CHAPTER 18. TRUE LIGHT.

January 18, 1788.

"Perchance are we truly to be the first settlers of this continent? We—who, by fate's will, or if you prefer, by our own will, have been rendered wretched and... exceedingly despised by human society, criminals!" said a nineteen-year-old youth, whose name was George Bannister, his voice barely audible in the immeasurable gloom, long before dawn, as his heavy chains clanged ponderously.

"Criminals? What is virtue to some is vice to others! Great Britain asserts that we have violated her laws, but before that, did she not violate the laws of nature? She, by plunging us into a state of poverty, inadvertently, or most likely, intentionally, forced us to commit crimes… Perchance, would you have, according to your own accounts, been compelled to steal cotton stockings, a child’s cloak, a woman's skirt, and a linen dress on a certain well-known April day in 1784, for the sake of your existence, for the sake of your life, if you had lived… if not in abundance, then certainly not in want?!" said Thomas Restell Crowder with an exceedingly trembling voice.

"Silence, youth! You are too young to discourse on the future!" hissed Samuel Day, irritated. "The new continent calls us to a new life! By dispatching us to these uncharted expanses, Great Britain has thereby granted us not only clemency, but also, what is important, an exceptional chance… a chance of reform! But you today… for some reason, you speak of criminals, and consequently of crimes, and consequently of the past! Look around—there is no noose about your neck…"

"But my hands are in chains!" George Bannister cried out hotly.

"Youth has two most significant problems: the first is an unwillingness to listen to the reasoning of seasoned men to the end… the second is an unwillingness to reason! You should learn to reason, fool! And if you do not wish to reason—learn to listen! Criminals! You call us criminals when that name should be left in the past! Would it be appropriate to call David, the King of Israel and Judah, considering his past, a shepherd? Of course not! So leave, oh, leave this label, this designation in the past—a new life awaits us after a few hours: you are no longer a condemned thief, youth…"

"But I am not yet a settler either!" the young George flared up, shaking his chains heavily.

"Ah! What kind of life awaits us? Better than the present, or… worse? Today we have arrived in the unknown, where we are most hospitably met by… immeasurable uncertainty! Shall we live in wealth, or shall we be ascetics…" Robert Bayles interrupted his exceedingly melancholic speech due to objective factors.

"No, I have no intention of being a priest where complete, absolute freedom is possible. We shall become… and if you do not wish it, then I will become one, alone!… new Adams, and, to our greatest fortune, there will be many lovely Eves among us who are currently on board the Lady Penrhyn… Civilization! It can grant us only fetters—freedom for us is possible only outside of civilization… only where we can build our own civilization! We—who were destroyers in the former world, within the confines of the Old World… shall be creators in the present world… in the True Light!…" Charles Johnson interrupted Robert Bayles' melancholic speech with indescribable rudeness, after which, in turn, his sonorous words, the sonorous words of the latter, were interrupted by a question, which, it must be admitted, was quite dignified, from Thomas Kelly.

"But in what Light are we now, while in fetters?"

"Fetters?!" Charles Johnson cried out mockingly. "And you call this fetters? These clots of perishable matter? The only substantial fetters for a human being can be his thoughts… and nothing else! Look at your hands! Look at these chains! Is there no certainty in your heart of a swift liberation? Is it not known that you will soon be liberated? It is for this very reason that you have been sent to these places—to be freed! You are always free, of course, if your thoughts are not shackled by something! Is there no certainty within you…"

"I am in chains today, and therefore… can I be certain of anything? If the ship goes to the bottom today, will my certainty that I will soon be freed save me from death?" quoth Thomas Kelly, in no way doubting his convictions.

"The high priests perished, but the church—it lives and exists quite successfully. And so it is with us, like the high priests…" William Stanley said, barely audibly.

"Silence! Silence and… do not deprive my being of sleep!" John Caesar roared ferociously. "By depriving my being of sleep, you are not only depriving me of my freedom, which is currently subject to me, but you are also distancing me from future, imminent, impending freedom!"

"Come now, don't get heated, John! We have had a difficult time of it here already… and we, it must be admitted, are now quite used to it! Perhaps, John, this is our last night in the hold of that ill-fated and, at the same time, fortunate vessel, and, consequently, in chains, and therefore… do not be angry at this youth and allow him to reason a little: to take advantage of that single gulp of freedom that is still at his disposal… Is it not, is it not, John, that the condemned have a legal, natural, and consequently justified right… to devote their last night in prison to contemplating the future?" Ralph Turner said in a pacifying manner.

"Enough words!" John Caesar insisted.

"But… but we have defeated confinement!" Ralph Turner continued relentlessly.