Chapter 22: Dawn

Two days later, I really got to test my wellness and fortitude. It was late in the afternoon when I heard the whip crack and the scream of pain. Off to my right, in what appeared to be a fruitful hollow, spread a plantation with a big main house, a double row of outbuildings and a cluster of slave quarters. I rode over out of curiosity in time to hear the whip and the sharp outcry again. It sounded like a young boy or a woman to me.

A saw a cluster of people in the back of the brick house, dismounted, checked the musket's pan, clamped on my bayonet and went to investigate. Again the whip snapped loudly and again there was a scream, and I was almost sure it was a woman's.

The crowd parted, and there she was, facing me, her arms tied and stretched out between small two trees. She wore only a breechclout of rags, but her head hung down and her dark hair reached almost to her waist, covering her face and her full breasts. The stocky white man behind her with the whip goggled at me when I raised my bayonet-tipped musket and pointed it in his direction.

"Drop it," I said loudly. "Or you're dead." He did, and took a step back. He was a big, well-built man, mature and wary, his hair matted, face unshaved. He backed out of the silent, black crowd and walked away leaving the long whip on the ground like an evil snake.

I looked around at the mass of black faces and found another white man sitting just on the other side of one of the trees to which the girl was tied. His legs were crossed and he held a glass of something in one hand and a large pistol in the other. He smiled at me drunkenly.

I walked past the moaning woman who was hanging from her outstretched arms, legs bent and knees almost to the ground, and stood before him with my bayonet at his throat. "Drop it," I said again and he placed his uncocked weapon on the ground. "What's going on here?" I asked.

"Punishment," he said carefully. "This here bitch," he gestured at the bound woman, "tried to run off. She refused my legit, ah, my proper commands. We can't have that, sir. No sir, not from a slave."

I looked again at the girl who appeared at least as white as I am. "She a slave?" I asked, dumfounded and probably sounding it.

"Mine," he said, "an' I can do whatever I want with her, including beating her to death if I choose." He sniffed. "An' I choose. Goin' t'do it t'day."

I looked at the young woman's back. It bore three long welts across the deep groove of her spine. "Cut her down," I said to no one in particular, and when none of the slaves moved, I pulled my little knife and cut her bonds. She collapsed to her knees, rubbing her wrists, hair still covering her face.

"What do you intend?" asked the man in the chair, crossing his legs the other way. "Are you going to steal my slave, after all I bred her; she's my git."

"You mean that you're her father?" I asked, shocked I suppose.

"Of course," he said. "Can't you see the resemblance?"

I looked at the young woman, lifted her chin and saw the mirror of the man's narrow nose and square jawbone. She sat with her knees pulled up near her chest and watched us wide-eyed, like some beaten animal.

"What do you want for her?"

"She not for sale. She needs to be broken. I wouldn't sell anyone a runaway." He belched.

"How much?" I demanded, raising my musket again and hearing a murmur behind me.

"Fifty pounds," he said with a smile.

"Ten," I replied with a smile of my own. I grounded my weapon and concentrated on bargaining, staying aware of those behind me and of the voluptuous young female moaning at my feet.

"Twenty, no less," he said.

"Fifteen, no more," I said, pulling out my heavy purse.

"Silver?"

"Of course." I poured coins out in my hand and found the amount. Killing Redcoats and successful gambling did have certain advantages. especially when you slew wealthy ones or cheated at cards.

He held out his hand, and I clinked the money into his palm.

"I want a bill of sale," I said, and he nodded to someone I had not noticed, a small, wizened white man in a black suit of clothes. He shuffled off toward the house.

"Where are your clothes?" I asked the girl as I helped her to her feet and admired her melon-shaped breasts, her ample hips and slim beauty.

"You bought me?" she said.

I nodded, and she spat in my face. Her father laughed. "Good riddance," he cried as the little man reappeared with my receipt.

A half hour later, I stopped in the woods, and we dismounted. I was riding a good-sized horse, and she was a fairly light woman, but the animal still deserved a rest. I had enjoyed riding with her between my thighs, my hands and the reins in her warm lap.

The young woman sat in the shade, her homespun dress pulled down between her long legs. She was barefoot. She had said nothing so far.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Ain't got none," she said with an angry look. "He called me girl; called all a'us girl."

"What name would you like?"

"Dunno, ain't thought on it."

"Think on it. Why'd you spit on me?"

"Cause I hates you, all you white men. What 'chu gonna do to me?"

"Why was he beating you back there?"

"I run off, wouldn't hump him an' his frens like he wanted. Didn' get far."

"Hump him?"

"You know, swive, only he wanted, well, I wouldn't do it."

"He said he fathered you?"

She nodded. "Half the girls back there's his'n, boys too. He sells the boys."

"I'll free you first chance we get," I told her. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

"Free?" she asked. "Me?"

"Why not. I don't want no slave."

"You paid him money, a lot a'money, fifteen pounds."

"I think he was glad to get shet of us both."

She nodded, wrinkling her forehead, making a very small smile.

"Think you ought to have a name I can put down when we find a courthouse."

She nodded again and lifted her chin. "What name you like?"

I ran a long list of names through my head and looked at her while I did. She was a very handsome young woman, well built, strong and healthy, her breasts and hips stetched the cloth of her thin dress. "My mother's sister's name was Sarah," I said. "That's in the Bible, that name."

"Sarah," said the girl. "Hm, I knew a girl called Dawn. She's dead. I thought that was pretty, Dawn."

"It is," I said, admiring her long legs and lush mouth. She pulled her dress back up on her shoulder covering a dark nipple that had crept out. I felt the urge rising in my belly and was happy to recognize it.

"I'll think about it," she said, standing and brushing off her seat.

I helped her up on the horse, and I walked for the next few miles watching her fine body bounce and her well-muscled legs grip the big animal; then she walked, and I rode and watched her hips roll and hair bob along on her strong, stripe-marked back. By sundown we had reached a small settlement, and I bought some food and found a man who would sell me a horse and saddle if I did not ask too many questions about where they had come from.

The girl and I camped by a small stream, cooked up a passable rabbit stew, divided a small loaf of bread and then I shared a pipe with her, keeping my aching member comfortable, resting well down my thigh.

"Names?" I said. "You made up your mind?"

"Dawn," she said, dimpling.

"Fine," I said and spread out my bedroll. "You sleep and I'll stand watch for a while. I think somebody's been following us."

"Who?" She looked around, obviously fearful. Her jutting breasts rose and fell rapidly. She grabbed my arm.

"Don't know, maybe your father. Does he have some other white men that work for him, horsemen?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. There's a family, Hatcher, old man, the one that was whipping me, and his three boys, big, hellions. They work for him. He let's 'em at the girls sometimes an' watches what they does."

"Could be," I said, hefting my loaded and primed musket and clipping on the huge bayonet. The woman looked at the blade and licked her lips.

"He sometimes gives 'em girls as ree-wards, young girls" she said, glancing down at my blankets.

"She's right," said a voice, and a man stepped out of the shadows and into the spare light of our campfire. He was a big young man in a loose hunting shirt, and he carried a large-gauge, double-barreled shotgun. "I found 'em," he yelled, looking back over his shoulder.

"Run," I cried as I pulled back the flint, fell to the ground, rolled over and fired. Birdshot pellets whipped into my breeches' leg and dug up the dirt beside me, but my ball hit the man just about at his belt buckle and jarred him back, spouting dark blood and looking surprised. The shotgun's other barrel went off harmlessly toward the moon as he fell, kicking. Cut leaves filtered down.

Out of the woods came another young man with an old scattergun. I jumped and sprawled behind a log as his weapon boomed. I felt a stinging at my scalp as splinters flew. I jumped up and ran at him, hoping I had seen only a single barrel. I had, and he threw his weapon at me just before I bayoneted him where he stood, gaping at my bleeding face. I pulled out my blade and stuck him again, higher. Blood poured from his mouth as he fell, writhing and crying, "Paw."

I looked around, no girl. "Dawn," I yelled.

"Over here," came a female voice. "With the horses." And then, "No! No! Get away!"

I crashed through the underbrush with my empty musket and found her wrestling on the ground with a white-shirted, heavy-set man who was grunting with exertion and steadily cursing. I kicked him a couple of times in the kidneys, and the girl pulled herself up, panting, her dress almost torn away from her back. The man came to his feet with a roar, "Where's my boys?" he yelled at me, his breath rich with whisky. "I heard them shotguns."