The Georgia Peach Pt. 03

Chapter 20 -- Trial in the Block Out-Building, Around 7:30pm, May 11th 1864

Silence fell. Sampson ceased his provocation and the slaves looked on open mouthed at the close proximity of Massa Sherman. The General knew that he couldn't take Catherine to one side and have a private chat with her. This matter was already out in the open, and the success of his army might well depend on the authority he was able to command and the justice he could deliver at this very moment. But he could stop the spectacle.

"You private, get everyone out of here. This is a matter for the Lieutenant, Sergeant Oak and I." His tone was assertive and the private jumped to it.

"Give her a good whuppin' the uppity cunt!" It was Shepherd's voice that could be heard above the general din as the block was quickly emptied.

Sherman regarded the poor girl on the floor. Was this really what his pretty, decorous Goddaughter had become?

"You hit her feet Lieutenant?" It was a question but it was very clearly rhetorical.

"Yes Sir. The Bastinado is one of the quickest methods to ..."

"And did you discover anything new?" Sherman cut into his officer's further words.

Lieutenant Sampson paused, then replied, "She admitted to being a Reb Spy Gen'l."

Sherman nodded slowly, and said, "Well she would, wouldn't she if you were hammering the soles of her feet. She would have admitted to anything."

The small gathering went silent until once again the General, looking down upon the girl, spoke.

"Tell us what this piece of paper represents and why you have it, Catherine." He waived the sheet before her eyes. "Catherine is this the codebreaker that you use to decode the messages in the notebook?"

She shook her head and continued to look at the floor. Sherman knelt to her level and looked at the dishevelled, shivering, beaten, and still very naked figure that was his Goddaughter.

"Fetch this girl a blanket." The instruction was echoed out of the block until a soldier quickly returned with the requested cover.

Placing the tartan, wool blanket around her shoulders, Sherman slipped a finger gently under Catherine's chin and tipped her head upwards to look at him.

"Please tell us what this is child," he said quietly indicating the shapes and letters scribbled onto the page.

A shake of her head indicated the girl's answer.

"You have no idea how serious this is Catherine. Espionage against the Federal Government is a crime punishable by death. You need to tell me now what this is."

"It ... it ... looks like ... j ... just a g ... game. Maybe the slaves ... I ... I ... have n ... never seen it before in my life. Y... your men, they are the most atrocious mon ... monsters I have ever met, and they must be pl ... planting all of these things just to g ... get me to ..."

"To get you to what Catherine?" Sherman pushed for a complete answer, not believing his Goddaughter's assertions for one minute.

She had no more to say, and so the General Stood. They would need to formalise things as best they could. "Sergeant Oak, please make a record of the trial of Catherine McCown, at 7:45pm on this day, Wednesday the 11th May in the year of our Good lord, 1864.

Finding her voice Catherine glared at Sherman. "How dare you mention the Good Lord? He will judge you Uncle Billy and all of your degenerate soldiers ..."

General Sherman had assumed a formal air and now sat down next to the Lieutenant on a chair that looked bizarrely ornate for the surroundings, while Oak chained Catherine's neck collar to the floor, causing her to bow down low. The Sergeant then sat at the table ready to record proceedings.

Privates Blake and Hill, the ones who had discovered the coins and buttons in the Peach Grove, were also on hand to officiate if required.

"The accused will look up to receive her sentence." Sampson opened events. A large fist gripped Catherine's hair and twisted her to face the self-appointed judge and jury that the General and Sampson had become. Tears rimmed her eyes as she waited ...

The Lieutenant continued his introductory words, in which he now seemed to be revelling.

"Catherine McCown you stand accused of being a traitor to the United States of America, keeping anarchical secrets, harbouring traitorous criminals and acting in an illegally dissenting manner. If your behaviour goes unchecked then it is certain to result in more of these misguided deeds," he declared, baring his teeth, holding her frozen with his gaze, "... and you must be disciplined accordingly so that we can ascertain the truth."

"Will you plead guilty to this atrocious act of subversion and sedition, Miss McCown?" The General had maintained his formal disposition, but was now attempting to put Catherine in a position where he could at least help her. If she admitted her guilt, he could call upon whatever precedents were available to have her life spared.

But the girl simply shook her head.

"For the love of God Catherine, help me to help you."

But there was nothing.

"Catherine ... please. Tell us what you know."

Slowly she raised her gaze to look at her Godfather. "I. Have. Done. Nothing. Sir."

Her words were individually enunciated, her sentiment clear, and momentarily Sherman was taken aback by the emotion with which her speech was infused. But then he turned to his Lieutenant and whispered into his ear.

The junior officer stood to address this small, hastily gathered kangaroo court, and spoke directly at the girl as he looked down upon her.

"Despite clear evidence to the contrary, Catherine McCown has failed to confess to being a Confederate Spy. It is of paramount importance that we are able to understand the items that have now being discovered inside White Orchard Mansion, and the potential nature of their implication and impact ..." Sergeant Oak was scribbling away manfully, as the Lieutenant continued. "... Accepting that, until she is proven guilty, we cannot execute her, I therefore sentence this girl to the highest other measure of corporal punishment possible under Federal law. For her punishment, and so that we can find out the truth of this very serious matter, she will be flogged ..."

Catherine began to swoon, suddenly feeling dizzy.

"... She shall be continuously whipped in rounds of twelve strokes. Following each round, she will be interrogated for information. This will continue until we have the answers we seek or until the presiding General, Major-General William Sherman, calls a halt."

At the end of this pronouncement, Catherine felt her entire body go rigid with fear. She trembled visibly, aghast, her mouth open, her eyes wide as she tried to take in the words. She could hardly believe this man had been referring to her as he spoke.

Tears of fright streamed down Catherine's face as she listened to the General, her Godfather, speak ... and with every word he increased the burden of her punishment.

"Miss McCown will receive twenty-five lashes for her first round of whipping, twelve in each round thereafter. To maximize the overall number of strokes possible, the lashes will be applied not only across the bare back but spread across her entire body from her shoulders to her ankles ..."

Catherine's sobs turned into louder crying as she absorbed what had been said. She was to be strung up and whipped in a more brutal way than anything she could have ever witnessed or even dreamed of before. And what Uncle Billy had said about her entire body meant that she would be totally bare! At least they would spare her breasts and down below, between her thighs ... wouldn't they?

"Oh God help me," Catherine whispered to the Almighty.

"Even He can't help you now you fucking Reb cunt," Private Samuel Hill whispered into her ear as he leaned into her.

"Lieutenant, you will organise the flogging to commence at 7:30 am precisely tomorrow morning. You will assemble the entire estate once again to witness the event ..."

Did Uncle Billy really just call her impending flogging an 'event'? Catherine was beside herself. She had never felt so lonely, so vulnerable and exposed in her young life as she did right now.

Her tortured feet cried out for attention, but she guessed they would receive none. 'Uncle Billy' continued to speak, and every one of his words was a stake through her heart.

"You, Mister Sampson, have the privilege of administering the flogging of this girl. You have full discretion as to the whips, from this fine collection hereabouts, you deem it necessary to use on her, but make no mistake, I want answers." Sherman seemed to have disavowed all previous relationships with his Goddaughter in favour of the matter at hand.

Cowering, Catherine clenched her uncovered thighs together to contain something of the fear overpowering her and filling her bladder. She fumed as Sergeant Oak's gaze raked over her bared, shaking body with a clear hunger fuelled only by his debauched lust.

"It will be my pleasure, General ..." Sampson responded with gleeful relish.

Catherine peered at the brute through the narrow slits of her tear-soaked eyes, and breathed in a hoarse whisper, "... Pl ... please, have ... mercy ..."

The Lieutenant gave no answer to her imploring words, and Catherine saw a chilling smile grow upon his face.

She struggled to pull away as Sampson moved from his chair and knelt by her side, slowly sliding his fingers in light caress down one dampened cheek ... his touch felt like the searing tip of a white-hot branding iron.

"As always, when the whips threaten such beauty, bravery and daring vanish very fast." Looking to his troopers, her newly appointed punisher issued an order.

"Take her to the slave pens and secure her there for the night."

As if waking from a long, drugged sleep, Catherine opened her eyes and shook her head in denial of his latest instruction.

Taking deep, staggering breaths, she attempted to stabilise her legs so that she could at least walk. Private Blake unfastened the leash from the floor ring and pulled upwards. Stumbling after him on her broken feet, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, Catherine was taken away.

Chapter 21 -- The Slave Pens at White Orchard, Around 10pm, May 11th 1864

"Get off me!" She cried, as one of the monstrous troopers, following the Lieutenant's directive, dragged her stumbling body to the slave pens and bundled her into the small, confined space. Each pen was only three feet wide and four feet in length, even less in height. Manacles adorned every side and so a sufferer's stay inside could never be comfortable.

Catherine had managed only sporadic sleep, crying so much that she was totally drained, both physically and emotionally. Her mind was careering from one dread to the next, and her feet were battered and bruised.

"No miss, I cannot do that. I have my orders."

"I said get off me you bastard!" It was very rare that Catherine cursed, but right now times were exceptional, and as this soldier continued his manhandling of her, she felt compelled to yell at him.

"Miss McCown, I said no!" Then he hit her across the back of the head, more of a slap really. It wasn't hard, but it was delivered with enough force to shock her.

"Ahhhhhrrgggghhh!"

Catherine screamed and struggled as long as she could before the last vestiges of hope finally left her. Exhausted and consumed by anguish, she collapsed upon herself, curling into a ball, gasping for air as the surrounding crickets continued to chirp their mocking song.

But then he shackled her left wrist, and now she lay curled on her side, alone, save for the guard, who sat a few feet away on an upturned crate ... hers was the only cage in use.

The large doors of the outbuilding were opened outwards towards the open space of the estate. A cloud blew slowly across the bright moon and the only discernible detail in the blackness was the sight of the orange glow at the tip of one of those new little white cigar things that the war had introduced. When it passed, and light returned to the clearing, Catherine could see the soldier smoking it, his shadow cast against the dusty floor from his makeshift seat.

She was still without clothes, and terrified for her safety, but she felt a just a little gratitude that the soldier hadn't violated her. He could have and no one would have known. Maybe she could gain his trust. Maybe he would let her go ...

"Hello, sir ... hello ..." she attempted to attract the seated trooper's attention but he simply ignored her.

"Please, could I ... I need to ... go to the toilet ... please, sir," Catherine affected her best Southern Belle accent in her attempts to attract his attention.

He turned and grinned at her. "Then go, I am not here to stop you. But if you do not shut up with the chatter, I will gag you Miss McCown."

Catherine slunk back into the shadows of the pen and hoped that she could hold onto her bladder until the morning! The night wasn't cold by any means, but dry air chilled the naked girl. After a while she could no longer stop herself from shaking, burying her head in the crook of her arm she tried to distract her mind. But with her wrist manacled to the bars it was impossible to get comfortable. Huddled against the side of her pen, Catherine prayed for the strength to endure the agonies to come ...

******

Sampson couldn't sleep. Spending a second night on the floor of the main house didn't help his slumberous cause, but equally the thought of what the morning would bring was exciting him beyond the ability to even doze.

He stood and stretched his body. A quick check of his pocket watch told him that it was thirty minutes after eleven on this warm May night. He moved to wake Sergeant Oak who was sound asleep just a few feet away from him.

"Outside with me, now Oak," he whispered, keen not to wake the others.

In a stupor that swayed between the waking and the sleeping, Oak opened his bleary, heavy eyes and took a moment to recall where he was and comprehend what was happening.

Dragging his heavy body off the floor he followed the Lieutenant outside.

"We need to shave her Oak."

"Sorry, Sir, what?"

"Her body ... not her head of course, but we need to shave her between those creamy smooth thighs."

The very thought excited the Sergeant but he was still confused.

"Listen Oak, I asked Private Hill to make a special adaptation for the whipping post. You will see what I mean tomorrow, but in the meantime, go collect these things, then come with me to the slave pens and we will shave her mound.

******

Time seemed to pass with incredible slowness. Catherine closed her eyes, longing for a sleep that would not come. This is not real, she thought. It must all be a dream ... but the stark reality of her confinement in the small cage pressed upon her nerves. Things were harder to bear in the darkness, and her mind grew feverish alternating between thoughts of escape and acceptance of the horror she was due to face. Despite the doors to the building being open, the slave pen was deathly dim. The only source of light coming from a flaming torch, which provided barely enough to see beyond the bars and the wooden ceiling with its high overhead beams.

The building was designed to exacerbate a captive's feelings of helplessness, and this it achieved well. The tormented girl never thought for one second that she would be the victim of its ghastly bearing. The irony of her situation was the realisation of how meagre in human terms a slave's life was, even those handled with fairness and even-handedness like her father had done when he was alive. There was no wonder that they behaved in a more feral way than true 'Southern people'. But it was too late now for her to be 'learning lessons' from this experience, far too late indeed.

Then Catherine heard voices and before she could turn and look towards the entrance, the large beast of a Sergeant slipped his hand through the bars and grabbed a fistful of hair, twisting and forcing her head to the side. He pressed a cold, sharp blade to her throat and instantly, any brief thoughts of resistance or struggle were gone from her thoughts.

"Well now, this seems to have gotten your attention, hasn't it, you Reb scum?" Oak sneered as he purposefully ran the blade across her neck, gently though, so as not to cut.

"I'm going to take a look at you now and you're going to be totally still, and quiet, for me, aren't you, cunt? Nod if you understand."

Catherine nodded and, thankfully, he withdrew his blade. She exhaled.

"Good girl."

Once she had stopped struggling, the Lieutenant stepped out of the shadows and, kneeling alongside his Sergeant, they began their inspection. There was no subtlety in behaviour and no politeness in approach. Sampson's penetrating gaze began at her legs and then slowly took in every inch of her body, from the 'V' which split her thighs, to her firm, round breasts. He paused only to look into her beautiful blue eyes, and the coldness in his own expression made her wince.

Then the monster slid his hand between the bars, grabbing onto the mound of her womanhood. Suddenly, Catherine could feel the sharpness of Oak's blade biting into her soft, sensitive flesh and she dared not move. Lieutenant Sampson gently squeezed and for a split-second, she forgot to breathe.

"Soldier, come over here and unshackle her. We want her laying on top of the cage. Arrange her so and then you will secure her arms and legs back into those manacles for us."

"No, what? Please, you can't do this ..." Catherine protested. Having endured the savage indecency of a man's touch between her legs for the first time in her life, she was now to be subjected to further humiliation.

They were about to rape her. It was obvious, why else would they be securing like this.

With the blade never leaving her body for even a moment, the helpless young girl was secured, spread eagled, across the top of the metal cage. The top bars of the pen were causing her back extreme discomfort, but she knew that 'discomfort' was about to become the least of her worries.

The sight of Miss McCown with her legs wide open was a treat indeed for the soldiers.

"Look at her legs and under the pits of her arms Lieutenant, already smooth as a baby's bottom. She's already removed the hair from those parts."

"Hmmm some girls do Sergeant and Miss McCown is a young lady, I expected nothing less from her," Sampson's tone ridiculed Catherine, before he added, "Did you bring the cut-throat?" The Lieutenant asked of his Sergeant.

Oak chuckled and set down the razor on a small table that had been brought to their side.

"I'm going to have to touch her though to do this, Sir."

Sampson grinned, "Yes Sergeant you are, just don't get any ideas of sticking your dick in the slut. That is not for now."

"What? No, please, you cannot do ..." Catherine was beside herself with a new found fear. They were not going to rape her, but they were going to shave her pubic hair. Why in God's name ... this was an unbearable humiliation ..."

"Here give me your Spruce gum Oak."

The bound girl looked to her side to see the Lieutenant rolling sticky pieces of chewed Spruce gum between his fingers before pressing the masticated substance onto a piece of hide. She was repulsed and had to turn away. But Catherine was still able to see as the monster at her feet took the hide, pressed the gum to her pubic hair and then ripped it away.

It took a moment before the pain registered, but then a feral yell came from her delicate throat as the gum tore out a clump of hair from her mons.

"Oh please, stop!" She pleaded. But they didn't.

The hide was pressed to her mound once more and again ripped away. Gritted teeth subdued Catherine's cry, and stoicism helped her cope with the agony.

The action was repeated several more times and, craning her neck to look down her body she could see the raw, tufty mess that had been left behind.