Ironically, she really had no reason to be there. Had they been back home in England
she, an upstanding but delicate young woman would never have been in a place like that
courtyard. Nor would such a scene have occurred in front of her. It was 1842 and Queen
Victoria had been on the throne only five years. It was a time when young women in the
Western world, of genteel social class, were looked upon as the “fairer sex.” The sex to
be led and guided. Treated with mixed paternalism and respect but sheltered from the
vulgarities of life. She had been an innocent young lady then, in the most refined sense.
Emily and her husband Jon were settlers; prospective farmers newly arrived in the
colony. They had left their homeland, but unlike many of their day, were not criminals or
refugees. They were part of a religious company of families whose faith had led them to
abandon comfortable lives in lovely southern England. They had come to colonize- and
build.
Eagerly they sought both freedom and order in the wilds of a far off continent,
paradoxically to create another England, extending her culture and dominion even as they
fled from its religious constraints.
But then, they saw no incongruity in this. They were British. What other culture
worthy of God’s elect was there, but England’s? What other civilization save that of the
Christian West? They were the new elect, called to live holy lives in a community set
apart, spotless and cleansed of secular unrighteousness. But a community of English men
and women, nonetheless, who would create a new Britannia on the sun drenched African
highlands.
As well there were temporal considerations. The great lands of the interior were
said to be the rich and fertile, waiting for the hands of the chosen to extract a bounty.
The Almighty had given this vastness as their inheritance, populated it only with black
savages who were little more advanced than screeching baboons. They could of course be
converted to the true faith, and be used as servants and laborers- or pushed aside and
eliminated by righteous might. In any case, they were no threat to the superior white man.
The new Albion was theirs to claim.
This day the settlers had come ashore. Emily’s husband was a representative of the
company, and had urgent business to conduct at the government house. She had come along,
not wanting to be away from her husband in such a strange new land. They were troubled by
the rumor of war, and the news that Her Majesty’s government had closed the lands they had
intended to take in the north.
“Oh, Jon, we really haven’t come all this way for nothing, have we?” asked Emily as they
picked their way along the bustling, filthy street. The bright African sun was oppressive
and Emily, a typical Englishwoman was dressed for a mild day in London. Dark colored, long
cotton dress; blouse buttoned up to her neckline and a full ensemble of feminine
underthings all conspired to make the heat unbearable. Yet Emily did bear it. There was no
other way for a modest young Christian wife to dress. Her fair face flushed some from the
humidity and heat, but she tried to appear stoic for her husband. She did wrinkle her nose
however, at the street mud on her polished leather shoes.
“Do you think we’ll be allowed to trek to the interior?” she asked.
“I… I don’t know,” replied Jon nervously. “We’ll see what the commander has to say, then
we’ll talk to the other brethren and see what they want to do, I guess.”
Emily sighed. It was her husband’s usual indecisive manner. She had no idea why the
other settlers had elected him as their spokesman. She suspected it was because he was
young and of a constitution easily controlled by some of the more assertive men of the
group. But in any case she loved Jon dearly and was glad to see his pride in assuming an
important position within the elect.
Their party of settlers had arrived at the African port only the day before, to be
told the shocking and unwelcome news that the frontier had been closed. There was unrest
among the tribes of the interior, particularly the formidable Ndebele and Zulu, who were
warring with each other, as well as the Boers and other smaller black tribes. The colonial
government simply did not have the manpower to protect the immigrants.
But Jon and Emily had few options. They and the other settlers in their group had only
just disembarked from a six-month voyage. They had no money for a return passage and their
provisions were limited. They had expected to claim land soon after arriving in Africa and
had no other means of support. The small purse that their settler’s party had pooled was
needed to buy wagons and a little more food. Beyond that they had to live off the land.
Jon turned down another street, searching more or less aimlessly for the government
building that administered the colony. The town they were walking through was not only
dirty, it was rough, intimidating in the way of towns that bordered wild lands. The people
here were mostly white, British, but this was not England. That fair, green isle was a
world away, in more senses than one.
Nearly naked black natives also roamed the streets. Mostly young women wearing
little more than bead drops around their waists which covered only their sexes- and that
imperfectly. They seemed utterly unconcerned about their near nudity and Emily, who had
seen few blacks in her sheltered life was fascinated by their jet, ebony skin and Negroid
faces. She was repulsed by their immodesty, but was also struck by the savage dignity
about them. Their dark, bare breasts sprang and bounced proudly on their chests as they
walked, chattering with one another in their heathen language. A strange feeling came over
Emily. Inexplicably, she suddenly wondered what it would be like to be one of those women.
So free and uninhibited with her body. It was shocking, so unlike her own culture and
mores. Yet the unashamed exposure of skin seemed strangely appropriate in this exotic
land.
The black men were even more impressive to the young English wife. They wore little
more covering than the women, though they were often richly adorned with trinkets and
regalia that Emily supposed was some indication of rank. All of them, even the older men
were handsomely muscled and physically well built. They seemed so savage and wild, so
utterly alien to her own genteel society and experience. Yet, there was a dignity about
them as well, a bearing that was hard to reconcile with her previous impression of blacks
as ape-like sub humans. She wondered what life was like for them. Did they think as she
did? Did they have families? Did they have marriage, culture, institutions? Or were they
the primitive throwbacks that the European men said they were.
Emily quailed slightly and drew near Jon as a fearsome looking warrior strode by,
accompanied by a black woman who walked a step or two behind him. The young white wife
could see the power in his frame; his bulging shoulder muscles, his sinuous limbs and
superbly toned loins. She wondered if he and his woman had relations the same awkward and
tentative way she and Jon did. Or was he as wild and passionate as his persona?
Emily caught her breath, suddenly shocked at her own thoughts. This was not the
sort of thing a young woman of quality thought about. She closed her eyes and tried to
dismiss such ideas from her mind. The heat must be affecting her, she reasoned.
At last at the end of the dusty thoroughfare they saw the low walled compound and
the Union Jack, hanging listlessly from a pole in the still, humid air. A sentry was
posted at the gate and directed them to the administration building.
“Bugger the bloody niggers,” shouted an irate man who was leaving the office just as Jon
and Emily entered. “We’ll take into the interior anyway, we will. With or without the
Queen’s bloody gentleman army. We’ve got guns and men for it…”
Jon turned to see his wife flush at such course language. During the voyage from
Portsmouth he’d cringed whenever Emily overheard the sailors and their salty talk.
The administration building was stone and retained some of the morning’s coolness.
It was a welcome relief from the street and Emily took a seat on a rough-hewn wooden bench
in the lobby. The colony clerk’s office was busy and crowded. Several more hard-bitten
characters with foul mouths were vocally protesting the official ban on moving into native
lands. Even now, Emily was surprised to hear such language in an office of Her Majesty’s
government and sat blushing in the corner, unconsciously moving closer to her young
husband.
Jon took her hand in his and tired to smile reassuringly. Once again he tried to
force down the resentment and distrust that he felt when Emily was around other men.
At eighteen, she was the epitome of an English Rose; chaste and modest, poised,
religious and very loyal to her husband. Fair haired and gray eyed, she was petite, yet
stunningly proportioned. And still, even after a year of marriage he was rather… well,
rather afraid of her beauty. She was so dignified, so pure, that he sometimes felt he was
sullying her with his presence. A ridiculous notion for a husband, he knew- and he had
expected the feeling to wear off after they had been married and become intimate. It
hadn’t.
Jon continued to be, if the truth were told, more than a little intimidated by
Emily’s charms. His own sexually repressive upbringing didn’t help. Incredibly, he still
had not really seen her naked. He had felt her soft inviting body of course, in their
married bed, but her modesty and his inhibition were such that lovemaking, when it
infrequently occurred, was done in the dark. A secret thing that they like many of their
contemporaries were ashamed of. Sex among the religiously proper was veiled with shame; an
ugly, groping thing to be performed blindly and stoically to facilitate procreation, but
certainly not to be discussed between husband and wife. There was something frustratingly
missing in the tentative relations of their marriage bed, but neither Jon nor Emily would
dream of speaking of it.
The repression ingrained into Jon had another unfortunate effect. He could manage
an erection only rarely. Emily was far too inhibited to touch his penis, and he was
ashamed to stroke it while she was beside him. His shame and embarrassment would overcome
the feelings that her beauty had inspired and he would remain flaccid, becoming even more
ashamed.
Compounding everything was Emily’s habit of never talking while performing the
chore. Jon also never spoke. Yet his basic drives seethed away unabated, and away from
their shared bed his passions burned.
Jon’s insecurity had also made him paranoid about his wife. Emily was chaste and
totally loyal and he knew it. But his unreasoned doubts literally ate him from the inside.
His guilt became yet another barrier to performance.
Now, standing literally at Africa’s door, he had the strangest foreboding- a premonition
that the woman he loved could not survive here and that the die was cast. In bringing
Emily here he would loose her, but how he did not know. A moment later he smiled grimly
and dismissed the ridiculous thought.
At length a colored servant called them and they both stepped into an office. A
uniformed white man rose from behind an ornate desk and extended his hand.
“How do you do, I’m Captain Oliver Teal. I’m the Queen’s authority in this colony,
pending the assignment of a Consul. Please, have a seat.”
“Jon Robinson. And this is my wife, Emily. We’ve only just arrived.”
The officer nodded and frowned. “Yes. At the worst possible time I’m afraid.”
“Captain, I represent a group of settlers. We have charter papers from London, but
now we’ve been told the interior had been closed,” said Jon. “Some kind of nonsense with
the blacks?”
“Not nonsense, Mr. Robinson, a war. And a very serious one. Some of my men have
just returned from a reconnaissance along the river. The conflict is spreading to other
clans and to the farmers as well. Several white settlements have been attacked. And all of
the tribes are very restless.”
“Why… why don’t you punish them?” asked the young man. “Clear out the filthy
wretches.”
“They are very numerous and fierce, Mr. Robinson.”
“But they’re only savages. Surely British arms…”
The captain smiled faintly and shook his head. “Mr. Robinson, have you ever been in
the army?”
“Why, no… I…”
“No, indeed,” said the officer softly. “If you had, you would know it is not a
simple matter to track a cunning and determined enemy who greatly outnumbers you and roams
over a vast wilderness that only he is familiar with.”
“They’re still savages, Captain. They don’t have the white man’s intellect or
ingenuity.”
“They are intelligent enough to keep us on this side of the river,” said the
captain. “And no one who meets them in battle ever afterward questions their bravery. You
and your company would do well not to underestimate them.” Teal frowned again. He could
see the arrogance in the young man’s face. Arrogance in Africa could kill. “I have
explicit instructions,” continued the captain. “Under no circumstances am I to risk any
force beyond the river boundary. Settlers are restricted to mapped sectors of the
valley.”
“But captain, the good land has already been settled there, by the Boers,” burst
Jon, indignantly. “We’re well armed and in a party of eleven men…”
“Mr. Robinson I know that once you leave here, ban or no ban I cannot stop you from
heading into the interior like the other fools. But I’m telling you that to do so would be
a mistake,” he glanced at Emily, “especially with women. Your eleven men are not
sufficient and Her Majesty’s forces cannot help you past the river.”
“These black monkeys,” scoffed Jon. “We will shoot them down long before they can
throw their spears at us.”
There was a knock at the door and an aide appeared. He saluted and handed a
dispatch to the commanding officer.
The captain sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well… things do seem to be cooling a
bit. The captain of my sortie reports no encounters with war parties or hostile groups.”
“Then we can proceed,” said Jon confidently.
“This could be merely a ruse to draw us out. Or perhaps they’re gathering their
strength.”
“Or perhaps they’ve been cowed by British arms and have retreated to swing in the
trees where they belong,” said Jon.
“The ban is still in effect,” snapped the captain.
“But you say things have calmed down…”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have perform the morning inspection,” said the captain.
“Sir,” said Jon formally. “As an Englishman, can you at least tell me which of the
closed areas would be the safest for families?”
The captain stood silent for a moment, then sighed. “Very well, come with me and
we’ll go over it. Unofficially, you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” said Jon.
“Your wife may want to stay in the compound until we return,” said the captain.
“Much cooler here than on the parade field, you know.”
The two men headed out the rear door, while Emily was shuffled off by a friendly aide
down to a courtyard, near a small garden by a fountain where she could sit for short time.
She was waiting patiently and unobtrusively among the cool greenery when the soldiers
brought the victim in.
At the far end of the courtyard she heard a commotion, a scuffle followed by female
shouts and male curses. A black woman, freshly captured on a sortie into the bush, was
being dragged into the yard by several white soldiers.
Emily thought she was the most wretched person she had ever beheld. The woman,
almost a girl really, no more than Emily’s age, appeared to be totally wild. She screamed
and struggled, fighting and biting with incredible strength. It took three large white
men, each more than twice her weight to restrain her and stretch her out, standing within
a stout wooden frame. After more struggle, they secured her arms over her head to a spar,
then kicked her legs apart.
Emily watched with fascinated horror. She had never heard of a woman being whipped.
The prospect seemed barbaric, but she had to remind herself that this was Africa and the
woman was just a black.
Now safely chained, the native girl suddenly slumped quietly. She seemed to realize that
she had lost for the moment and remained still enough for Emily to observe her closely.
She was naked, except for the very brief little strings of beads that hung over her sex.
These were supported by a thin leather cord around her waist. She wore no covering over
her dark buttocks, a fact very convenient for the soldiers who were about to punish her.
The black girl turned and looked at Emily, her dark eyes flashing with contempt. An ugly
white sergeant, brandishing a whip approached the prisoner. “Now, my little lampblack
slut. We’ll see if we can put a more agreeable spirit into you.”
The black girl sneered at him defiantly, but the sergeant only smiled.
The first lash landed square on her back. The black girl took it stoically. It was
Emily who cried out with the savage impact of the blow. She wondered what crime the girl
had committed to warrant such severe punishment.
The next stroke licked at her left rear cheek, leaving a thin line of blood. Still
the girl said nothing.
When the third lash curled around her thighs, the black girl finally caught her
breath with a sob. She screamed out a long curse in her own language, which was cut short
by the next lash.
Emily watched, riveted with morbid captivation as the flogging continued. The black
girl was crying out now, but not with the shrill screams or pathetic pleadings of most
victims. She shouted with each lash, a guttural cry of pure hate and defiance mixed with
agony. There was courage in her cries, but it meant nothing to the white man who was
whipping her.
“You’ll spread those black legs when the men want it now!” shouted the sergeant.
“You nigger bitch!”
The lashes began to draw tiny lines of blood as they fell on the woman’s rear
cheeks, back and thighs. Still she emitted nothing but the defiant grunts at each blow.
Once again she looked at Emily and the white girl sensed the iron will behind her gaze. It
was Emily who felt fear. Fear of such courage and fortitude in someone she regarded as a
savage and an enemy.
Deep inside she knew she would not have the strength to face such punishment and
remain undaunted. A strange realization that this unhappy native girl was far braver than
she, gnawed at Emily’s mind. She realized that any civilized Englishwoman she knew,
including herself, would make any compromise or capitulation under that whip. She could
not endure such pain without surrender, but fortunately, she told herself, she would never
have to. No one, of course, would ever whip a proper, white Christian woman that way.
The black girl was rasping and spitting now, but her face still betrayed resistance
and solidarity. Still the whipping continued.
The young blond wife grimaced. The sergeant too seemed frustrated by the girl’s stubborn
refusal to beg for mercy. He laid into her even harder, but she only shouted louder, with
more vehemence.
Emily now had tears in her eyes and had to turn away. Immediately she heard a shout.
“That will do, sergeant,” snapped the captain, who had just returned from the
parade grounds. Jon stood behind him and Emily ran quickly to his side.
“No more of this. Cut her down,” ordered the captain.
“But sir,” protested the sergeant. “She’s dangerous… she’s got to be broken.”
“So does a horse,” said the captain. “But you don’t whip it half to death to do
so.”
“Yes… yes sir,” growled the sergeant, with little contrition. The girl was cut down
and Emily was astonished to see she had the strength to walk as they led her away.
“I’m sorry you had to see that ma’am,” said the captain to the shaken Emily. “These
native wenches are wild. They have to be whipped like that to keep them in line and get
them to work. Though this man went beyond what I normally allow. You understand.”
“Yes captain, we understand,” said Jon. He had to hold his shaking wife. “They’re
savages after all, my dear.”
“But why… why doesn’t someone give her something to wear?” asked Emily. “Even a rag at
the least.”
“They’re like animals ma’am,” said the captain. “Clothing’s a waste on them.”
“Still, said Emily. “A decent regard for propriety would require…”
“As I said ma’am, no one gives the dark women a second thought. Except the fellows who
keep the girl. And they’d just as soon see her naked as not, if you know what I mean.”
“Uuhhumm, Captain,” said Jon. “My wife is quite religious and… well, naive about such
matters. Please forgive us, I think she has seen and heard enough of the natives for
today.”
“Yes, of course,” said the captain. Then by way of apology he added, “You must remember,
this is a difficult post for the men. We’re on the far side of the moon here and if I must
give the men an occasional diversion in the form of a dusky-skinned native woman… well
there it is.”
“Of course,” said Jon. “As I said, they’re just savages. Good day, captain.”
“Good day, sir…” said the captain, then remembering his manners in front of a lady.
He tipped his hat, “Again, your pardon ma’am.”
The captain showed the couple politely out of the compound and watched them go. He knew
from the way the boy was talking that he and his party were determined to trek inland,
regardless of the ban.
“Fool,” he muttered to himself. The boy was too young to have a wife like that.
If that fair-skinned, lithe creature was his… Well he certainly wouldn’t drag her
to a land like this. Emily belonged in a quaint village, in green and idyllic England,
sitting in front of a cozy hearth with toe headed children at her side.
He shook his head and turned back to his office. This could be a hard country for a
woman so lovely, so delicate and pure. Even the captain could not know just how hard.
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