Horrible Harvest

Kenneth was the one who alerted me and Charles. The Sheriff was on the property. He’d come for Daddy. The three of us run from the house to the pond quick as rabbits running from a fox. We hushed up at the sight of him. Down to one eye, and chased after by ill health, he couldn’t barely see nothing.

That old Hell Box lived up to its name. It was only just near wide enough for one man, but not tall enough for him to stand up full. It set in the middle of the tiny pond, where the water was at its deepest – no more than four-foot. Daddy’s wrists was shackled at the top of the box, and his feet at the bottom. He couldn’t fully stand, nor could he set. He stooped at the waist – Knees was slightly bent. Misery was on him from one minute to the next as he come near his seventy-fifth hour in the box. Every muscle and joint in his body ached something awful. I could see it in his busted face. He squirmed and wiggled to catch hold of a clean breath. His remaining eye was swoll something awful. He seen the three of us on the east bank of the pond, but he couldn’t make out our faces.

“Who’s there?”

Didn’t none of us answer.

“Talk it up, you bastards. Who’s there?”

We moved quiet to a group of trees to hide ourselves away.

Daddy give out a laugh. “You sumbitches get a good look at me ‘cause I can promise you that you got worse coming your way. I’m in a cage now, but when I get loose from here, I’ma feed all-y’all to the gators. Stuff those lizards guts full with every one of you cowards.”

The sheriff, Mr. Stockton, and Tate come up on the pond from the south side. The lawman was short. Round. His dress was unruly, and his scent was hard to miss even as far away as we was. He’d come alone. No deputies nor underlings was thought needed. He’d done dozens of prisoner transfers. He’d never lost a man, he’d brag to anyone who give a shit. There weren’t no reason to think he’d have any trouble with a broke down old rice farmer.

“More of you, is there? You cowards like the others? Speak up.”

The advance man spit into the pond. “Shut up, Tennyson.”

“He blind or something?”

“Nah. Half-blind. He’s down an eye, is all. Although, he can’t see for shit with the other. I suppose that puts him at three-quarter blind.”

“Lady Faye didn’t say nothing about no one-eyed fella. I expect she would have mentioned that.”

“He lost the eye in a tussle a number of days back.”

“Tussle? With who?”

“His wife.”

The lawman give a chuckle. “You spinning me up?”

“No. I’m not. She beat him with an iron skillet. Whack. Whack. Whack.”

“Damn. Gal must have some clout behind her swing.”

Mr. Stockton give a shrug. “More like she saved up a whole lot of mad and spent it all on that eye of his.”

Tate stood tolerant of their bullshit talk. He didn’t have no choice.

“Well, she done me a favor. One-eyed prisoner is easier to transport to Charleston than one with two peepers. Won’t get much trouble out of him.”

“Best you be on your toes with this one. He’s mean as they come. One eye or two, he’s gonna serve you up some trouble.”

“I know Tennyson well, Mr. Stockton. Every time he makes his way into town, he finds reason to get locked up for a day or two.”

The advance man and the sheriff stepped into the water. Tate was ordered to follow. All made their way to the Hell Box.

“You say you got word on the boy? Douglas?”

“Yeah. He’s being held in Beaufort. Got in trouble with the sheriff over there. Screaming Scotty Mercer – Named him screaming Scotty on account he whacked a toe off with an axe one winter. Screamed like a banshee, he did.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right. Don’t s’pose you should. Anyway, your boy – This Douglas Tennyson got himself into some debt. They’s to flog him in front of the courthouse a week from yesterday, it is. Thirty-nine stripes.”

They reached the box.

“Ain’t seen this sort of thing before. This cage. Set up in the water like this. You build it for the rice farmer?”

“No. It’s put to use for runaways and hardcases. Some are harder to train than others.”

“That you, advance man?”

“It is.”

“Can’t hardly see nothing.  You take both my eyes?”

“Just the one. Box’ll put strain on all your systems. Sight is usually the first to go wonky.”

Daddy groaned. “Wish it took my nose. Fella you got with you smells like horse piss.”

“Fella’s name is Sheriff Warner.”

A chuckle come. “Then it definitely is horse piss. I’ve smelt that shitkicker enough to know.”

“How you like your accommodations, Tennyson?”

“I like ‘em fine, sheriff. There’s another. Who’s he? I can make out the black of him. That my old pal, Tate?”

“It is.”

“I thought so. He’s got a smell to him, too. Reeks of that old whore I married.”

I couldn’t make out Tate’s face, as his back was to me, but I know’d his lip was snarled up.

“You had a roll around with that old bitch of mine, didn’t you, nigger?”

The water sloshed around the ribcage of the sheriff, while it was waist high to Tate and Mr. Stockton. “What’s he going on about?”

Mr. Stockton looked to Tate. “Tell him, boy.”

“Sir?”

“Tell the sheriff what he’s going on about? How this Hell Box drives men crazy. Their minds go with the rest of them.”

Tate give a nod. “Yes, sir. The box took his mind. Along with the rest of him.”

We boys huddle together, using our cluster of trees as cover. Me and Charles was there to see our monster get carted away – A last look at the man we’d rather see buried and eulogized than hauled off to jail. Kenneth was there out of curiosity. He’d never seen a white fella put in the box. He was convinced that only negroes was hardy enough to survive such torture.

I flanked Charles and peaked around the trunk of a willow to get a better view. “Daddy looks worn. Skinnier than I’ve ever seen him.”

Kenneth looked over my shoulder. “It’s the box. Water stays cold. Shivers the weight right off you.”

Charles set back. Silent.

“Hell of a cage.”

“Yeah.”

Tate dove into the murky water to unshackle Daddy’s feet.

“Your daddy – Mr. Miller – He think of it?”

“No. He brought it back from a trip to the orient.”

Charles watched on with increasing interest. “You been in it?”

Kenneth was confused by the question. “For what?”

“Just to see what it’s like.”

“No.”

“You scared?”

“Not scared. Just don’t see the point.”

“Point is to see what kind of man you are. See if you can take what you give out.”

“He don’t give out nothing. His daddy does.”

Charles give a shrug. “Same thing.”

“No it ain’t.”

“It is if I say it is.”

Tate resurfaced and the advance man opened the cage.

“You saying we’re the same as daddy?”

“You saying we ain’t?”

I didn’t give no response.

Tate and the sheriff pult our one-eyed daddy out the cage.

“I’ll go in the box. If you want.”

“You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He don’t.”

“I’m the oldest. I say he does.”

“Being the oldest don’t mean you can tell us what to do.”

“You heard Mr. Miller. We’re to be in his school where he’s going to teach military stuff. I’m the oldest. That means I got the highest rank.”

The three men drug Daddy to dry land.

“That ain’t how the military works. Highest rank don’t go to the oldest.”

Charles stood. “It does until we get told different.”

Daddy was just too plain weak to stand on his own. Mr. Stockton grabbed him up at the back of his trousers and instructed Tate to stand in front. Daddy was forced to place his hands on the slaves shoulders and with the sheriff taking point, they slow made their way to the stables.

“You going in, rich boy?”

“No, he ain’t.”

“Ain’t your decision to make.”

“You’re acting a fool, Charles.”

“This fool is fixin’ to kick your teeth in.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll go in the box.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gotta be long enough to mean something. Can’t just go in and get out.”

“An hour.”

Charles snorted out a laugh. “Hour ain’t nothing. Gotta be longer.”

“Ain’t gotta be nothing. You ain’t gotta do it, Kenneth.”

Charles rushed me, catching me off guard. In a blink, I fell backwards into the shallows. “You’re going to shut that mouth of yours, little brother. I got rank.”

I scrambled up on my feet with a handful of sludge and flung it at Charles. Striking him square in the mouth.

Before my brother by a whole could give me back a whooping, Kenneth stepped between us. “I’ll spend the night in it. After supper. After my studies. We’ll come out here, and you can lock me in the cage for the night. Gotta get me out at first light, so I can sneak back to the house. Mother catches me, she’ll give father hell, and he’ll pass it onto me.”

Charles give his proposal some thought. “That’ll do. Gotta be shackled, too.”

Kenneth hesitated before he agreed.

“I say it ain’t gotta be done. Mrs. Miller will have our hides we get caught. Momma’ll get involved. It’s bound to break bad on all of us. We’ll get lashes.”

Charles give a shrug. “Let’em give us lashes. They’ll just make us tougher. Gotta take licks to become a man.”

“There’s licks and there’s dead. Dead boys don’t become men. That’s all I know.”

“I’d rather be dead than scared.”

I give a snicker.

And Charles give a scowl. “You got something to say, little brother?”

“I seen you scared plenty.”

Charles landed a punch square on my left eye, but I got my lick back with a wallop to his fat nose.

Kenneth once again stepped between us. “Gentlemen. Please. This isn’t the time or the place.”

Me and Charles shared a look before we give out with a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

I leave go my fists. “Nothing. It’s just – You called us gentlemen.”

“Because that’s what you are. You are fine Southern gentleman. We all are. Soon, we will be Miller men. South Carolina’s finest militia.”

“Is that what we’re to be called? Miller men?”

“Yes. It’s been a dream of my father’s since I can remember. We are the very first three Miller men.”

Charles stood straighter. “That’s good by me. I’m a Miller man. South Carolina’s finest militia. That’s what I am. I like that just fine.”