Timstown, Mississippi Territory, the United States of America

November 11th, 1791

James River felt a lurch on his fishing rod and yanked it hard. The bamboo rod shuddered from his strength, but it bent flexibly to respond to his commands. A fish was pulled out of the water from the hook on the rod's fishing twine and landed softly onto the nearby grass. James unhooked the fish from his rod and smiled at his success. After inspecting his catch for some time (he was unable to tell exactly what it was, but it was definitely food), he tossed the fish into a worn out wooden bucket. Inside the bucket were five fishes of various types and some water, his contribution to the Timstown "meal bank." Since Timstown was forced to be self sufficient on its own due to the "exile" of all its inhabitants, every able-bodied person within the town carried out their part to ensure that no one starved. People received their food from the food bank, carried out their tasks (since James worked on a plantation back in North Carolina, he helped tend the crops during the harvest and pre-harvest season and fished during the winter), and fortified their settlement. While attacks on the settlement were not common, they tended to happen out of the blue (mainly from some Native Americans that were hostile to their presence, though most were friendly). As a testament to that, an old musket (used during the Revolutionary Wars, a "belonging" that he got to keep after the rebellion's raid of the New Bern armory) sat on the ground next to him as he fished, just in case he encountered some hostile Natives. The noon sun shined down on his dark face brightly and he bathed in the warm sunlight while fishing.

After fishing for two more hours (during which he caught six more fishes), he stood up, grabbed his gear, and walked southwards toward Timstown. Before he did, he looked at the river one more time and smiled. The "Yellowbush River" (AN: known as Yalobusha River in our history) was the first thing the settlers saw when they first arrived at the location of their new settlement. A long river that spanned as far as the eye could see, it was a river that provided water and food for the inhabitants of Timstown. James remembered the feeling he had when he saw the river and was informed by a soldier that he was now free from this point onward (as long as he remained within this location). He felt liberated and truly free to carry out his own destiny. He no longer needed to toil away on the fields, fretting about how much food he would receive every meal. Instead, he was free (mostly free) to go about his life as a freedman: hunting, fishing, farming (out of his own free will), reading (a few freedmen in Timstown knew how to read and taught the others as best as they could with the a hundred or so books they brought along), and living. That was why he decided his last name was "River;" it was the sight of the Yellowbush River that helped him realize that he was now a freedman.

Of course, life wasn't easygoing in Timstown when the fifteen thousand slaves first arrived. They were given necessities such as food, tools, weapons, and utilities to make a new settlement (which he was told that President Jefferson secretly provided for them so they wouldn't die out here) and live out their lives in the middle of nowhere (though he knew he was still within the United States, in a placed called “Mississippi Territory”). However, the first year was a particularly rough time for the newly freed slaves. Families ran away in order to establish new identities and start fresh elsewhere (despite previous warnings), with a few returning after several weeks due to starvation and wounds (given to them by hostile Native Americans or bandits). Harvest season began right when they arrived, meaning that they had to ration their supplies extremely carefully and ensure that the working adults were fed first (and to save up food for the winter). This led to a few dozen people dying of starvation. A vicious disease ravaged some of the more exposed members, killing hundreds in a matter of a month. Morale was at an all-time low as the winter set in, even as the settlement took shape and (some) people had a warm place to sleep in. If a Marine hadn't delivered a letter from Timothy (the namesake of the town) to the freedmen, James was almost certain that the settlement would have fallen into total anarchy.

But Timothy (bless his heart) sent a passionate letter to the exiles. He stated that he was currently in prison for his part in the rebellion, along with several of the other rebel leaders. Other rebel leaders were executed by hanging for more serious crimes, such as murder. James was saddened and angered to hear that Charles, the one that convinced him to join the rebellion, was executed for killing his former master brutally (James didn't approve the murder, but he understood that Charles' master was especially harsh and oppressive). Even so, the letter assured that the rebel leaders that were executed were tried fairly and received a swift end. That Timothy was alive was proof that the courts were not looking to execute every one of them. In fact, even after landing in prison, Timothy was living in relative comfort and was even allowed to read and write in peace (he mentioned that he wanted to get into politics in the future). He urged his followers to stay strong, even in tough times, because the president allowed them to walk away freely since he expected that they would survive and thrive in the "Mississippi Territory." The former revolutionary also mentioned that once he was released from prison, he wanted to visit them and see the community booming. Above all, he reminded them that the nation didn't abandon them. In fact, the United States believed in them (especially President Jefferson) and they were sent to the "promised land" in order to make a new life for themselves.

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The letter wasn't necessarily long, but it lit a fire under the freedmen that were formerly under Timothy's command. The men started going out in bigger groups to hunt and fish to provide more foodstuff for the settlement, while the women and children went out to gather edible plants and berries. Some freedmen ventured out and traded with nearby Natives for food in exchange for the scarce number of valuables the settlement had (beads, jewelries, and coins). Logs were cut down at a faster rate to create houses for everyone. Hostile Native American settlements were raided for additional supplies and weapons (and to secure the surrounding areas). By the time spring rolled around, Timstown was a very different place than before; a real town with a growing economy. When spring arrived, fields were plowed (Samuel Kim, the former president himself, sent a dozen wagons filled with necessities, ranging from axes to soccer balls for the children, along with some cows, horses, and pigs), the log walls were erected, and the final few houses were finally completed. After the harvests were over (the locals grew rice, wheat, corn, hay, rye, and even a bit of bamboo for furniture and tools), the food stores were filled with foodstuffs and the people of Timstown enjoyed a rather peaceful fall filled with feasts, games (soccer was enjoyed by both children and adults), and additional expansions. The population of the city was under thirteen thousand, but it was slowly growing.

James waved at a few guards standing in front of the settlement and entered through the opening while waving his bucket around. The other guards slapped him on the back and smiled as he walked away to the food bank. The streets were unpaved and the buildings looked very crude compared to the more "modern" buildings in the east, but they were certainly homely. In the background, he could make out the town's mill and the town's armory. On the streets themselves, loggers carried logs through the town to improve the inner town walls while hunters hauled off a massive bear they managed to kill. He heard a loud shout and turned around to see a group of children playing soccer in a small field set aside for the townspeople. The children were smiling and laughing without a care about the world, instead of crying and working on the fields or serving their masters. The sight warmed his heart. That was what freedom looked like. Seeing the children only cemented his belief that his choices were the right ones and he silently thanked President Jefferson for sending them here instead of outright executing them. Sure, many freedmen died due to the exile, but he also did his best to send them support and gave them an opportunity to truly live. If he could vote, he would most definitely vote for that man.

“Afternoon Daniel!" James said as he sauntered towards the manager of the food bank, "Look at the fishes that I caught!"

Daniel, a small man with bifocals, looked up from his paperwork, "Good to see you, James. How many have you caught this time?"

"Twelve! That ought to feed a few families."

"It sure will. A few of them will probably be sent to families to be eaten today, but the others will be smoked and salted to be preserved," Daniel answered with a genuine smile, "Now, as for your meal..."

The manager pulled out a few strips of squirrel meat, a large loaf of bread, and some berries. It was certainly more than enough for him to have his fill. He was also given a small cask filled with whiskey to wash the food down (the town's brewery was new and the people working there was basing their work off the books they had at hand, but the alcohol they made didn't taste so bad). After he received his meal quota, he wandered back to his house to eat his lunch.

His home was a small building in the middle of town. The houses around his home looked similar to one another and were lined up neatly fit many people into a small area. He opened the wooden doors to his home and caught a whiff of alcohol coming from one of the empty casks he had cracked open on his dining table. The house was simple, filled with only the most basic furniture and belongings: a table, a pair of chairs, a desk, a small bookshelf with three books he managed to acquire from bartering, a closet, a bed (which he proudly built for himself, though it was a bit lopsided), and a nice carpet woven by some friendly Native Americans that visited the town in the fall. He sank into one of the chairs and wolfed down his lunch. Once he was finished, he leaned back into a bamboo chair that a craftsman in Timstown built and slowly read a book about a freed slave with magical powers fighting against the "evil" British (his reading was still lousy, but he was getting better at it). Once the sun set (he only managed to finish a single chapter of the book after a few hours), he looked out of his small window to enjoy the dimmed view of the settlement. He was stuck here, but he never felt trapped or ensnared. If anything, he was starting to get used to his life here.

"Maybe I should start a family," James muttered. After all, he was living in a small (but comfortable) house on his own and he did feel lonely at times, despite his neighbors and friends. Maybe it was time to start looking for a wife and having kids. There were plenty of single women in the town, he just needed to impress them (and he was sure that his skills as a farmer and as a fisherman was bound to impress some girls).

With that final thought, he drifted off to sleep on his cushy bed made up of bamboo and hay. He had another day to enjoy tomorrow.