everyone from below and pointed into the trees we were tipping over into. We were leaving the egg and Martha. 

We all climbed into this unfamiliar foliage. Those of us who could held the children. The white man gave us some idea of how to climb down. He was older than the rest of us, so as he made his way to the ground, so then did we. Above us, the egg actually pulled free of the branches and slowly went airborne once more. Now on the ground in our cover of trees, we watched it sail away from us, becoming more and more distant. As we climbed about to look over the valley where the balloon was going, we saw the white men on horseback following after the egg. They would be surprised to see it was empty. 

I think the white man wanted to turn us over to the other white men, but he couldn't, since we had spared his life. It turned out the egg had taken us far enough from Carolina. The white man journeyed with us, but told us when to hide and keep quiet. He showed us he had metal like the nail, but these were round in shape. He had gotten them from the captain's quarters. I wondered again which one of those men had been the captain of Martha. 
Finally, he reached a location that seemed to suit what he was looking for. He presented us to other people like us, but wearing clothes as he did, but not in the dirty tatters he now bore. One of the people spoke to us, then we heard our own language. We also heard the name Martha mentioned again, as the ship we had sailed upon, but not on the water, obviously, but up in the air. 
We were tended to, fed, the children put to sleep, then we were asked what our intentions were. Did we wish to return to our native land? To see if my father was still alive. 
Incredibly, many of us pondered seeing what there was in this land that was so important we had to be abducted and flown over the ocean as we were, so we opted to not go home just yet, but if and when we were ready to depart, we insisted it not be with the egg of Martha.   

© 2021 R J Fuller

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Added on April 8, 2021
Last Updated on April 8, 2021
Tags: slavery, ship, abduction, escape, torment, death