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.