Sailorboy

A White Boy Enslaved

(Daddy's Little Boy)

My name is Joel Barclay and I am writing this biographical account of my short life in hopes that an anti-slavery member of the Church will be able to take it to a relative in the North and somehow bring about my freedom from the bonds of slavery. Both my parents, Charles and Jane Barclay, were white and lived on land purchased by my Dad from his father-in-law off the Salt River Road, about twelve miles southwest of Louisville, Kentucky.

I was born on September 26, 1843, my brother, John, was born in 1846, and my sister, Elizabeth, was born in 1850. Two other brothers died in infancy. I attended a small school for about six years and as I grew older, I developed an interest in music. We were members of the Hebron Baptist Church and the Minister, Bro. Heldmann asked me, at the age of eleven, to sing a solo during the Sunday worship service.

Members of the congregation of the church seemed to like my boy soprano voice and I began to sing special music from our hymn books at least once a month. Of course, I also liked the music of Stephen Foster, including Beautiful Dreamer, Camptown Races, and My Old Kentucky Home.

My Dad had a herd of 30 milk cows and sold milk to the surrounding families and a few local stores. From the age of nine, I began helping him care for and milk the cows. This was my 'chore' for the next few years. As I grew older, I began to hear my parents arguing about my Dad’s interest in poker and intoxicating beverages. Around 1855, my Dad told us he was going south to seek better financial opportunities in the delta area of Louisiana and would send for us once he became established. Afterwards, I was responsible for all of the cows. My Mother, concerned about me, asked our Minister for advise about what should be done because I was up at the barn early and stayed late in the barn taking care of our cows. Bro. Sanders said that most of the cattle, except for one or two should be sold and the remaining ones would provide milk for our family. My Mother agreed and sold 28 milk cows for a nice sum of money.

Sometime in late 1856, my Dad wrote that he had bought 100 acres of land from the Federal Government for 25 cents an acre near the town of Richmond, Louisiana. Richmond was the seat of government of Madison Parish, Louisiana. My Mother said that a parish meant the same thing as a county where we lived. He also repeated that he would send for us.

In early 1857, my Dad wrote to my Mother and asked if I could join him and help him with his farm in Louisiana. He wrote another letter to her almost begging for me to come and live with him to help him with the farm. My Mother, somewhat suspicious, asked him to send money for rail and steamboat fare to her and she would allow me to go and live with him. She also asked when he would send for the rest of the family. After receiving money for my trip, my Mother put my small amount of possessions in a carpetbag and I boarded and train on the Louisville and Nashville railroad, which linked with the Memphis and Ohio railway, since the Louisville and Nashville rail line was still some distance from Nashville. At Memphis, I was supposed to buy a ticket on a steamboat bound for Vicksburg and then cross the river to Louisiana by boat, and take a stagecoach to Richmond, Louisiana because was no railroad bridge across the Mississippi River to the Louisiana shore.

My Dad had telegraphed the Memphis and Ohio someplace in west Tennessee and was told that I was on the train by the conductor at one of the railroad depots. Arriving at the M. and O. train station in Memphis, I was overjoyed to see my Dad on the platform waiting for me. Thirsty and hungry, my Dad took me to a small eatery and we talked as we ate a late breakfast.

As we finished eating, a man dressed very well came to our table and greeted my Dad, "Good Morning Mr. Barclay and who is this charming young man with you?" My Dad then introduced me to Mr. Richard Franklin, a businessman in the Memphis and Natchez areas. Mr. Franklin seemed to take a liking to me and asked me all sorts of questions. He seemed pleased when I told him I was thirteen years old and would turn fourteen in about four months. My Dad told me about his farm and how he looked forward to me being there to help him. He said that he had business to discuss with Mr. Franklin and the three of us walked down the wooden sidewalk to what I thought was Mr. Franklin’s office. Before we got there, I heard crying and wailing down the street. I asked Mr. Franklin, "Who or what is doing that?" Mr. Franklin replied, "Don’t be afraid because those are just niggers waiting to be auctioned."

We walked into Mr. Franklin’s office and he and my Dad sat close to each other around a big desk while I took a seat about ten feet [3 m] from them. After awhile, my Dad and Mr. Franklin shook hands and I saw the businessman give money to my Dad. Mr. Franklin rang a little bell on his desk and two of the biggest men I ever saw entered the room, carrying something I couldn’t make out. My Dad put the money in his pocket, kissed me, and pushed me into the arms of the two men who seized me despite my attempt to struggle, and put wrist, neck, and leg shackles on me. I started crying and asked my Dad what was happening and why he didn’t defend me.

Mr. Franklin said, "Your Dad signed some papers stating that you are a mullet, not white, and I paid him $300.00 for you," I said, "You’re crazy! I’m as white as you. Look at my fair skin, blue eyes, and blond hair?" Mr. Franklin only laughed and replied, "You may look white, but according to this paper, signed by your Dad, you are a nigger and can be auctioned to anyone for the highest bid!" My Dad looked at me and said, "Remember, I told you I needed you to help me? This $300.00 is the help I needed to pay off my gambling debts."

As my Dad left the building, the two men tore off my shirt piece by piece so that I was naked from the waist up. The two men escorted me to one of the slave pens about 50 feet [15 m] from the building.

I was crying as they shoved me into the pen, which held eight niggers, including two females and six males. They stared at me until the two men left. An older black woman took me in her arms and tried to comfort me. A man in his thirties asked, "Why you be crying, boy?" I told him what had just happened and he questioned me, "Did Marse (Franklin) have papers on you?" I told him that he did. The man then said, "You is a slave!"

After an hour, the two men, whose names were Jack and Bart, brought some water in a pail with a single cup for all to use and get a drink. They lined about 20 of us up in two rows (coffles), put a bar 2-3 feet [60-90 cm] long between our neck collars, and marched us towards the steamboat landing.

Mr. Franklin, whom I learned later was a prominent slave trader from Louisiana, boarded the "Memphis Queen" as soon as we had been placed on board under an armed guard composed of Jack and Bart. I overheard the Captain telling Mr. Franklin that we would arrive in Natchez, Mississippi in 17-18 days. The two "Overseers", Jack and Bart, provided us with food and drink and a place for relieving ourselves.

While not treated kindly, I guess they wanted us to look good for the auction people were talking about. We slept and were kept on the bow deck of the boat within view of either Jack or Bart and once a day they permitted a few of us at a time to walk and exercise, under guard, on the deck of the steamboat. We stopped at a few places to discharge some passengers and took on some new passengers. A gentleman and his family boarded at Vicksburg and stared at me. He told Bart that I looked white. Bart just replied, "No Sir, he’s just a mulatto slave about to be sold in Natchez," Of course, as I had found out, in the South one drop of Negro blood made even the lightest-skinned human a slave. The trip was scenic since I’d never been this far south before, but boring because I couldn’t do things due to my chains.

On the seventeenth day, the steamboat docked at the city of Natchez, Mississippi. I was glad that the trip was over, but didn’t have any idea what to expect. Once again, we were marched in two columns to Mr. Franklin’s slave establishment and ordered to strip off our clothes and bathe in the river. The 2-3 foot bar was removed from our iron collars, so we could bathe easier. Bars of lye soap were given to every fifth person as we stripped off our clothes and bathed, which was interesting since we were still in chains. Jack and Bart then took our clothes and burned them on the bank. I protested and Bart said that the men would receive new trousers and the women would get new dresses.

After we received our new clothes, we were marched to the "Franklin & Armisted Slave Traders" building compound. Mr. Armisted was a short, rotund man with a beard and mustache and studied each one of us with piercing green eyes. He and Mr. Franklin discussed everything about me and what they had in mind for me, just as if I was some dumb animal. Mr. Armisted said, "Young mulattoes like this boy fetch good prices in this area," I knew he meant me! I learned from their conversation that there were two places where niggers were sold, one in Natchez and one about a mile outside of Natchez.

We were fed a meal and Mr. Armisted must have given instructions to Jack and Bart because they would push each one of us on the shoulder directing us to go in two columns again, but a company slave was assigned to accompany either Jack and his column or Bart and his column. As the other row of slaves went by another route to their place of auction, Jack ordered us to sing and act happy! I had sung one or two Negro spirituals at church and was amazed that "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", a song I knew, was what the other nine men decided to sing. I noticed more and more people gathering around a large building and I read "Adam’s County Courthouse," one of the places where slaves were auctioned.

As we nine slaves were brought to the building, I noticed that there were raised tables, about three feet off the ground, 4-5 feet wide and about eight feet in length [90 x 130 x 200 cm]. As we approached the tables, the crowd of 100 or so men, woman, and children became quiet. It was then that I saw steps leading up the tables on each side of the place of auction. One-by-one, we nine males were led up the steps and placed as evenly as possible on the auction tables.

Then, a thin man announced Franklin and Armistead Slave Traders were open for business and had, "nine fine black bucks available for sale to the highest bidder," with that remark, the crowd, mainly of several men and a few women, pressed closer for a better view of us.

After a few minutes of discussion between the slave traders and prospective buyers, seven white males came on the auction tables to view us. They all checked our teeth, the soundness of our legs, arms, and muscles. Some pinched our bellies, I guess to see how lean or fat we were? Each man spent several minutes examining each slave being sold. I was astonished to see a Catholic priest stand before me!

Like others, he examined me thoroughly and then asked, "Were you the boy singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot?" I didn’t quite know how to answer! I told him, "In all honesty, I sang the Spiritual, but don’t know if I was the boy you heard."

The priest said that the voice he heard was that of a boy soprano, whose voice had not changed! He then asked Mr. Franklin if I could sing a few notes for him. Mr. Franklin came and whispered in my ear, "You’d better sing your best Nigger." What should or could I sing for this man, I asked myself?. Trying to appear brave, I begged the priest not to be offended since I was a Baptist, was not familiar with Catholic hymns, and then sang the Doxology (a sixteen century hymn): Praise God from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him all creatures here below 3" The priest stopped me and I thought that Mr. Franklin would surely whip me! Instead, the priest said, "You have the most pleasing boy soprano voice I have ever heard!" Strangely, the crowd quieted down while I sang the Doxology.

After a few minutes, the Slave Traders resumed their business of selling human flesh. The next man to inspect me was black, about 40 years old, 6 feet and 2 inches [1.88 m] in height, and weighed about 170 pounds [77 kg]. He was dressed in a beautiful blue suit fashionable for that era of the 1850’s and wore a matching blue hat.

I later found out that this black man, whose name was Jean Dupuis, was very wealthy and owned about two dozen black slaves. He approached me and asked, "How much do you weigh? How tall are you? How old are you? He felt my arms, belly, buttocks, and thighs to check their strength. He also looked at my mouth, teeth, and checked my hearing and eyesight. Mr. Dupuis said," I could use a fine looking mulatto like you. You could be trained as my house servant, driver, and personal servant. A boy with such fair-skin like you could bring a lot of prestige to me."

Actually, while I was afraid, Mr. Dupuis didn’t appear to be as mean as I heard some slave owners were. As he began to leave, he asked one of the Slave Traders when the slaves would be fully exposed to prospective buyers. After a moment of discussion with his partner, the first Slave Trader told Mr. Dupuis that as soon as the last few men had inspected the products, the full exposure would occur. The last man to examine me was a thin, tall man with a blond mustache, probably about thirty years old.

From the nearby gossip, I learned that Hammond (I don’t know if it’s his first or last name) had fallen on hard times and had just 12-14 slaves. Hammond examined every muscle in my body! He said little while checking me, but said, "You will make a great field hand, little nigger."

He then left the viewing platform and soon all prospective buyers had also departed. After all men had left the auction platform, the Slave Traders announced that all slaves would be fully exposed to any potential buyer who paid the sum of $50.00. Soon, a large blanket was placed over the auction tables, obscuring any view except to those who paid their $50. Since there was no top above the auction tables, enough natural light was provided to see inside and there were no nearby trees for inquisitive persons! About 28 men, including Mr. Dupuis, paid their entrance fee. I had no idea what to expect until the Slave Traders pulled off our trousers (our only clothes) for 'inspection' by those who paid their fees.

I feel that I should describe some of my physical appearance, so that the reader can understand my physical attributes. As a reminder, I was somewhat short, had blue eyes, and blond hair. At thirteen, I had not developed any sexual characteristics, at least hardly that any grown man would notice. I was still a boy! My dick was slightly over one inch in length and my balls were like little eggs. I had hardly any body hair anywhere, including my pubic area. But from what my friends had told me, I knew that I would soon start puberty and enter manhood before too long.

Hammond, the thirty year old man, inspected me more closely than before, feeling my belly, back, and squeezing my genitals to see if I could father slave children. To a planter, baby slaves meant more status and money! He patted me on the butt, smiled and left the platform. A few other men came by and felt my legs, muscles, and genitals, but said nothing.

Mr. Dupuis smiled at me and I couldn’t help but return it. I think this pleased him. He told me, "When we get to my plantation, an old slave will train you to be humble when you see a white person, show you how to answer the door courteously, teach you how to drive my two-horse rig, and demonstrate what will be required of you as my personal house slave," he said, "I much prefer to see you in your natural state than in those trousers I saw earlier." He then ran his hands slowly over my chest and belly, felt my thighs and legs again and then felt and squeezed my dick and balls, seeming to enjoy it.

He said, "Boy, as your little eggs and pale-skinned dick grow, I expect you to produce at least one black baby a year. I expect to make a lot of money off breeding you and selling your babies." Of course, I knew about cattle breeding and the production of calves, but his idea that I should be his 'bull' producing slave children almost made me throw up. Mr. Dupuis smiled again and left. Other men passed by, and some inspected me, until only a few were left. I recognized the priest who had visited me earlier.

He seemed sad for some reason. He came to me and said, "Don’t be afraid my little mulatto, I’m goin' to inspect you some more. He felt my vocal cords and then felt my dick and balls. He said, "You don’t have hardly any body hair on you, do you? I wasn’t sure that I should reply, but stated, "No Sir, I don’t." He then asked if I had started having any 'nocturnal emissions' and I had to ask him what he meant. After he explained 'nocturnal emissions' to me, I told him that I hadn’t.

The priest asked me when I would turn fourteen. I told him I would be fourteen in September, or about 2-3 months. The priest acted strange when he found out I was so close to fourteen. I don’t know why? He composed himself and said, "You have the most beautiful boy-soprano voice that I have ever heard and wanted to buy me for the Cathedral in Natchez and glorify God through my voice."

I was shocked and told him that I was white and my family will come and get me. The priest smiled and said, "You may be white, but now you are just a slave to be bought and sold." The three men began bidding for my body. I noticed that the younger (Hammond) seemed to glare with anger at the other two bidders. Finally, the priest bid $785 and the black master shook his head and left the auction area.

Papers of ownership were signed, $785.00 was paid, and a rope was attached to my neck with another shorter one secured firmly to my wrists. At that moment, another, younger priest arrived and with the older one escorted me to St. Mary’s Cathedral, which I discovered was not located very far from where I had been auctioned. It was then that I learned Father Marelli was a Bishop in the Catholic Church.

I was taken to an area behind the cathedral and thoroughly bathed by both men. They then put some clothes on me and took me to a small building with a bed, chest-of-drawers/mirror, and pitcher and wash basin, a small desk with a Bible beside an oil lamp and a crucifix on the wall. I allowed them to do all of these things without any protest, I guess, because I was in turmoil and scared, having been sold like a horse. The older priest, Father Marelli, told me that I would be treated well here compared to working in the cotton fields on the plantations of the two other men who bid for me.

I started crying and Father Marelli, for the first time, showed some kindness towards me. He held me and comforted me and just said, "Obey, and all will be well." A lady brought some stew (I was hungry again) for me to eat and it was delicious! The younger priest, Father Greenfield, said that he would be back later and begin my training for the choir. Since I enjoyed singing, his promise to return later, raised my spirits.

When Father Greenfield came back, he had a handful of music and we began practicing immediately. Of course, I had to learn not only the notes, but the Latin words as well and the priest was very patient with me. We continued practicing after supper for almost two hours. Father Greenfield said that it was time to retire for the evening and that he would stay with me to keep me from being afraid. He blew out the lamp and in the moonlight I saw him get undressed and get in my bed.

He teased me for not being undressed yet and I stripped my meager clothing off my body. The priest kissed me on my cheeks, forehead and on my mouth as he felt my chest, belly and genitals with his free hand. He was very gentle with me and said how much he liked me.

Even though I was unable to get a hard-on, Father Greenfield didn’t seem to mind and for some reason, the touching of my dick and balls felt good . He turned me on my belly and put something wet on my butt hole. He then began slowly inserting his dick in my hole. It hurt so much, I began to scream, but he said not to make any noise because I might be punished for it. His dick slipped further and further in my butt hole until I could feel the head of his dick inside my belly. He pumped and pumped me until I felt a gush of warm liquid in my insides. His dick stayed inside me for a few minutes and then popped out. The smile on his face was incredible! The only thing I could be glad about was the pain was over – or was it? He patted my on the butt and said that he really loved me – and the voice I had to offer to the Church.

The following Sunday, I sang with the boys choir and performed my first solo at the church. After Mass, Father Marelli introduced me to some people in the church as the new slave. I heard one lady whisper, "He’s lighter-skinned than my son. How can he be a slave?" This is how I came to know my benefactor who will deliver this letter up North.

I sang for several more Masses and people remarked how well they liked my singing. Personally, I thought a few of the boys in the choir could sing as well as me!

In August, Father Marelli brought a man to see me and he handed me a treat, some sugar cane. They walked me to where we usually slaughtered the animals for food. I began to feel funny and dizzy. The man had given laudanum (opium) to me, masked by some sugar cane. Since I was sedated, I don’t know exactly what happened. Father Marelli told me afterwards what occurred:

I was taken to a clean table, stripped of all my clothes, and tied spread-eagled on the table. The man tied ropes around my belly with a knot around my dick to hold it on top of my belly while the ropes held my middle in place. I was unsure what was going to happen next when Father Marelli said, "With a voice like yours, it would be a sin to lose it," adding, "He would make certain that my voice never changed into that of a man and I would be known as a 'castrato'.

The other man poured some alcohol all over my pubic area and genitals. He then tied a short rope around the top of my balls next to my dick so tight that it hurt. After a few minutes, my balls had a dull ache, but the pain disappeared as the opium sedated me for the operation. The man produced a metallic device that I had once seen used to castrate young bulls. The man intended to crush both spermatic cords with the burdizzo and leave my dick undamaged.

Father Marelli gripped my right leg and lifted the right-side of my ball sac, so the man could locate my right spermatic cord and pinch it to the outside edge of the ball sac between his thumb and forefinger. The man put the jaws of the device just above the top of the testicle.

The jaws now were positioned to crush my right testicle and the man poured alcohol on my balls again. The man squeezed the jaws closed and waited so many seconds and then moved the jaws about ½ inch above or below where he crushed my cord and squeezed the burdizzo for so many seconds again at this new site.

When he was satisfied with crushing my right testicle, the man repeated his earlier procedures to crush my left ball. Once again the man repeated his earlier action by locating my left spermatic cord, pinched it to the outside edge of the ball sac between his thumb and forefinger, and squeezed the jaws shut. When he had finished crushing my cords, Father Marelli paid him and the man said to check and be sure the testicles had shriveled within 4-6 weeks. The man poured a lot of alcohol on my ball sac, untied me, and then left.

Father Marelli called on Father Greenfield to help me get down from the table and carry me to the house.

I saw that my ball sac was red in four places, two on each side above my testicles when they lifted me down from the table. Both priests watched my recuperation with care.

***

After about five days of bedrest, I began performing chores at the church in preparation for the Mass. After seven days, Father Greenfield returned to my living quarters to resume my choir practice, knowing that it would probably be at least another week before I would be well enough to participate in the Mass. I guess he wanted to get my mind off my castration while helping me learn the music of the church. And, probably this was good therapy for me, since I would not been through puberty, I knew that I would not experience an orgasm or be able to have children. For the next month, the younger priest also didn’t engage in anal sex with me while I healed. Around the sixth week, the Bishop checked my pubic area and noticed that my balls had almost totally shriveled up. He told me that they had been reabsorbed into my body due to the lack of testosterone in my body because my testicles had been destroyed.

I began singing one solo at each Mass after the second week of my recovery. By the time of the sixth week, I was singing more solos. Just a few members of the congregation were aware that I had been castrated, while most just thought that my voice had not changed, even as I passed the date of my fourteenth birthday.

Chapter Five

Chapter 6 was suggested by CvanD in an e-mail to me on the Board. I wrote it and then he revised some things, which I believe improved it, and I appreciate his suggestions in this section. I hope you enjoy it! Sailorboy

After my dear female friend took my story to the north, I decided to continue writing an account of my enslavement in Mississippi as a method of coping with my captivity and loneliness. As the chief soloist in the choir – their only castrato – I performed at every Mass as well as on special occasions and became well-known to members of the congregation. A family with three children seem to have developed a friendly interest in me.

One of the children, Alice, was a fourteen year old girl, the same age as me, with light blue eyes and blonde hair. Without doubt she was one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen. She was well into puberty with the beginnings of a wonderful figure. With permission of Bishop Marelli, I was even invited to lunch after Mass by this family. The girl's full name was Alice Sanders and her father was a local merchant in Natchez.

Alice had confided to her parents that I was 'cute' This might have rung some alarm bells with her parents who knew what a frisky little filly their daughter was becoming – not to put too fine a point on it, a bit of a hot-pants. However, the Bishop knew that my castration had been thorough, and assured Alice’s parents that however great the temptations she put in my way, I was not capable of having sex with her and getting her pregnant. So he had no problem with me visiting the Sanders family. I enjoyed being with Alice's younger brothers too, James, age 12, and Michael, age 10. It was a 'replacement' family for me since I was a long distance from my own family in Kentucky.

After the weather became better, Alice, James, Michael, and I would go walking along the Mississippi River. From our conversations, I don't think they knew that I was a slave. I told them I was an orphan who had been placed in the care of the Bishop. I did tell them some things about my life in Kentucky, but told them that my parents were dead. I hope God will forgive me for lying!

In early summer of 1858, the four of us decided to go to an oxbow lake of the Mississippi for a swim in order to cool off. I wore a pair of old trousers to swim in while the other three swam in the nude. They teased me, but just guessed that I was modest about my body being exposed. To some extent this was true. I didn’t want anyone to see my gelded genitals, with my empty ball-sac and limp little penis. Even ten-year-old Michael was better equipped, with a jaunty cock, half-hard more often than not, and a well-filled scrotum.

After the festivities of the Fourth of July were over, Alice suggested we should go swimming at the lake without her brothers. I knew that she liked me as much as I liked her. We reached a quiet spot on the bank of the lake. "Let’s sit here for a bit," said Alice. We made ourselves comfortable, and she suddenly kissed me on the mouth and began unbuttoning my shirt. Soon, she had my shirt off and began rubbing my chest and belly, pinching my nipples every once and awhile. It felt good! Nothing Father Greenfield had done in bed with me felt this good because this girl was treating me like a man. With Father Greenfield I’d been a mere bum-boy, a substitute girl, for his perverted sexual lusts.

"Now I’ve felt your's," whispered Alice, "I guess you’d like to feel mine." She began to unbutton her blouse, and showed me two perfect breasts. "You can kiss them if you like." I licked and sucked on the beautiful nipples of this wonderful girl. They quickly became hard, standing up like small mountains from the attention they were getting. Alice now did the most exciting thing of all. She opened her legs, and through a froth of lace-trimmed underwear I could see the swelling curve of her sex, hidden only by the crotch of her knickers. And Alice knew I could see it. She was inviting me to fondle her adorable soft thighs, perhaps to pull her knickers to one side 3; 3; 3; 3; 3; My heart began pounding wildly.

The cruellest result of castrating a pre-teen boy is that his sexual curiosity and desires remain after the operation. He longs to 'do it' with a girl, but now lacks the ability. I had never been able, even when intact, to get a full erection, not even when Father Greenfield was 'fiddling' with me, to get me in the mood for having sex with him. He had never been able to get me more than half-hard, and now I had lost even that modest ability together with my balls. Alice had stuck one of her hands down my trousers towards my private area, expecting to find six inches of hot rampant dick. She found a tiny inert acorn, and beneath it- nothing.

A strange expression came over her face. She said, "What’s the matter with you? Take off your trousers so I can see you." Reluctantly, I stripped off my remaining clothes and stood naked before this girl. I really liked her, and longed to be intact again, so that I could put my penis up her vagina.

Alice gazed at my tiny shrivelled penis, and the scar where my ball sac used to be. Her eyes roamed from my face to my private area and back. Her mouth curled in disgust. "What a pathetic boy you are," she said, "with a tiny dick and no balls. My ten year old brother has a bigger one than you. You’re not a boy at all!" Suddenly, realisation came to her. "I know!" she said, "You’re a slave-boy! They take slave boys and geld them. They cut their balls right out, like they do horses, so that they can’t be a nuisance with white girls!"

All of these insults hurt me terribly. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I confessed the truth, that I was a free white boy who was captured by slave traders, sold to the Church, and gelded on orders of the Bishop. Alice was unmoved. "Ugh, you’re horrible," she said, "Go away, I never want to see you again, ever." By this time, I felt totally humiliated! Alice stalked off. I put my clothes on and went back to St. Mary's.

As the days passed, I saw Alice and her brothers at Mass, but only her brothers came and talked to me afterwards. My trips to their house also came to a halt. I don't know if she said anything about what happened to her parents, to the Bishop, or to her friends. It was almost as if I didn't exist when she saw me. Neither Bishop Marelli, nor her parents ever spoke to me about what happened at the lake, but her parents’ attitude to me seemed to have cooled off. Two things, though, I was certain about. Alice knew I had no balls, that I was not a boy but a eunuch. In the eyes of society as a whole, I was a slave. Either way, I was a non-person!

After Mass one Sunday, my lady friend (who had taken my earlier account North) talked with me in private and said that my account had been reported in many newspapers in the North. The Bishop of Louisville, Kentucky, displeased that a white child should be sold into slavery, had written to the Archbishop of New Orleans asking him to investigate the matter, free me, and send me back to Kentucky. This news that I could be returned to my family in Kentucky thrilled me and I was happy and waited impatiently for the Archbishop to visit Bishop Marelli. In late August, 1858, Bishop Marelli sent for me and introduced me to a man named William V. Vardaman. I later found out that this man lived in Natchez, but owned thousands of acres of land in eastern Louisiana across the Mississippi River.

Mr. Vardaman had me strip off my shirt and examined me, checking my teeth, hearing, and muscles. He then ordered me to strip naked! I looked at Bishop Marelli and he said to obey him, which I did. Mr. Vardaman carefully examined my muscles on the lower part of my body and grinned at me when he saw where I had been gelded. In a joking way, he said to the Bishop, "Well, I guess this boy won’t be used as breeding stock." He then said, "I think we can make a deal, provided the price is right," As Father Greenfield escorted me out of the room, I saw another man enter the Bishop’s office with some papers.

Father Greenfield took me back to my room and told me that my sale to Mr. Vardaman was being arranged. I asked, "How can the Bishop sell me?" Father Greenfield reminded me that the Bishop had bought me (for the Church) about two years earlier and had the right to sell me as the Church’s agent. Rather than telling Father Greenfield what I knew about actions being taken to free me, I asked him, "What if someone is trying to free me?" He looked at me and, with tears in his eyes, said that once I was sold, it would be more difficult to locate me. He then told me that he had been reassigned to another parish in southern Mississippi and was due to leave within two weeks. As you can imagine, this news was heart-breaking to me. Father Greenfield said that I should keep it a secret of what he had just told me or he might get in trouble with the Bishop. He believed it was his duty to tell me what was going on! He had barely finished his words when Bishop Marelli and Mr. Vardaman opened the door and came into the cottage where I had been staying since I was bought almost two years before.

Father Greenfield said to the Bishop, "Should I leave now, Sir?"

Bishop Marelli replied, "No, stay until this matter is settled, Father." Bishop Marelli then said to me, "Boy, Mr. Vardaman has purchased you for $800.00 and you will be his slave on his plantation."

I pretended to be shocked as Mr. Vardaman joined the conversation, "You are now my slave 3;," as he waved some papers in front of me, " 3;and I will take you to my plantation, 'Rose Oaks’, for training and then you will be sent to my estate in Louisiana where my Overseer will assign you to your duties there," adding, "I’m going to fetch my driver and wagon to pick you up, so get your things together for the trip," The Bishop instructed Father Greenfield to help me pack my meager things for the trip and I made sure that I had my journal and additional paper and ink to be able to continue writing, hiding those items as well as I could in the bag containing my belongings.

When I reached Rose Oak's Plantation, I was assigned to one of the slave cabins for single males. Only one young slave was staying there and he was about my age. From what he told me, I guessed that he had been recently bought by Mr. Vardaman. An older slave accompanied Mr. Vardaman and ordered us out of the cabin for a talk and some training. While the Master watched, the slave told us that we would be taken across the Mississippi River and work on Mr. Vardaman’s vast lands in Louisiana, planting cotton, picking cotton, raising food crops, and doing other work assigned to us by the Overseer.

Mr. Vardaman interrupted the slave and said, "Obey, Obey, Obey and do your best work for me and you will see that I am a good Master. Don’t obey and you will see how I punish rebellious slaves. The Overseer will have direct contact with you, but I spend a great deal of time on my estate in Louisiana to ensure that my investment in slaves and land are being used wisely." The Master asked, "Are there any questions?" Neither the black boy nor I had any questions. Early the next morning, the black boy and I were driven to the local ferry and taken across the river to the slave cabins in Concordia Parish, Louisiana.

Once there, the boy and I were assigned to different cabins, reserved for single male slaves and there was room for at least 4-6 slaves. I was sent to a cabin where there was only one other slave, Rufus, living. He was coal-black, with black eyes, a good physical build, was slightly taller in height that I was, and about a year younger than me. We talked for awhile and I found that he was a nice boy and had a good sense of humor. I liked him immediately! The Overseer came and sent slaves, adult and children, to the fields to pick the cotton fibers bursting snowy white from the plants. We had long sacks to put the cotton in and when that was full, dumped the contents into a waiting wagon and started picking again. The labor was from sun-rise to sun-down, tough, and well-organized. Water was carried to the slaves by a sled of sorts, but it was very warm. Whippings for those who seemed to be too slow occurred fairly often. I tried my best to avoid them

After spending almost two weeks picking cotton, I knew that most of the crop had been harvested. After supper that night, Rufus asked me if I would suck his dick. He stripped what little clothes he had on (it was hot and humid) and I took his lengthening black dick in my mouth, teased the mushroom-shaped head with my tongue, began to stick the full length of his dick in my mouth and throat as I slid up and down his black shaft. I loved it and Rufus did too!

After several minutes, he groaned and his semen erupted into my throat and he panted and breathed heavily for awhile. Of course, I had no physical reaction sexually to what went on! He then asked if he could fuck me and I told him he would need some grease to lubricate my anal passage. He had none! So, we went to bed and dreamed of various things, but I had the taste of a boy’s semen still in my mouth and it was something I wanted to do again. I guess it was because Rufus asked me, rather than forcing himself on me, and because I liked him. The next night Rufus brought some grease from the kitchen, rubbed it on my asshole and stuck one, two, and then three fingers in it. He greased his own hard dick and then slowly entered me. Before long, he was he was completely inside me and stroked back and forth as his balls hit my ass each time he lunged forward. I had a pleasurable feeling inside me behind my dick. I couldn’t get hard, but something felt good. Finally, Rufus groaned and shot off inside me. We went to the stream to wash off the grease and returned to the cabin, talked for awhile, and then went to sleep.

The next day, a white man was present when we were given our orders for the work day. He asked, "Is there a boy named Joel here? Come to me now." So, I went to him as the others were given their work instructions for the day.

He introduced himself to me as Samuel Gordon, the Master’s chief accountant. Mr. Gordon said, "Mr. Vardaman believes that you can write. Can you?"

I responded, "Sir, I can write, read, and do arithmetic."

He asked how I learned how to do those things and I replied that I attended school before I was a slave. Mr. Gordon looked at me in a strange way, his eyes and ears trying to take in what I said.

"Before you became a slave, Joel?" asked Mr. Gordon.

I said, "Yes Sir,"

He looked at me and said, "How is that possible, unless 3;?" He stopped in mid-speech and told me what we were to do.

Each year, Mr. Vardaman had an inventory taken of his livestock, wagons and farm equipment, and number of slaves. Mr. Vardaman wanted me to assist Mr. Gordon in the Inventory this year. From that moment, I reported to Mr. Gordon rather than doing other chores. We itemized the number of horses, cattle, hogs, wagons, horse collars, farm implements, and the number of slaves. After taking inventory on the Louisiana plantation, we crossed the river and inventoried Rose Oaks, the main plantation of about 400 acres.

During this time of inventory of the Master’s estate, Rufus and I continued our sexual contacts 3-4 times a week. I realized that we were in love with one another, but had to keep it a secret. It took almost one month to inventory the estate and I enjoyed this period where I could write and use my knowledge of arithmetic. Since I now had access to paper and ink, I was able to 'borrow' some from Mr. Gordon because my own supply had become low. Mr. Gordon and I put the itemized Inventory in a folio, and took it to Rose Oaks and I got the opportunity to see the inside of Mr. Vardaman’s plantation home. When I saw the calendar on the wall of the Master’s Study, I realized that I had turned fifteen years old several days before. Mr. Vardaman walked in and told both of us to sit down as he did the same and reviewed the Inventory. He smiled as he checked the figures and looked up at both of us. He said that this was the most thorough Inventory he had ever received and congratulated Mr. Gordon, who immediately pointed out that he had a lot of help from me.

Mr. Vardaman said, "Yes, this young man has been of great service to us."

The Master then said that he had heard from Bishop Marelli and Father Greenfield that I could read and write. He asked me if I would serve as his secretary rather than working in the fields.

I told him, "Master, I only went to school for about eight years and don’t have the knowledge and learning that you do."

He replied, "You are young and I need someone to write rough drafts for me and after I check it, then I will let you write the finished draft."

I told him I was honored and "I will obey and work for you as you first instructed me when you bought me."

Mr. Gordon put his hand across his face to cover his laughter and Mr. Vardaman smiled and said, "I think this boy put one over on me?"

I hastily replied, "Master, I meant no disrespect with what I said."

Mr. Vardaman replied, "I know you didn’t," and started gently laughing! He said that the cotton would be loaded on the steamboats within two or three weeks and he would be going to New Orleans with his wife and family when the last steamboat sailed.

Mr. Gordon said, "I didn’t know that you planned a trip to New Orleans?"

Mr. Vardaman said he wanted to do some shopping and do some investigating in New Orleans.

Mr. Gordon asked, "Some investigating?"

And Mr. Vardaman replied, "Yes, I want to see the Archbishop of New Orleans about a certain matter."

Mr. Vardaman said that I would receive daily instructions about my writing assignments from Mr. Gordon during his absence, but that I would receive them personally from him until his departure for New Orleans. He asked me if I would like to move to the slave quarters at Rose Oak and I inquired if it would be possible for me to remain in my cabin on the Louisiana side for awhile. Mr. Vardaman said that he would allow me to do that until he needed me on a full-time basis. (Of course, I couldn’t tell them that I wanted to remain with Rufus.) With that taken care of, he dismissed Mr. Gordon and me.

As we walked outside, Mr Gordon pulled me out of sight of the house slaves and said, "I believe Mr. Vardaman is checking to see if you are really white and was sold into slavery illegally," I didn’t know what to say. Mr. Gordon went on and said, "Mr Vardaman is troubled by your pale skin, your blond hair, your blue eyes, and the fact that you have been educated. Niggers don’t read and write! It’s against the law to educate a Nigger! In my opinion, you are probably just a fair-skinned mulatto."

After I returned to the slave cabins on the Concordia Parish side of the river, I waited for Rufus to return and we talked about many things, including what was told to me by Mr. Gordon. I asked Rufus not to say anything to anyone about it and he agreed. He told me, "I wondered from the first day we met how anyone with your skin and eye color could be a nigger." We enjoyed love making again that night and for the first time since I was ripped away from my family, I really felt loved! I was very happy spending time with Rufus.

I helped Mr. Vardaman with his paperwork until he left for New Orleans and then I assisted Mr. Gordon. In early November, (I heard) Mr. Vardaman returned to Rose Oaks and Mr. Gordon came to the slave quarters and brought me back to Rose Oaks. We came to Mr. Vardaman’s study where Mr. Vardaman had us sit down around a small table on which he had some papers. Mr. Vardaman said, "I met with Archbishop Blanc in New Orleans and he had a letter from the Bishop of Louisville asking him to locate and free a white boy illegally sold into slavery by his father. Even though part of me thought you might be white, another part believed that you are a fair-skinned mulatto. When the Archbishop asked me where and when I purchased you, I told him I paid $800 for you to Bishop Marelli in August of this year. The Archbishop said that he had visited with Bishop Marelli and inquired about an enslaved white boy, but was told that the Cathedral of St. Mary owned no slaves."

My heart leaped when he mentioned Bishop Marelli’s name. Mr. Vardaman showed me a piece of paper called 'Certificates of Slaves', a document required by Mississippi law that anyone selling a slave had to show to the clerk of the probate court that the seller came lawfully into the possession of the slave.

Mr. Vardaman pushed in front of me the Bill of Sale for one 13 year old mulatto boy by a Mr. Barclay to Franklin and Armistead, Slave Traders. Mr. Vardaman asked, "Is this you and who sold you?"

I replied, "It’s me and my Dad sold me to those men."

He asked if both my parents were free whites and I told him they were. Mr. Vardaman then showed me the Bill of Sale stating a 13 year-old male mullato was sold for $785 to Bishop Marelli. Then, he showed me the Bill of Sale for a 14 year-old mullato boy for $800 to Mr. Vardaman by Bishop Marelli. A chill went down my back at that time! Mr. Vardaman stared at Mr. Gordon and me for a long time. He added that a Daniel and Permela Barclay had written to Archbishop Blanc asking if he knew about a 13 year-old white boy who had disappeared and, to their knowledge, sold into slavery. He asked, "Who are these people,"

"They are my Dad’s parents", I replied. I hadn’t seen my grandparents since I was 6 or 7 years old!

Mr. Gordon said, "So the boy is white?"

Mr. Vardaman replied that the evidence indicated I was white, but the court would have to decide. Archbishop Blanc told Mr. Vardaman that the Church would reimburse him for the money he paid for me if the court ruled that I was white and not a slave. Mr. Vardaman looked very sad and told me that he would give the documents he had to his attorney so the city court could make a ruling in my case. He then left us, got in his buggy and headed towards Natchez. Mr. Gordon told me that I needed to get any of my possessions from the slave quarters and return to Rose Oaks, so I would be available when the case came before the judge. We took the ferry across the river and I went in the cabin and got my few possessions, including my journal. I was sad and tearful as I kissed Rufus for what would probably be the last time and briefly told him what happened. While he was also sad, he was happy that I might win my freedom. We both cried and I heard Mr. Gordon shout that we needed to get to the ferry before it left for the last time.

My law suit was filed and the trial was set for November 15, 1858. Mr. Vardaman’s attorney, Mr. Brown, represented me at the trial. Twelve all-white men were seated in the jury and I was given some nice clothes to wear by Mr. Vardaman. I noticed that Mr. Franklin and Mr. Armistead were there with a man I thought must be their attorney. Since Mr. Franklin was personally involved when my Dad sold me, he was called to testify. My lawyer, Mr. Inghram, asked Mr. Franklin to describe how I came to become his slave in Memphis.

Mr. Franklin said, "His Father brought him to my place of business, signed a paper stating he was a mulatto, and sold him to me for $300.00."

Mr. Inghram then questioned if my Father said anything after he received the money.

Mr. Franklin replied, "I can’t recall his exact words, but Mr. Barclay said that the $300.00 was to pay some gambling debts." He added, "Besides that, anyone who can see can tell that this boy is a nigger."

Mr. Inghram asked the Judge to have the remark stricken from the records and the jury to ignore his statement, to which the Judge agreed. I was not put on the witness stand since slaves could not testify in court.

The Judge recessed the court until after lunch when the attorney for the State and my attorney presented their summaries to the jury. The jury went into a room in the courthouse and emerged about one hour later with a verdict. As I rose to face the jury, my heart was pounding for I knew that very few cases such as mine were won. The foreman of the jury stated that the jury believed I was white and had been illegally enslaved by the actions of a greedy Father, anxious to sacrifice his son to get out of debt. They recommended that Franklin and Armistead reimburse me for my loss of manhood with a payment of $1,000.00 and pay for my expenses back to Kentucky. The Judge ordered Franklin and Armistead to pay the fine and expenses to me as set forth by the jury and they had the legal right to sue my Dad for fraud. I hugged my attorney as we went to the judge’s bench where my Certificate of Manumission was signed. We waited until Mr. Franklin’s accountant brought $1,200.00 cash to the judge. I don’t think Mr. Franklin wanted to face either the people at court or me because he had committed a crime and it would be public knowledge.

I accompanied my attorney back to his office where Mr. Vardaman was waiting. I thanked Mr. Vardaman for restoring my freedom and hugged him and wept. He said, "I feel a terrible personal loss because you are free, but it was only right to do it. I feel even more terrible in that you were enslave and gelded and cannot have children. You are a fine lad and I wish you well." He had my meager belongings, but he had a slave put them in a new bag for me; and then we went to the steamboat office to purchase my ticket to Louisville. Mr. Vardaman surprised me with two new suits of clothes for my trip. He even paid for a telegram to be sent to my Mother telling her that I was coming back home by steamboat and rail.

Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the lady who helped me so much, came to see me off. I embraced both of them and thanked them for all of their help in freeing me. I boarded the Mississippi Giant for my trip to Memphis and had a nice cabin this time to sleep. I was able to enjoy the trip and walked around the steamboat many times a day. It was a far different trip than the one I had made in chains in 1857. The trip upriver took longer due to the current, but the ship made it to Memphis on the twenty-second day. I bought my train ticket in Memphis, took the Memphis and Ohio Railway and connected with the Louisville and Nashville Railway, which brought me to a small depot not far from my family’s farm. I saw hundreds of people waiting for me when I got off the train. The Bishop of Louisville, other politicians, as well as people who came to greet me cheered as I got off the train.

My Minister and members of my church were there to welcome me as well 3; and I saw my Mother, brother, and sister and ran to hug them. We all cried tears of joy at my return. With bowed heads, we heard our Minister and the Bishop of Louisville say prayers of thanksgiving for my release from the bonds of slavery and return to the bosom of my family. While I am missing a part of my body that makes me a man, I was home and nothing is better than being among the ones you love – and I suddenly thought of Rufus.

Through the Williams at the Cathedral of St. Mary, I learned that Bishop Marelli was transferred to a bishopric in India, where I heard that he died on board the ship before he arrived. Through my Dad’s parents, who wrote to me, I learned that my Dad had been convicted of fraud and selling a white child into slavery and sent to prison for five years.

The End

Notes/Information from the author

Readers may wonder how a parent could sell a child into slavery, but , aside from the plantation gentry, many people throughout the South had little money. One dollar purchased a lot in those days. I will cite a few statistics to point out what I mean about the enormous purchasing power of the dollar back then:

1. Beef in Illinois sold at 4 cents a pound in 1856.
2. Bread sold for 7 ½ cents a loaf (1860).
3. A chicken sold for a little over a dime (1856).
4. A doctor’s office visit was between 50 cents and $1.00 between 1855 and 1864.
5. In 1853, a funeral, counting all charges cost about $84.00. Today a funeral will cost between $6,000-$7,000.
6. In 1860, farm hands (including board) were paid $140 per year!
7. Industrial employees earned between $250-$400 annually in 1860.
8. Non-farm laborers earned $1.04 PER DAY in 1860.
9. Daily wages, including board for farm labor averaged 46 cents in 1860.
10. Lincoln purchased his two-story frame cottage with six rooms for $1,500.00.

While kidnapping and smuggling are repulsive today, the aforementioned motivation of money and the opportunities to make it explain why people were willing to engage in such activities since the sale of slaves brought huge profits to all involved in the sales field.