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“Fifty lashes for attacking a member of the King’s Royal Army, Selah Strong. And a year on the Jersey. Dismissed.”
Selah was quickly grabbed up by two King’s men and dragged out of the garrison. “What, I get no say in this? I’m innocent! This is no fair trial, this is wrong!” Selah shouted.
One of the men shoved him harshly, causing him to fall in front of the whipping post. “Shut your bloody mouth! Be glad we aren’t hanging you, Rebel scum!”
Abe Woodhull had already run out of the courtroom, trying to find his beloved boy. “SELAH!”
The British men rolled their eyes at the screaming farmer and tied the tavern owner and suspected Patriot to the post before Simcoe grabbed the whip and placed himself to the side and back of his victim. “Fifty lashes on order of Major Hewlett and the King.” Simcoe cut the clothing from his torso, smirking evilly.
Abe found him and ran to the front of him, grabbing his tied hands as the first lash hit his bare back. “Just close your eyes and try to focus on my voice, Selah. I’ll get you through this. They plan on taking you to the Jersey tomorrow. You have tonight to spend at my house and I’ll take care of you.”
Selah let out a horrid scream and held on to Abe’s hands and the second and third hit him in quick succession. But he did as he was told and closed his eyes, trying not to let the tears spill down his cheeks. “But your father...and Baker...”
Abe shushed him gently and stroked his long, silky black hair, minding his hands of the whip. “Don’t worry about them. I’ve got you. A nice hot meal, a barrel of ale to make you forget the pain, a nice bath, and cuddles after. You’ve got this, my strong man. Only 20 more to go.”
Selah’s sobs became unbearable for Abe but he stuck by him. All he wanted was to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. And he would, after this was all over. 10 more to go…
Simcoe gave no mercy as he lashed him over, and over again, going well over the 50 that was agreed upon. Unfortunately no one could say anything without being the next victim. Soon it was all over and the ropes were cut from the young man’s wrists and ankles. Blood slowly poured from his back and he soon fainted. The officers dispersed and Abe carefully put Selah over his shoulder, carrying him back to his house and laid him stomach down on the bed. “Selah darling, I’m going to get you fixed up and washed up. You just try to rest.” He stitched up his wounds the best he could and cleaned them with soap and water.
Selah came to a few minutes after Abe finished and groaned in agony. Abe brought him back a bowl of soup and cup of ale, sitting next to him and slowly spoon feeding him. Selah sipped it slowly, every slight move making him nauseous. Soon, he stopped and just put his head back fully on the pillow, closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
Abe set the food and drink down on the end table and laying next to him, running his hands through his hair very gently as to not cause him more pain. “Good boy, Selah. You’re so brave. Just try to rest and get your strength back. Give the prison ship guards a run for their money.”
Selah weakly punched him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up, Abraham,” he muttered, but with a slight smile. “I’ll give you a run for your money when I get back, don’t you forget that.”
Abe giggled and kissed him. It was feather soft and full of love. “Make some friends there if you can and don’t give up. I can’t lose you.”
Selah looked up at him with tired eyes and touched his cheek. “I won’t give up. I have too much to live for.”
With that, they both fell asleep, unsure of what the next day would bring.