Horrible Harvest

Arthur come out the church.

Mr. Stockton called to him. “Tell the reverend here what freedom would mean to you, boy.”

“Freedom, sir?”

“What would become of you if you woke up tomorrow a free man?”

Arthur slow-walked, thinking extra hard on each step down to the ground. “I reckon I’d wake up to a heap of trouble, sir. That’s what I reckon.”

The reverend held tight to dead Agatha. “You’d awake to countless hours left to your own guidance, young man.”

“Yes, sir, I would, but they’s no place to be guided in this world for a negro. I’d wake to hunger and want that can’t be filled up.”

A smile spread like a sickness across Mr. Stockton’s face. “You see, reverend? You are trying to free those who welcome the security of slavery. Arthur here has got himself a wife. He’s a father. His belly is full. His accommodations keep him sheltered in comfort. The fact that he is bonded to a white man has afforded him a life that would be impossible if he be free.”

“His fortunes grow in the barren wasteland of an evil industry directed by men who assign a dollar amount to the value of a human being like they be beef cattle.” Reverend Woolsey gently leave go of Agatha and softly rested her head on the ground before standing. He wiped at the blood on his blouse. “Arthur, you were bought for slaughter.”

“Sir?”

“Your soul, son. Your spirit for survival. It is what gives you value to your master. You’re a field hand?”

“Yes, sir. Most days, sir. I’m given different tasks from time to time, sir, but working the fields is my primary.”

“It is hard work. It is grueling work. It is backbreaking work. You are there by lack of choice. So, you hoe, you pick, you tear at the weeds and fight the heat and swat at the swarm of bugs. You do this to madness with no end in sight, and you will lie on your deathbed, having just left the field not long before. You were bought to suffer the slow slaughter of your spirit, son, never knowing a moment that belonged to you and only you.”

A groan come from Percy. “I say we just shoot this squawking crow right now, boss.”

“And you, young man, you work for the man who wears a hood?”

“Don’t gab at me, old man. I ain’t interested in your preacher talk.”

Mr. Stockton fount amusement in the preacher. “Answer him. I want to hear more from the good reverend.”

Percy groused. “I don’t work for him on the regular, no. I get hired for this and that here and there.”

Reverend Woolsey give a nod. “I figured.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your face is on display. You are meant to be identified. You are expendable. More so than Arthur and the other two negroes.”

Percy give consideration to his point. “How come I ain’t got a hood, boss?”

Before Mr. Stockton can answer, the reverend carried on. “You have no trade, sir. No employment. Other than for hire work as a vigilante for the master class. You, Percy, are a victim of slavery, too. You just don’t wear the shackles and chains. You are the unfree free. Left to compete for wages in an economy that is fueled by unwaged labor.”

“How come I ain’t got a goddamn hood?”

Mr. Stockton dismounted. “Because I want the young girl to see your handsome features.” He retrieves a small coil of rope from his saddlebag and approaches the reverend.

“She’s gonna tell folks what I look like, is what she’s gonna do.”

“Dead girl’s don’t talk,” the advance man said as he begun tying Reverend Woolsey’s hands behind his back.

The pious man took to begging. “No. I am all you need to silence this movement. I am the one who has brought trouble to your trade. Kill me. Make an example of me. No others will follow if you deliver me onto my Lord tonight. Please.”

The advance man tussled the reverend’s hair like he was a child. “You, good reverend, are my witness, not the martyr. You will warn others like you about the price of abolitionist sedition in the South. No others will follow if I deliver you back to the North, your women raped and murdered. Your grandchildren dead. You say you do God’s work. This is the price you pay for doing that work.”

The reverend was a jumble of panic. “This cannot be. Do not make this be, Lord.”

“The Lord cannot hear you this night, Reverend Woolsey.” Mr. Stockton hauled the reverend to the tree and tied him to it. He then turnt to Percy and the three slaves. “What are you waiting for?”

Caleb stumbled backwards. “Sir?” 

“These are the spoils of victory, gentlemen.”

The three slaves looked at one another. Confused. Uneasy.

Percy yipped and whistled. The woman and girl, calm no more, screeched to bloody hell.

A hooded rider appeared at a full gallop from the North side of the church. “Got us an issue, boss.”

“What? Runners?” The advance man climbed back atop his spotted mount.

“Of sorts. Tate took off like hell on fire. Disappeared in the woods. Lockett’s gone after.”

A grumble come. “Damn it.” He reached in his saddlebag and pult out bundled coils of rope and tossed them on the ground. “Percy, this is left to you. When you’re done with the woman and the girl, give the reverend a good view of the misfortune he’s brought his loved ones. Hang’em from the limbs on either side of him. I’ll inspect your work when I come back.”

Percy rubbed his hands together and give a snarling grin before spitting out a question. “Can I keep one of the little ones? Me and my missus lost one to sickness a year back. She’d love me to death if I brought a new one home.”

Mr. Stockton give the question thought and then said, “Fine.” He turnt his horse toward the Miller men and Douglas. “The reverend decides which one doesn’t hang.”

“I want the boy.”

“No. He’s too old. Too hard to break. The reverend decides which of the young girls lives and which one hangs.” As his spotted horse trots away, the advance man leaves the reverend with one last parting thought. “Be sure to recall to others that it was a poor white man and slaves that strung your family up by their necks, Mr. abolitionist.”

When he reached us Miller men, he removed his hood, and smiled widely as the reverend and his family let loose a hailstorm of screams and pleas for mercy. He soaked it in. “Choices have consequences, boys. Pity not the defiled. Pity those of us who must become depraved to defend our beliefs.” To Kenneth. “This is the beginning, son. There are countless more nights like this ahead of us. Do you understand?”

Kenneth can’t answer without his voice cracking, “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve shown weakness here, but that’s okay. It is allowed. This is all part of building you into the leader you are meant to be. When we are called upon to root out and butcher the enemy again, this will be easier for you. You will show strength. Am I clear? You will show strength.”

Kenneth give a nod. “Yes, sir.”

To me. “You are his strength when he falters. That doesn’t mean you are to prop him up when he’s about to fall. It means you are to strike the blow when he cannot raise his fists. It means when his dagger is sheathed, yours is buried deep in the heart of our enemy.”

The awful screams of the reverend and his family give the dark a chill as Mr. Stockton spoke. They set a rhythm to his words. Percy’s grunts and howls grated at me, and Kenneth, too, I reckon, maybe even Douglas, but not Charles. I’m sorry to say the whole night entire inspired him, give him purpose.

Arthur called to the Lord for forgiveness.  Peck and Caleb didn’t make a peep.

Mr. Stockton barked. “Augustus. Boy. I have given you the highest honor. You are young Kenneth’s fists when he cannot throw his own. You are his gunpowder. You are his rage. You are the only one fit for this task, and you will fulfill it without hesitation, or you will have consequences of your own to face.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t just say ‘yes, sir,’ son. Consider what I mean by consequences. What consequence is the good Reverend Woolsey facing?”

I give the reverend a look over. He was all of it, all the nothing in the world – His life’d been anchored in faith, and it didn’t do a goddamn thing for him. His life entire was a lie, and there weren’t a thing he could do to save his family. But I could save mine. “I understand.”

“Good. Abolitionists are here to divide the South, gentlemen. They mean to align the poor among us with our slaves and overthrow the men of means who run our plantations. These cowards are whores who are against God’s order. We will not allow them to divide us. We will stand united behind men like Mr. Miller. For the greater good of the South. If need be, we will go to war to save us from the tyranny of the abolitionist class.”

He looked over his shoulder at the church. “Men like Percy and the coloreds have been given privilege and freedom on this night, and they have chosen to behave as beasts without reservations. It disgusts me. It scares me. Emboldens me. I am on the right path, and you are all on the path with me. We will strike out in any manner necessary to preserve our heritage, for it protects us from hordes of crackers and niggers raping our women and killing our children.” He turnt back to us. “Do you see what I see, boys?”

We all give him a “Yes, sir.” ‘Cept Douglas. He didn’t necessarily disagree with Mr. Stockton, not at that point in his life. He just didn’t cotton to the servile bullshit hid in the word “sir.”

“This will get easier. This I promise.” Mr. Stockton turnt his pony towards the darkness behind the church. “Get them home, Douglas. They’re to be delivered to their mothers by dawn. And, boys, this was a hunting trip. Nothing more. Unlike our abolitionist friend, Reverend Woolsey, we protect our women from unsavory elements of the world. Their delicate natures cannot comprehend the need for such atrocities, no matter how necessary they be.” With that, he rode away, to hunt down Tate.

Douglas set up in his saddle and locked eyes on the atrocities women was too delicate to understand. I ain’t never seen him look more regretful than in that moment. He had him doubts. I could see it in his face. You’d ask me ‘fore that if Douglas was made for vigilance work I would have give you a hardy “Hell yeah.” But seeing him give it thought, I couldn’t tell you one way or the other.

We slowly turnt our horses around and made our way to the tree line in a single file formation. I brung up the rear. I can’t say exactly how long it took us to ride back, but I can tell you not a one of us really ever left that church. For Kenneth, it was his first cursed memory. Me, Douglas, and Charles, we had Galtville and countless others. We three – We was all bound to be sumbitches because of it, too.