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Mina Berkeley's Voyage

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“Mina Berkeley!” exclaimed Judge Higgens, “But isn’t this the woman we have just been speaking of?”

“Mina Berkeley?” the Governor said. “There was a young woman name of Berkeley who was flogged ‘round the fleet not a few months ago!”

“What?” Smythie said. “I have heard nothing of it!”

“Twice ‘round, my Lord, twice!” the Judge said.

“I will go to her directly,” Smythie said. “My lords,” he said, making a slight bow, “If you will pardon me for a moment, I will see to Miss Berkeley.”

“By no means Smythie!” Judge Higgens said. “Show her in, do! I should very much like to meet this lady.”

“I am quite certain she would prefer a private audience,” Smythie said.

“Show the lady and Warden Jenkins in” the Governor said.

The secretary bowed and left the room for a moment.

“. . . and it will take no more than a moment. . .” Smythie said, walking to the door, trying to intercept Mina; but too late.

Mina was at the door. She was in high color, her face glowing with perspiration, her hair slightly disarrayed, and looking all the more fetching because of it. Jenkins was at her side, standing hat in hand, rigidly at attention.
Mina made a low and graceful curtsy. Jenkins saluted.


The Governor and the Commodore returned a bow. Judge Higgens remained seated at the desk, impassive as an owl.

“My Lords, Sir Rupert, please forgive this intrusion. I wish to address Sir Rupert about a matter of immediate concern to me, and as he has assured me of his friendship and has demonstrated his benevolence to me on more than one occasion, I thought to intrude yet again on his good nature. But I had no wish to interrupt you, my Lords.”

“I am Governor Maynard, Miss Berkeley, and this is His Honor Judge Higgens. This is a most extraordinary coincidence; Sir Rupert was just informing us of your circumstances. I confess, I am still somewhat in the dark. But I must say that in describing you, Sir Rupert has not done you justice.”

The Governor gave Smythie a sidelong glance.

“A most extraordinary coincidence, indeed,” the Judge said, in his usual stirring tones,laying the quill beside the unsigned warrant. “In fact, I would call it Providential. Sir Rupert has only now laid your statement here before me. I have not yet had the chance to study it carefully.” The Judge lifted the sheets of foolscap from the desk. “If your urgent business pertains to the circumstances detailed in your statement, then you may consider us all interested parties.”

“As what I came to tell Sir Rupert does bear on the complaint you have before you, my Lords, I will report to you my immediate circumstances. I am deeplygrateful for your attention, and promise to be sparing of your valuable time. In short, I discovered soon after my arrival here at Cape Coast that my sister, Laura Berkeley, had not sailed to New South Wales as planned, but was detained here on a charge of sedition, and received a brutal punishment.”

“Laura Berkeley is your sister!” the Governor exclaimed.

“Yes, My Lord.”

“She was found to have violated naval law,”JudgeHiggens said, “And was sentenced under that law. It was a severe penalty, but proper procedure was adhered to. Rest assured, it was all quite legal and proper.”

Anger welled up in Mina. How Mina wished for the voice of the prophet Jeremiah to rail against this old, self righteous man and all his ilk!

Mina stood with head bowed a moment before she was able to continue.

“I subsequently discovered my sister was being kept against her will at the house of a certain Madame Louisa, where I found her being forced to perform degrading and unnatural acts by the very man I complain against in my statement, Captain Writhby himself. With the assistance of Warden Jenkins, I recovered my sister from that place. She is now resting at the house of Warden Jenkins. I wished to apprise Commodore Smythie of this latest occurrence,to forestall the lies and complaints that may follow,and add to my complaint against Captain Writhby the charges of rape and sodomy. Against this Madame Louisa, whatever her real name is, I wish to swear out a complaint of kidnapping and running a bawdy house.”

The judge was in rare good spirits. Against all odds he had caught Smythie in his scheme. So the rogue had wanted this delectable little mouse all to himself!

“And you, Warden Jenkins what have you to say?” the Judge asked.

“Well, my Lord. . .” he started.

“Miss Berkeley said her sister was at the house of Madame Louisa and alleges her sister was there, and performing unnatural acts unwillingly,” Judge Higgens interrupted. “Do you agree, and if so, how did you ascertain this alleged unwillingness?”

Mina gasped. “How dare you sir!” she cried. “My sister would never, ever have done those disgusting things unless forced by the most dreadful means! How can you ask it, how can you even think it?”

“As you have made serious allegations, young woman, it is my duty to determine the truth. Now, Jenkins, speak!”

Swallowing his nerves, Jenkins said,

“My Lord, Laura Berkeley appeared listless and uncomprehending to what was happening around her. I noticed a bottle of Laudanum on the bureau in the room she was in. I do not believe she was in any fit state to participate willingly.”

“Thank you, Warden Jenkins,” Judge Higgens said.

Higgens checked Smythie’s face forthe barely contained rage there, and was delighted.

“Miss Berkeley,” the Judge said, “I believe, based upon your reactions and what you and the Warden have testified, that you have more than sufficient cause to bring an action. To proceed, you must submit a statement detailing your accusations. I assure you that I shall give the matter my personal attention.”

“Thank you, my Lord Judge,” Mina said stiffly.

“And I second Judge Higgens, Miss Berkeley.” Governor Maynard said. “You have aroused a personal interest in all of us. It is indeed unfortunate that, despite our best efforts, such dens of iniquity as you have discovered do exist. It is the nature of sinful man, I regret to say. Especially in such places as Cape Coast, where so many different types of people, and so many different influences, and not all of them good, come together. My secretary shall take your statements. We shall meet again, Miss Berkeley.”

The Governor bowed as Mina and Jenkins were escorted out.

“My Lords, if you will excuse me a moment,” Smythie said, and hurried after Mina.

“Smythie, that devious bastard,” the Governor said, after Smythie had left the room. “Wanting to tuck a little something away for himself, eh? And how extraordinary that it should be that pretty little Berkeley girl’s pretty little sister!”

“How I despise that man,” The judge said. “He’s naught but a jumped up delivery boy. So he’s in rut, is he?”

“And who can blame him?” the Governor said. “But of course he must be taught a lesson.”

Judge Higgens considered a moment.

“I believe we should grant him his little favor.”

He then moved the warrant back under his hand. He dipped the quill and signed it with a flourish.

“But first, we shall have our taste.”


Once outside the Governor’s chamber Smythie dismissed the other two men and took Mina by the arm.


“What the devil have you done?” Smythie said to Mina. “Your appearance here has complicated my arrangements!”
“Sir,” Mina said, “Why should my appearance here alter any arrangements you have made? You frighten me, sir! Please let go of me.”


Mina twisted her arms, and Smythie let her out of his grasp.

“Sir,” Mina said, “I consider you my great benefactor, and my feelings towards you are of greatest respect and deepest gratitude. But those feelings, as profound as they are, will not develop into feelings of a more passionate or intimate nature. I regret if I have engendered any such hopes in you.”

Smythie stared at Mina. His face was flushed, his lips tight with anger.

Was the little chit speaking of love? he wondered. Yes, he had a passion for her, he wanted her all to himself, but only so that he, and only he, would be the one holding the whip.

Smythie took a deep breath and bowed to Mina.

“Forgive my outburst,” he said. “I am your friend still. Never fear. All will be well.”

Abruptly he turned from her and walked away, marshaling his arguments and his enticements to get his way.


When Smythie returned, the Governor jibed him in apparent good humor, and the judge presented Smythie with the warrant.


“She’s all yours,” the Governor said. “But we will have our six this convict transport, and six the next as well. And you will give us an extra point of your end on the slave shipment.”

Smythie agreed, thinking only of how he would make Mina pay.
 
Soldiers came for Mina the next day.

She was on the porch of Jenkins’ house, sitting with an arm around Laura, who was drowsing with her head on Mina’s shoulder. She and Jenkins had been discussing the feasibility of Laura and her taking passage on a ship bound for England. Jenkins was of the opinion that they should take the first one they could, but Mina was hesitant. She was primarily concerned about the demands a voyage would put on Laura’s health, but also she wanted to see justice done to Writhby and Madame Louisa.

Mrs. Jenkins was putting the finishing touches on a piece of needlework. She looked up to rest her eyes and saw the soldiers coming their way.

“Mr. Jenkins,” she said.

There was a lieutenant, mounted on a horse, and six redcoats marching in two files. Jenkins stood.

“I will see what they want. Wait here a moment, if you please,” he said to Mina, but she would not. She followed Jenkins into the yard.

The lieutenant reined in his horse and dismounted at Jenkins’ gate. A sergeant called the soldiers to halt. The sergeant and a corporal accompanied the officer through the gate.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Jenkins asked.

“Mr. Jenkins,” he said, presenting the warden with a document. “By order of the Governor, you are hereby relieved of your duties as Warden. You will consider yourself under house arrest pending further inquiries.”

He thrust the document into Jenkins’ hands. Without awaiting a reply he turned to Mina.

“Are you Wilhelmina Berkeley?”

“I am, sir,” she answered.

“You are arrested. You are to be taken to Cape Coast Jail to await trial.”

“You must be mistaken sir!” Mina cried, “I spoke to the Governor and Judge Higgens yesterday!”

“Lieutenant!” Jenkins said, “The Governor and Judge Higgens assured us. . .”

“If you interfere in any way, Mr. Jenkins,” the lieutenant cut in, “You will be beaten to the ground and hauled off to a cell yourself. Stand away, sir.”

Jenkins stood his ground. Mrs. Jenkins rushed into the yard and gripped her husband’s arm.

“What is happening?” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Do something, Mr. Jenkins!”

“Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, “Miss Berkeley has a vigorous walk ahead of her. Make sure she can breathe properly.”

Mina glanced back in alarm at the sergeant, who had stepped behind Mina. Suddenly he grabbed Mina’s dress at the shoulders, and jerked it viciously down. The laces at the back tore out and Mina staggered. The sergeant wrenched at the dress again, pulling it down to her waist.

“Oh! How dare you?” Mina cried.

“There is no need for that!” Jenkins, and reached for the sergeant.

Without hesitation the corporal turned on Jenkins and struck him hard in the belly. Jenkins collapsed to his knees, retching. The corporal kicked him in the ribs. Mrs. Jenkins screamed and fell to her knees beside her husband, cradling him in her arms.

The sergeant spun Mina around, and pulled the sleeves of her dress from her arms. The corporal, paying no further attention to the Jenkins’s, gripped Mina’s arms above the elbows, pinning her arms behind her. The sergeant produced a pair of shackles from a satchel slung from his shoulder and shackled Mina’s wrists in front of her.

“Help us!” Mina shouted, “Help us, someone! Go for Commodore Smythie, I beg you!”

There were only a few people about on the street, but no one made a move in answer.

Ignoring Mina’s cries, the sergeant gripped Mina by the shoulders as the corporal untied the top laces of her stays behind her. He tore at the garment until the laces had come completely undone, and then pulled it off her body and tossed it to the ground.

“Wouldn’t want you to feel faint during our walk,” the lieutenant said.

“Sir!” Mina shouted, her eyes wet with tears of fury, “If you value your career you will release me immediately! Immediately do you hear! Commodore Rupert Smythie is a friend! He will be incensed at this barbaric treatment!”

She could offer no resistance, ineffectual as that would have been, nor try to escape, as the corporal once again held her arms behind her. The sergeant fastened another pair of shackles to Mina’s arms just above her elbows, leaving only a few iron links separating them. Mina’s shackled wrists pressed tightly into the ruined folds of her dress at her waist. The position was quite painful, straining her shoulders and arms.

“Mr. Jenkins, Mrs. Jenkins!” she cried out. “For God’s sake help me!”

“Prisoner,” the lieutenant said. “If you do not shut your trap, I shall have you gagged.”

“And I shall have you drummed from the service, you despicable bully!” she shouted.

The lieutenant nodded to the sergeant. “Gag her.”

The sergeant nodded, and pulled a wooden wedge from the satchel.

Mina stared at the device, her eyes wild with desperation. It was a simple but effective gag used frequently in the military to punish and humiliate an insubordinate soldier. A hole was drilled through the thick end of the wedge for a leather strap to be run through, to secure the wedge to the miscreant’s face. The sergeant and his squad, who served as military police, were much practiced in its application.

“You will not. . .” Mina said.

As the terrible realization dawned on her that there was neither pity nor reluctance there, Mina clenched her jaw hard, and tried to kick at her abusers, determined to resist to the full extent she was able.

The sergeant wrenched back on Mina’s hair, forcing her head up, and gripped her under her chin, digging his thumb into the hinge of her mandible. The pressure forced Mina to unclench her jaw, and as she did so the corporal forced the wedge between her teeth. With a gasp Mina felt the device invade her mouth, flattening her tongue against the base of her mouth and spreading her jaws. The wedge was pushed deep into her mouth, and then the leather strap was tied tightly at the back of Mina’s neck. She mewled and struggled, trying to twist out of their grasp.

“Still feisty, are we?” The sergeant said.

The sergeant jerked the left side of Mina’s shift down over her shoulder. The fabric stretched and tore, and the sleeve and shoulder slid down her arm. Her left breast was nearly bared, the fabric draping precariously over the nipple.

The sergeant gave the garment another jerk, tearing the shoulder seam, and completely exposing her round, pale breast.

Mina gagged and gave a muffled cry. She writhed in the grip of the shackles. The sergeant gripped her breast and savagely twisted her nipple.

“Settle down now, there’s a good girl,” he said calmly.

Mina shouted a muffled “Gah!” of agony. She went up on tiptoe, her body straining to relieve the terrible, burning pressure on the delicate bud of her nipple.

The sergeant applied his vise like grip for several seconds, then released it and kneaded the soft breast.

The sergeant gripped the back of Mina’s slender neck, and looked into her eyes.

“You’ll come along quietly now, won’t you?” he said.

Mina stared, terrified, into the hard eyes of the sergeant. Tears spilled helplessly down her cheeks, and drool from her gaping mouth dripped onto her chest.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins had watched the proceedings with shocked dismay. Such violence at an arrest was not unexpected in Cape Coast, where the policy was to meet any resistance with overwhelming physical force. It was not uncommon to see men or women beaten, and their clothes torn from their bodies, before being shackled and hauled off to jail. As warden, Jenkins had discouraged the wanton use of such harsh measures, but he also understood that many of the thieves, murderers, and whores who populated Cape Coast were tough customers indeed, and needed to be shown their place.

Jenkins was determined not to stare at Mina’s bare breast. How was it possible that with an aching gut and bruised ribs he was still drawn to the sight of a woman’s tit? But he couldn’t not notice it. It was larger and fuller than her sister’s. The nipple too was larger, more distinctly feminine, but it was already swelling from the savage pinch the sergeant had inflicted. Despite himself, despite his pain and humiliation, Jenkins felt shameful and indecent feelings stir.

“No, no, no!” Jenkins whispered.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins huddled together. Mrs. Jenkins gripped her husband tighter around his waist.

“We will think of something! We must!” she whispered in return.

The sergeant produced a leather collar, which he fastened around Mina’s neck. He knotted the end of a long, thin rope to an iron ring in the front of it and handed the coils of the rope to the Lieutenant.

“Is that Laura Berkeley?” the Lieutenant asked, pointing with the coils up at the porch.

Neither Jenkins nor Mrs. Jenkins responded.

“Miss Berkeley!” the Lieutenant called to Laura, “I saw you flogged!” He tipped his tricorn hat to her. “A pleasure!”

He turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins.

“Madame Louisa will be coming for her in due time. Sooner rather than later, I should think, but then I don’t reckon you have aught else to do now but play nursemaid to a runaway whore.”

Jenkins slowly and painfully rose to his feet.

“I will remember you, Lieutenant,” Jenkins said.

The Lieutenant tipped his tricorn hat again.

“Sir,” he said, “Ma’am,” and gave a sharp jerk on the rope.

With a muffled cry Mina stumbled to her knees, but before she could pitch forward on her face, the sergeant grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her to her feet and gave her a shove. The Lieutenant did not even look back, but just pulled her along like a dog on a leash.

“Sergeant,” he said, “You will detail two men to look after the Jenkins’s. The old fool is not to leave. Then let us double time to the jail.”

“Double time, sir?”

“Double time, sergeant.”

Three men emerged from the Hand of Providence after a satisfactory meal and some profitable deal making. Two were middlemen who dealt with the Ashanti chief to procure slaves. The third was Rupert Smythie. All three were satisfied with the understandings that had been arrived at, insofar as their respective levels of greed allowed them to be satisfied. Several tankards of ale had smoothed the negotiations.


“I say, Smythie, what the devil is that coming down the street?” One of the men asked.

Smythie and the other of the trio looked where their fellow pointed.

A small detail of soldiers consisting of a mounted officer and four redcoated soldiers was coming down the road.

Such a sight would not have been unusual but for the fact that the soldiers’ boots shuffled along the hardpack at the double time, and a young woman, arms shackled and tethered by a rope at her neck, was jogging along behind the officer. Her left breast was completely bared, and jiggled and bounced with each step. Neither were bare breasts an unusual sight in Cape Coast, where native women frequently went about naked from the waist upwards, but this woman’s complexion was a light cream, clearly unused to the sun, and her hair was golden brown. Although now her hair was matted and wet and her pale chest ran with sweat. Her shift, the half that still covered her, was plastered to her chest and soaked through, revealing her right breast almost as clearly as if it were naked. Her dress, though the bodice was torn and the skirts were dirty, was clearly of good quality. Her bosom heaved with exertion that came out in audible gasps and wheezes through the wedge of wood that filled her mouth. Her eyes were wide and staring in desperation and exhaustion.
The detail passed the three men as they stood staring. Others on the street witnessing the scene hooted and jeered.


“Well, boys,” one of the men said. “I’ll wager there will be a flogging in the days ahead, if Judge Higgens has anything to say about it. Too bad our Master Ebo isn’t a white man. He would have his work cut out for him then. And a pretty piece of work it is, too.”

“Aye,” the second man said. “Tis a shame we can’t have a nigger whip a white woman. Not even if she’s a thieving whore.”

“And how do you know that one’s a thieving whore?” the first man asked.

The second man shrugged. “They all are, aren’t they?”

Smythie did not hear. He was thinking: Those devious mother fuckers. They promised her to me. Those lying bastards.

The first man laughed.

Smythie hit him.

It was a completely surprising and unexpected blow, as much to Smythie as to the man he punched. Smythie caught him flush on the jaw, his fist powered by his rage.

The man staggered a step and dropped to his knee.

Pain lanced through Smythie’s fist and up his arm.

“Ah! Goddamn!” Smythie hissed, unclenching his fist and trying to shake the pain out of his hand.
“Smythie!” the other man cried.


But Smythie pushed him away, and started walking in the direction of Government House.

“That’s how my luck has run this day,” Smythie grumbled, wincing as he flexed his hand. He glanced back at the signboard over the tavern doorway. He was determined never to darken its doors again. The place was bad luck.
 
Soldiers came for Mina the next day.

She was on the porch of Jenkins’ house, sitting with an arm around Laura, who was drowsing with her head on Mina’s shoulder. She and Jenkins had been discussing the feasibility of Laura and her taking passage on a ship bound for England. Jenkins was of the opinion that they should take the first one they could, but Mina was hesitant. She was primarily concerned about the demands a voyage would put on Laura’s health, but also she wanted to see justice done to Writhby and Madame Louisa.

Mrs. Jenkins was putting the finishing touches on a piece of needlework. She looked up to rest her eyes and saw the soldiers coming their way.

“Mr. Jenkins,” she said.

There was a lieutenant, mounted on a horse, and six redcoats marching in two files. Jenkins stood.

“I will see what they want. Wait here a moment, if you please,” he said to Mina, but she would not. She followed Jenkins into the yard.

The lieutenant reined in his horse and dismounted at Jenkins’ gate. A sergeant called the soldiers to halt. The sergeant and a corporal accompanied the officer through the gate.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Jenkins asked.

“Mr. Jenkins,” he said, presenting the warden with a document. “By order of the Governor, you are hereby relieved of your duties as Warden. You will consider yourself under house arrest pending further inquiries.”

He thrust the document into Jenkins’ hands. Without awaiting a reply he turned to Mina.

“Are you Wilhelmina Berkeley?”

“I am, sir,” she answered.

“You are arrested. You are to be taken to Cape Coast Jail to await trial.”

“You must be mistaken sir!” Mina cried, “I spoke to the Governor and Judge Higgens yesterday!”

“Lieutenant!” Jenkins said, “The Governor and Judge Higgens assured us. . .”

“If you interfere in any way, Mr. Jenkins,” the lieutenant cut in, “You will be beaten to the ground and hauled off to a cell yourself. Stand away, sir.”

Jenkins stood his ground. Mrs. Jenkins rushed into the yard and gripped her husband’s arm.

“What is happening?” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Do something, Mr. Jenkins!”

“Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, “Miss Berkeley has a vigorous walk ahead of her. Make sure she can breathe properly.”

Mina glanced back in alarm at the sergeant, who had stepped behind Mina. Suddenly he grabbed Mina’s dress at the shoulders, and jerked it viciously down. The laces at the back tore out and Mina staggered. The sergeant wrenched at the dress again, pulling it down to her waist.

“Oh! How dare you?” Mina cried.

“There is no need for that!” Jenkins, and reached for the sergeant.

Without hesitation the corporal turned on Jenkins and struck him hard in the belly. Jenkins collapsed to his knees, retching. The corporal kicked him in the ribs. Mrs. Jenkins screamed and fell to her knees beside her husband, cradling him in her arms.

The sergeant spun Mina around, and pulled the sleeves of her dress from her arms. The corporal, paying no further attention to the Jenkins’s, gripped Mina’s arms above the elbows, pinning her arms behind her. The sergeant produced a pair of shackles from a satchel slung from his shoulder and shackled Mina’s wrists in front of her.

“Help us!” Mina shouted, “Help us, someone! Go for Commodore Smythie, I beg you!”

There were only a few people about on the street, but no one made a move in answer.

Ignoring Mina’s cries, the sergeant gripped Mina by the shoulders as the corporal untied the top laces of her stays behind her. He tore at the garment until the laces had come completely undone, and then pulled it off her body and tossed it to the ground.

“Wouldn’t want you to feel faint during our walk,” the lieutenant said.

“Sir!” Mina shouted, her eyes wet with tears of fury, “If you value your career you will release me immediately! Immediately do you hear! Commodore Rupert Smythie is a friend! He will be incensed at this barbaric treatment!”

She could offer no resistance, ineffectual as that would have been, nor try to escape, as the corporal once again held her arms behind her. The sergeant fastened another pair of shackles to Mina’s arms just above her elbows, leaving only a few iron links separating them. Mina’s shackled wrists pressed tightly into the ruined folds of her dress at her waist. The position was quite painful, straining her shoulders and arms.

“Mr. Jenkins, Mrs. Jenkins!” she cried out. “For God’s sake help me!”

“Prisoner,” the lieutenant said. “If you do not shut your trap, I shall have you gagged.”

“And I shall have you drummed from the service, you despicable bully!” she shouted.

The lieutenant nodded to the sergeant. “Gag her.”

The sergeant nodded, and pulled a wooden wedge from the satchel.

Mina stared at the device, her eyes wild with desperation. It was a simple but effective gag used frequently in the military to punish and humiliate an insubordinate soldier. A hole was drilled through the thick end of the wedge for a leather strap to be run through, to secure the wedge to the miscreant’s face. The sergeant and his squad, who served as military police, were much practiced in its application.

“You will not. . .” Mina said.

As the terrible realization dawned on her that there was neither pity nor reluctance there, Mina clenched her jaw hard, and tried to kick at her abusers, determined to resist to the full extent she was able.

The sergeant wrenched back on Mina’s hair, forcing her head up, and gripped her under her chin, digging his thumb into the hinge of her mandible. The pressure forced Mina to unclench her jaw, and as she did so the corporal forced the wedge between her teeth. With a gasp Mina felt the device invade her mouth, flattening her tongue against the base of her mouth and spreading her jaws. The wedge was pushed deep into her mouth, and then the leather strap was tied tightly at the back of Mina’s neck. She mewled and struggled, trying to twist out of their grasp.

“Still feisty, are we?” The sergeant said.

The sergeant jerked the left side of Mina’s shift down over her shoulder. The fabric stretched and tore, and the sleeve and shoulder slid down her arm. Her left breast was nearly bared, the fabric draping precariously over the nipple.

The sergeant gave the garment another jerk, tearing the shoulder seam, and completely exposing her round, pale breast.

Mina gagged and gave a muffled cry. She writhed in the grip of the shackles. The sergeant gripped her breast and savagely twisted her nipple.

“Settle down now, there’s a good girl,” he said calmly.

Mina shouted a muffled “Gah!” of agony. She went up on tiptoe, her body straining to relieve the terrible, burning pressure on the delicate bud of her nipple.

The sergeant applied his vise like grip for several seconds, then released it and kneaded the soft breast.

The sergeant gripped the back of Mina’s slender neck, and looked into her eyes.

“You’ll come along quietly now, won’t you?” he said.

Mina stared, terrified, into the hard eyes of the sergeant. Tears spilled helplessly down her cheeks, and drool from her gaping mouth dripped onto her chest.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins had watched the proceedings with shocked dismay. Such violence at an arrest was not unexpected in Cape Coast, where the policy was to meet any resistance with overwhelming physical force. It was not uncommon to see men or women beaten, and their clothes torn from their bodies, before being shackled and hauled off to jail. As warden, Jenkins had discouraged the wanton use of such harsh measures, but he also understood that many of the thieves, murderers, and whores who populated Cape Coast were tough customers indeed, and needed to be shown their place.

Jenkins was determined not to stare at Mina’s bare breast. How was it possible that with an aching gut and bruised ribs he was still drawn to the sight of a woman’s tit? But he couldn’t not notice it. It was larger and fuller than her sister’s. The nipple too was larger, more distinctly feminine, but it was already swelling from the savage pinch the sergeant had inflicted. Despite himself, despite his pain and humiliation, Jenkins felt shameful and indecent feelings stir.

“No, no, no!” Jenkins whispered.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins huddled together. Mrs. Jenkins gripped her husband tighter around his waist.

“We will think of something! We must!” she whispered in return.

The sergeant produced a leather collar, which he fastened around Mina’s neck. He knotted the end of a long, thin rope to an iron ring in the front of it and handed the coils of the rope to the Lieutenant.

“Is that Laura Berkeley?” the Lieutenant asked, pointing with the coils up at the porch.

Neither Jenkins nor Mrs. Jenkins responded.

“Miss Berkeley!” the Lieutenant called to Laura, “I saw you flogged!” He tipped his tricorn hat to her. “A pleasure!”

He turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins.

“Madame Louisa will be coming for her in due time. Sooner rather than later, I should think, but then I don’t reckon you have aught else to do now but play nursemaid to a runaway whore.”

Jenkins slowly and painfully rose to his feet.

“I will remember you, Lieutenant,” Jenkins said.

The Lieutenant tipped his tricorn hat again.

“Sir,” he said, “Ma’am,” and gave a sharp jerk on the rope.

With a muffled cry Mina stumbled to her knees, but before she could pitch forward on her face, the sergeant grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her to her feet and gave her a shove. The Lieutenant did not even look back, but just pulled her along like a dog on a leash.

“Sergeant,” he said, “You will detail two men to look after the Jenkins’s. The old fool is not to leave. Then let us double time to the jail.”

“Double time, sir?”

“Double time, sergeant.”

Three men emerged from the Hand of Providence after a satisfactory meal and some profitable deal making. Two were middlemen who dealt with the Ashanti chief to procure slaves. The third was Rupert Smythie. All three were satisfied with the understandings that had been arrived at, insofar as their respective levels of greed allowed them to be satisfied. Several tankards of ale had smoothed the negotiations.

“I say, Smythie, what the devil is that coming down the street?” One of the men asked.

Smythie and the other of the trio looked where their fellow pointed.

A small detail of soldiers consisting of a mounted officer and four redcoated soldiers was coming down the road.

Such a sight would not have been unusual but for the fact that the soldiers’ boots shuffled along the hardpack at the double time, and a young woman, arms shackled and tethered by a rope at her neck, was jogging along behind the officer. Her left breast was completely bared, and jiggled and bounced with each step. Neither were bare breasts an unusual sight in Cape Coast, where native women frequently went about naked from the waist upwards, but this woman’s complexion was a light cream, clearly unused to the sun, and her hair was golden brown. Although now her hair was matted and wet and her pale chest ran with sweat. Her shift, the half that still covered her, was plastered to her chest and soaked through, revealing her right breast almost as clearly as if it were naked. Her dress, though the bodice was torn and the skirts were dirty, was clearly of good quality. Her bosom heaved with exertion that came out in audible gasps and wheezes through the wedge of wood that filled her mouth. Her eyes were wide and staring in desperation and exhaustion.
The detail passed the three men as they stood staring. Others on the street witnessing the scene hooted and jeered.


“Well, boys,” one of the men said. “I’ll wager there will be a flogging in the days ahead, if Judge Higgens has anything to say about it. Too bad our Master Ebo isn’t a white man. He would have his work cut out for him then. And a pretty piece of work it is, too.”

“Aye,” the second man said. “Tis a shame we can’t have a nigger whip a white woman. Not even if she’s a thieving whore.”

“And how do you know that one’s a thieving whore?” the first man asked.

The second man shrugged. “They all are, aren’t they?”

Smythie did not hear. He was thinking: Those devious mother fuckers. They promised her to me. Those lying bastards.

The first man laughed.

Smythie hit him.

It was a completely surprising and unexpected blow, as much to Smythie as to the man he punched. Smythie caught him flush on the jaw, his fist powered by his rage.

The man staggered a step and dropped to his knee.

Pain lanced through Smythie’s fist and up his arm.

“Ah! Goddamn!” Smythie hissed, unclenching his fist and trying to shake the pain out of his hand.
“Smythie!” the other man cried.


But Smythie pushed him away, and started walking in the direction of Government House.

“That’s how my luck has run this day,” Smythie grumbled, wincing as he flexed his hand. He glanced back at the signboard over the tavern doorway. He was determined never to darken its doors again. The place was bad luck.
You write very well indeed and I really like the way you are taking a great story and making it your own, taking it somewhere different with your own ideas and style. Well done!
 
I thinking the sentence will include a slavery kind of voyage for poor Mina, not the kind of voyage her sister had before her trail
 
After many months, I've finally completed another chapter of my story. If anyone is out there still reading it, I hope you enjoy.

THE VERDICT​

Mina spent two days in an airless cell in Cape Coast jail. She did not eat, so distraught and distracted was she by the terrible turn of events. But even if she had been hungry, she could not have eaten the slop that passed for food. She tried to keep up her physical strength by picking at the occasional crust of bread that was given her, and tried to keep her spirits up through prayer, and by reminding herself that she still had a powerful friend in Commodore Smythie. But worry for herself and her sister—what would become of dear Laura?—undermined her attempts to bolster her own confidence. She could only catch brief snatches of sleep on the ragged and stained cot, and was by turns angry, confused, and fearful.

On the second day, when the jailer opened her cell, he was not holding a bowl of food, but a pair of shackles.

“Get up, milady,” he said. “Judge Higgens is holding court. Hold out your wrists.”

“I assure you, sir, I will not try to overpower you.”

The jailer didn’t answer, but gripped her slender wrists in his paw and closed the hasps of the shackles over them.

She had done the best she could to repair her dress, but even so it was stretched and torn, and gaped open at the bodice. The jailer hooked his finger in the neckline of her dress and pulled, looking down at her bosom.

“You do have a lovely pair, milady. Perhaps yet I’ll get a good look at them, and more than that besides.”

“I beg you, sir,” Mina protested, trying to twist out of his grip, “Remember yourself!”

“I’m the warden now,” he said. “And I may do as I please. You may do well to remember that, milady. There may come a time, and that right soon, when you will wish to please me.”

The jailer escorted Mina on the short walk to Government House. He handed her off to the bailiff, who guided Mina into the courtroom, and then to the dock. Mina, who had never been in a courtroom before, looked about her carefully.

Although Cape Colony was administered by a corporation, the British Crown had insisted that British law and tradition would prevail here. The courtroom inside Government House reflected that attitude.

The courtroom could have been transplanted from Old Bailey. The dock was the traditional raised platform in which the defendant stood. It was square and surrounded by waist high railing. In front of the dock and to the right were the benches for the witnesses for the prosecution, and in front of that the table for the crown prosecutor. Directly across the middle aisle was the table for the defense, and behind that benches for witnesses. Across the courtroom was the jury box. Behind the dock and the witness benches were the benches for the spectators. At the front of the court was the raised bench of the judge, with the large black throne-like seat whence he delivered his judgments. Standing there, looking about her at the others in the court, her wrists shackled in front of her, Mina felt the full, oppressive weight of British justice—or injustice in her case---on her shoulders.

The prosecutor’s bench was occupied by a man who studied Mina with a grim and unsympathetic expression. Mina did not hold his gaze, but looked at the occupants of the jury box. They did not appear to be “twelve good men and true” but idlers rousted from the local tavern to the purpose. Mina scanned the faces of the crowd for Laura, but didn’t see her. She didn’t know if that were good or bad. Among the crowd she saw several who had been passengers with her on Defiance, and others who had been with her on Commodore Smythie’s flagship. She saw Writhby sitting at the witness benches, who caught her eye and returned a smirk and a wink, and his first mate. Sir Rupert’s man Flaywell, was also there, looking about furtively, and the Reverend and Mrs. Hurst, who sat rigidly upright, and stared straight ahead. Sitting in a chair near the prosecutor’s table, she saw Smythie, who wore a stony and gim expression.

“All rise!” the bailiff cried, and everyone in the courtroom stood as Judge Higgens, bewigged and wearing the traditional judicial robe, entered.

The courtroom was warm and muggy, both from the heat of the day and from the large number of spectators. The news of Mina’s rescue of her sister from Madame Luisa’s had spread through the colony, and all had heard of the arrest of the beautiful young English girl. Speculation was rampant as to what the charges against her would be. That she would be found guilty there was little doubt, for it was rare indeed that anyone stood before Judge Higgens and got off without a paying a penalty of one kind or another.

The judge strode to his bench, and with severe mien stood looking around the court, and fixed a brief but fierce gaze on Mina. When he sat, everyone else in the courtroom did also, except Mina, the bailiff, and the crown prosecutor.

“Oyez, oyez, oyez!” the bailiff cried. “All persons having business before the court of the honorable Judge Wilberforce Higgens, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the court is now sitting!”

“My lord!” Mina cried out, “I have been arrested in a most cruel and brutal manner, yet I am guilty of nothing except recovering my sister from a degrading and unspeakable fate! Why have I been brought before you, my lord? And where is my sister, Laura? When I spoke to you but two or three days ago, you assured me you would look into these matters and take action against those responsible for the outrages committed upon my sister and myself!”

“Be silent!” the judge roared. “You will be silent, Miss Berkeley, until you are directed to respond. Another such outburst, and I shall have you gagged and whipped for contempt!”

The two glared at each other for a moment, and then the judge turned his attention to the crown prosecutor.

“Read the charges, Mr. Prosecutor.”

The prosecutor cleared his throat.

“Yes, my lord. As to the first count, Incitement to Mutiny, in that one Wilhelmina Berkeley, while a passenger aboard His Majesty’s ship Defiance, Captain Writhby commanding, did attempt to conspire and call upon others, crew and passengers, to overthrow the lawful command of the said Captain Writhby.”

Mina was literally staggered. Her knees weakened and she stumbled against the rail. It was not at all what she was expecting. Nor did many in the crowd. There was a collective gasp of surprise. Mutiny! This was serious business indeed! The spectators had all come to see a pretty girl put at the dock for breaking the peace, or such like, but this was a hanging offense! How awful! How exciting!

“Order!” the bailiff cried. “Order!”

The crowd quickly quieted and settled in rapt attention.

“As to the second count,” the prosecutor continued, “That Wilhelmina Berkeley did speak sedition against His Majesty the King of England; our country and the rule of British law.”

The prosecutor paused to let the whispers die down.

“As to the third count, that Wilhelmina Berkeley spoke blasphemous slanders against our religion and religious authority.”

As the crowd responded to the new charge with only a slight murmur, the prosecutor continued.

“As to the fourth count, that Wilhelmina Berkeley spoke slanderous lies against an officer of His Majesty’s Navy.”

Judge Higgens looked at Mina.

“And how say the defendant to these charges? Guilty or not guilty?” he demanded.

“As God is my witness,” Mina cried, “I am innocent of all these accusations. As I have never thought of committing any of these dreadful crimes, how could I be guilty of acting so? God knows . . .”

“Yes, yes,” the judge broke in, “The defendant pleads ‘Not Guilty.’ Mr. Prosecutor, your opening statement, if you will, sir.”

“My lord, the crown shall prove beyond doubt that this young woman, Wilhelmina Berkeley, though fair of face, is black of heart, and is in actual fact and deed a schemer who would turn her back on good order and the rule of law, both of man and of God, and would call upon others to do her lawless bidding. In short, my lord, the crown will prove that Miss Wilhelmina Berkeley is guilty of these crimes by the testimony of others, and most damningly, by her very own words, sworn and attested to by herself.”

Mina was shaken. Her own words? Was it possible that the judge had chosen to put the worst possible interpretation on the things she had said to Writhby on that awful day he’d had the convict woman whipped?

“Call your first witness,” the judge ordered.

Captain Writhby was called to the stand. Under the prosecutor’s questioning he painted a picture of Mina as manipulative, malicious and quarrelsome. The words he put in Mina’s mouth when she protested the whipping of the convict woman, and a day later her own caning, were far more damning than anything Mina recalled saying. But sober, and dressed in clean and proper attire, Writhby had the bearing of a Roayal Navy officer, and was quite convincing.

When the prosecutor was finished questioning the Captain, the judge told Mina that she could now question the witness, if she had anything pertinent to ask.

Mina’s questions of him were frequently interrupted by sarcastic asides from the judge, or simply overruled by him. Mina could not shake Writhby’s claims, even when she appealed to his sense of justice, and reminded him of the oath he had just sworn before God to tell the truth. Writhby’s first mate was called, who confirmed everything the Captain had said. Next in turn were the Reverend and then Mrs. Hurst, who again confirmed the Captain’s account, and enlarged upon the “blasphemous slanders’ she had committed against the Lord Jesus, and the Christian religion, making them far more offensive and explicit that Mina had actually said. But none of Mina’s questions gave them pause, or caused them to modify their testimony against her.

The prosecutor then introduced into evidence the account Mina had given Commodore Smythie after her caning. He read excerpts from it, what he claimed were her own words. Words far more damning than anything she had said at the time or had recounted to Smythie. Words that echoed Writhby’s account.

“And here is the defendant’s signature affixed to the document!” the prosecutor concluded triumphantly, pointing to Mina’s signature on the last page.

“I protest!” Mina cried. “That document must have been altered after I signed it! I never used such language, nor did I recount to Commodore Smythie or Mr. Flaywell those words! I explained the unfortunate but far more mild comments I made in protest to Captain Writhby’s reprehensible conduct when I recounted the incident to Commodore Smythie. He assured me that he understood, and was satisfied with my explanation. That document has been falsified!”

“Your objection that the document is not genuine is sustained, Miss Berkeley,” the judge said. “For the moment; pending the testimony of Mr. Flaywell and Commodore Smythie.”

Flaywell was called to the stand, and maintained that the words he had transcribed were the very words that Mina had used. Mina’s questions could not shake him.

“Commodore Smythie,” the Judge Higgens said as Flaywell stepped down. “As I respect your position and high moral character, I shall not call you to the stand. But if you please sir, simply stand and tell us if the testimony of your man Flaywell is true, in that he recorded the words of Miss Berkeley accurately.”

Smythie stood slowly from his seat near the prosecutor’s table. He paused for several seconds, and then, with apparent reluctance, said,

“To the best of my recollection, my lord, Miss Berkeley’s words were taken down accurately, as testified by Mr. Flaywell.”

The courtroom again broke into a buzz with whispered voices.

Mina felt sick to her stomach, and weak in the knees. Why were they doing this to her? She bitterly recalled Jenkins’ doubts about Smythie. Why had she not listened to him? She had been misled by her trust in his kindness and understanding. She had been betrayed!

“With the evidence of her own confession, the crown rests, my lord,” the prosecutor said.
 
“Miss Berkeley, have you any evidence, or witnesses?” the judge asked.

“My lord,” Mina exclaimed. “I protest! I have been given no time to prepare a defense, nor did I even know of these charges against me until the prosecutor related them at the outset of this so-called trial!”

“You have ample time now to explain yourself, Miss Berkeley.” the judge said. “But we cannot delay the business of the Royal Navy to suit your convenience. The officers and men of Commodore Smythie’s convoy, and Commodore Smythie himself, have pressing matters to attend to. Do you have any witnesses to call?”

Mina was not one to give in to despair. She knew that her only hope now was to dispute the recollections of Captain Writhby. On that, all else followed. She picked out one of the couples who had accompanied her in the carriage from the quay into the town.

“I do, my lord. I would like to call Mr. and Mrs. Mortenson to the stand.”

The couple looked up at her, aghast that they had been singled out.

Judge Higgens called out impatiently, “Whoever you are that Miss Berkeley has called upon, come forward and be sworn in.”

The couple reluctantly pushed through the crowded rows of benches. They were sworn in and Mr. Mortenson took his place at the witness stand. After stating his name, he submitted to questioning by the judge. Yes, he was a passenger on Defiance, yes, he was present on the date and time the convict woman was whipped, and yes, he remembered Miss Berkeley and her exchange with Captain Writhby.

“We were all rather shocked by her outspokenness. I was told that she and Captain Writhby got into many arguments at table. She can be very confrontational and outspoken. I am sorry, Miss Berkeley, but it is true. I remember the incident vividly. The convict woman had been bound at the grate, and Miss Berkeley was in a lather about it, and shouted out that ‘If you are true men, you must not permit this!’ As I remember it, at any rate. And that, ‘If this were how Britannia rules, it would be best if she did not!’ She and Captain Writhby exchanged heated words, and Miss Berkeley retired to her cabin. We were all quite shocked, I can tell you that.”

“But do you remember me saying,” Mina asked, “As Captain Writhby and others have testified, that I called the passengers and crew to arms, and encouraged them to cast the captain out of his own ship?”

Mr. Mortenson thought a moment. “No, I don’t recall those exact words, but I had turned my attention to my wife, to comment as to how your were really in for it now. I may have missed some of the exchange.”

“So you don’t remember me saying those things?”

Well,” Mr. Mortenson conceded, “No, not exactly. But as I said, words very like them. We were all certainly shocked at your outspokenness and passion. Just as my wife and I were when you berated the warden for doing his duty.”

Mina quickly saw that this testimony was not to her benefit, and told the judge that she was finished with her questions for this witness.

But the judge followed up with questions of his own.

“Yes, my lord,” Mr. Mortenson said in response to the judges probing. “The poor man was standing hat in hand trying to explain himself to Miss Berkeley. She was quite angry, and dressed him down good and proper, and he’d only done his duty in having a thief whipped.”

Mrs. Mortenson simply followed her husband’s lead.

“I’m sure my husband’s memory is far better than mine. I’m always forgetting things, quite the little empty head, don’t you know, as my husband likes to call me. But I do remember that incident; who could not? And I believe it was as my husband says. I believe Miss Berkeley meant well. But of course I am in accord with my husband. She is alarmingly outspoken.”

As Mrs. Mortenson stepped down from the witness box, the judge asked Mina,

“Are you satisfied with your witnesses, Miss Berkeley? I suppose we could find and have testify all the passengers and crew of Defiance, but I think they will tell the same story, or very like it. Have you anything further?”

“Only that I must protest this outrageous miscarriage, my lord! It is true that I was in a passion at the reprehensible conduct of Captain Writhby, and though my choice of words may have been unfortunate, they could not have been construed, unless willfully so, to support a charge of mutiny or sedition. And as I am a devout follower of Our Lord, and of our Christian faith, I would be incapable of the blasphemous slanders charged against me. I made a mild jest at Captain Writhby’s expense, referring to the miracle of walking upon the water performed by Our Lord. A jest which the Reverend and Mrs. Hurst chose to take offense at. That is the truth of it, and that is the extent of it! As to the last charge, that I slandered Captain Writhby, I have said naught but the truth concerning him. He is indeed a cruel and debauched man, as any honest passenger or crewman who sailed with him could tell you!”

Mina turned to the spectators.

“There are others of you who sailed with me on Defiance! please come forward and tell the truth as to what I actually said that day! An injustice is being committed! Please, you must not permit this . . .”

Mina’s voice trailed off as she realized, with horror, what she had just said.

“Enough!” the Judge exclaimed. “Would you call upon others to mutiny against this court now, Miss Berkeley? You will find, I think, that your lawless appeal will have as little effect here as it had aboard Defiance!”

The courtroom was deathly still. Mina, knowing herself defeated, looked out at the crowd. Many of her fellow passengers now sat with downcast eyes, or looked guiltily about.

“If that is all,” the judge said, “Then it is time for the jury to consider a verdict. Gentlemen,” Judge Higgens said to the jury, “My instructions to you are that you must consider the evidence and the character and position of the witnesses who have given testimony. Among the witnesses on one side: two high ranking officers of His Majesty’s Navy. One a knight of the realm. A minister of the gospel. And on the other side, the mere word of a woman who has shown herself to be as unruly and confrontational as has been claimed against her. Her own witnesses confirm her character and admit they cannot remember all that was said that day. This is a simple case. The evidence is clear. I have great confidence that you will see the truth of the matter and render a proper verdict.”

The jury huddled in the box, whispering among themselves. In a few minutes the foreman stood up.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, my lord.”

“How say you? In the matter of the Crown versus Wilhelmina Berkeley, how do you find?

“We find the defender guilty, my lord, of all of it.”

“Thank you gentlemen. You have rendered a proper service. You are free to go,” Judge Higgens said, and granted them a rare, but frigid, smile.

“We’d as soon stay, my lord, if it’s all the same. We’ve got grand seats!”

There was a smattering of laughter, quickly silenced by the fierce gaze of the judge.
“Miss Berkeley,” the judge said, “Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?”

Mina shook her head slowly. She knew no words would suffice. Trying to keep her voice from breaking she said,

“No. Only that I pray you remember that we shall all be judged one day at a far higher court than this.”

The judge affected not to have heard her. He was busy with removing his judicial headgear and replacing it with what looked like a black handkerchief, which he carefully and meticulously draped over his head.

Looking out over the court, the judge spoke in his most sonorous and measured tones.

“Wilhelmina Berkeley, your crimes are of such a nature that only one penalty can be applied. As you are guilty of the high crimes of Incitement to Mutiny, sedition, and slanders against God and man, I order that you be taken from this place to a place of close confinement, whence on the morrow, you shall be taken to a place of execution, there to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”
 
It's good that the story continues, but it gets too harsh, IMHO. A good whipping for Mina could be enough ... I hope she will be saved.
 
Thanks to Elephas, who gave me some suggestions about Mina's punishment, and P.N. Dedeaux, who wrote the story "Clotilda," available on Elepahas's thread "Judicial Corporal Punishment," which influenced me about the specific form of the punishment.



"S” AND “M”


The sentence felled Mina to her knees. Despite her brutal and humiliating arrest it had not occurred to her that she was in danger of being sentenced and punished. She had assumed from her own sense of right and wrong, her confidence in the rectitude of English law, and her assurance of Smythie’s friendship and influence that justice would prevail in the end. What bitter, false hopes all her assumptions had proved to be!

Mina’s life passed before her eyes. Not her past life only, but a future life. A life full of good works, of a good man who loved her, of children at her knees who begged to be told once more of her adventures. Now all gone, wiped away by the dreadful words of an old, cruel man!

The courtroom was quiet, perhaps only for seconds, but seconds that seemed to stretch themselves out and reach with mortal dread into the heart of every person in the courtroom. For most in the crowd had come merely to see a pretty girl sentenced to a whipping. Few had wanted to see her swing at the end of a rope.

The judge removed his cap as carefully as he had put it on, and replaced it with his usual judicial hat. The judge let the moment stretch. Like all great actors, he was a master at playing to the crowd, and a perfect judge of timing.

When he felt the moment had reached its dramatic peak, the judge began speaking quietly, his basso profundo voice rumbling like far off thunder.

“However, Miss Berkeley,” he said, “Due to the intercession of a high ranking and highly regarded Naval officer, none other than Sir Rupert, Commodore Smythie, who has pleaded your youth and your good family name; and against my own better judgment, I have decided to temper justice with mercy. Therefore I commute your sentence of death, Miss Berkeley, and though you are richly deserving of it, I set it aside.”

There was a collective sigh from the crowd.

“Nonetheless,” he continued, “Your punishment must needs be severe, and reflect the abhorrence of a just and righteous people of the acts you have committed. With your words and deeds and by your own confession you have betrayed your God, your King, and your Country; and you have attempted to overthrow, and encourage others to overthrow, lawful authority. You have slandered the names of He who is most holy, as well as respectable and reputable men who represent both His religious and secular authority. Therefore, Wilhelmina Berkeley, I sentence you . . .”

The Judge paused.

“Bailiff, stand the defendant up,” he said.

When the bailiff had pulled Mina to her feet, the judge regarded her carefully. She was everything he despised in a woman: Beautiful, intelligent, outspoken and honest. Now, he noted with satisfaction, she was wan and trembling. His initial sentence had had good effect. She was shaken to the core. He had never intended to let this pretty young morsel hang. No, that would be too quick. He wanted to destroy her utterly.

And Smythie! That upstart pup! The sentence of death had been a surprise. He’d leaped to his feet as the sentence had been passed, his face red, his body tense and rigid, a sixty-four pounder ready to explode. Ah yes! The judge thought, two ships sunk with one broadside!

“Wilhelmina Berkeley,” the judge started again, “I order that you be taken from this place to the place of punishment in front of Government House, and be set upon the stocks, and on market day, two days hence, you be stripped of your clothing. Since you have no shame, you shall be permitted no modesty. Do you hear, Mr. Bailiff?--She is to be stripped to the skin and shorn like a sheep; shear her, I say, fore and aft, top and bottom, naked as the day she was born!”

The judge stared into Mina’s wide and horrified eyes. Color was returning to her face, suffusing her lovely features with a bright red glow.

“No! No!” She choked.

“Since you have spoke blasphemies and slanders against God and man, you shall be branked for the duration of your corporal punishment, so that you may neither speak sedition nor slander, nor cry out for mercy. And you shall wish to cry out, madam, for you are to be whipped naked at the cart’s tail! It is an old and honored tradition amongst us that shall be revived in this most deserving of instances. You shall be whipped at the cart’s tail, I say, with stripes well laid on, to the market place of Cape Coast, where, before all the people, you shall be stretched over a hurdle and given thirty strokes with a bull’s pizzle upon your bare buttocks. And just as Caine was marked so that all would know of his crime by the writing on his brow, so all shall read of your infamies by looking at your person! I order that you be branded with the figures “S,” for Sedition, and “M,” for Mutiny, upon your breast.
And finally, Wilhelmina Berkeley, I order that you serve a term of seventeen years at involuntary servitude, to be put at any hard labor whatsoever, by any and all who shall purchase your indenture.

“This is the sentence of this court. Remove the prisoner. Court is adjourned.”

The judge stood.

“All rise!” Cried the bailiff.

Everyone in the courtroom rose as the judge gave one final satisfied smirk at Mina, and left. As one person, the crowd turned to watch Mina as the bailiff roughly pulled her from the dock, and gave her a shove towards the door.
 
THE STOCKS​




Mina was led out of the court ahead of the crowd, but there were others, idlers mostly, who heard the word of her sentence as it quickly spread. They followed the bailiff and the warden and two guards as Mina was frogmarched to the stocks in front of Government House. Mina walked unresisting at first, in a momentary haze of disbelief at the injustice that had been done her. But as they approached the stocks, she recovered her spirit and tried to twist out of the officer’s grip.

She cried out, “No! No! This is not just!”

A guard cuffed Mina in the head and gave her a push, so that she almost stumbled over the stocks.

Constructed of a solid pair of timbers set vertically into the ground, with three boards stacked on edge between them, they looked like a small hurdle. The boards fitted into grooves on the inward faces of the two vertical timbers, and had holes drilled through the faces of the boards where the edges of the boards met: a single pair of larger openings in the lower boards to trap the ankles, and several other pairs, above the ankle holes, varying in size, to accommodate different sized wrists.

“Welcome to your new home, Miss Berkeley!” he said. “Oh, you’re in for it now, aren’t you? Now sit down so we can lock you in.”

“Wait a moment, Mr. Tompkins, if you please!” the warden said. “Let’s get her dress off first. My wife’ll clean it up and sell it. Should fetch a pretty penny.”

“No!” Mina said, and tried to struggle, but the guards held her fast.

The warden unlaced the back of Mina’s gown. Together, he and the bailiff jerked the fabric of the dress off her shoulders and down her arms to the shackles at her wrists.

“Don’t rip milady’s gown, if you please,” the warden said.

The bailiff nodded grudgingly. The warden had rights to the prisoners’ possessions and clothing.

“You’ll buy me a round, Mr. Hayward,” he said.

The warden released the shackles from Mina’s wrists, and the gown was stripped off her arms and down her legs, leaving her clad only in her shift.

Mina groaned and tried to cover herself, but the guards forced her arms behind her.

“Strip her, strip the bitch!” a voice cried. A crowd was gathering to watch.

Neither man acknowledged that they’d heard. But the warden looked to the bailiff with a wicked grin, and jerked at Mina’s shift.

“Shall we?”

The bailiff shook his head.

“Not yet. That comes later.”

The warden grunted in disappointment.

“You’re denying yourself, Mr. Tompkins. I tell you she has very nice tits,” the warden said. “Tell the gentleman, Milady, tell him what a lovely pair of kettle drums you’re carrying about with you.”

Mina looked away in disgust.

At a sign from the bailiff, a guard pushed down on Mina’s slender shoulders, and kicked her legs out from under her. Mina fell backward with a cry, and thumped the ground hard on her buttocks. The guard seized her ankles, tipping Mina backwards, and pulled her towards the stocks. Mina’s shift rode all the way up her thighs, exposing her sex.

“Land ho!” the warden cried. “I’m sighting a bit of bush, there, Mr. Tompkins!”

Another guard lifted the boards. Her ankles were thrust through the openings in the lower board, and then the upper board was slammed down, trapping her ankles.
Mina desperately pulled her shift down.

“Why do you abuse me so?” she shouted.

“Grab her wrists, in they go!” The bailiff said.

Each guard grabbed one of Mina’s wrists, and while the bailiff raised the upper board, they pulled her wrists through the smallest openings. The board was shut on her wrists, and now she was trapped, ankles and wrists, in the stocks. The bailiff closed a hasp over the boards so they could not be lifted, and secured it with an iron lock.

“Have you no mercy?” Mina sobbed. “I am innocent, I tell you! I have done nothing to deserve this!”

“Miss Berkeley!” the bailiff said. “Your crocodile tears only make me want to give you something to cry about!”

The bailiff had been a bosun in the navy for many years, and he still carried a pair of “starters.” One was basically a cosh; a heavy ball of lead plaited in hemp twine, fastened to a ten inch shaft. In a rare bit of humor he called it his “stopper,” for the lead weight was so heavy it was useful mostly for breaking up fights, or taking the fight out of anyone who threatened him. The other “starter” he had used to encourage weary, fatigued, or just plain lazy sailors to greater effort. It was nothing more than a thick piece of hemp rope, but when he struck a sailor in the back of the neck, or across his shoulders, it got him started, right enough. He had found them invaluable then, and still quite useful in his present occupation.

“Watch this here, Mr. Hayward,” he said to the warden. “I’ve got a little trick or two up my sleeve, to make a miscreant’s stay in the stocks a little more memorable. This is a little something I learned from the heathen A-rabs. They call it ‘Falaka.’”

The bailiff winked at the warden. The previous warden, Warden Jenkins, had never seen eye to eye with the bailiff. Jenkins had been opposed to such “off the books” cruelties, but the bailiff recognized in the current warden a kindred spirit.

Mina looked from one to the other officer in alarm.

The bailiff knelt and took one end of a leather thong that was tied to a staple above Mina’s bare foot. He wrapped a few tight loops around the base of Mina’s big toe, and pulled up the slack. Mina’s foot was lifted up by the toe, forcing the foot back and completely exposing the bottom of the foot.

“What are you doing?” Mina shouted, as she felt the thong bite into her toe, and her calf muscles strain. “Oh, stop, have you not tormented me enough!”

In answer, the bailiff secured her other foot in the same way.

“No, sir! What are you doing?” Mina said.

An apprehension of what was coming lit her eyes with alarm as she watched the bailiff reach under his jacket and pull out his hemp starter. He smacked it into his palm a couple of times.

“Now, Mr. Hayward,” the bailiff said, bending to Mina’s feet and tracing his finger along the arches. “The trick to falaka is to strike the foot right here, in the arch. You need not strike hard, you see, and you must not strike the heel or the ball of the foot, for that could cause injury. Then the criminal would be unable to walk behind the cart’s tail, and take her whipping, as the judge has ordered. When done properly, the foot might redden and swell a bit, but otherwise, no lasting harm. But Oh! It hurts like the very devil! Or so I’m told. And every step she takes will remind her of it.”

The bailiff crouched in front of the stocks, and addressed Mina.

“Miss Berkeley, you’ll let us know how much it hurts, won’t you?”

“Sir!” Mina exclaimed, “Do not do this! The judge said nothing of this! Have you no mercy?”

In answer, the bailiff lifted drew his arm back, and snapped the hemp starter against the arch of Mina’s right foot.

“Thwack!”

Mina gasped “Oh!” more from shock and surprise than from the pain.

He drew his arm back and delivered more strokes.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

“There,” the bailiff said, “How does that feel? Not so very bad, is it, Miss Berkeley?”

“You are a wretched, cruel man!” Mina said, her lips trembling and tears in her eyes. “How can you do this?”

“I am out of practice,” he said. “Well, as they say, ‘Practice makes Perfect.’”

And the bailiff set to again.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

The bailiff settled into a constant, relentless rhythm, varying only in the number of strokes in a row he applied to each foot.

“Oh, no, sir, please. . .” Mina pleaded. An indescribable, insistent burning had kindled within her feet.

The hemp smacked again and again.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

“Ahh, sir, no, it burns, stop, it burns!”

“You see?” The bailiff said to the jailer, without breaking his rhythm, “You don’t have to hit hard, but her dogs will be barking. Oh yes, I dare say her dogs will be howling!”

Mina tried to distract herself from the growing pain. The slapping of the hemp on her feet was the sound of waves against a ship’s hull. She tried to focus on that, to go to that place, to think only of the slapping of gentle waves against the hull of a ship, of cool sea breezes, of cool sea drops that lit on her face when she was topside, out in the warm sun.

But the increasing pain was insistent, and made it impossible to hold her focus. She gasped and mewled as the slap of the rope displaced her into the unbearable present.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

The burning began to flame. The pain of the beating became a stinging, searing heat. It was unendurable, and yet could not but be endured.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

Mina, her patience exhausted, was writhing and twisting, trying desperately to wrench her wrists and ankles out of the grip of the stocks.

“Ahhhh, sir, stop! I beg you, sir, I can’t bear it, oh, please in the name of God, oh someone help me, oh Jesus, help me!” Mina screamed.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

She thrashed and heaved, her loose hair whipping about, sweat flying from her as the bailiff continued beating the methodical, demonic rhythm of the rope on her feet.

Mina was shrieking, pleading, gasping. Her feet were on fire and a mass of wasps were stinging them! Bellowing her pain, she tried to beat her head against the stocks, actually coming off the ground in the attempt. One of the guards jerked her back by the hair. And finally, as had happened during the extremity of her caning, she lost control of her bladder.

“Look here!” The jailer cried, “She’s pissed herself, hasn’t she, the nasty cow!”

The bailiff stopped, and straightened up.

“Aye, that she has. Not so proud now, is she? Well, she can just sit in it. It’s all she deserves.”

He gave her several more heavy strokes with the starter before he was satisfied.

Mina buried her face between her arms. When it was over, she didn’t at first realize that the beating had stopped. Her feet throbbed and burned as though they were still being assaulted. Sobbing, she looked up at the two men and groaned, her voice hoarse.

“Why are you doing this to me? What have I done?”

“Do you know, missy,” The bailiff said, “In two days time you will look back fondly at this. You will remember this as the gentlest of caresses. Aye, it’ll be the bull’s pizzle and the branding iron will truly teach you the error of your ways.”

The bailiff liked to think of himself as a disciplined man, but the sight of Mina, her breast heaving, her hair disarrayed and wet, her lovely face distorted with pain and wet with tears and sweat struck him like a matched pair of horses, Anger and Lust, and trampled him under.

The bailiff reached into the neckline of Mina’s shift and with a sudden jerk, tore it down, baring her round, full breasts. With his index finger he etched a figure “S” on the soft, delicate skin of Mina’s chest, just below the midline of her collar bone.

The “S” stood out, red and ragged where his fingernail had dug in.

“Oh, aye, missy, the branding iron will put the mark right here, and. . .”
Reaching to her left side, the bailiff inscribed an “M” just as roughly, below her collarbone on that side.

“. . . right here. Then you won’t have to ask what you’ve done. You’ll have the marks to remind you, you seditious, mutinous bitch.”

With that, he pulled back on her hair, and spat in her face.

Mina choked in disgust, gagging and retching.

The bailiff cruelly gripped Mina’s left breast in his hand. He squeezed the delightfully silken flesh, mauling the breast and then her right thoroughly for several seconds, kneading the soft flesh and pinching and pulling her nipples while Mina gasped and whimpered in pain and humiliation.

“Mr. Bailiff, sir.”

The bailiff started guiltily and stood, his face red and his erection tenting his trousers. He gave the man who had addressed him a withering and contemptuous glance. The man was a scrawny idler. He had an eager, idiotic grin, and was holding a chamber pot. Full, by the looks of it.

“God will judge you for this!” Mina said, her voice hoarse. “God will judge all of you for this!”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I was looking for a place to dump this. And, with your permission sir, I believe I’ve found the perfect spot,” he said, nodding his head toward Mina. “But I wouldn’t want to slop any of this on you, sir.”

The bailiff stood his ground, ignoring the speaker. He took some deep breaths.

After a moment he turned to the warden.

“You’re quite right, Mr. Hayward, she does have nice tits.”

“Is there no justice in this world?” Mina cried. “I am innocent!”

“Thought you wouldn’t be able to resist, Mr. Tompkins,” the warden said. “What say I buy you that round now?”

The bailiff nodded. “Thirsty work. I believe I could use a drink.”

Then he spoke to the guards.

“You men,” he instructed them, “See that no injury is done her, and so instruct your relief. Feed her, give her water, let her up when need be. She must be able to walk and be fit enough to bear a whipping and more in two days time. I’ll be back to check.”

As the two officers turned to leave, the bailiff said over his shoulder to the man holding the chamber pot,

“You there, carry on.”
 
Just thought I'd remind the readership of the Mina Berkeley I have in mind while writing this:

nina 11=22=2.JPGnina 11-22-1.JPGnina 11-22-3.JPG Mina Berkeley, immediately before her arrest in Cape Coast (Nina Dobrev as Katherine Pierce in "The Vampire Diaries.")

And yes, as I've mentioned before, that is just about the worst low budget, Holloween costume looking Nineteenth Century dress I've ever seen. And that wig! :doh:. Still, that's my Mina (sigh.) If you have someone in mind, please post.

And here's some stocks. I imagined Mina in the stocks in the first pic.

stocks21.jpgStocks_and_Pillories_1.jpgstocks darling s&s (2).jpgstocks81.jpg

As far as identifying model and source, I'm afraid all I know is the third pic is from "Sex and Submission," and the fourth is a Tibool pic from "Chainganggirls." I think the first is from "Restrained Elegance."
 
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THE STOCKS​




Mina was led out of the court ahead of the crowd, but there were others, idlers mostly, who heard the word of her sentence as it quickly spread. They followed the bailiff and the warden and two guards as Mina was frogmarched to the stocks in front of Government House. Mina walked unresisting at first, in a momentary haze of disbelief at the injustice that had been done her. But as they approached the stocks, she recovered her spirit and tried to twist out of the officer’s grip.

She cried out, “No! No! This is not just!”

A guard cuffed Mina in the head and gave her a push, so that she almost stumbled over the stocks.

Constructed of a solid pair of timbers set vertically into the ground, with three boards stacked on edge between them, they looked like a small hurdle. The boards fitted into grooves on the inward faces of the two vertical timbers, and had holes drilled through the faces of the boards where the edges of the boards met: a single pair of larger openings in the lower boards to trap the ankles, and several other pairs, above the ankle holes, varying in size, to accommodate different sized wrists.

“Welcome to your new home, Miss Berkeley!” he said. “Oh, you’re in for it now, aren’t you? Now sit down so we can lock you in.”

“Wait a moment, Mr. Tompkins, if you please!” the warden said. “Let’s get her dress off first. My wife’ll clean it up and sell it. Should fetch a pretty penny.”

“No!” Mina said, and tried to struggle, but the guards held her fast.

The warden unlaced the back of Mina’s gown. Together, he and the bailiff jerked the fabric of the dress off her shoulders and down her arms to the shackles at her wrists.

“Don’t rip milady’s gown, if you please,” the warden said.

The bailiff nodded grudgingly. The warden had rights to the prisoners’ possessions and clothing.

“You’ll buy me a round, Mr. Hayward,” he said.

The warden released the shackles from Mina’s wrists, and the gown was stripped off her arms and down her legs, leaving her clad only in her shift.

Mina groaned and tried to cover herself, but the guards forced her arms behind her.

“Strip her, strip the bitch!” a voice cried. A crowd was gathering to watch.

Neither man acknowledged that they’d heard. But the warden looked to the bailiff with a wicked grin, and jerked at Mina’s shift.

“Shall we?”

The bailiff shook his head.

“Not yet. That comes later.”

The warden grunted in disappointment.

“You’re denying yourself, Mr. Tompkins. I tell you she has very nice tits,” the warden said. “Tell the gentleman, Milady, tell him what a lovely pair of kettle drums you’re carrying about with you.”

Mina looked away in disgust.

At a sign from the bailiff, a guard pushed down on Mina’s slender shoulders, and kicked her legs out from under her. Mina fell backward with a cry, and thumped the ground hard on her buttocks. The guard seized her ankles, tipping Mina backwards, and pulled her towards the stocks. Mina’s shift rode all the way up her thighs, exposing her sex.

“Land ho!” the warden cried. “I’m sighting a bit of bush, there, Mr. Tompkins!”

Another guard lifted the boards. Her ankles were thrust through the openings in the lower board, and then the upper board was slammed down, trapping her ankles.
Mina desperately pulled her shift down.

“Why do you abuse me so?” she shouted.

“Grab her wrists, in they go!” The bailiff said.

Each guard grabbed one of Mina’s wrists, and while the bailiff raised the upper board, they pulled her wrists through the smallest openings. The board was shut on her wrists, and now she was trapped, ankles and wrists, in the stocks. The bailiff closed a hasp over the boards so they could not be lifted, and secured it with an iron lock.

“Have you no mercy?” Mina sobbed. “I am innocent, I tell you! I have done nothing to deserve this!”

“Miss Berkeley!” the bailiff said. “Your crocodile tears only make me want to give you something to cry about!”

The bailiff had been a bosun in the navy for many years, and he still carried a pair of “starters.” One was basically a cosh; a heavy ball of lead plaited in hemp twine, fastened to a ten inch shaft. In a rare bit of humor he called it his “stopper,” for the lead weight was so heavy it was useful mostly for breaking up fights, or taking the fight out of anyone who threatened him. The other “starter” he had used to encourage weary, fatigued, or just plain lazy sailors to greater effort. It was nothing more than a thick piece of hemp rope, but when he struck a sailor in the back of the neck, or across his shoulders, it got him started, right enough. He had found them invaluable then, and still quite useful in his present occupation.

“Watch this here, Mr. Hayward,” he said to the warden. “I’ve got a little trick or two up my sleeve, to make a miscreant’s stay in the stocks a little more memorable. This is a little something I learned from the heathen A-rabs. They call it ‘Falaka.’”

The bailiff winked at the warden. The previous warden, Warden Jenkins, had never seen eye to eye with the bailiff. Jenkins had been opposed to such “off the books” cruelties, but the bailiff recognized in the current warden a kindred spirit.

Mina looked from one to the other officer in alarm.

The bailiff knelt and took one end of a leather thong that was tied to a staple above Mina’s bare foot. He wrapped a few tight loops around the base of Mina’s big toe, and pulled up the slack. Mina’s foot was lifted up by the toe, forcing the foot back and completely exposing the bottom of the foot.

“What are you doing?” Mina shouted, as she felt the thong bite into her toe, and her calf muscles strain. “Oh, stop, have you not tormented me enough!”

In answer, the bailiff secured her other foot in the same way.

“No, sir! What are you doing?” Mina said.

An apprehension of what was coming lit her eyes with alarm as she watched the bailiff reach under his jacket and pull out his hemp starter. He smacked it into his palm a couple of times.

“Now, Mr. Hayward,” the bailiff said, bending to Mina’s feet and tracing his finger along the arches. “The trick to falaka is to strike the foot right here, in the arch. You need not strike hard, you see, and you must not strike the heel or the ball of the foot, for that could cause injury. Then the criminal would be unable to walk behind the cart’s tail, and take her whipping, as the judge has ordered. When done properly, the foot might redden and swell a bit, but otherwise, no lasting harm. But Oh! It hurts like the very devil! Or so I’m told. And every step she takes will remind her of it.”

The bailiff crouched in front of the stocks, and addressed Mina.

“Miss Berkeley, you’ll let us know how much it hurts, won’t you?”

“Sir!” Mina exclaimed, “Do not do this! The judge said nothing of this! Have you no mercy?”

In answer, the bailiff lifted drew his arm back, and snapped the hemp starter against the arch of Mina’s right foot.

“Thwack!”

Mina gasped “Oh!” more from shock and surprise than from the pain.

He drew his arm back and delivered more strokes.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

“There,” the bailiff said, “How does that feel? Not so very bad, is it, Miss Berkeley?”

“You are a wretched, cruel man!” Mina said, her lips trembling and tears in her eyes. “How can you do this?”

“I am out of practice,” he said. “Well, as they say, ‘Practice makes Perfect.’”

And the bailiff set to again.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

The bailiff settled into a constant, relentless rhythm, varying only in the number of strokes in a row he applied to each foot.

“Oh, no, sir, please. . .” Mina pleaded. An indescribable, insistent burning had kindled within her feet.

The hemp smacked again and again.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

“Ahh, sir, no, it burns, stop, it burns!”

“You see?” The bailiff said to the jailer, without breaking his rhythm, “You don’t have to hit hard, but her dogs will be barking. Oh yes, I dare say her dogs will be howling!”

Mina tried to distract herself from the growing pain. The slapping of the hemp on her feet was the sound of waves against a ship’s hull. She tried to focus on that, to go to that place, to think only of the slapping of gentle waves against the hull of a ship, of cool sea breezes, of cool sea drops that lit on her face when she was topside, out in the warm sun.

But the increasing pain was insistent, and made it impossible to hold her focus. She gasped and mewled as the slap of the rope displaced her into the unbearable present.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

The burning began to flame. The pain of the beating became a stinging, searing heat. It was unendurable, and yet could not but be endured.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

Mina, her patience exhausted, was writhing and twisting, trying desperately to wrench her wrists and ankles out of the grip of the stocks.

“Ahhhh, sir, stop! I beg you, sir, I can’t bear it, oh, please in the name of God, oh someone help me, oh Jesus, help me!” Mina screamed.

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

She thrashed and heaved, her loose hair whipping about, sweat flying from her as the bailiff continued beating the methodical, demonic rhythm of the rope on her feet.

Mina was shrieking, pleading, gasping. Her feet were on fire and a mass of wasps were stinging them! Bellowing her pain, she tried to beat her head against the stocks, actually coming off the ground in the attempt. One of the guards jerked her back by the hair. And finally, as had happened during the extremity of her caning, she lost control of her bladder.

“Look here!” The jailer cried, “She’s pissed herself, hasn’t she, the nasty cow!”

The bailiff stopped, and straightened up.

“Aye, that she has. Not so proud now, is she? Well, she can just sit in it. It’s all she deserves.”

He gave her several more heavy strokes with the starter before he was satisfied.

Mina buried her face between her arms. When it was over, she didn’t at first realize that the beating had stopped. Her feet throbbed and burned as though they were still being assaulted. Sobbing, she looked up at the two men and groaned, her voice hoarse.

“Why are you doing this to me? What have I done?”

“Do you know, missy,” The bailiff said, “In two days time you will look back fondly at this. You will remember this as the gentlest of caresses. Aye, it’ll be the bull’s pizzle and the branding iron will truly teach you the error of your ways.”

The bailiff liked to think of himself as a disciplined man, but the sight of Mina, her breast heaving, her hair disarrayed and wet, her lovely face distorted with pain and wet with tears and sweat struck him like a matched pair of horses, Anger and Lust, and trampled him under.

The bailiff reached into the neckline of Mina’s shift and with a sudden jerk, tore it down, baring her round, full breasts. With his index finger he etched a figure “S” on the soft, delicate skin of Mina’s chest, just below the midline of her collar bone.

The “S” stood out, red and ragged where his fingernail had dug in.

“Oh, aye, missy, the branding iron will put the mark right here, and. . .”
Reaching to her left side, the bailiff inscribed an “M” just as roughly, below her collarbone on that side.

“. . . right here. Then you won’t have to ask what you’ve done. You’ll have the marks to remind you, you seditious, mutinous bitch.”

With that, he pulled back on her hair, and spat in her face.

Mina choked in disgust, gagging and retching.

The bailiff cruelly gripped Mina’s left breast in his hand. He squeezed the delightfully silken flesh, mauling the breast and then her right thoroughly for several seconds, kneading the soft flesh and pinching and pulling her nipples while Mina gasped and whimpered in pain and humiliation.

“Mr. Bailiff, sir.”

The bailiff started guiltily and stood, his face red and his erection tenting his trousers. He gave the man who had addressed him a withering and contemptuous glance. The man was a scrawny idler. He had an eager, idiotic grin, and was holding a chamber pot. Full, by the looks of it.

“God will judge you for this!” Mina said, her voice hoarse. “God will judge all of you for this!”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I was looking for a place to dump this. And, with your permission sir, I believe I’ve found the perfect spot,” he said, nodding his head toward Mina. “But I wouldn’t want to slop any of this on you, sir.”

The bailiff stood his ground, ignoring the speaker. He took some deep breaths.

After a moment he turned to the warden.

“You’re quite right, Mr. Hayward, she does have nice tits.”

“Is there no justice in this world?” Mina cried. “I am innocent!”

“Thought you wouldn’t be able to resist, Mr. Tompkins,” the warden said. “What say I buy you that round now?”

The bailiff nodded. “Thirsty work. I believe I could use a drink.”

Then he spoke to the guards.

“You men,” he instructed them, “See that no injury is done her, and so instruct your relief. Feed her, give her water, let her up when need be. She must be able to walk and be fit enough to bear a whipping and more in two days time. I’ll be back to check.”

As the two officers turned to leave, the bailiff said over his shoulder to the man holding the chamber pot,

“You there, carry on.”
That was thwackingly good. Nicely told.
 
SISTERS OF SIN​


You’ll be pleased to know, Miss Berkeley,” Madame Louisa said, “That your dear sister Laura has been returned to my house, and has resumed her duties there. Rest assured, my dear, I did not whip her for the trouble she’s given me. I do not blame her, and in any case one may as well beat an ox.”

Madame Louisa stood arm in arm with Captain Writhby. The two viewed with complete satisfaction the devastated young woman held in the uncomfortable grip of the stocks.

Madame Louisa was particularly pleased. Many years past, Madame Louisa, then known as Nan Cadwallader, a lowly cast off whore and cutpurse of the back alleys of London, had suffered the same fate; had been confined in the stocks and had been descended upon by a mob as rowdy and enthusiastic as this one had been. How well she remembered it! Even now, after many years, the experience still visited her in her nightmares. It always did her heart good to see another young woman condemned to the same treatment that she had endured. And this time the fellow sufferer was a woman of wealth and privilege who had caused her a good deal of trouble and embarrassment. Satisfaction was rarely so replete.

It seemed that all the chamber pots within walking distance had been dumped over Mina, and she had been pelted with rotten eggs, dead rats, and butcher shop offal. Viscous fluids and clumps of matter clung to the young woman’s hair and dribbled down her body, glistening in the browns, greens, purples and yellows of a noxious rainbow. They accumulated in a puddle, a miniature cesspool in which Mina sat, a bedraggled, degraded, and wretched specimen of misery.

At Madame Louisa’s words, Mina wearily raised her reddened, tear filled eyes to stare at the couple. Mina could not find the words to speak, and in any case it was difficult to draw breath in the fumes of the ordure that surrounded and covered her.

Madame Louisa disengaged her arm from Captain Writhby’s and approached Mina.

“I intend to bid for your indenture when it is offered,” Madame Louisa said.

She spoke through a silk handkerchief that she held with one hand over her nose and mouth. It was a mere affectation. Madame Louisa was untroubled by the stench; gloried in it. In fact, she had approached so closely that her delicate new shoes were wet with muck, and the hems of her petticoats were brushing in it.

“. . .So you may look forward to reuniting with your sister, and joining her in her work.”

“Capital idea!” Captain Writhby said, “But Commodore Smythie may have something to say about it. He was quite desirous of obtaining Miss Berkeley for himself. Any road, beyond whatever she fetches when they’re done with her, it would cost you a pretty penny for the soaps and scrub brushes to clean the smell from Miss Berkeley. To say nothing of the tending she will require after her flogging. I must compliment you, Miss Berkeley,” the Captain continued, “On those luscious ripe teats on you. Very like ripe fruit they are. I should give them a good squeezing, once they are rinsed off.”

His words were a bit slurred. The captain was in his cups, having resorted to his hip flask while the two had waited.

Louisa looked back at Writhby.

“In my experience the quality like’s ‘em young and fresh," she said. "Unmarked. Let’s see how badly your Commodore wants her after she’s been scuffed up a bit. As to the expense, she will make it up to me, I’m sure. And she will take to the work, just as her sister did. I shall call her the Duchess. The Princess and the Duchess. Sisters of Sin, I shall call them. It willl be a novelty. Men do so love a novelty.”

She caught the eye of one of the guards and winked.

The two of them had waited at the outskirts of the crowd for the frenzy to die down. As it did when, inevitably, the crowd ran out of things to pelt Mina with or dump on her, and ran out of names to call her and insults and mockery to heap upon her; and when they discovered that the guards were serious about keeping at bay those who, either emboldened by drunkenness or sadistic glee, wished to inflict more permanent harms on the defenseless young woman. The mob dispersed slowly and reluctantly, fragmenting into individuals who slapped each other on the back for the simple joy of making someone else miserable, and promising in loud, jocular voices, to return to this place in two days time, when the real show was to begin.

“God. . .will repay you. . . for your wickedness,” Mina said in halting words. Her head drooped back down.

Madame Louisa shrugged. “In the meantime,” she said, “You will repay me. Oh yes.”

“The Princess and the Duchess,” Writhby said, “Guaranteed to make a man feel like a king!”

He laughed again. “Come along Nan,” he said. “Our Miss Berkeley has put me in a mood. If I can’t have the Duchess just yet, you can still make me feel like a prince, at the least!”

Writhby was the only man who got away with calling her by her real name, which he still did when he was a bit drunk and feeling frollicky. He was probably the only man still living who knew it. He had been an ensign on the transport ship she had been a prisoner on, having been sentenced to transportation for her whoring and thieving in London. It was Writhby who had got her started on her career in Cape Coast. Madame Louisa still had a certain affection for the scoundrel. So she didn't cut his throat when he slept, or put poison in his tea.

The Captain doffed his hat and bowed deeply to Mina.

“We shall not keep you any longer, Miss Berkeley,” he said.

Louisa laughed her brittle, coquettish laugh.

“Yes, Captain, let us go,” She said, “I simply cannot endure the smell any longer.
Good day to you, Miss Berkeley. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

Arm in arm, Writhby and Louisa left Mina to her sufferings.
 
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