Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Perfect, thank you Barb
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The Georgia Peach II - All is Fair
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
God. I have no idea where this all will go. But I'm glad to follow you anywhere @Fossy !
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Think like this it will end up :
"Where is Quantrill, Catherine?"
"I tell you where he is!"
"At last you get reasonable!"
"He's standing right behind you!"
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Stop reading ahead Lox!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 16 – Still in an old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, Just After Midday, May 16th 1864
Catherine's guts were shaking inside her. She knew every word he'd said was true. She was helpless before him. He was free to do whatever was required to get the information they wanted, and she knew from her recent experience that he would do just that.
She was sweating heavily, despite the cool dankness of this ramshackle room. New pain infiltrated every muscle and fibre of her body. This was compounded by fatigue from her torture at White Orchard which was still prevailing, along with a sore, swollen jaw from being struck; a sore body from the pins in her shoulders, thighs and nipples; a stomach in knots; the sting of the clothespins; and the burning from the slivers of shiny steel embedded into her flesh ... all of them weighed with a heavy burden on her body and her mind.
She was so tired and raw ...
"Where is Quantrill?" His eyes seemed filled with concern. The muscles of her jaw trembled as the words he sought were massing at the back of her throat, jostling for position to be spoken.
"I know you want to tell me, Catherine. Please ... it's the only way I can help you. Stop the pain and hurt. Tell me ... where is he?"
He gripped the small, bulbous heads of the pins he'd run through the hard teats of her nipples and gently twisted them, as though he were adjusting a sight on his Spencer. Lacerating bolts of fresh pain lanced through her breasts. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth ground together, lips pulled back in a grimace. She tried not to whimper, but failed.
"Tell me, Catherine" he murmured as he slowly pulled one of the pins out of her body. "Stop the pain. Where is Quantrill?"
Another pin came out and Catherine almost vomited.
"I ... I ... ah" her swollen, dry tongue was betraying her. Her spirit was valiant, but her body was only human.
"Yes, Catherine...you wish to tell me something? Tell me. Tell me where he is so the pain will stop." All the time he was slowly twisting and pulling on the pins, removing them systematically.
"I ... can't ..." she whispered.
Sampson’s eyes lost their softness. He cast the pins, now all removed leaving little rivulets of red behind, onto the floor. Then he stood, angrily pushing the chair back with such venom that it tumbled to the dusty ground with an angry thud. Anger painted his expression, curling his fingers into fists and tinting his face red. But his expression remained calm and resolute.
Turning to the small table he picked-up a scalpel. Catherine’s gasp was loud, and she shrank back as he approached her seated position.
Moving his hand towards her lovely face the Lieutenant dragged the dull side of its gleaming blade along her jawbone, tormenting her.
"Then it is time for me to get most ... unpleasant, Catherine. I believe I will start by cutting little pieces away from your ears. If you stand the loss of both of those, perhaps I will move to the tip of your pretty nose ..." he mused to himself as though he were selecting dinner from a menu. The General had told him not to disfigure the girl, but she was not to know that.
"It will sadden me to mutilate such a beautiful, young body like yours, Catherine, but ... well, you leave me no choice." He pinched one of her earlobes in his fingers, and brought the razor-edged blade to the skin ...
"Please..." she stopped him. He froze, the blade almost touching her flesh. "Can't we make a deal?"
"A deal? Of course, Catherine ... we can deal. You will tell me where Quantrill is and I will not hurt you anymore. You will live and keep all your parts, and we will get our man. That is the deal." He still held her earlobe in his fingers.
"I ... sort of had a different deal in mind," she ventured.
"I see. Is this the point where you offer me some valuable thing in exchange for your freedom? Money or other, more incidental information or even ..." he paused, grinning slightly, "... sexual favours? Oh Catherine, you are so very predictable."
"So,” she looked directly at him, “… you're not interested? I mean, you said you liked my breasts ... that … “… she paused before using the word, “… ‘fucking’ me was a pleasant idea ... wouldn't you like to do that?"
"Catherine, I own you. If I wanted you, I would simply take you ... orally like we did at the slave pens, anally or in that sweet cunt of yours, however it pleased me. You cannot offer me that which I already possess."
She had him talking. She had to keep it up. At least now he wasn't hurting her any more.
"But if you rape me, all you get is dry, cold, unwilling sex. What fun is that? Whereas if I cooperate, you get passion and wanton lust with a girl whose sole purpose is to please you. Doesn't that sound like a better deal?"
He put the scalpel down and released her ear. Instead, he picked up a large surgical clamp and began to toy with it while he stared at her. She hoped she was right as she imagined she could hear the wheels turning in his head.
Was he considering her offer, or merely where he could snap that angry looking pincer? Catherine began to fear she was losing him so she sweetened the pot.
"Don't you think I'm attractive?" she asked. "Is my skin not smooth enough, my hair not soft enough? You can see all of me ... don't I look like I could please you? The Major wants me ... but YOU can have me ... willingly. Or maybe I'm wrong ... perhaps you just don't like girls?"
She watched as a shade flickered across his face. One moment he was staring down at her and she was certain he was considering her offer; the next he was going cold again, and anger was stirring in him. His jaw clenched so hard that the muscles stood out under his chin.
‘Oh no’, she thought. ‘Now I've done it ...’
To Be Continued ...
Catherine's guts were shaking inside her. She knew every word he'd said was true. She was helpless before him. He was free to do whatever was required to get the information they wanted, and she knew from her recent experience that he would do just that.
She was sweating heavily, despite the cool dankness of this ramshackle room. New pain infiltrated every muscle and fibre of her body. This was compounded by fatigue from her torture at White Orchard which was still prevailing, along with a sore, swollen jaw from being struck; a sore body from the pins in her shoulders, thighs and nipples; a stomach in knots; the sting of the clothespins; and the burning from the slivers of shiny steel embedded into her flesh ... all of them weighed with a heavy burden on her body and her mind.
She was so tired and raw ...
"Where is Quantrill?" His eyes seemed filled with concern. The muscles of her jaw trembled as the words he sought were massing at the back of her throat, jostling for position to be spoken.
"I know you want to tell me, Catherine. Please ... it's the only way I can help you. Stop the pain and hurt. Tell me ... where is he?"
He gripped the small, bulbous heads of the pins he'd run through the hard teats of her nipples and gently twisted them, as though he were adjusting a sight on his Spencer. Lacerating bolts of fresh pain lanced through her breasts. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth ground together, lips pulled back in a grimace. She tried not to whimper, but failed.
"Tell me, Catherine" he murmured as he slowly pulled one of the pins out of her body. "Stop the pain. Where is Quantrill?"
Another pin came out and Catherine almost vomited.
"I ... I ... ah" her swollen, dry tongue was betraying her. Her spirit was valiant, but her body was only human.
"Yes, Catherine...you wish to tell me something? Tell me. Tell me where he is so the pain will stop." All the time he was slowly twisting and pulling on the pins, removing them systematically.
"I ... can't ..." she whispered.
Sampson’s eyes lost their softness. He cast the pins, now all removed leaving little rivulets of red behind, onto the floor. Then he stood, angrily pushing the chair back with such venom that it tumbled to the dusty ground with an angry thud. Anger painted his expression, curling his fingers into fists and tinting his face red. But his expression remained calm and resolute.
Turning to the small table he picked-up a scalpel. Catherine’s gasp was loud, and she shrank back as he approached her seated position.
Moving his hand towards her lovely face the Lieutenant dragged the dull side of its gleaming blade along her jawbone, tormenting her.
"Then it is time for me to get most ... unpleasant, Catherine. I believe I will start by cutting little pieces away from your ears. If you stand the loss of both of those, perhaps I will move to the tip of your pretty nose ..." he mused to himself as though he were selecting dinner from a menu. The General had told him not to disfigure the girl, but she was not to know that.
"It will sadden me to mutilate such a beautiful, young body like yours, Catherine, but ... well, you leave me no choice." He pinched one of her earlobes in his fingers, and brought the razor-edged blade to the skin ...
"Please..." she stopped him. He froze, the blade almost touching her flesh. "Can't we make a deal?"
"A deal? Of course, Catherine ... we can deal. You will tell me where Quantrill is and I will not hurt you anymore. You will live and keep all your parts, and we will get our man. That is the deal." He still held her earlobe in his fingers.
"I ... sort of had a different deal in mind," she ventured.
"I see. Is this the point where you offer me some valuable thing in exchange for your freedom? Money or other, more incidental information or even ..." he paused, grinning slightly, "... sexual favours? Oh Catherine, you are so very predictable."
"So,” she looked directly at him, “… you're not interested? I mean, you said you liked my breasts ... that … “… she paused before using the word, “… ‘fucking’ me was a pleasant idea ... wouldn't you like to do that?"
"Catherine, I own you. If I wanted you, I would simply take you ... orally like we did at the slave pens, anally or in that sweet cunt of yours, however it pleased me. You cannot offer me that which I already possess."
She had him talking. She had to keep it up. At least now he wasn't hurting her any more.
"But if you rape me, all you get is dry, cold, unwilling sex. What fun is that? Whereas if I cooperate, you get passion and wanton lust with a girl whose sole purpose is to please you. Doesn't that sound like a better deal?"
He put the scalpel down and released her ear. Instead, he picked up a large surgical clamp and began to toy with it while he stared at her. She hoped she was right as she imagined she could hear the wheels turning in his head.
Was he considering her offer, or merely where he could snap that angry looking pincer? Catherine began to fear she was losing him so she sweetened the pot.
"Don't you think I'm attractive?" she asked. "Is my skin not smooth enough, my hair not soft enough? You can see all of me ... don't I look like I could please you? The Major wants me ... but YOU can have me ... willingly. Or maybe I'm wrong ... perhaps you just don't like girls?"
She watched as a shade flickered across his face. One moment he was staring down at her and she was certain he was considering her offer; the next he was going cold again, and anger was stirring in him. His jaw clenched so hard that the muscles stood out under his chin.
‘Oh no’, she thought. ‘Now I've done it ...’
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Horrific and wonderful writing. He is taking her down to hell!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thank you my friend. I think in truth Catherine has very little sexual experience, save an occasional fumble, prior to her torments at White Orchard that is. However she 'knows the right words to say' and says them to Sampson out of desperation.
Big mistake there, Catherine. Never challenge a man’s manhood. Especially in your situation!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Never challenge a psychopath when he is in Sampson's situation!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 17 – The hills overlooking Sugar Valley just outside Calhoun, 2pm May 16th 1864
The regiments toiled in columns of four through the dust of its own passage, under a sky now empty of cloud and a terrain baked hard by the hot sun.
As William Quantrill looked down from the surrounding hills, he watched the men as they moved through dry, brittle grass and over grimy tracks. Nothing stirred in the trees. No wind, no birds but the watchful Quantrill was trying to assess where, in this column bound for battle, the Yankees would keep their prisoners.
He knew from Mary, Catherine’s House-Maid, that Sherman had taken her. He also knew that she had been severely beaten with the whip … whether she had revealed anything about his whereabouts or not was immaterial, because he would take his revenge come what may. But first he needed to find and save her.
The fact that this Union Army had mobilised was a huge inconvenience, adding further burden to his aims. If they had remained camped where they were above the Oostanuala, he could have stolen in, killed whoever was guarding her and taken her away to safety.
But now he had to find her in a column of moving soldiers … little did he know that she had not left with the men, and in fact remained behind at the camp.
He looked down once again at the moving lines. No one spoke as a wake of vultures circled overhead. All he could hear was the dull constant drone of shuffling feet, a clank of tin cups and the squeaking of dry leather.
Then he saw the prisoners pass. Chained together, hands tied … Catherine must be amongst them somewhere …
He needed to make his move.
Chapter 18 – Helpless! Early Afternoon May 16th 1864
Picking up the scalpel once more Sampson moved menacingly towards Catherine. Flinching as he approached her, the hapless girl wanted to beg and plead, but he was not to be reasoned with … she feared the worst.
When he used the scalpel to slit the ropes binding her wrists, and followed that with her ankles, Catherine was surprised to say the least.
“Stand up!” His command was concise and clear. Slowly she pulled her ravaged body up into a standing position, rubbing her wrists … wanting to wipe away the rivulets of blood from her skin but not daring to.
Catherine glanced to her side through the ruined gap where the window once was, and she could see silver birch trees and rowan bushes bursting up through. Thistles with bright purple flower heads, stray yellow rapeseed flown in from the fields nearby, those white flowers with the petals like trumpets that wind their way across the ground and up round anything they can get their feelers on to. Butterflies and dragonflies and the song of birds that have lived here for centuries.
The first punch was a shock.
Straight into the stomach as her body folded around it, the breath taken from her. Catherine staggered backwards, her bare feet scraping and scrabbling on the stony, dusty ground.
Perhaps it doesn’t make sense that she was surprised, because why else would they be out here, alone, with her naked, in this broken-down place. But as she attempted to drag the air back into her winded lungs, he punched her once again. A full-blooded stomach punch and once again she exhaled every last ounce of oxygen in her body. Catherine was surprised by the rapid violence of the assault upon her body, and she stumbled to her knees gasping for breath.
Eventually stabilising herself a little, she looked up.
“Wh … why … what are you doing?”
In response to her words the atrocious Lieutenant gripped her hair and dragged Catherine to her feet, before bringing the heel of his open hand crashing into the side of the girl’s head like a lump-hammer. She almost fell to the ground, a high-pitched ringing noise in her ears. She had no idea what to do in response to this appalling attack.
She lifted her arms up around her head, turning away, but, grabbing at her, Sampson pulled Catherine’s delicate wrists to her side as he slammed his fist into her taut abdomen.
Once more the breath was taken from her. Catherine crumpled to the ground, the Lieutenant standing over her.
Everything around seemed muffled to the girl, more so when Sampson stooped over her, and slapped each ear alternately, each blow knocking her head across to meet the next crack. In a pathetic gesture her arms reached up in a vain attempt to shield herself, but he just hit on through them.
When he stopped, there was pain. A hot roar of agony flooding through her. He was breathing heavily, watching her, concentrating. Then Catherine turned her head to one side and vomited. With a grimace Sampson stood away from her, his breath returning.
She knew this wasn’t right. Unbound, she should be trying to run away, or defending herself, or calling for help, but she did none of these things. Catherine simply lay still on the dirty ground, watching him, waiting for his next move.
“Where is Quantrill, you Reb cunt!”
There was no time allowed for answer before Sampson pulled his victim’s head up by the roots of her hair and slapped her face hard. With a loud, feral like groan she collapsed onto the dirty floor … although she breathed, that was her only sign of life as Catherine fell into a blessed darkness once more.
Chapter 19 – The hills overlooking Sugar Valley just outside Calhoun on the Afternoon of May 16th 1864
The Yankee private had been taking a piss when Quantrill slit his throat. The guerrilla’s stealth like approach had taken the urinating soldier completely by surprise, and now, with a Union kepi on his head, hiding his face, Quantrill slipped unnoticed into the column.
His uniform was random enough to not represent any specific side, and at this stage of the war soldiers in both armies were wearing whatever they could get. And so, as he moved stealthily into line carrying the dead man’s spencer repeating rifle, he did not look out of place.
Marching at the side of the prisoner-chain he was able to say, in a Southern drawl making his origins obvious, “Hey friend, y’know where the girl they’s keeping is? Is she chained up hereabouts with y’all?”
The bearded Confederate looked Quantrill’s way and then looked straight ahead once more.
“Can you help me friend. She’s my sweetheart?”
There was another pause, before the man, still keeping his gaze set directly forward, replied.
“I knows who y’are William Quantrill, and I knows who you seek. There’s a fella three behind me. Beard, hat, leather boots. He knows.”
Quantrill nodded, and whispered, “Much obliged to you friend.”
To Be Continued ...
The regiments toiled in columns of four through the dust of its own passage, under a sky now empty of cloud and a terrain baked hard by the hot sun.
As William Quantrill looked down from the surrounding hills, he watched the men as they moved through dry, brittle grass and over grimy tracks. Nothing stirred in the trees. No wind, no birds but the watchful Quantrill was trying to assess where, in this column bound for battle, the Yankees would keep their prisoners.
He knew from Mary, Catherine’s House-Maid, that Sherman had taken her. He also knew that she had been severely beaten with the whip … whether she had revealed anything about his whereabouts or not was immaterial, because he would take his revenge come what may. But first he needed to find and save her.
The fact that this Union Army had mobilised was a huge inconvenience, adding further burden to his aims. If they had remained camped where they were above the Oostanuala, he could have stolen in, killed whoever was guarding her and taken her away to safety.
But now he had to find her in a column of moving soldiers … little did he know that she had not left with the men, and in fact remained behind at the camp.
He looked down once again at the moving lines. No one spoke as a wake of vultures circled overhead. All he could hear was the dull constant drone of shuffling feet, a clank of tin cups and the squeaking of dry leather.
Then he saw the prisoners pass. Chained together, hands tied … Catherine must be amongst them somewhere …
He needed to make his move.
Chapter 18 – Helpless! Early Afternoon May 16th 1864
Picking up the scalpel once more Sampson moved menacingly towards Catherine. Flinching as he approached her, the hapless girl wanted to beg and plead, but he was not to be reasoned with … she feared the worst.
When he used the scalpel to slit the ropes binding her wrists, and followed that with her ankles, Catherine was surprised to say the least.
“Stand up!” His command was concise and clear. Slowly she pulled her ravaged body up into a standing position, rubbing her wrists … wanting to wipe away the rivulets of blood from her skin but not daring to.
Catherine glanced to her side through the ruined gap where the window once was, and she could see silver birch trees and rowan bushes bursting up through. Thistles with bright purple flower heads, stray yellow rapeseed flown in from the fields nearby, those white flowers with the petals like trumpets that wind their way across the ground and up round anything they can get their feelers on to. Butterflies and dragonflies and the song of birds that have lived here for centuries.
The first punch was a shock.
Straight into the stomach as her body folded around it, the breath taken from her. Catherine staggered backwards, her bare feet scraping and scrabbling on the stony, dusty ground.
Perhaps it doesn’t make sense that she was surprised, because why else would they be out here, alone, with her naked, in this broken-down place. But as she attempted to drag the air back into her winded lungs, he punched her once again. A full-blooded stomach punch and once again she exhaled every last ounce of oxygen in her body. Catherine was surprised by the rapid violence of the assault upon her body, and she stumbled to her knees gasping for breath.
Eventually stabilising herself a little, she looked up.
“Wh … why … what are you doing?”
In response to her words the atrocious Lieutenant gripped her hair and dragged Catherine to her feet, before bringing the heel of his open hand crashing into the side of the girl’s head like a lump-hammer. She almost fell to the ground, a high-pitched ringing noise in her ears. She had no idea what to do in response to this appalling attack.
She lifted her arms up around her head, turning away, but, grabbing at her, Sampson pulled Catherine’s delicate wrists to her side as he slammed his fist into her taut abdomen.
Once more the breath was taken from her. Catherine crumpled to the ground, the Lieutenant standing over her.
Everything around seemed muffled to the girl, more so when Sampson stooped over her, and slapped each ear alternately, each blow knocking her head across to meet the next crack. In a pathetic gesture her arms reached up in a vain attempt to shield herself, but he just hit on through them.
When he stopped, there was pain. A hot roar of agony flooding through her. He was breathing heavily, watching her, concentrating. Then Catherine turned her head to one side and vomited. With a grimace Sampson stood away from her, his breath returning.
She knew this wasn’t right. Unbound, she should be trying to run away, or defending herself, or calling for help, but she did none of these things. Catherine simply lay still on the dirty ground, watching him, waiting for his next move.
“Where is Quantrill, you Reb cunt!”
There was no time allowed for answer before Sampson pulled his victim’s head up by the roots of her hair and slapped her face hard. With a loud, feral like groan she collapsed onto the dirty floor … although she breathed, that was her only sign of life as Catherine fell into a blessed darkness once more.
Chapter 19 – The hills overlooking Sugar Valley just outside Calhoun on the Afternoon of May 16th 1864
The Yankee private had been taking a piss when Quantrill slit his throat. The guerrilla’s stealth like approach had taken the urinating soldier completely by surprise, and now, with a Union kepi on his head, hiding his face, Quantrill slipped unnoticed into the column.
His uniform was random enough to not represent any specific side, and at this stage of the war soldiers in both armies were wearing whatever they could get. And so, as he moved stealthily into line carrying the dead man’s spencer repeating rifle, he did not look out of place.
Marching at the side of the prisoner-chain he was able to say, in a Southern drawl making his origins obvious, “Hey friend, y’know where the girl they’s keeping is? Is she chained up hereabouts with y’all?”
The bearded Confederate looked Quantrill’s way and then looked straight ahead once more.
“Can you help me friend. She’s my sweetheart?”
There was another pause, before the man, still keeping his gaze set directly forward, replied.
“I knows who y’are William Quantrill, and I knows who you seek. There’s a fella three behind me. Beard, hat, leather boots. He knows.”
Quantrill nodded, and whispered, “Much obliged to you friend.”
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thank you my friend. Definitely a character that vehemently divided opinion!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Rescue might be coming. But will anything be left to save? Great two chapters
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Well, 'hero'!? Meanwhile one understands why the Unions are so determined to catch him, at any cost.
Another one of Fossy’s descriptive and calming patented interludes before the violence starts. Almost succeeds in lulling Catherine and the reader into a state of complacency ... but only momentarily.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 20 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, the Evening of May 16th 1864
Catherine slowly opened her eyes as the burgeoning pain dragged her back to life. It was dim and cool where she was and the surrounding dampness infiltrated her nostrils. She strained her eyes in an attempt to adjust to the limited light. Her head was hurting and she could feel a welt on the back of her head near to her neck that seemed to throb more than the rest of her.
In her hazy state Catherine tried to reach her hand up to sooth her pounding temple but couldn’t. Her wrists were manacled together in front of her body, and she saw from her seated position that the same chain holding her wrists was also locked onto a heavy oak table.
“Ohhhhhhh,” the groan was from the girl as the pain from the beating she had taken from Sampson reminded her that it was still very much there.
By now her eyes had become adjusted to what was clearly a military tent, but larger than the one she had been hospitalised in. She was able to make out shapes that slowly morphed into .... people. Men. Several of them. Her heart missed a beat. She was still naked and …
Knowing she couldn't move and that attempting to would only cause her even more discomfort, she focused her mind on assessing her situation.
“So, sweet lady, you have woken.” The rhetoric came from Lieutenant Sampson, of course it did, only now she was not alone with him …
“Your mouth needs to learn discipline Catherine, as do you. I told you I would correct you for lying to us.”
What Catherine didn’t know was that a rider from Kilpatrick’s Horse-mounted units had ridden in whilst she was unconscious and confirmed a sighting of Quantrill’s Raiders heading North West into Tennessee and presumably than onwards to Kentucky.
So now Sampson, Sherman et al had the information they required. Any torment delivered to the hapless girl from here-on-in would be simply gratuitous.
Slowly the subdued girl raised her head. How easily he frightened her.
“I … I did not lie, I …” her sentence was cut short by another crashing blow as Sampson slapped her face hard. The blow knocked her sideways causing her to crumple flat to the ground. The Lieutenant knelt by her side. Gripping her hair in his fist he twisted Catherine’s head to face him, and he grinned at the blood streaks from her lips which had dried over her chin.
“We have found him, William Quantrill, and his gang of thugs. They will be dealt with, and you know Catherine, they were not heading to North Carolina!”
She could tell from the menace in his voice that he was telling the truth and her last vestiges of hope disappeared. She would not be rescued, and William would have the might of Uncle Billy’s ruthless army to face. She might never see him again.
“So, now we have been instructed to take you over to Gratiot Prison in St Louis … which we will do tomorrow, just as soon as soon as we have all had ourselves a little party in this here tent …”
They would rape her. It was all that was left. Her body was only good for one thing now anyway. The singular comfort Catherine could take was in the hope that she had already held out long enough for William to have a chance of survival …
Chapter 21 – The Detached Prisoner Chain, the Evening of May 16th 1864
The man to whom Quantrill had been referred was indeed further back in the chain, but he was also in the centre. There was no way he could be spoken with until they came to rest, and Sherman’s armies were not renowned for their resting.
The columns had continued marching … and marching, and so William Quantrill had marched along with them, for several more hours, and as every minute ticked by he thought about Catherine.
When he pictured her beautiful face, her long, lustrous dark hair, his heart missed a beat. Thoughts of her softened him, but imagining what these fuckin’ Yankees had done to her fuelled his anger!
Eventually a halt was called. Word came around that the prisoners were to be detached from the main column at this point and redirected into Missouri heading for the main prison there. For a moment Quantrill was infused with the possibility of getting inside Gratiot, for that was bound to be the prison to which they were heading, armed and disguised as a Union soldier … the damage he could then inflict would be vast …
But no, no … this was about Catherine. Do not get distracted, he admonished himself.
Sidling up to the man he needed to see, Quantrill knelt down by his side.
“I am led to believe that you know where the girl is. The one from White Orchard?”
The rough looking man, with his long, straggled hair and unkempt beard slowly turned his head, a smile breaking out on his dirty face.
“I have seen you around there …”
Quantrill remained impassive, offering no acknowledgement.
“You are him, you are William Quantrill. You must free me Sir. Get me out of these shackles.”
Quantrill remained unresponsive, wary of this untrustworthy looking individual.
“If you get me free, I will tell you what I know.”
After a moment’s pause the Guerrilla leader said, “You claim to know the information I seek? Who might you be Sir?”
The man smiled grin that highlighted his missing tooth. “My name is Thomas Shepherd, and I am the overseer from White Orchard. I have been with that family for many years, and my loyalty to Miss McCown cannot be brought into question. Free me from these shackles and I will take you to where they are holding her.”
To Be Continued ...
Footnote: Managed by the Union Army the Gratiot Military Prison housed Confederate Prisoners of War, sympathizers, guerrillas, spies, and federal soldiers accused of crimes. It is well known for being the site of a daring breakout in the last days of the American Civil War. The prison building was previously a medical school named McDowell's College, which was confiscated by the Army and converted to a prison in December 1861. Its official capacity was 1,200 but at times it had 2,000 prisoners. It was used mostly as a transfer point for prisoners going to other U.S. military prisons. It was located at the corner of Gratiot and 8th Streets in St. Louis, and demolished in 1878. The location is now the site of the Nestlé Purina PetCare corporate headquarters.
Catherine slowly opened her eyes as the burgeoning pain dragged her back to life. It was dim and cool where she was and the surrounding dampness infiltrated her nostrils. She strained her eyes in an attempt to adjust to the limited light. Her head was hurting and she could feel a welt on the back of her head near to her neck that seemed to throb more than the rest of her.
In her hazy state Catherine tried to reach her hand up to sooth her pounding temple but couldn’t. Her wrists were manacled together in front of her body, and she saw from her seated position that the same chain holding her wrists was also locked onto a heavy oak table.
“Ohhhhhhh,” the groan was from the girl as the pain from the beating she had taken from Sampson reminded her that it was still very much there.
By now her eyes had become adjusted to what was clearly a military tent, but larger than the one she had been hospitalised in. She was able to make out shapes that slowly morphed into .... people. Men. Several of them. Her heart missed a beat. She was still naked and …
Knowing she couldn't move and that attempting to would only cause her even more discomfort, she focused her mind on assessing her situation.
“So, sweet lady, you have woken.” The rhetoric came from Lieutenant Sampson, of course it did, only now she was not alone with him …
“Your mouth needs to learn discipline Catherine, as do you. I told you I would correct you for lying to us.”
What Catherine didn’t know was that a rider from Kilpatrick’s Horse-mounted units had ridden in whilst she was unconscious and confirmed a sighting of Quantrill’s Raiders heading North West into Tennessee and presumably than onwards to Kentucky.
So now Sampson, Sherman et al had the information they required. Any torment delivered to the hapless girl from here-on-in would be simply gratuitous.
Slowly the subdued girl raised her head. How easily he frightened her.
“I … I did not lie, I …” her sentence was cut short by another crashing blow as Sampson slapped her face hard. The blow knocked her sideways causing her to crumple flat to the ground. The Lieutenant knelt by her side. Gripping her hair in his fist he twisted Catherine’s head to face him, and he grinned at the blood streaks from her lips which had dried over her chin.
“We have found him, William Quantrill, and his gang of thugs. They will be dealt with, and you know Catherine, they were not heading to North Carolina!”
She could tell from the menace in his voice that he was telling the truth and her last vestiges of hope disappeared. She would not be rescued, and William would have the might of Uncle Billy’s ruthless army to face. She might never see him again.
“So, now we have been instructed to take you over to Gratiot Prison in St Louis … which we will do tomorrow, just as soon as soon as we have all had ourselves a little party in this here tent …”
They would rape her. It was all that was left. Her body was only good for one thing now anyway. The singular comfort Catherine could take was in the hope that she had already held out long enough for William to have a chance of survival …
Chapter 21 – The Detached Prisoner Chain, the Evening of May 16th 1864
The man to whom Quantrill had been referred was indeed further back in the chain, but he was also in the centre. There was no way he could be spoken with until they came to rest, and Sherman’s armies were not renowned for their resting.
The columns had continued marching … and marching, and so William Quantrill had marched along with them, for several more hours, and as every minute ticked by he thought about Catherine.
When he pictured her beautiful face, her long, lustrous dark hair, his heart missed a beat. Thoughts of her softened him, but imagining what these fuckin’ Yankees had done to her fuelled his anger!
Eventually a halt was called. Word came around that the prisoners were to be detached from the main column at this point and redirected into Missouri heading for the main prison there. For a moment Quantrill was infused with the possibility of getting inside Gratiot, for that was bound to be the prison to which they were heading, armed and disguised as a Union soldier … the damage he could then inflict would be vast …
But no, no … this was about Catherine. Do not get distracted, he admonished himself.
Sidling up to the man he needed to see, Quantrill knelt down by his side.
“I am led to believe that you know where the girl is. The one from White Orchard?”
The rough looking man, with his long, straggled hair and unkempt beard slowly turned his head, a smile breaking out on his dirty face.
“I have seen you around there …”
Quantrill remained impassive, offering no acknowledgement.
“You are him, you are William Quantrill. You must free me Sir. Get me out of these shackles.”
Quantrill remained unresponsive, wary of this untrustworthy looking individual.
“If you get me free, I will tell you what I know.”
After a moment’s pause the Guerrilla leader said, “You claim to know the information I seek? Who might you be Sir?”
The man smiled grin that highlighted his missing tooth. “My name is Thomas Shepherd, and I am the overseer from White Orchard. I have been with that family for many years, and my loyalty to Miss McCown cannot be brought into question. Free me from these shackles and I will take you to where they are holding her.”
To Be Continued ...
Footnote: Managed by the Union Army the Gratiot Military Prison housed Confederate Prisoners of War, sympathizers, guerrillas, spies, and federal soldiers accused of crimes. It is well known for being the site of a daring breakout in the last days of the American Civil War. The prison building was previously a medical school named McDowell's College, which was confiscated by the Army and converted to a prison in December 1861. Its official capacity was 1,200 but at times it had 2,000 prisoners. It was used mostly as a transfer point for prisoners going to other U.S. military prisons. It was located at the corner of Gratiot and 8th Streets in St. Louis, and demolished in 1878. The location is now the site of the Nestlé Purina PetCare corporate headquarters.
Attachments
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Gratuitous torment. Isn't that the best kind?
See. Sampson and the Yankees are good guys after all. A going a-away party for Cat! Will there be cake and ice cream? Games? Maybe a pinata to beat?
Now everything will be alright for Cat. The old reliable family retainer, pastor, and all-around good guy, Thomas Shepherd is back on the case.
Many people, many threads. You are weaving a gripping tale of suspense, @Fossy !