The Watchman's Grace

by Craig Johnson

“If you want to enjoy the privileges of working here, you must prove that you are worthy! Many of the wenches working out in the fields would take your place in a minute! So just do as I say, and there will be no trouble. That is, unless you want to visit the stocks for a big whipping!”

  Maria trembled in sheer terror at his brutal assault. Streaming tears of fear splattered on the desk as he proceeded to take the blouse from her tense body. Harriston took no notice of her fright as he pulled a worn skirt to the floor. Now in undergarments, she desperately appealed to her wicked aggressor.

  “Please Master Smith, I beg you, please let me go…”

  “Stop your squawking you ungrateful bitch!” the red-faced defiler screamed out. “I own everything on this plantation, so you just do as I say! Do you want me to slap some sense into that thick skull, you stupid darkie?”

  Pushing her forward while kicking out his chair, he forced her youthful figure to bend over the desk’s broad surface. Perspiring from his efforts, he positioned himself behind Maria before he dropped her underpants.

  Bending over his prostrated victim, Harriston Smith prepared to satisfy months of pent up frustration in one moment of instant gratification. Dropping heavy trousers to the floor in a clumsy heap, he moved in to finish his sordid attack.

  “What in the name of God are you doing there!” screamed out a familiar voice from the doorway, freezing his lusting advance upon the prone Maria. Harriston looked up to face a fiery Darlene Smith, hands firm on her haunches. “Let that woman go you bastard!”

  Quickly Maria scampered past Master Smith’s enraged wife, clothes clutched firmly in hand. Harriston Smith was without satisfaction or defense, a scenario he could not envision just moments before.

  Moving into the room, she stopped a few feet in front of her shocked husband. “Look at you, so pathetic it is mortifying! You continue to bring so much shame on this great house! Have you anything to say for yourself?”

  Harriston knew at this point any words would be cold comfort. “I am so sorry Darlene. I let my urges overtake common sense, and for that I have deep regret.”

  Darlene continued standing with her arms folded in controlled anger. “How easily you forget the order of things here! Harriston Smith indeed! You were a jumped up nobody from outside proper society before my foolish decision to let you in! Daddy may have been right in a lot of things, but when he chose you amongst all those true gentlemen that came courting, it was his one major mistake.”

  Harriston’s wife struck a hard blow to his fierce pride. “Now hold on Darlene! How dare you question my background as if I were a common beggar? I had a first class education at the University of Georgia, where I studied…”

  “…how to become a social climber of dubious integrity!” Darlene finished off. “I should have trusted my instincts when I first met you. Your eyes are a giveaway. Those soulless black coals have no remorse, just an unsettled hunger. And I’ve overheard as much at those precious balls you so crave. Oh yes, they say one can only look a moment into your eyes before turning away in fear!”

  “Darlene, I know you must be very upset with this situation, but don’t spoil all we have over one damn nigra woman! They are chattel to be used for our enrichment, and nothing more! I can’t talk sense with you now, so I will leave you to cool your head. You’re still my Darlene, and together we are still the jewels of White Rose Plantation, damn it!”

  She watched her husband put on his trousers before walking straight past, not daring to look into her furious face. Harriston was angrier with being caught than the vile nature of his intent. Naturally to him, he needed an outlet for his overwhelming embarrassment. Another damn slave made taller by his do good wife! She was dangerously close to becoming a nigra lover.

  Now having reached his limits, Harriston decided the balance of power at White Rose must be restored, Darlene’s empathies be damned. It was vital that everyone at White Rose knew he was still the real power in their domain. Yes, time had come to kill two birds with one stone.

  Of course, he knew of another issue, an illegal act no less, committed on the grounds of White Rose in days just past. Armed with this knowledge, Harriston decided to perform an act which would leave no doubt as to the true order of things at White Rose. And it would happen this very afternoon.

  *****

  May’s sweet blossoms scented over sweaty Saturday air all about the plantation. Fortune thanked goodness for small pleasures like these while he toiled in unyielding bondage. Even better, he had not seen Mister Whip doing his morning stroll today. Hopefully he was in town with his Missus, leaving each worker with one less matter to worry their tortured minds.

  Fortune worked with his usual vigor until well into afternoon. When he spied the cooling trough getting low, he found a filling bucket. Upon returning to his work area, Fortune continued forging implements for King Cotton’s bountiful fields. It was perhaps a short hour later when he felt a steady gaze closely watching his progress. One learned to be alert in this environment, so by instinct he wheeled about to face whoever was marking his activities.

  “Master Smith, sir,” called out Fortune, immediately recognizing Mister Whip. “Is there something I can do sir?”

  Harriston Smith glided closer to Fortune in silence. As he approached, a wicked smile began to contort his pencil-thin lips. On reaching close proximity, he began with a simple phase.

  “Mighty hot day, isn’t it Fortune?”

  “Can’t reckon it’s any different than the others sir.”

  Shifting his posture into a more aggressive stance, Harriston Smith’s voice took on a serious tone. “Fortune, I have to say something that pains me greatly. I hear you are getting uppity with the rest of the slaves around here. Is that true?”

  A bewildered Fortune replied in puzzlement. “I don’t understand Master Smith. Who has been talking this?”

  “I don’t want to get into that. A gentleman never reveals sources. So just answer me. Were you getting uppity with the slaves at White Rose? Didn’t I warn your black ass before that no one, especially a darkie, should stir up trouble here? And this is how you treat my goodwill?

  “I give you all better than you could ever imagine! So why are you trying to ruin the harmony of White Rose? What’s the burr that stuck your heal and stirred your words?”

  Fortune was at a complete loss for Mister Whip’s sudden aggression. Thinking harder under extreme stress, he thought of just one reason. Mister Whip must have found out about his reading studies. If so, he would have to face the consequences, with his very life in the balance.

  Fortune knew it was illegal for him to read and write. Furthermore, if a Colored person taught another, it was deemed to be in the same vein as planning to escape. It was an act punishable up to and including by death.

  Meanwhile, an impatient Harriston could wait no longer. “I said boy, for the last time, have you been getting uppity?”

  With fierce insistence in his voice, Fortune knew no matter his reply, Mr. Whip would furnish some form of punishment. Though he was not about to let any other person, especially the good grace of Nathaniel, be put in harm’s way. He carried on speaking in his expected manner.

  “Sir, I don’t know what you be speaking. Honest as day, Master Smith! I can’t answer what I don’t know.”

  Harriston remained silent, scanning Fortune’s face with those dark pearls for any signs of guilt. One hand gently stroked his mustache to affect studied contemplation.

  “Fortune, you’re a good worker; I don’t mind saying so. But lately I am sensing something else, like you’re getting cross-eyed with me. Are you angry with me Fortune? Have I done you some wrong? If so, say it now.”

  “No sir! You treat all of us real well. You be one of the good ones.”

  Providing what appeared a convincing response would have satisfied any other inquisitor. Though in this instance both men knew this c
onfrontation had been building for some time. Master Smith was hell bent on exacting revenge for an imagined affront to his authority.

  “Now listen here Fortune. I’ve been nothing but gracious with every slave here. All I have ever asked in return is respect. That means no lies, and no stirring up the good tidings at White Rose. But if it’s trouble you want, trouble you will get. Isn’t that fair?”

  The pace of Fortune’s heart quickened. He was being pushed into a corner from which escape was not possible.

  “But sir, I…”

  Fortune was quickly interrupted by a diabolical retort. “Listen you dark fool! I am not here to debate! I have it on good word that you’ve been breaking the damn law no less! Did you really think you could try learning to read without me knowing?

  “And don’t bother your fool head figuring out who said what, because it could have been anyone. If there is one thing that Harriston Smith stands for, it is going by the rules. And you will too, even if I have to learn you hard. Willis, Tommy, get over here!”

  Fortune’s heart beat so fast he could feel its clenching in his stale throat. Every second Fortune’s conscious kept asking the same question. Who spied on him learning at Nathaniel’s side?

  Then he felt a bitter remembrance choke his will. He could only recall Ginger seeing him leave Nathaniel’s cabin, though how could this make sense in light of her last words? More confused than before, Fortune hoped whoever the turncoat was had not delivered Nathaniel. There was no way at his advanced age he could survive harsh punishment. This in his truest heart would be the biggest shame of all.

  Regardless, heavy physical punishment now waited to be meted out. In his deepest convictions, Fortune knew he was a naive player in this macabre charade. The quickening point was hastened on by a whipping judge, unseen jury and shadowy witness. Today, Mister Whip was determined to exact a verdict of excruciating pain to satisfy every perceived transgression till now.

  “Willis, Tommy, listen up! I don’t want to waste any more of my time! Take Fortune from the work area here and bring him outside to the whipping post area near this barn! And you better not make a fuss Fortune, or I’ll get my gun and make quick work of you. I’ve had it, damn it!”

  Willis’s and Tommy’s roughened faces were fixed in eager anticipation. Ruddy complexions which had born witness to many a harsh indiscretion readied again to satisfy their bloodlust. Under such odds, the die cast low chance for any compassion.

  Eagerly they came to each side of Fortune and locked his arms tight before forcing him towards a small patch of grassless hard dirt. Even though it was close by the barn in which he toiled endless days, he had barely noticed its presence until now.

  Once they stopped beside the solitary post in the middle of the patch, Fortune gave a desperate glance around. Surely this was the end game sought by Mr. Whip! For now it appeared even his many yeoman efforts could not overcome the true ambitions of Harriston Smith. As a dark, billowy cloud darkened the good earth below, even the sky above shielded its everlasting eyes.

  “Tommy, tie him to the whipping post now!” screamed a red-faced Harriston Smith. “Willis, get all those fools that work near him to gather around here. I want to show them how I take to breaking rules. No uppity darkie is going to put a splinter in the tender foot of White Rose. There is no way no how. Crimson will be running hard on its petals before that day comes!”

  Mr. Whip tensed the thick weathered mass of worn chocolate leather in his sweaty hands. One could barely notice the faint perverse smile outlined on his pursed lips. Fortune sensed the stinging agony of what was about to unfold. But he was made of much stronger fortitude than to plead for the acidic mercy of this foul creature. If the Creator had written his last stay on this tortured earth so tartly, he would not give this brutal beast the satisfaction of begging.

  Snap! Harriston coaxed his strap’s hard form to attention. As supreme tension stilled the blood of those forced to witness this spectacle, Fortune’s lithe body became one with a raised wooden stump. Anguish beyond the threshold of any casual human would surely be surpassed; another life to be taken in sanctioned murder.

  “Look here you all! I am a man of honor. I have treated you with the best I could give to any servants on any plantation in the South. All I ever asked was for my rules to be obeyed. Is that too much to ask? But Fortune here thinks he is above you all.

  “What kind of damned fool makes it bad for the rest of you? Fortune does because he is selfish. I will say this just once. If someone else tests my rules again, any heart I once had will be gone. Whoever breaks the rules should be ready to meet their Maker. You all understand?”

  Witnessing this injustice before them choked the response of every servant. Through years of personal experience, each spectator knew Mr. Whip to be anything but a fair person. With all evidence to the contrary, it defied logic for Mr. Whip to pretend he did not engage in bloody murder before today

  But now was not a time to challenge his homicidal nature. Protecting their own skins, reality silenced supporting words for their defenseless peer. It would do no justice to add another innocent to the maimed. So with stiffened necks bowed by coercion, they stood as forced witnesses to these harrowing proceedings.

  Harriston took their silence as approval. “I’m glad you all have the common sense to know right from wrong. I don’t want to take you away from your doings for too long, so I’ll get on with things here. Tommy, Willis, we ready now?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be Mister Smith,” grinned Tommy.

  Turning to a stunned audience, Mr. Whip began shouting loudly. “I will have the truth beat into him for all to witness. And let this rest in all your minds for all time! Say your name out loud for all of them to hear. I said say it boy!”

  Instantly Fortune’s brain harkened back to a comforting image of his homeland. Fond memories, locked in the far recesses of a tortured mind, protected his remaining sanity. It also gave him a measure of true identity amidst this violent environment. He was known as a just leader, wise beyond his youth. And a noble’s blood still coursed through every inch of his tested body. None of this could be taken from him by the pale man. So if he was going to his Maker, he would do it with honor.

  With dignity matching the anguish of his fate, Fortune defied a long standing rule of plantations, screaming out his Ehra birth name. “I am Kigwa! I was born proud and free. I was deceived by a trusted aide and sent in chains across the Great Ocean to Georgia. I am Kigwa! From the hope of many Ehra guided the mind of a prince that is me.”

  Harriston Smith was suspended in disbelief by this impassioned proclamation of Fortune’s native origin. Despite the aims of plantation culture to eliminate all vestiges of a servant’s past, he called out his true African name in plain defiance.

  Here was an embarrassing situation which showed not all recollections could be coerced from these kidnapped peoples. Collecting himself, Harriston moved swiftly to enact his planned punishment.

  “Fortune is your name now!” he hissed loudly.

  Surprisingly, this fateful moment rekindled a thirst for independence within Fortune. His very essence yearned, no demanded, a return to a rightful inheritance of freedom. Blood would stream to mingle with gritty earth. But regardless of the cost, Fortune determined to shed not one salted tear.

  Harriston Smith steadied for maximum leverage before delivering his first stinging lash. On initial contact, there was no loud yell from Fortune’s tensed lips, just a hardened, suppressed grimace. The searing punctuation of brittle leather on beautiful soft brown skin made for startling contrast. Elemental pain need not be imagined, for every servant gathered on this late spring day knew firsthand the violent cycle of plantation life.

  With each searing lash, there forged a conviction within Fortune like no other. Tiny ripples of essence spilled gently to the quenching dirt, marking this horrible moment in burnt crimson. One grimacing impact
followed another in quick succession, with crackled chocolate leather landing each strike to supreme effect.

  But if Mr. Whip could see Fortune’s face, he would soon realize this man’s will could not be vanquished. For as each lash landed, three short sentences dripped repeatedly from creased, crackled lips.

  “I am Kigwa. I am a noble. I will survive.”

  It was truly incomprehensible how any man could withstand the physical anguish of such brazen torture. With the precision of a human pendulum, Harriston Smith reeled back his braided serpent, now encrusted in particles of flesh, blood and natural sinew. As he thrust his frame forward, the velocity sprang his whip downwards in a blurring collision with tender skin. As one lash ended, another began in a macabre tango of ultimate punishment.

  Then, during the harrowing throes of his fifteenth lash, a piercing shriek came from the direction of White Rose’s main house. It grew with increasing urgency, drawing closer to this despicable scene.

  “Please stop Harriston! Stop this minute! Stop this minute Harriston!” As the words became discernable, Willis frantically waived his arms to catch Mister Whip’s attention.

  “Look Mister Smith, it is your wife with some matter!” hollered Willis. “She has some bother sir!”

  Harriston was in throes of surging adrenaline when his eyes caught the desperate gesturing of Willis. He came to an abrupt halt before delivering another punishing blow.

  At that moment shrill commands continued. “I will have no quarter with such cruelty on this day Harriston! Stop beating Fortune now!”

  Upon hearing these pointed feminine words, Mister Whip spun in the direction of the main house. Darlene Smith had catapulted her slender frame down a well-trodden path in the manner of an avenging warrior. Drawing ever closer, the context of her heightened words were made plain to all.

  “Stop the whipping at once Harriston! Have you lost your sanity? This is not proper on such a lovely day. What has Fortune done to warrant this? He’s a good worker!”

  It took a few moments for Mister Whip to decide whether to pay heed or continue experiencing this elevating surge of consuming power. After weighing the options before him, Harriston Smith decided to preserve matrimonial peace for sake of their upcoming social calendar. He further determined that delivering fifteen crippling lashes would maim Fortune for good.