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The Georgia Peach - A Story of the American Civil War

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Loxuru

Graf von Kreuzigung
They put up a humiliating public show in order to submit Catherine to give the information they expect to get from her.
But all, from general to soldier, got so absorbed by the spectacle they created, that they simply don't see that Catherine is doing some sort of playing on time, under their very eyes.

Great writing again, Fossy!
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
A Turn for the Worse
Sorry, Fossy. It is simply not credible that this could get any worse for Catherine!
“I cannot sanction further punishment.
See! I told you so!
Then we will turn the girl round Major. She can now face the whip, maybe then we will hear the truth.”
Had the General really ordered them to turn the bitch’s position so that the front of her body would face the lash? Her breasts, nipples, cunt …
Shit! I stand corrected. Brilliant!
“Careful now, make sure she feels it deeply.”
True poetry in prose!
spare the whip one little bit!
Spare the whip and spoil the Belle.
 
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Fossy

Tribune
Chapter 36 – The Flogging Continues, The Whipping Post, 10:10 am May 12th 1864

(Continued …)



Inside her mind Catherine pleaded for this to stop. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to withstand the whip on the soft, yielding flesh of her breasts and between her thighs … the thought was too horrendous, and to have this evil man, her nemesis, dispense the lash …

But no words came from her mouth. Outwardly she simply hung in shackles hardly moving, awaiting the kiss of the bullwhip, which, through barely open eyes, she now saw Shepherd wielding.

The pathetic vision which she offered drew a combination of lust-fuelled smiles and sympathetic expressions from the audience, though mainly the former. Sampson nodded for the flogging to begin.

There were a few moments of silence save the plaintive sobbing of a young slave, during which the tension and anticipation grew to a new peak. Shepherd, to the front of Catherine, the whip in his right hand, drew back his arm.

She screamed even before the leather smacked hard into the middle of her right breast, crossing the nipple. The flesh distorted for a few moments, flattened by the blow before bouncing back to its original, firm roundness.

As the pain enveloped her, Catherine screamed, aching forwards pushing out her body even further.

Despite bearing witness to every lash thus far applied to the poor girl, the audience had not experienced a despairing reaction like this before.

Shepherd was fresh to the task and wasted no time. Before Catherine could even attempt to draw breath, he slashed the leather lash into the same place on Catherine's left breast and drew a similar response. Her initial scream continued uninterrupted as inconceivable pain shot through both her nipples and her breasts, radiating into her whole upper body. She had never imagined such agony!

The tremors and aftershock of the strokes made her cry out afresh, her squirming causing the wooden invader to stretch the small rose-like hole, pushing at her bowels, tearing her anus …

The audience stared, transfixed, at the barbarity playing out before them. Hands groped stiffening groins, saliva dripped from unshaven chins, while a young house-slave tried to hide her grimaces as she imagined the pain of her poor mistress, knowing that an open show of sympathy would most likely not be tolerated.

Shepherd warmed to his task, his undoubted skill with this insidious instrument of torture reaching new heights. The whip lashed into every sensitive part of Catherine’s pert, upright flesh, still full with the firmness of youth.

She screamed loudly as each new lash fell. Twelve hard strokes had been given thus far. Shepherd was salivating, drool dripping from his unshaven chin as he gasped for breath. His victim’s breasts were red, swollen and welted, small cuts mingled with long, red welts , causing small red rivulets to drip from the undersides.

Sampson ordered him to stop.

Catherine sagged when she realised the lashing had ceased. Her chest heaved as she took in great gasps of air. Sweat soaked her upper body. Was it over? Please God, she prayed, let them stop.

Her hopes were soon to be dashed.

"I want all parts of her Reb bitch tits lashed", said the Lieutenant, "… but they will need to be lifted to expose the undersides. Get me lengths of spun twine ..."

Any of the onlookers who had doubts about the commitment of the junior officer to see this appalling torture carried out to the full, now understood in no uncertain terms that he intended to deliver on his promised.

They watched fascinated as the soldiers fondled Catherine’s breasts to enlarge and stiffen the nipples, before securing a length of the twine via a knotted loop, around each erect teat. A groan from the girl signified the additional agony that had just been introduced as the thread was pulled upwards, fastening tightly around her engorged buds, to be secured to the chain at her wrists. Now every part of each breast was exposed for Shepherd’s attention, flesh raised, nipples pointing upwards, until there was no crease and the pale untouched skin of the undersides was revealed as Catherine’s abused breasts took some of her weight, pulling the flesh agonisingly away from her body.

She groaned and let her head fall, her chin brushing the top of her chest.

The overseer once more took up his position. There would be no more questions. This was no longer an interrogation; it had become a show. Entertainment for the troops …

"The next twelve strokes are to be laid upon flesh not yet harmed", came the command from Sampson.

The flogging recommenced and the screams loudened as the leather struck unblemished skin, the movement of her breasts causing the twine to bite and pull at her molested nipples.

Blood now oozed from sliced skin, and trickled slowly downwards as the lash continued to descend ruthlessly upon its targets. In amongst slicing the whip into her unprotected chest, Shepherd could not resist the alluring sight of her taut abdomen. With a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips he whistled several strokes across her flattened belly, taking the breath completely from her body.

The twelve strokes ordered were completed and Catherine slumped in her bonds, head hanging forward, breathless and moaning from the pain.

She had received sixty-one strokes in total, all over her body, well almost all over … there was one other place …


Will Catherine hold out?
Will her badly beaten body give in?
Will her last breath be taken?


Join us tomorrow for the final episode of "The Georgia Peach"

To be Continued ...
 

Attachments

Fossy

Tribune
Chapter 37 – A Confession, The Whipping Post, 10:35 am May 12th 1864


Shepherd looked across at the Lieutenant who held up his hand. Sampson moved to the post to gaze upon his young, nubile victim.

He stood on the small platform to her side, and took his sweet time contemplating her, admiring the way she hung, naked and shackled for all to see …

Catherine closed her eyes and tried not to think about the additional sensation of humiliation growing inside her as it became a painful addition to the agonising flagellation of her body.

Finally, after long minutes of stillness, she felt his inevitable touch. Sampson’s fingers slipped over her taught abdomen to brush her hairless mound.

“Please … no …” she uttered for no one else to hear but him. Using only the tip of his longest digit, he traced the outer regions of her sex, lazily drawing intricate patterns on her skin flicking away the remnants of dried virgin blood. She gasped and writhed as much as the bondage allowed, trying to manoeuvre herself away from him, but succeeding in making it appear as though she was attempting to leverage his touch even more. Like a whore trying to make him pleasure her … but the Lieutenant was content to tease Catherine for his own gratification, for he was seeking a particular outcome from his ministrations. One that would maximise the agony of what he was about to order.

But for now, he relished the way her soft lips swelled before his eyes, and how her clitoris poked its engorged head out from under its hooded cover. The junior officer’s cock was straining against the fabric of his uniform, his need to have her overwhelming his rational thought.

She furiously shook her head “No!” but he was oblivious to her pleas. Sampson placed his hands on her inner thighs caressing her soft skin. Slowly he worked upward to the flesh that joined her legs to her body, running his fingers along the sensitive creases. Up first … then down … down and under to touch the entry point of the sedile between her cheeks … then back up, this time along the right side of her labia, circling her clitoris, and then back down the left side. Catherine had never felt anything like this before and she moaned, squirming as far as her bound limbs would countenance.

Suddenly his fingers were gone.

… And there was silence. Everywhere was quiet except for the rasping from Catherine’s wheezing chest, and then … she heard his words.

“You will strike the next twelve between her legs Mister Shepherd.”

The overseer raised his arm and swung with a flourish!

The poor girl screamed as, without any moments to ponder, the unbearable sting of the bullwhip made her plunge, the leather biting into the front of both tender legs, and her uncontrolled screams echoed around the entire estate.

Catherine’s body was glistening with sweat … Then a new whistle sounded in the air.

“AAAARGGHHHHHHH!”

“Eeeeeooooo oh noo … please not anymore, not like this … nooooooo, Mercy I beg …!” Catherine was whipped hard, the leather splitting her soft flesh and biting into her swollen clitoris.

She was shackled in a way that pushed her mound and breasts forward, held up as an easy target for the violence now being meted out. Legs were pulled back and drawn as far apart as the fastenings allowed, her wrists chained high, stretching her beautiful shape into an exquisite bow.

The Lieutenant’s touch had moistened her and opened her up to display Catherine’s genitals in the most crude manner, as well as exposing her to the torments of the whip. The lips of her sex were swollen, crossed now by a raised red welt and the clitoris exposed, hard and shining …

Shepherd’s arm moved again and the single leather thong slashed down and caught Catherine at the very core of her being, biting into the tender folds.

“ARRRAGGHHHHH! … noooooo more, no more!” The pain had restored her voice and now she yelled.

The shock of the biting whiplash along the slit of her sex rushed through her body, made her breasts quiver with an unwitting enticement.

“Whore !” shouted one voice … it was the voice of a slave … he had called his mistress a whore!

Catherine had suffered ten strokes to her mound and the sensitive, open flesh below it. Her tear-filled eyes did not see the next one coming, but she most definitely felt the extreme cutting pain once the tip of the leather thong lashed into her clitoris …

The slave’s word had been right. Catherine had been whipped like a whore … like a slave-whore … it was what she had become.

Another lash broke her self-pitying trance … and then … again, the beating stopped.

She hardly had the strength to breathe as Sampson approached her.

The information they meant to whip out of her was quivering on the edge of her lips. Catherine deduced that she must be going mad with the pain because now she was hearing voices inside her head ...

‘Tell them and you can end this now ...’ one voice said.

‘... yet, if you do, his capture will mean his death, and the deaths of many more ...’ said another.

‘... trust me, he’s safe ... he will have the message from Mary … he will be far away …’ the conversation continued in her plagued mind.

‘… but I just cannot …’ she pleaded with herself.

‘… then lie!’ …

“North Carolina ...” she gasped out loud, mindlessly obeying the silent order in her brain. Her voice deepened to a ghost of a whisper.

“... he went to North Carolina ...” Sampson slowly took his gaze away from her and let it rest on the heavily perspiring overseer.

“You see, Mister Shepherd, she can be reasonable. One needs only to frame the question properly to elicit the desired response.”

The overseer let out a slow sigh of satisfaction, his face a smile of triumph, his groin a bulging volcano of lust.

“I defer to your wisdom and experience, Lieutenant,” he grinned.

Catherine had almost slipped into numbing darkness again. The pain of the fire laid across her thighs and between her legs had left her too terrified, too exhausted to even tremble …

Suddenly Sampson grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Her dazed, fluttering eyes focused as best they could on his chilling visage.

“And still, it’s a most strange place for William Quantrill to flee, isn’t it, Catherine?” he remarked suspiciously. “North Carolina is not the Rebel stronghold he ordinarily likes to dispense his cowardly justice in, now is it huh?”

The Lieutenant paused, gripping her hair a little tighter making her grimace, before adding, “He has too little support there, much too far away to mount an effective attack on anyone, wouldn’t you say?”

“They are cowards, Sir,” Sergeant Oak ventured. “All of them. They most likely couldn’t face the inevitable if they had stayed around here …”

Sampson forestalled him, releasing his grip. “Do you honestly expect me to take that chance Sergeant, the bitch is lying, South Carolina would be the place to go if he had headed in that direction?”

A lonesome figure appeared on the scene. Eyes piercing, hands clasped behind his back.

“But now we have our answer Lieutenant, do we not? And so, we must send out Kilpatrick to see if there are the beginnings of a North Carolina trail for Quantrill and his damnable Raiders.”

It was General Sherman’s voice, he had made his way back to the scene, pre-empting its completion, and was trying hard to balance the emotional havoc inside his head. They had their intelligence; Catherine was linked to the notorious Quantrill. They now knew that the note book referenced William Quantrill’s movements, and that he had been responsible for the murders of his soldiers a few days earlier.

But his own beautiful Goddaughter, hanging, beaten and battered barely alive, from a whipping post … she had admitted to being a Rebel spy. How he wished that was not the case, even at the expense of not having the knowledge that they now enjoyed. He knew that she ought to be executed, usually that would take place on the spot, especially if he himself was around to sanction it. But he could not do it. Not here, not like this, not without having the opportunity to talk with her some more.

“We must get back to the camp or Johnston’s Army will be upon us. Lieutenant have your men gather up what they have readied for confiscation. Sergeant Oak take the girl down from the post … carefully, then wrap her in a blanket and put her into my carriage. Major Watson, when we arrive back you will take her to the infirmary and personally tend to her wounds.

Sherman turned to address the negros, who were all watching wide eyed.

“You are all freemen and women. It is no longer legal to hold slaves, and so you may choose what you now do. Stay here and do what you have always done, or head North and find sanctuary. If you are an able-bodied male without the encumbrance of a child or sweetheart you may join us and serve in my Pioneer Force …”

He paused letting his declaration of their emancipation sink in.

“What I am saying is that you now have a choice. What you do is up to you …”

There was an excited babble and then cries of joy, until one voice attempted to sour the mood.

“You can leave them with me General, I’ll make sure that these darkies choose the right option.”

Sherman looked into the eyes of Tom Shepherd and slowly shook his head. “No sir, you are a Georgia native who has avoided fighting for his State and his land. Happy to let everyone else do that. You are now my prisoner of war. Shackle him …”

And with those words, despite his obvious consternation, the overseer was seized.

Within the hour the convoy of men, horses, and foraged provisions along with livestock, made its way back towards Resaca. Sherman’s carriage was at the front. He sat inside the cabin looking down on the exhausted, battered body of his beautiful Goddaughter.

“God please forgive me for what I have done to this delicate human soul …”

As he wiped a tear from his eye, the General was unaware of the silhouetted figure on horseback watching from the peak of the bluff above.

William Quantrill would head to Kentucky, but he would not be going without the girl he loved.



THE GEORGIA PEACH



THE END
 

Attachments

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Chapter 37 – A Confession, The Whipping Post, 10:35 am May 12th 1864


Shepherd looked across at the Lieutenant who held up his hand. Sampson moved to the post to gaze upon his young, nubile victim.

He stood on the small platform to her side, and took his sweet time contemplating her, admiring the way she hung, naked and shackled for all to see …

Catherine closed her eyes and tried not to think about the additional sensation of humiliation growing inside her as it became a painful addition to the agonising flagellation of her body.

Finally, after long minutes of stillness, she felt his inevitable touch. Sampson’s fingers slipped over her taught abdomen to brush her hairless mound.

“Please … no …” she uttered for no one else to hear but him. Using only the tip of his longest digit, he traced the outer regions of her sex, lazily drawing intricate patterns on her skin flicking away the remnants of dried virgin blood. She gasped and writhed as much as the bondage allowed, trying to manoeuvre herself away from him, but succeeding in making it appear as though she was attempting to leverage his touch even more. Like a whore trying to make him pleasure her … but the Lieutenant was content to tease Catherine for his own gratification, for he was seeking a particular outcome from his ministrations. One that would maximise the agony of what he was about to order.

But for now, he relished the way her soft lips swelled before his eyes, and how her clitoris poked its engorged head out from under its hooded cover. The junior officer’s cock was straining against the fabric of his uniform, his need to have her overwhelming his rational thought.

She furiously shook her head “No!” but he was oblivious to her pleas. Sampson placed his hands on her inner thighs caressing her soft skin. Slowly he worked upward to the flesh that joined her legs to her body, running his fingers along the sensitive creases. Up first … then down … down and under to touch the entry point of the sedile between her cheeks … then back up, this time along the right side of her labia, circling her clitoris, and then back down the left side. Catherine had never felt anything like this before and she moaned, squirming as far as her bound limbs would countenance.

Suddenly his fingers were gone.

… And there was silence. Everywhere was quiet except for the rasping from Catherine’s wheezing chest, and then … she heard his words.

“You will strike the next twelve between her legs Mister Shepherd.”

The overseer raised his arm and swung with a flourish!

The poor girl screamed as, without any moments to ponder, the unbearable sting of the bullwhip made her plunge, the leather biting into the front of both tender legs, and her uncontrolled screams echoed around the entire estate.

Catherine’s body was glistening with sweat … Then a new whistle sounded in the air.

“AAAARGGHHHHHHH!”

“Eeeeeooooo oh noo … please not anymore, not like this … nooooooo, Mercy I beg …!” Catherine was whipped hard, the leather splitting her soft flesh and biting into her swollen clitoris.

She was shackled in a way that pushed her mound and breasts forward, held up as an easy target for the violence now being meted out. Legs were pulled back and drawn as far apart as the fastenings allowed, her wrists chained high, stretching her beautiful shape into an exquisite bow.

The Lieutenant’s touch had moistened her and opened her up to display Catherine’s genitals in the most crude manner, as well as exposing her to the torments of the whip. The lips of her sex were swollen, crossed now by a raised red welt and the clitoris exposed, hard and shining …

Shepherd’s arm moved again and the single leather thong slashed down and caught Catherine at the very core of her being, biting into the tender folds.

“ARRRAGGHHHHH! … noooooo more, no more!” The pain had restored her voice and now she yelled.

The shock of the biting whiplash along the slit of her sex rushed through her body, made her breasts quiver with an unwitting enticement.

“Whore !” shouted one voice … it was the voice of a slave … he had called his mistress a whore!

Catherine had suffered ten strokes to her mound and the sensitive, open flesh below it. Her tear-filled eyes did not see the next one coming, but she most definitely felt the extreme cutting pain once the tip of the leather thong lashed into her clitoris …

The slave’s word had been right. Catherine had been whipped like a whore … like a slave-whore … it was what she had become.

Another lash broke her self-pitying trance … and then … again, the beating stopped.

She hardly had the strength to breathe as Sampson approached her.

The information they meant to whip out of her was quivering on the edge of her lips. Catherine deduced that she must be going mad with the pain because now she was hearing voices inside her head ...

‘Tell them and you can end this now ...’ one voice said.

‘... yet, if you do, his capture will mean his death, and the deaths of many more ...’ said another.

‘... trust me, he’s safe ... he will have the message from Mary … he will be far away …’ the conversation continued in her plagued mind.

‘… but I just cannot …’ she pleaded with herself.

‘… then lie!’ …

“North Carolina ...” she gasped out loud, mindlessly obeying the silent order in her brain. Her voice deepened to a ghost of a whisper.

“... he went to North Carolina ...” Sampson slowly took his gaze away from her and let it rest on the heavily perspiring overseer.

“You see, Mister Shepherd, she can be reasonable. One needs only to frame the question properly to elicit the desired response.”

The overseer let out a slow sigh of satisfaction, his face a smile of triumph, his groin a bulging volcano of lust.

“I defer to your wisdom and experience, Lieutenant,” he grinned.

Catherine had almost slipped into numbing darkness again. The pain of the fire laid across her thighs and between her legs had left her too terrified, too exhausted to even tremble …

Suddenly Sampson grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Her dazed, fluttering eyes focused as best they could on his chilling visage.

“And still, it’s a most strange place for William Quantrill to flee, isn’t it, Catherine?” he remarked suspiciously. “North Carolina is not the Rebel stronghold he ordinarily likes to dispense his cowardly justice in, now is it huh?”

The Lieutenant paused, gripping her hair a little tighter making her grimace, before adding, “He has too little support there, much too far away to mount an effective attack on anyone, wouldn’t you say?”

“They are cowards, Sir,” Sergeant Oak ventured. “All of them. They most likely couldn’t face the inevitable if they had stayed around here …”

Sampson forestalled him, releasing his grip. “Do you honestly expect me to take that chance Sergeant, the bitch is lying, South Carolina would be the place to go if he had headed in that direction?”

A lonesome figure appeared on the scene. Eyes piercing, hands clasped behind his back.

“But now we have our answer Lieutenant, do we not? And so, we must send out Kilpatrick to see if there are the beginnings of a North Carolina trail for Quantrill and his damnable Raiders.”

It was General Sherman’s voice, he had made his way back to the scene, pre-empting its completion, and was trying hard to balance the emotional havoc inside his head. They had their intelligence; Catherine was linked to the notorious Quantrill. They now knew that the note book referenced William Quantrill’s movements, and that he had been responsible for the murders of his soldiers a few days earlier.

But his own beautiful Goddaughter, hanging, beaten and battered barely alive, from a whipping post … she had admitted to being a Rebel spy. How he wished that was not the case, even at the expense of not having the knowledge that they now enjoyed. He knew that she ought to be executed, usually that would take place on the spot, especially if he himself was around to sanction it. But he could not do it. Not here, not like this, not without having the opportunity to talk with her some more.

“We must get back to the camp or Johnston’s Army will be upon us. Lieutenant have your men gather up what they have readied for confiscation. Sergeant Oak take the girl down from the post … carefully, then wrap her in a blanket and put her into my carriage. Major Watson, when we arrive back you will take her to the infirmary and personally tend to her wounds.

Sherman turned to address the negros, who were all watching wide eyed.

“You are all freemen and women. It is no longer legal to hold slaves, and so you may choose what you now do. Stay here and do what you have always done, or head North and find sanctuary. If you are an able-bodied male without the encumbrance of a child or sweetheart you may join us and serve in my Pioneer Force …”

He paused letting his declaration of their emancipation sink in.

“What I am saying is that you now have a choice. What you do is up to you …”

There was an excited babble and then cries of joy, until one voice attempted to sour the mood.

“You can leave them with me General, I’ll make sure that these darkies choose the right option.”

Sherman looked into the eyes of Tom Shepherd and slowly shook his head. “No sir, you are a Georgia native who has avoided fighting for his State and his land. Happy to let everyone else do that. You are now my prisoner of war. Shackle him …”

And with those words, despite his obvious consternation, the overseer was seized.

Within the hour the convoy of men, horses, and foraged provisions along with livestock, made its way back towards Resaca. Sherman’s carriage was at the front. He sat inside the cabin looking down on the exhausted, battered body of his beautiful Goddaughter.

“God please forgive me for what I have done to this delicate human soul …”

As he wiped a tear from his eye, the General was unaware of the silhouetted figure on horseback watching from the peak of the bluff above.

William Quantrill would head to Kentucky, but he would not be going without the girl he loved.



THE GEORGIA PEACH



THE END
It is clearly only the end of the first part! More to come. Does Cat get revenge, or just more of the Cat?

A very nicely done story blending fiction and fictional characters with real history and figures. Skillfully told, evocative of personality and, oh yes, most arousing!
 

windar

Teller of Tales
The cynic in me suspects that the "information" that Sherman et al. were seeking was secondary to their desire to watch Catherine suffer. After all, how useful is knowing Quantrill went to North Carolina or Kentucky, when both are pretty big? I suppose it points out the truth of what one of Sherman's successors, Jim Mattis, said, "Torture doesn't work. I can get better information with beer and cigarettes". But the story of plying Catherine with beer and cigarettes might have been less fun to read. And this one was fun to read.

I'm thinking a bit about the character Mary. Yes, I know that some slaves were raised with the children of their owners and felt close to them, but would she really have risked her life to help the Confederate cause? In the last few weeks of the war, there were attempts to form black regiments with the promise of freedom, but only if their masters consented, which few did, since they were fighting to retain their slaves.
 

Fossy

Tribune
The cynic in me suspects that the "information" that Sherman et al. were seeking was secondary to their desire to watch Catherine suffer. After all, how useful is knowing Quantrill went to North Carolina or Kentucky, when both are pretty big? I suppose it points out the truth of what one of Sherman's successors, Jim Mattis, said, "Torture doesn't work. I can get better information with beer and cigarettes". But the story of plying Catherine with beer and cigarettes might have been less fun to read. And this one was fun to read.

I'm thinking a bit about the character Mary. Yes, I know that some slaves were raised with the children of their owners and felt close to them, but would she really have risked her life to help the Confederate cause? In the last few weeks of the war, there were attempts to form black regiments with the promise of freedom, but only if their masters consented, which few did, since they were fighting to retain their slaves.
Thanks for the feedback Windy. I think Sampson's modus operandi was definitely salacious lust towards his delicate captive. From the perspective of Sherman then it was more about maintaining order and discipline with the men ... so I suspect you are correct about the fact that the whereabouts of Quantrill were secondary - although exposing Catherine as a Confederate Spy is certainly of importance.

Mary would most probably not have had either Union or Secessionist sympathies. But she would have been loyal to Catherine, who she has seen grow from a new born baby into the young woman we now see. That loyalty would have driven her sympathies I suspect.
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Thanks for the feedback Windy. I think Sampson's modus operandi was definitely salacious lust towards his delicate captive. From the perspective of Sherman then it was more about maintaining order and discipline with the men ... so I suspect you are correct about the fact that the whereabouts of Quantrill were secondary - although exposing Catherine as a Confederate Spy is certainly of importance.

Mary would most probably not have had either Union or Secessionist sympathies. But she would have been loyal to Catherine, who she has seen grow from a new born baby into the young woman we now see. That loyalty would have driven her sympathies I suspect.
Mary is unique. But even there, one wonders whether she ever had to service a white master as most attractive female slaves (and even some males) were required to do. I wouldn't ascribe neutral sentiments to the ex-slaves. By the end of the war, there were 180,000 "colored troops", mostly freed and runaway slaves, freely enlisted in the Northern armies. In total more than the entire Army of the Potomac!

And they all knew that, if captured, they would not treated as prisoners of war, but either brutally killed or returned to the most harsh slavery. What courage did it take to enlist and fight with that knowledge?
 
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windar

Teller of Tales
Mary is unique. But even there, one wonders whether she ever had to service a white master as most attractive female slaves (and even some males) were required to do. I wouldn't ascribe neutral sentiments to the ex-slaves. By the end of the war, there were 180,000 "colored troops", mostly freed and runaway slaves enlisted freely in the Northern armies. In total more than the entire Army of the Potomac!
To be sure, we don't know that Mary actually delivered or attempted to deliver the message to the Rebels. She may have ridden off into the sunset on her horse (okay, I'm mixing genres here, but who knows?)
 
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