Manor of the black Lord. Part 1

The air smelled of blood and gunpowder.

In just a couple of short minutes, the huge, bright house of a wealthy planter, Reginald Morris, was filled with the corpses of cold-bloodedly shot white people.

Rifle still smoking in hand, Dantrell stepped over the bleeding bodies. The ex-slave’s jet-black skin was shiny with sweat, and the tight muscle ropes were tense. His rough, broad face had nodules, and the look of his large, angry eyes did not bode well. He cast indifferent glances at the dead, trying to figure out who else he could miss.

His men roamed the house, trapping women and tying up voluntarily surrendering servants. Those who died in this carnage could have survived if they had done the same wisely. They themselves were to blame for the loss of their lives. When Dantrell conceived the case, he knew full well that there would be no casualties.

Familiar faces flashed here and there among the dead — Morris’s henchmen. Here is the bum-legged Jacob, who loved to whip the black slaves of the planter, and here is Will Birch, who killed Dantrell’s brother last summer. Next to him lay freckled Roger, who also liked to mock defenseless slaves. They were all scum in life and deserved to die.

Dantrell had been preparing the uprising for a very long time, he planned it inside out. Now the worst was over. He ordered his men not to touch women and those who surrendered to their judgment without resistance. The men were stripped and thrown into the cages in which Reginald Morris used to lock up delinquent slaves. Dantrell took the planter himself alive. This fat lame bastard could not fight back and only wheezed, splashing saliva when he was shoved into the bars of the others. Now everything will be different, the man decided for himself. Slaves and masters have changed places.

By evening, the bodies were taken out of the house and thrown into the river.

Former slaves celebrated their victory by drinking wine from the master of the house. Dantrell sat among them, glancing at the estate that now belonged to him and the rest of the free niggas. He was the largest and most powerful of them, a real leader. Years of humiliation, torture and loss have tempered Dantrell. Will, intelligence and incredible strength gave him the respect of the rest of the slaves. When he announced his release plan to them, many doubted, but still followed him. Now they are all free people.

  • What are we going to do next, Dantrell? – asked him Noah, the youngest of his brothers and the last surviving family of his people.

“This land belongs to us now,” the man replied calmly. – The estate and the entire plantation are now in our hands. We have wheat and corn that can be sown soon.

  • So we will have to work in the field again? – the one-eyed Tyrone asked him in surprise.
  • We’ll have to, but now we will do it only for ourselves, and not for the white masters. The Lord gave us a chance to find freedom. We should be grateful for that too.
  • And if other whites show up here?

“Not soon,” Dantrell said confidently. – The war is still going on. The Confederate army is still strong, but will soon fall and then slavery in these places will become a relic of the times. Until that time, we will have to stick together and defend the estate, if any of the whites still encroach on our freedom with you. We have plenty of weapons. There is cattle in the stable, which means there will be milk and meat. The rest we will grow ourselves in these fertile fields, – he moved his hand, showing his people a huge territory that used to belong to a cruel planter. – All this is now ours.

  • And the women? – Asked him Jeremiah, who bore the nickname Dog.
  • Yes! We have no women at all! – the rest supported the Dog. – Only the cook Latonia and her two daughters – Chalis and Ashandra.

“You forgot about the white women,” Dantrell reminded them. “There are eight young servants on the top floor of the estate now: the washerwomen, the maids, the woman who taught the Morris daughters to sing. The young sweethearts themselves are also there, as are the wife, and numerous aunts and sisters.

  • So they now also belong to us? – Licking his lips, Jeremiah asked carefully.
  • Like everything here. Do whatever you want with them, just don’t kill.

Pleased shouts were heard from the men.

  • How long I dreamed about it, – the Dog clapped his hands.
  • Oh yes, a nice white meat. Tyrone broke into a cracked smile. “I bet I’m the first to knock one of those seductive females?”

“Take them all at any time,” Dantrell said. – Fuck, stuff their white bellies with little black babies, you can even marry, but leave Morris’s wife to me. This woman is mine from now on.

Nobody dared to argue with him. Dantrell gave them freedom, and he had the right to demand whatever he wanted.

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