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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Faith / Hope
- Published: 11/21/2011
Land of Hope
Born 1996, F, from Abbotsford, BC, Canada![Land of Hope](/storage/story/1321999190Land of Hope-image(416x260-crop).jpg)
I watched from the crack in my door, as dad leaned heavily on the table, sighing deeply. In front of him was a basket full of potatoes. Rotten potatoes. The soil in our fields was over-turned and disturbed, with rows and rows of rotten potatoes littering them. We all heard the potatoes laughing at us, mocking us, daring us to brave the treacherous seas and make our way to Canada, the land of hope. My mother came up behind father and gently patted him on the back. He turned, tears in his eyes, and they embraced each other as a desperate cry to God. I quickly moved away from my door and filed into bed, when my father began to drag his feet across the wooden floor, set to arrive at my room. No longer did the footsteps sound strong and mighty. No longer was my father's figure big and husky. He was now a skeleton, a mere shadow of himself, his fine red beard now wisps of smoke. The wooden door creaked open, as my dad entered my room. He sat down beside me on the bed, and breathed deeply. He did not speak. He only held his breath, and then exhaled, speaking all his feelings at once. Then, he rose and lumbered out of my room. After that, I knew. I knew what was going to happen. Dad was going to leave for Canada. And I was going with him.
The next morning was solemn and silent. There was no rooster crow, nor farm sounds to wake the sun. Breakfast was calm, with no laughter and hearty conversations. Even now I would have preferred to be yelled at, or argue with my younger sister. But all that I found at the table was the silence of a grave. At the door, my mother handed me my bundle of possessions, and a small sack of what little food and drink we had left. I watched in a traumatized state as my mother sobbed on her knees at the end of the driveway, when the wagon pulled away. She tried to smile, but was unable to do so. My sister did not even come out of her room. However, I caught a glimpse of her huddled up in her window, holding a tattered, stuffed, brown bear close to her. It was the bear I found for her on Christmas Eve. She let go of the bear and pressed her hands on the cold glass, tears rolling down her cheeks as we rounded the bend. I bent my head in a quick word of prayer, asking for an angel to protect and comfort them.
A few hours’ worth of travel passed by and my father and I finally ended up at the docks. He pointed out the ship that we would be taking. It was a massive lumber ship, with a name that only the cursed would choose. 'Black Coffin'. I wasn't paying attention, and soon lost sight of my father. The hustle of the crowd swept me away, taking me farther and farther away from the ship. Eventually, I bumped into a twig of a man, with hardly any teeth left and skin blacker than night. His hair looked like a cloud, sitting atop the skin.
“Well now, what do we have here? A lost soul perhaps?” The old black man spoke. I gulped and replied.
“No sir. Not if you mean spiritually sir. I believe with all my might in God sir.” The old man spread a grin and laughed with a raspy voice.
“Well, if ye be fit spiritually boy, are ye lost in the plain old fashion way?” He asked with a slight spark in his eye.
“Why yes sir. In fact, I need to be on that ship.” I pointed to the Black Coffin.
“Then ye be in luck. It just so happens, that I too am in need of boarding onto that ship. Let's walk and talk, shall we laddie?” I nodded my agreement, and let the old man take the way. A path cleared before him, not because he was rich, or threatening, or important. It was because he was black. I didn't mind though, because for one, I knew that this man was a new found friend. And two, skin colour was not a big deal for me. He was human, I was human. That was all I needed to know.
We reached the ship in a record time of ten minutes. The old man waved his hand, motioning for me to board. I bowed my head in a thank you, and walked across the plank.
“Wait just a second laddie. I didn't catch your name.” He called out from behind me. I paused and smiled over my shoulder as I responded.
“Bran!” Then I ran the rest of the way to find my father. As I rounded the corner I collided with him.
“Boy!” He yelled. “Where in the blue blazes have you been?” He interrogated as he lent me a hand.
“I'm sixteen dad. I can take care of myself,” I replied, dusting myself off. My father looked as if he wanted to grill me, but was too tired to do anything these days. So he left the conversation be and led me back to steerage.
As we came down the stairs, the stench of unwashed bodies and stale-smelling sawdust filled my nostrils, and made them sting. I looked around and saw my new friend playing a harmonica on top of a crate. Upon seeing me, he unleashed a nearly toothless grin and waved me over. Before I could dash to his side, a strong arm held me in place.
“Friend of yers?” My father questioned, eyeing the old man suspiciously. I yanked my arm away.
“Yes dad. In fact he is.” I glared at father, as I could guess as to what was running through his mind at the moment. Then I sprinted across the boards to the old black man. As soon as we were in appropriate speaking range, each of us fired off into stories. He told me of his story, and I told him of mine. I found out his name was Abram.
“Ye be a fine Irish lad, I'll be giving you that.” Abram chuckled. I smiled back, and we paused in our chat for a brief moment. There was something that was bothering me about Abram, something on him that I had been eyeballing. I wanted to ask of its presence and purpose, but was unsure if it was a delicate matter for him or not. So, I cautiously launched my question.
“Hey Abram. On your neck there's...” I choked. Saying it was too hard.
“Oh, you mean the numbers?” He finished for me. I nodded carefully. Abram loosened his collar to show me the full picture. Four numbers had been branded onto him. Melted into the flesh, like a common animal. '6-4-5-8'. “Those numbers are what holds everything in me. My feelings, my memories, my mind, my heart, and my soul. They are why I'm alive, why I am who I am. They are also why I wished my life would end.”
My heart slowed to a deathly still state. It made a pocket in my chest, a rip in my soul, just waiting to be filled. “P-please, tell me Abram. What do you mean?” I asked, wide-eyed and ready. Abram sighed, and stared blankly at the flickering lantern.
“As I told you before lad, I was subject to slavery. I got them numbers when I was about yer age, and not a year older. After time was spent, and lives of my black folk were lost, I cursed the numbers, I scratched at them like a plague, till me blood flowed and I could scratch no more. I cursed the white's, and wanted nuthin' but da sweet, sweet embrace o' death. I tried to do just that. I ran away, letting myself be caught, I hid sharp objects in my room; I even went through my mistress's cabin o' drugs. But each time I was spared. Each time I was stopped. Then, I met God. He told me that he loved me, no matter what I looked like, or who I was. He told me who I am. What I was meant to do. I began to see my purpose more clearly. It wasn't to simply roll over and play da game, but to defy da judges, and take up my own mantle. That mantle would bear the burden of example. So I stowed away on a ship headed somewhere. Anywhere! I ended up on Ireland. At first, things looked good. But then, the potato famine came, and again I had to go. I had heard much o' Canada at this point in time, and now here we are. I will be one o' da first black men to land on da shores of Canada, and say; "I am free!” A tear rolled down Abram's cheek as he waved his hand, signalling the end of his story. My heart pumped hot blood through my veins, brimming me with new found strength.
“Thank you Abram, for telling me your brave story.” Abram chuckled as he ruffled my springy red hair, and pinched my freckled cheeks.
“Thank you for listening.” He said.
That night was uncomfortable, as I was stuck between two heavy crates. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I was thinking of everything. Abram, the boat ride, and my family. How I missed sister and mother. But, I left my fate and theirs all in the hands of God.
At dawns break, a massive storm caught us off guard. Darkness rolled back in, as if the night had never existed, and thunder rumbled like the great beast it was, awakening. Not soon after, lightning struck closer and closer to the Black Coffin, licking us like sugar. The sea churned in pain, creating gigantic tongues of water, slobbering all over the decks. Fear and amazement grasped me at the same time. I was impressed with the crew's utter ferocity in the face of the monster, but feared that my life would be swallowed up. All sorts of sounds rang in my ears, there was yelling, bells tolling, waves crashing, glass breaking, and lumber sliding. Salty water wormed its way into my mouth, making me cough and spit. The rain stabbed my eyes, forcing them to constantly squint. But I refused to be the only one doing absolutely nothing, so I grabbed any rope I could find, and started pulling it. Frost settled on my fingers quicker than a moth to a flame, and restricted them from moving. But I still kept moving, in any way I could. I heard a faint cry before losing my consciousness. 'Man overboard! Man overboard!'
I awoke to the friendly sight of Abram staring down at me.
“Get up laddie. God has not called you to his side yet.” He gently coaxed. All my muscles felt well-used, and completely sore.
“Did you get the man who went over board?” I asked. Abram closed his eyes and shook his head.
“You may not have been called; however...your father was. I'm sorry lad.” Was all Abram could say.
“Dad?” I whispered. “Dad was the one?” I collapsed in a heap and began to cry. My head became swollen with anger and sorrow. How could God have done this to me? Why would God do this to me? Had I not been his faithful servant? Abram held me tight, as I unleashed all my tears upon his lap.
“There, there, little one. God is working through you. You mustn't give up now.” Abram said soothingly. His words barely reached me; as I was too busy mourning.
The next day, the ship was hardly alive. We had lost many supplies, and the men were tired and hungry. The sound of Abram's lone harmonica filled the wooden wreck with a sense of emotion. Any emotion. Anything was better than the simple rocking and moaning of the ship. My eyes were red from last night’s events. It made me sick to think of it again. I leaned against one of the support beams, and looked out the small window. My head was empty of all thought, except those of father. Then, a sudden sentence hit me. It hit me hard. My father had said it. My mother had said. My sister said. Even Abram said it. And they all said it when they were in their absolute darkest moments. 'If this is the path chosen for me, so be it. I will still love you Lord.' The single thought played over and over again in my head, like a broken record player. Abram tapped my shoulder, and let something slide from his hand to mine. The cold steel of the harmonica touched my skin.
“For you.” Abram explained. “A good luck charm.” And he rested his bones beside mine, to watch with me. Together we sat there, sharing God's glory.
By the time a new sun arose, I had stopped counting time. It didn't matter anymore. Abram, prayer, and memories were my only comforts. Suddenly, the words that once again lifted my spirits.
“Land ho!” A great cry arose from the crow’s nest. A cheer of every living thing on the ship joined in with loud hooting and hollering. People pushed themselves to the maximum of their abilities, hurrying to the beloved land. The beloved Canada. When the ship started rolling into port, men were already jumping overboard, swimming the rest of the way. When the planks were secured, a flurry of men, women, and children flung themselves off the Black Coffin, hugging family members and kissing fiancé’s. I remained on the ship a little while longer, and watched the most unbelievable act before my eyes. Abram walked down to the sandy shore, and knelt down. He clenched two fistfuls of sand, and brought them up to his lips.
“Thank you God. Please. Please, if it is your will. Bless this land. Let it become a nation full of courage, and people who worship you, and only you.” He let sand slip through his fingers. “Let my brethren come with no fear of the whip, and no persecution of colour.” He smiled and let the tears come naturally. “Let them be free!” Then, he fell down, face first, unmoving. I was overwhelmed with sorrow, and a touch of pride. I had now lost all reference, and had to stand on my own two feet. But, I had just watched one of the most indescribable experience's of God's work in history. I was a person who took the time to come to know an outcast of a man, grow to become a shining hero for his people, and his God. At first he knew nothing but hate and anger. Then, he followed the love and joy that is God. Abram found his purpose, and fulfilled it.
“So, you found and finished your dream, huh Abram?” I whispered to the wind. I took one good look at the land in front of me. Now, it was my turn to become a tool of God. I puffed out my chest, breathing in the scent of pine, clutched the harmonica in my fist, and walked off the ship with pride.
Land of Hope(rachel)
I watched from the crack in my door, as dad leaned heavily on the table, sighing deeply. In front of him was a basket full of potatoes. Rotten potatoes. The soil in our fields was over-turned and disturbed, with rows and rows of rotten potatoes littering them. We all heard the potatoes laughing at us, mocking us, daring us to brave the treacherous seas and make our way to Canada, the land of hope. My mother came up behind father and gently patted him on the back. He turned, tears in his eyes, and they embraced each other as a desperate cry to God. I quickly moved away from my door and filed into bed, when my father began to drag his feet across the wooden floor, set to arrive at my room. No longer did the footsteps sound strong and mighty. No longer was my father's figure big and husky. He was now a skeleton, a mere shadow of himself, his fine red beard now wisps of smoke. The wooden door creaked open, as my dad entered my room. He sat down beside me on the bed, and breathed deeply. He did not speak. He only held his breath, and then exhaled, speaking all his feelings at once. Then, he rose and lumbered out of my room. After that, I knew. I knew what was going to happen. Dad was going to leave for Canada. And I was going with him.
The next morning was solemn and silent. There was no rooster crow, nor farm sounds to wake the sun. Breakfast was calm, with no laughter and hearty conversations. Even now I would have preferred to be yelled at, or argue with my younger sister. But all that I found at the table was the silence of a grave. At the door, my mother handed me my bundle of possessions, and a small sack of what little food and drink we had left. I watched in a traumatized state as my mother sobbed on her knees at the end of the driveway, when the wagon pulled away. She tried to smile, but was unable to do so. My sister did not even come out of her room. However, I caught a glimpse of her huddled up in her window, holding a tattered, stuffed, brown bear close to her. It was the bear I found for her on Christmas Eve. She let go of the bear and pressed her hands on the cold glass, tears rolling down her cheeks as we rounded the bend. I bent my head in a quick word of prayer, asking for an angel to protect and comfort them.
A few hours’ worth of travel passed by and my father and I finally ended up at the docks. He pointed out the ship that we would be taking. It was a massive lumber ship, with a name that only the cursed would choose. 'Black Coffin'. I wasn't paying attention, and soon lost sight of my father. The hustle of the crowd swept me away, taking me farther and farther away from the ship. Eventually, I bumped into a twig of a man, with hardly any teeth left and skin blacker than night. His hair looked like a cloud, sitting atop the skin.
“Well now, what do we have here? A lost soul perhaps?” The old black man spoke. I gulped and replied.
“No sir. Not if you mean spiritually sir. I believe with all my might in God sir.” The old man spread a grin and laughed with a raspy voice.
“Well, if ye be fit spiritually boy, are ye lost in the plain old fashion way?” He asked with a slight spark in his eye.
“Why yes sir. In fact, I need to be on that ship.” I pointed to the Black Coffin.
“Then ye be in luck. It just so happens, that I too am in need of boarding onto that ship. Let's walk and talk, shall we laddie?” I nodded my agreement, and let the old man take the way. A path cleared before him, not because he was rich, or threatening, or important. It was because he was black. I didn't mind though, because for one, I knew that this man was a new found friend. And two, skin colour was not a big deal for me. He was human, I was human. That was all I needed to know.
We reached the ship in a record time of ten minutes. The old man waved his hand, motioning for me to board. I bowed my head in a thank you, and walked across the plank.
“Wait just a second laddie. I didn't catch your name.” He called out from behind me. I paused and smiled over my shoulder as I responded.
“Bran!” Then I ran the rest of the way to find my father. As I rounded the corner I collided with him.
“Boy!” He yelled. “Where in the blue blazes have you been?” He interrogated as he lent me a hand.
“I'm sixteen dad. I can take care of myself,” I replied, dusting myself off. My father looked as if he wanted to grill me, but was too tired to do anything these days. So he left the conversation be and led me back to steerage.
As we came down the stairs, the stench of unwashed bodies and stale-smelling sawdust filled my nostrils, and made them sting. I looked around and saw my new friend playing a harmonica on top of a crate. Upon seeing me, he unleashed a nearly toothless grin and waved me over. Before I could dash to his side, a strong arm held me in place.
“Friend of yers?” My father questioned, eyeing the old man suspiciously. I yanked my arm away.
“Yes dad. In fact he is.” I glared at father, as I could guess as to what was running through his mind at the moment. Then I sprinted across the boards to the old black man. As soon as we were in appropriate speaking range, each of us fired off into stories. He told me of his story, and I told him of mine. I found out his name was Abram.
“Ye be a fine Irish lad, I'll be giving you that.” Abram chuckled. I smiled back, and we paused in our chat for a brief moment. There was something that was bothering me about Abram, something on him that I had been eyeballing. I wanted to ask of its presence and purpose, but was unsure if it was a delicate matter for him or not. So, I cautiously launched my question.
“Hey Abram. On your neck there's...” I choked. Saying it was too hard.
“Oh, you mean the numbers?” He finished for me. I nodded carefully. Abram loosened his collar to show me the full picture. Four numbers had been branded onto him. Melted into the flesh, like a common animal. '6-4-5-8'. “Those numbers are what holds everything in me. My feelings, my memories, my mind, my heart, and my soul. They are why I'm alive, why I am who I am. They are also why I wished my life would end.”
My heart slowed to a deathly still state. It made a pocket in my chest, a rip in my soul, just waiting to be filled. “P-please, tell me Abram. What do you mean?” I asked, wide-eyed and ready. Abram sighed, and stared blankly at the flickering lantern.
“As I told you before lad, I was subject to slavery. I got them numbers when I was about yer age, and not a year older. After time was spent, and lives of my black folk were lost, I cursed the numbers, I scratched at them like a plague, till me blood flowed and I could scratch no more. I cursed the white's, and wanted nuthin' but da sweet, sweet embrace o' death. I tried to do just that. I ran away, letting myself be caught, I hid sharp objects in my room; I even went through my mistress's cabin o' drugs. But each time I was spared. Each time I was stopped. Then, I met God. He told me that he loved me, no matter what I looked like, or who I was. He told me who I am. What I was meant to do. I began to see my purpose more clearly. It wasn't to simply roll over and play da game, but to defy da judges, and take up my own mantle. That mantle would bear the burden of example. So I stowed away on a ship headed somewhere. Anywhere! I ended up on Ireland. At first, things looked good. But then, the potato famine came, and again I had to go. I had heard much o' Canada at this point in time, and now here we are. I will be one o' da first black men to land on da shores of Canada, and say; "I am free!” A tear rolled down Abram's cheek as he waved his hand, signalling the end of his story. My heart pumped hot blood through my veins, brimming me with new found strength.
“Thank you Abram, for telling me your brave story.” Abram chuckled as he ruffled my springy red hair, and pinched my freckled cheeks.
“Thank you for listening.” He said.
That night was uncomfortable, as I was stuck between two heavy crates. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I was thinking of everything. Abram, the boat ride, and my family. How I missed sister and mother. But, I left my fate and theirs all in the hands of God.
At dawns break, a massive storm caught us off guard. Darkness rolled back in, as if the night had never existed, and thunder rumbled like the great beast it was, awakening. Not soon after, lightning struck closer and closer to the Black Coffin, licking us like sugar. The sea churned in pain, creating gigantic tongues of water, slobbering all over the decks. Fear and amazement grasped me at the same time. I was impressed with the crew's utter ferocity in the face of the monster, but feared that my life would be swallowed up. All sorts of sounds rang in my ears, there was yelling, bells tolling, waves crashing, glass breaking, and lumber sliding. Salty water wormed its way into my mouth, making me cough and spit. The rain stabbed my eyes, forcing them to constantly squint. But I refused to be the only one doing absolutely nothing, so I grabbed any rope I could find, and started pulling it. Frost settled on my fingers quicker than a moth to a flame, and restricted them from moving. But I still kept moving, in any way I could. I heard a faint cry before losing my consciousness. 'Man overboard! Man overboard!'
I awoke to the friendly sight of Abram staring down at me.
“Get up laddie. God has not called you to his side yet.” He gently coaxed. All my muscles felt well-used, and completely sore.
“Did you get the man who went over board?” I asked. Abram closed his eyes and shook his head.
“You may not have been called; however...your father was. I'm sorry lad.” Was all Abram could say.
“Dad?” I whispered. “Dad was the one?” I collapsed in a heap and began to cry. My head became swollen with anger and sorrow. How could God have done this to me? Why would God do this to me? Had I not been his faithful servant? Abram held me tight, as I unleashed all my tears upon his lap.
“There, there, little one. God is working through you. You mustn't give up now.” Abram said soothingly. His words barely reached me; as I was too busy mourning.
The next day, the ship was hardly alive. We had lost many supplies, and the men were tired and hungry. The sound of Abram's lone harmonica filled the wooden wreck with a sense of emotion. Any emotion. Anything was better than the simple rocking and moaning of the ship. My eyes were red from last night’s events. It made me sick to think of it again. I leaned against one of the support beams, and looked out the small window. My head was empty of all thought, except those of father. Then, a sudden sentence hit me. It hit me hard. My father had said it. My mother had said. My sister said. Even Abram said it. And they all said it when they were in their absolute darkest moments. 'If this is the path chosen for me, so be it. I will still love you Lord.' The single thought played over and over again in my head, like a broken record player. Abram tapped my shoulder, and let something slide from his hand to mine. The cold steel of the harmonica touched my skin.
“For you.” Abram explained. “A good luck charm.” And he rested his bones beside mine, to watch with me. Together we sat there, sharing God's glory.
By the time a new sun arose, I had stopped counting time. It didn't matter anymore. Abram, prayer, and memories were my only comforts. Suddenly, the words that once again lifted my spirits.
“Land ho!” A great cry arose from the crow’s nest. A cheer of every living thing on the ship joined in with loud hooting and hollering. People pushed themselves to the maximum of their abilities, hurrying to the beloved land. The beloved Canada. When the ship started rolling into port, men were already jumping overboard, swimming the rest of the way. When the planks were secured, a flurry of men, women, and children flung themselves off the Black Coffin, hugging family members and kissing fiancé’s. I remained on the ship a little while longer, and watched the most unbelievable act before my eyes. Abram walked down to the sandy shore, and knelt down. He clenched two fistfuls of sand, and brought them up to his lips.
“Thank you God. Please. Please, if it is your will. Bless this land. Let it become a nation full of courage, and people who worship you, and only you.” He let sand slip through his fingers. “Let my brethren come with no fear of the whip, and no persecution of colour.” He smiled and let the tears come naturally. “Let them be free!” Then, he fell down, face first, unmoving. I was overwhelmed with sorrow, and a touch of pride. I had now lost all reference, and had to stand on my own two feet. But, I had just watched one of the most indescribable experience's of God's work in history. I was a person who took the time to come to know an outcast of a man, grow to become a shining hero for his people, and his God. At first he knew nothing but hate and anger. Then, he followed the love and joy that is God. Abram found his purpose, and fulfilled it.
“So, you found and finished your dream, huh Abram?” I whispered to the wind. I took one good look at the land in front of me. Now, it was my turn to become a tool of God. I puffed out my chest, breathing in the scent of pine, clutched the harmonica in my fist, and walked off the ship with pride.
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Kevin Hughes
11/12/2018Rachel,
You do not have to be religious- or believe in God- to see what good people can do when they decide to be Human Beings instead of skin color, nationality, or belief. Kindness, goodness, hope, those feelings are not restricted to True Believers. But are the property of all of us.
So much of this story is really non-fiction - and Canada did grant lots of folks a new beginning. My wife is Canadian, and her Grandparents made a very similar voyage in the 1880's. Just a wonderful job, and can be read from many angles, not just the one you premiered.
Lovely. Just lovely.
Smiles, Kevin
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