Date: Sun, 22 Aug 2004 19:12:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation war clouds 11

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 eleven

For a week, Appleby and Troy spent most of their time on the
verandah of the main house at Seaward, or resting in bed,
barely able to move.  Their torsos were mottled with ugly
bruises from broken ribs--but they were thankful none had
penetrated any organs.  Although nothing else was broken,
every inch of their bodies ached from being slammed into the
sea in the sinking of the Hesperus.  Their emotions had been
slammed just as hard, and unlike their friends they could
not vent their feelings in work.  Grief at the loss of Priam
was overwhelming, at first even eclipsing the joy and relief
at the letter that gave news of Marcus's safe passage to the
North and enrollment in the Union army.  Burdened body and
soul, Troy and Appleby rested or rocked, and often when on
the verandah one of them would reach over and close a hand
over the hand of his friend, silently squeezing it in mutual
pain and sympathy.

The lifeboat from the old Duchess of Kent, wrecked over
eleven years ago, had been moved from the east side of the
island to the pier.  Not as large as the Hesperus, nor with
a cabin, it nevertheless had a single, small mast and two
small sails and could be taken out onto the sea if
necessary.  To save coal for the Harmony, this boat was now
taken out to intercept the mail ships.

But time and the support of the rest of the people on
Seaward began to do the work of healing.  Three days after
Priam's passing, as Troy was helped off to his cabin by
Athena and Apple, Appleby himself turned to go inside the
house and up the stairs to bed.  Hammond had been waiting
just inside the door for this, and tenderly took Appleby's
arm, helping him as much as he could even though any
movement of his torso brought pain.  Leading Appleby into
his bedroom, the husky black man pulled the shirt off of him
and gently removed the poultice wraps around his ribs.
"Dang, masta, you sure got bruised!" said Hammond, tenderly
sponging off the bruised skin as he prepared it to be
wrapped up again.

"I know," said Appleby.  "It hurts too much to laugh about
it, but not enough to cry.  I guess it gets a little better
every day, but not much."  Hammond finished the new wrap and
turned down the sheets.  Appleby groped in the direction of
the bed for a moment.  "Wait a minute, masta," said Hammond,
and slid down Appleby's trousers and undergarments.  "Now
sit," he said, which Appleby did.  The big, strong black man
pulled off clothing and boots, ever so gently, then lifted
Appleby's legs to help him get into bed.  Panting with the
strain, eventually he lay on the sheets, naked, and thought
of Troy who must be undergoing the same ordeal in his cabin.

Hammond sat by Appleby on the bedside, brushing the long
brown hair out of his face and swabbing his forehead with a
cool, damp cloth.  Appleby smiled at him and, reaching up,
gently grasped his hand.  "Thank you, Hammond," he said.
Then in a moment he chuckled.  "What's funny, masta?" asked
Hammond.  Turning a little, wincing, Appleby said, "I
forgot...I need to pee....Ah!" he gasped in pain.

"Naw, suh, wait right there," said Hammond, as Appleby lay
back against the pillow.  Hammond brought out the chamber
pot and placed it on the bed, at an angle, between Appleby's
legs.  Hesitating, Hammond gently grasped Appleby's penis
and pointed it into the pot.  "Go ahead, masta," he said,
and after some effort to begin a flow in an unaccustomed
place and position, a stream came out strongly, ringing in
the pot as it landed.  After the last squirt and a moment's
wait, Hammond shook Appleby's penis, milking it a little of
the last drops of urine.  Involuntarily, his penis reddened
and stiffened a little, beginning to rise.

Hammond chuckled and kept a grasp on the rising rod as he
leaned down to replace the pot under the bed.  "I guess you
not in too much pain for that, masta!" he said.  Appleby
chuckled as well.  "Old Adam rising up, I suppose, Hammond.
I think this is the longest I've been without sex in eleven
years!  Although....I can't move!  There's not much I can do
about it now!"  The black man and the white man looked at
each other chuckling.  But Hammond kept a gentle grip on the
stiffening rod--indeed, he tightened his grasp--and began
slowly, slowly sliding his hand up and down it.

Appleby sighed.  "Ah, Hammond....that feels so good.  But I
can't move a muscle!"

"Well....don' have to, masta, I'll do that," he said.
Gently, carefully, Hammond sat down again on the side of the
bed and bent over Appleby's cock.  He lowered his head over
it, engulfing the cockhead in his thick, full lips, nibbling
the end as it emerged from the foreskin.  Appleby sighed
again and slid one hand down to caress the top of Hammond's
close-cut chocolate head, with its tiny snakes of black hair
twining every which way.  It was a new experience for
Appleby, who was accustomed to being active while having
sex.  Now he simply lay there, perforce, waves of pleasure
washing down from Hammond's moist mouth over the rampant
dick, washing down into his loins.  Like a kettle simmering
toward a boil, desire built to a higher and higher level in
Appleby and then boiled over and out.  Unable to push or
squeeze, he sighed, called out Hammond's name, and let his
semen simply flow up and out.  The accumulation of several
days' worth of seed was a copious amount, and Hammond was
put to work sucking and swallowing the discharge.  As he
finished, he cleaned off the still-rigid red rod, kissed it
for good measure, and laid it down gently against Appleby's
thigh.  Pulling the sheets up over the white man, Hammond
bent down to kiss him once more on the forehead.  Appleby
was already slipping away into sleep as Hammond put out the
light and tiptoed from the room.

The Third Battle of Seaward Plantation began a period of
isolation, anxiety, but also resolve.  For a few days
afterward the community was often alarmed by the sound of
gunfire on the pier, only to discover that whomever was on
watch was simply blasting away in anger at Confederate
flotsam on the waters--it was a way to vent rage at the
attack by the Saluda.  Indeed, if Troy and Appleby were
weighed down by physical and spiritual woes, the rest of the
community had turned grief and fear into fierce resolve.
Gentle arguments arose over who would be allowed to keep
watch, so eager were the people to do something, anything,
to repel attackers and to keep free the paradise for which
Priam had died.  Working on the plantation into the evening,
the people practiced military drills and shooting even into
the night--no waiting for thunderstorms any longer!  Cass
made a mighty effort to overcome her own desolation; keeping
Seaward safe for the rest of the community became her
purpose in life, and began to pull her through the grief.
And there was new life to look forward to welcoming, as
Athena, Portia, and Helen began to grow more every day in
their pregnancies.

Appleby gave brief thought to lodging a complaint with
authorities in Charleston against Robert Ashley--now utterly
perished--for attacking him, but he decided it would be
useless.  Robert would never have done such a thing without
backing from the military and civil authorities, and a
protest by Appleby would have gone unheeded.  Indeed, when
Hector and Cassius sailed out to meet the northbound mail
boat the day after the attack, they discovered no mail at
all was coming from Charleston, although it still came in
from farther north.  When this pattern continued for a week
and more, they gave up trying, and intercepted only the
southbound mail for Charleston.  It was clear that Seaward
was now discovered for what it was, an enemy to the cause of
slavery, and that it was isolated from its neighbors.

Newspapers from the North, arriving on the mail boat,
brought news of the increasing pace of the war.  A battle
had been fought near Manassas, Virginia, along the line of a
creek known as Bull Run.  Beginning skirmishes occurred in
mid-July, with Confederate forces inflicting defeat on Union
forces, which retreated on the twenty-first of July.  This
news did not especially cheer the people of Seaward; hopes
of a quick Federal victory had dimmed.

From the cemetery outlook, it was clear that shipping
continued unabated in and out of Charleston.  Every day
Appleby wondered where the Union navy was and whether
Charleston would be blockaded by the Federal forces.  One
moonlit night the cemetery lookout came down to report the
sight of two armed warships steaming between the island and
the outer banks, and into the harbor.  Although one could
hardly call them a fleet altogether, it was clear that they
were on the Confederate side and that they were gathering
there for the defense of shipping and the harbor.  Such a
sight was to be repeated a few times during the next three
months.

Thinking about the matter, discussing it among themselves,
the people of Seaward decided that the possibility of Union
warships appearing, the need to protect the harbor and its
shipping first and foremost, and ultimately the
insignificance of their island compared to what it would
cost to take it in the face of armed resistance was probably
keeping the enemy at bay.  Certainly the fact that warships
had slipped into the harbor under cover of darkness bespoke
some amount of caution on the part of the military in
Charleston.

However, two incidents in the weeks following Priam's death
both alarmed and reassured the islanders.  First, one
evening the cemetery alarm bell began ringing.  Apple and
her troops were actually on watch, and sent Wat running as
fast as he could to notify the adults who were already
coming up the hill: a medium sized boat was approaching from
the east, seeming to head straight for the island.  Three of
the group went running to the pier to man a cannon, ready to
load and fire it should the eastern landing be a diversion.
The rest of the community seized arms and took up covered
positions on the eastern side of Seaward.  By the time they
were in place, the drama had reached a crisis.  Attempting
to approach the island stealthily, a sail vessel with a
company of Confederate soldiers on board had indeed glided
past the line of buoys, but just as it did so there was a
loud grating sound.  The vessel had run aground on the reefs
or rocks on that side of the island.  The Seaward army
needed no second invitation.  Their Sharps carbines were
able to produce a withering blanket of lead, especially for
trained and serious marksmen--and no soldier was ever more
serious than were the people of Seaward who were fighting
for survival.  Under a hail of gunfire from the beach, the
men on the boat were able to push and row her off the rocks
and limp away, albeit with casualties.  The people of
Seaward felt reassured by this incursion, for they reasoned
that the vessel would report that buoys did indeed mark
dangerous waters--and of course, the crafty islanders had
strung buoys all around the island except for the western
approaches, even in safe waters, to deter passage.  It
seemed as if the ruse would work even better now.  Also, the
ability of the carbines to fire so rapidly relative to the
older technology common in so many Confederate small arms
made it seem as if there were more defenders of Seaward than
there really were.

A few days later the cemetery bell once again rang, then the
pier bell, signaling the approach of an enemy from the west.
Again the Seaward troops ran into position on the pier and
at the cannon.  A craft about the size of the Saluda stood
off shore some distance and fired a cannon toward the pier.
The shell tore through some trees nearby, but the shore
batteries immediately answered and the Harmony made ready to
steam out to engage the enemy.  That was enough for the
vessel, which may have been only testing defenses anyway,
and it quickly departed with no damage.  To spite it, the
Harmony churned out after it and let loose with a shot from
its twelve-pounder, but it did not land on its mark.  After
battle--was it the fifth battle of Seaward Plantation?--a
grim waiting descended on the island and its surrounding
seas--but how long could it last?  Despite the reassurance
that their defenses could repel a small armed warship, what
chance did they stand should a larger, heavily armed vessel
approach?

Into this stew of tension and fear came another letter from
Marcus.  Hector, Pan, and Bacchus had taken the lifeboat out-
-now dubbed the "Defiance" in celebration of the island's
mood--to intercept the mail boat.  They dared not fire guns
to bring the people down to the pier, and so when they
landed there was only Samuel standing watch on the pier.
Hector ran up toward the dwellings as fast as he could,
crying out "Portia!  Master Mark!" at the top of his lungs.
Appleby and Portia came running from the hay barn in which
they were putting up a new crop, followed by their friends.
This time Portia seized the letter and read it.

The letter was dated July 15.  "Why does it take so long for
mail to get here?" wondered Portia, in an exasperated tone.
She continued:  "Dear family, I am doing well.  It is a
grand adventure to be in the First Massachusetts.  We are
near the town of Manassas in Virginia.  Everyone says there
will be a battle soon...."

"Stop!" said Cassius.  "In the newspapers.....that was the
battle we have heard of, on Bull Run Creek, is it not?"  His
beautiful features were creased in a worried frown.  "What
is the date of the letter?"

"July 15," replied his sister.  "Oh my!" she gasped,
realizing the implications of the date.  The letter had
evidently been written a day or two before the fighting at
Manassas began.  The battle was over by now, and the Union,
including the First Massachusetts, had lost.  "I cannot bear
it!" she exclaimed.  Was this the last letter from her son?
It had taken weeks to arrive--where was he now, and was he
still alive?  Appleby walked stiffly to her--he could not
embrace her with his broken ribs, but he put an arm on her
shoulder, and the other women crowded around to support her.
Gathering her strength, she continued:

"I am not worried, though.  We will beat the rebels and then
when we win the war I think I will come home.  This is
enough adventure for me.  Everyone treats me very well.  I
have a friend, his name is 'Hi,' he was kept as a slave in
Virginia but escaped and is a drummer with me.  He is my
age.  We share a tent.  Don't worry about me.  I will write
again.  Love, Marcus."

A silence descended on the group.  It was good to hear that
Marcus had still been safe and sound as of the middle of
July.  But they knew that the letter had been written on the
eve of battle--and that the battle did not go well for his
side.  Was he well, was he even still alive?  His family did
not know how to feel.  But they began to scour the
newspapers for any news of battle, and especially news of
the movements of the First Massachusetts.  There was nothing
else to do but keep him in their hearts and prayers and wait
eagerly for every mail boat.

As August turned into September, and September changed with
the changing leaves into October, tension and normality
balanced each other on Seaward.  Tension came from the
ongoing uncertainty about the wider war and about intentions
on the mainland toward the island.  Twice during that
period, a Confederate warship sailing out of the harbor, to
accompany merchantmen or to prey on Union shipping, detoured
to fire off some rounds toward Seaward.  Both times the
ships were answered by fire returned from shore, which was
enough to deter further action.  Perhaps, the islanders
reasoned, authorities ashore may have been uncertain as to
how heavily armed the island was, or whether it might
already be in Union hands, and thus the Confederates were
unwilling to venture more forces in assaulting the island.
Watch was carefully kept, and there were no other attempts
to invade the island, but every day the anxiety and
uncertainty grew stronger.

Normality came from the ongoing routines of everyday life.
Fall harvest came and went as it did every year.  The people
of the island were drawing upon the carefully stored
reserves of grain, salted meats, and other supplies, but it
was clear that even with the new additions from Ashley, the
island could hold out a long time.  The seas nearby yielded
enough fish, caught in nets when no other, potentially
threatening vessels were around, to feed the island well.

Normality came with the steadily swelling bellies of the
pregnant women on the island.  Bundit took his share of good
nature ribbing, and had his share of wonder and anxiety, at
the possibility that he had fathered all three of the
children to be.  Hector, Cassius, and Appleby, the other
"contenders," also wondered and waited as the three strong
women increasingly showed their condition.

In late September, another letter arrived from Marcus.  The
relief engendered by the letter was strong on the afternoon
that the Defiance sailed back to the pier from the mail
boat.  Appleby had gone on that trip--he was by then pretty
well recovered, as was Troy, from his injuries--and had read
the letter aloud to his companions completely through by the
time they docked.  He went running up the embankment and
across the meadow to find Portia, gathering others as he
went, to share the news.  The letter was full of excitement
and lurid descriptions of the battle, but a somber note had
crept into the writing also.  The eleven year old had seen
death, and had risked it, and was beginning to see that life
was not just a grand lark.  The First Massachusetts was now
in Maryland and had been involved in some minor action here
and there along the way.  Marcus assured his extended family
of his well being, and signed off.

A chill crept into the air by late October, and the
loneliness of Seaward's isolation began to grow on the
people as the days grew shorter.  With harvest nearly over,
the pace of backbreaking work had slackened, but that toil
had proven to be a providential distraction from worry.  Now
the people increasingly began to wonder how much longer they
could hold out, whether there would be more vigorous
attacks, and whether the Federal forces would in any way
come to the area, to their aid.  It was as the first of
November came near that the war took another turn for
Seaward Plantation.

Fog had surrounded the island in the night, rolling banks of
it that hid and then revealed the sea and the land.  The
people of the island were preparing for the day when a
strong breeze from the north came down, blowing the fog
away, allowing the sun to penetrate the haze.  As the fog
thinned, suddenly the cemetery bell began ringing urgently,
then the pier bell.  The people of Seaward ran toward the
pier, arms in hand, ready to take up positions.  Even the
pregnant women came, determined to do their part in
defending the island if need be.

When Appleby reached the pier, Pan, Bacchus, and Bundit were
already there, Bundit having kept watch.  They did not need
to explain the cause of the alarm.  Approaching off the
shore, looming out of the ragged fog, was a large sailing
ship, a frigate with a long row of guns on each side, more
heavily armed than anything the islanders had yet faced.
Fear grew on every face, for their three cannon could
certainly not fight off so formidable a challenge.  Appleby
put the spyglass to his eye, then gasped loudly.

"What is it, master?" asked Hector.

Appleby took a moment to answer--he was overcome with
emotion.  Putting the glass down, he looked around, and then
smiled brilliantly.  "It is a Federal warship.  By the name
on her bow and stern, the U.S.S. Congress.  There is a Union
flag flying from the mizzenmast.  I think we are saved, but
let us see what develops.  I think we had better lay our
weapons aside, but keep them near to hand."

Excitement and expectation jolted through the group as the
frigate came nearer.  There was another strong push of wind,
and as it did its work out on the sea there were revealed
three, then four, and possibly more warships now standing
farther off, holding their position between the island and
the mainland.  The Congress slipped closer, then there was
the sound of iron grating and creaking as her anchors
dropped and she came to rest offshore, now near enough to
see sailors on her deck.  A longboat was put over the side
and manned.  Oars began waving rhythmically at its sides as
it moved toward the pier.

Appleby stepped toward the end of the pier to receive their
guests.  The longboat came nearer and nearer, then slid into
place.  Troy and Hector caught ropes thrown to them to
secure it to the wooden uprights.  Once stable, a tall, thin
man of middle age in an officer's uniform stepped onto the
pier, followed by another, younger officer and two Marines.
The middle aged man stepped up to Appleby and offered him
his hand firmly but warily.

"I am Captain Samuel DuPont of the United States Navy," he
said.  "I command this squadron," he continued, gesturing
behind him at the ships riding out on the sea.  "Do I have
the pleasure of addressing Mark Appleby?"

"You do, sir.  Welcome to our home, to Seaward Plantation."

DuPont appraised Appleby frankly for a moment, then shifted
his glance to take in the group behind him, on the shore and
at the cannon.  He looked Appleby in the eye again.  "You
have some influential friends in high places, sir," he said.

"Ah, no doubt you mean Uncle Gideon.  Yes, kin on my
mother's side, even if he does hail from Connecticut.
Well....I wanted to make sure that our position was
understood and not... not exploited, sir," Appleby said,
holding DuPont's gaze.

A wintry smile crossed the officer's face.  "Yes, it never
hurts to have the Secretary of the Navy in the family.
Secretary Welles has made sure that your situation was
explained to my officers and myself, sir.
Nevertheless....it sounds fantastic, sir.  Am I to
understand that you are an officer in the South Carolina
Militia?"

"No longer, I fear, sir," said Appleby, "and only as a ruse
to protect this island.  We have engaged the naval forces of
that very Militia several times, sir, and sunk one of her
vessels.  We are eager to have your protection and to
cooperate with you.....but not to be occupied."  Appleby's
tone was cordial but firm.

DuPont's eyebrows rose.  "Indeed?  I can see that much needs
to be discussed.  I must tell you, sir, that the military
objectives of this fleet must be my primary concern.  That
need not be opposed to your interests, but I place them
above your interests.  Whether we can reach a cordial
understanding and mutual accommodation of those
objectives.... well, we shall see, sir.  Will you tell me
about this place and show me your fortifications?"

"Very willingly sir, and if you and your men will lunch with
us we should be honored.  Your men in the longboat, they may
come ashore or we will bring refreshments down to them,"
said Appleby.

"Very kind of you, sir," replied DuPont.  "Those aboard the
boat will remain here.  This," he said, turning to the
younger officer, "is Lieutenant Ezekiel Thomas."  Appleby
shook hands with the young man who appeared to be no more
than twenty-five if that, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a
frank, honest expression on his face.

For the next two hours, Appleby took DuPont, Thomas, and the
two Marines over the entire island, showing the cannon and
other fortifications, the stone armories, the dwellings and
work buildings.  Appleby introduced the people of Seaward as
they went, introductions that seemed to puzzle DuPont and
Thomas.  As the tour ended, Appleby and the two officers
seated themselves around the table in the main house for a
simple lunch, the Marines eating as they stood guard on the
verandah.  DuPont cleared his throat, hesitated, and then
spoke.

"You....you seem to be on very cordial terms with your
slaves, sir."

"They are not my slaves.  They are my friends, fellows, and
comrades," replied Appleby, holding DuPont's gaze.  A moment
passed.  The officer nodded.

"I see.  Somewhat like Mr. John Brown, some years ago.
Well, I do not pretend to understand it, but that is not my
concern.  It will come as no surprise to you that Union
forces are now moving by land and sea to restore this area
to Federal control.  It will not be easy.  I fear it will
not be quick.  I must be reassured that this is not any sort
of harbor for rebel forces.  I propose, sir, to leave
Lieutenant Thomas here, as your guest if you please, for one
week while he observes your activities and explores more of
the island.  At the end of a week I shall return and revisit
the matter.  I am hoping that we can achieve an
accommodation."

"Very well," said Appleby, "I'm sure Uncle Gideon hopes so
as well."  That trump card's play was not lost on DuPont,
who allowed the shadow of a smile to cross his face.  "Of
course," he replied.  "I shall return to my ship, Lieutenant
Thomas's bag is already in the longboat."  DuPont rose and,
both officers thanking Appleby for his hospitality, they
made their way back to the pier.  The lieutenant's personal
effects were handed out of the longboat and then it rowed
back to the Congress with DuPont.

The lieutenant had said very little the whole morning.
Turning to him now, Appleby said, "Well, sir, and welcome.
Pan, Bacchus," turning to the twins, "would you prepare a
room on the second floor for the lieutenant?"  They agreed,
and went back up the hill to shift around the occupants of
the now-full bedrooms.  "Where are you from, sir?" Appleby
asked.

"Maine, sir."  Thomas had a youthful voice to match his
appearance.  "I have only just received my commission."

"Ah, I see.  Well, Maine is famous for its mariners.  I am
originally from Massachusetts--likewise famous for its
seagoing men."  Thomas smiled at the implied connection,
nodding.  "Well, Lieutenant Ezekiel Thomas, would you like
to see more of the island?  It is open to your inspection,
sir, we have nothing to hide from you."

"Perhaps I will stroll about on my own this afternoon, sir,
if I may."  Appleby agreed, but the two walked together back
toward the dwellings.

"Sir," began Thomas, hesitantly, "if I may ask.... are you
really on quite an equal footing with your slaves?  Beg
pardon sir, your servants....I mean, the....the people
here?"

"I am," replied Appleby frankly.  Then he stopped and turned
directly toward the young officer.  "You will find in your
week here, sir, that we do not live as others do.  We are
open and accepting among ourselves.  We do not draw
distinctions of color, except to delight in them.  We do not
keep others only to ourselves in marriage or for intimate
relationships--relationships of any sort, sir," he said,
looking pointedly at the officer.  "You may as well know
that from the start.  You do not have to approve, but you
should know what we are.  You should know that, because of
what we are, we are no friends to the society," and here he
gestured toward the mainland, "that would enslave, censure,
or even kill us if they could."

Thomas looked shocked, then thoughtful, then guarded in
stages.  He simply nodded to indicate his reception of the
information.  Appleby encompassed the island in a sweeping
gesture and said, "Examine us to your heart's content, sir.
Please do knock and gain admittance before entering anyone's
home.  We will have an informal supper in the main house and
would be pleased if you would join us, sir."  Then he walked
off to do his work, leaving Lieutenant Thomas to wander the
island.

Which is precisely what he did.  He found Athena sweeping
the porch of her cabin.  Pausing to wish her a neutral good-
day, he was surprised to find her welcoming him and
inquiring as to his home and family.  Beyond that, he was
simply astonished to find that she was quite aware of Maine,
its location, towns, and principal industries, from her wide
reading in the library and in newspapers.  Coming upon the
children at watch in the cemetery, Thomas found them able to
discuss the types of ships that passed by on the horizon,
the Latin names for the birds that flew overhead, and the
scientific names for the kinds of clouds scudding by--all
from their own voracious reading in the library.  Passing by
the vegetable fields, he found Appleby working side by side
with Hector and Bundit.  If the Africans of Seaward were
something of a novelty to him, Bundit was even more so.  By
the time the dinner hour rolled around, Lieutenant Thomas
was beginning to wonder what brave, new world he had chanced
upon off the coast of South Carolina.

Appleby watched Thomas carefully during the simple supper.
The officer missed nothing, seeming to take note of every
interaction, every comment, every hug or arm around a
shoulder or light kiss.  He settled into a rocker on the
verandah as the twilight deepened.  Little Moss toddled up
to him and, with the trust and assurance of acceptance that
children seem naturally to have, she crawled up in his lap.
At first he regarded her as if a phoenix had landed on his
knees, then tentatively at first and finally with more ease
he put his arms around the little girl.  He gingerly
inspected her hair while she inspected his short, blonde
hair.  When the child scrambled down to go to bed, Thomas
watched her depart with a gentle smile on his lips.  He
turned to Appleby, who had seen every move.

"Sir, you are right.  This is a remarkable place.
Different.....very different from any place I have ever
known.  There is freedom....and strength as well, in the
people here."  Appleby nodded.

"I hope that you find the atmosphere congenial.  And that
you are able to report to Captain DuPont that we have every
reason not to support the Confederate cause."  At that
point, the conversation was interrupted by the opening of
the door from the house.  Pan and Bacchus stepped onto the
verandah.

"Lieutenant Thomas, sir, we were about to draw baths for
ourselves and then thought that you might appreciate one as
well.  May we...may we show you the bath room, sir?"

Thomas looked surprised, considered the offer and accepted.
"Yes, thank you, that would be very welcome after a long
day.  If you will excuse me, sir," he said, rising and
nodding to Appleby, who likewise rose to return a bow.  Pan
led the officer inside.  Bacchus, a few steps behind, turned
to Appleby and shot him an enormous wink.

"You wouldn't!" hissed Appleby, not knowing whether to be
amused or appalled.  Bacchus leaned toward him and
whispered, "As we did for you the first night; remember?"
Appleby choked down a guffaw as Bacchus slipped into the
house to join Pan and their guest.  Appleby settled into the
rocker, chuckling and shaking his head.  He hoped the twins
had either not misread their man or had the skills to
overcome any hesitancy he might have....but he had a feeling
that the day was not nearly over yet for Lieutenant Ezekiel
Thomas of the U. S. Navy.