From: riharpist@aol.com (RIharpist) Subject: Story by Gigi: Colonial Samuel Date: 2 Apr 1997 23:57:32 GMT
This is the final story in the series of four of Colonial Children. Neither the children nor the incidents are real. If the spanking of young chldren offends you, please do not read this. Please do not use withoug my permission.
Samuel was seven in 1627, a bright son of a thatcher. His father did much of the supervision of building, re-building, and repairing the thatched roofs of the settlement cottages. Samuel was fascinated, but he was not allowed to assist his father, due to his young age. There would be plenty of time for apprenticeship as an older boy, his father had often explained.
One morning, his mother needed Samuel’s help with the weeding of the vegetable gardens, so she sent him off with his little sister, Beth, and the other young, settlement children for that morning chore. Samuel wanted to be with his father. Weeding was for girls! He shuffled along the rows of vegetables, half-heatedly pulling a weed here and there. He looked longingly at the tall ladders that reached to the steep peaks of cottage roofs, and he watched the men who fastened the bundles of thatch, bunch by bunch.
Not being able to stand it any longer, Samuel slipped away and found his way to the house of Dame Harris. There were men working on the other side of her roof. There was an empty ladder on his side, and Samuel took a few tentative steps up. What a world he saw! Over the settlement fence there was the forest and the harbor -- beautiful! Then, suddenly, there was a firm arm around his waist, and Samuel found himself being carried unceremoniously down the ladder and placed before his waiting mother.
“Just wait until I get you home, my young son!” said the angry voice. In her hand was a smooth, flexible stick, and she whacked him with it periodically as they made their way back to their cottage. Once there, his mother pulled one of the table chairs out and seated herself upon it. Down came Samuel’s breeches and knickers, and over her lap he was pulled.
“This is for disobeying me and leaving the garden (whack). This is for leaving your little sister alone (whack). This is for climbing (whack) that (whack) ladder (whack). The stick was flexible and whipped into Samuel’s bare behind with ease. His mother knew just how to place it, so that it changed locations each time it struck. When she had finished whipping him, she helped him dress and led him to the center of the village. There she placed him on a bench near the stocks, where he had to stay until she should return for him. Everyone passing had heard the whipping and the crying, and now they saw a very contrite little boy.