The Georgia Peach Pt. 02

Chapter 11 - The Upstairs Study at White Orchard Plantation, Around 4:30pm, May 11th 1864

William Sherman had ensconced himself in the upstairs study. It was a room he knew well having spent many happy hours in here, drinking brandy and smoking his favourite cigars with poor old John. He was not happy now though, not in the slightest, and his river of discontent had many tributaries.

Stroking his distinctive red beard, and running a hand through his unkempt hair of matching colour, Sherman was consumed by pensive thoughts.

Surely, she couldn't be guilty of what they were all now suspecting, not little Catherine. She had always been headstrong, but demure too, a beautiful Southern Young Lady even in her early teens.

He sighed. That was before the war, and now, just a few shallow years later, the world ... her world ... was a different place.

The General recalled the night he and Catherine's father had come to the parting of their ways. They weren't here, nor in Louisiana, but they had both visited the War Department in Washington, and had sojourned for a late nightcap in Sherman's room at Willard's hotel.

Back then John, the more emotional of the two, and conscious that the veil of differing ideals was still between them, thrust out his hand suddenly and said, "Whatever happens, Billy, you and I must not quarrel over it. Let's pledge our word here and now that, having come this far together, we will always be friends."

The General recalled how the colour drained from his cheeks as the words of his friend brought the whole sorry state of affairs to a personal head for them both.

A slight moisture had appeared in his eyes. Billy Sherman was, on the whole, more reserved than his friend, but he, too, was stirred.

He took the outstretched hand and gave it a strong clasp. "Always, John," he replied. "We don't think alike, maybe, about the things that are coming, but you and I can't quarrel." He recalled releasing the hand quickly, hating any show of emotion ... but now he wished he had held onto it a little longer.

Poor John. If there was a saving grace it was that his friend's death early in the war had avoided the intolerable situation of them facing one another across the battlefield.

Another sigh however told the General that metaphorically speaking they were facing one another now over Catherine.

Closing his eyes, he thought about his own children, and Eleanor his wife. Little 'Willie' came into his head and the tear that had amassed rolled down his cheek.

It was no secret that 9-year-old Willie was the General's favourite child. In fact, his wife reproved him repeatedly for making his preference for Willie uncomfortably obvious to their other children.

But on the evening of October the third of the previous year, just several short months ago, the boy lay dead in a Memphis hotel room. The General had called them to join him at Vicksburg ... he should never have done that. When they moved the camp back to Chattanooga, Willie had contracted camp fever ...

The memory caused the General to slump over the desk before him, as, in his mind's eye he recalled the family vignette around his son's death bed, Father Carrier from Notre Dame presiding over the solemn affair ...

Shaking his head and sitting upright he turned his thoughts to the previous Sunday. A beautiful sunny May day, before the rains had come with such vengeance.

On that beautiful day he had ridden a few miles from his tent and picked bouquets of wild flowers from a deserted woodland. He mailed the flowers to his daughters, Minnie and Lizzie, with a note that said "My darling girls, with these flowers, both of you will have a present to commemorate the opening of Spring."

He had added a kiss ... how he cherished them, how he had cherished Willie. And now here he was, lost in a deportment of displeasure. Angry with Catherine for putting him in this position. Angry with himself for handing his own Goddaughter over to the troops so that the Union army could dole out justice as they saw fit. And angry with the world for heaping these burdens upon him in simultaneous order.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

"Come," The General said quietly as Mary the long-time house slave to the McCown family, entered.

"Massa Sherman, they have took her to the block, I thought you should know Massa, Sir."

Sherman closed his eyes and waved her away. He knew what the block was. Standing, new concerns now bubbling upwards from his stomach, he moved to the window to look out over the front of the Mansion ...

Chapter 12 - From the House to The Block, Around 5pm, May 11th 1864

Catherine didn't know the exact moment the blackness overcame her, a raging darkness through which she floated dreamily.

She fought hard to regain clarity ... then remembered that although the soldiers were not gentle with her, even these barbarians seemed to have a code of honour. They could already have abused her virtue, not stopping, as they seemed to have for now, with her humiliation.

She looked up to see the Lieutenant standing before her, the orange lantern glow lighting the silhouette of his head.

"Put this on," he thrust forward the rag that had been recently covering the body of Martha one of the field slaves, who, having been called upon to attend this horrible little scene, now stood naked and trembling in the corner of the drawing room, trying somewhat pathetically to cover her own newly acquired nudity.

Catherine looked at the torn, dirty rag as it was dropped upon the table by her side. She stood with one arm over her naked breasts and the other hand covering her mound, exposed for the first time in her young life to the prying eyes of strangers.

Strangers who, right now, were chuckling at her futile show of modesty. Picking up the battered fabric Catherine pulled the torn shift over her head to cover one exposed breast, her left ... letting the rag fall to her thighs. The left shoulder was torn and the flap of material that exposed Catherine's right breast and nipple hung loose below her chest.

A strange, feeling invaded her wearing this ragged smock ... half shame and half defiance, her body so shockingly exposed ... but even this humiliation was not enough for these brutes. Catherine flinched upon hearing the desperate screams of the naked slave whose smock she now wore as she was dragged forcibly from the room.

"Put this on her." The Lieutenant held out an iron slave collar to one of his soldiers.

"Please no," she recoiled at the thought of what they were about to do. But she was powerless to stop this further mistreatment of her body.

Feeling her hair bunched tightly into a male grip so that it could be pulled away from her neck, Catherine winced as the collar was placed snuggly into position.

"Now these." The poor girl's arms were jerked out from her barely covered body and her delicate wrists encased in heavy iron manacles.

They had clearly discovered the room where the slaves were disciplined, or 'the block' as it was more commonly called, and seemed determined to treat her like she too was enslaved.

Wearing a torn, dirty slave shift was more humiliating in her mind than being naked ... but to be shackled and forced into compliance, led on a chained leash like a dog ... was unbearable.

But so it was that, flanked by two uniformed soldiers, armed with loaded rifles, she began her slow procession to some unknown and unknowable fate. Her slender wrists were secured well beyond reason, clasped in heavy steel manacles. The short length of chain connecting them jingled with a strange, hollow sound as the slow procession entered the hallway and out through the main door.

Her firm, smooth, naked thighs quivered, one brushing against the other as she walked, the rubbing of skin against tender skin stoked a bold, unwelcome sensation within her loins. She dared not cry out or even speak, her head down, her heart pounding, her only impulse to run away, cover and hide herself. Nor did she dare even think, because every thought was frightening and revolting.

His carriage was still parked outside the main door, and so Catherine assumed that Uncle Billy remained at White Orchard. Had he absolved himself of the whole affair? Or was he watching, surreptitiously from behind a lace curtain, embracing his arousal at her newfound predicament. Catherine shook her head to free it of such thoughts. Even now, feeling as let down by him as she did, the poor girl could not think ill of her Godfather, and she prayed inside her head that he would put a stop to proceedings before they went too far!

With a growing realising Catherine saw where they were heading. It was to the block itself, where the slaves of White Orchard were taken to be disciplined ... where normality consisted of the sound of cries that echoed like a crazed, macabre chorus. That was where the Lieutenant and his men were taking her.

Or was it the whipping post positioned outside the entrance to the block. Would they whip her? They had stripped her like a slave, dressed her like a slave, chained her like a slave and now they were going to treat her like a slave ...

She sensed the close proximity of her personal armed guard, and as their obvious destination became closer she felt the heightened repulsion swirling around her head before settling in the pit of her nauseous, churning stomach.

Catherine began to tremble uncontrollably. Right now, at this very moment, she would do anything to be spared the shame and humiliation of being paraded in front of the gathered slaves assembled along with the full complement of Union army soldiers, to await her appearance ... chained as she was, her nubile shape exposed, nipples hard in the cold air ... half-naked.

The rains had stopped but she felt the small stoned gravel digging into her skin and the slippery mud underneath her bare feet as they traversed the pathways and then the open land that prefaced the block.

Upon reaching the large open double doors into the wooden barn like building, Catherine panicked and painfully wrenched herself into an opposite direction, only to be forcefully stopped in her tracks and dragged with very evident enthusiasm on her aggressors' part, through the ominous entranceway. Her captors had thrust her into a familiar place, but one that she was about to see in a completely different light.

Catherine herself had never used the block in anger. In fact, since her father left for the war ... never to return ... the slaves at White Orchard had enjoyed a more communal relationship with her and, until recently, her mama. But Catherine knew that using this fact to appeal to Sampson and his men would be a wasted effort.

Chapter 13 - The Upstairs Study at White Orchard, Around 5:30pm, May 11th 1864

The General saw them gathering together the slaves and the men - a considerable number of people, and he knew that the handling of Catherine's interrogation had progressed. Poor Catherine ... he knew that she was innocent, wasn't she ... but to a certain degree, he had absolved himself of the issue. His only saving grace now was the hope that she could endure a little cross-examination and still maintain her innocence - that surely, would be proof enough that his Goddaughter knew nothing. He could then order the cessation of this sorry state of affairs, have the foraging completed and make sure that they all took their leave in good order, allowing Catherine to resume her life without further disturbance.

His heart leapt to his mouth when he saw her paraded across the front of the main house in full view of the audience now gathered around the entranceway to the block building. She had been made to change clothing, no doubt stripped in full view and was now wearing a soiled rag that barely covered her comely shape. He could feel the presence of Colonel John McCown in the room with him, his burning gaze piercing the General's neck and ravaging his mind with guilt.

He thought briefly of intervening, but the ball which had begun rolling could not be stopped until a satisfactory conclusion had been reached. Simply interfering to save the honour of his own Goddaughter, despite the fact that the situation consisted only of allegations without proof, would be a short route to ill-discipline and discontent amongst the men.

No, he would need to let this play out and then hopefully he could step back in and wrap things up.

As he watched the small parade on the mud-soaked ground down below, the General could not help but dwell on the way Catherine's firm buttocks moved under the short garment, and an unwitting and unwanted desire rose from his loins.

Closing his eyes, he tore his gaze from the lewd scene, but it was a state that lasted only a few seconds because Sherman was soon, once again, looking at the little entourage making its way before him.

They were leading her like an animal, collared and chained, manacled and pulled like a hound. It was appalling to see, but yet held a painful allure for the watching eye.

"Stop!" He said to himself out loud, remonstrating against his growing need to watch the unspeakable scene below. This was Catherine McCown, daughter of Colonel and Renee McCown, his own Goddaughter, damn it!

But he could not bring himself to look away ...

Chapter 14 -The Discipline Block Out-Building at White Orchard Mansion, Around 5:30pm, May 11th 1864

The gathered crowd fell silent at the sight of her. Slowly, deliberately, the soldiers edged her inside the block. Her body appeared small and limp, her trembling so strong that even her knees and bowed head seemed to shake. For one brief moment Catherine's eyes took in the familiar faces. House and field slaves, Tom Shepherd, the only overseer left at White Orchard ... all now watching her as the enemy soldiers systematically degraded her before them.

Feeling their stares upon her, the shackled girl felt the overwhelming urge to kneel and beg for mercy, yet her plea would be futile, and only serve to satisfy the perverted pleasure of these monstrous soldiers. Catherine had been determined not to show fear, but her resolve was rapidly weakening.

After the initial shock of seeing the Mistress in this condition, mutterings among the slaves began. The soldiers meanwhile were far more brazen with their lewd calls and ogling stares.

Catherine's eyes met the gaze of only a few spectators among the sea of faces. To her left stood Mary, loyal maid-servant and friend, solemn and stricken at her Mistress's shameful exposure. Beside Mary stood the younger maids, their worried looks only exacerbating Catherine's sense of doom. Several of the male slaves, especially the younger ones, openly ogled the scene they were, to their extreme disbelief, witnessing. Their shameless stares eating away at the poor girl as she was disgracefully displayed. 'Cowards!' she wanted to shout at them, 'if you were real men you would have tried to run away to your freedom, but you did not, you stayed here as a bonded slave'. But these words stayed inside her head, despite the looks on the faces of the majority of her slaves exposing the fact that they were enjoying the spectacle. To her right, Lieutenant Sampson stood brazenly scrutinizing every inch of her body!

Once clear of the crowded entranceway, the guards moved away from her side, but not before one of them yanked her brutally by the chained leash, forcing her into the very centre of the large open space. Her breasts bobbing, thighs trembling, hips swaying, buttocks quaking to the delight of the onlookers ... slave and soldier alike.

Catherine looked straight ahead, seeing this familiar outbuilding from an entirely new, unwelcome perspective. The podium, the chair, the iron shackles and manacles, the chain-points hammered into the floor ... she nearly fainted in horror.

"Did you truly believe you would emerge from this debacle unscathed?" Lieutenant Sampson stepped into the space before her.

He was flanked by a pair of burly troopers, holding loaded rifles with bayonets fixed. This small vignette heightened the formality of proceedings, and crushed any spirit that the poor, hapless Catherine may have had left.

"Silence," Sampson called above the growing noise, raising his arms outward. The uproar abated.

"You see now before you a traitor to the Union. She stands accused of spying and of assisting Confederate Bushwhackers in the murder of innocent soldiers. She has violated mandates governing our glorious Union, which most certainly led to her engaging in these illicit activities ..."

Despite no one in the watching crowd, neither slave nor soldier, being really interested in the charge list, the room had fallen silent upon hearing his words.

"These crimes are so blatant, so calculating, so insidious, that she deserves neither our pity nor our mercy."

The Lieutenant paused to enhance the dramatic effect he was endeavouring to create.

"To the satisfaction of our compatriots in arms, we assemble here today to obtain her full confession, dispense swift and effective justice upon this girl and prescribe for her an appropriate punishment, that she may suffer fully the consequences for her actions and her treacheries."

The levels of murmuring began to rise once more.

"Rest assured," he continued to proclaim with an ever-growing sense of righteousness, "I intend for this girl to pay due penance for her wrongdoings and serve as example to all who engage in similar unlawful activity."

It was clear from the mounting sense of anticipation in the room, that desire to see justice being served was not the main reason the excitement was heightened ... the majority simply wanted to see a young girl being flagrantly used and abused.

Tears welled in Catherine's eyes as the building flooded with roars of approval, all except from Mary her loyal house slave, who at this very moment wanted to be anywhere but here.

Chapter 15 -The Drawing Room at White Orchard Mansion, Midday, April 5th 1864

(A few weeks earlier)

The doors of the drawing room burst open and young Mercy, one of the more Junior house slaves under Mary's authority flew in, stumbled and fell to her knees. She looked up through tear filled eyes and gazed at the shocked expression on her Mistress's face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Catherine was now staring at the looming figure of Tom Shepherd, the Overseer, the only supervisor left on the plantation since Lincoln had made his damn speech following Gettysburg. She knew Shepherd despised her ... he had been at White Orchard ever since she could remember, and he was tough, muscle bound, thick headed and ruthless with his slaves.

The bullwhip hung in the belt loop by his side, but its recent activity was evident through the rip in the back of Mercy's thin shift and the angry red welt that had already risen from her otherwise smooth skin.

This brute was what her mama would have called 'white trash'. A man, not of colour, but equally not of means nor breeding. A dangerous man who walked the edge every day of his life.

"Mister Shepherd, what has happened here? Mercy please stand up dear girl and take a seat while I hear what our Overseer has to say."

The look on Shepherd's face should have been a warning to the young Mistress of the house, but she did not have the commensurate experience to recognise it. Instead she continued on with her patronising diatribe ...

"So, pray tell Mister Shepherd, what could this young girl possibly have done to a man like yourself to warrant such harsh treatment?"

Shepherd's already thunderous deportment only deepened at the words of this fledgling upstart of a girl who called herself his Mistress.

"Mistress Catherine," he began, "This uppity little bitch refused to bring me liquor when I ..."

"Mistress, please no that is not the truth. I was busy with an errand for Mary and said I would return ..." Mercy stopped speaking then, realising that she had done so out of turn, cutting off the callous Overseer without having been invited to share her views.