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.
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - The Daguerreotype of Catherine has been attached as a reminder of the serene, privileged life from which the beautiful girl came. Its inclusion here serves to highlight how unbearable she would be finding her current awful predicament. It was taking during August of 1863 at the newly opened studios of C R Moffat, an early daguerreotypist from Danville, Missouri.
