Ten, twelve, sometimes as many as fifteen people were thrown together into one cabin and forced to make do, huddling in the center of the dirt floor for warmth. And if they bitched, they were beaten!
“During the rainy season, the ground became so saturated with water that the moisture would rise up into their cabins, forcing them to sleep in the mud. Like animals! These were my ancestors, for God’s sake, and they were treated like beasts! Meanwhile, the Delacroix family, the white bastards that owned this property, slept in the comfort of the plantation house. They didn’t work, but they lived like kings! Do you know what my relatives got to eat? At the beginning of every week, each person was given three and a half pounds of bacon from the smokehouse and enough corn to make a peck of cornmeal. That’s it! For the entire week! Just bacon, cornmeal, and water for every meal, for a lifetime!”
Webster paused to catch his breath.
“And what about punishment? Do you actually think we’ve been rough on you? The punishment that occurred in the nineteenth century was far more brutal than anything we’ve implemented here. Back in the old days, slave drivers used to whip their niggers until they could see ribs. The gashes on their backs were so wide and deep you could see their lungs! Have we done anything like that to you? Anything that brutal? Tell me, have we?”
Despite his point-blank questions, the crowd remained silent. They were way too frightened to talk. But that didn’t matter to Webster. He viewed the slaves’ silence as insubordination, which needed to be dealt with. Turning toward Master Holmes, he said, “Can you believe that? They don’t respect me enough to answer. Maybe you better show them what I mean about discipline.”
Holmes grinned savagely under his black hood. He’d been on his best behavior since the finger-chopping incident, but now that Webster was encouraging him, he figured he could slide back to his sadistic ways.
He stepped forward, searching for a target, staring at the scared faces in the moonlight. Who should he choose? Which person would be the most beneficial to their cause? Then he saw him, the perfect victim. He was the finest specimen in Group One. A middle-aged male, father of Susan and two other brats. What was his name? Ross. Jimmy Ross. Yes, he would do nicely. An impeccable sacrifice.
Devastate the strong and the weak will crumble!
With unblinking eyes, Holmes focused on him, quietly selecting him as his prey. And Ross knew it. Holmes didn’t even say a word, yet Jimmy dropped to his knees in fear. His entire body trembled with trepidation.
“Pick up the coward,” Holmes growled.
And the guards obliged, pouncing on Ross like hungry wolves before they dragged him to the front of the crowd. Then, just as quickly as they had attacked, they backed away, leaving Ross at the feet of his master, with nothing between the two but a palpable wall of hate.
“Master Webster?” Holmes continued. “Why don’t you tell our guests about the white man’s temple? I think they’d enjoy that tale.”
Webster readjusted his glasses, grinning. “In the nineteenth century, the white man considered his body sacred. It was a divine and holy temple that was not to be defiled by the dirty black man. Sure, it was fine for Massah to sleep with all the good-looking black women of the plantation. Famous men like Thomas Jefferson were reputed to have fathered many biracial children during their day. But if a Negro ever touched a white man for any reason, the slave could legally be killed. Can you believe that? The courts actually allowed it! Of course, that didn’t make much financial sense to the slave owner, so it was rarely done. I mean, why murder someone who is doing your chores? So the white man was forced to come up with a better punishment than death.”
Jimmy Ross gulped, waiting for Master Holmes to make a move. But the black man didn’t budge. He stood like a statue, not blinking, not breathing. Silent. Completely silent. Listening to the words of his friend.
“No one knows where the idea of the post first came from, but its popularity spread across the Southern states during the early part of the eighteen hundreds. In fact, it spread like wildfire.”
Suddenly, without warning, Holmes burst from his trance and lunged in Ross’s direction. The prisoner instinctively flinched, raising his hands to protect himself, but it was a grave mistake.