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, has it not, you Reb scum?" Oak sneered as he purposefully ran the blade across her neck, gently though, so as not to cut.
"I am going to take a look at you now and you are 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 cannot 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 gum-covered 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.
Listening to the sound of heavy breathing coming from these two brutes, Catherine closed her eyes. She shuddered when she felt a hand on her abdomen and then again when Oak ran his touch over her skin, just above her private area. She felt his fingers on her soft folds, softly gasped and inadvertently lifted her hips, resulting in chuckles of laughter from the soldiers.
Humiliated … Degraded … Terrified. She was all of these things.
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - Although contemporary thinking around female hair removal was made popular during the later nineteenth century, largely due to the rise in fashion adverst and magazines, there were widespread examples of public, leg and underarm hair being removed from the mid 1800's onwards ...
