Chapter 22 – Movement around White Orchard, Around Midnight, As May 11th Becomes May 12th 1864
(Continued …)
Never during all of the horrors that this war had delivered in its three long, awful years, not even upon the untimely and tragic deaths of both her mama and papa, had Catherine felt as numb as she felt now. Dazed through fitful sleep, she had been truly forsaken.
Brought up as a young lady, a ‘belle’, Catherine had come to expect masculine assertion from the menfolk hereabouts, and with a good helping of chivalry and respect to go along with it. But these louts, these rogues in blue had stripped her, beaten her and now violated her body in the most brutal manner imaginable.
They might as well have raped her; she may even have preferred that rather than suffer the feel and taste of his … his … and when he released … Catherine felt the bile rise once more from deep in her gut.
Her mind was a myriad of confusion while her body ached in more ways than she had ever thought possible. Resting her head on the crook of her arm Catherine squirmed as she shifted across the rough dusty base of the pen, trying her best to avoid putting the battered soles of her feet into contact with anything.
She knew what was ahead of her, and although she was afraid, if this thing had to be done then Catherine wanted it done. The anticipation was interminable. She wondered how many of White Orchard’s slaves had lain here before her, bound for the whip, scared out of their minds like she was now. She felt sympathy for those poor creatures.
Her entire body heaved as once more she dry retched. No … of course they would stop it. Uncle Billy could not let this happen. Not to her. Surely it was a trick to frighten her. Or he would realise that she could not endure such punishment ...
Naive though these hopes were, they helped to stay the enormous strain of waiting. Lingering was the hardest part, a severe punishment in itself, serving its malicious purpose to remind her that no appeal of emotion or reason would turn the Lieutenant’s intent, and persuade him to release her.
Catherine shuddered again, feeling her eyes water, acknowledging her trepidation and shame. She mumbled an earnest prayer. Her family were Catholics, like Uncle Billy’s, but visiting a church or chapel of any kind during these recent times had not been possible. However, right now seemed like the appropriate time to reacquaint herself with the Lord our God … her God, or at least she hoped that He was, for He was her only hope.
Voicing the benediction quietly to herself, and in her grainy half slumbering state, Catherine felt the warmth of sunlight that burst in through the opened doors and gleamed upon her place of confinement.
She raised her head to the dawn of the day that heralded the morning of her punishment.
Moments later as the guard leapt to his feet, the sudden movement caused her to look. As she balanced awkwardly on her elbow, upright in the pen, Catherine saw what the commotion was. Uncle Billy was here.
Chapter 23 – Outside the Discipline Block Out-Building at White Orchard Mansion Around 6am (a little while before Sherman departs to visit the block), May 12th 1864
“No, thank you, I am most definitely not hungry.” Sherman waived away offers of bacon and settled instead for a cup of warm coffee, which, despite the rigours of today’s burdensome schedule, he needed in order to heighten his attentiveness following a very unsatisfactory night’s sleep.
“The surgeon and the drummer have arrived just as you asked General.” Lieutenant Sampson buzzed around his Commanding Officer like a bee seeking nectar. He could hardly contain the anticipation that dwelt inside him, and he was keen to make sure that the General did not change his mind over the whipping of this young, nubile filly who, in fact, had turned out to be the General’s very own Goddaughter!
“Good. Let them avail of refreshments and then we will meet. Now Lieutenant, take me to the post. Let me survey the battleground.”
Sampson was delighted at Sherman’s analogous use of the term ‘battleground’, it confirmed that the planned punishment display would most definitely be taking place!
The discipline block was some way from the main house, and so the military pair walked for a not inconsiderable time to reach the whipping post. The morning of May 12th 1864 was bright and already warm, the sun having risen, clearing the early mist, over an hour ago. The previous day had seen several inches of heavy rainfall, and now, baking in the ever-increasing heat of the morning, the slippery, thick mud was beginning to harden and rut.
As the two men approached the small raised platform, the General stopped in those rutted tracks to stare. “Good God man, what have you done to the post?” Sherman’s brow furrowed as his junior officer’s heart rose into his mouth.
“It’s an amendment to hasten her confession Sir. It’s based on the structure of a crucifix. The Roman’s …”
“Yes, yes, I know what it is Lieutenant Sampson, they call it a sedile I believe, but you cannot be serious about using it.” The General moved to the post and touched the point where the carved length of smooth upturned wood had been nailed to the upright.
“Remove it at once.”
Sampson swallowed. There was no way he could have it taken off now. He and the men had marvelled over its potential, fantasised at stories of how it would penetrate the little bitch to the core …
“Sir, it is for her own good.”
Sherman turned to face the Lieutenant, and cocked his head. “Pray do tell me how that can possibly be Mister Sampson.”
Sampson took a deep breath and replied, “General Sir, none of us wish this scene to go on for any longer than is absolutely necessary,” his duplicity was hidden inside the words, because of course the Lieutenant, along with every last one of his men, wanted Catherine’s torment to continue for as long as possible. “… and you said yourself that you wanted answers. So, the sooner we get them the better for everyone, including Miss McCown. If we make the earlier part of this experience as arduous as possible for her, the more chance there will be that she breaks sooner rather than later.”
The Lieutenant took a step back, placed his gloved hands behind his back and smiled. He had to admit that he was quite pleased with his response to the General’s objection.
“I don’t know Lieutenant, it seems so crude, so barbaric!”
“But General, this is war, it is crude and cruel, as you yourself often remind us. The hanging of those four troopers of ours was barbaric!”
Sherman frowned, creating even more furrows to his brow. With a shake of his head, he said, “Very well Mister Sampson, you may leave it in situ.”
“Thank you, General Sir. I intend to have the shackles raised to the very top of the post with the accused placed on a crate while her wrists are secured. The wooden phall … I mean the sedile, will be positioned ‘appropriately’ during my initial questioning so that she can anticipate what is about to happen. If she admits her guilt and answers our questions at that stage, she will avoid all further discomforts. However, if she refuses to speak then the crate will be kicked away and, left hanging only by her wrists, she will be impaled … whereupon the whipping can begin.”
Sherman closed his eyes and sighed. It was more than harsh, and this was Catherine McCown, his own Goddaughter. But they had come this far he reminded himself, and the matter was, after all, of the gravest importance.
“I will leave the administration of this affair in your hands Lieutenant. Come now, let us visit with the surgeon.”
Chapter 24 – The Drawing Room in White Orchard Mansion, Around 6:30am, May 12th 1864
“General, your welcome has been most amenable, thank you.” Major John Watson, the surgeon attached to the Army of the Tennessee’s XVII Corps, was a gregarious man. He enjoyed the convivial nature of army life and he had most certainly appreciated the bacon, biscuits, gravy and coffee that had been waiting upon his arrival.
“It is my pleasure Major Watson, now let us get down to the business of the day.”
“A girl, I believe General?” He responded with more than a glint in his eye. Sherman nodded by way of response.
“She stands accused of spying, and we believe that she aided bushwhackers to murder several of our men recently. However, we cannot simply hang or shoot her, because we know that she has information that could prove crucial to the battles that we will no doubt be fighting in the coming days.”
The Major nodded, an earnest look belying his own mounting thrill.
“She is, I understand, known to you General Sherman?”
Sherman stared at his officer without saying a single word in response, until finally he replied with quiet assertion, “She is indeed Major Watson, but that is of no material relevance to what we are here to do.”
Nodding his understanding, it became clear to the Major that this was the end of the matter.
“You, sir, are here to inspect her health before we begin, and also be on hand to perform spot checks during the flogging, as I, or you, deem necessary. Is that clear and understood?”
“Perfectly General …” Major Watson looked down at the table before him, coughed to clear his throat and then addressed his Commanding Officer once more.
“General might I ask, during the punishment … will the girl be … naked?”
Sherman frowned at the question, ran his hand loosely through his scruff of red hair, and nodded. “Yes Major, she will.”
The less senior officer nodded in response, his mind recalling how he had summonsed one of the young camp followers into his tent only the night before. His groin stiffened a little and the Major was forced to shift his position so that his considerable bulk could rest more easily inside his uniform.
“Then take me to her General, if you please, and let us begin this examination.”
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - Just a point for consideration. Yesterday's post was harrowing to read. The poor slave girl Mercy was savagely whipped by a mean overseer for no reason other than to heighten his ardour and subjugate the girl. Thus far in our story Catherine has been presented as an innocent woman-child who is being treated appallingly by monstrous Union Soldiers. So, the interesting question for us all to consider is whether Catherine is in fact an innocent victim, or is she truthfully an important cog in the wheel of a Confederate spy network, or ... and very pertinently, does the fact that she is an owner of other human beings, and, whilst not engaging personally in anything but equitable treatment of her slaves, she simply MUST be aware of the actions of people like Shepherd, and by turning a blind eye becomes party to it ... and therefore, does she deserve what is undoubtedly coming her way?