The Georgia Peach - A Story of the American Civil War

[twonines]

More great stuff Fossy,the poor girl still not sure what is to happen to her, but knowing that whatever it is is going to be extremely unpleasant.

 

[Loxuru]

Great chapter! The digging in sherman's emotions and Catherine's treatment are both well written!

 

[Fossy]

Great chapter! The digging in sherman's emotions and Catherine's treatment are both well written!

Thank you my friend. Sherman was a very genuine family man who was also a ruthless leader.

 

[Fossy]

Thank you my friend. Sherman was a very genuine family man who was also a ruthless leader.

And so being distraught at the death of his young son whilst also being able to sanction the appalling interrogation of his Goddaughter for reasons of military gain would have been perfectly in line with his character.

 

[Fossy]

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.


To Be Continued ...

 

[twonines]

Another fine chapter,the action moves inexorably towards its ,I hesitate to say, climax. Well done ! Fossy.

 

[Fossy]

Another fine chapter,the action moves inexorably towards its ,I hesitate to say, climax. Well done ! Fossy.

Thank you my friend. Stick with it though because there are a few surprises in store yet

 

[windar]

Catherine should claim POW status under the Geneva Convention, even though it wouldn't exist for 50 years. Technically, she isn't a spy, but rather a POW, since she ended up in Union hands due to their seizure of territory on which she lived and never claimed to be anything other than a Confederate. Of course, POWs were treated horribly by both sides. The death rate was appalling due to disease, starvation and other causes. https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/civil-war-prison-camps

 

[old slave]

Thank you my friend. Stick with it though because there are a few surprises in store yet

"The cowboy in the white hat rides in and rescues her..........."
That was all I understood about USA from 1950's films.

 

[Fossy]

Catherine should claim POW status under the Geneva Convention, even though it wouldn't exist for 50 years. Technically, she isn't a spy, but rather a POW, since she ended up in Union hands due to their seizure of territory on which she lived and never claimed to be anything other than a Confederate. Of course, POWs were treated horribly by both sides. The death rate was appalling due to disease, starvation and other causes. https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/civil-war-prison-camps

What makes you think, my friend, that I want a scenario where the beautiful, young, semi naked girl is horribly mistreated

 

[Praefectus Praetorio]

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, being 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 the heavily shackled girl knew that using this fact to appeal to Sampson and his men would be a wasted effort.


To Be Continued ...


Footnote - The inclusion of the words and picture depicting Sherman and his son, Willie, clearly creates a very sensitive narrative. Had the subjects being more contemporary I would not have done so, however given that they are historical figures from over 150 years ago, my belief that the value their inclusion has in highlighting the conflict existing in Sherman's mind between his loving, family values versus the way he was now allowing his Goddaughter to be treated, outweighed the sensitivity issues. I hope you all agree.

Very good balance of character development and ominous foreboding. We can appreciate Sherman's qualities and his determination!

 

[settantuno]

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!



To Be Continued ...

Spectators

 

[Fossy]

Spectators

I have no words @settantuno my friend - thank you so much, what a privelage for me. That is superb! Just wow!!!

 

[Loxuru]

Catherine should claim POW status under the Geneva Convention, even though it wouldn't exist for 50 years. Technically, she isn't a spy, but rather a POW, since she ended up in Union hands due to their seizure of territory on which she lived and never claimed to be anything other than a Confederate.

"Geneva!? That's far away from here, Miss McCown!"

Nevertheless, there seems to have been a code of conduct for Union soldiers, issued during the Civil War:

Lieber Code - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

 

[Fossy]

"Geneva!? That's far away from here, Miss McCown!"

Nevertheless, there seems to have been a code of conduct for Union soldiers, issued during the Civil War:

Lieber Code - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

There was, Lincoln issued it in 1863 I think. It outlawed rape as a tool of war amongst other things. By 1864, with the rolling hate that the Union Army took into Georgia it was frequently overlooked.

 

[windar]

"Geneva!? That's far away from here, Miss McCown!"

Nevertheless, there seems to have been a code of conduct for Union soldiers, issued during the Civil War:

Lieber Code - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

There was, Lincoln issued it in 1863 I think. It outlawed rape as a tool of war amongst other things. By 1864, with the rolling hate that the Union Army took into Georgia it was frequently overlooked.

It, along with the Emancipation Proclamation, would have meant that Mary and all the other slaves on the plantation were free the moment Union troops arrived. That was adhered to and certainly would have been by William Tecumseh Sherman. Interestingly, it didn't end slavery because it didn't apply to the slave-holding states that had remained in the Union-Kentucky and Maryland. Slaves there were only freed after the war under the 13th Amendment.

 

[Fossy]

It, along with the Emancipation Proclamation, would have meant that Mary and all the other slaves on the plantation were free the moment Union troops arrived. That was adhered to and certainly would have been by William Tecumseh Sherman. Interestingly, it didn't end slavery because it didn't apply to the slave-holding states that had remained in the Union-Kentucky and Maryland. Slaves there were only freed after the war under the 13th Amendment.

That is correct my friend and White Orchard had lost a lot of slaves already, so the ones that remained were either doing do under duress lackkng the courage needed to leave, or no idea what to do or where to go.

I suspect when Sherman gets a moment to think rationally about this dilemma he has been plunged into he will acknowledge this position ...

 

[Fossy]

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.

“See what I mean Mistress, she is a no-good little cunt, who need a good whipping to show her where her place his.”

Catherine recoiled from the use of such harsh language, and then stood to face off the situation.

“Mister Shepherd, Mercy is a good slave. Obedient and diligent and willing to learn. I believe what she has said, and can only conclude that you must have misunderstood her response to your request. So, you will leave this situation with me sir, and I will make sure that Mercy understands very clearly her place on this plantation and you should go back to running the fields, a job that you do so very well, Mister Shepherd.”

Had Catherine commanded Shepherd’s respect, had she been a man and had she been much older, then her handling of this situation had been very appropriate and had diffused the fire before the flames had really taken hold.

But none of those things was the truth in Tom Shepherd’s eyes, and he certainly held no respect for the McCown girl … Plantations like this one needed a grown man’s firm hand, especially in times like these! As he turned with a growl and left the main house, he had but one thing on his mind, and that was to show her who really was the boss around here …

******

And so now, in the open space of the discipline block building he stood directly behind young Mercy with his hand on her firm naked buttocks, covered by nothing but the flimsy shift that still bore the rip from his whip in its back. The young slave had her eyes closed in an attempt to divert the sensations this monster behind was creating inside her body, and also to avoid looking at her poor Mistress, poor Miss McCown who had suffered so much hardship already and who had shown her nothing but consideration and fair treatment.

Shepherd was enjoying every second of this, and seeing the young McCown bitch in such ‘uncomfortable circumstances’ was nothing more than she deserved … in his humble opinion of course … His view of proceedings was good enough for him to see close up how her exposed nipple pebbled in the cool air. How many times he had thought about having this bitch writhing under his weight, and now here she was, virtually naked and about to get her haughty ass whipped if any luck would have it.

His erection grew harder and he poked it through the thick leather of his pants pushing hard against the barely covered ass of the young slave at his front …


Chapter 16 –The Discipline Block Out-Building at White Orchard Mansion, Around 5:45pm, May 11th 1864


Catherine’s head was swirling. She had become a target for so much hatred, scorn and ridicule.

“Silence!” The Lieutenant shouted even more forcefully at the ever-growing noise levels, a cacophony of excited chatter, filled with expectant anticipation of what was about to be witnessed. Then he spoke more softly, to Catherine, in practiced tones of deceitful elegance.

“Kneel before me.” Catherine’s cheeks flushed at the command.

She turned her eyes pensively toward Mary, then jumped in fright as Sampson yelled at her.

“Don’t look at her, she is just a slave … you will look at me!” His face had twisted abruptly into a mask of utter fury. However, she couldn’t hold back the sneer forming on her lips, the gorge of disgust and hate rising in her throat. She regarded this madman with stubborn defiance, this savage who so brazenly expected her to defer to him.

And yet, at the same time, Catherine was so terrified she thought she might scream ...

The Lieutenant nodded to the guard who was holding the chain on her leash, and the man’s hand gave it a harsh tug. Catherine threw her head sideways with a quick, sharp gasp of fright. Her eyebrows lifted in shock. Panic ran riot within her captive body. She swayed, fingers flexing with fear, her pounding chest pulling at the last thin traces of breath from her heaving, stress filled chest.

Catherine’s mouth opened wide, but no sound came forth. She was almost too weak with emotional exhaustion to remain upright, unaware of anything but the agonies she was burdened with, both mental and physical. She stood upon shaking legs trying desperately to maintain her balance, but it was a task whose success evaded her. Poor Catherine was unable to do anything except sink to the ground, the backsides of both thighs collapsing upon the smooth skin of her calf muscles, her bare buttocks under the flimsy shift, fell upon her naked, mud covered heels.

With petulant thoughts still inside her head, but too weak to move, Catherine could only remain kneeling, all desire for struggle lost in despair and blind submission.

Lieutenant Sampson loomed over her. “Your escapades are those of great daring little girl, however misguided your loyalties are.”

She knew the only way to escape this madness was complete denial. “I know not to what escapades you refer, Lieutenant,” she whispered contemptuously, her throat parched from sobbing.

“Be careful, girl. Such lies only compound your crimes.”

“I am not guilty of anything!” she screamed hoarsely.

“Then how do you explain the coins, the buttons and that damnable notebook?” His tone rasped with venom. Catherine clamped her jaw shut. Any answer that she gave to him, he would turn slanderously against her.

Lieutenant Sampson slipped his fingers under her chin, brushing the iron collar. Catherine released a gasp as he wrenched her forward by the neck, up off her haunches, until their faces were just inches apart.

“What does the notebook signify, girl? Who is WQ?” His words were formed into a noxious question before he spat the words out.

She raised her eyes, directly meeting his intense glare “You are insane, sir, if you think I have ever seen any of those items before ...” she whispered, letting a triumphant smirk play on her lips.

The Lieutenant rose, towering over her, and to the gathered crowd of both his men and the household slaves and staff, he announced, “We are left with no choice but to extract whatever information we can from this immoral young lady by force, in the hope of saving further innocent lives from being lost.”

Catherine wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that she had never, ever seen an innocent soldier dressed in blue, but her attention was taken by a movement from Sergeant Oak. The burley soldier now standing by the space that had been exposed when the crowd of people parted under instruction from lieutenant Sampson. In it lay a long ominous plank of wood, flat to the floor.

She felt a hand push her back forcing her to stumble forward towards it.


To Be Continued ...


Footnote - Throughout the American Civil War, as vast armies clashed on conventional battlefields, a drastically different kind of conflict was raging as well: a bloody guerrilla war that erupted in the South in response to Federal invasion. Characterised by ambushes, surprise raids, and irregular styles of combat, the guerrilla war became savage, chaotic, and often disorganised, relying on clandestine and subversive relationships with the local population for its continued success.

 

[Loxuru]

Footnote - Throughout the American Civil War, as vast armies clashed on conventional battlefields, a drastically different kind of conflict was raging as well: a bloody guerrilla war that erupted in the South in response to Federal invasion. Characterised by ambushes, surprise raids, and irregular styles of combat, the guerrilla war became savage, chaotic, and often disorganised, relying on clandestine and subversive relationships with the local population for its continued success.

Not to mention (mass) lynchings of citizens, having expressed anti-slavery or pro-Union sympathies, or who were suspected of.

 

[Barbaria1]

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.

“See what I mean Mistress, she is a no-good little cunt, who need a good whipping to show her where her place his.”

Catherine recoiled from the use of such harsh language, and then stood to face off the situation.

“Mister Shepherd, Mercy is a good slave. Obedient and diligent and willing to learn. I believe what she has said, and can only conclude that you must have misunderstood her response to your request. So, you will leave this situation with me sir, and I will make sure that Mercy understands very clearly her place on this plantation and you should go back to running the fields, a job that you do so very well, Mister Shepherd.”

Had Catherine commanded Shepherd’s respect, had she been a man and had she been much older, then her handling of this situation had been very appropriate and had diffused the fire before the flames had really taken hold.

But none of those things was the truth in Tom Shepherd’s eyes, and he certainly held no respect for the McCown girl … Plantations like this one needed a grown man’s firm hand, especially in times like these! As he turned with a growl and left the main house, he had but one thing on his mind, and that was to show her who really was the boss around here …

******

And so now, in the open space of the discipline block building he stood directly behind young Mercy with his hand on her firm naked buttocks, covered by nothing but the flimsy shift that still bore the rip from his whip in its back. The young slave had her eyes closed in an attempt to divert the sensations this monster behind was creating inside her body, and also to avoid looking at her poor Mistress, poor Miss McCown who had suffered so much hardship already and who had shown her nothing but consideration and fair treatment.

Shepherd was enjoying every second of this, and seeing the young McCown bitch in such ‘uncomfortable circumstances’ was nothing more than she deserved … in his humble opinion of course … His view of proceedings was good enough for him to see close up how her exposed nipple pebbled in the cool air. How many times he had thought about having this bitch writhing under his weight, and now here she was, virtually naked and about to get her haughty ass whipped if any luck would have it.

His erection grew harder and he poked it through the thick leather of his pants pushing hard against the barely covered ass of the young slave at his front …


Chapter 16 –The Discipline Block Out-Building at White Orchard Mansion, Around 5:45pm, May 11th 1864


Catherine’s head was swirling. She had become a target for so much hatred, scorn and ridicule.

“Silence!” The Lieutenant shouted even more forcefully at the ever-growing noise levels, a cacophony of excited chatter, filled with expectant anticipation of what was about to be witnessed. Then he spoke more softly, to Catherine, in practiced tones of deceitful elegance.

“Kneel before me.” Catherine’s cheeks flushed at the command.

She turned her eyes pensively toward Mary, then jumped in fright as Sampson yelled at her.

“Don’t look at her, she is just a slave … you will look at me!” His face had twisted abruptly into a mask of utter fury. However, she couldn’t hold back the sneer forming on her lips, the gorge of disgust and hate rising in her throat. She regarded this madman with stubborn defiance, this savage who so brazenly expected her to defer to him.

And yet, at the same time, Catherine was so terrified she thought she might scream ...

The Lieutenant nodded to the guard who was holding the chain on her leash, and the man’s hand gave it a harsh tug. Catherine threw her head sideways with a quick, sharp gasp of fright. Her eyebrows lifted in shock. Panic ran riot within her captive body. She swayed, fingers flexing with fear, her pounding chest pulling at the last thin traces of breath from her heaving, stress filled chest.

Catherine’s mouth opened wide, but no sound came forth. She was almost too weak with emotional exhaustion to remain upright, unaware of anything but the agonies she was burdened with, both mental and physical. She stood upon shaking legs trying desperately to maintain her balance, but it was a task whose success evaded her. Poor Catherine was unable to do anything except sink to the ground, the backsides of both thighs collapsing upon the smooth skin of her calf muscles, her bare buttocks under the flimsy shift, fell upon her naked, mud covered heels.

With petulant thoughts still inside her head, but too weak to move, Catherine could only remain kneeling, all desire for struggle lost in despair and blind submission.

Lieutenant Sampson loomed over her. “Your escapades are those of great daring little girl, however misguided your loyalties are.”

She knew the only way to escape this madness was complete denial. “I know not to what escapades you refer, Lieutenant,” she whispered contemptuously, her throat parched from sobbing.

“Be careful, girl. Such lies only compound your crimes.”

“I am not guilty of anything!” she screamed hoarsely.

“Then how do you explain the coins, the buttons and that damnable notebook?” His tone rasped with venom. Catherine clamped her jaw shut. Any answer that she gave to him, he would turn slanderously against her.

Lieutenant Sampson slipped his fingers under her chin, brushing the iron collar. Catherine released a gasp as he wrenched her forward by the neck, up off her haunches, until their faces were just inches apart.

“What does the notebook signify, girl? Who is WQ?” His words were formed into a noxious question before he spat the words out.

She raised her eyes, directly meeting his intense glare “You are insane, sir, if you think I have ever seen any of those items before ...” she whispered, letting a triumphant smirk play on her lips.

The Lieutenant rose, towering over her, and to the gathered crowd of both his men and the household slaves and staff, he announced, “We are left with no choice but to extract whatever information we can from this immoral young lady by force, in the hope of saving further innocent lives from being lost.”

Catherine wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that she had never, ever seen an innocent soldier dressed in blue, but her attention was taken by a movement from Sergeant Oak. The burley soldier now standing by the space that had been exposed when the crowd of people parted under instruction from lieutenant Sampson. In it lay a long ominous plank of wood, flat to the floor.

She felt a hand push her back forcing her to stumble forward towards it.


To Be Continued ...


Footnote - Throughout the American Civil War, as vast armies clashed on conventional battlefields, a drastically different kind of conflict was raging as well: a bloody guerrilla war that erupted in the South in response to Federal invasion. Characterised by ambushes, surprise raids, and irregular styles of combat, the guerrilla war became savage, chaotic, and often disorganised, relying on clandestine and subversive relationships with the local population for its continued success.

Superb writing. Loving this. I’m literally out of superlatives that might be used to describe what I am reading.