Date: Tue, 14 Sep 2004 18:06:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation war clouds 15

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 fifteen

A moment passed as the people of Seaward fully grasped the
appearance of Marcus when the boy threw his hood back on the
pier.  Then with a tremendous roar, everyone rushed him.
Appleby got there first, swooping him into his arms, turning
and turning as he hugged him tight, pressing his face into
the boy's cheek.  But the others were close behind him, with
Portia shouting and clawing her way through the crowd.  They
let her pass, and she merged into Marcus and Appleby, the
three embracing tightly, weeping, laughing.

The press of people forward was so great that some had to
leap aside off of the pier and onto the Harmony and the
Defiance.  "Back!" cried Troy, "back!" and reluctantly the
people moved back off of the pier onto the shore.  It was
fortunate that nobody went into the cold winter sea.
Appleby and Portia carried Marcus quickly in that direction,
hands touching and stroking as they went by.  Ashore, there
was not a dry eye--those who had not been overcome by the
news of the president's emancipation proclamation were now
carried away by Marcus's return.  Only Ezekiel Thomas--and
the mysterious second sailor--hung back, smiling, letting
the people of Seaward have their moment with their prodigal
son.

One person and then another embraced Marcus, hugged him,
swung him around.  It might fairly be said he had hardly
touched the ground since leaving the pier.  But then Portia
noticed something, sensed something, remembered his stepping
onto the pier.  Pushing her way back into the clot of people
by her son, she grasped him by the shoulders.

"Set him down, set him down," she said.  Her sense of
urgency compelled obedience.  Marcus stood, looking at his
mother through tear-filled eyes.  She pulled his cloak
aside.  As she had thought--he leaned on a short walking
stick.  Now Appleby noticed as well, and came in close to
lay a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Marcus," said Portia, "your leg.  That stick.  What is the
matter?"

Marcus smiled bravely at her.  "It's alright, Mama.  It
hurts sometimes, but I can walk, although....it won't bend
any longer.  But really, it's alright."  Then his face broke
into a brilliant smile.  "It's what got me out of the Army!"

Portia caught her breath.  Appleby asked, "What happened,
Marcus?"

A clouded look came over his face.  "A cannonball.  It
landed near us.  There was an explosion.  Others were
killed.  So many others....."  he looked into the middle
distance, seeing pain and suffering.  "They were going to
cut it off, but I wouldn't let them.  Hi wouldn't let them,
either.  So they did what they could, and that was good,
because I can still walk.  I just can't bend it."

The crowd murmured, discussing Marcus's injury, as Appleby
and Portia embraced him once again.  Some who had not yet
greeted him now pressed forward, but more gently.  And among
them was Apple, a cloak around her to protect her from the
weather.  Marcus startled as he saw her, then smiled shyly.
She looked uncertainly at him, seeming to test the depths in
his eyes, then smiled and held out her hands, which he
grasped.

"Hello, Marcus.  I have missed you," she said.

"I missed you, also," he replied.  "I thought about you."
An awkward moment passed.  "You've grown, you look older!"
he said, brightly.

"So do you," she said, which was true.  He was noticeably
taller, seemingly more mature than his twelve-going-on-
thirteen years.  They looked at each other a moment more,
then Apple said, "I guess we have both changed."  And at
that she drew her cloak aside.  Marcus's eyes traveled
downward, stopped, grew large.  Her belly was slightly
swollen in the unmistakable contours of pregnancy.  He shot
a glance back at her, questioning.  Apple put out a hand to
him again and said, "It's alright, Marcus.  It's good."  And
the two embraced with deep affection.

Then Marcus began chuckling and shaking his head.  Turning,
he looked back up the pier.  "I guess it is time to
introduce Hi," he said.  Thomas and the hooded sailor walked
back up the pier toward the shore.  Stepping onto the beach,
the sailor threw the hood back.  A beautiful, oval, boyish
face was revealed, dark chocolate under a dense cap of jet
black kinky hair about half an inch long, full reddish brown
lips.

"This is Hi," said Marcus.  "Uh...my friend.  My really good
friend.  Hi had to leave the army, too."

Appleby put his arm around Hi's shoulders and inquired, "Are
you injured, son?"  Hi looked and Marcus and the two of them
laughed softly.

"No, Papa, Hi's not injured.  I guess you could say the Army
found out about Hi."

"Oh!" said Portia, puzzled.  "Hi, is that short for Hiram?"

"No," said Marcus, stepping over to his friend, unfastening
the cape around Hi.  "It's short for Hyacinth, and that's
what the Army found out."  The cape moved back, revealing
unmistakably female contours and--the rounded belly of a
pregnancy about halfway along.  The only sound on the beach
was the drizzle of the rain.

"Marcus!" said Appleby, hesitating.  "Y--You?"  The boy hung
his head, blushing and nodding.  "Hyacinth," Appleby said
gently, addressing the new arrival, "how did you come to be
in the Army?  Do I understand that you disguised yourself as
a boy until---until you could disguise your condition no
longer?"

Hyacinth nodded, her head erect and looking forthrightly at
Appleby and all around.  "I had to, sir.  It was my chance
to escape slavery, in Virginia.  They would not have taken a
girl in the Union Army, so.....I pretended to be a boy."

"It took me a month to find out!" Marcus piped up.  "One
night..... well, uh....it took me a month," he concluded,
lamely.

Portia slipped over to Hyacinth and put her arm around the
girl.  "How old are you, child?"

"Fourteen, ma'am."

"So young," murmured Portia.  Then she glanced at Apple and
said again, "so young."  But Apple came up to Hyacinth and
put her arm out--one finger, then three, laid on the
swelling belly--then looked deeply into her eyes, nodded and
smiled.  "It's good, Mama Portia," she said, "It is all
good.  It is love and life, and it came freely, and that's
all good."  Then Apple embraced the girl, and kept her arm
around her shoulder for as long as they remained on the
beach.

More introductions--"Whose are these?!" marveled Marcus at
the three infants presented to him, which occasioned much
laughter and explanation.  As Bundit was mentioned he, too,
pushed his way through the crowd.  He smiled broadly at
Marcus and they hugged tightly.

"Papa Bundit! I looked for you but couldn't find you.  Have
you gone to sea and back, then?"

A shadow of pain passed over Bundit's face.  "No, Marcus,"
he said gently, "I have gone to slavery and back.  What we
feared for you happened to me, and what I planned to do you,
in some part, did."  Marcus looked shocked, his mouth open.
Bundit roughed up his tangled brown curls and said, "We have
so many stories to tell you."  The boy nodded.

Then came the three arrivals from Ashley Plantation,
strangers all to Marcus, each one a new story and a wonder.
Shaking his head in amazement, Marcus straightened up and
looked around the crowd.  "Where is Papa Priam?" he asked.
Again there was a silence, and Portia put her arm around
him.  "He is gone, Marcus.  Killed when rebel forces pursued
the Hesperus here.  He rests on the hilltop now.  As we
said, there are many stories to tell."  The boy's lip
trembled and he looked around vaguely still, not quite
understanding what he had been told.  But there would be
time and opportunity for it all to become plain.

Troy suddenly remembered something and turned toward the end
of the pier.  There stood Ezekiel Thomas by himself.
"Ezekiel!" he cried, "do you have some shore leave?  Can you
stay a while?"

"Yes, I can stay a week.  I am still on active duty, but I
have applied to be transferred to this squadron, and so here
I am.  I may tell you, I think, that there will be more
action in this area in the future.  By land and sea,
attempts will be made on Charleston.  But for now.... yes,
if you will have me, I can stay."  Pan and Bacchus stepped
up to embrace him as Hector ran back down the pier to fetch
his bag.  That procured, the longboat pushed away from the
pier and rowed through the gathering mists back to the ship.

In the main house of Seaward Plantation that night there was
a bright fire in every room.  The dining room table groaned
under a splendid feast of welcome and homecoming, people ate
in every room, while those desiring fresh, cold air risked
the verandah for short periods, as the rain and wind had
continued.  Marcus was amazed at what had changed and what
had not, was stirred by the stories of military action and,
bit by bit, began to share his own harrowing stories of war
ashore.  Hyacinth sat quietly, learning and marveling, but
Apple often sat beside her to tell her the stories of
Seaward and to fill in information implied by the stories
that were told.

The party went into the evening.  For this night, watches
were called in from the cemetery and the pier; the weather
was too foul for an enemy to attempt a landing, and Thomas's
warship prowled the sea around the island anyway.  Cozy and
warm, reunited in flesh and memory, and free in many ways--
the growing Seaward family had much to celebrate.

Late that night, the party finished and the house cleaned,
Marcus and Hyacinth put to bed together on the second floor
of the main house, Troy and Appleby snuggled together
against the cold under a warm quilt.  The rain slapped
against the window, but inside all was peaceful and secure.
Lying side by side, arms entangled, noses rubbing, floating
on a blissful buzz of wine and brandy, the two men talked
softly of the day's momentous events.

"So, Troy....you are free now!" said Appleby.  The two
laughed softly.  "Maybe now you will quit calling me
'Master.'"

Troy kissed the white man on the lips and whispered, "Never.
As I told you, I was always free.  And I will always be
yours, and I think maybe you'll always be mine.  But, I
started calling you 'master' first, so we'll keep it that
way."

The two snuggled in tighter and cozier.  Two stiff penises,
one fudge brown and one purplish pink, stiffened in the warm
space between their bodies.  Three arms pulled bodies close
together while one hand grasped both rods and slipped up and
down, up and down.  Two breaths became one, chaining in and
out of parted lips that kissed and sucked.  One hand joined
two bodies together in their most sensitive places, sliding
up and down, sliding into an ecstasy that would unite them
again, as it had so many times in the past.  Pushing in
together, both bodies were suddenly merged with a wave that
washed away barriers of skin and space.  And then they
slept.

The return of Marcus and the fact of two new pregnancies on
the island led the people to resolve the next day to use the
last of their precious building lumber to construct another
cabin.  The weather was still cold but the rain had lifted,
so all hands pitched in on the work.  Ezekiel Thomas was as
eager as any of them, and worked hard in borrowed, old
clothing.  Seaward's last timbers were raised and fashioned
together into a snug cabin in the space of a week with the
eager help of so many workers.  Then it was time for
Lieutenant Thomas to leave again, and once again there was
sadness at his parting all around.  But the people were
reassured that he was in the area and would return often.

The week following Thomas's departure was eventful.  The
cemetery lookout spied more and more Union ships gathering,
steaming back and forth along the coast, coming as close as
they dared to Charleston's defenses.  On the last day of the
month the alarm bell from the cemetery began clanging just
as the people also began to hear a sustained rumbling coming
to them from the direction of the harbor.  From the
cemetery, spyglasses revealed that some kind of naval battle
on a scale larger than they had yet seen was taking place
near or just in the mouth of the harbor.  The battle
continued through the day, and small flashes and moving
lights continued into the evening.

Lieutenant Thomas was back the next day, his appearance
alarming everyone.  One arm was swathed in a heavy bandage.
He did not actually come ashore but hailed the island from
his ship as it stood off shore, and the Defiance sailed out
to hear the news.  When Troy, Appleby, and Hector, returned,
they shared not only the sad news of Thomas's injury from a
piece of exploding shell casing, they reported the failure
of the Union navy the previous day.  Some warships had
sailed out of the harbor, led by the C.S.S. Palmetto State
and C.S.S. Chicora to attack the navy in an attempt to lift
the blockade.  Although the blockade remained, two Union
ships, the U.S.S. Mercedita and the U.S.S. Keystone State
were lost, and ships on both sides sustained heavy damages.
It signaled a new turn in the war, and from now on the
cemetery lookout more frequently saw the flash of cannon,
and people all over the island could often hear their low,
distant rumbling like the rumor of war.

All that spring the Union navy tested the defenses of
Charleston.  Samuel DuPont--now an Admiral--returned on the
scene with a squadron of the newfangled ironclads, strange
looking ships with iron plates attached all around them,
some of them powered only by steam with no masts.  In early
April Admiral DuPont bravely led his ironclad fleet into the
harbor, and the no less brave defenders soundly trounced
them, damaging the U.S.S. Keokuk so badly it sank the next
day.  All this news of defeat, relayed back to Seaward by
passing warships, was dismal news for the island--but on the
other hand, it meant an even greater naval presence in the
area, and thus greater protection.

Meanwhile, Marcus was settling back into the life of
Seaward, but it seemed as if he had taken on the estate of a
man.  Now thirteen, he stood tall and walked proudly despite
his injury.  War had touched him to the heart, and instilled
there a maturity that, for better or worse, set him apart
from the other young people on the island.  Hyacinth learned
the ways of Seaward quickly, including how to read and
write.  She and Apple awaited their deliveries in the new
cabin, with Marcus installed upstairs in the loft.  Samuel
preferred remaining with the men from Ashley.  Hyacinth was
at first astonished to learn of the freedoms and liberties
of the island, and perhaps even somewhat disapproving, but
eventually she came to accept their ways of doing things.

The end of May came, and the time for delivery of the new
infants was at hand.  Apple's hour came first, and it was a
difficult delivery because of her youth.  It took all of the
medical skill of the women on the island to pull her
through.  She gave birth to a beautiful girl, whom she and
Samuel named Blossom in honor of the flowering earth of
springtime that was all around them.  Then Hyacinth was
delivered of a boy, named Battle by her and Marcus in honor
of all they had witnessed and suffered together in the Army.
When it was clear that little Battle and his mother were
healthy and safe, Appleby took a long walk by himself around
the island, reflecting on the fact that at the (it seemed to
him) tender age of thirty-eight he was a grandfather.  Cass
and Juno of course were great-grandparents, as would Priam
have been, and Athena, Troy and Hector were also
grandparents.  Many good natured jokes were made on that
theme for some weeks after the new arrivals.

New birth meant that, within a week or two, the ceremony of
naming the babies would be held.  It was a clear, warm night
in June when both babies were carried up to the cemetery
hill by the entire community of Seaward.  Around a cheerful,
blazing fire each child was lifted up to the host of
brilliant, bright stars that studded the dark sky.  It
seemed as if they had never shown brighter.  For once, there
were no flashes of light from the direction of Charleston to
indicate a naval engagement or shore bombardment.  The
heavens were at peace.

As the company remained around the campfire, talking
comfortably, Troy and Appleby looked at each other and
nodded.  Troy rose to speak.

"My friends, I have been thinking.  Tonight we have given
names to these new babies, as people on Seaward have for
years.  These are the first babies born free--legally free--
on this island, and it got me to thinking.  You all know,
slaves never had family names, 'last' names, and those of us
who were slaves on Seaward never did either."  Everyone
around the campfire nodded and murmured, affirming the fact.
Troy continued.

"I believe it is true that only two of us have a last name,
or family names:  Bundit and Master Mark."  The two nodded
in confirmation.  "Master Mark and I were talking today, and
we both agree:  we need a family name.  Now, I think that
Bundit and Master Mark might want to keep the names they are
used to," and here he looked at both of them, who nodded in
agreement, "but what about the rest of us?  What should we
call ourselves?  It seems as if a family name befits free
men, women, and children."  The assent to that statement was
vigorous, and there was a general discussion.  Several
possibilities were mentioned, among them "Appleby," but Mark
Appleby himself argued against that, saying that it would be
more a mark of their freedom to have a name not connected
with someone who had, at some point in the past, legally
owned them.

Finally, Cassius made the suggestion that carried the day.
He rose and said, "Why not 'Seaward'?  It is a good, simple
name, and seems fitting.  We are of Seaward, so let that be
our name."  There was a general murmur of discussion again,
and the motion carried unanimously.  For a week thereafter,
the people found both sport and pride in solemnly addressing
one another as "Mr. Seaward" or "Miss" or "Madame Seaward."
The name fit and it felt natural.

All that summer of 1863 and into the fall, rumors came to
Seaward of a strange new warship used by the rebels, a ship
that could rise and fall in the water, actually sinking
beneath the waves for some period of time to attack an enemy
unseen.  Some rumors reported the sinking of such a craft, a
sure sign that it was unreliable--if the rumors were true.
At other times reports came of successful attacks on Union
vessels by this unheard of "sub-marine" warship.  The people
of Seaward did not know what to believe, and the watches on
cemetery and pier now kept anxious eyes on the sea itself
for signs of moving metal monsters in the deep.   One bright
spot in the war news was Union capture of Morris Island in
the harbor in the fall of that year.  Bit by bit, the Union
was making headway.

However, the people's fears concerning the underwater vessel
were confirmed in February of 1864 when news followed after
the flash and rumble of a battle near Charleston.  A rebel
underwater vessel had not only attacked but actually sank
the U.S.S. Housatonic.  Some were inclined to panic and
think it meant the beginning of the end for the Union cause,
while others thought it an isolated incident that could not
continue, for how reliable could a vessel be that sank
intentionally?  It turned out that those in the latter camp
were correct, and there were no more serious underwater
assaults on the Union vessels.  The mysterious vessel seemed
to have vanished.

The cycles of everyday living continued on Seaward; children
grew, crops grew, the yearly round of fruiting and harvest
came and went.  The fighting off of Charleston seemed
endless, and fruitless.  More ships arrived, more soldiers
came, and expended effort and lives without success against
the formidable walls of the city and harbor's defenses.  In
the neverending cycle of attack and retreat, attack and
retreat, neither defenders nor attackers fully realized that
an arrow was pointed at the back of Charleston and would
soon begin moving with alarming speed through the heart of
the south, pointed right at the city's spine--and that arrow
was named General William Tecumseh Sherman.  As 1864 moved
into the fall, that fate was already on its way from the
west, as Sherman marched through the South wreacking havoc
on areas hitherto untouched by war.

Children grow by leaps and bounds because we do not notice
the little, everyday changes.  One warm fall day in 1864,
their day's work completed early, Appleby and Troy took a
walk around Seaward by way of relaxation.  Having a time to
relax and reflect, they saw the younger children playing on
the lawn of the main house and marveled at how they had
grown.  Blossom and Battle were toddling, while Haven, Free,
and Priam were of an age to be bossy over their younger
relatives.  The mothers kept a close watch on the group,
shelling late peas while sitting on the verandah.  Troy and
Appleby frolicked with the youngsters, giving horsey rides
on their backs, the complicated relationships of sons and
daughters, grandsons and granddaughters, nieces and nephews
seeming unimportant in the playful, tumbling mix of multi-
hued little bodies.

Dusting themselves off, laughing, Troy and Appleby continued
their walk, crossing over to the eastern side of the island.
There they found the older children, except for Apple who
was, with Hyacinth, watching her child back on the lawn.
There were Marcus, closer to fourteen now than thirteen,
Rain, Wat, Frederick and Douglass in a tight span of eleven,
twelve, and thirteen, and even Moss who had seemed like such
a baby just yesterday was already ten years old.

Coming through a tangle of trees and onto the high side of
the beach, Troy and Appleby found the older group swimming
in the sea, and all of them naked.  The two men sat on the
beach to enjoy the spectacle.  Splashing in the water,
running on the beach, the lithe, naked bodies exuded animal
good health.  Sea water glinted on thin, muscular bodies and
sparkled in many kinds of hair:  brown or black, curly or
straight or tight peppercorn kinks.  Each boy sported a
partial erection, brought on not only by the nakedness all
around them but by sheer good health and exercise.  Marcus's
penis was thick beneath a bush of curly brown hair, Rain had
a small triangular patch of tight kinks where her thighs
met.  Wat's golden brown penis was sticking straight out
from beneath a waving, small shock of black hair, and
Frederick and Douglass had sprinklings of tight peppercorns
above slim, bobbing dark brown rods.  Only Moss was entirely
smooth, little buds of breasts and slightly swelling hips
showing promise of future development.  From light brown
through golden brown to deep chocolate, the skins of the
young people made a beautiful palette of color.  Their body
outlines were sinuous curves, rounded lobes of muscle,
ridges of muscle already showing the promise of strength to
come.

The youngsters stopped in their play when they saw the
adults and waved, encouraging them to join them, standing
with arms around waists and shoulders of their friends--
which did nothing to discourage the boys' erections.  But
Troy and Appleby shook their heads, smiling.  Appleby turned
to his friend.

"You know, Troy, there was the day when I would certainly
have joined them, and taken pleasure with them and they with
me.  I did years ago, you know, with Helen and Hector, Pan
and Bacchus."  Troy nodded, remembering his own escapades.
"But there is pleasure in just seeing such beauty and
also.... you know, there is a sense in which generations
move on and, even if it is not wrong to have physical
pleasure, the same freedom we give children to grow and
explore also becomes a distance we grant them.  Well, that
was quite a little speech, wasn't it?  But I think I mean to
say, it just feels right to enjoy the sight and wish them
well and.... and think about you and me, tonight."

Troy put an arm around Appleby and hugged him tight,
nodding.  They watched the play a while longer and then
left, leaving the youngsters with the freedom and love to
pursue their own plans and devices.

Throughout the fall of 1864, Lieutenant Thomas's visits were
sparse.  His infrequent stops on the island brought news of
increasing activity around Charleston.  Farther north, Union
armies were advancing toward Richmond, the brave defenders
winning some battles and putting up stubborn resistance, but
the end now seemed assured--so much so, in fact, that
President Lincoln had been reelected in November, assuring
the continued prosecution of the war effort.  The people of
Seaward waited and hoped.  They were still able to provide
for themselves, but mail boats had long since ceased passage
in those waters.  Supplies were still adequate but slowly
dwindling.  Clothes were becoming old and worn.  The people
of Seaward by no means faced desperation or starvation, but
they looked forward to a return to normality and peace, when
goods could once more be shipped to them--from the North if
not locally.

It was in mid February of 1865 that it became clear that
some major military effort was underway near Charleston.
Few days now passed that flashes or glows of fire did not
light up the evening sky, and during the day and night alike
the long, growling roar of cannon fire was nearly
uninterrupted as it rolled across the sea from Charleston.
Then the activity ceased, and two days later a Union warship
anchored off the island.  A longboat rowed out from it
toward the pier, met by the gathered people of the island.
By the waving of his hat they could make out Lieutenant
Thomas standing in the bow.  The boat slipped up to the pier
and was secured, and the Lieutenant stepped ashore.

Looking all around, he took a deep breath and said, "I have
tremendous news.  The Confederate forces in Charleston have
evacuated.  It was finally General Sherman's approach from
the south and west that turned the trick.  Our forces never
fully breached her defenses, but they have withdrawn their
soldiers to reinforce armies farther north.  We have
occupied Fort Sumter again, and our troops walk the streets
of Charleston."

It took a moment for the news to sink in, and it did so with
a great stillness.  All the danger was now passed, at least
the kind of danger that the war had portended.  The great
struggle was over there, and it seemed as if it would be so
farther north before long.  But there was no shouting or
commotion on the island--the relief, the importance of
Thomas's announcement, went deeper than that.  Every person
old enough to understand the message gave thought in their
hearts as to what the new world before them would mean.
Maybe what the people felt was peace, and they were so
unused to having peace on the mainland that they did not
know what to do.

Lieutenant Thomas could not stay but promised to return when
he could.  When he had gone the people gathered thoughtfully
to discuss the new world that had dawned, and what their
part would be in it.  Some expressed thoughts of going
ashore, of walking freely down the street, of walking
Charleston as free men and women.  Others, including
Appleby, cautioned them that the scars of slavery were not
so easily healed, and that full acceptance of people on the
mainland regardless of color might take many long years to
achieve.  As a last gesture of the war, the people agreed
that the days of keeping watch on the pier and cemetery were
over; the sentries were called home.

As it turned out it was two months before the people of
Seaward saw Ezekiel Thomas again, so they had plenty of time
to dream, imagine, and discuss their futures.  It was late
April before Thomas rowed in from a warship anchored off of
Seaward.  Stepping onto the pier, he looked grave.

"My friends," he said, "I have two pieces of astounding
news."

"You said that once before, and it was indeed momentous
news!" said Appleby, thinking of the day on which the
Emancipation Proclamation and Marcus were both carried to
Seaward by the Lieutenant.

"Yes, and I do so again.  The good news first:  General Lee
has surrendered to General Grant in Virginia.  For all
practical purposes, the war is over.  Only small pockets of
resistance remain."  There were cries of astonishment,
exclamations of gratitude.  Then Troy asked, "You said good
news first--and the bad?"

Thomas paused for a moment, an expression of pain on his
handsome features.  "President Lincoln is dead.
Assassinated in Washington.  He died but a week ago.  We
have just received that news by telegram."  A wave of sorrow
washed over the group.  So many losses, so much death, and
such needless death for the president to have died but days
after the war was largely over.  And to what end?  Their
hopes and thoughts for a new world returned to them, and
they wondered what kind of a new day all this blood would
bring.

After the group had talked through their grief at Lincoln's
loss, Thomas raised his voice once more.  "I am here for the
night, if you will have me.  And then, I wanted to ask:  who
wants to go into Charleston?  My ship will be anchoring in
the harbor tomorrow.  It will pick me up early in the
morning, and can take a few of you if you want to go."  This
announcement, although hardly the most momentous, provoked
the most discussion.  Thomas sent the longboat back to the
ship and walked with everyone back up to the main house.
They discussed the matter as they went.  Most people
expressed some desire to go to Charleston at some point, if
for no other reason than curiosity:  to see a place that had
been held up to them all their lives as a place of danger
and risk.  But they agreed that only a few should go the
next day.  And after some discussion it was decided that
Appleby, Troy, Portia, and Cassius would go.

The next morning, those four rose early with Thomas, who
slipped from Pan and Bacchus's bed to prepare for the day.
They were on the pier in good time for the longboat to take
them to the warship.  Unused to such a large vessel, the
four imagined they had been transported to a strange and
magical place; and they likewise presented quite a spectacle
for the sailors onboard.  Making up a head of steam, the
ship made it into the Charleston Harbor quickly, and
anchored off the pier.  A longboat was put over the side and
Lieutenant Thomas and the four from Seaward were delivered
to a pier.

The same pier, it turned out, that the Hesperus used to use.
The same pier on which Appleby had first met Troy and Hector
years ago.  Appleby thoughtfully led the way down the pier
toward the harbor buildings.

It seemed as if there were few major changes to buildings.
In the streets were some blue uniformed Union soldiers,
regarded with suspicion by many of the locals.  But there
seemed to be little damage that might be attributed to war.
Most of the damage had been to the fortifications farther
away from the center of the city.

Walking up from the harbor into the town, the four from
Seaward moved as if in a dream.  And then, gradually, they
began to probe.  Troy stopped some of the blacks to ask what
they did now that they were free, where they lived, how they
felt.  The reactions were as varied as you might expect from
any group of people.  Some continued to serve their old
masters, some were trying to find a way to earn a living on
their own, some were preparing to leave--all valued their
freedom but none found their lives especially easy since
emancipation.

They passed Horatio Smith's old law office, but it seemed
dusty and closed; had he served in the army far afield?  Had
he survived the war?  They passed the old gathering hall for
the Militia, flooding Appleby with memories of his careful
stratagems and of Robert Ashley.  Turning down a side
street, looking and remembering, Appleby froze.  It was a
street of slave markets, and he knew it contained
McGillicuddy's market--where Portia and Cassius had been
bought and sold so many years ago.  He made half a turn, but
there the brother and sister where, stock still, right
behind him and looking down the same street.

"Let us see," was all Cassius said.  So they walked the few
blocks with great apprehension.  Coming to the place, they
nearly missed it.  The sign was down, the door chained and
locked.  All was quiet within, and only an air of desolation
and abandonment coming from the glassless windows gave any
witness to what had happened there.  It seemed like the
breath of the dead past.  The same was true for the other
slave markets on that street.

And so round and round the town they walked.  Everywhere
there were signs both of poverty and new enterprise, the
failure of old hopes and the dawning of new ones.  But the
more they walked, the stranger a place it seemed.  Memories
settled on them like dust, but like dust they shook them
off.  Charleston had survived and would survive and would be
a great city again--but it was clear that it was no place
for them.

As they walked back down the streets toward the harbor,
Ezekiel Thomas spoke up.  "I have another announcement" he
said.

"Oh dear!" cried Appleby, "Your announcements are so risky:
either wonderful or terrible.  Which is it this time,
Ezekiel?"

"You must be judge of that," he said, with a smile.  "This
is the last day of my commission in the Navy.  I have met
the terms of my obligation and am free.  Now, when I return
you to Seaward.....may I stay?  I mean, for good?"

The group stopped still on the first planks of the pier,
looking with surprised astonishment at their friend.  By way
of answer, Appleby enfolded the lieutenant into his arms,
and then Troy, Portia, and Cassius joined in likewise.  It
was an utterly scandalous sight to the passersby, black and
white, to see such a mixture of people embracing in public.
Sensibilities, black and white, were shocked by the
spectacle.  Did they know what they were seeing?  that it
was love and freedom?  that it was the future?