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.