Miracle

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MIRACLE CHAPTER 7 FALL AND WINTER, BUT A SLAVE'S WORK IS NEVER DONE

After one weekend show in what the weather told us was late fall, there was a sense of change not only in the weather, but around the farm. We heard the sounds and smells of slave coffles moving, and then heard the sounds of large diesel trucks. For several hours we heard from our cage the sounds of chained slaves being loaded into trucks, and the trucks then noisily leaving. We were very nervous animals. Finally our time came, and we too were lead, not chained together like the field coffles, but as usually in our well trained line, to the ramp of a slave transport truck. The truck brought back to all of us the old days and our old friend the pig transport. We crawled up the ramp, and found that like in our previous experience in a slave transport truck that we had a space to lay down and crawl, but not stand. We were not chained down, and after we went into our top level, the ramp was moved to the next level down, and we heard and smelled the remaining levels being filled with the real slave coffles. Then we were off.

We did not travel all that far in the truck. It took us from the farm to a rail yard, and soon we went from truck cattle car to train cattle car. The difference was that once again each cattle car had several floors. However, in these there was enough space for us to stand and move around. On one of the two smaller walls was a trough with water, and on the opposite side was a trough with slave chow. When we were inside, one of our guards came up and ordered us to brace. We automatically did as ordered.

"Slaves, this is your first time going south. You will be in this slave transport railcar for about a day and a half and this water and chow is all the food and drink you will have available for the trip. The train will not be stopping." With that the guard, turned, closed the opening to our level of the car, and we heard and again smelled the lower levels being loaded also. Soon the train lurched into motion, and we were being transported like the animals we now are to our destination, which, as animals, we did not need to know.

The trip was boring. There was nothing to do, and we really could not see the scenery go by as the sides of the car really had only ventilation openings. We had plenty of straw and so we constructed sort of a nest, and we huddled together. Time became meaningless, and mostly we slept.

I am sure that the guards were correct in that the train ride was only a day and part of a second day. The sounds to the car's wheels going over the tracks, and the sheer monotony of life with no change actually caused us mostly to sleep. We did not hear too much noise from the levels below us, and so we suspected that the slaves of the real coffles were enjoying their "vacation" from work by laying down and sleeping also. Finally the train slowed, and stopped. We thought that soon we would be unloaded. Again those types of ideas showed that in our favored position we still thought too much like free men, However, after several times of a crashing sound to the cars slamming apart and the train lurched forward a short distance, and then again the crash of the cars slamming together our car along with two others lunged together as this time we stopped in front of a series of fenced platforms that were adjustable to unload each level of our slave transport car. A guard opened the door to our level, and we assumed our normal slave order and when ordered crawled through the opening to our level, and then when ordered stood up and walked in our normal straight line and down the ramp. When we got to the bottom, another guard ordered us to stand and form our coffle. Of course we did as ordered, and as the well trained animals we were, we also knew not to assume what might come next and just begin moving down the sloping platform. After what seemed like five minutes a truck appeared at that time we were order down the sloping platform and then up another into the top level of the truck transport. It was the trip away from New York in reverse, and ended with our being sent down a ramp to a pen inside a barn which was in all important aspects a duplicate of our New York pen/home

Life in Florida was really not much different from our lives in New York. We that not only the barn and pen for us very similar to the one we had in New York, but we had our show "farm" plot to plant, care for, and eventually harvest. We were told that the field we would be planting would be tomatoes. In reality we might have still been in New York. Of course we knew that if we still were in New York, now we would be beginning to have no reason to be out planting, and the late fall air would be discouraging crowds to come and watch our show, and our naked bodies would not show as well as the cold would do for our balls and cock what years of evolution had programmed for then to do -move up toward the body and hide for warmth. But here in Florida the heat was on, and out we went into the field, and we began by crawling up and down the rows planting the tomato plants. The plan was for our Florida show to begin with the crawds seeing us doing our normal "slave" farm labor.

There was a wagon full of the tomato starts and we would prance up to it, fill a double pouch like harness which went over our shoulders, and then go down the rows planting the tomatoes in little holes which were already there. Since digging these holes was real work, it was done by the brutish field slaves. We discovered that in the evenings a gang of real working slaves were driven up and down the rows making these little holes for the tomatoes, after the guests were no longer on the grounds. This way the next day all we had to do was place the tomato plant starts into the hole already there for us, and mold the dirt around the plant, and go on to the next hole already there for us. We therefore just showed up for our shows with just a little amount of dirt on our hands and knees, but not enough to keep the guests from see our very well conditioned bodies in all their naked splendor. Quietly at night we would talk about how the other slaves had to hate us. They worked into the night so that we could fool the public about the life of a slave. With our oiled, just "fashionable" smudges, we would trot to the fence, do our show, smile and sell the gullible guests that we were field slaves, and our beautiful bodies, and our ability to smile and even answer questions with intelligence was the reality of slavery.

We were in our second week of our Florida shows, when we were called forward for our show from the rows of tomatoes toward the back of our show plot. We rose, brushed off the dirt, and trotted forward for the show. As we approached the fence between us and the free world, we began our routine. We had long ceased to really look at the people watching us, and just smiling went into the routine, reacting to the recorded announcer who introduced as the famous million dollar show coffle. It was routine for us now, and in sense even we recognized even for us that the life of a slave was really boring repetition. On this particular day, as we heard the announcer say, "These slaves are happy you are here to see how your crops are produced for YOU." We crawled around the plants caring for each plant with care, and getting an even deeper tan than we had acquired in the New York. One thing that we did note that for some reason the Florida sun not only deepened out tans, but made our tats also darken so that they still were clear markings in contrast to our deep tan. For a little amount of time we gave the audience a totally false idea of how slaves toiled in the fields to grow all the tomatoes, potatoes, corn, and other farm products they all enjoyed, at prices only slave labor could allow. We knew we looked and worked very little like the true field slaves who while chained together in coffles worked hours and hours in the sun, constantly kept at the highest levels of effort by the overseers who used those whips with practiced skill to painfully motivate each slave to keep working through pain and suffering - all for the master's profits, These real slaves were brutish looking, hairy, scarred and very smelly animals that would probably terrify the tourists. We made them believe the pictures on the containers of happy, sleek, and smiling slaves happily planting and harvesting their food. At the end of our little pretend agriculture, the announcer would say "Ladies and gentlemen now lets thank our slaves for showing you how they work for YOU." This was our cue to look directly, and VERY unslavelike, into to their faces, as we smiled and bowed in unison.

There was always applause at this point, and we did out special trick of getting into a line facing the fence, erecting, and smiling. We kept our eyes downcast as expected for a slave facing a free person, but as the applause rose, we brought up our faces, smiling, and as the applause continued we did our famous trick of erecting together facing our betters. After all these shows, on a routine day in December, as I looked up I found myself looking into the face of Elizabeth, my fiancée from years before. I stared at her, broke discipline and routine, and yelled. "ELIZABETH. I'M STEVE YOUR FIANCEE! ALL OF US WERE KIDNAPPED AND ENSLAVED. SAVE US!!!!!"

Elizabeth looked at me, and a smile came over her face. "STEVE! I DO RECOGNIZE YOUR FACE. I WILL GET YOU FREE!"

The guards were so amazed at my breaking from the routine, that all these events... which really only took a minute or two ... occurred. Since there was just a low fence between us, I leaned over and hugged Elizabeth, and she screamed, and then almost chocked me to death in her embrace. The guards then came over a pulled us apart. Since there were many others of the audience there with cameras, the guards did not bring out the whips, but they did demand that we break apart. "The show is over! All guests must leave!" they shouted.

I was immediately moved back away from the fence, and all of the show slave team were made to form a line, and were marched back into our cells in the barn. We were locked away. For the first time since the beginning of our career as a pampered show team, we all began to start to feel like real slaves. We were in chains when out of our cages, and we were assigned to a regular work gang.

My fellow show slaves were sympathetic for my outburst, but actually slaving in the fields, and actually feeling the inspiration of whips on our hides to make us keep up to speed really strained our relationship. The other slaves also taunted us by inviting us finally to enjoy real slaving. Actually the first time that we were all herded into a real field, and assigned our area to weed, the other chain gangs kept up a steady barrage of shouts like "Make those Hollywood slave boys work!" and "Welcome to slavery you assholes!" and "Wait until tonight in the pens, and we'll make you slaves all one with all of us, one fuck at a time."

We were terrified, and the guards who actually also worked in the fields shared the slave's anger with the easy life we had led. As slaves for four weeks we heard nothing, but we did actually eventually earn acceptance from our fellow slave. Our back began to look correct with marks of the whips clearly showing. We also had shown that we were no wimps, and for that first night when penned in a slave pen with one other field gang, we showed that we could hold our own and defeated several attempts to rape us. We were eventually overcome, but before we had been seriously injured, the guards stopped the attack. By our stripes, by our work, and by our ability to fight, we were accepted. In the world that we did not know anything about Elizabeth was working showing she knew how to make things happen. She filed a suit for our freedom by reason of false enslavement. When she did she found that indeed the enslavement documents were shown to be altered. I then remembered when we were first registered that the registrar at the farm in New York had noted that she thought that the judge whose signature was on my enslavement order had retired. Well he had retired permanently. By the date on the enslavement order, he had been dead for six months.

The enslavement orders on all the others were also found to be fraudulent. While court proceedings were occurring we were slaving. There was absolutely no procedure for a slave to have to be in court while some activity was being carried on about the slave's enslavement. It was assumed that the enslavement would be affirmed, and therefore denying the slave owner any loss of the slave's labor would be an unwarranted loss of use of his property.

However, one morning about three weeks after my fiancée and I had seen each other again, we were all chained together, put into a slave transport, and driven into a city. There we were taken to the slave entrance to the Court House, and then we were herded into a courtroom. Just before we entered the courtroom we were even all made to put on slave shorts. When that happened all of us looked at each other and decided that we were going to be freed. Never would any judge allow a slave to re-enter his/her courtroom wearing any clothing unless the judge was going to make some dramatic change in the status of the slave.

I saw Elizabeth at one of the two tables at the front of the court. With her was a man who looked a little like our owner, but I could not imagine that he would be sitting with Elizabeth and a man who I assumed was her lawyer. There were several lawyers, who I could identify by their carrying around legal pads, and their look of wisdom and importance. There was no place for slaves to sit, and so we all stood there, still chained by the wrist and ankles, and clothed only in slave shorts, which were very short, and almost transparent. Indeed you could see our sexual equipment clearly through the fabric.

At the other table at least three lawyers, who could be identified by their clutching legal pads, were standing. Seated at the table two large men who were dressed in expensive tailor-made suits, but did not look imposing now because their shoulders were humped over, and the suits looked a bit mussed. I was hoping to see my "friend" Sam who was the kidnapper who was responsible for our being here, but he was not in the group of two nervously sitting there.

"ALL RISE" announced the bailiff, "The Supreme Court of Marion County, State of Florida is now in session. The Honorable Judge Thomas W. Du Jordon, II presiding"An imposing man with white hair, entered in his black robes. The judge seated himself, glared at all of us, and then looking at the bailiff stated,

"Are all parties present?"

"No, Your Honor" the bailiff replied. John Wilson, also known as Trainer, has not been found nor has the actual kidnapper truck driver. The petitioner has asked in the interest of justice that the trial proceed while these individuals are still being sought. All the interested parties have agreed."

I thought to myself, there are probably no more interested parties in what is going to happen today then us, but as slaves we had not been asked. The Judge looked over at us, and stated, "The Court will allow this trial to proceed without these two last defendants, and the court orders law enforcement to make all effort to bring these men to face this court's judgments. The court believes that to await the arrest of the last two defendants would indeed seem to be justice denied as the issue is false enslavement, and to let a potential false enslavement to continue while searching would be indeed injustice."

I was thrilled to hear this speech as I could not imagine that if the judge did not think we might walk out free that he would care how long we awaited in slavery for a trial that would only confirm our slave status.

Well, the trial went on for about three hours. The owner of the place where we were sold had several witnesses who claimed that he had been duped. However, there were two guards who, for whatever reason I did not care, recalled that several times that comments by the owner seemed to indicate that he knew something was unusual in these especially attractive slaves." The testimony of the two guards caused the defendants to slump over even more in their chairs. Then there was a series of witnesses who testified as to the irregularities in the enslavement orders and the prosecutor seemed to continually make the point that had a slave dealer really been careful these irregularities would have been cause to pause. After two hours, the prosecution rested, and the defense began.

The defense talked about the civic generosity of the dealer, and the fact that the other man, Mr. James D. Starbuck, our MASTER, was a trusting man who should have asked more questions.

I must admit that even though the proceedings were critically important to me, I did get lost in some of the legal wrangling that seemed to be going on, and the several issues that the judge either sustained or overruled. As it came close to noon, our slave stomachs began to rumble. There is a uniformity to slave life, and we were fed at 12:30 every day. Our bodies were used to everything in our lives to be very regular. We got up, pissed and shit, and got our slave chow at the same time every morning, and that regularity was even when we were the pampered show coffle. Around 1:00 pm our collective stomachs rumbled almost in unison. The judge looked over at us, and I expected to be told to not interrupt proceedings, and perhaps to have us removed and paddled. Instead, the judge gave us a kindly glance, and stated, "The court takes judicial notice that the lives of slaves are very regulated, and that these slaves should not be denied their noon break. Attorneys for both sides should meet me in chambers as soon as the slaves can be removed for their lunch."

The judge banged the gavel, and the bailiff intoned "ALL RISE." And suddenly everyone began moving. Two guards took us out through the slave door, but just down the bare concrete flooredand cinder block walled corridor we were taken into a room with a table and chairs, and told to sit. We sat but soon found it uncomfortable, and so changed the chairs for the floor. When the guard reappeared with our small bag of slave chow for each of us, he saw us on the floor. We immediately rose, and assumed our slave-ready stance.

"Not used to chairs any more, I guess?" he said but with a smile and not a snarl. With that he reached into the bag, and as we had been trained we held out our hands to receive our chow. "I know you're used to regular amounts and times for feeding, and so I did remind the judge that we would need to not upset your routine too much." All of us ate but exchanged careful slave nods. This seemed another hint the outcome might be for us. None of us could imagine that in normal times any court official and certainly not a judge would care a whit if our feeding was being ignored, and we would be in physical and psychological stress because of that irregularity.

"SIR thank you SIR!" we all chorused as we received our chow in our well trained response to being fed. The guard actually smiled at our response. After we ate, the guard opened to door to the hall and took us down to a slave latrine. Of course in the field we had learned to just piss in the median between fields, but here there was an actual latrine hole with running water - a real luxury for a slave. The guard then re-chained us and took us back to the courtroom.

When we arrived in the courtroom we seemed to be the last ones there besides the judge. The two suits at the defendant's table looked even less happy than before. Their suits seemed even more mussed. As we were locked into our standing bar, the bailiff again intoned his opening sentences, and soon the judge arrived and court was again in session.

The judge began "Over the lunch break certain new information has come to light, and as required I have shared this new information with the prosecution and the defense. We looked toward those two tables, being carful not to make direct eye contact. We knew that slaves do not look directly into the faces of their betters. Is there any objection for this information now to be shared in open court. The lawyer for the defense rose. "Your honor the defense renews its objections, and renews its request for time to adequately test this information for accuracy and for the reason for its not being noted before."

"Defense's objections are noted for the record, and for the record are overruled." intoned the judge.

We of course had no idea what this was all about, but then the prosecutor rose.

"If it please the court, the prosecution now enters three e-mails, and one copy of a note into the record."

"So ordered and accepted." said the judge.

"These emails are from \the intake clerk of Pleasant Acres Farms when these slaves were enrolled. As Your Honor notes Miss Sarah Grimes, the Intake Clerk of Pleasant Acres Farms, sent this e-mail to Mr. James D. Starbuck, the owner of Pleasant Acres Farms, noting her concern that there was something suspicious about the name of the judge who signed the enslavement order for SIN 613 – 210 – 541. She noted that the judge in question was old and somewhat arthritic when she left her home, which was the county seat of Onondaga County in New York. She noted that the judge's signature was clear and strong, and seemed incorrect for a man with advanced years and arthritis."

The Court also takes judicial notice of the owner, Mr. James D. Starbuck, wrote back that there was no problem with the order, and that he had personally verified it. The Court now orders Mr. James D. Starbuck to the stand.

I was now really paying attention. Slowly crumpled expensive suit rose and went to the stand. The bailiff administered the Oath, to our owner.

The prosecutor opened with "Mr. Starbuck, you are the owner of Pleasant Acres Farms, and the three slaves you see in the slave dock?"

"Yes SIR." was the quiet reply.

"Please speak up so the court can hear." came a vigorous and seemingly unhappy judge.

"YES SIR. SORRY SIR" was the reply.

The prosecutor continued, "Did you receive this e-mail from your intake clerk at Pleasant Acres Farms?"

"I believe I do remember receiving this message."

"Did you really check into the authenticity of the enslavement order as your reply stated?"

"No sir."

"And why did you lie to your own Intake Clerk?"

"I had just paid the second highest amount in United States history for this display coffle and since the dealer in question was one of the most respected slave auction house owners in the country I assumed that he would sell no slaves unless he had thoroughly verified all information."

"You know, do you not Mr. Starbuck, that the dealer is not required to check with court records unless some concern is raised about an enslavement order? Do you not also know that a slave owner is required by law to exercise due diligence whenever a question is raised about an enslavement order?"

"Yes SIR."

"Please be more responsive Mr, Starbuck. You do know that a request for investigation by an intake official is more than sufficient to trigger the requirement for an investigation, do you not."

"I thought that by buying from a prestigious dealer I had done so."

"REALLY, MR. STARBUCK? YOU, UNDER OATH, BELIEVED THAT YOU HAD EXERCISED DUE DILIGENCE AS REQUIRED BY LAW."

"Yes SIR."

"Mr. Starbuck, you are a successful businessman and a major slave owner in the State of New York. Do you really expect this court to believe you that you honestly expected that you had fulfilled the law, and not that you only wanted to calm the clerk and begin to try to get these slaves to begin earning their cost back?"

"YES SIR." Mr. Starbuck suddenly came back with a strong, defiant reply.

"Have this display slave coffle increased visitation and related income to you over the term of you ownership, Mr. Starbuck?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea if these slaves have earned back your purchase price in the year and half of your ownership through sell of tickets for their performance, and other novelties of the slaves?"

"I could not say." was Mr. Starbucks terse and angry reply.

"Really?" was the prosecutor's reply. Then smiling he walked to his table and picked up a set of papers. "Would you then be surprised that increased visitor numbers and sale of food, drink, and novelties for the time you have owned this slave coffle have indeed not only paid you back the purchase price but you are now gaining some notable profits from them still?"

"I have already answered this question that I was not aware of these figures."

"Really Mr. Starbuck? Then how do you account for this e-mail which you sent to Mr. Henry Young, a friend who you had invited to see your show coffle performance, in which you stated, ( and here the prosecutor handed out copies to the defense, judge and other people involved. Again, since slave were legally no longer people but property, we were not included.) "I have been told I have already got my money back, and can perhaps double my investment if those slaves can be encouraged to think of some new stunts like the prick salute."

At this point the prosecutor just put the paper in from of our owner and stared at him.

"Judge would instruct the person under questioning to reply."

The Judge looked sternly down his nose at our formally arrogant owner. "Reply SIR!"

"Judge, I have no wish to make any further comments until I have had an opportunity to consult with my counsel."

"Wise" was the judge's curt reply. "Do you have any further questions of this witness?" the judge then asked the prosecutor.

"No your honor" was the reply.

"Do you wish to cross?" the judge directed his comment to Mr. Starbuck's lawyer at his table.

"No cross." was the quiet reply.

The judge then looked at the persons at the prosecution and the defense tables. "Are there any further witnesses in this matter?"

"No, your honor." was the reply from both tables.

We had to watch ourselves now. If I was like my two fellow slaves, I think I could have erected, and perhaps spurted almost without any more stimulation. I could for the first time since I went to sleep in Sam's truck begin to see freedom in my future.

The Judge now did look at us, and nodded at the slave police around us. I was momentarily worried by this action. Was he still going to affirm our slave status, and wanted to warn the slave police to be ready to control us slaves?

"It is the order of this court that the three slaves in the show coffle of Pleasant Acres Farms be immediately freed, and that their former owner be immediately enslaved as his sentence for knowingly enslaving free men." He paused here and glared at Starbuck.

"Bailiffs give these free men clothing, and bring the former Mr. Starbuck in front of the court for stripping, and formal enslavement."

Immediately shorts, pants and shirts were given to each of us to put on. As we were clothing ourselves, and the clothes did seem uncomfortable we would have to admit, we watched as Mr. Starbuck was having his suit and underwear cut from his body. He was not permitted to strip himself, but was receiving his first taste of the world of a slave. Things are done to you. You are an object.

The Judge continued. "Pleasant View Farm is now owned by the former owner's youngest son, who the court is satisfied was not aware of this slave's illegal activity. However, I will issue an enslavement order for this slave's former eldest son, as well as his other two sons, and one daughter, that will be executed in one year's time, if Pleasant Acres Farms do not compensate each of these former slaves in the cash amount of$550,000. Of this amount the Pleasant Acres Farms is to immediately compensate $25,000 of that amount to each of the former slaves within twelve hours." The court is now adjourned!"

The judge banged his gavel and we just looked around and almost could not move. It was just too big a change, too quickly.

My former fiancée came running to me, and the other two former slaves had friends and also had family run up to them, and shouts of joy were heard by all of us, as applause thundered from the audience. It was a great story. I thought, as I was hugging my fiancée and so-to-be wife, "The wedding night will be no surprise to her... she has seen all of me and she knows my equipment is up to wedding night responsibilities. Miracles do happen.

Author's Note: This chapter may sound like the end of the story, but there is more to come.