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Service in the Black Pioneers was anything but glamorous. After a few weeks of rudimentary training, they were to be sent out into the woods to work as trackers to counter the work being done by the Indian allies of the "Patriots".

But to Lil Jim training was better than life as a slave any day. He grew to revel in the self-discipline instilled by the commanding officer, with the almost comical sing-song accent, and did everything to forget the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
At the conclusion of training, and before being dispatched over the Appalachians, they were to be formally inducted into their regiment.
Lil Jim stood in line waiting for his moment.
The commanding officer called him up.
"Name"
"Jim"
"Plantation"
"Reed"
"So Jim Reed, is it?"
"I dont want their damn name, sir."
The CO shrugged.
"Fine. What name do you want?"
Lil Jim had never actually thought about what he'd want to be called.
"What's yours, sir?"
He laughed.
"Right then. Jim Jenkins. You're Welsh. Congratulations. Next!"

Lil Jim, now Jim Jenkins, served in Upstate New York, completely alien territory for him. Fortunately, however, the natives he encountered seemed as unwilling to shoot him as he was to shoot them; and both the Black Pioneers and their indigenous counterparts on the opposing side were able to make it through the war in a largely bloodless battle of wits.
The Pioneers would spend months on end in the wilderness, occasionally receiving word of new orders or of a location to meet to receive some nonperishable rations or new boots.
Jim Jenkins excelled in his duties, and revelled in his new freedom, but spent many bitterly cold and lonely nights during his time. Any chance of encountering his brother, who he assumed would also take the chance to join a regiment, seemed dashed when he rarely even encountered those in his own troop.

Just as suddenly as the taking of Reed farm, the war ended. Jim received notice that operations were over - and to discretely make his way, with the other Black Pioneers, over the Niagara river to land where their freedom will eventually be upheld.
Many returned to find their families before making the journey, and there were a perilous few months spent evading Patriot soldiers as Jim helped as many of his comrades' families escape to freedom as he could.
In the end, he would cross the river himself. As more of the refugees came in, he kept hoping one day to see the arrival of Big Jim.
The months passed without any word or sign of him, but Jim learned that another group was forming, further south and west on the St Clair river, of Black Pioneers who had served in the Ohio country and had largely been recruited in the Upper South.
Jim Jenkins marched along the embankments of the northern shore of Lake Erie for several days, in the vague attempt to locate his only known kin, but knowing deep down that such a reunion was unlikely.
When he arrived near Détroit, he found no sign of his brother, but he did find a climate more reminiscent of the one he had left in the Chesapeake.

He spent listless days as the Black Pioneers, many with families, began clearing land and building homes - ensured by their COs that they would eventually get title.

But Jim Jenkins seemed too heartbroken to do anything but wander, and drink. Often passing out wherever seemed most convenient, he spent many mornings being awoken by angry families shooing him from the property.
One summer morning, again sleeping outdoors in a location he couldnt recall, he was awoken particularly roughly.
"Jesus, Jim. They said it might be you. What've you done to yourself?"
Jim was hungover and has vision was weak. He didnt recognize the tall dark figure standing over him.
"I'll leave in a minute" he slurred.
"Lil Jim!"
"Dont call me that"
"Its me! Your brother"
Lil Jim shot up.
"Big Jim?"
Tears rolled down their cheeks as they embraced.
"I thought I'd never see you again" Lil Jim finally managed.
"Cant let that get to you though, Jim. Gotta turn yourself around."
"I know, I know. I should build a cabin..."
"That's my plan. Damn, I cant believe it! I knew youd serve! Ethiopians?"
"Pioneers"
"Me too! Say, you got any of that grog left?"
***
The brothers sat on the riverbank sharing the bottle and talking as much as their state would permit.
"So I guess they called you Jim Reed, huh?"
"Not that old bastard. Took my COs name."
Big Jim almost spit out his swig of the bottle.
"Me too! I'm Scottish!" He laughed.
Lil Jim laughed, too. "Welsh."
After a pause, Big Jim decided: "Well, we cant have different names. You're older, I'll take yours."
"Jenkins it is"
"Alright. But we can't both be Jim, either."
"So what do we do?" Asked Lil Jim.
"You can stay Jim Jenkins. I'll take my COs name as my first name. Everyone in my reg already calls me Fergie anyway, I kinda like it."
***

"FERGUSON JENKINS?" The agent was astounded.
"His great great great grandaddy."
"The cricketer??"
"That's the one."
"From the World Cups against England? This is incredible."
"Damn right."
"But, I dont understand, you said it would explain the cabin, what does this have to do with "
"Simcoe got a lot of a flak for his "pet project" of the Black Loyalists, and he wanted to prove everyone wrong. Gave 'em lots of rules on how to live, make sure they were living like proper English folks."
"Right, the regulations stipulated at least 800 square feet of cabin per family to get title, and all the other cabins I've seen from that era are about that size, why did-"
"Jim and Fergie didnt want to live apart. They-"
"They built a double cabin!"
"That's right"
The agent slumped back in his chair.
"I must say, mister Jenkins, I want this to be true."
"Dont worry, it is."
A car pulled into the driveway.
They both looked toward it.
"Here she is now. Looks like she brought coffee. Good girl."