For the first time I began to see the Negro slaves I had heard about in New York. It seemed that every farmer had at least a few. We were appalled to see people in a condition that was worse than that of a serf under a cruel boyar, but what was I to do? With a heavy heart we kept quiet.

The trader was a good host and a good companion, full of stories, and they were sorry to say goodbye to him when they reached North Carolina.

But there, he left them in the care of yet another Fire Master, who was also a blacksmith, in Wilmington, a coastal city in North Carolina. The city proper did not cause them much discomfort even without shields, and they learned that they could enjoy the amenties the place offered without much difficulty. There was a great deal of farmland available for purchase at prices Pavel did not consider extreme. Many of those who had settled there came from the same part of England as Sally, a few generations back. In short, they began to think about settling where they had landed.

And we liked the climate and the land, wrote Pavel. Or rather, we liked the farmland outside of the city, and it seemed to welcome us. It seemed to us that this would be a good place to make our home. Until the storm . . . which changed our minds completely.

It began with a sultry and oppressive morning, and as we all rose early in the household, we all took note of the blood-red morning skies. “This ain’t good,” said our host, and proceeded to direct us, his apprentices, and all his “hired hands” and his two slaves to make the house and forge ready for “a blow.” All fires were put out and smothered. Doors to the forge were closed and barred by stout lengths of wood, and wooden shutters nailed shut over all the windows. Anyone who had left horses at the forge to be shoed in the morning got their beasts back unshod. “I’m lucky I ain’t got no stock, not even a chicken,” said he, and he gathered his household and slaves and us and his two hunting hounds into a single room on the westward side of the house, sent those of his men and apprentices who had homes elsewhere in the city back to their families, and directed us to provision the room that would be our shelter with bedding, two barrels of fresh water, and all the food from the kitchen that did not need to be cooked. The rest, we either hastily cooked and added to the storm provisions, or he had us pack inside as many barrels and casks as he could find. These he sealed, and stacked around the walls of the room. Then everything of value in the house was added, until there was scarcely room to move. I had no idea what all this meant; it seemed a most peculiar sort of preparation for a mere storm.