Morgan's Creek
Chapter One
Morgan's Creek - 1863... The American civil war had been raging on for three
years, and in Morgan's Creek, the hot Indian summer clanged lazily along, giving
no indication to the populace, of the dramatic events that were lurking like a
bushwhacker to waylay its occupants.
Elizabeth Maria Morgan, the tacit, uncrowned queen of Morgan's Creek, was the
quiet but assertive matriarch of the Morgan family. She was quite young, which
was nothing unusual for the times. Couples would marry at thirteen or fourteen
years of age, and start a large family.
However, at the reasonably early age of twenty-three, Elizabeth gave birth to
their forth child, finally a son and heir to the Morgan fortune. She proudly
named him Daniel, and then promptly withdrew her sexual favours from her
indifferent husband, Jeremy Morgan. He was either too occupied with his many
business affairs, and/or quite contented with his young family of three girls,
and finally the baby Daniel, to object too much about the beautiful Elizabeth's
arbitrary cooling.
On long, hot autumn evening like this one was proving to be, it did irritate him
slightly. Elizabeth was an extremely attractive and beautiful woman. At just
thirty-three years of age, Elizabeth Morgan was the very epitome of Southern
Beauty. A cool, aristocratic bearing, with the undertones of a deep sexuality
that had snared the love-struck Jeremy eighteen years previously. Being the
single-minded youth that he was, not to mention Morgan's Creek's richest, most
handsome and eligible bachelor, he'd fallen straight away for the pretty fifteen
year old beauty.
Elizabeth was the only thoroughly loved and spoilt daughter of Zebidiah and
Maria Wilson, the one of four plantation owner families who'd controlled and run
Morgan's Creek since it's inception by old Nathaniel Morgan many years
previously.
The Morgan family had been in the area since the State Capitol Charleston, had
been called Charles Town after the reigning monarch of England. They'd fought
against the British in the American war of Independence, and had been duly
rewarded by the granting of lands in the very heart of the beautiful South.
Equally, Jeremy Morgan had wholeheartedly thrown his considerable influence and
wealth behind the secession of South Carolina from the Union in the December of
1860. South Carolina had been the first rebel state to secede from the Union,
and this was followed by the battle of Fort Sumter at Charleston Harbour in
April 1861, which led directly into Civil War.
Jeremiah, 'Jeremy' Morgan had no other option but to back the south to the
limit. He was a fairly typical southern landowner. A slave owner and cotton
grower, he drove all his slaves with merciless determination. He ruled his black
workers by fear and the whip, a not altogether incomprehensible attitude coming
from the political and economic climate of South Carolina at that time.
Jeremy saw slavery as a natural extension of nature, a Darwinian concept that
gave him the right to treat the black man, (and woman), as nothing better than
beasts of the fields... his fields. He'd also utilised his bonded workforce as
breeding stock, even going as far as to enter them into his ledgers as 'Bulls'
and 'Cows'. This enterprise had yielded a huge profit from the buying and
selling of these unfortunate individuals, notwithstanding the heartbreak and
sheer human misery he was causing by his financial affairs. Jeremy Morgan
couldn't have given a good goddamn for their feelings. Did animals have feelings
anyway? Jeremy very much doubted it.
Their plantation manager, a nasty piece of work who went by the singular name of
Slade, ran the plantation. No one had heard him referred to by anything other
than Slade, and he didn't enlighten them on that matter either. An ugly, tough
piece of white trash, Slade ran both sides of the Morgan's business, the cotton
plantation, and the breeding farm, leaving Jeremy only the financial side to
worry about. It was a sweet deal for both men.
Slade took to the breeding side of the business very diligently, dealing with
certain South American gentlemen for a regular supply of certain drugs and
substances that accelerated the yield of infants to the Morgan stables. The
lissom young 'cows' were not only 'helped' to maintain an unnatural arousal at
all times for the pleasures of the rut, but Slade would personally stuff their
vaginas with a very secret and powerful fertility drug that caused them to
conceive on the first coupling. What's more it was cost effective in the
delivery, causing many of the unfortunate young ladies to carry twins, triplets,
and often more healthy young slaves to be brought up a submissive and willing
future workforce for the rich plantation owners of the South.
Slade was a very enterprising individual, diligently working tirelessly on
literally 'whipping' the Morgan 'stock' into shape, a job he set about with a
great deal of unhealthy enthusiasm, beating his unfortunate charges with keen
gusto that bordered on the psychotic. Often he would leave his victims hanging
on the whipping post, battered and bleeding and near to death. In fact, he'd
actually killed two young quadroon girls, a tale told with some relish and
ribald laughter in the bars and taverns of nearby Morgan's Creek. Whilst Jeremy
Morgan was annoyed at the loss of two perfectly able-bodied 'Cows', nothing
further was mentioned about the matter, just a simmering hatred that emanated
from the slaves quarters that boded ill for the future.
Jeremy was taking his eldest daughter, April Mayflower Morgan, and a young,
local roué, Wesley Harrison, to Charleston Harbour to look at a newly bought
breeding slave he'd just acquired. He tickled the switch lightly over the flanks
of his prize stallion Bruce, as it cantered in front of the smart brougham they
were seated comfortably in. he looked fondly at his spoilt, sixteen-year old
offspring. She was as pretty as a picture in her pale green and lilacs late
summer outfit.
'What a beauty my pretty li'l girl is!' he thought contentedly as they cruised
lazily down the dusty lanes, the frangipani trees hanging heavily with Spanish
Moss, the heavy scent of their dying blossoms cohering cloyingly to their
senses. He looked on with some amusement as April unmercifully teased the
handsome young man as he tried in vain to impress her.
Wesley Harrison was the youngest son of Carl Harrison, another plantation and
slave owner in Morgan's Creek, second only to Jeremy himself who ruled the town
and surrounding plantations, farms and smallholdings, with unconscious regal
imperiousness.
Jeremy was a great believer in introducing the members of his family to the less
seemly side of his business, but there seemed to be an age limit. He'd not begin
to show them anything unsavoury, till they were fourteen years of age;
therefore, April had had two years of observing the whippings and couplings of
countless hapless slaves. It was all routine and everyday to the young beauty,
so much so that she urged Slade from time to time to vary his repertoire of
cruelty.
"My, my!" gushed his pretty young daughter, flirtatiously batting her long,
black eyelashes at the blushing young Wesley, and arrogant in the affirmation of
her fresh young beauty. "Ah do believe you're trying to woo me sir, and me just
a child!"
Jeremy smiled inwardly as April 'accidentally' allowed the young swain to catch
a fleeting glimpse of the lacy hems of her silken drawers, modestly covering
them with the full skirts when she saw she'd caught his interest. He noted with
ironic amusement, (and not a little anger), that the boy's tight trousers
clearly showed his arousal.
'Still, his beautiful daughter could more than deal with him,' he thought
fondly. He'd had a serious talk with all his daughters, and they were all made
fully aware of the value and sacredness of keeping their virginity for the one
true love of their lives when they married.
Jeremy watched with inward amusement as the apple of his eye unmercifully teased
the young man all the way into Charleston. By the time they got down to the
harbour, young Wesley was a perspiring, trembling wreak, his dogged devotion for
the precious April battling with his animal lust to ravish the pretty young girl
right there and then.
April and her father dismounted from the brougham and strolled across the
cobbles with a weak-kneed, sweating Wesley tottering along behind them. They
made straight for the 'SS Captain Morgan' that was busy unloading its cargo, and
Jeremy signalled to the bridge for the captain, Captain John Swede, to join them
on the dock.
Captain Swede rolled down the rough gangplank followed by two seamen hauling a
roped and naked black man behind them. He cast an appreciative look at the
delectable April as he turned to the two seamen, one of whom was just about to
strike the struggling black with a whip.
"Belay that Mr. Johnson!" barked the Captain. "I'm sure that Mr. Morgan won't
appreciate his goods marked up none."
The sullen seaman let his arm drop to his side as both Jeremy and his daughter
April looked with admiration at the latest addition to the Morgan stables. And
what a fine specimen M'jobi, for that was his given tribal name, was.
He stood six-foot-five in his bare feet. His broad shoulders and heaving chest
tapered down to a heavily muscled stomach, and whipcord thighs. M'jobi looked
with undisguised hatred at the arrogant white man who was now walking around
him, and even checking his teeth. Then M'jobi caught sight of the young couple
behind the white man. One was a youth of about eighteen summers, but he shrank
into the distance compared to the absolutely delightful girl at his side. One
look at the beautiful girl aroused all of M'jobi's base instincts and his
manhood immediately stirred and started to erect itself.
April had been staring in awe at the naked black man, noting with utter
astonishment the swinging black dick that limply hung between his legs like a
huge black fruit. She'd never seen anything so big or so beautiful and thrilling
in her young life. As she looked on in wonder she saw that the huge nigger had
spotted her.
'My God!' she thought, as the nigger's large member stirred and started to
thrust outwards and upwards at the mere sight of her young fresh beauty. 'My
God!'
All of a sudden this scene was shattered as Jeremy's crop slashed down on the
rearing member in full erection. M'jobi sucked his breath in with a loud hissing
sound as he sank to the dusty ground in agony, his abused penis quickly
subsiding as the awful pain registered in his nerve endings and mind. The two
white men went on talking about him as if he were just a chattel as he rolled
around in the dust at their feet.
"Got this fine young bull off the Gold Coast!" the captain was saying about him.
"He's supposed to be a Chief's son, so I'm tol, but I dunno. They reckon he's
been educated a little too, that's mebbe a drawback. Ah don believe these
animals are capable of a li'l larning, but that's by-the by."
In fact, M'jobi had been educated, and educated very well, first by the English
missionary school in his home village, and then he'd been sent to England itself
for higher education at one of England's finer teaching establishments. He'd
only been back home for a few weeks before the Arab traders had mounted one of
their innumerable raids on his people, and had taken M'jobi captive.
"Well, well!" a self-satisfied Jeremy said, as he looked his prize up and down.
"Educated did you say? We'll just have to call the boy Solomon then won't we?"
he went on, dubbing M'jobi with the Hebrew name that M'jobi immediately
despised. "He don't say much, does he?"
"Ain't heard a word out o him the whole trip!" the Captain affirmed. "You ask
me, I'd say the boy wuz stupid. Still, he got a fine build on him ain't he now?"
Jeremy had to agree. Indeed the young buck was finely built. His mind wandered
with financial glee, thinking of the money he would make from this young bull
when he covered the fine young cows that Jeremy had back at the plantation.
"Well... Let's get him hitched up and make our way home!" Jeremy stated firmly.
"Young Wesley. Git this fine young bull tethered to the brougham!"
The now sullen young roué, savagely jerked M'jobi's ropes, and tied them to the
back of the carriage. The three whites then mounted the carriage and they lazily
set off back to the plantation with the tired, naked young black man, weaving
and stumbling behind.
April spent the whole trip back home, staring under smoky lidded eyes at the
defeated black, who was stumbling along in their wake.
'My God!' thought the young girl once more. 'Did you just see that. Why, that
young nigger bull jes right creamed himself over me!' April was discovering the
power she had over men and it thrilled her to her bones. Not that she regarded
Solomon as a man, but nevertheless...
the rest of the journey, April sat looking back and contemplating the powerful
young black. Little tremors ran crazily through her lissom young frame as she
slowly toyed with the bright blue bow of her summer bonnet.
Passing through the town of Morgan's Creek, Jeremy glared angrily at the one
blot on his fair town, 'Bertha's Whorehouse.' Although Bertha had long since
gone to the 'Big Bordello' in the sky, her legacy of licentiousness lived on
still in Morgan's Creek in the guise of 'Madam Simone.'
Simone Blanchette had run the cathouse for as many years as Jeremy cared to
remember. No matter how hard he'd tried to muscle the town council into getting
rid of the brothel, Madam Simone outflanked him at every step. There were just
too many influential people who discretely used the joint, and Madam Simone
merely called in the favours every time. It made Jeremy's blood boil. He'd tried
to hit back in the only way he could, locating the town stocks and gallows,
right outside the 'house of pleasure' but it hadn't seemed to worry Madam
Simone, or any of her clientele.
The dusty party arrived back at the mansion of the plantation in the early
evening, young April skipping off to soak herself in a scented bath, and Wesley
politely excusing himself before taking his leave.
Jeremy's family came out onto the colonnaded veranda to view his latest
acquisition. Elizabeth Morgan ushered out her pampered brood, and what an
attractive picture they made. April's two pretty younger sisters Jennifer and
Felicity, fourteen and eleven respectively were the very image of genteel
southern respectability, identically dressed in pretty pastel coloured dresses,
with large sun bonnets, secured with big blue bows under their creamy white
chins. Daniel, the ten-year-old son and heir to the plantation and all the
surrounding lands and properties, looked down at the sweaty, dusty Solomon in
faint contempt. It never occurred to the boy that here was another human being;
he was just another piece of prime stock.
Slade was prowling round Solomon, his cruel crop prodding and poking the fit
young black as he assessed the future breeding and usefulness of the man.
Solomon merely glared at the small party in sullen silence.
Then the slave was hustled across to the barn, wrestled to the ground, and his
sweating flanks exposed to Slade. The plantation manager energetically used the
bellows on the forge fire, making it glow white hot, then he heated up a slave
branding iron and scorched a large 'M' into the unfortunate Solomon's buttocks.
The abused slave suffered all this in a stoic silence.
The Morgan family, their curiosity sated, retired into the big house to continue
their preparations for the huge charity ball that they were giving that evening
in support of the southern war effort...
To be continued...
