windar
Teller of Tales
Alicia has an 'oops' moment
Barb isn't the only one who tries hare-brained, doomed-to-fail escapes.
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Visiting The Jackson Plantation
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Barb isn't the only one who tries hare-brained, doomed-to-fail escapes.
Jon Smithie
Tribune
I'm so glad there's fight left in Alicia! I was hoping she might attempt an escape. I wish that she hadn't been left shackled by her ankle, though; that seems far too kind. She deserved to be set in the stocks (hands and feet) or even left suspended by her ankles, upside down. I'm looking forward to seeing what the morrow brings, even if Alicia isn't.
Wise man.... it's been known to happen.
See? You can't teach an old dog new tricks
Hmmm. I wonder if that will do the trick? She might still be quite a handful in the Big Apple.
(Actually, Wragg old boy, I'm not sure that was quite the right expression!
)
Barb isn't the only one who tries hare-brained, doomed-to-fail escapes.
Watch it, Goldman !!!!!! 
He doesn't seem to be getting out of the doghouse anytime soon...View attachment 526700 Watch it, Goldman !!!!!!
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 12- CONTINUED
The next morning at breakfast, Bill and I discussed the options for Alicia’s punishment. “Normally, I’d have a slave whipped at the post for attempting to escape, a good several dozen lashes,” he told me. “But we don’t want it to get around that she’s here, so something that public isn’t possible. I think the best option is a sound caning in the shed.”
I remembered the canings we had given Lizbeth and Patsy and how erotic that had been. “How many do you think she should get?” I asked. “I don’t think a dozen is enough for an escape attempt.”
“I agree,” Bill said, “I’d say three dozen or even four would be normal, but that will leave her in bad shape for a week or so and you want her to travel in a few days. In the circumstances, I think two dozen seems appropriate.” That seemed sound to me, as well.
Alicia looked very frightened when she saw us entering the shed. She knew that this was to be the moment of her punishment and that she had every reason to expect it would be very severe. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either, out of worry over her fate.
Instead of confronting her immediately, I went to the cabinet and tested out a few canes, selecting one that seemed to be the most flexible, testing it by swishing it through the air. Then I walked over to confront Alicia. “I have considered your actions and what punishment they merit. You have shown that you are not yet ready to be an obedient slave. It is sadly necessary to break through your stubbornness and impress upon you once and for all what your station in life is and how you must behave. I am going to award you two dozen strokes with this.” I held the cane close to Alicia’s face so she could get a good look at the instrument of her punishment.
The girl sank to her knees and began pleading, “Please, Master Robert, don’t do that to me. I beg you. I’ll never try to escape again. Please.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
It was a heartrending performance, a naked slave girl on her knees begging for mercy and my cock responded to it. But I steeled myself and told her, “It’s too late for that, girl. Now, stop that bawling and get up or I’ll add another dozen. Reluctantly, she suppressed her crying and stood up.
“Over to the sawhorse,” I ordered, pointing at the solid oak caning frame, “And be quick about it or there will be consequences.” Shuffling her feet in a feeble show of resistance, she made her way over there. George and Philip stood next to the apparatus, smiling. George shoved her gently forward until her mound was touching the crossbar. Then he knelt and grasped her ankle, moving it next to the ring in the floor and tying it securely. Philip did the same with the other ankle. Then, they moved to the front and tied her wrists to two other rings in the floor.
I admired the sight of Alicia, once a plantation mistress, now naked, bent over a bar, her legs spread and her waist bent, such that her cunt and asshole were on full display. I contemplated fucking her right then and there, but decided that business must come before pleasure. Resolved, I gripped the cane firmly, drew it back and whipped it forward across the cheeks of Alicia’s buttocks, setting the fatty globes to jiggling.
As the pain hit her, I saw her entire body tense, her arms and legs pulling hard on the ropes that held her in place. A bright red wheal arose on her ass, looking more prominent against her pale skin than the wheals had on Lizbeth and Patsy’s darker skin. The second lash caused more desperate struggles and a second wheal across those delightful cheeks.
The third stroke caused a loud, long moan to escape her lips. By this point, the sights and sounds of this erotic spectacle had brought my cock to full attention. Nevertheless, I ignored the ache in my loins and continued on with the punishment, delivering a fourth slashing blow across her ass, causing her to almost jump, at least as much as was possible given the bonds that held her in place.
The final two lashes of the first half dozen had her sobbing, “Oh, Master Robert, please. I can’t take any more. Please, for the love of God, stop.” Her butt was criss-crossed by six bright lines. There seemed little undamaged flesh left to strike and she still had 18 strokes to come. They were going to hurt like the fires of Hell, I suspected.
Tired and distracted by excitement, I asked Philip to administer the next six. This he did in exemplary fashion, each one eliciting a loud scream as the rattan struck skin that had already been abraded by the earlier blows. One could see fluid, mostly clear but tinged with red in a few spots, welling up from a number of places where the flesh was particularly badly abraded. And she was only halfway through.
I walked around to the front and knelt so that I could look her in the eyes, which were filled with tears and seemed barely able to focus on me. Mucus was dripping from her nose and saliva dripped from her mouth. She was gasping for breath. “This is what happens to slaves who try to escape,” I told her. “However, if you ever try it again, this will be as nothing, I assure you.” My cock was aching inside my trousers but I did not want to pause the punishment she had so clearly earned.
Bill stepped forward to take the cane from Philip to administer the next six strokes. I thought he wouldn’t hit as hard as the large Negro, but his skill was such that the girl’s screams were almost deafening. Her ass by this time was quite a mess, with blood now trickling from several spots. I feared she would pass out, but Alicia was strong and stayed conscious. She had stopped begging by this point, realizing its pointlessness and focusing her strength on getting through the ordeal.
I thought she was probably adequately punished by that point, but I had ordered two dozen and felt that I would look weak if I didn’t follow through with the complete quota. So I watched as Bill handed the cane, streaked with Alicia’s blood, to George to deliver the final six strokes, which he did in exemplary fashion. When he finally gave the twenty-fourth, the girl lay across the bar too exhausted even to cry.
By this point, my penis was throbbing, aching for relief. As George put the cane down, he asked, “Should I untie the girl, Massa Robert?”
“No, George,” I replied, “I have further business with her and that position is most convenient.” I began removing my clothing and was naked in seconds, my erection standing up like a Grenadier Guardsman. I didn’t care which hole I went into and her cunt seemed the quickest, so I positioned my cock at the entrance, thrust it home and began rutting like a dog in heat. The sight of the battered and bruised flesh of her ass raised my excitement even higher and it wasn’t long before I felt the semen leaving my balls and shooting out of my penis and into Alicia in great waves of pleasurable contractions.
Finally, I withdrew. I saw that Bill was already naked and as hard as I had been a few moments ago, so I stepped out of the way to allow him access. He was quickly inside Alicia and was pounding into her much as I had done a few minutes before. I went over to George and Philip and told them that they were welcome to have a turn as well. They both began disrobing in anticipation, appearing just as excited as I had been.
Soon, Bill was groaning and thrusting hard, before his body went rigid with pleasure as he released inside Alicia. He lay there for a few moments savoring the pleasure, before withdrawing to allow the two slaves their turn.
George asked me if he could take her in the ass. “I don’t see why not,” I replied. He didn’t even bother with oil, just spat on his hand and rubbed the saliva on his erect member and stuck it straight up Alicia’s butthole. The site of a black penis in a white girl’s ass violated every taboo of Southern society, but none of us cared. Well, perhaps Alicia did, though it seems that by this point she was too overwhelmed to notice. Once George was done, Philip took his turn, electing to use the more usual route.
Fully satisfied both with the punishment and the reward afterwards, we got dressed. Bill treated all of us, free men and slaves, to a glass of whisky, before I sent George to untie Alicia and lay her on the floor on her stomach and chain her ankle to the post. Her ass looked pretty bad. When we got to the house, Bill dispatched Lizbeth and Patsy to tend to her wounds.
Over the next three days, the two slave women tended to Alicia, slathering her ass with a cream that the slaves used to heal the wounds from the floggings they suffered on a routine basis. By the third day, thanks to their good efforts, Alicia’s wounds had healed sufficiently that she was able to move around though with some soreness and was able to put clothes on over the sensitive flesh without too much trouble.
The time had come to say my goodbyes to Bill and to the many of his slaves who had made my visit special-including Lizbeth, Patsy, George and Philip. We arranged a sort of hammock for Alicia in the carriage, since sitting as the vehicle bumped over rutted roads all the way to Charleston would have been hell for her. Then I climbed in and George got on top and off we rode.
The next morning at breakfast, Bill and I discussed the options for Alicia’s punishment. “Normally, I’d have a slave whipped at the post for attempting to escape, a good several dozen lashes,” he told me. “But we don’t want it to get around that she’s here, so something that public isn’t possible. I think the best option is a sound caning in the shed.”
I remembered the canings we had given Lizbeth and Patsy and how erotic that had been. “How many do you think she should get?” I asked. “I don’t think a dozen is enough for an escape attempt.”
“I agree,” Bill said, “I’d say three dozen or even four would be normal, but that will leave her in bad shape for a week or so and you want her to travel in a few days. In the circumstances, I think two dozen seems appropriate.” That seemed sound to me, as well.
Alicia looked very frightened when she saw us entering the shed. She knew that this was to be the moment of her punishment and that she had every reason to expect it would be very severe. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either, out of worry over her fate.
Instead of confronting her immediately, I went to the cabinet and tested out a few canes, selecting one that seemed to be the most flexible, testing it by swishing it through the air. Then I walked over to confront Alicia. “I have considered your actions and what punishment they merit. You have shown that you are not yet ready to be an obedient slave. It is sadly necessary to break through your stubbornness and impress upon you once and for all what your station in life is and how you must behave. I am going to award you two dozen strokes with this.” I held the cane close to Alicia’s face so she could get a good look at the instrument of her punishment.
The girl sank to her knees and began pleading, “Please, Master Robert, don’t do that to me. I beg you. I’ll never try to escape again. Please.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
It was a heartrending performance, a naked slave girl on her knees begging for mercy and my cock responded to it. But I steeled myself and told her, “It’s too late for that, girl. Now, stop that bawling and get up or I’ll add another dozen. Reluctantly, she suppressed her crying and stood up.
“Over to the sawhorse,” I ordered, pointing at the solid oak caning frame, “And be quick about it or there will be consequences.” Shuffling her feet in a feeble show of resistance, she made her way over there. George and Philip stood next to the apparatus, smiling. George shoved her gently forward until her mound was touching the crossbar. Then he knelt and grasped her ankle, moving it next to the ring in the floor and tying it securely. Philip did the same with the other ankle. Then, they moved to the front and tied her wrists to two other rings in the floor.
I admired the sight of Alicia, once a plantation mistress, now naked, bent over a bar, her legs spread and her waist bent, such that her cunt and asshole were on full display. I contemplated fucking her right then and there, but decided that business must come before pleasure. Resolved, I gripped the cane firmly, drew it back and whipped it forward across the cheeks of Alicia’s buttocks, setting the fatty globes to jiggling.
As the pain hit her, I saw her entire body tense, her arms and legs pulling hard on the ropes that held her in place. A bright red wheal arose on her ass, looking more prominent against her pale skin than the wheals had on Lizbeth and Patsy’s darker skin. The second lash caused more desperate struggles and a second wheal across those delightful cheeks.
The third stroke caused a loud, long moan to escape her lips. By this point, the sights and sounds of this erotic spectacle had brought my cock to full attention. Nevertheless, I ignored the ache in my loins and continued on with the punishment, delivering a fourth slashing blow across her ass, causing her to almost jump, at least as much as was possible given the bonds that held her in place.
The final two lashes of the first half dozen had her sobbing, “Oh, Master Robert, please. I can’t take any more. Please, for the love of God, stop.” Her butt was criss-crossed by six bright lines. There seemed little undamaged flesh left to strike and she still had 18 strokes to come. They were going to hurt like the fires of Hell, I suspected.
Tired and distracted by excitement, I asked Philip to administer the next six. This he did in exemplary fashion, each one eliciting a loud scream as the rattan struck skin that had already been abraded by the earlier blows. One could see fluid, mostly clear but tinged with red in a few spots, welling up from a number of places where the flesh was particularly badly abraded. And she was only halfway through.
I walked around to the front and knelt so that I could look her in the eyes, which were filled with tears and seemed barely able to focus on me. Mucus was dripping from her nose and saliva dripped from her mouth. She was gasping for breath. “This is what happens to slaves who try to escape,” I told her. “However, if you ever try it again, this will be as nothing, I assure you.” My cock was aching inside my trousers but I did not want to pause the punishment she had so clearly earned.
Bill stepped forward to take the cane from Philip to administer the next six strokes. I thought he wouldn’t hit as hard as the large Negro, but his skill was such that the girl’s screams were almost deafening. Her ass by this time was quite a mess, with blood now trickling from several spots. I feared she would pass out, but Alicia was strong and stayed conscious. She had stopped begging by this point, realizing its pointlessness and focusing her strength on getting through the ordeal.
I thought she was probably adequately punished by that point, but I had ordered two dozen and felt that I would look weak if I didn’t follow through with the complete quota. So I watched as Bill handed the cane, streaked with Alicia’s blood, to George to deliver the final six strokes, which he did in exemplary fashion. When he finally gave the twenty-fourth, the girl lay across the bar too exhausted even to cry.
By this point, my penis was throbbing, aching for relief. As George put the cane down, he asked, “Should I untie the girl, Massa Robert?”
“No, George,” I replied, “I have further business with her and that position is most convenient.” I began removing my clothing and was naked in seconds, my erection standing up like a Grenadier Guardsman. I didn’t care which hole I went into and her cunt seemed the quickest, so I positioned my cock at the entrance, thrust it home and began rutting like a dog in heat. The sight of the battered and bruised flesh of her ass raised my excitement even higher and it wasn’t long before I felt the semen leaving my balls and shooting out of my penis and into Alicia in great waves of pleasurable contractions.
Finally, I withdrew. I saw that Bill was already naked and as hard as I had been a few moments ago, so I stepped out of the way to allow him access. He was quickly inside Alicia and was pounding into her much as I had done a few minutes before. I went over to George and Philip and told them that they were welcome to have a turn as well. They both began disrobing in anticipation, appearing just as excited as I had been.
Soon, Bill was groaning and thrusting hard, before his body went rigid with pleasure as he released inside Alicia. He lay there for a few moments savoring the pleasure, before withdrawing to allow the two slaves their turn.
George asked me if he could take her in the ass. “I don’t see why not,” I replied. He didn’t even bother with oil, just spat on his hand and rubbed the saliva on his erect member and stuck it straight up Alicia’s butthole. The site of a black penis in a white girl’s ass violated every taboo of Southern society, but none of us cared. Well, perhaps Alicia did, though it seems that by this point she was too overwhelmed to notice. Once George was done, Philip took his turn, electing to use the more usual route.
Fully satisfied both with the punishment and the reward afterwards, we got dressed. Bill treated all of us, free men and slaves, to a glass of whisky, before I sent George to untie Alicia and lay her on the floor on her stomach and chain her ankle to the post. Her ass looked pretty bad. When we got to the house, Bill dispatched Lizbeth and Patsy to tend to her wounds.
Over the next three days, the two slave women tended to Alicia, slathering her ass with a cream that the slaves used to heal the wounds from the floggings they suffered on a routine basis. By the third day, thanks to their good efforts, Alicia’s wounds had healed sufficiently that she was able to move around though with some soreness and was able to put clothes on over the sensitive flesh without too much trouble.
The time had come to say my goodbyes to Bill and to the many of his slaves who had made my visit special-including Lizbeth, Patsy, George and Philip. We arranged a sort of hammock for Alicia in the carriage, since sitting as the vehicle bumped over rutted roads all the way to Charleston would have been hell for her. Then I climbed in and George got on top and off we rode.
I bet she did...
Very disciplined of you.
I shall never look at one
in the same way again!
So, did it have a furry end?
That will have tickled a bit! The next bit will be very interesting indeed!
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
That is such a happy ending, Thank You
windar
Teller of Tales
It's not over yet. There is one more chapter tomorrow.
There will have to be a plot twist or two or no one would believe I wrote it, right?
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Oh Sorry I Thought It Was Finished
And Alicia Lived Happily Ever After
And Alicia Lived Happily Ever After
That may depend upon what makes her happy, if it's the same as what make you happy, Dottie, then you're right, she's in clover!
But we'll have to see what Windar has up his sleeve.
windar
Teller of Tales
Epilog New York, October 28, 1865.
In Charleston, we boarded the ship for New York. Alicia was chastened by her punishment and gave me no trouble on the voyage. Once installed in my house, I began working on my report to Mr. van Vliet. I concluded that the situation of slaves in the South could not endure forever and that it would be wise for the firm to diversify into other commodities, a decision which van Vliet accepted and which proved wise over time.
Alicia stayed with me for almost a year, occupying my bed at night, to my great delight. I fixed up a room in the basement of my house where we played now and then, as we had done on the plantation. However, the fact that she was free, and thus consenting to the beatings, lessened the thrill somewhat for me. Several months after my return from the South, I met a beautiful young woman, Katrina van Alstyne, from a prominent New York family and we were engaged to be married. I could hardly keep Alicia around under those circumstances, so I arranged a position for her as a domestic with an acquaintance in Philadelphia. I have not heard anything from or about her in some time.
I maintained contact with Bill through an exchange of letters. Shortly after I told him of my engagement, he announced that he too was engaged, to Elizabeth Carson, a young woman from a prominent family in Charleston. He continued to prevail upon me to partner with him in buying that Marston plantation. I decided that I wanted to focus on my business interests and my soon-to-be wife in New York and reluctantly declined, despite the temptations that a life as a Southern planter surrounded by obedient slave girls held.
The years passed in a blur of work and marital obligations. Van Vliet made me an equity partner in the business, which was thriving, and shared with me his long-term plan to gradually step back and leave the day-to-day management to me as the years caught up with him.
And then came that fateful day in April 1861, when the South Carolinians fired on Fort Sumter, which wasn’t that far from the Jackson Plantation. I never learned what role, if any, Bill played in that, for with the outbreak of war, communications between North and South were difficult and I lost touch with him.
Not long after, I enlisted as a Major in the Union Army. I was wealthy enough to have hired someone to go in my place, something Mr. van Vliet urged me to do. However, I had seen enough of slavery on my trip down South that I felt an obligation to join the fight personally. I fought at Antietam, Gettysburg and several other battles. How I escaped not only alive but uninjured, I do not, to this day, know, but I did. In the late fall of 1864, I found myself, by then a Colonel, attached to Gen William Tecumseh Sherman on his infamous March from Atlanta, Georgia to the sea at Savannah.
Once we reached Savannah, I spoke with Gen Sherman and told him of my old Princeton friend William Jackson and his plantation that was not far distant. The General dispatched me with a company of men to seize that plantation and those around it, confiscate needed supplies and free any of the slaves found there and recruit the able-bodied men among them to the Union Army.
We crossed the Savannah River into South Carolina and rode through ruined countryside ravaged by war, making our way to the Jackson Plantation. Riding up the lane between the two rows of trees towards the main house, my visit from almost ten years previously came back to me. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Bill. As we arrived at the plantation house, which looked quite a bit less elegant than I remembered it, a very attractive woman around thirty years of age emerged onto the porch.
“Is the owner here?” I asked.
“I am the owner,” she replied. “My husband, William Jackson, is dead. He died fighting at Sharpsburg.” That was the name the Southerners gave to Antietam. So, Bill had been one of the many thousands who died there on both sides, though in the chaos of battle I had not seen him.
“You must be Elizabeth, then,” I said. She indicated that was so. “I am Colonel Robert Owens of New York. I was a friend of your late husband’s from Princeton, and in fact visited this plantation once in 1855, before he married you.” She looked shocked to hear this, as well she might have been, for the co-incidence was quite a strange one. She would have been more shocked, I was sure, by the story of what we had done during that visit, something I did not share with her.
“My late husband spoke often of you, Colonel Owens,” she said once she had recovered from her initial surprise. “How strange that of all the soldiers in the Northern Army, it should be you that comes here.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, doffing my hat. “Indeed it is. However, despite my friendship with your late husband, I am on official business and must inform you that this plantation is now the property of the United States. I will allow you a decent period to arrange your affairs, but you will have to vacate eventually and arrange somewhere else to live. I also must inform you that all persons held in bondage here are, now and henceforth, free according to President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation.”
“I understand that,” Elizabeth replied. “Your side has won the war, or will have shortly, and you make the rules. That is how it always is.”
“Yes, that is so,” I said.
Elizabeth explained to me how since Bill had gone to war, she had valiantly tried to maintain the plantation, with the help of the older slaves, especially George and Philip, who recognized me. I spent some time with the two of them, sharing a bottle of whisky and reminiscing about the time we had all spent with Alicia. I also renewed my friendly acquaintance with Lizbeth and Patsy, though, being a married man, I resisted the temptation to share a bed with them.
Then, doing my duty, I called all of the slaves together and informed them that they were all free as of today. I told them that those able-bodied men who wanted to join the Union Army could come with us and those who wanted to remain here were free to do so. A goodly number of the men opted to join us, though George and Philip chose to remain on the plantation to help Elizabeth, of whom they were quite fond.
We rode away, back to Savannah to rejoin Sherman’s Army. In a few months, the war was over and a few months after that I was back in New York with Katrina and back on Wall Street with van Vliet. Still, I doubt I shall ever forget the Jackson Plantation and the adventures that happened there.
THE END
In Charleston, we boarded the ship for New York. Alicia was chastened by her punishment and gave me no trouble on the voyage. Once installed in my house, I began working on my report to Mr. van Vliet. I concluded that the situation of slaves in the South could not endure forever and that it would be wise for the firm to diversify into other commodities, a decision which van Vliet accepted and which proved wise over time.
Alicia stayed with me for almost a year, occupying my bed at night, to my great delight. I fixed up a room in the basement of my house where we played now and then, as we had done on the plantation. However, the fact that she was free, and thus consenting to the beatings, lessened the thrill somewhat for me. Several months after my return from the South, I met a beautiful young woman, Katrina van Alstyne, from a prominent New York family and we were engaged to be married. I could hardly keep Alicia around under those circumstances, so I arranged a position for her as a domestic with an acquaintance in Philadelphia. I have not heard anything from or about her in some time.
I maintained contact with Bill through an exchange of letters. Shortly after I told him of my engagement, he announced that he too was engaged, to Elizabeth Carson, a young woman from a prominent family in Charleston. He continued to prevail upon me to partner with him in buying that Marston plantation. I decided that I wanted to focus on my business interests and my soon-to-be wife in New York and reluctantly declined, despite the temptations that a life as a Southern planter surrounded by obedient slave girls held.
The years passed in a blur of work and marital obligations. Van Vliet made me an equity partner in the business, which was thriving, and shared with me his long-term plan to gradually step back and leave the day-to-day management to me as the years caught up with him.
And then came that fateful day in April 1861, when the South Carolinians fired on Fort Sumter, which wasn’t that far from the Jackson Plantation. I never learned what role, if any, Bill played in that, for with the outbreak of war, communications between North and South were difficult and I lost touch with him.
Not long after, I enlisted as a Major in the Union Army. I was wealthy enough to have hired someone to go in my place, something Mr. van Vliet urged me to do. However, I had seen enough of slavery on my trip down South that I felt an obligation to join the fight personally. I fought at Antietam, Gettysburg and several other battles. How I escaped not only alive but uninjured, I do not, to this day, know, but I did. In the late fall of 1864, I found myself, by then a Colonel, attached to Gen William Tecumseh Sherman on his infamous March from Atlanta, Georgia to the sea at Savannah.
Once we reached Savannah, I spoke with Gen Sherman and told him of my old Princeton friend William Jackson and his plantation that was not far distant. The General dispatched me with a company of men to seize that plantation and those around it, confiscate needed supplies and free any of the slaves found there and recruit the able-bodied men among them to the Union Army.
We crossed the Savannah River into South Carolina and rode through ruined countryside ravaged by war, making our way to the Jackson Plantation. Riding up the lane between the two rows of trees towards the main house, my visit from almost ten years previously came back to me. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Bill. As we arrived at the plantation house, which looked quite a bit less elegant than I remembered it, a very attractive woman around thirty years of age emerged onto the porch.
“Is the owner here?” I asked.
“I am the owner,” she replied. “My husband, William Jackson, is dead. He died fighting at Sharpsburg.” That was the name the Southerners gave to Antietam. So, Bill had been one of the many thousands who died there on both sides, though in the chaos of battle I had not seen him.
“You must be Elizabeth, then,” I said. She indicated that was so. “I am Colonel Robert Owens of New York. I was a friend of your late husband’s from Princeton, and in fact visited this plantation once in 1855, before he married you.” She looked shocked to hear this, as well she might have been, for the co-incidence was quite a strange one. She would have been more shocked, I was sure, by the story of what we had done during that visit, something I did not share with her.
“My late husband spoke often of you, Colonel Owens,” she said once she had recovered from her initial surprise. “How strange that of all the soldiers in the Northern Army, it should be you that comes here.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, doffing my hat. “Indeed it is. However, despite my friendship with your late husband, I am on official business and must inform you that this plantation is now the property of the United States. I will allow you a decent period to arrange your affairs, but you will have to vacate eventually and arrange somewhere else to live. I also must inform you that all persons held in bondage here are, now and henceforth, free according to President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation.”
“I understand that,” Elizabeth replied. “Your side has won the war, or will have shortly, and you make the rules. That is how it always is.”
“Yes, that is so,” I said.
Elizabeth explained to me how since Bill had gone to war, she had valiantly tried to maintain the plantation, with the help of the older slaves, especially George and Philip, who recognized me. I spent some time with the two of them, sharing a bottle of whisky and reminiscing about the time we had all spent with Alicia. I also renewed my friendly acquaintance with Lizbeth and Patsy, though, being a married man, I resisted the temptation to share a bed with them.
Then, doing my duty, I called all of the slaves together and informed them that they were all free as of today. I told them that those able-bodied men who wanted to join the Union Army could come with us and those who wanted to remain here were free to do so. A goodly number of the men opted to join us, though George and Philip chose to remain on the plantation to help Elizabeth, of whom they were quite fond.
We rode away, back to Savannah to rejoin Sherman’s Army. In a few months, the war was over and a few months after that I was back in New York with Katrina and back on Wall Street with van Vliet. Still, I doubt I shall ever forget the Jackson Plantation and the adventures that happened there.
THE END
A very good story told very well, Windar!
windar
Teller of Tales
Thank you, Tree. I really appreciate that. I realize this story wasn't most people here's cup of tea. For one thing, most stories here focus on the victim, and I wanted to focus on the evildoer, particularly since he wasn't a standard bad guy, but someone induced to do evil by circumstances that gave him power over other human beings. Though he ended up redeeming himself at least somewhat.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Well Thank You For The History Lesson
As A Brit. You Have Taught Me A Lot
And Your Story Was Just Great
As A Brit. You Have Taught Me A Lot
And Your Story Was Just Great
Gibbs505
SERVORUM DOMITOR
Indeed, not sure how I would fare as a plantation owner!
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
How come Dorothy looks thrilled at the prospect in these pics, and I look like I am about to say "Oh Shit!"???
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
How come Dorothy looks thrilled at the prospect in these pics, and I look like I am about to say "Oh Shit!"???
W ell you know i love to be snuffed my darling
and that was the only face i could find but now
i have found more there is more fun to come
at the plantation