In 1836, Jonathan Haggen was a man out of time. Although raised to be a plantation owner, he despised slavery and plantation life.
At age 24, Jonathan sold all he ever knew and set out to create his own legacy.
“Oh God, that sun is bright!” Daryl said out loud.
He didn’t even need to open his eyes. The pain piercing through his skull was enough to tell him he was conscious.
“Ooooh, my head feels like it’s on a blacksmith’s anvil.”
The heavy pounding in Daryl’s head made it feel like it had been heated in a forge and was being pummeled by the smithy’s hammer. He also had the feeling it wasn’t going away any time soon.
“Where am I?” Daryl fully expected an answer. However, when none was forthcoming, he angrily repeated the question.
“Where am I?”
The effort was rewarded with more pain and loud ringing in his ears. Through the muddled fog that was Daryl’s brain came the slow realization that he was alone. He tried to open his eyes, but only agony greeted him. The merest of slits could only tell him that it was daytime. But he already knew that.
“My God, where am I?” He must be improving; he only half expected an answer this time. However, no answer was forthcoming from either man or deity. Daryl tried to think and to remember, but his brain refused to work. So he lay there in the warmth of the sun, not thinking, not moving, except for the one very persistent desire that continued to nag him. I need a drink.
