It was not without considerable misgiving that Jeremiah set out for Matapunxett.

His reception there seemed very uncertain. How on Earth did Dr. Boose ever come to know that brute ?

Jeremiah's knock was answered by a long-limbed, short-bodied, light-skinned

person with a boyish face and breasts, an obvious eunuch and surely, if only from its color, surely one of George Francis' bastards. "Bring this letter to your master." said Jeremiah, proferring the letter of introduction from Dr. Boose.

"Yassuh, ah'll do dat raht now." responded the eunuch in a boyish treble voice. The eunuch stood aside and said "Step insahd, if yo' please, suh." Jeremiah entered the dusty littered foyer and remained standing rather than get his trousers dusty by sitting on the setee.

Several minutes later, a tall muscular white man with close-cropped brown hair and a huge thick mustache which turned up at the ends, entered the foyer holding a letter. "Well, well, good ol' Doc Boose. I haven't heard from him in a coon's age. How's he doin' ?"

"Very well, indeed" replied Jeremiah. "He is in excellent health and enjoys his teaching and research at the Hayward Medical School."

"He saved my life in the Mexican War, after another surgeon gave up on me.

["How unfortunate" thought Jeremiah.] I had a chest wound that was supposed to be mortal, but good ol' Doc Boose went in there after that musket ball, got it out, stitched me up, and here I am 20 years later, hale and hearty."

"Ah," said Jeremiah. "I wondered how he came to know you, Mr. Francis."

"He's right about niggers havin' coarser nerves, of course, but he'd want proof, so that's why he sent you. Well, you can ask my farm niggers all the questions you want about how much they toss off. I think the answers'll knock you over."

"Thank you, Mr. Francis. When is the best time to ask them ?"

"On Sunday and during their rest time from 2:00 to 3:00. They'll be glad to talk to you and they'll probably have some pretty uncomplimentary things to say about me, but I don't care . Hell, who cares about a nigger's opinion ?

I'm goin' to put you over in the east wing next to the library, so's you'll have a place to write up yore report. Hezekiah ! HEZEKIAH !!! Now, where'd that damn' nigger go ?"

"Heah ah is, Mistuh Francis, suh."

"Take Dr. Thornbush to the bedroom next to the library in the east wing . Shake out the coverlet good. It's almost 2:00 o'clock, so, when he's ready, pick up a foldin' chair and a card table and take Dr. Thornbush down to the big oak tree in the corn field. Set up the table and chair in the shade for 'im. Tell Mr. Ledger to send some slaves, about a dozen, to Dr. Thornbush. He wants to ask 'em some questions. Before he comes back, dust the library."

Jeremiah would have preferred to rest after his journey to Matapunxett but he realized that George Francis was a Massachusetts Yankee like himself, brought up not to waste time. He would have almost all of the farm workers' rest period available for interviews if he left for the fields immediately.

As predicted, the slaves were very willing to talk about masturbation. The first was typical.

"How old are you ?"

"Ah's twenny-one, suh."

"Do you toss off ?"

"Oh, yassuh. Ah sho' does."

"How often ?"

"Ever' chanc't ah gits."

"And, about how many chances to you have in a day ?" The slave paused for a moment, obviously counting.

"Most days about nahn. Lots mo' on Sunday, mo' lahk a dozen."

"How do you feel after tossing off ?"

"Jes' fahn. A li'l sleepy, but jes' fahn."

"Do you ever feel dizzy, faint, trembly, or short of breath ?"

" Oh no, suh, none o' dat.

Not all of the slaves found masturbation satisfactory, however, as this interview shows.

"How old are you ?"

"Ahm twunny-eight y'ars old, suh."

"Do you toss off ?"

"Jes' if ah cain't git nuthin' bettah. Ah wants somethin' ta push it inta, not jes' ta rub it wid ma han'."

"So, what do you do instead of tossing off ?"

"Ah gits one of mah fre'ns ta bend ovah an' ah shoves mah pecker up his ass an' fucks him wid it 'til ah spends mah cream. Den ah lets him do it ta me ."

"Do you enjoy taking it ?"

"It O.K., but it ain' nuthin lahk fuckin'."

"How often do you get a chance to do that ?"

"T'ree-fo' tahms a week."

"Is that enough, or do you toss off between times ?"

"Ah tosses off between tahms."

"How often ?"

"T'ree-fo tahms a day."

"How do you feel after tossing off ?"

"Still horny, cuz'n it ain't good enuff."

"Do you ever feel dizzy, faint, trembly, short of breath, or see spots before your eyes ."

"No, suh. Ah ain' got no trouble lahk dat."

The similarity in the accounts given by the farm hands was almost monotonous. All, even those who indulged in sodomy, masturbated frequently and none felt any ill effects.

None of the men he had interviewed showed any guilt about masturbation and none of them worried about it at all. He had encountered none of the apprehensive guilt-ridden hypochondriacs who were so common among white men, especially the fanatically religious ones, whom he saw so often in Boston.

Perhaps, of one refrained from worrying about it and torturing onerself with feelings of guilt over it, masturbation would do no harm to white men either. One example came to his mind of a Negro on Strafenburg who had been purchased from

an extremely strait-laced zealously religious owner who had brought him up to be a

"God-fearing Christian. "

So different was this interview that Jeremiah leafed back through his notes to re-read it.

"How old are you ?"

"Ah am twenty-five years old, Doctor."

"Do you have a mate ?"

"No, suh."

"Do you 'toss off' ?"

"Yes, Doctor, ah am given over to de sin of Onan. Ah am in its clutches and cannot free mahself and ah fear it will be de death of me."

"How often to you practise it ?"

"Ever' day, sometahms even twahce in de same day. Ever' day ah prays to Jesus to free me from de deadly habit, but ah cain't ovuhcome it. Ah knows dat, if ah don' stop it, de Lawd will strahk me down lahk Onan wid de ap'plexy or blahndness, or make me a idiot. Ah knows ah ain' long fo' dis worl'."

"Can you read ?"

"No, suh, doctuh. Ah doesn' know how."

"Then, let me read you the story of Onan in the Old Testament. Listen carefully and think about what I am telling you. [I then read him the account of Onan in the Old Testament, emphasizing certain words and phrases by stressing them.]

Now, then, what does the Old Testament say that Onan did just before spilling his seed on the ground ?"

"It don't say, suh."

"That's right. Especially, it does NOT say that he tossed off. Here is a healthy normal man who has a woman which he has every right to make love to. Which do you think he would do, toss off or make love to her and then pull out just before he spends his seed, so that it spills onto the ground ?"

"He'd pull put of her, suh. He'd be a fool to toss off."

"He certainly would, and the Bible doesn't say that he did. But, then, just what WAS his sin ? It was disobedience. God had ordered Onan to get his brother's widow with child. Onan didn't want to do that. If the child was a boy, he'd have to share his dead brother's property with him. Onan wanted it all for himself. So, Onan saw to it that she didn't get a child. THAT was what God punished him for: disobeying a command.

I have talked to over 100 men who toss off much more than you do, from 5 to 9 times a day, sometimes as much as 12, and who show no ill effects from it. If it doesn't hurt them, it won't hurt you.

"After tossing off, do you feel nervous, dizzy, faint, trembly, or short of breath ?"

"Yassuh, ah sho' does."

"So do many of my patients in Massachusetts who never toss off. They are all men who worry a lot. You worry a lot about tossing off. You don't need to. You feel guilty about it, but you don't need to because it is NOT the sin of Onan. You don't need to worry about doing it too much because men who do it much more than you show no ill effects. You don't need to quit. Just stop worrying about it. You'll feel much better.."

"Thank ya, doctuh. Ah'll do dat."

Jeremiah concluded that this Negro felt ill effects ostensibly from masturbation beause he had been taught to feel guilty about it and that it was harmful to his health. This view was, of course, contrary to the majority medical opinion.

The interviews were going very rapidly, owing in no small part to the willingness of the slaves to discuss masturbatgion candidly. Having arrived on Thursday, and counting on the whole day of rest which the slaves had on Sunday, Jeremiah was confident that he would be ready to leave on Monday and need endure the company

of George Francis no longer.

On Saturday afternoon, when Jeremiah was writing out his commentary on the day's interviews, an elderly female househoold slave named Gertrude stopped at the library and asked Jeremiah if she might ask him a question. He replied "Certainly".

"Jes' wheah am a pusson's heart ? Am it heah ?" she asked, pointing to her left breast.

"No, replied Dr. Thornbush. "That's too far to the left. It's right here." Dr. Thornbush pointed to a spot much closer to the breastbone.

"Long before men even knew what the heart is for, warriors had learned that the place to stab an enemy with a spear or a knife is right here, especially if the weapon is withdrawn immediately, for then the heart leaks so badly that the victim dies quickly, usually before he has time to make any outcry.

Of course, nowadays, with firearms, shooting a foe anywhere in the trunk will probably kill him. We have greatly improved the art of murder. We have, unfortunately, not made any such progress in the art of living together in peace."

Often the elderly who are weary of life can be and are much bolder in i9n their speech than the young who have more to lose. Gertrude asked "How can dere be peace w'en some folks lives in slavery ?"

"No," said Jeremiah, as long as there is injustice, as long as there is cruelty, as long as the strong oppress the weak, and, therefore, as long as there is slavery, peace is impossible."

Gertrude gave him a shrewd look and said quietly, " You is a Abolitionist, isn't you ?" Jeremiah put a finger to his lips and nodded. "Den , ah wants to tell you somethin' about Geo'ge Francis. He got me wid chile six times. Fo' gals and two boy-chillun who nevuh got to be men cuz'n he had deir little pebbles squeezed 'til dey was all mushy.

One of de gals was jes de mos' beau'iful chile you could ever ask to see. Ah called her Maybelle. W'en she was t'irteen year' old, raht after de firs' tahm she bled down below and showed she was a woman, dat monstuh took her to his bed and got her wid chile. She was too young and too small to bear a chile. She dahd tryin' to give birf to his baby. Mah po' beau'iful Maybelle."

"Oh God ! How terrible, and she was his own daughter !" Jeremiah was on the brink of tears himself. "There's nothing I can say to you to comfort you for such a loss, but, believe me, I feel deeply for you."

Jeremiah's resolve to be polite anbd diplomatic was strained to the breaking point. He could not help hating George Francis and found his company at meals nearly unendurable . It was with great relief that, having brought a pic-nic luncheon in a basket with him, Jeremiah was able to spend the entire day on Sunday amongst the farm workers, gathering information for Dr. Boose.

He could not, however, avoid having dinner: pork chops, fried potatoes, and corn-on-the-cob for the fourth day in succession, with Mr. Francis. His host seemed abstracted and gloomy. Finally, he asked Jeremiah an unexpected question. "Do I look healthy to you ?"

"Yes, the very picture of good health." said Jeremiah, thinking at the same time

["unfortunately"].

"Well, you're goin to think this is just stupid superstition, but long ago, a ole Injun medicine man told me that I'd die on the night of a full moon. I laughed, but, somehow, I never forgot it and I've always been uneasy when the moon is full. It'll be full tonight, really tomorrow morning just after midnight.

All last night, a owl hooted outside my bedroom window, and everybody knows that's an omen of death."

Jeremiah, as diplomatically as possible, told Mr. Francis that he had nothing to worry about. "I don't think that we can predict the future and I don't believe that omens really mean anything. When a prediction does come true, we marvel over it, but ignore all of the many times that predictions don't come true. I've heard owls hoot outside my house many times, but nobody in the house died.

Mr. Francis became more cheerful and had a glass of "corn squeezin's", crude locally made Bourbon whiskey, and persuaded Jeremiah to join him with his second glass. Jeremiah disliked corn whiskey, but, to be polite, accepted a glass. After a third glass, Mr. Francis rose and, mumbling about "that stupid ole Injun" staggered off to bed.

It was a hot humid night and, as was his custom on such nights, Mr. Francis left his bedroom door open for air and lay naked atop the bedclothes. A broad swath of moonlight moved up across his naked body from the feet toward the head. At midnight, it passed directly across his chest. The mantle clock chimed twelve. A dark cloaked figure appeared in the doorway and approached the bed carrying a long thin knife which gleamed in the moonlight.

A slim black hand reached out and touched the sleeper's chest, seeking the gap between two ribs. Suddenly, the knife was raised on high, driven down into that gap, and as swiftly withdrawn. Blood welled up out of the wound. George Francis'

mouth and eyes flew open but only a death rattle emerged from his open mouth and his widely open eyes saw nothing. His slayer wiped the blood from the blade of the knife on the bedclothes and stole silently from the room.

The murderer had made no sound and the victim made no outcry. Jeremiah's bedroom was in the east wing, at the other end of the house. He heard nothing, not even the loud hooting of an owl on a branch less than a yard from Mr. Francis' open bedroom window.

Jeremiah Thornbush normally did not arise at 6:00 in the morning, but, on Monday morning, he was awakened by a shriek, a scream so loud that, even at the other end of the house, it was loud enough to arouse him from sleep. About two minutes later, someone pounded on his bedroom door and a boy-soprano voice cried "Doctuh Tho'nbush, Doctuh Tho'nbush, mah massa's done been murdered."

Jeremiah shouted "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING IN THE ROOM ! I'll be there as soon as I can."

Jeremiah pulled on his trousers and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders without taking time to put on his shirt. He slipped his feet into his shoes without stockings, laced them, took up his doctor's bag, a useless act under the circumstances, and hurried to the west wing where he found Mr. Francis' bedroom .

The body of George Francis had a dried pool of blood on its chest and a streak of dried blood on the left side where it had run down onto the bedding. The eyes and mouth were wide open as they had been at the instant of death. By force of habit, Jeremiah lifted the left wrist to check the pulse. The stiffness of the arm and the coldness told him that Mr. Francis had been dead for several hours.

Finally gathering his wits, Jeremiah spoke to a slave standing wide-eyed outside the door of the room. "Get Mr. Ledger up here right away."

"Yassuh !" replied the slave and ran off as if the Devil were treading on his heels, though the only devil on that plantation was lying dead on his bed. Jeremiah searched for the murder weapon without disturbing anything in the room but concluded that the murderer had taken it away.

Though he had not run but only walked briskly, the overseer arrived about five minutes later. He gasped when he beheld the sight before him from the doorway of the bedroom. "My God !" he exclaimed. "stabbed in his sleep, eh ?"

"It would appear so, probably several hours ago. Who is the nearest peace officer ?"

"That'd be Sheriff Harley."

"Please go and fetch him. I'd rather not send a slave on that errand lest he not be taken seriously. Tell him I've disturbed nothing in the room."

"Alright, it'll take about an hour."

Actually, it took more than an hour, during which time, the corpse of Mr. Francis was beginning to become distinctly malodorous. When Mr. Ledger and the sheriff arrived, there was a third man with them. Mr. Ledger introduced Sheriff Harley and the coroner who also served as an undertaker, Dr. MacAbrey.

Once they had seen the body as it was found, the coroner sponged off the wound site so that the size and nature of the weapon used might be inferred from the wound. All three experts agreed that it must have been a long thin knife with a blade about ten inches long, as turning the body over revealed that the exit wound was very narrow, less than one-half inch long.

The Sheriff said "I know that you searched for the weapon, Dr. Thornbush, but I'm going to search again as four eyes are always better than two." His search confirmed Jeremiah's. Apparently the murderer had taken the knife with him or her.

This led to the question of suspects. "I think," said the Sheriff that you'll both agree with me that the method employed suggests that the murderer hated Mr. Francis. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow the field very much. Mr. Ledger, would you say that almost everyone on the plantation hated Mr. Francis ?"

"Except for the 'almost', yes. I didn't really hate him; I just detested him, but he paid me well. The farm slaves all hated him because he wouldn't let them have women. The breeders hated him, the house niggers hated him. How about you, Dr. Thornbush ?"

"Like you, I detested him, and I had only known the man for four days."

Sheriff Harley added "There were some twenty-odd men in the village who hated him. He was a bully,a brawler, and an adulterer. We have an embarrassment of suspects here.Was this done by an insider or an outsider ?"

"Jeremiah replied "The household slaves are all elderly women and eunuchs. I would consider them unlikely as murder suspects. Whether an outsider could have committed the murder depends largely on whether he could have gained access to the house. Hezekiah is the doorkeeper. He should know if the doors were locked.

Hezekiah ! HEZEKIAH !" shouted Dr. Thornbush.

Hezekiah appeared, trembling and obviously unwilling to enter the room or to look at his master's corpse. "Ah knowed somethin' terrible would happen. Dere was a howl hootin' in de big sycamo' tree ev'y night. Ev'body knows dat's a omen of death."

"Yes," added Jeremiah, "Your master was worried about that. He mentioned it to me at dinner. Did he have you lock the front door ? "

"No, suh, he nev' done dat."

"Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary last night"

"No, suh, on'y dat howl a-hootin"

"Of course, I think that we should bear in mind that the servants sleep in the north wing at right angles to the east-west axis of the house. Even I, in the east wing, heard nothing until the scream of the slave who discovered the body woke me this morning." commented Jeremiah.

Dr. MacAbrey added that it was unlikely, given the nature of the lethal wound, that Mr. Francis would have been able to make any outcry. "On the other

hand, though, it seems likely that the killer was familiar with floor plan of the house

and the location of the master's bedroom."

"Quite possibly" replied Jeremiah, "but the moonlight would have been streaming into the corridor through the open door of Mr. Francis' bedroom and anyone entering the foyer and looking about would notice it and be attracted to it, even were he totally unfamiliar with the floor plan of the house."

"Waal, I guess we'd better question the other house niggers, though it ain't hardly worth doin'. "said Sheriff Harley. Jeremiah raised his eyebrows.

"You cain't ever git the truth out of a nigger. He'll always tell you what he thinks you want t'hear. Besides, no court in the South would accept a nigger's testimony.

But, we might find out somethin' useful."

Mr. Francis did not maintain a large domestic staff: a cook, a housekeeper, a serving maid, a handyman, and a doorman or butler. They had already heard from Hezekiah, the doorman and the handyman, Lucius, was as deaf as a brick wall. It was nearly impossible to question him, and surely useless to ask him if he had heard anything during the night.

The cook, Carlotta, was a middle-aged negress of impressive girth. She slept on the porch behind the kitchen and had heard nothing, not even the ominous "howl".

Gertrude was the housekeeper. Though she had a motive and Jeremiah had practically taught her how to commit the crime, she appeared unperturbed and

unconcerned.

Asked if she had heard anything out of the ordinary , she said "no" but explained that her left ear was "deef", and, if she were sleeping on her right side, as she often did, she could hear almost nothing.

Lucy, the serving maid, was both hysterical and incoherent. She, too babbled about the owl, a sure omen of death. Nothing could be got out of her except that "When ah heerd that-air owl a-hootin', ah knowed somebody was a-goin t'dah that ver' night." She had no plausible motive for murdering her master and was not seriously considered as a suspect.

It appeared to Jeremiah that the other servants either knew nothing about

Gertrude's daughter or chose not to mention her. Though normally a law-abiding citizen, Jeremiah Thornbush had nothing but sympathy for the slayer of George Francis and hoped that the murder would go unsolved.

Jeremiah's last act in connection with the death of Mr. Francis was to complete the death certificate. The cause of death was listed as "cardiac arrest owing to perforation of the left ventricle."

The next day, Jeremiah began the long exhausting journey back to Oxbridge. Upon arrival, he submitted his findings on the frequency and effects of masturbation by the Negro male to Dr. Boose, accompanied by his reservations

concerning the interpretation of these observations.

To the Society for the Abolition of Slavery, he submitted a long report detailing the social, political, and economic consequences of rapid widespread abolition of slavery. It was not favourably received, though some of his examples of slave abuse were gleefully included in the Society's broadsides.

Uneasily, Dr. Jeremiah Thornbush anticipated and awaited the resolution of the slavery problem by violent means.