Date: Thu, 9 Sep 2004 20:04:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation war clouds 14

This story contains graphic but completely fictional
depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage
boys and/or girls, and even nekkid women show up now and
then.  If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to read
or download this, or if you are under 18, please go away.

Seaward Plantation

War clouds chapter fourteen

New life burst forth in a variety of ways on Seaward Island
as the spring of 1862 rolled over into summer.  A goodly
amount of rainfall fell on the island, which was now being
intensely cultivated to feed its growing population.  The
sea gave a bounty of fish, sometimes so much that the
Harmony was obliged to steam out to assist the little
Defiance in gathering in its nets.  Fruit in the orchards
and vegetables in the plots came forth in abundance.  It was
true that the stored sacks of grain and barrels of salted
meat were dwindling bit by bit, but the people hardly
noticed it in their enjoyment of nature's bounty.

Little Priam, Free, and Haven, the children born that
January, were thriving.  They could often be found swinging
in hammocks from low branches of trees as their mothers
worked in the vegetable plots or hay meadows.  Rain and even
Moss were now old enough to be assigned responsibilities
around the island, which they gladly accepted, understanding
the importance of the community's cooperation and shared
labor.  Wat, Frederick, and Douglass, nearing eleven years
old each, began to grow into adolescence, the slim muscular
tubes of their bodies beginning to flesh out and to show the
promise of puberty.  And Apple....at thirteen she had a
strong, sturdy body, breasts the size of large oranges, hips
beginning to swell, her torso a sensuous "S" curve.  Apple
had already developed into a stunning young beauty,
inheriting her father's rich dark color and her mother's
full trumpet lips.  In the open atmosphere of Seaward,
people still came by accident upon scenes of Apple
experimentally coupling with Wat, Frederick, or Douglass,
but it seemed as if she would soon need more mature partners
to match her own physical developments.

Gradually it seemed as if the delivery of mail to the island
was stopping altogether.  The mail boat seldom came by, and
now Troy would no longer sail out to intercept it but would
wait to hear a signal from a passing ship that it had mail
to deliver.  Appleby still insisted that anyone who sailed
the Defiance out to receive mail should go with heavily
armed assistance.  However, they never experienced any
threat from that quarter.  And sometimes a man o' war of the
Navy would stop with letters also.

Once the small packet of letters contained a note from
Lieutenant Ezekiel Thomas, saying that he had had very
little time to search for Marcus because of the press of his
naval duties, but that he fully intended to do so and that
he had made as many enquiries as he could as to the boy's
whereabouts.  It was a great worry to the people of Seaward
that letters from Marcus seemed to have stopped entirely,
but Appleby had to remind everyone that this could be
entirely caused by the war and the difficulties of mail
service in general.  It was a reasonable but not ultimately
reassuring stance to take.

Appleby often stood on the pier, gazing toward the mainland,
and wondered what had become of his acquaintances ashore.
What must Horatio Smith think of him?  Had Silas Hornsby
survived the skirmish on the pier the day that Priam died,
or had he been an unwitting victim of Appleby's own gunfire?
And at Ashley Plantation, what had become of Robert Ashley's
widow, and of the slave Rodney who had chosen to stay there
with his female companion rather than escape to Seaward?
And, to tell the truth, every once in a long while a feeling
of sadness and loss for Robert Ashley himself came over
Appleby, for the beautiful boy and young man who had,
perhaps inevitably, become his enemy.

With the Union Navy patrolling the waters around Charleston,
the likelihood of an attack from the mainland seemed to fade
every day.  Paradoxically, it was the very presence of that
Navy that would involve the people of Seaward in their last
military action of the war.  In July of 1862, the Harmony
had returned to the pier with a load of fish in its nets,
the Defiance having caught more than it could safely haul
aboard.  The people had removed the haul and a great work
had begun of cleaning the catch, the meat to be sun-dried,
smoked, or salted.  On the cemetery hill were Apple and the
boys, scanning the clear summer sea for activity.

The large group cleaning the fish was interrupted by the
sound of running feet, and then Frederick and Douglass were
seen running down the path from the cemetery.  Panting, they
called for adults to "come see."  Appleby and Troy left the
work of cleaning, in some ways thankful to be relieved of
fish-gutting for the moment, and hurried to the cemetery
hill.  There, Apple handed the spyglass to Troy and pointed
to the horizon.  "There, to the north.... is that a Navy
ship pursuing a blockade runner?"

Troy scanned the horizon and then found what Apple had seen.
He studied it for a moment, then turned the glass over to
Appleby, who likewise looked at the drama in the distance.
Lowering the glass, he said "Yes, I think so.  Quite a large
merchantman, I should think, it may even be armed.  Making
for Charleston, a steamer of modern build, I think.  There
is a Union flag flying from the warship pursuing her, but I
don't know if the warship is fast enough to catch her."

"What do you suppose the merchantman is carrying?" asked
Apple.

"We can't be sure, but whatever it is, it is supplies needed
by the South for the war.  Likely brought in from England or
France."  Appleby was thinking hard about the matter,
looking off into the distance.

"What should we do?  What can we do?  Is this our fight?"
asked Troy.

"Well....." Appleby heaved a great sigh.  "It is always our
fight, Troy.  We live in a paradise, but we cannot pretend
there are not those who would break down our gates.  And we
cannot be unmindful of those who do risk their lives, such
as those in that warship out there, so that we can continue
to live here.  Suppose that merchantman is loaded with
powder and shot that might prolong the war a month, even a
day?  Shot that might be used against us some day, or
against Marcus.  Yes, I think it is our fight."  A few
moments of silence passed.  Then Troy spoke.

"Master Mark, the boilers on the Harmony are still hot, we
are back less than an hour.  We could fire her back up and
steam out to intercept that merchantman.  We cannot take her
ourselves, but perhaps all we need to do is to delay her and
let the Navy catch up.  That is what we can contribute to
the war right now."

Appleby looked at Troy seriously, nodding.  "And if one of
us dies in doing so, Troy?"

"Then we will have died in 'our fight,' Master," said Troy
steadily.  Appleby nodded, then said, "So there is not a
moment to lose."  He and Troy instantly sprang into action,
running down the path to the fish-cleaning site.  There they
explained the situation quickly, including the dangers and
risks involved, and asked for volunteers to join them.  With
a roar, every single person there, down to little Moss,
insisted on coming.  Having to choose quickly, Appleby
thought for a moment, then whispered to Troy, who nodded.
"Samuel, Aaron, and Hammond," said Troy.  The three dropped
their tools immediately and, stinking of fish, glittering
with scales, went running with Troy and Appleby down to the
dock.  They had been trained in the use of Seaward's
military defenses since their arrival, and were fully
capable of sailing the Harmony and or using her twelve-
pounder cannon.  Within minutes they had arrived at the pier
and were shoveling coal into the Harmony's boilers, bringing
her pressure quickly back up to full power.

 As eager as everyone had been to send the Harmony out,
there were many grim faces and not a few tear-streaked
cheeks ashore as she chugged away from the pier.  The Ashley
men were manning the cannon and had it fully loaded.
Appleby stoked the boiler and monitored her pressure, while
Troy steered and scanned the horizon for the blockade runner
and the naval vessel that pursued her.  They had gone only a
few miles from Seaward when he spotted them and steered a
course that would bring them into the path of the
merchantman.

As they drew nearer the two vessels could easily be seen
with the naked eye. Two smudges trailing smoke on the
horizon to the starboard side grew larger and more distinct.
Troy adjusted the course while Hammond scanned the horizon
with a glass.  Both ships were steam powered but both also
had full canvas spread to catch the wind, for any possible
advantage of speed.  Then there began an intermittent
rumbling.  The naval vessel had begun to open fire on the
merchantman, but whether out of desperation or because it
had closed the distance between them was uncertain.

"The merchantman is getting away," he concluded.  "The man
o' war is firing from a cannon mounted on a carousel on her
foredeck, but she's not really in range....I think they are
just hoping to hit something on the blockade runner by
accident.....Wait.....the blockade runner is firing back.  I
think she may have cannon aft."

A grim thought entered Appleby's head.  "If she has a cannon
aft she has one afore, and can use it on us.  Let us hope
she is distracted by her pursuer and does not notice our
approach."  He thought a moment about strategy, then turned
to Troy.  "Troy, we are on a course to come in front of her.
But that will give us her bow for a target, which will be
hard to hit."

"She'll have our bow to shoot at as well, master," Troy
replied.

"Yes, but so would she if we headed more directly toward her
to intercept her directly at an angle.  That would give us
her broadside to shoot at.  We would no longer head her off
that way, but we would get to her more quickly and perhaps
be able to slow her down enough to let the naval vessel
catch up."  Troy gave it a moment's thought, then nodded
agreement and changed course, calculating the right angle by
sight and intuition.

The gap closed.  It seemed as if the naval vessel was
slightly to the shore side of the blockade runner, hoping to
gain some distance as the vessel turned to enter the harbor,
which was now not far south.  The formidable shore batteries
would certainly deter any more pursuit.  Appleby had the
boilers at top pressure, all that he dared give her.  Closer
and closer they came, the flashes from guns on both ships
now visible, the rolling clouds of smoke quickly clearing,
the boom and thunder now clearer and sharper.

The Harmony was narrowing the gap, but seemed not to have
attracted the attention of the blockade runner yet.  There
would be very little time, but a short window of
opportunity, to affect the chase.  Troy called for Aaron,
Samuel, and Hammond to prepare the cannon to fire.  He and
Appleby discussed the matter and decided to risk some shots
before they were really in effective range, in the hope of
creating any kind of diversion they could to deter the
merchantman from what seemed to be a sure course to escape
into the harbor.

A little closer, and a little closer, Appleby stood by the
cannon consulting with the three men on strategy.  Then one
last suggestion and he backed away, covering both ears with
cloth, as had the other men aboard.  The blockade runner was
now getting very near as the Harmony converged on its path.
Swinging the cannon a bit to port, angling it high, the
Ashley men fired her with a tremendous roar.  A tenth of a
mile in front of the blockade runner spouted a geyser of
water--they were trying to deter her from continuing in that
straight course.  The cannoneers reloaded frantically and,
keeping the angle high still, moved the cannon a notch to
starboard.  They fired again.  This time the plume of water
was nearer the ship, although it shot up on the far side--
the shell had gone over the ship.  They were still not
within range for effective aiming, although they might get a
lucky hit.

But then, so might the blockade runner.  In the time it had
taken the Harmony to get off two volleys, confusion and
uncertainty on the blockade runner had given way to action.
They had one gun aft and one gun fore.  The latter had been
useless against the pursuing naval vessel, but now it was
brought into play against the Harmony.  There was a flash, a
puff of smoke, and an eruption of water in front of the
Harmony and to port.  It was entirely too close for comfort,
and wickedly good shooting given that the enemy had the
Harmony's bow for a target.

Troy swung the boat to port, into the path of the first
shot, hoping the blockade runner would overcompensate and
end up landing a shot to starboard now--which is exactly
what happened.  There was another flash, a crack and boom,
and an eruption of water to starboard.  Troy now steered
again in that direction, hoping to pull off the same trick
again--and by now, the Harmony was within better range for
another shot.  Aiming carefully amidships, taking advantage
of the broadside of the blockade runner now presented to
them, the cannon on the brave little boat fired again.  The
cloud of black smoke cleared and some confusion could be
seen on the deck.  The shot had carried away some of the
superstructure, although it appeared not to have damaged the
hull or rigging.  But a shower of debris was flying in the
wind from what had been some structure or perhaps cargo on
the deck.

Then it was clear that the Seaward strategy might have a
chance of working, for the blockade runner shifted to
starboard, attempting to use her speed to get away from the
Harmony and into the harbor.  But it was a fatal mistake.
It took her fore gun out of effective action, it gave her
aft gun two targets to shoot at, but most important, it put
her on an angle into the path of the pursuing naval vessel.
The Harmony pressed on, firing again.  This shot was high
but tore down a sail and spar, which crashed onto the deck
and then over the side.  As it turned out, that was a good
hit as well, for it created some drag until the crew could
cut the ropes and cut it adrift.

The aft gun of the blockade runner fired at the oncoming
naval vessel, which seemed now to be closing the gap
perceptibly.  A moment passed, and then it fired at the
Harmony.  The Seaward crew saw the flash and smoke, and then
there was a tremendous splash of water as the shell crashed
into the waves just yards in front of the bow.  The shock of
the impact in the water shivered every timber of the brave
little boat.  The Harmony pitched and wallowed, losing her
forward momentum as she skewed in the turbulent water.  The
men were tossed around but, miraculously, the boat had not
been hit directly nor had any of her crew been lost
overboard, as they might well have been.  Nevertheless, it
was a telling blow that effectively put the Harmony out of
action, for by the time the men aboard her regrouped, the
blockade runner had greatly increased the distance between
them.

But the Harmony had served her purpose, for the greater
distance that the blockade runner put between the Harmony
and herself was directly into the path of the Union man o'
war.  The naval vessels guns now raked the decks and rigging
of the runner.  Masts snapped, the smokestack blew apart,
debris crashed down on the deck.  The blockade runner's gun
crews could no longer work the cannon, covered as they were
wreckage, sails, and rope.  The naval vessel could be seen
closing with her, grappling, and then swarms of Marines
boarded over the side and onto the merchantman's decks.  It
was over.

The crew on the Harmony was glad but shaken.  The last shot
had come entirely too close, and reminded Troy and Appleby
of the last moments of the Hesperus, and of the death of
Priam.  Besides, there was nothing further they could do.
Restoring order onboard and making sure that everyone was
alright physically, they turned for home.

Back on Seaward, nearly everyone had acquired every
available spyglass and made for the cemetery lookout.  Those
with glasses told the tale to those without, and there were
friendly struggles among everyone to look for themselves.
Excitement, fear, and hope alternated as the Harmony had
pursued her quarry.  Shrieks and cries arose at the last,
near-fatal shot that landed almost under her bows, and then
relief and tears of joy burst out loudly at the news that
the boat seemed unharmed and was turning for home.  There
was also applause at the news that the naval vessel seemed
to have captured the blockade runner.  And then, everyone
made for the pier as quickly as they could.

The five intrepid warriors were greeted with shouts,
applause, embraces, and tears when they landed.  It had
almost been too much for Cass, who had feared at one point
that she might lose a son as well as a husband to the war.
The Harmony was secured and put in order, her gun cleaned
and secured.  Many a retelling of the battle was asked for
and given that evening as the people celebrated their part
in the victory.

Three days later, the alarm bells signaled the approach of a
ship from the west.  It was another Union naval vessel, and
a longboat was put over the side.  As it neared the pier,
the figure of Captain DuPont could clearly be seen.  The
boat was secured to the pier, and the Captain stepped onto
it.

Appleby was in the forefront to shake the Captain's hand and
inquire as to his health.  The Captain's manner was as
formal and guarded as ever.  But after preliminary social
niceties, a wintry smile crossed his features.

"My officers aboard the U.S.S. Housatonic tell me that a
strange little boat with but a single cannon appeared out of
nowhere in these waters and damaged an escaping blockade
runner enough that the Housatonic was able to capture her."
His eyes flicked to the side, to the Harmony.  "I think it
is no mystery what boat that was, is it my friends?"  His
bleak smile increased; perhaps, for him, it was as hearty an
expression of joy as he ever showed.

"You have guessed correctly, Captain," said Appleby.  "We
saw an opportunity to help your forces, as they have helped
us, and we thought it our duty to come to her assistance."

DuPont nodded, looking long and searchingly at Appleby, and
then at the proud faces of the people of Seaward who stood
around and behind him.  "Lieutenant Thomas spoke so highly
of you, sir, and of your....your friends here, that I could
scarcely believe him.  I think I did him a disservice, sir.
Perhaps he even underestimated your valor.  I can but thank
you, and assure you that I have no further doubts as to your
loyalties and commitment in this war.  It is a great load
off my mind to know that....to know that you and your
friends here are truly friends of our cause."  And here he
removed his hat and actually bowed low to Appleby and the
community, then rose and saluted.  And then DuPont began to
shake hands, one and all, of the people of Seaward--surely a
new experience for him to do so with people whose color was
not his own.

The Captain cordially declined an invitation to take some
refreshment on the island.  "For," he said, "we have had a
reversal and I must be about my business.  Land and naval
forces attempted in the last two days to take what the
rebels are pleased to call 'Secessionville' a little to the
south of here.  It was an unmitigated disaster for us, I am
afraid to say.  We still control these seas, but not
entirely.  And I am afraid that the struggle to take
Charleston will be long and bitter.  Have you heard that
Fort Sumter is rebuilt, and now has ninety-five--ninety-
five!--cannon, not to mention the other shore batteries?"
Appleby and the group could only shake their heads in wonder
and dismay.  Sad as their own loss of Priam had been, it
must pale by comparison with what forces, both South and
North, were experiencing elsewhere in the war.

"Any word of Lieutenant Thomas in his new posting, sir?"
asked Appleby.

"None," replied the Captain.  "There is to be much action
where he is now assigned, and mail service is increasingly
interrupted all up and down the coast.  I wish him well, but
I do not expect to hear from him or of him soon.  If I do, I
will send word to you."  Appleby thanked him for that, and
then the Captain stepped into the longboat and bade farewell
to the community.  The oars dipped into the water, and they
returned to the ship.

It was but a month after DuPont's visit that a soiled, old
letter arrived from Marcus.  It appeared as if it had been
written in March, although the ink was much smudged.  But
the sorry document was received as if it were a load of
gold.  It was not much more forthcoming than Marcus's
earlier letters--more of the same old news of reassurance,
battles, horrors hinted at--but it was reassuring
nevertheless.  But so long in passage!  It made the people
wonder how many letters they had missed entirely, and what
had happened in the months since this letter was written.

A fruitful summer gave way to a bountiful fall.  Some sense
of normality seemed to settle back on the island, although
the passing of warships and blockade runners continued to be
observed and occasional visitors from the fleet brought news
of gathering efforts to take Charleston.  But all still
acknowledged that the early hopes some had entertained for a
short war were not to be realized.

It was in September, as the first hints of fall could be
felt in the air, that Appleby found Apple rocking by herself
on the verandah, her head down and chin on her hand.  He was
struck by her resemblance to her mother, Athena, and to her
Aunt Helen.  He walked up the verandah steps, returning from
his work, and settled down next to her.

"Is anything the matter, Apple?" he asked gently.

She shrugged and shook her head.  Knowing not to take that
for an answer, Appleby put his hand on hers and prodded.
"Tell me," he said.  She looked at him speculatively,
shrugged again.... then appeared to make a decision to take
the plunge.

"Do you.... do you think Marcus remembers me?" she asked.

Appleby could not help but laugh.  "I am sure he remembers
you," he replied.  Then more seriously, "You and he were
great friends, weren't you?"  She nodded, and
surreptitiously brought a finger to the corner of her eye.

"I really miss him.  Wat and Frederick and Douglass are good
friends, too, but... he was special.  A good friend.  We...
we did everything together."  Here she looked directly at
Appleby.  "Everything."

He nodded.  "Yes, I know.  I think everybody on Seaward knew
that.  You know, we felt you should have the freedom to do
what you needed to do, together, or with others."  Appleby
remembered the scene on the pier when so many of the men of
Seaward, having bathed in the ocean, enjoyed each other's
bodies--and Marcus had joined in.  "Apple," he said, "there
are so many ways to express love, to be friends.  I do not
know when Marcus will return, and in all honesty I must say
that I do not know whether he will return.  You cannot live
only in the past, or only in expectation of his return.

"I think love is something you sometimes save for another
and sometimes it is something you find around you.  There is
no way that you are required to, no way in which you are
forbidden to show others that love.  I can see you are a
young woman, with a young woman's feelings.  Just... be
careful, but be free."

She looked up at him, tears streaking her dark cheeks.  Then
she nodded and smiled.  Rising quickly, she kissed him on
the cheek, then ran off into the night.  Would Appleby have
given the same advice two years ago?  Likely not--when love
to him meant encircling with arms that too often turned out
to be walls.  The loss of a headstrong son, and the peace he
had found from letting that son go even after the fact, had
made Appleby so much more willing to give others a freedom
that might yet prove uncomfortable, even ruinous.

Apple herself gave it a lot of thought and bided her time.
Perhaps she was waiting to discern a boy inside of a man who
could make some connection with the woman who was pushing
out of her girlish body.  Perhaps she was waiting until she
felt ready within herself. Or perhaps she was simply waiting
for the right moment.  And Appleby for his part sometimes
fretted over whether he had given her the right words.  He
wanted her to be free, but unharmed--and he fully realized
how contradictory and impossible both those goals so often
are.

It was in early October, on an unusually warm, balmy evening
washed in moonlight, that Samuel was in the new, external
bath house, soaking in a hot bath after a long day of
working with the livestock.  He heard footsteps coming to
the door and saw Apple enter, her head lowered, lost in
thought.  Doors were rarely if ever locked on Seaward, and
of course there was little sense of shame in others seeing
one's body, so Samuel was not alarmed.  Apple was brought up
short by the sight of the naked young man in the tub, the
water shining on his dark skin, making sheets and rivulets
across the chocolate depths.  She simply stood there looking
at him as if making a discovery, as if weighing and
considering.  He seemed to catch something in her eye, for
he looked back--open, friendly, simply waiting.

Keeping eye contact with him, Apple reached for her buttons
and unfastened her simple dress.  It fell to the floor.  She
was wearing no undergarments, and so stood stark naked,
lamplight shining softly on her dark skin, her breasts like
two large, pert oranges, her belly a rounded curve, a small
dense triangle of pubic hair below.  Samuel's eyes traveled
down her body and then back up to her eyes.  He nodded once.
His hands tightened their grip on the rim of each side of
the tub.  She smiled and stepped into the tub, facing him,
feet straddling his hips.  Reaching down into the bath, she
scooped up a handful of water and poured it slowly over her
breasts, letting it trickle down their firm globes, down the
firm curve of her abdomen, down her firm thighs.

Samuel looked up at her, his thick lips parted, his breath
coming more rapidly.  In the water his dark brown penis
stirred and stiffened.  Apple leaned over and kissed him,
two thick sets of luscious lips merging and sucking.  Then
she lowered herself into the water straight down.  On her
knees, still straddling Samuel's hips, she reached into the
water and grasped the thick, stiff, slick rod.  She placed
it against her vagina and lowered herself all the way down,
meshing their crisp, kinky pubic hairs together.  Apple
gasped, filled as she had never been before.  So did Samuel,
a wave of pleasure washing over him.  He moved his hands
from the tub rim to her breasts, cupped the firm, pert
globes, and kneaded them as Apple began a movement up and
down.

As her rhythm increased she threw her head back, panting, a
feeling of fulfillment coming upon her such as she had never
known.  Faster she churned the water, up and down.  Samuel
held on to her breasts, his feet braced against the foot of
the tub, knees crooked behind Apple's rounded bottom.  Then
Apple looked sharply at Samuel, deep into his eyes, and
cried out as a wave of ecstasy overtook her.  The tightening
and shuddering of her love canal was too much for Samuel,
who likewise surrendered to an eruption of pleasure.  He
grasped Apple's waist and pushed his groin up while pushing
down on Apple's hips, his rigid penis spouting geysers of
sperm inside her beneath the water.  They both remained
locked together like that, holding a locked gaze, gasping,
panting, muttering incoherent sounds.  Then they both
collapsed together, Apple leaning forward onto Samuel's thin
chest while he locked his skinny arms around her back and
buried his face in the braids and tufts of her hair.  For a
long time they remained like that, speaking softly,
caressing, rising to the surface from the depths they had
explored.

So began a long series of experimentations, struggles,
caresses, and explorations between Apple and Samuel.  In the
Seaward way of doing things, neither kept themselves
exclusively for the other.  But Wat, Frederick, and Douglass
were pleasantly amazed at the new skills that Apple brought
back to them, and Samuel's other partners, male and female,
felt a new confidence, tenderness, and energy in their
intimate encounters.  In the fall and early winter, these
two by themselves seemed to distribute a new energy
throughout the cozy beds and hay stacks of Seaward.

All during that fall there had been no word from Ezekiel
Thomas nor from Marcus.  It seemed as if both had vanished,
but the people of Seaward reassured themselves that the
cause was most likely disruptions to the mail service from
the war.  The Union Navy continued to pay their respects
from time to time, but they had received no more word of
Thomas, either.

January of 1863 rolled around crisp and cold.  In the second
week the alarm bells sounded from cemetery and pier,
signaling the approach of a ship.  The day was especially
cold and windy, with occasional rain squalls.  Gathering at
the pier, the people saw through the blowing mist a Union
warship anchored off the island, with a longboat being
pushed away from her side.  Oars rose and fell as the boat
neared the pier.  Scanning it with a spyglass, Hector cried
out, "It is Lieutenant Thomas!  He is standing there in the
bow!"

Other glasses were produced and Hector's observation was
confirmed.  Knowing he had been sighted, Thomas removed his
hat and waved it, his blonde hair matting in the rain, which
prompted a cheer from the pier.  His smile was so broad that
it seemed as if it could be seen with the naked eye before
the rest of his features were clear.  Closer and closer the
boat came, propelled by the rowing sailors, and the boat
slid up to the pier, where it was secured.  Ezekiel Thomas
stepped out of the boat and onto the pier, where he was
greeted by every hand, hugged and applauded.  For him, it
felt like a homecoming; tears gathered in the corners of his
eyes as he greeted everyone by name, and he marveled at the
three new arrivals, the children born since his departure.

When the excitement of his arrival had subsided, he raised
his voice.  "My friends, I have news.  Indeed, tremendous
news."  There was utter silence--everybody on the island
hoped it was news of Marcus, but Thomas's expression was so
grave that they dared not ask.

"Two pieces of tremendous news, in fact.  Here is the first
piece," he said, removing a rolled piece of paper from his
pocket and holding it out.  Nobody had the courage to take
it, wondering what tidings were contained in it.  Finally,
Appleby took the paper, unrolled it, and read it.  Then read
it again.  Then began dancing, crying, shouting, weeping,
clapping, shouting again incomprehensibly.  Troy rushed to
his side, fearing he had lost his reason.  Appleby simply
shoved the paper at him, laughing and crying together, and
hung on Troy's shoulder as he read it for himself.

Troy read it, twice, then absently passed the paper to one
side, where it was seized by other eager hands.  He looked
abstractedly at the gathered community.  Then he found
voice.

"The president.... President Lincoln.  It is a proclamation.
He has freed all those in bondage in the states that have
declared secession.  All the slaves, all are freed.  Every
one..... every....." and then he, too, sank to his knees and
began weeping in joy and relief.

Cass turned to Thomas and asked, urgently, "Is this true?
Is it official?  Is the matter done and concluded?"

Thomas nodded gravely.  "It has been planned for some
months, but became official on the first of this year.  It
is the law.  I know that some of you had been freed already,
but this leaves no question nor any ambiguity.  You are--all
of you--and all those who suffer ashore--freed."

A tremendous commotion made of shouts, laughter, weeping,
applause, and tumult of every kind erupted on the pier.  The
continuing cold drizzle might just as well have been bright
sunshine.  Long used to their own freedom, the people
rejoiced in the extension of that possibility to others, and
the now-certain guarantee of their own liberty.  It occurred
to some that the power of the proclamation depended entirely
upon an ultimate Union victory, but at that moment none
doubted such an outcome eventually.  There was more
handshaking and hugging of Lieutenant Thomas.  Then, as the
uproar began to settle into excited chatter, Appleby raised
his voice.

"What other tremendous news, Ezekiel?  Can it be as joyous
as the first announcement?"

Ezekiel Thomas smiled shyly.  "I think so," he said simply,
and half turned to the longboat.  Two of the sailors, caped
and hooded against the inclement weather, rose and stepped
out of it onto the pier, the sailor in the front moving
awkwardly, with a sort of stiff gait.  The two walked a few
steps down the pier toward the crowd, then the figure in
front threw back his hood.

It was Marcus.