"That's 20 lashes!" the Master called out to the crowd gathered around the slave who was getting a whipping for talking back to his Master. The year was 1705 in Virginia. Black persons were considered slaves.
The black crowd gathered around the punishment stake said nothing. All knew better then to talk back or even show tears.
As the last lashes were cast out a wagon's approach could be heard in the distance.
The Master glanced in the direction and dismissed all the slaves to the various chores they were assigned to do.
The slave on the whipping pole remained there until after the Master left. A slave would release him and tend to his wounds.
The Master, Mr. Churchtree, approached the road awaiting the wagon. Upon it he knew he'd find the lovely slave he'd purchased that morning at auction. The image of her slender body flashed across his mind. Her legs were long and sexy. Her body was trim and fit. Most likely from all the cotton she either help plant or picked. Her hair was long and curly. Even her nose was sexy he thought.
The wagon pulled up and the driver climbed down. "Your cargo is in the back," he informed Mr. Churchtree. "We've collared her just in case she thinks she can escape."
He opened the back and dropped the gate. A black woman sat on the floor of the wagon with a dog collar around her neck with a dog leash attached to it. Her clothing was a simply white dress covered in holes and dirt. Her long black hair covered most of her body with only a fragment of the dirty and torn dress showing. Upon her feet were shoes with the soles tied to the shoe several times to keep them together.
"Thank you," Mr. Churchtree told the gentleman as he handed him the leash.
"We often treated her like a dog," the delivery man told him. "Simply because she acts like one."
She climbed down from the wagon and stood as if at attention towards Mr. Churchtree.
He simply started walking and she followed. The wagon drove off leaving a dusty trail after it. Mr. Churchtree just smiled. He singled to one of the ladies in waiting he kept in the house. "Take her inside, get her bathed and dressed with proper shoes as well." He handed the leash to the slave and walked away.
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Time passed and rumors about slaves escaping their Masters rushed between the servants he commanded. An underground railroad was the main topic of conversation when out of his ear shot. None of his slaves cared for him but knew better then to talk back. So, they just did as they were told and waited for the time they'd try to escape.
They already knew that if they did escape they had to make it to the underground railroad right away. Anyone Harboring slaves within their house hold or on their property would be sentenced. The punishment was possible enslavement for the giver or 100 lashes whichever the law decided upon.
If the slave was caught there was a pretty big reward for the finder and a pretty large punishment for the slave. Most slaves had decided not to try to escape. They didn't want the party helping them to get punished should they be found and some were to old and disabled to take the chance.
Claire, however, was interested in escape. She didn't like the way Mr. Churchtree watched her. She felt as if he were removing her rags with his eyes. One day he was sure to do just that and how could she refuse him. She had always been told she didn't have the right to refuse anything a white Master wanted to do to her against her will.
Days passed. Weeks turned into months and finally the day came.
"Claire," Mr. Churchtree said to her. "We need to have a private discussion." He motioned towards his private office. She walked swiftly as she didn't wanna anger him. She'd seen him give out lashings and none of them were nice. One of the male slaves had died from a lashing given by him only a few weeks prior to this meeting. It wasn't against the law for him to beat him to death for any given reason. Slaves had no rights just like dogs and cats.
She slipped into the office and turned as he entered a little too closely behind her. He shut the door.
"Claire," he said and smiled at her. "You are a pretty thing." He ran his fingers down along the side of her cheek. She said nothing. Instead, she found herself trying desperately not to shake. His hands were cold and cruel. They carried marks with scares from all the lashing he'd given to his servants.
He reached back behind her ear and let his hands glide down her hair. "You know," he reasoned as he stepped even closer to her. Her lips were within inches of his. "We should get you some combs for your hair and some nicer clothing." Hmm...he backed away and she found herself catching her breath which she didn't realize that she'd been holding.
"I'm thinking of making you the upstairs servant." He turned and then turned back just to see how she'd react. She held herself still.
"And if I give you that job I will expect you to present yourself decently. Bathed clean, with nice clothing and good manners."
