This work is pure fiction and written by Sailorboy. Personal use of this story is granted by the author. Much research in the mid-nineteenth century was performed by Sailorboy to add realism to the story. Any character used in this short story bearing the name(s) of any person living or dead is coincidental. It concerns a 13 year old boy who goes to live with his father, but his Dad, with financial problems, decides to solve them at the expense of his son. This story involves the castration of a boy. If you are offended by such stories, please exit.

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CHAPTER ONE

My Life Until 13 Years Old

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.

CHAPTER TWO

Initial Sale Into Slavery in Memphis

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 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 from the building.

I was crying as they shoved me into the pen, which held 8 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 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.

CHAPTER THREE

Sold into Slavery in Natchez

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. 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…” 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 in height, and weighed about 170 pounds. 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 Ie 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!

CHAPTER FOUR

My Castration for the Glory of God

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 “castrati.”

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 1/2 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.

CHAPTER FIVE

Post-Castration Period

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.

To be continued… Please give me feedback about this story. It’s my first one.