Courage of a Lion

By Judy Sheppard

Enter the strange and changing world of six year old Burwell Smith. The life he was born into is not what it seems. At six years old imagine working hard labor in all types of weather three hundred and sixty five days a year. In the heat and cold of Charlestowne, SC. Boom! Out of nowhere he is taken from this life and walked up a path to the unknown. His heart pounding, his eyes taking in his new world. Actual green grass under his feet. The smells and sense of adventure intrigue his young mind. He walks fearlessly into his new life. He is confused, but in a good way. His tormenter is miles away now. Introductions to new people and a new way of life. His new found love of horses and working in the stables. He continues to forge into the unknown. Before he has time to adjust to his new way of life in his new home, BAM! He is loading into a large shipping vessel off to a foreign country. The voyage is a mixture of fun and heartache. As the ship docks he is thrust into more turmoil. Lies, deception, kidnapping, fires, and more all before his fourteenth birthday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Judy Sheppard
• Release date: Nov 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649998279

Judy Sheppard

Judy Sheppard has been writing for many years. She grew up in a New Jersey suburb and now resides in North Carolina. Her children are grown and she and her husband of forty years are empty nesters. Her love of Charleston, SC inspired the birth place for the lead character of Courage of a Lion. She now has the time to dedicate to her passion for writing. This is her first published body of work. She plans to continue writing for years to come.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Pop, Cotton, Pop Cotton, Repeat

Standing still, barefoot in between the green and brown shrubs. My eyes closed, facing the sun. Feeling the warmth of the July heat washing over me. Turning slowly, cautiously, with my arms stretched out. Spinning unhurriedly around in the dirt, allowing the sunshine to bathe my bare face, arms, and legs. Listening intently to the rhythm of the picking and snapping sounds all around me. The cracking hum of white fluffy bolls of cotton as they pop off from their stems. Clutching tightly at the holey gray sack by the frayed strap. My sore blistered hands holding the weight of the heavy sack away from my neck. The sack is one and half feet wide, trailing three feet behind me bulging at the seams with cotton. My cracked fingers untwist the strap allowing it to lie flat against my neck and chest as I come to a standstill.

Patiently I wait for the old woman. My unraveling straw hat feels scratchy in my achy hands. She will soon arrive with the gray mule pulling her wooden rolling cart. When she arrives, a watchman will ride over to us to weigh my sack of cotton bolls. The bolls will be placed on a wooden and black iron scale that hangs on the back of her cart. The weight will be recorded. Then I will watch as the white fluffy bolls are dumped into her cart. Leaning down, brushing the dirt from my gray cotton short sleeve shirt and then from my gray cotton breeches. I inspect the dried dirt as it tumbles off onto the ground they came from.

I turn my head slowly from one side and then to the other side. Then, looking all around to make sure nobody is watching me. Satisfied, I slowly bend down to clear a spot just big enough for me to lie down in. Quietly pushing the rocks and ants away with my bare feet and toes. I try not to draw attention to my movements. Squatting to my knees, I take one last look around. Then slowly sink into the cleared spot. Closing my eyes, I lie prone in the dirt with my ear to the ground. Listening intently for any noise, or his heavy boots to shake the ground. He is always watching me. Waiting for an opportunity to kick me or throw sharp things at me. Safe for this moment, praying for a few minutes of peace as I close my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep as I awoke with a start on the hard and dusty ground. There was screaming all around me. Sharp stabs of pain are searing down from my waist to my left leg. Instinctively, I curl up into a tiny ball. My eyes flutter open, just in time. Seeing his heavy brown cowboy boot slamming down toward my right leg. Struggling frantically, my fingers try to pull off the strap around my neck. Tugging the sack over my head. Leaving the full sack of cotton behind. Rolling, rolling away as fast as I can. He just misses me. Banging his boot into the dirt spot I just vacated. Sliding as fast as I can through the cotton shrubs. Slithering like a black snake. Trying quietly to conceal myself. Just ahead in the fuller and taller cotton shrubs. These have not yet been picked. My eyes wildly dart around through the thicket of shrubs. Nervously looking through brown, green, and white foliage. Praying they have concealed me from his angry eyes. I’m tall for my six years. But now, I try to make myself as small as possible in my hiding place. Curled up on my side as close to the hard ground as possible. Desperately, I attempt to blend in with my surroundings.

Rubbing my throbbing calloused hands over my bald head. I feel the stubble left behind in spots from being shaved two days ago. We are all kept bald here to keep the bugs away. One less problem for the watchmen to deal with. Scared, grasping at my chest with my hands, feeling my heart beating. Thump, thump as the pounding sound gets louder in my ears. I hold my breath for as long as possible until my lungs burn. I gasp for air as quietly as possible. SAFE, for a few more minutes. His horse’s hooves pound the ground as they are getting closer and closer to me. He is screaming and hollering out my name. BURWELL!! BURWELL!! He calls out with anger in his voice.

The watchman, Deke Wellington is a tall muscular white man. He is the size of a huge pecan tree with hands the size of large round melons. I watch him through the dense cotton shrubs. He is looking intently for me. His body leaning over his brown chestnut colored horse. They slowly approach towards my hiding spot. Each step of the horse’s hooves shakes the ground. The hooves kick up large clouds of dust. He searches the rows of cotton shrubs in vain for me. He is in charge of my section of the cotton field. He yells at me and everyone in his section. Deke’s voice roaring in our ears. All day and well into the night. He sometimes points his rifle at us. Pretending to shoot us. He is waiting. Just hoping we give him a reason to shoot one of us. His horse deposits large brown piles of shit. There is shit everywhere. Big winged flies hoover over the piles. I try carefully not to step in those piles. The fumes sting my eyes on hot days.

His voice is getting louder and angrier. He angrily screams my name over and over again. BURWELL, BURWELL, BOY! I know you’re out there. Get your scrawny ass out here so I can see you Boy!! Make it easy on yourself!! Burwell, show yourself NOW!!

The ground continues shaking all around me with each landing of his horse’s hooves. I roll over on my back. Staring up at the bright clear blue sky. There is not a cloud in sight. Then slowly, I begin to sit up. Trying not to alert him to my whereabouts just yet. He was right, if I came out of hiding now. He would go easy on me. Standing up. Slowly stepping out of my hiding place. I call out loudly, Sir, Sir. We call all the watchmen and overseers Sir. There are too many to remember all their names. At the sound of my young voice. His horse like a lightning bolt shoots in my direction.

You are sooooooooooo lucky boy! That I’m in a good mood today, Burweeeell! You get your scrawny ass back to work! He shrieks at me as he dismounts from his horse. He stands with his tree trunk legs apart towering over me. One large finger pointing sternly. His steel blue eyes boring a hole in mine. He motions for me to move ahead of him. The he kicked my ass all the way back to my section of the cotton field. The other boys and girls in my section continue their work. They pick the bolls from their shrubs pretending not to notice us. They quickly move out of my way to let me back into my section. Deke begins throwing handfuls of rocks at me. I ignore him. My fingers begin picking the bolls from my shrub. Quickly filling the empty sack that the old woman left for me. Big rocks, heavy rocks, small sharp rocks. They cut into my arms, hands and legs as they hit me. Then his horse’s warm breath now on my neck. Breathing heavy and warm snorting on me. More rocks hit my bent over back as I pick more bolls. My fingers snap off bolls as fast as they can to fill the sack. Rotating around the shrub I try to escape him.

Deke bellows, Now all of yous snot nose bastards, start picking that dam cotton faster. I expect you all to double your cotton quotas. You are a sad bunch. Yous only pick about three hundred pounds of cotton on average a day apiece. You all must pick six hundred pounds apiece. That is before we leave here tonight. If you don’t. Well you all will be punished, severely! He angrily shouts at us. Then he spits brownish black tobacco juice on the ground. The liquid just missing my head.

Sluggishly I move further into the cotton shrubs just to get away from him. Grabbing at a handful of mature cotton. I try to avoid the rocks that he continues to throw at me. He misses me several times. Instead hitting the other boys and girls that are picking cotton near me. They call out in pain. He laughs at them as another jagged rock hits my arm. The edges ripping the skin. Blood trickles down my arm in a ribbon of red. I wipe away the blood on the sleeve of my dirty shirt. I ignore his taunts and continue at a good pace plucking more bolls. Every fiber in my body refusing to look up or cry. But I wanted to. Hearing him move onto the next section of shrubs, I relax. He yells at another group of boys and girls. He stays for a while throwing rocks at them. Then he spits on them before moving onto the next group of boys and girls.

Deke has patrolled our section of the cotton shrubs. I have worked here seven days a week, month after month for the past two years. We work from sun up to sundown. Sixteen to twenty hours each day except for Sunday. On Sunday, we work half a day. Then we go back to our living quarters. We attend church service. Then we do chores. Tending to our livestock and our small crops of vegetables. The women and girls tend to the babies and cook. They sew, weave sweet grass baskets, and wash clothes. The men and boys tend to the livestock and collect vegetables We cut wood for the fires that keep all the cooking kettles going. All our chores are to be completed before bed.

The watchmen and overseers patrol our living quarters twenty-four hours every day. They make sure we don’t talk to each other, keep working, and don’t run away. We are not allowed to comfort, hug, or talk to each other while working or eating. The watchmen have blood hounds. They patrol the cotton fields and our living quarters. Their dogs are always barking, panting, and depositing piles of smelly shit everywhere. The smell makes me want to throw up all the time. An alarm bell has begun to ring off in the distance. Deke leaves our section quickly. Riding his horse toward the sound of the ringing bell. He whistles to the closest watchman. This will ensure our section is monitored while he is gone. When he rode by me, he spat a wad of tobacco. It landed on my arm. He flung his last handful of sharp rocks at me. My whole body now sore and aching. The sound of his evil laugh ringing in my ears.

Standing up, wiping the tobacco wad from my arm and stretch my tired muscles. I look around at the other boys, girls, men, and women working near me. They are mechanically moving through the shrubs. They are plucking the white cotton bolls from their shrubs. Then drop the bolls into their sacks. Silently they work stooped over picking and filling their sacks. We mutely pray that we meet our quotas. Every day the men and women are expected to pick five hundred pounds each. They must do this before they are through for the day. They don’t look around or talk. They just stay bent over. Moving around their shrub until it is picked clean of mature bolls. Then once the shrub has only unopen capsules they move in a straight line to the next unpicked shrub. Their bulging sacks trailing behind them. The watchmen come around when they are signaled by the old woman that a sack is full. They weigh the cotton and record the number before it is dumped into the old wooden cart. After each sack is weighed, we all pray. A silent prayer that each sack brings us closer to meeting the quota per day. When the old woman’s cart is full the contents are dumped into a larger wooden wagon at the end of the row.

Etta Mae is the old woman working in my section. She approaches me moving slowly. She urges the gray mule to move along. He is old with bowlegs and a sway back. He struggles to pull the cart towards me. Watching her stooped over figure stumbling along the dirt path towards me, I stand up. She is short and stocky like a brown whiskey barrel with chunky legs. She spent years of working the cotton fields. She picked cotton and now pushes the mule cart. This has weathered her hands and gnarled her fingers. Her skin looks like the leather hide of an old black steer after years of being in the sun. She now walks with a limp because of falling over a thick root of a bald cypress tree last year. She stops and smiles a toothless wide grin at me.

She signals for the overseer to meet us. We wait nervously for Abe to come to weigh and record my cotton. On his arrival. He has me empty my sack into her cart. My sack is emptied and weighed. He drops the sack at my feet. I was staring at his horse and not watching her. She gently pats my shoulder. Shocked, I jump back falling into a cotton shrub. This is the first time she has touched me. Her hand on my body scared me. I quickly get back up. Abe glares at me from his dark brown horse. He is not as big as Deke. His red stringy hair is tied back into a ponytail. It hangs down like a rat’s tail to the middle of his back. He is white as the cotton. He sits tall in the saddle of his horse. Appearing thin like a picked corn stalk. He trots past us, spitting tobacco juice. The brown liquid hits Etta Mae in her eye. She wipes it off quickly using her dirty mud-covered sleeve. Then smiles at me as her cart passes by. She moves onto the next boy who is waving at her. I return to picking the bolls by stooping over my shrub. My right hand holds the shrub steady while my fingers on my left-hand pop the cotton bolls off. Looking at my fingers. They are getting cut up and bleed as the stems dig into them. I wipe the blood off on my pant leg. Then moving through the shrub quickly snapping off as many of the soft fluffy bolls as my slender fingers can.

Abe announces we are close to meeting the quota for the day. This means soon it will be quitting time for today. I watch as the sun begins to go down over the cotton fields. The color of the sky turns from yellow orange, to reddish blue, then to deep purple. Sadly, I check to see what is left of the water and food that I had been given today. Shaking the hollowed-out gourd upside down over mouth. I hope for a few drops of water. It had been filled six times today but now is empty. The noon meal of cold ham pieces and corn bread are long gone. My throat is so dry. My body is bone tired and my belly is empty. There is dried blood smeared everywhere on my clothes This is from the sharp rocks that cut up my arms and legs. Looking down at my bare feet, seeing they are covered in dirt. There are soft white cotton fibers stuck in between my toes.

The sky is pitch black now. The watchmen are rounding us up like little lambs for slaughter. Their torches blazing orange and gold flooding our cotton patch with light. They yell at me and my group of twenty-four boys. Their ages are between five and ten. They are told to stand in one line. Then they yell at the thirty girls. Their ages are between five and twelve. They are told to stand in a separate line next to the boys. All the watchmen are sitting high on their horses. Their rifles slung over their chests. They wave plantation whips at us. This is to ensure that we stay in our two lines. They want to whip us, but the master does not allow them to. Etta Mae dumps the last of the cotton bolls left from our sacks into her cart to be weighed. Abe loudly announces the quota has been met. Then we are quickly moved along to walk the ragged gravely dirt path leading to the river. He watches us intently as we stumble along.

We have to bathe before returning to our living quarters. The sirs yell at us to walk silently in our two separate lines down the path. Along the path there are shrubs and trees that are overgrown. The branches, fallen limbs, and leaves hang over our trail way. This makes our walk to the river hazardous. We have walked about half a mile trying to avoid the piles of horse shit, dog shit, thick roots, and sharp rocks. The trail way has been straight for a while. Then without warning curves sharply as we arrive at the riverbank. We are told to stand on the riverbank quietly. Looking down at the river. It is long and wide with some parts turning like a snake. We are told to slowly walk down towards the river. If we run, then we will have to wait and enter last. I can’t wait to get into the water and sink like a boulder to the bottom. Only five of us boys and five girls are allowed to enter the water at the same time. We walk slowly down the riverbank in several straight lines. Quietly I stand with five girls and four other boys. We are all anxiously awaiting our turn. We try not to anger the sirs.

We don’t have to wait too long. They don’t allow us much time in the water. The sirs are afraid we might drown, swim away, or get eaten by an alligator. Some days I pray an alligator will eat me. But since I’m so scrawny, I would probably be spat out intact. My turn is with the next group of boys and girls. Our group slowly enters the clear calm river. The water feels good, cooling my skin. Sinking below, hiding beneath the dark watery surface. I drink the cool water savoring each drop. Then I wash the dirt and dry blood from my face, arms, legs, and clothes. The sirs start yelling at us to hurry up. Then all too soon we are called out of the water. They count us out, boys in one line, girls in another line. We are led back to our living quarters. We walk this same long path every day and every night in all types of weather.

The rocks and tree roots on this dirt trail way cut into my bare feet and toes. I look behind me to my left. I see our watchman Deke. He has joined the other watchman that has been tormenting us all day. They are talking and cracking their whips in our direction. I can’t hear what they are saying. But they look angrier than usual. We continue walking on the path as it twists and turns. Small bushes scratch and pull at our clothes. The path is just wide enough for our two lines of boys and girls to walk on. The watchmen’s horses trot behind us or in front of us. We walk another half mile following the light from the sir’s torches. As we turn right, the path widens. There is a soft yellow glow straight ahead. The path becomes wider and brighter as we wearily arrive into our living quarters. We are greeted by the many different sized wooden cabins with tabby chimneys. These are the buildings we work and sleep in.

We first pass our sleeping cabins that are clustered in a straight line. The next set of cabins are used for church services, washing, and cooking. These cabins are larger than the sleeping cabins. They are all made from scraps of wood boards, logs, and panels that the master has discarded. Some of the wood panels and boards are warped. They have big holes in them that animals and insects have gnawed out. They are all different sizes fitting oddly together. These holes have left spaces and gaps in the sides of the cabins. We are led toward the middle of the living quarters. Glowing fire pits reveal three women. Their heads are bent over two big black kettles. They are wearing long gray cotton gowns that hang down to their bare feet. They ignore us as we pass. They are too busy stirring with large wooden spoons what is inside the kettles.

The watchmen led us further through the living quarters. We pass by two larger wooden cabins. This is where the women take care of the babies. They also house us when there are storms or health exams. Then we are led into the area designated for meals. This is in the middle of our living quarters. We are directed to stand by large wooden plank tables. They line us up in front of wooden benches which are old, warped, and sagging. There are round pewter plates, wooden spoons, and pewter mugs set out on the table. These plates are filled full of grits, beans, corn, carrots, apples, and some meat scraps. The smell of the food is making my tummy rumble and hurt. One woman pours milk into our mugs. She walks quickly down our row. I watch as everyone comes and stands in front of the tables. We wait to be ordered to sit down.

Finally, we are allowed to sit down. When everyone is seated, the overseer has us bow are heads and say grace. I sneak a peek at the food on my plate and the milk in my mug. I poke my finger into the food, which is cold, gray, and mushy. We are told to eat. Then hungrily I shovel the cold mushy food into my mouth with my large wooden spoon. I try to slow down but I’m not sure how much time we get to eat. Finishing my food, I then drink the warm milk in my mug. Smacking my lips and burping loudly. I lower my head down to my chest. Then turning my head slowly from one side to the other. No one heard. They all are too busy eating and did not hear me burp. They shovel their food into their mouths with their large wooden spoons. Then drink their mugs of milk. They all eat fast, but I was faster. Only once, I did not eat all my food before we were sent to our cabins to sleep. I had stuffed the biscuit that I had not eaten into my pocket. Then I filled the mushy food into my other pocket. The gooey food ran out of my pocket and down my leg before I got to my cabin. I made up my mind right then and there, that from then on, I would eat as fast as I can. The women that pass out biscuits let us take an extra one. I always grab an extra biscuit. I put it in my pocket to eat later while in bed.

After we finish our food, we are sent to the area near the pine trees. We pee in the trees in the morning and then at night. This area is not far from our sleeping cabins. When we all have peed, we are then led to our sleeping cabins. I notice by the glow of the fires how the cabins have different sized wooden panels and boards. These are poorly fitted together, and some are falling apart. Our cabin door is warped. It takes several tugs on the rope latch to pull open. When the door swings open, it reveals wooden beds stuffed with hay and feathers. Each bed is covered with a gray cotton blanket. The beds are stacked three high in five rows. There are fifteen of these stacked beds crammed into our small cabin. There is just enough room for us to walk in ten steps. Then climb the makeshift wooden ladders or slide into the lower beds. The boards in the ceiling have big gaps allowing the stars in the sky to shine in at night.

I stand behind several boys waiting my turn to enter the cabin. Looking at the other boys I watch them as they disappear into the cabin one by one. We are all still wearing the same clothes. The ones that we have worn today, and the day before, and the day before that. The only time we get new clothes is when we grow out of the ones we have. Or when the master comes to visit our living quarters. The master said we are to have two sets of work clothes and two sets of night clothes. But the watchmen don’t want the master to know that we wear the same clothes all the time. The sirs told us that the women would be neglecting their other chores. So many clothes to wash would be a waste of time. When their other more important chores had to be done.

When it’s my turn to enter the cabin, I walk in ten steps. Then climb the six steps on the ladder to the top bunk. I flop onto my bed exhausted, falling asleep instantly. Dreams of floating on the clouds to a better place. Like where I eat warm food that is not soggy. I image that I can talk to my momma. She is smiling. She can hug me like she did when I was a baby. Her warm hugs, a pat on my head, and food when I asked for it. I am running, jumping, playing, and talking to my momma without being yelled at. We are spinning in the sunshine. She is happy to be with me. Momma tells me how much she loves me. I watch as her face lights up as she hugs me tightly.

Waking up with a start because my bladder is hurting. I rub my eyes as they adjust to the darkness. Slowly I sit up. My blanket is caught up in my empty sack. The sack is still slung over my neck. Now it is bunched up in a ball. Roughly I pull the strap and sack over my head. Awkwardly leaving it and the blanket on my bed. Carefully, I climb down the six steps on the ladder from my bed. Then quietly tip toe the ten steps across the dirt floor reaching the wooden door. I give a few good pushes and the wooden door has opened.

Disappearing into the darkness. I run to the nearest pine tree. Looking around nervously standing in the soft pine needles while I relieve myself. The fires that cooked our food the day before are smoldering. There are several watchmen sitting high on their horses. They ride past the oak and pine trees surrounding our living quarters. Their rifles held out in front of them. They are ready to shoot anyone trying to flee. The watchmen patrol in shifts. They take turns monitoring us. They have their own living quarters not far from ours. After I’ve finished peeing, quietly I head back quickly to the cabin. Silently tugging on the rope latch, pulling the door open. I enter the cabin. There are fourteen boys that I share this cabin with who are sound asleep in their beds. Crouching on the dirt floor with my ear to the ground hoping to hear nothing. No heavy boots, no blood hounds, no watchmen, just silence. But sadly, I hear all these sounds. Exhausted, I lie on the hard dirt floor falling fast asleep.

Waking up. I’m face down on the hard dirt floor in the dark to barking dogs. The watchmen talk loudly as they patrol outside our cabin. Turning over onto my back I look around at the small wooden cabin. Sitting up I reach to take the biscuit out of my pocket. It’s from last night. Quickly taking small bites I eat it. My momma told me about these wooden cabins. They were hand built by the men and women living here. Now over time the wooden walls are badly warped. The large gaps allow light, rain, snow, and anything else that can fit through inside. The roof leaks on rainy days and on sunny days rays of sunshine pour in. On several windy days and nights. The wind whistles through the cracks, but not today. There is no wind, just the hot air hanging musty on this balmy July morning. The night sky is turning from a dark blue to a dark gray blue.

It’s about time for the watchmen to round us up. The other boys begin to wake up. There are some sitting on their beds and some still laying on their beds. I finished the biscuit wiping the crumbs from my face on my sleeve. Two boys line up quietly behind me. We wait patiently for our door to open. My sack is tossed down to me by the boy called Dover. He has the bed next to mine. He is taller than me with dark brown skin and large brown eyes. He is ten years and looks out for me in the cotton fields. I look out for him too. The door is jerked open. We are told to get out. The sky has turned a dark gray and cloudy as we leave the cabin.

We are led to the plank tables for our morning meal. When we arrive at the tables a watchman yells at us to sit down and be quiet. Our food has been laid out in front of us by the women. But we are not allowed to eat yet. I sit silent with my hands in my lap. We only talk to each other on Sunday in church or in the river. We whisper to each other trying not to attract the attention of the watchmen. They watch us like hawks. They look for upiddity boys or girls so they can have reason to punish us.

The last boy punished was accidentally hung on purpose. They kept his body hung from the huge oak tree not far from the river. We were forced to watch as these big ugly black birds picked his body apart. The South Carolina heat in Charles Towne made his decaying and rotting body smell awful. The girls cried every time we passed the boy’s hung body. Twice a day we passed his body until one day it was gone. We had our ideas where his body went. Such as the angels came and got him taking him to heaven. Or he got better and ran off. Or that the watchmen took him and burned him in a huge fire. Either way we boys and girls have been quiet and good since then. We do not give them a reason to punish us. The sirs remind us every day that they can end our life. We are scared every second of every day and every second of every night.

The sky is darkening as tiny droplets of rain start falling on us as we eat our food. All you can hear is chewing and slurping. They give us a lot of food to eat every morning. Salted ham, eggs, grits, apples, biscuits, and milk. We are given an extra biscuit and corn bread to eat later in the day with scraps of ham or chicken. They try to rush us to eat faster. They aren’t allowed to round us up until after we all finish our food. They yell at us every day. They tell us we are slow, stupid, and worthless. I rightly don’t know what that means. But I am guessing it ain’t good. The sirs laugh at us all the time as they hurl insults at us. The girls cry all the time because they make fun of them. The girls all have different names. But the watchmen call them all Sally. Snotty Sally, Stupid Sally, Sad Sally, Smelly Sally, Slow Sally, and Stinky Sally. This makes the girls cry all day long. This gets on my nerves. We boys try to tell the girls to ignore the insults. I smile at the girls. Sometimes I tell them not to listen to the Stinky, Smelly watchmen. Sometimes they smile. But most times they ignore me and cry. They will give me dirty looks or shhsssh me. Girls are so whinny and such crybabies.

Thank goodness. The morning meal is now finished. We are all lined up into two separate lines. Then we are pushed forward through our living quarters. We are headed towards the dirt path leading to the cotton field. Watchman number one is a white tall skinny man with brown stringy hair. He is sitting high in his leather saddle on his horse. He trots his brown horse around us. Watchman number two is a short white fat man with a tummy that shakes like jelly. His head is bald as the full moon. He stomps his brown horse past us kicking up muddy dirt. A curtain of cold rain falls on us as we continue to walk towards the cotton field. All the hard dirt on the path has turned into mushy mud. The rain water pools into some ruts in the path. We begin to slip and slide in the puddles as the rain pours down harder now. Some of the girls slip and fall on the now drenched path. One girl trips and falls in front of me. I try to help her. As I bend down reaching my hand out to her, I feel a sharp jab into my back. Then I fall on top of her. Now we both are flat on our faces in the mud. Pushing myself up to a sitting position. I hold my hand out to her. But she waves me off. She stands up slowly trying not to fall again. Slowly, I stand up. Then we both get back into our separate lines. We are dripping wet covered in mud. Mud is splashed onto us from a sir’s horse.

Burwell, you clumsy fool! You almost Killed Sad Sally. What am I going to do? Let me think now. I know, you will have to pick your quota of cotton, and another fifty pounds. You can thank Sad Sally for falling down. Sad Sally you are going to have pick and extra fifty pounds of cotton too. You can thank Burwell for tripping on your fat body and falling down on you. Now keep walking and do not fall again, watchman number one yells angrily at us.

Sad Sally, her real name is Mae Zee. She is older than me by two years. She is my size and very dark skinned. Her eyes are big and brown like pecan nuts in the trees. She whispers, Burwell weed can’t pick dat many. I cold. Weed in trouble. Why you do dat? You crazy? She looks miserable.

I not crazy. You fell. I help you, I say in a low voice to Mae Zee

Barely a whisper she says, Burwell tanks. Why sirs bad?

I don’t rightly know Mae Zee. Sorry, I say with a shrug of my shoulders. Then keep walking. The rain is now steady, feeling like tiny cold pebbles hitting me.

Hey Burwell. Watch where you are walking. You almost fell. I can’t have you getting hurt. You clumsy fool. The sir yelled at me.

We walked the rest of the way to the cotton field in silence. I begin to shake. The cold rain and dampness got into my bones. We walk through the mud trying not to splash each other. Reaching the field, the sirs prance their horses past us. Their hooves kicking up muddy water and globs of mud chucks. We are all covered with mud by the time we reach our sections in the field. My sack is heavy, soaked with the rainwater as I drag it to the cotton shrub. I begin picking cotton as fast as I can. Trying to fill my sack quickly. I cut my fingers on the hard stems. My hands are so sore from holding the heavy branches. My fingers are sore and throbbing. I have to take a leak so bad. Looking around to make sure the sirs are not around. I relieve myself right there in the cotton field. The rain drowns out the sounds of my peeing.

We are all soaking wet with our clothes glued to our bodies. I am so cold. I’m shivering and my teeth hurt from grinding them. My clothes are wet and heavy like lead weights. Etta Mae has collected my full sack of cotton five times today. Snot is running from my nose. Right down to my mouth and over my chin. I have used my sleeves all day to wipe away the dripping snot. I’ve eaten my extra biscuit, cold ham, and corn bread a long time ago. My tummy aches for more food. At least there is plenty of water to drink today. I drank the rainwater all day. Leaning my head back. Letting the cool drops of water bounce into my mouth. It has been dark gray all day. But now it is pitch black. Deke begins yelling as he rounds us up quickly. He needs to send us down the muddy path to the river quickly.

As we get closer to the river, there is the sound of rushing water. I can see the normal calm water is moving super-fast. The watchmen and overseers are mad. They are talking loudly amongst themselves. They decide to send in just a few of us boys and girls in at a time. We are told to just stand up to our ankles. No further or we will be swept away downstream. They let three boys and three girls enter the river up to their knees. They yell at them to hurry up. One girl, Ruth who is ten years did not listen. She was not standing up to her ankles in the dark water. She was taken in the rushing current and swept away. Her brown head was bobbing up and down. Every now and then we could see her. Her long brown legs and long brown arms would flop up out of the water.

I strained to see her arms, head, legs, and feet bob up and down in the water. She is spinning and flopping in the swollen river. Her head and arms are thrashing around wildly in the water. She is screaming for help as she comes up for air. She grabs wildly at the branches that are hanging into the river. Several watchmen are running down the riverbank. They have large branches. They are trying to reach her. Then all of a sudden, she was gone. I strain my eyes watching the swollen river. Waiting for it to spit the girl out of the water. My eyes are tearing up. I am hoping to see her arm or leg, Any body part. Maybe her head will appear out of the water. After several minutes from the last time she was seen, there is no sign of the girl. The sting of salty tears burning my eyes. Blinking as the warm tears streak down my cheeks. I use my shirt sleeve. I try to wipe the tears from my eyes and checks. One watchman pushed our group towards the trail heading back to our living quarters. I turned to watch some men head further down river. They will continue to look for Ruth.

The remaining watchmen count us. They make sure we are all accounted for Then we are moved along the path. The sirs shove and hurry us down the muddy path. My feet are splashing through the puddles. Spraying mud on the boys and girls behind and in front of me. The rain is pounding down hard now. It feels like stones are hitting my head, back, and arms. I try to cover my head with my hands. My feet are aching as they hit sharp rocks and tree roots. The horse of watchman number one stomps by me. Splashing mud all over me from head to toe. I try to avoid the deep puddles that are forming in the path. It’s hard to see through the heavy rain. We are following the light from the torches the watchmen are carrying. They rush us down the slippery path. Several people cry out in pain from the sharp rocks and fallen branches along the treacherous path. The sirs franticly led us toward the safety of our living quarters.

When we arrive into the living quarters we are pushed through swiftly. We are led to the big cabin. This is where some women work making clothes. We only go into this cabin when it rains, snows, or get checked for bugs, and stuff. They thrust us inside one by one counting us loudly. There are no tables in here nor benches only gray woven rugs on the wooden floor. In several neat rows in the middle of the room. There are stacked mugs, dishes, and sweet grass baskets filled with scraps of cloth. Once they are sure we are all accounted for they yell at us to sit on the floor. The watchmen stand monitoring us as the women set empty plates and mugs in front of us. Then more women come around with pewter pitchers of milk. Two of the women have small black kettles filled with grits, carrots, beans, and meat scraps. They fill our plates and mugs quickly. Another woman came around later with a large basket filled with warm biscuits. I was able to take an extra biscuit. I tuck it in my pocket to eat later tonight.

Three of the girls fell asleep while they were eating. The short, fat, bald watchman kicked them until they woke up. The girls looked around with wide eyes as if they didn’t know where they were. One light brown girl was shaking so hard she peed right there sitting on the floor. This made one watchman laugh really hard. His belly was shaking all over, up and down. I was fascinated by how his belly moved up and down.

The rain has finally stopped, our supper finished, and we are all told to stand up. The sirs push and shove us all the way to our sleeping cabins. The fires have been restarted and their warmth feels good as I walk by. Muddy puddles streak the path to our cabin. The boys ahead of me try to avoid the puddles. The smell of fresh horse shit and mud fill my nostrils. My clothes are covered in the gross mixture. We will not be led back to the river tonight to bathe before bed. Our cabin door is opened by the boy in front of me. He smells of the same muddy shitty mixture too. Sitting on my bed I try to pull the reeking shirt over my head. But the space above me is too small. I can’t remove my shirt. It doesn’t matter as the other boys in my cabin smell also. Carefully I remove my prized biscuit from my pocket. It is safe. I tuck it under my arm as I fall fast asleep.

I awoke to voices whispering just outside my cabin. But I don’t recognize the voices. There are two male voices and one female voice. The female is upset, and the men try to calm her. She is crying softly. She has lost something, or she found something. They are talking so quietly I can’t understand what she is saying. Straining to hear the conversation, quietly I climb down the ladder. Then follow the voices that are just outside my cabin door. Then I freeze listening to them.

Yawl tink you know. But you know noting. Deem Engines, take what day want den go. Deem take hogs, sum hens. What now? What weed feed us? She angrily asks.

I don’t care if the snotty bastards or you eat or not. Not my concern. It’s your job to feed them. We have bigger problems. The mistress is coming in the morning. She is concerned about the girl that was lost in the river. Now she wants to check on all you slaves. You better be on your best behavior Bertha. No telling her what goes on around here. Yes and no is all you say. Do you understand? The watchman yells at her.

I say noting. Jest get sum hogs, sum hens. You ain’t want us sick or dead. She hisses at them.

We will get you more hogs and hens to feed them. We can’t have any of you getting sick or worse, die. Not now. The cotton has to be picked and ready to be shipped soon. The two watchmen agree with Bertha.

Bertha you have a smart mouth. You can’t talk to us like that. It’s time for your punishment, one of the watchman barks at her.

I ain’t tell. Yes or no. OK! I go now. She pleads with the watchmen.

Bertha now, come on. You know we must punish you. So be a good girl and come with us without a struggle. I don’t want to have to use this rifle. Possibly shoot you in the foot or maybe your leg. It would be a shame, since you have such nice legs. But you have two legs. You could lose the use of one, right? The other watchman taunts Bertha. He has a deep sinister laugh.

There is silence for a few minutes. Then there are feet shuffling as she is dragged off for her punishment. Peering carefully through the cracks in the cabin walls. Trying to stay hidden. Watching as their shadows melt through the pine trees. I rush out of the cabin to the nearest pine tree. Then finally, I’m able to relieve myself. It is taking longer to pee. Keeping a look out for the sirs. Nervously I look over my shoulder. To make sure nobody is watching me before rushing back to my cabin. Quietly opening and closing the door. I scurry into bed and take the biscuit out of my pocket. Hungrily eating every morsel. Then wiping the crumbs from my lips with my sleeve.

As I stand in my cabin in the still and silence of the night. I wonder what Deke would do to me. If I questioned him, or provoked him. Those steel blue eyes of his scare me to death. When he looks at me, I think he will shoot me. But something always stops him. The sirs are not allowed to harm us. But they could scare us to death.

Now I’m worried that Bertha is going to have to do extra chores. We all try to stay out of the sirs’ way. Something must be very wrong. Why would Bertha seek out the sirs on purpose? Why at night so nobody can see them or hear them? I would want everyone to see me and hear what I have to say. Then again, maybe I would not. They would punish me for seeking them out. I remember my momma told me there were rules to follow here. We were not to talk to the sirs. That is unless they asked you a question. You are never to ask them a question. When you are told to do anything, you do it, no questions asked. She told me to keep my head down. To keep my eyes on the ground and to work hard. She said, one day the watchmen will come for me. When they came for me and told momma it was time, she only nodded. Then she let go of my hand.

Remembering that day makes me sad. Lying in my bed. I brush away warm salty tears. They are dripping from my eyes. Some of the tears began to slide down my checks. Momma did not cry as I was led away from her. She just nodded for me to go with him. She had taught me all she could. She knew one day this day would come. She prepared me best she could. If I did not go quietly, they would punish her. She told me over and over again to go quietly. I put my head down and made sure I did not make eye contact with him. As long as I do as I am told and look down at the ground. I am safe. Drifting off to sleep wondering what is Bertha’s punishment. I pray it is not hard work.

Tap, tap, tap, loud banging sounds are coming from the bed below me. Rubbing my eyes, I roll over to my side. I hang my head down to look into the bed below me. The boy below me is kicking his feet. They are going fast like he is running. His legs are moving slightly but his knees are not bending. He has never done this before. I climb down the ladder and lean into his bed. Reaching my hand in, I shake his shoulder. The moon is now bright and shines on his face. His skin is light brown like the dirt we walk on. He is smaller than me by a few inches and skinny like a wooden post on the fence. He works next to me in the cotton patch. His name is Franklin. We call him Frankie. Same as me. He is six years. He has been picking cotton for two years. On Sundays, we have been helping salt meat with the women. I don’t mind. It keeps me from carrying wood logs for the kettle fires. Or digging up carrots in the garden.

Frankie, Frankie wakes up, I whisper to him. Trying to wake him without making too much noise. There is snoring coming from a few of the other boys sleeping.

What, what? He asks as he sits up rubbing his eyes. He looks at me like I’m crazy. He can’t understand why he is awake.

You kick bed. Tap, Tap. Wit yer big feets. I say quietly.

Burwell you gonna hit me?

No. Why you think that?

Cause you woke me. You ain’t do dat.

You ain’t make noise before.

Ok, ok. I stop. Goes away. Tanks Burwell, He whispers as he rolls over on his side. He settled down and went back to sleep.

OK. I jest look out fer you. I say climbing back up the ladder to my bed. Lying in bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. The full moon catches my eye through the cracks in the ceiling. It is high in the sky. So round, a glowing white light. It looks like a big fluffy boll of cotton. I pretend I can fly high in the sky like a bird. Heading towards the moon to be far and away from the cotton fields. My arm and hand stretching as far as I can. Desperately trying to grab the moon. It’s too far away. I keep trying to catch the moon as I drift