“Kiss the book on it,” said Ratcliff, handing him a Bible.
“Yes, massa, as many books as you please,” replied Peek, doing as he was bidden.
“Then, by my authority as owner of you two slaves, and as justice of the peace, I pronounce you, in presence of these witnesses, man and wife,” said Ratcliff. “Why the hell, Peek, don’t you kiss the bride?”
“O, you jes’ leeb dis chile alone for dat air, Massa Ratcliff,” replied the negro; and, concealing his mouth by both hands, he simulated a kiss.
“Now attend to Mrs. Peek while another little ceremony takes place,” said Ratcliff.
At a given signal I was stripped of my coat, waistcoat, and shirt, then dragged to the whipping-post, and bound to it. I could see Estelle, her face of a mortal paleness, her body writhing as if in an agony. The first lash that descended on my bare flesh seemed to rive her very heart-strings, for she uttered a loud shriek, and was borne out senseless in the negro’s arms.
“All right!” said Ratcliff. “We shall soon have half a dozen little Peeks toddling about. Proceed. Vickery.”
A hundred lashes, each tearing or laying bare the flesh, were inflicted; but after the first, all sensibility to pain was lost in the intensity of my emotions. Had I been changed into a statue of bronze I could not have been more impenetrable to pain.
“Now, sir,” said the slave lord, coming up to me, “you see what it is to cross the path of Carberry Ratcliff. The next time you venture on it, you won’t get off so easy.”
Then, turning to Vickery, he said: “I promised the boys they should have a frolic with him, and see him safely launched. They have been longing for a shy at an Abolitionist. So unshackle him, and let him slide.”