Private Journal of Isaiah Watts Chapters 1-3
The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts
Volume One
Copyright© 2020 – Nicholas Hall
Overview and Disclaimer
"Offering dragons quarter is no good,
They regrow all their parts and
Come on again.
They have to be killed!"
(John Berryman)
The discovery of the private journals of Isaiah Watts, found in a dust covered wooden chest tucked away in a corner of the attic of an old, but well kept, farm home or manor, if one were to describe it as such, might at first appear, to the casual reader, little more than the very imaginative wanderings of a perverted mind interested in either shocking or intending to evoke sexual fantasy in the reader's mind. Perhaps they are since the journals, describing and making note of Isaiah's life from an early age until he ceased writing in them, as he viewed it and how events affected his life and the lives of others. There are, however, distinct indications this isn't the case, reflecting instead a work of creative non-fiction, an attempt to reveal himself and his fellows in a more descriptive literary manner, leading to a more active imagination on the part of any reader perusing the documents, trying to "paint" a picture of words giving rise to a clearer and most arousing portrayal of events, places, and human attributes, successes, and failings.
The journals are replete with acts of mayhem, destruction, murder, descriptions of sexual acts performed on females and males, younger and older, depravity and perversions along with acts of extreme love and pleasure, thievery, war, torture, and assorted criminal behavior. The journals certainly wouldn't be for the consumption, via reading, of those under the age of eighteen considering the local laws of today, although one would suspect such readers would still find access to the material and probably thoroughly and utterly enjoy them. Mr. Watts, in his journals, makes note in one part, he doesn't condone, encourage, or seek to minimize the illegal acts committed by others on their fellow humans, either adult or child. Nor does he try to deny the very same acts he and his partner committed, profited from, or enjoyed. He merely presents those acts as something that were committed, no more or no less, along with, in many cases, justice dispensed on the spot to someone Watts or his lover and associates saw as a miscreant, acknowledging each person has his or her personal dragons to deal with.
However strange it may seem, once much of the dialog is sorted out, paying less attention to the most salacious parts, the journals are actually a love story; a love story beginning between two boys, one slightly older than the other, growing up in tough times, facing many obstacles and hardships, yet so dedicated to each other many of their own personal transgressions and abnormalities, including sexual acts with others either singularly or shared, wouldn't diminish their love until they both were gone from the earth. A shared purpose in life extended to beyond their own lives to include the lives of others who were unfortunate, poor, lonely, utilizing whatever means at hand to support themselves and exist.
The journals certainly shouldn't be considered as scholarly works well researched and vetted, but perhaps as creative-nonfiction, as noted earlier, on the part of Mr. Watts, much embellished one, would conclude from the evocative and intense prose used. There are instances and events of historical correctness in the documents, but there are others a scholarly research team would hold in extreme doubt. Whether Mr. Watts or his lover ever visited places mentioned or actually participated in the activities described cannot be verified. Thus, one should be quite circumspect (cautious or judicious) in utilizing the Journals as historical documents.
The Journals themselves are written in a fine cursive script indicating, although descriptions in the beginning of the life of young Watts probably were written some years later as the boy grew into manhood, collectively they are based on distant memories and stories told to him by his family members and others. As mentioned previously, Mr. Watts describes and acknowledges the many dragons, albeit euphemistically, members of his family and others faced in their lives and how, in most cases, those dragons were confronted and either slain or driven away by any means possible, legally or illegally. He also describes symbiotic feats of passion and slow, bone-deep gratification of sexual natures reminiscent of the Middle Ages and even modern time where conquerors, aggressors, or those frustrated by war relieved themselves through sexual acts and gratification.
"A habitation of dragons and a court for owls."
(Isaiah 34:13)
The human animal gathers, as does many other creatures and living things, in groups which can be described as communities. The human structure is probably more complex and not entirely based on environment such as one would find in other community structures such as plants or some animals, but is still basically the same in its inception. Within large human communities, there are many times smaller communities, as noted by sociologists and anthropologists, as interacting populations of various types of individuals in a common location.
If the reader of the "Journals" read them in their entirety, as one should to understand the full content and parameters, to acquire any knowledge contained therein, and receive the full impact of some of the incidents of slow-bone deep sexual gratification relating to the adventures, delights, and sudden cataclysmic effects of some of those events, the reader will find some are global in nature, yet have their beginnings and much of their focus on three main locations, Logansport, Decker's Corner, and Ravenwood. A perusal of maps or historical references of town, cities, villages, and unincorporated municipalities produced no geographical or political locations of the two communities mentioned or the actual existence of Ravenwood Farm.
That they even existed should be taken with a "grain of salt" yet it is entirely possible they did since Mr. Watts was so descriptive of them and adamantly convinced of the accuracy of his memories of his experiences and the related experiences of others. There is no doubt Mr. Watts believed they existed, lived in them, and interacted with others while there.
Logansport, the larger of the two communities he mentions, located along the Mississippi River, consisted of approximately three hundred individuals, maintained a grade one through high school, sported a couple of stores (one grocery and one hardware), a small bank, post office, an auto repair shop with a gas pump, a blacksmith shop as well with a livery (for a time), and a number of homes. This small town was settled well back into the previous century and formed by farm folks and settlers from the south after the Civil War. The people seemed like minded, yet different.
Decker's Corner, also located along the River but in a less desirable area of poorer soil, timbered and swampy bottom land no one else seemed too anxious to either purchase or settle, and somewhat inaccessible, was a small gathering of individuals, garnering its name from Decker's Grocery and Hardware Store (so named after the owner), a corner tavern, and a blacksmith shop where a gas pump also was located. Scattered throughout the area were small farms and farmsteads occupied by an eclectic population of people; a gathering of misfits, and escapists preferring to remain outside the norms of accepted society and the law. There were some individuals and families with rather shady backgrounds, lacked a trust in organized government, trusted those outside their little community even less, were reluctant to betray their fellows, quick to come to the assistance of each other, and just as quick to help themselves to the possessions of others outside their community whom they thought were wealthier and probably not miss it. They were rough, coarse, and generally educated to the eighth-grade level at most, but dangerous in many ways.
Decker's Corner was generally avoided by the people of Logansport and the surrounding area. It was, as noted at one place in the "Journal" "not a safe place" for those unfamiliar with it. It was a "den of thieves and thugs," inhabited by "robbers, rapists, and murderers," whose residents were often referred to as "river rats." To the residents, however, it was home, a safe place to be, secure from the outside world and its laws, and where each person was respected for their specific talents and readiness to help those in need. Those who broke the unwritten rules were tolerated, but not admitted to the society of Decker's Corner. If a Decker's Corner child desired to continue high school after graduating from the eighth grade at the little one room school house located near there, they were admitted without tuition to Logansport High School. Those individuals came with their community reputation and were held at arm's length, more from fear than anything else. It wasn't wise to piss off someone from Decker's Corner!
Isaiah Watts began his "Journals" his last year of high school, encouraged by his Literature/English teacher to "commit my experiences, my understandings, my views of events and family stories to a written form in a journal so in later years those journals would serve as a record of my life and of those around me for my children. Little did she realize my boyfriend nor I were capable of becoming pregnant no matter how often we copulated."
Using Isaiah Watt's entries, the journals become a narrative chronology of his life and times. For those readers who find the narrative offensive or object to vivid and descriptive portrayals of male-to-male sex, man/boy sex, acts of pedophilia involving young girls or boys, or extreme violence and criminal acts, it is suggested they set the narrative and journals aside and continue reading no more.
They are presented here in several installments, each installment comprising information from one or more journals. Hopefully, presented in this manner, with selected and appropriate quotes to emphasize the anecdotal information contained therein, the reader will be able to synthesize the information and better comprehend the life of Isaiah Watts as he presents it. It should be noted, however, there appears to be some "gaps" in the narrative, suggesting there are journals yet undiscovered or deliberately or accidentally not included in this initial repository.
***
Chapter One
The Early Years
"Drop your britches boy, and turn around. I've a mind to fuck that pretty ass of your'n.
"Nope, never again," Daddy declared angrily. "You've fucked me for the last time Pa."
(The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts)
David Watts, son of Neville and Dorothea (Turner) Watts was born in 1905, oldest of five sons of the couple. Along with brothers Benjamin (1907), Darius (1909), Joseph (1911), and Zachary (1912), lived with their parents on a one hundred and twenty acre farm near Decker's Corner along the Mississippi River. The farm consisted of mature lowland and highland timber, eighty acres plus of crop and hay ground, a house, barn, pig house and pen, chicken yard and pen, machine shed, several corn cribs, and a large garden. Property lines didn't hinder the Watt's Family from using the adjoining federal river bottom lands or highland timber areas as their own as well.
Dorothea and Neville moved onto the farm, owned by her father, when they married, and it was bequeathed to her on his death. The terms of the will further instructed should she predecease her father or for any reason be unable to inherit, the property would go to her oldest child and not to Neville Watts. Dorothea's father thought Neville was a ne're-do-well, a wastrel, prone to violent behavior, drank too much, and was a fortune hunter with a wandering cock living off of the largess of others.
When sober, Neville worked the farm, not hard, but well enough to bring in crops on the poor soil, raise a few hogs to sell and enough to feed the family, maintain a couple of milk cows, one or two steers for meat, chickens to eat and eggs to sell, and a large garden. Most people agreed the family would`ve starved to death if it hadn't been for the hard work of Dorothea and the boys as they grew. When drinking, Neville wasn't a nice man! Dorothea was often the source of his displeasure, probably because of her ownership position, and his often sexual releases. If he was refused his conjugal pleasures from her, he found them elsewhere.
Shortly after Zachary was born, David became that outlet, usually several times a month. Neville would come home drunk, grab David and head for the barn. Dorothea had refused Neville sexual intercourse after Zachary's birth deciding enough was enough. If David tried to refuse or balked at baring his ass for a "proper fuckin'" Neville would threaten to kill his mother or take a belt or strap to him until he submitted.
Even using David as his sexual toy and satisfaction wasn't enough for Neville. Drunk or sober he began including Benjamin and Darius, generally around age seven or eight, in his perversions. Dorothea's boys were beautiful boys; too beautiful some thought to be boys at all. Their light copper tempered skin, dark hair, hazel eyes with long eyelashes, slim, narrow-hipped, almost delicate-appearing bodies, turned heads from both girls and boys, especially some men.
Neville saw them as available, unable to get pregnant, and a tight, fun fuck! If he hadn't been fearful of his wife's vengeance, he would've hired them out and quit what little farming he did, believing "those boys' assholes are gold mines." He could get by with only so much and even in a drunken state was very conscious where the line was. Why Dorothea never objected to him fucking her sons was unknown at the time. Perhaps she saw them as a way he'd leave her alone. Neville wasn't an ill-equipped man in the penis department, not gargantuan but somewhat larger than normal, yet intercourse with him could be painful, even for the most experienced if he was in one of his "moods," since he became aggressive, forceful, and unrelenting until he found his release at least once.
In 1919 everything came to a screeching halt! David had endured his father's sexual assaults for seven years and witnessed his younger brothers' deflowering and subsequent submissions. He finished eighth grade, completing his education, and was expected to live at home. Shortly after the first week of June, David returned to the barn after cultivating twenty acres of field corn, led the team of horses to the barn, unhitched and unharnessed them, put them in their stalls after a brisk rubdown, put hay in the feed bunks and a ration of oats, and was preparing to head to the house for supper when his father, about three sheets to the wind, standing with his stiff cock poking out the front of his pants, approached David, demanding he submit.
"Drop your britches boy, and turn around. I've a mind to fuck that pretty ass of your'n."
In seven years, David had matured, not only sexually, but physically, growing into a stronger, just as handsome, teenager; a teenager fully capable of saying no and defending his answer, especially with a drunken dick-head such as his father. He shook his head slowly, defiantly, announcing his refusal.
"Nope, never again," David declared. "You've fucked me for the last time Pa!"
Neville doubled up his fists, his cock seeming to swell even more in response to his aggressive attitude fueled by rising testosterone, bobbing up and down, dripping sticky strings of cock sap as he approached his oldest son.
"You're gonna get fucked or have the shit beat out of you and still get fucked!"
David still refused, but smiled, a sly, knowing smile, as he father approached. As Neville pulled back his fist to deliver the first blow, David spun quickly, grabbed a three-tined pitchfork and drove it viciously and hard through Neville's right foot, pinning it to the wooden barn floor.
Neville screamed in pain, cursing David, and grabbed the fork with both hands in an attempt to dislodge it from the floor and pull it from his foot. David was quicker, stepped forward and shoved Neville over backwards. Neville howled some more, flopping on his back, trying to right himself, but again David took charge and put a foot on his father's chest, holding him to the floor. Neville whimpered for David to let him up, but David refused and pushed harder.
David looked at the rapidly deflating cock, previously erect ready to fuck him, and noticed the foreskin was recovering the piss slit as Neville pissed himself, dribbling his urine over his clothing and the barn floor.
"Pa, I'm leaving and if I hear of you sticking your cock in any one of my brothers again, especially young Joseph and Zack, I'll come back and it won't be your foot pinned to the barn floor. Understand, you piece of shit?"
Without waiting for an answer, David headed toward the door.
"You can go to hell!" screeched Neville. "You're no better than that fucking grandfather of yours was."
"Maybe, but if I do go to hell, I'll still have my cock and balls with me," David smirked, wagging a finger threateningly as he stepped out the barn door.
***
Chapter Two
The Early Years
"Here's the name and address of an older cousin of mine on my mother's side. Her married name is Saunders She'll get you in contact with others of my people. We keep in contact by mail. She sends the letter to Mrs. Romano, up the road, so your Pa doesn't find out and snoop. I can get ahold of you or you can get ahold of me through my cousin, Grandma Watts told Daddy."
(The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts)
Hearing his father's plaintive, unanswered, begging, cursing, pleas for help coming from the barn did little to soften David's heart or cause him to hesitate in his steady walk to the house. Entering, he found his mother and four brothers standing, waiting, anxious looks in their faces, worried more for his welfare rather than the shouts from their father and husband.
David offered nothing in way of explanation or description of what occurred in the barn to cause such an uproar. Instead, he walked to the bedroom he shared with his brothers, rummaged around in the closet, and found a sturdy canvas bag with a drawstring closure. He filled it with his clothing and other personal items, grabbed his jacket and hat, tossed the bag over his shoulder and returned to the kitchen where the others waited.
"I'm leaving, Ma," he announced. "I didn't kill him although I should've."
Dorothea remained silent, although did nod her head understandingly. She wondered, once she discovered it, how long David would take the abuse and what would be her husband's consequences.
David kissed and hugged each of his brothers, told them to listen to their mother, how much he loved them, and he'd keep in touch. Hugging Benjamin the tightest of all, he charged him with protecting his brothers.
"I warned the son-of-a-bitch if I heard he fucked any of you again," David whispered in Ben's ear, "I'd come back and pin his cock and balls to the barn floor."
Evidently, he didn't say it softly enough since his pronouncement produced a snicker from young Zach.
"Don't worry, David," Ben said confidently, "we'll run him off first. Ma and I can handle the farm."
Dorothea hugged her oldest son tightly, told him how much she loved him, understood why he was leaving, and slipped a ten-dollar gold piece in his hand. David was curious where she might have gotten it, but didn't ask. Dorothea gave him a couple of pieces of paper; one with the name of a cousin in Burlington and the other a short note asking they help him find work.
"Here's the name and address of an older cousin of mine on my mother's side. Her married name is Saunders She'll get you in contact with others of my people. We keep in contact by mail. She sends the letter to Mrs. Russo, up the road, so your Pa doesn't find out and snoop. I can get ahold of you or you can get ahold of me through my cousin."
David nodded his understanding and walked out the door into the evening dusk. He wondered, as he approached Decker's Corner, if his father ever pulled the fork free of the floor and his foot or if his mother finally did it for him.
"Serve the old fucker right if she'd wait until morning," he mused aloud.
Fortunately for him a delivery wagon just delivered a load of goods to Decker's Store and was returning to Muscatine some three hours away by horse and wagon. David hitched a ride, knowing he could catch a train to Burlington from there.
David sat patiently on the bench in the depot waiting room. The train he'd purchased his ticket for left early the next morning and he had no place to stay except the lobby of the depot. The station agent cast a dubious, pre-cautionary look at the young lad who presented a ten-dollar gold piece for the purchase of a train ticket to Burlington. At first, watching the boy pocket his change and secure his ticket in his hand, he considered summoning a city police officer, but when quizzing the lad concerning his trip, was satisfied he wasn't a runaway, but on his way to visit a relative, and decided the lad was harmless. Still, he decided to sort of watch after the lad during the night since it appeared he had no place else to go.
There was also that niggling thought creeping into the back of his mind relative to where the boy came from – Decker's Corner. Decker's Corner resident's reputation was known throughout the area and the station agent had no desire to piss someone off from there. Butting his nose into their business wouldn't be advantageous and perhaps on the dangerous side.
"Nope, rather be safe than sorry," he muttered to himself, glancing toward the very handsome boy resting on the bench, canvas travel bag secured between his legs.
For just a moment, just a fleeting moment, the agent considered succumbing to his desire and, instead of the boy's legs wrapped around the bag, he'd prefer they be wrapped around his hips instead as he plowed a new furrow in the boy's asshole. Just the thought made him as hard as a steel rail, but thinking the boy might not be amenable to such a tryst and stick him with a knife instead, caused the agent to retreat to a back room, whip out his cock, and relieve himself.
"Better my own cock in my own hand," he whispered as he wiped himself clean of the white, thick spooge on his hand and cock, "than have it tacked to a post somewhere."
The station agent was wise in his choice. David did have a knife; sharp, used for gutting critters and cleaning fish, tucked under his left arm pit in a leather scabbard, held in place by a canvas strap secured around his neck and hidden beneath his shirt and bib overalls. With no belt, it was the best place to hide it. Some guys tucked their knives inside the waist band of their underwear, but David didn't wear any. He could use his knife well and true if necessary.
David dozed off and on during the short night, heard the train whistle, and was waiting on the platform when the passenger train pulled in, engine snorting, puffing smoke, and spewing steam from the vents on the engine. The conductor placed the little step stool in front of one of the entrances to a passenger car, helped the ones de-training off, and waited for instructions from the engineer, before shouting "All aboard" and signaled David, the only one on the platform, to come forward. Canvas bag on the seat next to him, David presented his ticket to be punched when the conductor walked by, settled down for the long ride to Burlington.
David arrived in Burlington hot, tired, and hungry. Reluctant to spend any of what was left over from the ten-dollar gold piece for a meal, he decided to wait until later. Inquiring of the station agent where the Saunders residence was and finding it was some distance from the city, he got directions and decided to walk. Taking public transportation would cost money and it was money David thought he might need.
The agent noticed David's hesitation and resignation. He figured the lad was going to walk the long distance
"Of course," he said off-handedly, "you could just walk down to Saunders' office off on the stockyard's siding," and pointed in the general direction.
David rewarded the advice with a bright smile and with a spring in his step, canvas bag over his shoulder, left the depot and followed the siding he'd been directed to. The stock yards and a small collection of buildings was not that far away.
There was one building, with doors to three separate entrances. The wooden frame building located near the siding had several stock pens to the side and rear. Several small sheds near the yards appeared to hold equipment and perhaps feed. The office building had signs near the three entrances, indicating one was the office was a livestock buyer and seller, another a land agent, and a third announced, "Abram Saunders'- Horses, Mules, Bought and Sold." David opened the door to this entrance and stepped in.
The office was not well lighted, contained two desks, a small table with chairs, several filing cabinets, and a parlor stove. On the wall was a telephone and on a small table near it was telegraph key and receiver. Behind one of the desks a young man was working on some papers. The young man was bronzed from outdoor work, dressed in denim shirt and pants, wearing western style boots, and was absorbed in his work, evidently not noticing or caring who entered the office.
David stood, waiting for some sign his presence was noticed, and when nothing happened, cleared his throat with a cough, bringing the young man's head up from his work, and his eyes latched on David.
"Mr. Saunders?" David asked confidently.
The young man looked at him, began a careful scrutinizing him, checking him over from top to bottom and back up again.
"Nope! I work for him. What can I help you with?"
Matt Turner didn't identify himself beyond being an employee, but was polite, business-like, remaining somewhat detached or distant as he surveyed the rough-dressed, extremely good-looking, but slight of build, lad standing in the middle of the office floor asking for his uncle. Bib overalls, shirt a little big, obviously hand-me-down, and light jacket, patched, but relatively clean, leather work shoes normally worn by farm boys, canvas bag held in one hand, hat in the other, bespoke of someone who probably didn't come from the best of families or one of those with at least moderate income. A poor boy at best, perhaps a runaway. Matt wasn't too certain what the boy wanted or if he just needed to be run out the door.
David took a deep breath, determined to speak his piece before his courage died.
"I'm David Watts and my Ma told me to see Mr. Saunders when I came to town to see if he could help me. His wife and my Ma are cousins. Ma was a Turner before she married Pa."
Matt Turner stood up, smiled warmly, and stepped around from behind the desk, realizing David Watts, whose mother was a Turner, probably was a cousin suffering from hard times, and deserved a more welcoming greeting from him. If he was indeed a cousin and having a tough go of it, the ways of his people bade him and the family to offer him what assistance they could.
"I'm Matt Turner, his nephew."
David almost pissed himself, knowing he was with relatives.
"I have letter here from Ma to Mr. Saunders, if you can tell me where I can find him."
"He's at the house. If you'll take a seat and wait until I finish up, I'll take you out there."
As an afterthought, Matt asked, "You hungry? Aunt Rose packed me a big lunch and there's an extra sandwich left and an apple if you want it," and put a paper sack on the desk top.
Did he want it? David was careful not to leap forward and grab it, but said, "Thanks; I ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday noon," lifted the lunch bag from the desk and carried it and his canvas bag over to the table. He set the lunch bag on the table, canvas bag on the floor, and pulled up a chair to eat.
"There's water in the jug on the other desk," Matt said as he continued to work.
Matt finished the paper work he'd been engaged in, filed it in a filing cabinet, grabbed his jacket and cowboy hat from the coat rack, locked the front door from the inside, waved at David to join him, and, with David stuffing the last bite of sandwich into his mouth, headed out the back door of the office. He locked it and led David to a buckboard, the bed loaded with items all covered with a canvas tarp, hitched to a team of horses, seemingly impatient to leave.
"Toss your bag somewhere in back where it won't fall out and climb up on the seat," Matt instructed as he hefted himself up on the buckboard.
David quickly did as he was told, settled himself on the wooden seat next to Matt, and relaxed, somewhat, as Matt gave the reins a flick and they started the journey to the Saunders' house.
"You're lucky I was in the office. I stopped by to take care of a couple of things Uncle Abram wanted done, otherwise I'd not have stopped and the office would've been closed."
David merely nodded, relieved, but not commenting.
"Uncle Abram and Aunt Rose wanted some things from town and that's why I came in."
David just nodded again, uncertain if he was to comment or not.
Matt maneuvered the wagon through some of the streets of the city heading for the outskirts, dodging other rigs, riders, and a few motor vehicles.
"Noisy bastards aren't they?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"How old are you anyway, David?"
"Fourteen."
"School?"
"Finished the eighth grade."
The rest of the journey to the Saunders place was made in silence. Matt figured David just wasn't the talkative type, didn't want to answer any questions, or had some secrets to hide he didn't want others to know about.
It was almost dark when they arrived at the Saunders house. It was a nice two-story home setting on some forty to sixty acres of ground, David figured. There were several large pastures holding horses, mules, and a few cows and steers. Two barns, a small smithy shop, a chicken house, hog pen, a couple of corrals, and a smaller building looking very much like a bunk house, made up the rest of the visible property. A windmill for pumping water to an elevated water tank, similar to those found along railroad tracks to furnish water to train engines, stood in the middle of the farm yard.
Two men, both younger than Matt, but older than David came from one of the barns and a man and woman stepped from the house to the porch when they rode up in the wagon.
"That's Uncle Abram and Aunt Rose," Matt announced, stopping the team. "Take your bag and head up on to the porch to meet them."
David jumped down, grabbed his bag, and headed up the steps to the porch.
The man and woman, both older than his Ma and Pa looked at him as if trying to determine who he was and why he was here. David solved the riddle for them by saying,
"Mr. Saunders, I'm David Watts and my Ma, Dorothea Watts sent me to you and gave me this note for you," handing over the letter.
Saunders sort of nodded, accepted the letter and opened it.
"So, you're Dorothea's oldest boy are you?" Rose asked.
"Yes, Mam."
"What brings you here to us?"
Abram interrupted. "It says here she hopes we can help you find some work. It also says you had a falling out with your Pa. Care to tell me about it?"
David sort of shuffled his feet and thought best just say what happened and get it over with. If they tossed him out on his ass, so be it.
"I pinned his foot to the barn floor with a pitch fork. I should've gutted him like fish."
"Oh, my," he heard Rose say softly.
***
Chapter Three
The Early Years
"Daddy said it was a good life working for Cousin Abram and Rose. He saw a lot of country, learned much about his family, where we came from, surviving in a sometimes hostile world, and made enough money to send some of it home, via Mrs. Romano, to help Grandma with his brothers. ."
(The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts)
"Well, shit!" Abram Saunders muttered softly, "This is all I need."
With a deep sigh of resignation and a wave of his hand, he bid the lad to enter the house.
"Why don't you come inside and tell us all about it."
David wasn't three foot in the door before Rose asked, "Have you eaten today?"
"A sandwich and an apple Matt had left over from his lunch."
"Oh dear, you must have something more substantial than that if you're going to be subjected to Abram's questioning."
Before her husband could object, knowing it would have absolutely no effect on his wife or change the present course of action if he did, Rose herded David into the kitchen, canvas bag left in the living room, and seated him at the kitchen table.
"There's still roast beef, potatoes, and gravy warming on the back of the stove," and as if an afterthought, "fresh apple pie for dessert. It won't take me but a minute to plate you up some dinner. You must be starving."
"If'n it be no trouble, Mam, that'd be just fine."
"Piffle; no problem at all. Boys have got to eat."
Rose thought all boys were a veritable eating machine, ravenously hungry no matter the time of day or night. She and Abram raised four boys and one girl and had some experience. Additionally, having three of her nephews working at the farm and two of her sons on the road seeking buyers and sellers of horse flesh, she knew they were hungry when they hit the house and was confident David was as well.
She glanced over her shoulder while she dished up a plate of beef, potatoes, and gravy, along with a slice of fresh baked bread, slathered with butter, and noted David was not only skinny, but in need of some different clothing. From her correspondence with Dorothea, she knew the family was not in the greatest financial shape especially the way Neville drank, according to Dorothea. However, she didn't realize how bad it might be. She'd have to consider sending Dorothea a little more money in the future to clothe the other boys.
The plate of food Rose set in front of David was more on one plate he'd ever seen, even at Christmas. His mouth watered, but he was hesitant, knowing what his brothers and mother might be having for supper- not near this grand or much. His mother did her best, feeding her family from the garden, eggs and an old hen in the stew pot once in a while, the fish the boys caught, rabbits and squirrels they hunted, and an occasional pig they butchered. They weren't starving, just not overly fed either. They had to watch things since if their father thought he could sell something to buy booze, he would. Nobody around Logansport or Decker's Corner would buy anything from him, figuring it was either stolen or taken from his family. As Mr. Decker at the store once said, "He's nothing but a fuckin' drunken bum."
David tucked into his meal, eating slowly, savoring every bite, preferring to eat rather than talk. At home, eating was serious business, after the younger ones were fed, and was not wasted visiting. He wondered, as he stuck a fork into the pie, how he'd explain what had been happening over the past seven years and how his mother's cousins would react when he told them. How should he say it; his Pa "fooled" around or "treated him and his brothers as doxies, or just plain outright say he'd fucked them- at least him, Ben, and Darius?
His tummy full, he picked up his soiled plate and utensils and carried them to the counter next to the sink. Rose shooed him into the living room with instructions, "don't you begin until I get in there."
David sat in a wing-back chair, slowing surveying the contents of the room. It was much more elegant and furnished better than theirs at home. He figured Abram Saunders did well as a horse trader, if the looks of his house and food placed on David's plate at dinner was any indication. He wondered how much it'd take to buy all of this, but sighed, figuring he'd never have the money or wasn't certain he'd want that much. It might only bring trouble, especially if someone else wanted it bad enough to take it. He'd learned that much from being around his father; don't show it, don't brag about it, and for fuck's sake, keep it hidden or it will disappear. Of course, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to turn fortune his way as well, only not with family or friends.
Abram and Rose sat on a couch facing David, waiting expectantly for him to begin. They'd watched him look the room over and wondered what was going through his mind. Abram wasn't altogether certain the lad wasn't trying to figure out how to steal them blind.
"I don't know how to say this," David began, "'cause I know you want to know why I'm here and why I stuck my Pa with a pitchfork."
Abram sort of raised his eyebrows, nodding his head, encouraging David. "That'd be a pretty good start," deciding he'd wait until he heard the story before committing anything to the boy.
Rose, on the other hand, already made up her mind. She was going to take this young, handsome son of her cousin into her home as she had the three nephews now working for them.
"Only if you want to, David," she offered comfortingly. "If you do, tell us in your own words and don't worry about shocking me. I'm certain I've heard much worse than what you'll say," she hoped.
David gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. "Ever since I was seven or so, when Pa got drunked up, which was a lot, he'd force himself on me, using me like he would a woman. Generally, he'd wait until he'd get me alone in the barn, pull my pants off, and bend me over. He'd threaten to kill Ma or my younger brothers if I didn't let him or told on him. If I'd hide from him, he'd grab Ben or Darius instead. It was easier for me to let him fuck, excuse me Rose, me rather than hurt my Ma or my brothers."
"Oh dear," Rose murmured, "I guess I haven't heard quite everything."
"Did your mother know?" Abram asked.
"Don't think so, if she did it was right recent. We kept it a secret since we didn't want Pa killing her."
"How old are you David?"
"Fourteen, Mr. Saunders."
"Please call me Abram; and your brothers?"
"Benjamin is twelve, Darius is ten, Joseph is nine, and Zachery is eight."
"If this had been going on, why are you here now?" Abram asked, curious why it took so long.
"I'd had it; enough was enough. Besides, I'd grown and gotten bigger. I wasn't afraid of him anymore."
"How about your brothers now you're gone?"
"I told Ben to stick him if he tried to hurt Ma or use my brothers. I also told Pa if I heard he'd hurt any of them the way he hurt me, I'd come back and stick his dick and balls to the barn floor with the pitch fork instead of his foot."
"Ouch," groaned Abram instinctively reaching for his crotch.
Rose merely shrugged, smile wanly, and responded, "It would certainly get his attention I should think."
David's story only confirmed what she read in a letter she received from Dorothea. It was written a couple of weeks previously and only arrived a couple of days ago. Dorothea grew suspicious of Neville's activities with two of her older sons, but couldn't discover any proof of her suspicions without outright asking him. She'd done exactly that, but Neville promptly and emphatically denied it, although he did say he caught David and Ben in the barn, "doing what boys do to each other," and "David was stretched across the back of Ben." Dorothea didn't believe him thinking he was trying to put the boys in a position of guilt, but again, couldn't prove it.
She watched him closely over the past couple of weeks, but didn't see him enter the barn when Ben or David did. She did find it somewhat unusual when Neville worked in the fields, the boys did the chores and were back in the house before Neville came from the fields and put the team away for the night. If Neville was off drinking, which was becoming more common, the boys had no choice but to do the chores and the field work. Benjamin, Darius, Joseph, and Zachary would hustle back to the house in case Neville would come back, but David would be left alone to care for the team once he came in.
David would never say a word or complain if Neville came home drunk and ended up sleeping in the tack room of the barn. Dorothea would never see Neville come into the barn and only know of it if David or one of the boys mentioned it. She'd stopped Neville's conjugal visits to her bed when Zachary was born and Neville generally slept either in the barn on a cot or in a small bedroom off the kitchen.
Her letter to Rose concerned what advice Rose might have in how she would confront Neville or seek help from David or Benjamin in order to put a stop to something she only suspected was happening and booting Neville from the house. The property belonged to her and not him, so doing it would bring no land ownership issues up.
Rose let Abram read the letter, hoping he could offer some insight to what she might recommend to Dorothea.
"Geld him," offered Abram.
She was in the process of preparing an answer to her cousin's plea for help when David showed up at their house. It was evident from what David told them, he took matters into his own hands and brought his father's forced sex to a halt.
"Too bad David didn't follow through on his threat and stick the pitch fork into Neville's privates," she thought listening to David tell his story.
David finished and waited for some response from either Abram or Rose.
Abram pursed his lips as in thought, rubbed his chin, and asked David if he knew anything about horses.
"Mostly work horses," David admitted, "not a lot about saddle horses but some. I know how to work a team proper, but not wear them out; treat'em right by feeding, watering, and resting them. I know what a good work horse should look like, you know, conformation and such, how it holds the bit, and after a couple of times how it acts when you hitch it up. I know enough to watch the eyes and ears so I know what the horse might be thinking."
"Most people think a horse is really smart and some are, but most times a horse can only think of one thing at a time, so you have to take its mind off of what you're doing if it balks. Some guys use a twitch, but that's mean to the horse and they don't need that. Now a mule, they're smart so you better watch your ass. Excuse me, Mrs. Saunders."
"Please call me Rose or Aunt Rose, David," Rose offered.
"Tell you what, David," Uncle Abram, as he instructed David to call him, "I'll take you on here at the farm to help the others with the horses. You'll join Matt, Jim, and Harry Turner on the wrangler's crew."
Abram raised his voice. "Matt, you and the boys may as well come in. You've been sitting on the porch stretching your ears long enough."
The three of the entered the living room, hats in hand, but not a bit apologetic for eves dropping.
"Take Davey to the bunk house, find out what he needs in clothes and such and tell Aunt Rose, and settle him down for the night. At breakfast in the morning we'll fill him in on our operation."
When David left, Rose put her arm around Abram's waist. "Isn't there something or someone you know who could, do something to help the other's left at home and maybe give Dorothea some relief from Neville?"
Patting her arm, Abram reassured her. "Not to worry, my love, we'll see what can be done."
The next morning David and others were seated at the breakfast table enjoying a meal of biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, ham, and coffee.
Matt got David settled down the night before with a bunk, clean blankets, and told him to get cleaned up.
"You're a little ripe after the train ride. There's a water hydrant outside in an enclosed area where we generally clean up when the weathers decent. It's cold, but soap and a good scrubbing will clean everything out of the cracks and crevices."
David stripped, took the towel, washcloth, and soap Matt offered him and walked bare-assed naked out to the washing enclosure.
"Jim," instructed Matt, "go with him and give him a rinse if he needs it. I'll go to the house and collect the clothes Aunt Rose gathered up from him from the closets. I'll take Dave's clothes with me; tomorrow is laundry day and she'll want to get things washed."
David slept well that night, better than in many previous ones.
"Here's the deal," Abram began after the breakfast dishes were cleared, "Jefferson and Robert are out in Omaha attending an auction of army stock, horses and mules. With the war done and all, the government is getting rid of more stock. Gasoline engines and vehicles are replacing horses and mules but there are people who can't afford those contraptions but can afford horses. It won't be long until motor vehicles take the place of such critters and this business we're in will slowly fade to either nothing or much smaller. I intend to make as much as I can while I can. If I make money, you make money. The same arrangement we had before stands, now. I set a price, not accepting anything less. Anything you make above it, you split equally."
"So, the end of this week you boys will take your mounts and travel by train to Omaha, meet with Jefferson and Robert, bring back any stock they buy or haven't sold. Ship the critters by rail. We'll find markets somewhere for the critters."
Abram paused, letting David absorb the situation and see if he had any questions. David had none; he figured Matt and the others would fill him in on anything he needed to know.
"Okay, no questions so let's get Davey a riding horse and outfit. Matt, that's your job. Help him if he needs it."
On the way out the door, David picked up an apple and stuffed it in his pocket. He followed Matt and the boys to a corral near one of the barns. There were about a dozen horses shuffling around in there. They became more alert as the men approached. Most moved away from the fence where the men gathered; all of the horses except one. This horse, about fifteen hands high, brown with white blaze on the forehead, and white socking front feet, ears up, withers quivering, and giving an inquisitive snort in the men's direction.
"Well," Matt asked, watching David observe the horse flesh before him.
"Got a saddle blanket and a hackamore?" David asked.
Harry handed them both to him as David climbed the corral fence and dropped off the other side into the corral. The blaze watched him carefully, not retreating, but not advancing toward him either. David reached into his pocket, pulled out the apple, slipped a hand under his shirt and brought forth his knife. He cut the apple in quarters, put one quarter in his mouth, and slowly chewed it as he walked toward the blaze.
"My, my," he intoned softly and confidently, "aren't you just the most magnificent critter ever put on this earth." He kept up the soft, calming banter until he was about ten feet away from the animal. David hunched down on his haunches, put a piece of apple on the ground in front of him, and began teasing it around on the ground; moving it this way and then back, but never more than six inches at a time.
"Now a horse is a curious animal," Mr. Romano told him one time. "They just got to know what you're up to and sooner or later they'll mosey on over for a look."
The blaze was real curious, not only what the man was fiddling with on the ground, but about the man himself, walked over, put his nose down first to smell the human, and then the apple slice. He let the man pick up the slice and feed it to him.
David carefully rubbed the blaze's nose, fed him another slice, ran his hands down the shoulder and front leg, looked underneath, commenting, "Still got your balls; bet you could make some fine colts if given the chance."
Still talking, he fed the last slice to the horse, slipped the hackamore over the stallion's head, and slowly settled the saddle blanket over its back. The critter didn't object, bite, kick, rear, back step, or try to toss it off.
"We'll get along just fine, won't we?" David commented as he led the horse to the corral gate and signaled Matt to open it so he could take the blaze to the barn where a stall and feed waited for him.
Abram stood on the porch positioned so he could observe David's interaction with the stallion. Matt came to the house as David led his saddle horse to the barn.
"Looks like our new wrangler knows something about horse flesh," Abram commented.
"He should Uncle Abram," Matt laughed nodding his head. "'course maybe he should; for a fourteen-year old he's hung like one."
For three years David worked for Abram Saunders, dutifully wrote to his mother, sending her money through Mrs. Romano, and traveled the Midwest for Abram Saunders. Matt, Harry, and Jim became not only working partners, but good friends as well. David learned a great deal concerning his mother's family, the Turners, from them.
According to them, the family members originated somewhere overseas, settled in Canada many years ago, and some of them crossed the border into the United States. Most were American born, scattered across the country, remained loosely tied to their relatives, and were known as "Roaders." They were generally horse traders and thought of as being "gypsies," especially if they traveled around the country in various groups. The Turners didn't travel, staying pretty much in one place, but did trade in horses, plus utilizing other trading ventures. They really didn't adhere to many of the gypsy customs or beliefs, but they respected them when around those who did.
David's father's family, the Watts, were from Canada also, but originally from Wales, Aunt Rose thought. "We really don't know much about him," she said one time when David raised the question, "but probably the less we know the better."
He also learned to perfect the art of the "con" and became quite good at it. Apparently his boyish good looks, bright smile, and Sunday School Choir boy face, made him a natural and others susceptible to his charms. "He can talk a snake from its skin," bragged Matt one time to Uncle Abram when they returned with a sizeable amount of cash.
Abram insisted on gold coin when selling, but would use green backs when buying. There were times when Matt and the others had substantial amounts of money on them when they traveled. Tucked into his belt was a .38 revolver to thwart any attempts at relieving him of that cash. Jim, Harry, and David carried similar weapons, but David also carried his knife. It was silent and he was deadly with it, especially when thrown.
The four of them finished delivery of a small herd of work horses to a group of famers south of Des Moines and were on their way back to a railhead to catch a train to Burlington. Seated on their saddle horses, they were taking their time when they came upon an encampment of wagons and caravans (small enclosed wagons used for housing and houseware items) alongside a small stream.
"Looks like `travelers," Matt warned, "better watch your pockets. You just never know."
It appeared there were three or four families in the group and Matt gave a wave and they were invited into the camp. The four sat on their horses while they visited with an older gentleman who appeared to be their leader. The group followed crops, also festivals, carnivals, and circus where they worked. The men handled livestock and physical labor while some of the women sold jewelry or told fortunes. Their dress, bright, colorful, adorned with beads, bangles, and other jewelry advertised themselves as "gypsies."
As they visited, David spotted a young girl peeking at him from behind one of the caravans. Dark hair, dark eyes, bright, bright smile, small, slim build, and when she caught his attention, gave an ever so sweet wink and a wave of her hand. David was smitten, gob-smacked, totally and completely! Cupid fired an arrow and it hit hard and deep!
He looked at her, shifted in the saddle, felt his loins swell, his cock straining against the denim, pulsing with his desire to take and claim her as his own, and thought, "Fuck, I'm as hard as a railroad spike and I don't even know her name."
To be continued:
***
Thank you for reading "The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts, Volume One- Chapter One -Three."
If you enjoy my stories and the many others found on this free site, please consider a donation. It is your donations which make all of our stories free and available for you to read and enjoy.
Thank you.
Nick Hall
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional content.
The Literary works of Nicholas Hall are protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and are the property of the author.
Positive comments are welcome and appreciated at: nick.hall8440@gmail.com.