“Young Samuel would benefit by spending a day and a night in the company of Ebenezer,” the magistrate said, taking a draw from his clay pipe.

Fourteen-year-old Sam Land, on a dare, had slipped the door latch of the tavern and purloined two pint steins of ale, which he and Cornelius Hart had quaffed behind the woodshed. Sam had then re-entered the tavern to replace the steins exactly as he had found them on the long shelf behind the bar. Slightly fogged by the heady brew he had stumbled and dropped one of the pewter steins and had then accidentally kicked it, sending it clattering across the floor. The tavernkeeper’s wife had come out to investigate and had literally collared the boy.

“Unhand me, you fat old cow!” Sam had cried out as he tried to break free from the strong arms encircling his neck. The tavern owner finally came out and assisted in the arrest, the magistrate was summoned, and Sam was told to report back to the tavern the next morning to face the consequences of his act. Hart had fled at the first sign of trouble and had not been implicated in the prank.

“I most heartily concur!” The tavern owner said. In colonial Virginia the aggrieved party was involved in the sentencing of a miscreant, and could plead for a greater sentence or more compensation for a loss. It was his ale that had been purloined and his wife that had been insulted, and it was his right to demand his pound of flesh.

The attention now turned to Nathaniel West, the third member of the tribunal. Normally a parent of a youngster was allowed representation in the court, but Samuel had been orphaned two years ago and West and his wife had taken the boy in as an act of charity. Last year West, who was also the village blacksmith, had indentured the boy as his apprentice and was now the boy’s master and guardian. He liked the boy and didn’t really like the idea of him spending twenty-four hours clamped in Ebenezer, the nickname that had been given to the pillory in the town square, but as a youngster he had himself known its wooden embrace and he had vowed that he’d never again do anything that might warrant another encounter with the contraption. The humiliating experience had done wonders for him and it wouldn’t hurt this boy either.

Besides that, the boy was starting to be a handful. Last December springtime had arrived for the boy and his sap had started to rise. West could easily tell by the telltale stains in the bedding and the general odor of muskiness that the boy had found a new way to help pass the long nights, and along with the physical changes the boy was now sporting somewhat of a rebellious attitude towards all forms of authority. “Agreed,” he said, sealing the boy’s fate. He could have pleaded for a lesser sentence, perhaps one day instead of a day and a night, or had there been any doubt as to the boy’s guilt he could have demanded a jury trial.

Sam was disappointed that West hadn’t tried to mitigate his sentence but he also knew enough to keep his mouth shut, and he allowed himself to be led to the town square. He was relieved of his shirt and then ordered to kneel in front of Ebenezer, the top half of which had been swung upward so that he could place his neck and both hands into semicircular notches that had been carved into the thick wood. The top was then lowered and ceremoniously fastened with a huge padlock. The lock was unneeded, as the miscreant couldn’t reach the latch and no one in the town would dare to defy the magistrate’s authority by freeing the prisoner.

A tall man could have sat and bent forward, and a stool or bench would have been provided for a woman, but the lithe and limber young Sam was forced to kneel bent over in front of the device with his head and hands secured barely two feet above the level of the ground. It wasn’t really uncomfortable and Sam knew that in a way he was lucky: Repeat offenders usually had their ears nailed to the wooden blocks as well. He’d see it happen and a few of the ne’er do wells around town sported ears that were totally shredded.

The warm morning sun felt good on Sam’s back and he settled down for the long wait. In a way it was better than working. The smithy was uncomfortably hot and dirty, and his work arduous. He liked the blacksmith and his wife and he’d been grateful that they’d taken him in and made space for him when his parents had died, but when he’d turned thirteen things had changed. Apprentices weren’t members of the household and he was suddenly required to move his bed into the smithy, where he could better tend the forge. He now only visited the house to eat his meals and wash his clothes. He still received no pay; the training and the room and board were considered ample payment for the work he did. He also was totally dependent on the blacksmith for his clothing, shoes, and anything else that he might need or want. He was enthusiastic to begin with and had willingly signed the indenturement document, but now he felt like he was little more than a common slave and couldn’t imagine another four years of the drudgery. He had to get up before the blacksmith every morning to light the fire in the forge, and he usually had to breathe the fumes all night. He also knew that when trained he’s have to move. The village couldn’t support two blacksmiths, and it was unheard of for an apprentice to compete with the mad who’d trained him. Maybe he should just run away now. Would they catch him and make him come back or maybe even put him in jail? He didn’t know.

By noon the warm sun was burning his back, and he knew that he’d suffer for the rest of the week. The magistrate finally came around with an oaken bucket and dipper and offered him a drink. “Easy there, Lad,” he cautioned, “What goes in must come back out again.”

He drank again later that afternoon and by sunset his bladder felt ready to burst. He’d resigned himself to wetting his pants and was actually trying to overcome his thirteen years of toilet training and do so when Cornelius came around. “Corny, you’ve got to help me!” Sam pleaded.

“I can’t let you loose,” Cornelius stated, “The magistrate would have me there in your place if I did. You know that.”

“I don’t mean that, Corny, just pull my pants down. I’ve got to make water or I’ll burst.”

“I’d hold your pizzle for you too,” Cornelius said after pulling Sam’s trousers and underwear down to his ankles, “but it’s so small I doubt that I could find it.” The boys swam together naked and Cornelius never let Sam forget who was better endowed. Sam let it ride because he knew he was gaining on Corny fast. His eggs were already bigger and by the end of the year his pole would be too.

“You probably couldn’t get your dainty little hand around it anyway,” Sam said, stretching his legs out and bracing his hands in the pillory and letting it fly, sighing with relief. He’d have to kneel in it when he was done but it was better than wetting his pants.

He stayed stretched out for as long as he could to let the puddle he’d made soak into the ground. “Thanks Corny,” he finally said, “you can pull them back up now.”

“If you really want to thank me, maybe there’s a way,” Cornelius said, straddling Sam’s legs and grinding the crotch of his pants suggestively against Sam’s bare arse.

“Knock if off, Cornhole, that’s not funny!” Sam said indignantly. “Why don’t you go look up the widow Parsons, or her milk cow or her goat for that matter?” Both of the boys were virgins to anything but their own hands, but they’d heard the older boys’ loose talk about the widow and her talents.

“I’m just kidding,” Cornelius said, pulling his friend’s pants back up, pausing just long enough to poke two extended fingers upward into the boy’s dangling knackers.

“Arsehole!” Sam cried out as the pain radiated through his belly. Sam tried to sleep, but every time he dozed off he’s collapse downward and wake up choking and unable to breathe. The best he could manage was a few quick nods. By what he thought was midnight he was miserable. His back ached from being bent over all day and the pain from the sunburn was intense. He wondered if West would make him work tomorrow or let him sleep.

The night was suddenly filled with voices as the tavern keeper herded the crowd outside so he could close for the night. A few of the men stood around for a while before heading off to their homes, and then the night was again quiet. Sam dozed for a few seconds and was suddenly aware of footsteps as two men approached.

“Why not?” A drunken voice said. “You can’t tell the difference in the dark anyway, and besides that, he won’t be telling anyone, will he?”

“Aye, but what if anyone finds out? We’d never hear the end of it. I mean, with a boy and all.” Sam recognized the voices. One was Edward Jennings, an eighteen-year-old youth that he’d tangled with once or twice, and the other was Richard Wilson, one of the local do-nothings that always seemed to be afoul of the law. He didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but when his pants were suddenly pulled down to his knees he began to get an idea what they wanted.

“Hey!” Was all he could blurt out before a rough piece of sackcloth was forced into his mouth. He heard the rustle of clothing being moved, and then felt the hot wetness of the probe search his bum cheeks. He kicked out and tried to straighten his legs to prevent the intrusion, and was rewarded by a fist slamming into his bollocks, causing him to instantly try to curl up.

“Hold still, or I’ll really hurt you,” a heavy voice breathed in his ear. He felt rough hands force his bum cheeks apart, a few more exploratory probes, and then a white-hot stab of pain as he was entered.

Sam forgot his sunburn and other discomforts for the next few minutes. He wanted to scream out but the cloth in his mouth prevented him from uttering any more than a low moan. He could hear Edward grunting away behind him, and with each thrust he felt sure that his bunghole was being torn apart. Finally Edward made a final hard lunge, let out a grunt, and collapsed on the boy’s back.

“Your turn, Dicky boy,” Edward said after disengaging and pulling his pants back up.

“After You? Not likely.” Richard said, lowering his pants to free his now-stiff pole. “I’ll use the other end.” He then dropped to his knees in front of the boy and inched forward, his intent obvious. “Here,” he said, handing Edward a small knife. “Cut his bollocks off if he bites me.”

Sam felt a rough hand spread his thighs, grope around, and finally seize his jewel sack. He then felt the sharp edge of the blade as it pressed against the tenderest skin on his body, and he could clearly smell the musky odor on what he was expected to take in his mouth. He and Corny had joked about it once or twice, but neither had seriously considered doing it, and now he was about to be forced to do the most despicable thing that could be imagined.

The cloth in Sam’s mouth was replaced with something else, that much is known, as well as the outcome; it is the exact sequence of events is not clear. Richard, for unknown reasons, let out a sudden scream. Edward responded with a slice of the knife, and Sam, either out of reflex or response to the sudden pain, bit down hard.

The magistrate and blacksmith and most of the rest of the village inhabitants reacted to the screams and rushed to the square with lanterns. Sam was freed from the pillory and patched up to the best of the local horse doctor’s ability. Edward and Richard, the latter in a great deal of pain, were both incarcerated in the town jail pending Sam’s outcome. Forced sodomy was one thing, murder was quite another.

Half of the townspeople called for their immediate castration, saying it was the proscribed punishment for sodomists, while the others wanted to wait and see if the boy lived. They felt that both castrating and hanging the two men would result in a double punishment, and that it should be one or the other but not both.

Sam was a strong and resilient youth and he eventually recovered and was able to witness the punishment inflicted on his attackers, both of whom were subsequently exiled from the Commonwealth. Much to the blacksmith’s relief, Sam reneged on his apprenticeship. He knew that the eunuch would never develop the muscle structure need for the trade.

Sam stayed around only until his wound was completely heeled. He left the village and was never seen there again. Some say he moved to Boston and lost himself in the crowds, while other swear the he migrated westward to the new frontier and lived out the rest of his life alone in the wilderness.

Ebenezer was used a few more times, but never at night, and was finally turned into firewood.