Beauty of Man and Woman - Volume 13: Bomaw

by Mercedes Keyes

  Max now knew there was a greater hell.

  In the bowels of the ship, where they were now kept, each would have to endure the journey. At the journeys start, there had been over thirty women in their midst, towards its end, a mere seven. With little choice, the men had to sit in witness to their abuse; once more, by the ship’s crew, raped and sometimes, gang raped until they died at their abusers hands, committed suicide by jumping over board, or died of the illnesses that befell them. Not only women died, men as well, and true to the saying, only the strong would survive; only the strong did. Those that did did so even after being sick at sea, lashed by the whip for whatever whim of the captain, often entertainment motivated by boredom and drink. If that were not enough, once the horrendous journey came to its end; they also had to stand before their new possible owners in a bid war. Split off into different directions, those that survived gave one last look and farewell to a fellow prisoner.

  Hoping that surely, the worst was now over, upon reaching the plantation where they would be living, unknown to them, there was yet another horror to face.

  Chapter One

  Robinson Tobacco Plantation

  Virginia

  Little Pheybey darted about gathering Miss Suzie a fresh basket of healing herbs to be used in poultices to treat wounds on the new slaves that had arrived. The sounds of their screams from being branded with the RTP echoed through the corral where they were temporarily held; the sound of one pain laden outcry to the next brought goose bumps to the slaves that watched and heard, glad not to be the ones suffering it this time, if they were white, and happy not to have suffered it at all if they were black.

  Hearing them made her move just that much faster. Little Pheybey had always been quick, fastidious, persnickety in all that she did. No one could ever accuse her of dragging her feet. For one so young, she almost pre-empted what was needed and when, often times seeing to it before a command could be given, such as in the case of gathering Miss Suzie’s herbs. Pheybey knew just what was needed. The new slaves would be in a world of hurt. No time could be wasted, they would be weak enough coming in from wherever the master brought them from. Most come smelling horrible as could be, skin and bone, weak as babies, and a few with disease that would take them off to heaven before Miss Suzie could work her healing on them. That branding usually help to send them off the deep edge as well, they would take with fever, infection and if not strong enough, would be dead before the week was out. Pheybey stopped in her flight by the corral where the branding was taking place.

  Eyes big in her small heart shape face, she watched in horror as one of the new ones fought against his fate, she usually kept herself from the area not wanting to watch; because all would be stripped of their modesty, man or woman, no matter, so that the deed could be done.

  “Don’ fight na’!” One black slave after another called out to him. Most of them that were allowed, sat around on the corral rail, watching as they were branded, pointing out which might live, which might die, shaking their heads in pity anticipating the moment the red hot glowing iron was pressed against the skin of their buttocks.

  “Don’ fight, don’fight – ain’t gon’he’p’yah.” They tried to tell him, he wasn’t listening, too busy fighting. “Jus’ get it ova’wit!” Others called out. Pheybey stood frozen, watching as the overseers made sport of him, laughing, poking him with sticks, pulling on the rope that held his wrist bound, he was tall, lanky, skinny; no doubt starved as was most that arrived, in time, they’d fatten him up, all those that survived that is. The overseers called him names, enjoying sending someone as tall to his knees while commanding him to kneel.

  “Down yah’Irish dog! To yer knees!” Was yelled and he was kicked in the back, to land face down in the muck and mud where buckets of water had been poured on the ones before him, to cool their scorched flesh.

  Unable to bear it, Pheybey rushed onward, not wanting to see his fate as he growled, twisted and turned in the mud, trying to come to his feet, still fighting. She ran onward knowing his fate and then, it came, the lash of the whip, once, twice, three time until he cried out in agony.

  Pheybey ran as fast as her small feet could carry her to the slave quarters where soon they would be brought. Piled high in the back of the buckboard, right on top of each other; naked as the day they were born, writhing in agony. Where at each cabin, black and white slaves would take them off one by one, bringing them into the cabins they’d be staying in so that Miss Suzie could work on each, rushing from one cabin and then another, long and hard into the night and the next day to save them. She’d tried asking the master for an infirmary, he wouldn’t hear of it, wasn’t willing to waste the space for one. So rush to each cabin they would go. It was no easy chore when new ones came in; it was always more work to do when the white Irish came. They were usually beat something awful and then branded. Whereas the new Negro slaves that were brought in, they might get the occasional beating, not always and if so, it was because they tried to run; the Irish, they always took a whipping and a branding just because.

  So it seemed to Pheybey, they were especially hated by the master; he and his overseers seemed to get some strange perverse pleasure out of torturing the Irish, doing all they could to break them, it seemed to her.

  Pheybey shook her head, just didn’t make any sense as far as she was concerned. Why one white man, would work so hard to punish another. Either way, she had no time to try and figure it out, she just knew, that it was the way it was and because of that, Pheybey knew what had to be done. She would work tirelessly with Miss Suzie, running and fetching whatever she asked for. Miss Suzie depended on her, because she knew Little Pheybey had not a lazy bone in her body. Not like some, who drug their feet, whined and moaned about things that needed getting done. The way Pheybey saw it, it had to be done one way or the other anyway, might as well see to it quickly and then move on to the next.

  Because of the head count, this was going to be one busy night. The master bought ten new Irish men slaves and three Irish women; which meant, that the women would be put in where the master kept all the women; and the men with all the men, because they weren’t allowed to mix and mate. Master Robinson was ferocious about losing virgins to randy bucks as he called the men.

  The only time he allowed mating was for his own financial gain or benefit. Were he to find that a buck had taken the virginity of his females, he would fly into such a fury because that meant, he could not get as much for her if he was planning to sell her; or, if he was planning to use her to barter for favors from political visitors. If Master Robinson found that a buck had been with his females, it meant a beating. Master Robinson loved treating his men guest to a young fresh virgin were they staying the night; most of the time, if they were really pleased, they would offer a good price for her to take along with them to warm their bed in their travel. Master Robinson didn’t care what happened to her once the price was paid; she was then property of that guest. If the guest complained to the master that she wasn’t a virgin, she had better say who it was that bedded her, or else, she would get beat. Once, the master caught on that not all of his guests were honorable men, causing him to beat his female when in fact she had been a virgin. So to avoid that from happening again, the master would check her for himself that her hymen was still in place.

  The majority of the time when the master allowed mating, it was to put the white Irish women he bought with the black men slaves. The children born from them would be looked over and the especially appealing ones would go off to auction.

  Master Robins always got a good price for them. On occasion one would be seen by a visitor and purchased on the spot and taken off when they left. More often than not, he preferred children from mixes, they fetched the highest price.

  Pheybey decided that she would stay so busy, become so valuable while remaining invisible, no one would ever choose her for mating. She never wanted to mate, as far as she knew, had heard, it was a dirty, painful ordeal for the female. It was
said, that it hurt when mated with a man and hurt again when the baby came.

  Nope, she just as soon keep right on doing what she did. Knock on wood, she had lived 15 summers, that’s what Miss Suzie said, that she was fifteen summers. She’d been traded with Miss Suzie and three other slaves since she was 6 summers from another plantation to Master Robinson. Miss Suzie was like her mother in the sense that she always told her what to do, and how to get by in this world. Best way, keep busy, keep your face down, shut your mouth and keep out of the master’s sight and other slaves business.

  That plan seemed perfect to Pheybey.

  By the time she made it to Miss Suzie with the herbs, the tallow was melting; the smell of which could be picked up ten cabins away; added to it was extra dark rum and the only thing needed was the herbs that had to be ground with the mortar and pestle. Miss Suzie glanced up from the cook pot and commanded, “Hurr’ up chile, it’s gone be a long night.”

  “Yes Miss Suzie.” Pheybey answered.

  Without any more being said, Pheybey plopped down next to the cook pot, crossed her legs, placed the heavy mortar stone in the middle and began breaking and twisting the fresh leaves into it, once there was enough, using the pestle, she began grinding the herbs, forcing and extracting as much fluid as she could from them. Once it was done to the consistency Miss Suzie required, it was added to the tallow and rum concoction.

  Thirty minutes later, the branding had been done and the new women slaves were the first to be seen to. Following on Miss Suzie’s heals, not a moment was wasted to see to these new women. Each one of the three would be placed in a cabin with five other women; this was because there would be up to six per cabin. Whomever of the five that was available, would pitch in, washing the new one down, her hair, her body. They were quick because once done, Miss Suzie and Pheybey could get in there to treat her wounds, her branding. Due to the pain, most of the women fainted; each had to be brought to and given a strong shot of rum to help with the pain and maybe, help them sleep through the night.

  Lying in bed, all were nude, no clothing was yet given to them, they had to first live and if they did, then they would be given clothing, it was not unusual for one or more to fall asleep and never wake again – to survive after coming so far only to die at the end of their journey.

  With all the women done, it was time to get to the men’s quarters; same setup, six men maximum to a cabin. If they, Miss Suzie and Pheybey were lucky, there would be a cabin with occupancy for two, maybe three new ones, if so, that would save them from having to keep up with more cabins. The good thing, all was not put on Miss Suzie and Pheybey, those within the cabins had a responsibility to the new ones in trying to keep them alive. Bathing their bodies and brow with cold water to help fight the fever; while it was rare, there had been cases of some losing their minds from the fever, going so crazy that if they couldn’t be held down, the master would put them down like dogs.

  Miss Suzie gave the men, more than a shot of rum, just in case. At the third cabin of the men’s quarters, they came to the man who had fought. Miss Suzie shook her head, “Don’ make no sense t’fight. Look’a’em, they 'bout done busted one of his ribs, head split open, bruisin’ all over his body.”

  Pheybey looked him over as well; his white body was clean of dirt, as much as she could see with him lying on his stomach. The men who would share his cabin, had cleaned him up, shorn his hair to the scalp to check for mites; he had dark hair, most of them did. Some came with red hair, some on occasion, blonde, but most, black hair.

  “Think he gone live Miss Suzie?” Pheybey asked.

  “We’ah see chile, look like I’m gone have to sew up that head. Bes’ do it while he out cold. Yah’ll men there, come here sit on him while I sew his head, lessen he wake and start fightin’.”

  “Yes ma’am Miss Suzie.” Was answered and then the order done. Pheybey watched Miss Suzie sew his head closed and he didn’t make a sound, not a move. “Don’ think he gone live Miss Suzie.” Pheybey spoke her mind.

  “Might not, but we gots’ta treat’im as if he might, just in case.”

  “Yes ma’am, we do.” Pheybey agreed, watching. Miss Suzie always let her watch, figuring she just might have to take her place one day, one never knew. After all that could be done for him was done, Miss Suzie ordered the men. “Watch’im close, keep’im cool. You need to come get me, come right on, don’ wait to no last minute.”

  “Yes ma’am, we come for you right away.”

  Table of Contents

  Copyright,

  Thanks to…

  Dear Amber Swann Publishing Inc. ie; Mercedes Keyes - novel readers....

  The Beauty Of Man & Woman

  Previously, from… Volume Twelve

  Series 13 - Episode 103 - Chapter 309

  Series 13 - Episode 103 - Chapter 310

  Series 13 - Episode 103 - Chapter 311

  Series 13 - Episode 104 - Chapter 312

  Series 13 - Episode 104 - Chapter 313

  Series 13 - Episode 104 - Chapter 314

  Series 13 - Episode 105 - Chapter 315

  Series 13 - Episode 105 - Chapter 316

  Series 13 - Episode 105 - Chapter 317

  Series 14 - Episode 106 - Chapter 318

  Series 14 - Episode 106 - Chapter 319

  Copyright

  Soairse excerpt