way before fifteen men!
And such men! Oh! It was horrible! I knew that they were all gloating over my nakedness, and I seemed actually to feel their lascivious glances on my flesh. I was hot with shame, yet I shivered as with cold.
But worse was yet to come. Stevens put his hand on my bottom, stroking it all over and squeezing the flesh with his fingers, making me thrill and quiver with disgust. In fact, my feelings of shame and horror at the moment were far greater than they had been when Randolph assaulted me.
Ah! said Stevens, chuckling and continuing to feel me with his rough hand, this gal has got something like a bottom. My! Ain’t it jest plump and firm and broad. There’s plenty of room here for the switch, and her skin is as soft and smooth as velvet. You can see how white it is.
I’ve never before had my hand on such a scrumptious bottom. It’s worth feeling, and no mistake,
I writhed and moaned. He went on: I should like all of you to have a feel of it, but as leader of this yer party, I can’t allow you to touch the gal for fear some of you might want to do more than feel her, and that would lead to difficulties among us. Now, as to the punishment of the gal. I propose to give her a dozen strokes, but not to draw blood. Remember, she’s only an assistant in the business.
The men were divided in opinion. Some said that I ought to be whipped just the same as the missis; but the majority was in favor of my receiving only twelve strokes. And so it was settled. Even in my fear and shame, I felt a wave of relief at hearing that I was not going to be whipped so severely as Miss Dean had been.
One of the men called out: Mind you, lay on the dozen right smart, Jake. Make the young bitch wriggle her bottom.
You bet I’ll lay them on smart, and you’ll see how she’ll move. I know how to handle a hick’ry switch, and I’ll rule a dozen lines across her bottom that’ll make it look like the American flag, striped red and white. And when I’ve done with her I guess she’ll be pretty sore behind, but you’ll see that I won’t draw a drop of blood. Yes, gentlemen, I tell you again that I know how to whip. I was an overseer in Georgia for five years.
All the time that Stevens was holding forth I lay shame-stricken at my nakedness and shivering in awful suspense, the flesh of my bottom creeping and the scalding tears trickling down my red cheeks. Finally he raised the switch and flourished it over me, while I held my breath and contracted the muscles of my bottom in dread of the coming stroke.
It fell with a loud swishing noise. Oh! It was awful! The pain was even worse than I had anticipated. It took my breath away for a moment and made me gasp. Then I uttered a loud shriek, writhing and twisting my loins in agony.
Stevens went on whipping me very slowly, so that I felt the full sting of each stroke before the next one fell. Every stroke felt as if a red-hot iron was being drawn across my bottom. I winced and squirmed each time the horrid switch fell sharply on my quivering flesh. I shrieked and screamed and I swung my hips from side to side, arching my loins at one moment and then flattening myself down on the ladder, while, between my shrieks, I begged and prayed the man to stop whipping me.
I had forgotten all about my nakedness now. The only sensation I had at the moment was one of intense pain. When the twelve strokes had been inflicted, I was in a half-fainting state.
I was left lying on the ladder with upturned petticoats while the men all gathered round me and looked at me. Because I was a strong healthy girl, the faintness soon passed off, as also did the first intense smart of the whipping. But my whole bottom was sore, and the weals throbbed painfully.
The feeling of shame again came over me as I began to notice the way the men were looking at my naked body, and I tearfully begged them to pull down my clothes. No one did so, however, and Stevens, pointing to me said: There boys, look at her bottom. You see how regularly the white skin is striped with long red weals? But there is not a drop of blood.
That’s what I call a prettily-whipped bottom. But the gal ain’t got a bit of grit in her. Any nigger wench would have taken double the number of strokes without making half the noise.
Now the other woman is a plucky one, she took her whippin’ well.
He then pulled up my drawers and tied the strings round my waist, saying with a laugh: This is the first time I’ve ever fixed up a woman’s trousers, and it’s the first time I’ve ever whipped women who wore trousers.
Pulling down my clothes, he now loosened me from the ladder and led me, crying, sore and miserable, back to the veranda where Miss Dean was still lying on her side upon the couch with her hands over her face. He then went off to the other men, a few of whom I saw were engaged in work of some sort near the fence.
But I was so thankful at having got out of their hands and sight that I did not particularly notice what they were doing. I thought they would soon go away and that all our troubles were over. I had quite forgotten that Stevens had said we would have to ride a rail for two hours after being whipped.
Miss Dean looked mournfully at me. Her sweet face was very pale and her soft eyes were full of tears but the tears were not for herself, they were for me. She beckoned to me, and, when I went to her, she folded me in her arms, pressing me to her bosom.
Oh! My poor, poor girl, she murmured in tones full of compassion. How I have felt for you!
Your shrieks pierced my heart. Oh! The cruel, cruel man, to whip you so severely! (She seemed to have quite forgotten the shame and pain of her own whipping in her pity for me.) He did not whip me nearly so severely as he did you, I said. He gave me only a dozen strokes and no blood has come. But I could not help screaming. I am not so brave as you are. Then we kissed and cried and sympathized with each other, comparing notes as to our feelings while we had been on the ladder exposed to the eyes of the men.
After a moment or two I put my hand under my petticoats and touched my smarting bottom, feeling the weals which had been raised on the flesh by the switch. They were exquisitely tender and I could hardly bear to touch them.
Oh! Dear me! I wailed, How dreadfully sore I am. But you must be much sorer.
I certainly am very sore, said Miss Dean, wiping her eyes. I can neither sit down nor lie on my back. My bottom is still bleeding, I think, and my pantalettes are sticking to my flesh.
But, oh, oh! The awful exposure, and the shameful touch of the man’s hand was worse than the whipping! she exclaimed, wringing her hands while the tears again began to trickle down her cheeks.
I pressed her hand in sympathy, and she went on: Our sufferings are not over yet, Dorothy.
Don’t you remember that the man said we would have to ride a rail for two hours?
I now did call to mind what Stevens had said about our riding a rail, but I was not much frightened at having to do so. Of course, I knew that it would be very uncomfortable-if not downright painful-to have to sit with a sore and smarting bottom on a rail for two hours. But that was all I thought about the matter at the moment. Ah! I little knew what a terrible torture riding a rail would prove to be! I don’t know whether Miss Dean had any notion of what it actually was, but anyway she did not say a word more on the subject, and we stood, both of us being too sore to sit down in comfort, with our arms round each other, weeping silently and waiting miserably for the men to come for us.
We had not long to wait. In a couple of minutes, four of the band came and, taking us by the arms, led us out of the veranda to the fence beside which the other men were standing, some of them holding pieces of rope in their hands. The fence was about five feet high and of the ordinary pattern, made of split rails, the upper edge of each rail being wedge-shaped and sharp.
Stevens, with a cruel smile on his face, said: Now you are going to receive the rest of your punishment, a two-hour ride on the rail. I guess your bottoms must be very hot jest now, but they’ll have plenty of time to cool while you are having your ride. And to prevent you from falling off your horses, well tie you on them. Get them ready, boys.
I thought that we merely would be tied in a sitting posture on the fence with our clothes down. But I was soon undeceived! We were each seized by two men who held our arms while a third man raised our petticoats and pulled our drawers entirely off our legs. Then our skirts were held high above our waists so that the whole lower parts of our persons, both behind and before, were exposed to the lustful eyes of the horrid men. Since they had already seen our bottoms, they all crowded in front of us, gloating over the secret spots of our respective bodies, while we, crimson with shame greater than ever, struggled and wept and entreated the wretches to cover our nakedness. But they only laughed, and two or three of them put their hands on the spots. The touch of their fingers making us start and shrink with a horrible feeling of disgust.
Stevens stopped them by saying: No, no, boys, you must not touch the prisoners, but you may look at them as much as you like.
