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Archive name: gg.txt (M+/F+, historical; war)
Authors name: David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)
Story title : The Gunpowder Gals

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2000.  Please
do not remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.   You "may" post freely to non-commercial
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"THE GUNPOWDER GALS"
(M+/F+: historical; war)

By

David Shaw
<david@f-e-mail.com>


I have decided to write down my account of what 
happened in that fateful year of 1864 and to deposit it 
in a sealed envelope with our family's lawyers. 
Tomorrow is the first day of the twentieth century and 
I will leave instructions with the papers that they may 
not be unsealed until another hundred years has passed. 
My descendents may then finally learn the strange truth 
about how they came to be.

There is certainly much shame in the account but 
perhaps matters which seem important now will not seem 
so important then. Perhaps it may even be that American 
men will regard American women as truly free and equal 
in all human activities, even the procreative ones. 
Alas though, I feel that many times a hundred years 
must pass before our society can change to such an 
extent. 

Yet although I cannot hope to know what the future 
holds I can at least be sure that the great waters of 
the Missouri river will still be flowing. The river was 
my constant companion for many years when I grew up in 
Kansas, and again when I crossed the border into 
Missouri state to become a teacher in the village of 
Stony Creek. 

Lacking the gift of prophecy, all I can do is to pray 
on bended knees that, whatever fate may have befallen 
my descendents, in the year 2000 the glorious flag of 
our God given Union will still flutter bravely above 
every settlement along the banks of the mighty 
Missouri. For I remember all too well when for a day 
and a night the Stars and Stripes proudly flying above 
Stony Creek were ursurped by the iniquitous banner of 
the Southern Rebels. 

It was what I did during those few strange hours that I 
feel I must explain, lest dark rumors still linger 
about my memory. I - and the other village women - did 
what we did because that was the way the fortunes of 
war fell out for us. In 1861 the mad dogs of the 
Confederacy dared to fire on Fort Sumter and in time 
their rabid bites sent the whole country as mad as 
themselves. Can we be blamed for acting out an insanity 
when we found ourselves trapped in an insane situation?

Let those who wish to sit in judgement read my story 
first, and then ask themselves what they would have 
done under the same circumstances.
-------------------------------------------------------
---------------------

The chalk scratched on the blackboard as Miss Shilling 
carefully wrote the date on it, 'October 17th, 1864'. 
Then, in the top center of the board she wrote 
'TRIGONOMETRY'. Finally, underneath the word, she drew 
the outline of a tree. When she turned around her class 
was still waiting dutifully, neither of the boys or 
girls daring to indulge in any horseplay even when her 
back was turned.

Amanda Shilling was an imposing figure, very tall for a 
female, with a full figure which caused many an 
admiring male eye to linger on the generous cut of her 
bodice and the trim dimensions of her hips. In fact it 
was widely agreed amongst the men of Clayton County 
that School Ma'am Shilling was just about the 
beatingest thing to come down the river in a coon's 
age. Selectman Jenkins had spoken for all of his gender 
at the regular Saturday night cock fight a week after 
her arrival: "She's a great young gal, that one. Shaped 
like a real woman and as handsome as Cleopatra, you 
bet. Yes, sirree, she's a huckleberry above most 
peoples' persimmons. Gonna be a real lucky man that she 
sets her cap at."

In the weeks since her arrival Amanda had not picked 
out any of her many male admirers for any special signs 
of favor but the general liking for her in the village 
had continued to increase. Respectable but not high-
faluting, a strong disciplinarian but a well gifted 
teacher, never one to flaunt her good looks but happy 
to be sociable with all. In only one way had she upset 
some of the population of Stony Creek, and that was in 
her fervent support of the Northern cause. Yet she 
certainly wasn't alone in that regard because both the 
secessionist and abolitionist states had their ardent 
supporters along the banks of the Missouri. Like so 
many other settlements in the area Stony Creek was 
split almost fifty-fifty between Jayhawks and 
Separatists.

"Now, children, look at the word on the board. 
Trigonometry: it sounds strange but all it's saying is 
that we're going to study triangles. You are probably 
wondering what could be interesting about triangles but 
they can be very useful in solving problems. For 
example, you've seen the tree I've drawn on the board. 
Now suppose it was a very tall tree and you wanted to 
measure how high it was without having to climb it. Can 
anybody tell me how you could do that?"

Silence from the rows of well scrubbed faces.

"Very well." Amanda picked up a ruler. "Imagine that 
the sun is shining and the tree is casting a shadow. I 
draw one line straight down the side of the tree and 
another straight line across from it to show how long 
the shadow is. When we measure the shadow of the tree 
we find it is sixty feet long. But, of course, shadows 
get shorter and longer depending on where the sun is in 
the sky, so how can that help us?"

Again there was silence in the class room but a long 
drawn out howl from a riverboat's siren called out to 
the village from the river. Mildly surprised, Amanda 
walked across to the window and looked out at the steam 
packet churning up the muddy water near the landing 
with its paddle wheels. Certainly the Henrietta P. 
Johnson, but arriving two days earlier than on its 
normal schedule, with several blue shirted soldiers 
visible on the lower deck and with a large red flag 
flying above the Texas deck.

"Samuel Trent".

A chair scraped behind one of the desks as a boy stood 
up. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Why is the Henrietta coming in today, Samuel?"

"Been chartered by the bluebellies - sorry, Ma'am, I 
mean the army. The Union army that is." Samuel was 
proud of his special source of knowledge as the 
wharfinger's son, as much as he was obviously 
influenced by his father's Southern sympathies.

"She's carrying supplies to General Blunt's men at 
Lexington?"

"Supposed to be, Ma'm, but the Rebs have gotten 
clustered up around Lexington like mountain men around 
a keg of whiskey. Ain't no way the captain of the 
Henrietta is going downriver to Lexington with that 
powder aboard her."

"Powder?" Amanda looked around at her pupil, rising 
fourteen and standing so tall he was almost eye to eye 
with her. "You mean gunpowder?"

Samuel was shyly smiling at this reversal of their 
usual roles and revelling in the pleasure of being a 
source of information to his teacher.

"Why yes, Ma'm, twenty tons of it according to the bill 
of lading we was sent. If it's on board she'll be 
flying a red danger flag."

"Yes, there is a red flag. There are some soldiers on 
board as well."

Samuel nodded knowingly: "That'll be the army fire 
guard, Ma'am. To make sure nobody smokes anywhere near 
those powder kegs. And I daresay my Pa will be 
searching every wharf rat before he lets any of them 
start work unloading the Henrietta. He'll have his 
cudgel in his hand and he's said he'll break the skull 
of any man found carrying a pipe, 'baccy or loco-focos 
onto the landing stage."

"Really? The gunpowder is that dangerous?"

Samuel Trent came as close to openly laughing in the 
classroom as he'd ever done since Miss Shilling had 
arrived. "Why, Ma'am, one spark in the wrong place and 
the Henrietta would get blown so high the pieces could 
still be falling come Christmas. Leastways, that's what 
my Pa says." 

"Thank you, Samuel, you can sit down again. Now, we 
were talking about how to find the height of the tree. 
As I said, just measuring the shadow tells us nothing. 
So what we might do is to take a stick and carefully 
cut off three feet of it. Then we put it in the ground, 
burying it for a depth of one foot. If the stick is 
three feet long and one foot is in the ground, how much 
would be left above the ground? Anybody?"

There were plenty of eager hands held aloft: "Teddy 
Smith?"

"Two feet, Ma'am."

"Quite right. Now suppose we measured the shadow the 
stick was casting and it was four feet long. Can 
anybody tell me what the ratio would be between the 
length of the shadow and the length of the stick? Yes, 
Elizabeth?"

"The shadow is twice as long, Ma'am."

"Exactly. So if we measure the tree's shadow at that 
very same moment and it's sixty feet long, then how 
tall must the tree be?"

"Thirty feet, Ma'm."

Elizabeth Manders was almost always the first to answer 
any difficult question. A pity that she was only a girl 
from a poor family with no hope of ever being anything 
more than a village school teacher. Which was precisely 
Amanda Shilling's own predestinated fate until she 
chose to abandon even that modest degree of ambition by 
agreeing to love, honor and obey some byre smelling, 
muddy booted farmer for the rest of her life.

"Quite right. Now suppose there was a church steeple 
nearby and you knew that the top of the steeple was 
forty feet above the ground. How long a shadow would it 
be . . ."

Her lesson was abruptly interrupted by a pounding of 
hooves, ullulating screams, the sound of shots being 
fired nearby. The school marm looked out at the window 
again, but this time no further than the muddy street 
beside the school horse. A dozen horses were galloping 
down it in a solid mass, their riders whooping and 
firing carbines and pistols into the air and the few 
citizens of Stony Creek who were abroad scurrying to 
get clear of the onrushing charge. Amanda thought at 
first that she was witnessing an attempt to raid the 
township's bank, until she realised the men were 
wearing uniforms, some of the jackets a dull grey, 
others dyed buttercup brown. All of the riders also had 
on kepi styled flat hats.

"Lord, save us, they're Johnny Rebs!" 

Amanda was astonished. Certainly, she'd seen plenty of 
Confederate troops before - in the early days of the 
Rebellion the entire Missouri state militia had 
enlisted in the Southern cause. But that had been long 
ago, in the heady days of Rebel pride and confidence. 
Now General Grant was hammering the Secessionists' 
homeland into ruins and the Rebs should have had enough 
to worry about without making a futile attempt to 
recapture lost territory along the Missouri. In any 
case General Sterling's Confederate troops were 
supposed to be at Lexington, just as Samuel Trent had 
said, and Lexington was at least a day's ride away. 
This must be a small raiding party of cavalry, the kind 
of lawless insurgents whom had made the border areas of 
Kansas and Missouri such places of misery even before 
the war had begun.

"Damn their eyes!"

Amanda checked herself guilty as she realised her 
muttered oath might have been heard by the tender ears 
of the children. What sort of feather head was she, to 
swear a vile curse in her own classroom just because of 
a few marauding soldiers?

"Class, pay attention. It seems that some soldiers have 
ridden into village and it maybe that I shall choose to 
send you home early. But I think it better that you 
stay here for the time being, until things settle down. 
Yes, Samuel?"

"Are they Rebs, please, Ma'm?"

"I do believe so, Samuel."

The boy was clearly pleased. "Ma'm, I just bet they saw 
the danger flag flying on the Henrietta and came down 
to grab her powder for their own army."

"Perhaps." 

Amanda felt her legs trembling. Out of the mouths of 
babes and sucklings came wisdom. It might well be that 
it was the sight of the red flagged side-wheeler 
arriving which had bought the greyback cavalry sweeping 
down to the village and towards the landing stage. 
Enemy soldiers, and twenty tons of gunpowder in their 
hands! But there was nothing to be done about it for 
the time being and the children would be better off 
kept occupied in the school house until calm was 
restored. Which shouldn't take long, as soon as the 
Confederates discovered that the town was defenseless

"Class, please copy out the drawing on the blackboard."

The children picked up their own chalks and began 
drawing on their slates. Amanda walked up the aisle 
between the desks, lips pursed and teeth gritted at the 
chorus of squeaky, scratchy sounds which always annoyed 
her so much. It would be a wonderful thing to teach in 
a school which could afford paper and pens for every 
lesson.

Then the irritation of the slates ceased because of the 
the sound of a horse neighing in the street and a man's 
rough voice calling out: "Hey, in the school house 
there, let's see your hides."

A glance through the nearest window showed three 
cavalry soldiers outside, all looking at the 
schoolhouse, carbines casually resting on their saddles 
and pointed at the building. Fury brewed up inside 
Amanda in a red hot stream at the thought of her class 
being threatened by the slave owning ruffians. A 
desperate desire to show her contempt for them and 
their ragamuffin Rebel uniforms made her careless of 
the menacing firearms. With a firm resolve she swept 
back quickly down the room, her long skirts rustling 
against the children's desks. Behind her own desk was 
the patriotic emblem of her country, a large United 
States flag. She unhooked it, draped it around her, 
then threw open the door and stepped out onto the 
verandah.

Amanda had hoped to annoy the Southerners with her 
impulsive action in wearing the stars and stripes but 
instead of anger the response was laughter. Especially 
galling as none of the Rebel soldiers seemed much older 
than the oldest children in her classroom. Tired, 
dirty, their horses splashed to the hocks with mud, but 
young and in a cheerful mood. One of them, hardly 
twenty but wearing Sergeant's chevrons, laughed openly 
at the sight of the flag, his eyes fastening especially 
on Amanda's bosom.

"Best be careful there, Miss. We're just the boys to 
storm any breastworks that have got a Federal flag 
flying over them." 

His companions greeted his insolence with delight, 
slapping their legs and laughing as if they were 
watching a circus performance.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, you filthy traitor."

Again, the Sergeant appeared delighted at her response 
instead of becoming angry. He was something around 
medium height, blue eyes set widely apart underneath 
the bill of his kepi, a shaven and strong jawline, his 
face deeply tanned by the weather, handling the reins 
one handed as if he'd been born on a horse's back.

"I'd have to admit we're not in our Sunday best, Ma'am, 
but nobody puts on their good clothes when they're out 
hog killing. And back home, when we get guests calling 
round, we kinda take to being polite to them, 'stead of 
calling them all kinds of filthy names."

"Then I suggest you go back home immediately, wherever 
your log cabin is, instead of coming where you're not 
wanted and terrifying decent people."

"Well, Ma'm, first off, if living in a log cabin is a 
sin, I guess you'll have to point out to me where your 
mansion is, 'cause this whole village seems to me to be 
pretty much a collection of wooden shacks floating on 
mud." 

Even Amanda in the fullness of her wrath couldn't 
gainsay him on that point; Stony Creek was not a 
picturesque sight, not even by Missouri standards.

"Secondly, Ma'am, I'd be real delighted to go back home 
if'n only old longshanks Lincoln would promise to leave 
me in peace once I was back there. And thirdly, I guess 
you don't seem too terrified to me."

Amanda drew herself up on tiptoe, eyes flashing 
defiance, her hands still clasped in the folds of the 
flag of the United States. "I'm not scared of you! But 
you're pointing your guns at my classroom and the 
children in my charge."

The Sergeant reluctantly took his eyes away from the 
splendid sight of the bristling school Ma'am - whoever 
was her beau was sure one lucky son of a bitch. Every 
window in the school house was packed tight with 
curious faces - children's faces.

"OK, boys, put up your pieces. Joey, just take a glance 
and make sure no men are hiding inside."

"What men are you looking for?" the teacher asked.

"All and every able bodied man in village, Ma'am. We're 
confining them in the cargo deck of that steamer. We 
need to keep them under our eyes and out of mischief 
whilst we're here. Don't worry though, nobody is going 
to get hurt. We're here today and gone tomorrow."

As one of the Rebs looked around the schoolhouse Amanda 
saw a dozen glum looking townsmen walking down the 
street, two cavalry men riding behind the procession, 
carbine butts resting on their hips. One of the 
soldiers was chewing like a cow on its cud and as he 
passed Amanda and the Union flag a stream of tobacco 
stained juice spurted from his lips and across the 
schoolhouse steps.

"If you're dressed for killing hogs, I think you can 
make a start in your own ranks," Amanda snapped at the 
Sergeant.

"Don't pay no mind to Josh Chamberlain, Ma'am. He's a 
good soul but he lost two brothers at Gettysburg and 
now just got news his home in Atlanta's been burnt down 
by Sherman's men."

"Oh."

"Ma'am, I think it might be a good idea to dismiss your 
class for today. Just until the ructions are over."

"That's my decision to make," Amanda flared back.

The Sergeant's grin softened into something nearer to a 
smile: "Look, Ma'am, I'm paid to fight Federalist 
soldiers but savagerous school marms are more than I 
ever reckoned on. You can do whatever you like but it 
seems to me that the womanfolk hereabouts would be glad 
to have their children safe at home while their menfolk 
are away. Also, I've got an invitation for you."

"An invitation - what sort of an invitation?"

"An invitation from Lieutenant Lee, our officer. He'd 
be right obliged if you'd step on board the steamer 
presently. He's got some news for the village women and 
he needs somebody to pass it on to them. He said to me, 
particular, that if I should find a lady teacher I 
should ask her over, as being the best for the job. I 
guess if he'd known how handsome the school marms are 
hereabouts he'd have asked even more particularly."

"Dash your impudence," Amanda responded fiercely. "Are 
you algerines and kidnappers like Mosby's 
bushwhackers?"

"No, ma'm, we're from Georgia and we treat all ladies 
with respect, especially ones that look as if they like 
posing in front of an audience." His companions 
chuckled again. "Miss, you'll be treated honorably, my 
word on it. Lieutenant Lee is a fine gentleman and a 
school teacher himself when he ain't soldiering in a 
war: he can read Greek and Latin to beat anything. He 
wouldn't have asked you to call 'cept it was 
important."

Amanda nodded: "Very well, I'll come directly."

The Sergeant held up his hand: "No, Ma'am, no. Give us 
half an hour first. We're making all the men shuck off 
their clothes before we put them below decks. Can't 
risk having anybody down in that boat with tools, 
'baccy or any way of making fire on them. Not with the 
cargo she's carrying. And I guess the gentlemen would 
be right shy about you seeing them in public without 
their unmentionables on - though I daresay most of them 
would be real happy to take them off for you in 
private."

The cavalrymen guffawed again, Amanda's cheeks blushed 
scarlet and she stamped a foot in fury as the Rebs 
swung their horses' heads around and cantered off down 
Main street.

"Oh, you . . . you villains!"

With an effort she restrained her anger and went back 
into the classroom, all the children guilty rushing 
back to their desks. Amanda carefully rehung the flag 
in its place of pride and then turned to face her 
class. 

"Children, I'm going to dismiss you for the rest of the 
day. Go home quietly and directly. I want each of you 
to take a message home from me to your mothers. Tell 
them I'm going to speak to the Rebel officer presently 
and I expect to have some news afterwards. I want all 
the ladies who can to come here to the schoolhouse at 
one o'clock so that I can tell them what's happening. 
Please make sure your mothers hear about the meeting - 
here, at the schoolhouse, at one o'clock this 
afternoon. Now put your things away and file out 
quietly." 

When the classroom was empty Amanda went to the 
bookcase at the back of the room and selected a volume 
from it: "The Life of Admiral Horatio Nelson." 

Flicking quickly through the pages she found the 
chapter dealing with the Battle of the Nile. Then, with 
pursed lips, she carefully read the account of what had 
happened when the powder magazine aboard the French 
flagship 'L'Orient' had exploded. Even the passage of 
almost seventy years since the battle did little to 
soften the horrors the book described. It was in a very 
thoughtful mood that Amanda finally put on her bonnet 
and walked between the street puddles towards the 
landing stage.

The village seemed abandoned, save for a couple of 
Confedates riding past. All the men held in the 
Henrietta, all the women staying at home and not even 
the Rebs showing much interest in the village. But 
there were a long line of cavalry horses tethered to a 
fence near the landing stage. Soldiers were busy around 
them, some fetching buckets of water from a nearby 
drinking trough, others carrying fodder from the deck 
of the Henrietta and breaking the bales open for the 
horses to feed on. Amanda stopped and watched, judging 
the weight of the bales by the fact that two men were 
needed to lift each one. She also saw how many more 
bales were still piled on the deck. Then she counted 
the horses in the row. Fourteen and at least two more 
riding on patrol inside the village. Mmmm . . .

"Ma'am." It was the Sergeant again, walking towards 
her. This time he wasn't smiling but stopped in front 
of her and lifted his hand to his cap in a crisp 
salute. "Sergeant Wade, Ma'am."

Amanda nodded her head in brief acknowledgement of the 
NCO's new found civility.

"Glad you could come, Ma'am. The Lieutenant is on 
board, on the Texas deck, if you'd care to follow me."

Amanda nodded again and followed him onto the landing 
stage and up the gangplank. A board was set on an easel 
at the head of the gangplank, a white painted board 
with red wording on it: "DANGER - NO SMOKING, NO 
UNSHIELDED CANDLES." The teacher looked up at the two 
high cast iron smokestacks towering above the Henrietta 
and thought that her crew must have had a nervous trip 
downriver.

The Sergeant led her up an outside staircase to the top 
deck. The sun suddenly appeared for the first time that 
day and Amanda unexpectedly felt her spirits rising in 
time to her ascending footsteps. The Sergeant held open 
the door.

"Lieutenant Lee will see you now, Ma'am. Please go in."

The leather bound couchs and chairs scattered 
throughout the glassed in deck were as luxurious as 
Amanda remembered from the only other time she had been 
aboard the Henrietta. The pile carpet just as thick, 
the pictures on the walls depicting river scenes just 
as pleasant, the air still redolent with the lingering 
aroma of fine cigars, the spittoons just as brightly 
polished. But now there was no crowd of prosperous 
business men, no fine ladies, no busy stewards. Just a 
tall, slender young man with long blonde hair and a 
fine set of golden mutton-chop whiskers, a young man 
who gave every appearance of having fallen asleep in 
the armchair he was now lifting himself out of. Which 
wouldn't have surprised Amanda because there were lines 
of strain around his eyes and his uniform was as 
crumpled and travel strained as any of his men's.

"Beg your pardon, Ma'am, beg your pardon. Must have 
nodded off unexpectedly." 

The officer juggled uncertainly with what had been 
resting on his lap, a holed grey sock with a wooden 
darning mushroom inside it and a needle dangling from 
the hole on woollen threads. He finally put the sock 
down on the coffee table between them, next to a belt 
with a sabre scabbard attached and an open holster 
displaying the well oiled butt of a revolving pistol. 
Then the Confederate lieutenant made a formal bow to 
her. Amanda acknowledged with a stiff nod of her head, 
which brought her attention to the officer's feet. No 
boots, and one sock on, the left foot bare. She 
couldn't help smiling at the sight.

"Must apologise, Ma'am. I don't normally receive ladies 
in this manner."

"The fortunes of war, Lieutenant. Please don't worry 
about it. May I sit down?"

"Please do, Ma'am, please do."

Amanda settled herself in the chair opposite to his, 
across the coffee table.

"My name is Amanda, Amanda Shilling. Are you any 
relation to the famous General Lee?"

"Why no, Ma'am, Miss Shilling. I'm just plain James 
Lee, a Georgia school teacher and noways a member of 
the first families of Virginia. But I guess I didn't 
tell the boys that until after they'd elected me as a 
company officer." He smiled - or at least she thought 
he did. It was hard to tell underneath all that facial 
hair.

"Please call me Amanda, James. I think we have some 
important matters to discuss and we should be as 
friendly towards each other as we can."

James huffed and blew into his whiskers, apparently 
distressed: "I would surely like to be good friends 
with you, Miss Shilling, even if you are a red hot 
Federalist, or so Sergeant Wade says. But to tell the 
honest truth, there's no way I can be friends with 
anybody in this township."

Amanda bent forward, picked up the sock and the darning 
mushroom and looked with amusement at the typical male 
botch James had been making of the simple job.

"May I?" She began drawing the needle neatly back and 
forth across the heel of the sock.

James seemed astonished and then even more upset: "Miss 
Shilling, please don't do that. It's right civil of you 
but where I come from we kind of think it's important 
to return civility with civility and I can't do that - 
not here and not now."

"Mmmm." Amanda looked up from the sock. "You're talking 
about the gunpowder, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am. To tell the truth I was only supposed to 
take my patrol up river on a reconnaissance mission. 
But when we saw a side-wheeler flying a gunpowder 
warning flag and putting into a village under our noses 
without hardly a Yankee soldier in sight, well, I guess 
we just had to up and take our chance. So here we are."

"Yes, so here you are. And what happens next?"

"Today and tonight we rest ourselves and our horses, 
water them, and feed them on the forage we found 
aboard. We'll fill our saddlebags from the US army 
rations here as well. Then, tomorrow morning, we'll 
turn your menfolk loose and tell them to step lively 
out of the village as quick as ever they can. And 
thirty minutes later we'll have to set fire to this 
fine boat."

Amanda nodded in calm understanding. "And when all the 
gunpowder in the hold explodes half of our houses will 
get flattened. And all those bales of fodder will get 
blown into the air, most of them on fire I suppose, and 
crash down on the roofs of the rest of the village like 
a shower of burning comets. I doubt that a house in the 
entire settlement won't get blown over or burnt to the 
ground. A fine way to make war, Lieutenant."

"Miss Shilling, if I were to leave the powder intact, 
it could be used to kill hundreds of Confederate 
soldiers. My own troopers would probably hang me if I 
were to leave here without getting rid of it. And 
there's no way they'll care overmuch about what happens 
to your village. Talk about the horrors of war to 
Grant, to Sherman, to the folks in Atlanta, but don't 
waste your breath talking about them to my boys. They 
know only too well what your blue belly armies are 
doing down South."

Amanda nodded, rotated the mushroom in her fingers and 
began cross weaving the wool across the hole.

"Suppose you were to bore some holes in the bottom of 
the Henrietta and set her adrift. She'd sink and your 
job would be done, wouldn't it?"

"Ma'am, if you were to come out onto the bridge with me 
I could show you a dozen mudbanks in sight of this 
landing stage. Were I to push the boat out into the 
current it's as likely as not she'd run up onto the mud 
somewhere and stay there high and dry. Maybe she'd 
never steam again but the Yankee army would soon 
salvage the powder and all the other supplies on 
board."

"Set a powder train to explode the powder and then let 
the Henrietta drift away."

"Ma'am, Miss Shilling, powder trains are dangerous and 
not very reliable. The only way I can be sure of doing 
the job is to start a fire myself in the lower cabins, 
a fire I know can't be put out, and then jump on my 
horse and gallop away as quickly as I can. That's why I 
asked you to come here. I want you to explain to the 
women folk hereabouts how things stand and to tell them 
get what valuables they can out of their houses before 
dawn tomorrow."

"Without the men to help us, we couldn't move much at 
all. Not that the collection of oldsters and loafers 
you've imprisoned here on the Henrietta would amount to 
much help anyway - all the real men are away fighting 
in the war on one side or the other. Besides, what's 
the use of moving out valuables if we're left with no 
roofs over our heads?"

A dimple appeared in James's chin as he set it firmly 
against her blandishments: "Ma'am, I'm plumb sorry, but 
a warning is the best I can do for you."

"Mmmmm . . ." Amanda lifted up her eyes again, 
fastening them directly on the officer's. "But suppose 
you started the fire and then had the Henrietta poled 
out away from the wharf? There'd at least be a chance 
she'd drift far enough away so as not to damage the 
village when she exploded."

"Ma'am! Ma'am!" James pulled on his whiskers with 
exasperation. "Can't you see how dangerous such a thing 
would be? I've nineteen men here and it would need 
every one of them to pole out a boat this size smartly 
enough to stand a chance of getting it away and down 
river before the fire reached the powder barrels. I'd 
be risking my entire command just to save some 
civilians' houses. The boys would think I was as mad as 
a meat axe if I was to suggest such a thing to them. 
I'm sorry, but this isn't the kind of war with any 
chivalry left in it. Maybe it started out like that but 
all the gallant knights in blue and grey have been 
buried at Bull Run and Sharpsburg and a thousand other 
places. Nowadays there's nothing left but spite and 
dirty dealings."

"Alright, James, let's talk about dirty dealings then. 
By the by, have you got a pair of scissors?"

The Southerner blinked in surprise at her words, then 
reached out to a small roll of canvas on the coffee 
table and spread it out. From one of the pockets inside 
the roll he withdrew a small pair of scissors. Amanda 
took them from his fingers and neatly clipped off the 
threads from the sock.

"There. Now, suppose your men were to agree to take the 
risk of poling out the Henrietta when she was on fire. 
Would that change matters?"

The officer shook his head in despair at her 
stubborness: "Miss Shilling, they plain won't, and even 
if they did, I wouldn't let them. Losing men in a war 
is bad enough, but getting them killed just in trying 
to save a few houses would be plumb crazy."

"Mmmm. . ." Amanda stood up, still holding the repaired 
sock. "James, why don't you stretch yourself out on 
that couch. Put your feet up on the arm rest and I'll 
see if that other sock needs darning as well."

James blinked, his blue eyes puzzled: "What?"

"Please lie down on the couch, Lieutenant. I've got 
some more things to say to you yet. In the meantime, 
I'll take a look at that other sock. Now don't be shy 
and just spread yourself out." She walked over and 
patted the red tinged cowhide back of the couch. "Come 
on, James, relax. You've earned it. And whilst you're 
resting we'll discuss a very ancient legend. Believe 
me, you'll find it interesting."

James had stood up when she had but was still 
hesitating: "What legend would that be, Miss Shilling?"

"The legend about the rape of the Sabine Women, 
Lieutenant Lee, sir." 

He was still confused, but certainly interested. At 
least she had no doubt now that the Lieutenant was a 
man with a normal man's interest in women. "What?"

"If you want to hear the story you must lie down like a 
good boy." Amanda's coyness tempted him, his feet moved 
across the carpet. Then a sudden suspicious thought 
turned his head towards the coffee table and the belt 
on it. Amanda smiled as she followed his thoughts.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, I've no intention of playing 
the Charlotte Corday to your Marat. I'm not going to 
try to shoot you with your pistol or stab you with your 
own sabre."

The officer smiled in embarrassment, more so as the 
school teacher picked up two cushions from a chair and 
put them down on one end of the couch. She patted them 
invitingly and smiled again. The Lieutenant found the 
invitation irresistable. He stretched out on the couch 
and rested his head on the cushions. Yet his arms 
remained stiffy by his side as he watched Amanda. She 
bent over him and tweaked the cushions a little, 
smiling at him.

"You remember the legend about the Sabine women, 
James?"

"Yes. The story goes that when Rome was first founded 
the city didn't have enough women and so they tried to 
buy some brides from a nearby tribe called the Sabines. 
But the tribe wouldn't sell them any, so the Romans 
kidnapped the women they wanted."

"That's right, Lieutenant, that's right."

She straightened again and walked around the couch 
until she was at the other end of it, looking down at 
his face. He trembled in surprise as he felt her 
fingers stroke the soles of his feet, one bare, the 
other still with a sock on it. Then his eyes widened 
further as she knelt down and rubbed his feet harder.

"Oh dear, James, I'm afraid this is another holy sock 
to match your boot's sole. I'd better take it off as 
well." 

She felt his leg quivering as she ran her fingernails 
over it, gently drawing off the strongly smelling sock. 
In truth, although the stench was strong touching the 
man's foot was making her catch her breath in 
excitement. She was astonished to find herself acting 
so brazenly and even enjoying it.

"Miss Shilling, this ain't right. You shouldn't be 
doing that and I know I stink like a polecat because 
I've hardly been out of my saddle for a week 'cept to 
sleep."

"My name is Amanda, Lieutenant, and that's what you 
must call me. Amanda."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his 
instep, his left one. Then she did the same to the 
right one. 

"Is this what you get your slave girls in Georgia to do 
for you, James?"

The Southerner gave a bark of laughter: "School 
teachers can't afford slaves, Amanda. You should know 
that. Especially not slave girls."

"But if you did have them, would you like them to do 
this to you?" This time she put out her tongue and 
flicked it over the bottom of his feet.

"Yes, I guess I would at that, Amanda."  His voice was 
deeper, almost grunting.

"Do you think the Romans made the Sabine women do this 
for them after they'd stolen them? Before they got down 
to the serious business of turning them from virgins 
into wives?"

James gasped in astonishment: "By crackey, you sure are 
the boldest school marm that ever I've met!"

"One of those houses out there is mine, James. Every 
cent I've got in the world is invested in it. I guess 
this is a time when I need to be bold."

She ran her tongue along the toes on his right foot as 
if she was drawing a paint brush along a picket fence. 
The officer stirred again and lifted his hands to cover 
the growing bulge in his pants.

"Leave it be, James. I like seeing it standing up so 
proud. Are you thinking about using it as if you were 
my husband?" 

"Lord, Amanda, I'd love to but I've told you the truth. 
The men wouldn't let me risk their lives to save this 
village, no matter how much you pleasured me."

Amanda stood up again, smiling: "I know you're telling 
the truth, James, and I respect you for it. But do you 
remember the last part of the legend? How the Sabine 
men came to fight to get their women back but then the 
women themselves stepped in and said they were living 
happily in Rome and wanted peace?"

"I remember." 

"Good."

Amanda spread out her skirts and knelt down again, by 
his side. She undid her bonnet ribbons, carefully took 
off the hat and put it aside. Her right hand settled as 
gently as a humming bird on the fork of the thick army 
pants, her palm lying on the obvious sign of his 
aroused manhood.

"Suppose your soldiers were offered a bargain, James? 
That they could do whatever they liked with all the 
good looking women in this village for tonight, if only 
they'd agree to try to save the village tomorrow 
morning. Not much of a peace, but one long enough to 
try to push this steamer way from the wharf once it's 
on fire." Her fingers closed around his shaft and 
rubbed it gently. "If they'd agree to a bargain like 
that, would you agree as well?"

"I - I don't know."

Amanda's fingers undid the belt around his pants, 
loosening it and then pulling it apart.

"Think about it, James. For one night you could be 
another Caeser. Rows of helpless women chained and 
kneeling in front of you, begging for mercy. Do you 
think you'll ever get another chance like that in your 
entire life? Shall I tell you what sort of a play I'm 
planning on staging for you?"

Amanda plucked open the top button of the uniform pants 
as she was speaking. If the secret of talking to a mule 
was to get its attention, there was no doubt that 
Lieutenant Lee's ears were as pricked as much as any 
mule's could be. And that sure wasn't the only place he 
was pricked up.

She turned her head and smiled at him: "If you'll 
listen to me I'll undo all these buttons for you."

"Do tell, Amanda, do tell!"

"What you should do is search the Henrietta and I 
daresay you'll find plenty of chains and neck irons on 
her someplace. Nobody is ever going to transport 
another coffle of slaves down this river but the packet 
captains won't believe that until the South finally 
surrenders. So you find all the chains and neck irons 
you can, and you tell your boys to leave them down in 
the main saloon."

She bent to her task again and eased open another 
button. "OK, so far, Lieutenant?"

"Fine, just fine."

"Then tell them that each man is to leave a shirt in 
the saloon as well. And each man is to write down his 
name on a piece of paper and leave it in one of his 
shirt pockets."

She touched another button, pressing down on it against 
the pressure of the rising flesh beneath to get enough 
room to wriggle it free. The Reb's ardour was pushing 
up a fold of his shirt like a tent post. The school 
Ma'am put her hand on it and squeezed it gently. James' 
whiskers quivered as if he were feeling the heat of a 
branding iron being held against his body.

"I guess this must be the horn of plenty I've heard so 
much about, sir," Amanda giggled. "A true cornucopia."

"Lordy, Amanda, lordy!" The Lieutenant was almost 
whimpering with pleasure.

"Now, I plan to bring all the ladies down to the boat 
for their working bee about seven o'clock. We'll all be 
carrying food and we'll tell anybody who asks 
afterwards that we were ordered to cook the victuals 
and bring them down to the boat for you. But what we'll 
really be doing is taking off our clothes in the saloon 
and making ourselves up into coffles with the chains. 
Then we'll each put on a soldier's shirt and come up 
here to the Texas deck, where the village men down 
below can't hear anything."

Her nimble fingers undid the last button and opened the 
pants as widely as she could, wriggling the top of his 
pants down around the Southerner's narrow hips. She 
giggled again when she discovered there was nothing 
worn beneath the pants but the bottom of James' shirt, 
still draping a column which reared up amid the 
officer's rumpled clothing as if were an inflated 
balloon. But when she touched it through the fabric her 
fingers found a hardness they couldn't compress.

"Is this what a husband looks like, Lieutenant? Can I 
see it?"

Reueben groaned and nodded, his glazed eyes fastened on 
her as if she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever 
encountered.

"Alright, but let me tell you first what's going to 
happen tonight. We'll all get down on our hands and 
knees and kiss the men's feet to show how we're 
submitting to them and begging for mercy. Then you'll 
pick a woman at random and get her to read out the name 
in her pocket. Then she has to take off the shirt and 
give it back to the man it belongs to."

Amanda lifted up James's own shirt, staring at what she 
had revealed. "Is all this really you? Landsakes, I've 
never seen a body change so much."

She lowered the shirt on the far side of the shaft and 
plucked gently at the black curls clustered around the 
bottom of it: "I surely never saw one as big as this on 
my illustrations of Greek statutes, but I have seen 
these before."

Her fingertips juggled his balls lightly, and she 
watched in fascination as the man jerked as though she 
was hitting him instead of barely stroking the taut 
skinned eggs of his testicles. "James, can you feel 
that?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Fine - fine. So what I'm planning is that whenever a 
woman is claimed by a man she has to do whatever he 
says. Whether with him or with his friends as well, and 
with the other girls in that coffle helping out. Do you 
think a game like that would make your soldiers happy?"

"God, yes!"

"And you'll agree to tell your men about the suggestion 
and let them decide? The women for tonight to save the 
village tomorrow?"

"Yes! I'll tell them!"

"Alright, James. Now, just as a matter of interest, if 
you were a Roman and I was one of the Sabine women, 
what would you make me do for you right now?"

His hands reached out, one gripping her hair, the other 
seizing her behind the neck in a vice-tight hold. "Open 
your mouth, slave." He bent her head forward, close to 
the top of his swollen organ. "OK, Amanda, let's see 
you fire off my cannon."

She squealed - quietly. Her jaw hung open as he 
positioned her where he wished, then pressed her head 
down onto his rampant prick. He felt her lips slide 
around him, the dampness of her tongue against and 
around the side of his cock. Far from resisting him, 
her head began to bob up and down on his shaft as 
smartly as a feeding duck dipping below the water.

It was unbelievable, it couldn't be happening. He could 
hear his men calling and chaffing to each other out on 
the wharf, hear one of them singing:

"Sitting by the road-side on a summer's day,
Chatting with my messmates, passing time away."

There were shadows stretching out across the smart 
saloon, sunlight glinting off bottles behind the bar, 
and this fine looking young school Ma'am snorting and 
snuffling into his lap as she sucked him with 
enthusiasm - amateur enthusiasm perhaps but a thousand 
times more enjoyable because of that than being 
performed on by a paid whore from Hooker's Headquarters 
or Mother Russel's Bake House. She was right - never, 
ever, would a chance like this come along again. And if 
the other woman in the village would really perform 
like this school teacher . . . Oh Lordy, what a night 
was a-coming!

"Lying in the shadow underneath the trees,
Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!
Peas! peas! peas! peas! Eating goober peas!
Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!

The officer felt the woman's giggles coming from deep 
within her throat and through the tingling nerve 
endings of his organ as both of them heard the song. 
His fingers looped around the silk hair net holding the 
chignon of fair hair at the nape of her neck: clutching 
it firmly he bent her further forward yet to her work 
until she was snorting for breath and the locket 
hanging around her neck was resting on his hip.

Long fingernails scratched lightly against one of 
James's legs, others across his stomach. Then one of 
her hands was holding the bottom of his cock to steady 
it as her lips slid further and further down the 
swollen shaft. It seemed incredible to him that any 
respectable woman could have succeeded so quickly in 
taking him so deeply into her throat. She was 
submitting as much as she possibly could to his size, 
even glorying in it, her jaws stretched so widely apart 
that her teeth were barely scraping over his rampant 
flesh.  The fingernails which had been running up and 
down his legs moved underneath and behind his balls, 
every light scratch making him shudder in delight. The 
officer bellowed in triumph, feeling himself ready to 
spurt forth into the school Marm's throat, holding her 
immobile and unable to move an inch to escape her fate.

Then the dam broke, the pressure was released, his seed 
came shooting out of him like steam from the boat's 
boiler, a whistle of utter satisfaction from between 
his clenched lips as Amanda choked, snorted, writhed, 
continued to jerk her head up and down on his lap to 
mark his final ecstasy with the ultimate feminine 
submission. When he was finally spent he watched in 
fascination as the girl calmly patted her lips with her 
handkerchief, sucking in her cheeks with her eyes 
closed, as if draining the last drop of sweeteness from 
a piece of honeycomb. Incredibly, there seemed some 
expression of smugness on her face - as if pleased with 
herself.

Later still, she was sitting in one of the armchairs, a 
smile still hovering on her lips as she sipped a glass 
of ginger beer that James had brought her from the bar. 
He was leaning back in an armchair with his bare feet 
on the coffee table, drawing in with deep satisfaction 
from a long nine cigar taken into Confederate service 
from the boat's humidor.

"Well, Lieutenant, was that a satisfactory token of 
good faith?"

"Indeed it was, Amanda." There was a pause as James 
wondered whether to speak aloud of his curiousity about 
her behaviour. "May I be permitted to enquire as to how 
you came to be aware of that particular practice? Of 
course it's none of my business but you do seem to be a 
very  . . . a very worldly-wise lady for one in your 
profession."

Amanda smiled disarmingly, looking like a teenage miss 
caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh dear, must I hold a candle to my shames? Very well 
then, James. The teacher before me in Stony Creek was 
an elderly man of European origins who died very 
suddenly from a chill. Since he had no relatives the 
school board put aside all his books in case some of 
them might be useful for the school. But I suppose they 
never examined them very closely because when I went 
through them I discovered a German volume called 
'Gestohlen Fraun'. My German is very weak but 
apparently that means 'Stolen Women'. It's of no matter 
about the words anyway as the book is full of skilfully 
executed drawings of the most lascivious kind. In fact 
it was the drawings which gave me the idea of 
approaching you."

"Really?"

"Yes. The story appears to be about two sisters of the 
Italian aristocracy and their maids whom are captured 
by bandits and taken to a mountain lair where they are 
subjected to every whim of the bandits. The 
illustrations show many of the .  .  .  the activities 
in a most life like way. They certainly give the 
impression that the men involved are greatly enjoying 
themselves."

James grinned and blew onto the glowing tip of the 
cigar: "It sure sounds like hot stuff for a demure 
village school teacher. The good people of Stony Creek 
would probably burn you at the stake as a witch if they 
knew what their school marm was studying."

Amanda blushed prettily: "Very well, I will confess 
that ever since I found the book a month ago I have 
indeed been studying it very closely - more perhaps 
than is good for me. I fear it has indeed aroused some 
regrets about my own unmarried state and a lack of a 
male partner to help me experiment with some of the 
activities shown in the illustrations."

"But now you've cast aside your scruples?"

Amanda's smile became as inscrutable as the Mona 
Lisa's. "Why, sir, it seems that fate has conspired to 
make a virtue out of desire by forcing me to cast them 
aside. But did I really do it properly? I was fearful 
that you would start laughing at my efforts."

James spluttered and tugged at his whiskers to regain a 
measure of self control: "No, Amanda, I didn't feel at 
all like laughing. You were very good, I do assure 
you."

Amanda bowed her head in appreciation: "Oh, thank you 
so much for saying so. Do you think I might crave your 
indulgence in helping my education further in these 
matters?"

"I'll be - I'd be delighted, Amanda. What have you in 
mind?"

"Well, Lieutenant, I daresay all the other ladies whom 
might come to this evening's social even are already 
married - or, at least, they've acted the part in the 
past. I, however, am still - what shall I say - 
uncharted territory? And I would much prefer that my 
situation should be altered before this evening's 
public performance. Do you think you might possibly 
visit the schoolhouse about three o'clock this 
afternoon? I have a meeting scheduled there with the 
village ladies earlier but I daresay our business will 
be concluded by then. So I shall know then whether the 
ladies are agreeable to the arrangement and if I will 
need your assistance."

"My assistance?" He thought he understood what she was 
asking yet still couldn't accept the reality of it.

"Why yes, James. In fully introducing me to those of 
your gender. In playing the role of a founding father. 
Surely you know what I mean?"

James coughed as if he'd swallowed a piece of burning 
tobacco.

"Lord, Amanda, I'm exfluncticated, tetotaciously 
exfluncticated. I haven't ever had such a day for 
cutting up didoes, nor never even dreamed of such a 
one. But you can bet I'll be there on time, with my 
hair in a braid."

"Thank you, kind sir. And now I must go before your men 
wonder what's keeping me up here for such a time."

He helped her down the boat's steps, he escorted her 
back onto the rough hewn planks of the landing stage, 
he walked along it with her and reluctantly parted 
company with Amanda by the line of horses. Both of them 
pretended not to notice the wide grins on the faces of 
the Rebel troops. Perhaps Amanda was genuinely unaware 
of them the Lieutenant thought. He, wiser in the way of 
soldiers, would not have been at all surprised to learn 
that his men had already got a pretty good idea of what 
had happened on the Texas deck. Perhaps they'd even 
guessed somehow about Amanda's shameless offering up of 
the village's women - an offer he was now convinced she 
was likely to be on her own in making. Certainly none 
of the respectable wives of Stony Creek would consider 
such hellfire and brimstone behaviour; of that at least 
he was sure.

Personally, he didn't care at all about any other women 
as long as he could only find a way of getting the 
school teacher stretched out across her own desk, sans 
crinoline, drawers and all her other clothing. The very 
thought of such a scene was vividly exciting - too 
exciting. All the way back to the paddle steamer he 
could only retain control of an involuntary arousal by 
digging his nails into the palms of his hands, feeling 
as ready to explode at any second as the barrels of 
gunpowder stored in the Henrietta's hold. And three 
words he whispered repeatedly under his breath: "Veni, 
vidi, vici". 

Amanda was right. He did feel like Caesar and like a 
conqueror. Or perhaps more like a Mark Antony, matched 
against a queen defending her own territory with 
remarkable powers of courage, cunning and wantoness.

Amanda herself returned to her home feeling well 
content with her efforts. At least she'd succeeded in 
making an ally of the Rebel officer. Nor did she have 
much doubt that he was an honorable man who would stick 
to any bargain that he made. As for his men, the 
promised treat ought to seal the deal which would save 
the village. The only people whom needed to be 
canvassed now were the women. Of course she couldn't 
predict their reaction but at least they'd surely 
listen seriously to any idea at all for saving their 
homes from certain destruction. Then they would have to 
make their own choices.

Not that it was going to be easy to just up and tell 
the ladies the story. Before she went to her pre-
arranged meeting Amanda had several nips from a small 
stone bottle of applejack discretely hidden away in the 
bedroom of her small home. From an even more discreet 
hiding place she withdrew her yellow covered German 
volume and weighed it in her hands for some time, her 
face a study in concentration.

Eventually she dropped the book into a basket to take 
to the schoolhouse with her. Perhaps this was a time 
when a book could be worth a thousand embarrassing 
words. Maybe the applejack would help as well.

There was certainly no shortage in the way of an 
audience. There must have been thirty women waiting 
outside the schoolhouse for her to unlock the door. All 
of them looking deeply concerned. Some tried to 
question Amanda as soon as she appeared but she said 
nothing until the school room was full, all those 
present standing. With crinolines and bustles at the 
height of fashion it was quite impossible for any 
respectably dressed female to have attempted to sit 
down at the pupils' desks.

Amanda went to her usual place in front of the 
blackboard and explained the situation in a few simple 
sentences. The Henrietta was loaded with gunpowder and 
had been captured by the Confederate cavalry. The Reb 
officer was determined that the powder would never 
reach the Union army and was going to set fire to the 
vessel at dawn. The only possible way of saving the 
village from certain destruction was for the burning 
boat to be poled out from the wharf and into the river 
current before it exploded. Only the Confederate 
soldiers had the strength and discipline to stand a 
chance of managing the feat. The Rebs were not going to 
risk their lives to save the village of Stony Creek 
without some special reward being offered.

"Now, ladies. Having heard all this I suspect that most 
of you have reached an understanding of what I might be 
talking about. There are only three things which men 
will risk anything for. We've got no choice but to feed 
them and we don't have enough money to tempt them into 
risking their lives for us. The third male imperative 
is making love to as many women as they can. And that's 
our only bargaining chip."

Amanda picked up her basket: "Any of you whom choose to 
leave right now can of course do so. I suggest you make 
arrangements to get your most valuable possessions out 
of the village as soon as possible. If any of you are 
willing to make the sacrifice necessary to save our 
homes, please stay."

Euphemia Fitzpatrick stepped forward. She was short and 
well rounded, normally with a bright smile for 
everybody. The district midwife, with a strong 
personality and thus of great influence on the other 
women. 

"Well . . . well, Amanda, for land sakes! Have you 
spoken to the Reb officer about this?"

"Yes, he's certainly agreeable."

"I just bet he is!" Euphemia giggled, relaxing the 
tension. Some of the other women also smiled.

"But what exactly did you say to him?"

"We agreed on an arrangement I suggested. But perhaps 
there is no need to discuss that until we've sorted out 
the wheat from the chaff - if you'll pardon me for 
using such an expression. What happened was that the 
officer showed me a book of his and lent it to me. A 
German book with some drawings in it."

Amanda wondered if there was a recording angel up in 
heaven writing down this blatant falsehood against her 
name. Her sins certainly seemed to be accumulating at 
an alarming rate. She laid the German volume on her 
desk, opening it at the bookmark. There was writing on 
one page, a detailed drawing filled the other one. A 
drawing which she'd spent hours looking at, a 
masterpiece of composition and depravity.

"Ladies, this is the book I'm talking about. Classical 
students would describe it as a pornographic work, 
which means that it deals with sexual matters in a 
totally unhibited way. As I understand it, the story is 
about some ladies kidnapped by brigands and thereafter 
used in the most shameless way. One of the scenes in 
the story is depicted on the illustration on the opened 
page. It was made quite clear to me that the Rebs 
intend to act out the roles of the kidnappers and we 
are to become their helpless captives. What that means 
is, I think, made quite clear by this illustration. 
Those of you who wish to may step forward and take a 
look. Thereafter you may stay or go, again as you wish. 
But I repeat what I've already said: if some of us at 
least don't agree to submit to the Reb's demands 
tonight then our whole village will be a heap of 
smoking ashes by breakfast time tomorrow.

"I've just one other thing to say. If any of you want 
to get up into a pulpit and lecture me on my 
wickedness, I'll bear your reproaches without argument. 
I just hope that the first lady to cast a stone will 
still be in the same way of thinking tomorrow when 
she's trying to make a wickiup for her family out of 
branches and blankets."

A chorus of dissent came from her audience and Euphemia 
shook her head sharply: "No, no way is anybody here 
going to say against you, Amanda. I reckon you've been 
smart enough to see straight off the only way there 
might be out of this mess. Aye, and determined enough 
to do what has to be done. There's only question I 
guess I'd like to ask you right now, if you don't 
mind."

"Go ahead."

"Well, what about you? You're single, with your good 
name to lose. If the worst came to the worst at least 
you could make up your baggage tonight and move back 
into Kansas with the next upriver boat. So are you 
fixing to be at the Reb party tonight or not?"

Amanda lifted up her head and stared straight back: 
"I'm intending to do whatever I need to do to save my 
home. As for my good name, I guess it wouldn't pay 
anybody to start talking about this business. Not 
unless they want to cause a whole peck of trouble for 
themselves and the entire village."

The teacher was astonished when there was a spontaneous 
ripple of hand clapping inside the school house. She'd 
been half expecting to be run out of town on a rail by 
outraged matrons when they got the drift of her notions 
but things were turning out more like a school prize 
giving ceremony. There was a sudden movement in the 
audience and an old lady limped out, her hand resting 
on a walking stick. The widow Dawson, from the oldest 
established family in Stony Creek, and the richest. The 
widow owned both the tavern and the tannery.

"Amanda, I want to say to you that I surely admire your 
spirit and good sense. Now I guess I'm not able to be 
one of your recruits, but I want to tell you that I'll 
stand behind you and any other gal that helps to save 
my property. I'll also take care of any blabbering 
bitch by seeing to it that her ears get notched. So, 
tomorrow, you give me the names of those that have done 
the deeds and I'll put two hundred dollars in cash in 
each lady's hand as a mark of gratitude."

Amanda was almost reeling. She seemed to be making as 
succcessful a speech as a Senate candidate arriving on 
the village green with a barrel of free beer. Although 
it was true that the widow's promise of a bounty for 
successful sinning drew far more applause than Amanda's 
words had received.

"Just one thing, Amanda. Before I leave, can I take a 
look at the book that Reb gave you? Just to satisfy my 
curiousity."

The teacher nodded and waved her hand towards the desk. 
The widow limped over to it and bent over the book, 
fiddling with the spectacles perched on her nose. She 
stared down at the pages, then gasped aloud. Amanda 
felt her own cheeks burning, every line of the 
illustration etched on her own memory. The artist's 
viewpoint was that of an observer standing by a large 
spoked wagon wheel mounted flatways and waist high on a 
post. Four women were around the wheel, each of them 
chained by the neck to a spoke. And around each of the 
women were men - men with long hair and long beards, 
but covered with very little else. And the women were 
in the same condition, their clothing removed and 
dropped on the floor or thrown across the wheel.

One of the women was also thrown down over it, each 
hand gripping a spoke, only her legs and feet still 
clad in silk stockings and court shoes. The rest of her 
body was totally bare, a shamelessly exposed plump 
derriere lifted high for all to see. More than that, 
the largest brigand of all was standing directly behind 
her, his beard plaited into two halves and his hand 
guiding his manhood into her cave of Venus. The pen 
which had rendered the drawing had shown remarkable 
skill in not only depicting his victim's expression of 
pop-eyed surprise at this violation but her equal 
astonishment at the size of the interloper she was 
being required to find accommodation for.

Across the wheel another woman was on her back, wedged 
between two spokes, nothing left to protect her modesty 
save the ribbons in her hair. Two men were holding her 
legs up and widely apart, two more of their fellows had 
stood up between the spokes, each one claiming a 
prominent breast to fondle. Between her splayed out 
thighs yet another bearded brigand was kneeling, 
applying his tongue into her innermost recesses to the 
laughing approval of his fellows. As for his victim, 
her head was tilted back, lips and tongue showing in a 
long drawn out cry as her hands apparently joined those 
of the male malefactor's in playing with her own bosom, 
to their evident delight.

Another prisoner, a shapely girl with long black hair, 
was in much the same position, each of her hands 
scratching the backs of the men holding firmly onto her 
teats, but her eyes fastened on the bandit who was 
holding her hips as he cleaved her open with his 
masculine sceptre, a sport which several of the other 
felons were clearly eager to partake in as soon as this 
lucky pioneer had slaked his desire and quitted the 
promised land. In the meantime several other outlaws 
were crowded around the last of their booty, the oldest 
of the women, with high piled, disordered hair and 
still wearing a corset from which twin piles of flesh 
had overflowed. Kneeling on the floor her arms were 
lifted up as if to shield off the heads of attacking 
snakes which threatened her, but apparently in fact 
placating them with strokes and pats as she dealt with 
the closest one by giving it a place of refuge within 
her mouth. 

At least, Amanda thought, at least that is one part of 
the picture which I now understand better than I did 
before. But what is widow Dawson going to say?

At first the widow kept on staring at the page, 
apparently taking in every detail. Then her shoulders 
heaved as if in distress at the sight. Amanda got ready 
to rush forward and support the old woman should she 
collapse. A strange sound came from the frail body - 
like the sound of a barn owl hunting. The widow was 
hooting with laughter! When she finally turned away 
from the book her hand was up to her eyes, dabbing away 
tears of mirth.

"Oh dear, Amanda, that's sure some pumpkins. I've been 
of steady habits all my creation and maybe I missed out 
on some real interesting experiences because of it. 
Well, I guess I'd better go and take all the other un's 
that are too long in retiracy for these sort of games. 
But don't you go giving that book back to those Georgia 
boys - it's too good for those goober grabbers. Come on 
Violet, come on Mabel, come on Keziah, come on Lydia. 
Let's go back to our homes and pray for these ladies' 
good works tonight. Even if we're all too much of a age 
to get down on our knees, we can still pray for our 
homes to be spared."

The widow began hustling out the other old ladies in 
the school room like a flock of geese. All of them very 
respectable, all part of the backbone of the village 
congregation, and all looking mournfully over their 
shoulders as the widow drove them away from the open 
book. Seeing the righteous being led forcefully away 
from temptation was a cause of satisfaction to many in 
the audience, especially the more unrighteous of the 
village women who were finding a refreshing change in 
sinning suddenly becoming a civic virtue.

Amanda let out a deep breath and took out the stone 
bottle she'd put inside the basket. "OK, ladies, I 
guess you can step up in your own time and take a look. 
Anyone of you who feels she might need fortifying first 
is welcome to take a taste of anti-fogmatic."

It was an offer which received plenty of takers. In 
fact there was quite a hint of discreet pushing and 
shoving for a taste of the liquor, but nowhere as 
steady a demand as there was to take a look at the 
book. In fact within seconds it was picked up and being 
passed around from hand to hand, from one cluster of 
examiners to another knot of lowered heads and gasped 
exclamations: "Lord a'mercy! I never seen the like in 
all creation!" "Would never have believed to see such 
carrying-on all on one stick!" "Those sure are European 
ways, I guess!"

And mixed in with the expressions of surprise and the 
rapidly draining applejack were giggles, straight out 
laughter, and long married woman nudging each other in 
the ribs as if they were young wenches flirting with 
the boys at a hoe-down. It was two of these red cheeked 
titters whom finally approached the school teacher.

"Come on, Amanda, tell us what you've got planned for 
tonight. What sort of shines are we going to be 
cutting?"

A sudden silence fell over the crowded room, the 
question spoken loud enough to be heard and clearly 
falling on interested ears. Amanda felt herself 
blushing as she became the center of attention again.

"That's right," Euphemia urged. "Give us the whole 
story, Amanda."

Instinctively the teacher moved behind her desk before 
she began speaking. And for the second time that day 
she heard unexpected hoof beats approaching the school 
house. Meaningful looks were exchanged between the 
assembled females - the only people who could be riding 
in Stony Creek today were Johnny Rebs. Euphemia looked 
through a window.

"It's the Sergeant. And four other Rebs."

Amanda joined her: yes, Sergeant Wade, with four other 
greybacks as an escort. What was happening?

The soldiers dismounted, secured their bridles, then 
knocked on the door even as Amanda was opening it. 
Sergeant Wade smiled at her, the other men hanging 
back, all four of them trying to look through the 
school house windows without being too obvious in their 
curiosity. Surprised as she was herself about this 
unexpected meeting, Amanda knew the important thing to 
do was to somehow keep the negotiations going.

"Come in Sergeant, gentlemen, come in, please."

It seemed strange to be talking as if this was a social 
occasion for coffee and cakes. And only the Sergeant 
accepted the invitation to enter the classroom, smiling 
widely around him as the women of Stony Creek displayed 
unconcealed interest in this representative of their 
anticipated ravishers.

"Thank you, Miss Shilling. I'm sorry the Lieutenant 
hasn't come but he seems to be having a real good 
sleep. Guess something must have tired him out."

Amanda wondered whether Wade knew about her assignation 
with James. Was he planning to do something his officer 
wouldn't have allowed if he was awake? The NCO's boyish 
face looker older as he leered knowingly at Amanda. His 
eyes passed around the nearest women to him and quickly 
returned to Helen Smith, a tall rangy brunette beauty 
standing nearby, a woman married to a long absent 
Confederate soldier. Amanda wondered if Wade somehow 
knew of Helen's weakness for spending a lot of time in 
company with any handsome male strangers visiting Stony 
Creek - or was the Sergeant one of those lucky men who 
could spot a sporting filly with the unerring eye of a 
Gypsy horse coper? 

"The men asked me to come and speak to you, Ma'am. As 
their man of business, you might say. In fact, we have 
a message for the ladies. You see, we found a whole 
heap of general cargo on that side-wheeler we could 
unload now, rather than leave it to be burnt tomorrow. 
The ladies who are agreeable to coming along to the 
wing-ding tonight could visit the boat during the day, 
say hello and take their pick, and I guess my boys 
would be happy to give them a hand to carry the fixings 
back home. Got the manifest here if you'd like me to 
read it out. Would sure be a pity to waste all this 
good stuff. Ma'am, shall I read out a list of what's on 
offer?" 

"Mmmm . . . well, ladies, you've heard all that I've 
got to say and you've heard what the Sergeant has said. 
Would all of you who like him to continue speaking 
please raise your hands."

The soldier watched in satisfaction as the hands came 
up. Some quickly, others slowly, but in the end all of 
them. "Motion seems to be carried almost unanimously. 
What about you, Miss Shilling?"

Amanda looked into his hard blue eyes and put her right 
hand up in the air. The Sergeant grinned, turned again 
momentarily from a dominating warrior into a naughty 
school boy. "That's your style, school teacher," he 
said approvingly.

For a second Amanda opened her mouth to reprove his 
familiarity, then realised the siliness of any such 
action. She thought it odd that the Sergeant should 
seem so much at ease in such a situation. Hard eyed 
from hard service though and full of confidence, as 
evident from his ready tongue. Still, the NCO looked so 
young, especially with being clean shaven, such an 
unusual thing for any American male past boyhood. 

The Sergeant took a piece of paper from his pocket. 

"OK, my lovelies, this is for you if'n you want it. We 
got salt, spices, sugar, molasses, raisins, fruits, 
vegetables, cheese, eggs, butter, salted meats and 
fish, tea, coffee, and chocolate. We've beer and 
vinegar and bushels of dried peas. Plenty of pickles 
and crackers, and a whole slew of canned beans in 
tomato sauce. We've even got a barrel of Monongahela 
whiskey for those of you with refined tastes."

He winked at Helen Smith again, setting her to putting 
her hand to her mouth as she tried to control a burst 
of laughter. Helen's eyes flickered sideways as she 
looked slantindicular at the opened book. The Sergeant 
saw the direction of her glance and moved over to the 
desk. He studied the pages for a moment or two, then 
whistled in surprise before turning around to face his 
embarrassed audience.

"Ladies, you can string me up for gander pulling if 
ever I saw the like. And to think that all you good 
women would be studying something as inspirational as 
this. Getting yourselves all fired up for your good 
works amongst the needy, I guess. Well, I do thank you 
kindly for your thoughts because me and the boys sure 
are in genuine need of some female company. Just you 
watch and see."

He picked up the book, walked over to a window and 
tapped on it. A full beard topped by a sharp nose and 
beady eyes appeared behind the glass. Wade held up the 
opened book, showing the illustration to the soldier. 
"Hey, Jubel, you want to see what they teach in 
Northern school houses?"

The beady eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and 
an opening appeared in the black depths of the beard as 
the man's mouth fell open. In a second all four of the 
soldiers had their faces pressed against the glass in a 
full blown parody of boys at a sweetshop window. The 
Sergeant laughed and opened the window, handing the 
volume through it.

"There you go, lads, never say the Army of the South 
neglects your schooling. And if you get any ideas about 
improving your education here and now, why I guess 
you'll never get a better chance."

The NCO strutted back into the middle of the room and 
clapped his hands together in a movement of spontaneous 
joy before starting off on some more of his peddler 
hustling.

"OK, especially for you good looking gals, we've got 
all sorts of notions. Fashionable calicoes, French work 
collars and capes, elegant milk pans and Harrison 
skimmers. Patent pills to cure anything that ails you. 
Shaker yarbs, essences, wintergreen and lobely. Tapes, 
needles, hooks and eyes, broaches and bracelets, 
smelling bottles and castor oil. Corn-plasters, 
mustard, gardening seeds, silver spoons, teapots and 
green tea to put in them. Song-books and tracts, 
thimbles and baby whistles, playing cards, pudding 
sticks and baskets and wooden bowls. There's powder and 
shot as well but I guess we need that more than you do. 
There's also a crate of female preventatives which we 
sure don't have any use for but you're all welcome to 
dip into - if you're willing to step up and say you 
want them."

The village woman were looking stunned, then cautiously 
pleased. What with widow Dawson's offer and now this 
unexpected bonus the wages of sin were starting to come 
along nicely. Not that most of them would ever have 
dreamt normally of stealing as much as a handkerchief, 
but if it was all going to be burnt if they didn't take 
it - well, wastefulness was a wicked thing too, 
everybody knew that. Meantimes some other brand of 
wickedness was brewing out on the verandah right now, 
to judge by the bellows of coarse laughter coming from 
outside the school house. The soldiers were finding the 
German volume every bit as interesting as the Sergeant 
had predicted. Nor was any woman in the school house 
surprised when the door opened and a thick set corporal 
walked in. His craggy face was flushed red with 
excitement, the tips of his straggly brown mustache 
quivering.

"Permission requested to speak to you outside, 
Sergeant."

Wade smiled: "Why, what's on your mind, Patrick?"

"Sure, Sergeant, and aren't we fighting the devil 
himself outside and all his works, and every man jack 
of us losing hand over fist? Sergeant, will you not 
come outside and organise a prayer meeting so we can 
decide what's to be done for salvation's sake?"

Wade's lips quivered in amusement: "Well, I guess this 
might be a right opportune time to thank the Lord for 
all his gifts. Excuse us for a moment, ladies."

The two NCO's left the room. As soon as they were gone 
a buzz of excited conversation ran around the school 
house.

Euphemia leaned over to whisper to Amanda: "I'm sure 
that soaplock of a Sergeant is planning on some 
devilment, my dear. I could see it in his eyes. I guess 
you know what I mean?"

Helen was also listening, her cheeks flushed and well 
filled out bosom heaving: "Oh, there's going to be some 
larks, you can lay to that. I feel all-overish, and 
then some. Can I take another drink, Amanda?"

"Not until I've had one." 

Amanda picked up the jug and took a swallow from it 
that set her throat burning. As she was passing it to 
Helen she heard a round of raucous laughter from the 
verandah, then sudden overriding bursts of conversation 
as if all the men were trying to talk at once, each 
trying to get the others to listen to his ideas

"Land's sakes! Somebody's going to catch it, you mark 
my words," Helen prophesied darkly. 

The door opened and Sergeant Wade sauntered back in. 
Behind him came the other four Rebs, all looking around 
them like foxes that had found an unguarded chicken run 
and didn't know where to start feeding. Wade smiled as 
happily as a railroad speculator at a depot opening.

"Well, ladies, we've decided on a text for today: 'Whom 
the Lord loves, he chastises'. So first of all we'll do 
some chastising, and then some loving. We'll need some 
room to work in though."

He nodded to the other men set to work with hasty 
impatience. The desks were picked up and carried to the 
end of the schoolroom, leaving the other two thirds of 
the room empty. Then Amanda's desk was set down in the 
middle of the open space.

"You two ladies, come here." 

Wade pointed at Yvonne Folland, a skinny long nosed 
woman married to the local cooper, then at Gwenneth 
McAlistair, a rather pretty little dark eyed lass whose 
husband was in the Union army. They both looked around 
as if unable to believe that their fate was to be the 
first.

"Relax ladies. All I want you to do is to take down 
that flag on the wall and hold it up directly behind 
the teacher's desk. One of you at each end and stretch 
it out."

Once the greybacks had finished moving the table they 
began searching through the school cupboards. One of 
them gave a cry of satisfaction and held up his 
discovery - the birch, the bundle of twigs used to 
discipline naughty children. The Sergeant took it and 
beckoned to Euphemia.

"Right. Ma'am, you can be my standard bearer. The 
master at arms. You carry this and follow me wherever I 
go, and when I tell you to use it, you lay on with a 
will - or else."

The Sergeant had stopped smiling. He watched as Yvonne 
and Gwenneth held up the flag for his inspection. 
"That's the ticket, girls. Keep the bottom about level 
with the desk. Now, Amanda, you go and stand behind it 
and look towards your friends."

The teacher did as she was bid. She wondered what it 
was exactly that Wade was planning to do. Her cheeks 
began to burn as some of the possibilities occurred to 
her.

"Surely did like the look of you this morning, School 
Ma'am, with that flag around you. But I guess it would 
have looked even better if that was all you'd been 
wearing. Seems to me though that's a big enough flag 
for another lady to be company with you in hiding her 
modesty behind it. Yes sirree, what we want is another 
right charmer."

His eyes swung around the room, from woman to woman, a 
half smile on his lips. Until they finally reached 
Helen Smith: "And what might your name be. Ma'am?"

Helen told him.

"Helen, hey? You know something Helen, I think Miss 
Shilling might be a genuine cold back but you're a 
married lady. So I think you might be just the one to 
go and stand behind the flag with the teacher. She 
won't be so nervous if she's teamed up with a mare 
that's already been well broken in."

Helen gasped at his directness, putting her fingers to 
her lips and blushing as she'd just made a involuntary 
rude sound in church. The Sergeant pointed to the birch 
and then the flag. "Would you like to hold your hands 
out to be smacked, Ma'am, or would you rather do as 
you're told?"

"I ... I," Helen looked around her, at the audience, 
then at the twigs and at Euphemia. "Oh Lord. If Henry 
was ever to find out ... "

"It's alright, Helen," the midwife reassured her. 
"Nobody is going to tell on you. And you wouldn't want 
Henry coming back and finding his home all blowed away, 
would you? We womenfolk have got to stick together on 
this, just like Amanda says - - one for all, and all 
for one."

Helen nodded to show her understanding and walked over 
to the table, joining Amanda so they were elbow to 
elbow behind the flag. Sergeant Wade laughed and 
clapped his hands.

"OK, ladies. Now I need another volunteer. The one who 
squeals most get the job."

He walked along the row of females. The first he 
selected was Madeline Masefield, married to the town 
butcher. She was built on generous lines, with wide 
hips and a more than ample bosom, and she didn't squeal 
she certainly gave several loud gasps as the Sergeant 
grabbed both of her plumpers and fondled her roughly. 
Her hands came up to fend him off, only to be caught 
and restrained by the women alongside her.

"It's alright, Madeline, it'll be the same for all of 
us, by and by," one of them said. Madeline blushed like 
a babe in a bath tub, closed her eyes and stood still 
as the Sergeant took his liberties.

"OK, you'll do Ma'am. Go over there and start taking 
off Helen's clothes. Bring them back here piece by 
piece. The boys will reward you for each trip, the same 
way as I just have. Off you go." He pushed Madeline in 
the back and sent her tottering towards the table.

"Now, have we got another outstanding pair of titties 
in the room? Yes, the lady in the back in the blue 
bonnet. Step forward and let's take a look at you."

It was Gertrude Rohrer he'd selected, taller than 
himself, her homely red cheeked face framed with blonde 
plaits, her eyes cast down towards the bulges in the 
front of her dress which had been the reason for her 
choice for public shame. Then she peeked up again and 
blanced as she saw the hands held up ready for her. She 
must have been thinking about many things, especially 
about her husband, away down river on a scow. But the 
other village women around her plucked at her sleeves 
as others behind pushed her forward..

"Go to it, Gertie. Madeline stood it."

"That's right, Gertie, you won't let us down, will 
you?"

Gertrude set her jaw and took the last two steps which 
delivered her into Wade's grasp. She went even redder 
than before and gave out a low moan of outrage as he 
took his time in squeezing through the layers of fabric 
covering her breasts. She lowered her eyes, then lifted 
them again and stared into the NCO's face, her tongue 
licking nervously around her lips.

"You'll do for our boys, Gertie. Go over and start 
stripping off Amanda. Every piece of clothing on the 
floor back here and we'll set you up on your toes for 
every return trip."

The rest of the greybacks nudged each other and 
guffawed, thinking it a great game. As it went on that 
opinion seemed to strengthen. Not once did Madeline or 
Gertrude came back with a item of discarded feminine 
clothing without each of the five men openly saluting 
her with stroking palms and busy fingers. Quick 
movements, for they had no intention of holding up 
either lady in her errands, but effective ones. 
Gertrude was snorting deep in her throat presently each 
time she became the brief center of the greyback's 
attention, although she still tried to avoid the eyes 
of anybody in the audience. Madeline, on the contrary, 
kept on looking around and giggling each time her gang 
of admirers crowded around her to openly perform their 
lewd caresses.

Amanda and Helen could see all this as they looked over 
the top of the flag, their need for protection behind 
the square of fabric becoming more urgent with each 
trip. It was a blessing that they were both of the same 
height but even so to keep the flag down to a decent 
level at the table top meant that an awful lot had to 
be revealed above the top of the emblem. Emma felt as 
if she was in the lowest cut gown imaginable and the 
eyes of the men a few paces away examined her freckle 
topped swellings as if they were golden treasures. 
Helen's white globes were also receiving as much 
attention whenever the men glanced in their direction. 
Although it was true that much of their attention was 
distracted by Gertrude and Madeline. And, presently, 
whenever both of those ladies were away, another was 
seized on as a temporary substitute.

The Sergeant began to make a game out of it by using a 
dunce's cap he'd taken from the corner, and also the 
stool that was there. The stool was set down by the 
growing pile of clothes, the cap on it and then Wade 
took a woman and sat her on the stool. She was then 
obliged to put the tall conical paper hat on her head 
and hold it there as the men paid their admiration to 
each seated victim's soft curves with their stroking 
palms and grabbing fingers. 

Then the game was changed again by the Sergeant. The 
next woman was accompanied by two more of the audience. 
They stood on her sides, each one with a hand balancing 
the hat, and directed to use their other hand to stroke 
the front of the soldiers' pants. The seated woman was 
also required to use her hands in the same service.

"Oh, Amanda, I'm so sorry," Gertrude whispered as she 
knelt and drew down the teacher's last garment, the 
untied drawers piling up in a pile of white linen 
around her ankles. 

"Nothing to be done about it," the teacher replied. 
"Lordie, I'm frightened though."

"It's OK, Amanda," Helen reassured her in a low voice. 
"You're only going to get what you would have got on 
your wedding night anyway. These are good old boys and 
they ain't drunk  -  as soon as they've had the spunk 
drawn out of them they'll be as quiet as lambs."

Well, they were quiet just then, watching intently as 
Amanda stepped out of her drawers.  Then the qivering 
movements in her breasts brought whistles of 
appreciation from the Reb soldiers. More whistles 
greeted the sight of the nether garments being brought 
forward to be added to the piles of discarded clothing. 
Tension snapped and crackled in the muggy air as the 
two women behind the desk were both perceived to be as 
naked as Eve before the fall. The men lost interest in 
the games they'd been playing and gathered around the 
desk. Wade bent a little and whispered in Euphemia's 
ear. The midwife nodded in understanding, gave a look 
of mute regret to Helen and Amanda and then walked 
around behind them, the birch still held firmly in her 
right hand.

"Well, ladies, the boys had a meeting outside and 
decided that what they'd always wanted to see when they 
were at school was a mettlesome young school marm bent 
over her own desk without a stitch to her name. I guess 
none of them thought they'd ever see such a sight, but 
here it is. So, you two ladies holding the flag, you 
get ready to let go of it when I clap my hands. And 
Helen and Amanda, you put your hands up and gone behind 
your necks."

Helen obeyed him immediately, Amanda slowly following 
suit until Ward pointed to her and clicked his fingers. 
She yelped and dropped her hands again, onto her 
bottom, stinging from a blow from the birch. Euphemia 
had delivered the stroke with enough strength for the 
impact to be heard right around the classroom, all the 
other woman watching with the mouths in tightened up 
into ovals of surprise. The Rebs glanced at each other 
in delight, eyes alight with excitement. The NCO's left 
finger lifted up towards Amanda again, thumb and finger 
pressed together on his right hand ready to give 
another signal to Euphemia for a punishment stroke.

Instantly realising the situation, Amanda laced her 
fingers together underneath the chignon at the back of 
her neck. Incredibly, it hadn't been more than an hour 
or so since Lieutenant Lee's fingers had been in the 
same place, giving her her first experience of love 
making. It didn't seem as if he was going to provide 
her second one though, the damned fool, snoring his 
head off whilst his Sergeant was behaving like a Viking 
ravisher. Wade chuckled and spread his fingers out and 
hands close together, ready to slap one palm against 
another. The other men tensed, as if bracing themselves 
to start a foot race. Behind them the village woman 
seemed completely fascinated by the tableau, none of 
them averting their eyes from the scene. The only other 
obvious response was the way the flag was trembling in 
Gwenneth and Yvonne's nervous hands.

Wade smiled: "Here we go, boys. The best sight of the 
war, a Federalist flag going down down in surrender." 

His palms smacked together and the flag fell first from 
Gwenneth's grasp, then from Yvonne's. The upper portion 
landed on top of the desk, then slithered down on the 
floor as the weight of the bottom half pulled it down. 
The Rebs grunted and whistled in appreciation at the 
unveiling, female gasps counterpointing the deeper male 
sounds. There was the sound of fingers snapping and the 
smack of twigs against flesh. Amanda looked sideways 
and saw that the Corporal pointing towards Helen, 
having made the same punishment signal that Wade had 
used.

"Keep your hands where they are girlie," the Corporal 
commanded in his thick brogue. 

Helen whimpered, lifted up her hands again and squirmed 
around without moving her feet. The men chuckled. There 
was Blackbeard and the Corporal, over on the left, 
Sergeant Wade in the middle. The other two men looked 
like tap room brawlers, men who'd muscled their way 
into the party by their brute strength. One was the 
tallest man in the room, broad shouldered, a large 
piece missing from his left ear, probably bitten off in 
some drunken melee. Much of his face was obscured by a 
straggly brown mustache and his skin was as swarthy as 
an Indian's. For some unexplainable reason Amanda 
immediately decided that ear-bitten was a butcher or a 
slaughterer in his own town. The last of the Rebs was 
stocky with arms like a blacksmith and a face framed by 
long ginger hair and ginger sideburns. Ginger's face 
was dominated by glittering blue eyes set close 
together above a large nose. Small pox scars pitted his 
cheeks and chin and it seemed strange he hadn't grown a 
beard over the disfiguring marks. All the soldiers were 
armed, naturally, but the ginger haired one had three 
large knives in his belt as well as a pistol.

All in all any one of the Rebs could have been 
pencilled into the illustrations of the book as one of 
the bandits and fitted the part perfectly - except the 
boyish looking Sergeant. But so far he'd shown more 
devilment than the others put together. Yet that was 
changing, as Amanda learnt when bitten-ear pointed at 
her and clicked his fingers. There was a dreadful pause 
as Euphemia changed her position, and then a stinging 
impact on Amanda's already tingling seat had the 
teacher wriggling around like Helen and on the verge of 
weeping. This was hurtful and demeaning, especially the 
way she couldn't help whimpering after the blow.

"God save us, look at the pussies on those two," the 
Corporal declared. "One fair and one dark and both as 
fuckable as any I've ever seen. Let's be getting 
started hey, Billy boy?"

Wade laughed: "Never thought I'd ever have so much fun 
in a school house, that's for sure. OK, ladies, bend 
forward over the desk, onto your elbows. And let's see 
those asses high up in the air."

Both of the women obeyed. Amanda's weight rested on her 
forearms, her naked nipples almost touching the desk 
blotter, the familiar planks of the floor looking the 
same as they always did but a draft of cold air blowing 
over her sore bottom to prove this was nothing like a 
normal day. Beside her Helen's bare arm was almost 
touching her own.

"Brace those legs, get your butts up."

Amanda hastened to obey the Sergeant, hearing the 
gloating pleasure in his voice as he controlled them 
both with his voice, like a pair of obedient dogs.

"OK, boys, if'n you ever wanted to give a school marm a 
taste of her own medicine, this is your chance. I 
wouldn't be using that birch though, or you'll be 
taking the girl's minds off what they should be 
thinking about. Use your hands and not too hard or too 
soft, that's the way to bring them along. Like this."

He came around behind the desk. Amanda trembled in 
anticipation, giving out a little gasp as his fingers 
gently stroked her rounded rump instead of landing a 
blow. Then she gasped again as his roughened palm did 
come down sharply on her. The slap didn't hurt anywhere 
near as much as the birch but it was enough to make her 
wriggle her buttocks, which she instantly found had an 
immediate effect on the watching men.

"God almighty," Ginger hair whispered. "I've never seen 
the like. Let me at it!" 

He shot around the desk and settled into giving Helen a 
spanking as well. Like Amanda she started crying out 
immediately and heaving around in a lascivious style, 
flaunting her bottom to the soldiers' eyes.  Amanda 
clung to the edge of the desk and rolled her head from 
side to side. The men were all around her and Helen 
now, taking turns at slapping the blushing derrieres at 
their mercy. Not only that, but relentless male fingers 
were also reaching underneath each of the helpless 
females to pinch and tug at the plump breasts hanging 
underneath them. Helen was yelping in protest at the 
rough handling, with Amanda echoing her cries.

"OK, boys, that'll do for that. Now let's get them 
purring."

Amanda heard something clink and looked up. The 
Sergeant had apparently glanced inside the pantry 
cupboard and seen the loaves of bread which were the 
children's usual midday meal. Wade had reached into the 
water dish beside the loaves and taken out the butter 
crock which was standing in the cool water. He put two 
fingers inside the jar and lifted out a pat of butter.

"No better cure for a spanking than this. All it needs 
is to be well rubbed in. How about you,  teacher, would 
you like some nice fresh butter rubbed all over your 
big beautiful butt?"

As compared to more spanking it was an easy choice. She 
nodded her head.

"Can't hear you teacher - - can't hear you!"

"Yes, please . . . rub it in for me!"

"My pleasure, Ma'am. Somebody should have rubbed it 
into you interfering federalists years ago."

The Rebs laughed at Wade's joke as he came back to the 
desk and put the butter crock down on it. Then he moved 
back behind the table and began to massage the butter 
into Amanda's trembling rump. Gently but firmly, with 
flat palms and oustretched fingers: as the palms 
rotated in larger and larger circles the fingers 
explored widening areas of her still stinging skin, the 
nails beginning to brush against the clump of hair 
between her legs. At the same time the other men were 
scooping out yellow blotches from the crock. Some of it 
was spread on Helen, other hands crept in underneath 
Amanda to smear greasy patches across her nipples, then 
to work the grease into and around the tightening 
points. A lingering moan of desire slipped past her 
lips, her bottom involuntarily rose higher, offering 
her private parts up to the Sergeant's touch.

"We're going to fuck you, school marm, we're going to 
fuck you but good." She wasn't sure, she thought it was 
the Corporal making the promise. Somebody else was 
saying something, she couldn't catch it, there was more 
movement in the room.

When she squinted up she saw Blackbeard, surrounded by 
women. Gertrude, Madeline, Yvonne: they were taking his 
uniform off. Gwenneth McAlistair was kneeling in front 
of him, unlacing the man's boots. Amanda heard Sergeant 
Wade laugh as his greasy fingertips began to trace the 
cleft of her womanhood. When one of the fingers found 
the swollen rosebud hidden within it and deftly tweaked 
the spot Amanda writhed as if she was being Indian 
tortured over a slow fire - yet this was a fire 
smouldering and spurting into flame in her own vitals, 
and it was the worst kind of torture, one she didn't 
want stopped. Her leg muscles tensed and she went up on 
her toes, then cried out in something of the same 
manner as the soldiers had done when they stormed into 
the village.

"Ha, we'll make a Reb out of her yet. When she's got 
enough Southern spunk in her to know the difference." 
It might have been the Sergeant speaking, she wasn't 
sure. Helen was making enough noise on her own to make 
everything sound confused. 

The Corporal was coming back, stark naked, his bare 
shaft bobbing and up down at every step like a canoe 
riding over waves. He lifted up the butter crock with 
one hand and used the other to guide the top of his 
male member in a wiping motion around the interior of 
the lip of the pot. Amanda made a mental note that 
she'd have to get another one, none of the mothers 
would want their children eating from it in future. A 
pity, it was a nice piece of pottery with violets and 
roses on it she'd carefully handpainted herself. Then 
the Reb held his butter decorated shaft up to her lips.

"Lick this off, teacher, before it melts, or I'll shove 
that birch up your ass!"

If he thought that he was going to get any kind of 
fearful, tearful refusal he was about two hours too 
late. Amanda immediately reached out and held the NCO's 
red flushed cock steady, then wriggled forward to do as 
the man wanted. There were cries of approval from 
around the desk. But her hips were tightly seized and 
she was hauled back again.

"Oh no you don't, Patrick. You get the other 'un to do 
that for you. The School Ma'am's going to get my bit 
between her teeth first. Jubal, you take over here."

Jubal's hands had none of the gentleness or timing of 
the Sergeant's. But he knew just as well how to excite 
a girl and his busy fingers combined with the continual 
massaging of her slippery breasts brought Amanda to a 
state of near hysteria, especially when she looked 
sideways and saw the Corporal holding onto Helen's hair 
as he moved himself against her, filling her mouth with 
his column of flesh and then pulling it back to let her 
squeal and gulp in air. Amanda was acutely aware that 
but for the Sergeant's intervention she would now be in 
Helen's situation herself, and certainly would be 
sharing the same fate when Sergeant Wade returned. Not 
only that, the female spectators at the other end of 
the room were moving closer to the desk to view the 
mens' actions, edging closer in cautious groups like 
feeding crows. The Sergeant suddenly appeared in the 
front rank, wearing nothing but his kepi hat, Getrude 
and Madeline on each side of him, his arms around both 
of their ample waistlines.

The trio stopped in front of the desk, in front of 
Amanda, and she saw the fullness of the sergeant's 
upthrusting member, red flushed all over and twitching 
like a hound dog's nose. "Butter me up, girls," he 
chuckled.

Gertrude took a dab of butter out of the jar and spread 
it over the waiting cock, with Madeline's hand joining 
in the task. Sergeant Wade groaned with pleasure as 
Madeline took a grip around his shaft, then worked her 
hand up and down the glistening skin which looked as if 
it was going to split open at any second because of the 
pressure trapped inside it. The Reb NCO didn't seem to 
be feeling any pain though, although he let out a 
shuddering gasp as Gertude scratched the hard lumps 
underneath his protruding ram.

"OK, School Marm, now you lick the butter off, real 
delicate."

Amanda lifted up her head, opened her mouth and put out 
her tongue. Madeline and Gertrude both steadied the 
cock by gripping it at the bottom and guiding the tip 
of it onto her tongue. The teacher lapped at the hot, 
incredibly smooth flesh and then nearly flew off the 
desk as she felt Jubal's beard press in between her 
thighs. She wondered for a moment what was happening, 
felt his tongue licking her mound, remembered the 
illustration in the book and then the beard was 
scratching her as if she was straddling a hedgerow and 
the Reb's tongue had found her clitoris. Amanda called 
out in astonished joy as if she was a ship's lookout 
sighting a new land, a new world. The Sergeant's hand 
twined into her hair and held her head steady as his 
salty butter tasting cock pushed forcefully past her 
lips and over her tongue. The teacher closed her eyes 
and despaired of being able to fully satisfy the man 
and to breathe at the same time. As for what Jubal was 
doing, her pussy was dissolving into a pool of 
shimmering white hot mercury which the rest of her body 
was bound to slide into and melt out of existence.

Yet it was the Sergeant's cock which was suddenly gone 
from her mouth, and Jubal's tongue which was taken away 
from his target. Amanda blinked and fully opened her 
eyes again, then gasped. Another man had appeared by 
the desk, fully dressed, even to the sabre hanging from 
his belt. James Lee, and sounding very angry.

"You men take your fun further down the room. The 
teacher stays here, on her desk."

Amanda tried to catch up on the situation. The Sergeant 
and the other soldiers seemed to be doing as they were 
ordered, because Amanda felt the desk move as Helen was 
lifted off it and dragged away. She saw the grey pants 
she remembered so well moving behind the desk.

"Would you ladies mind moving a little closer? Get your 
skirts around the table, please."

Amanda heard something fall on the floor - the sabre 
probably, and the belt it was on to, she guessed, and 
presumably the pants the belt had been holding up. All 
around it was like being in a curtained off little 
room, because so many of the village woman were 
standing right up against the desk, shielding it with 
their skirts. Hands calloused from holding reins seized 
her buttocks, squeezed them passionately. She moaned 
with desire and looked around. James was directly 
behind her, naked from the waist down and Euphemia was 
standing next to him, her fingers running up and down 
James's stiffening erection, apparently as skilfully as 
Gertrude and Madeline had dealt with Sergeant Wade's, 
like a musician tapping the stop holes on a flute. 
Amanda's friends seemed to have skills she would never 
have suspected. On the other side of the skirts a 
female voice was calling out and then giving a scream 
of pure pleasure. But Amanda had no time to worry about 
what was happening to any other woman while Euphemia 
was positioning the head of James' cock into the center 
of the wet patch Jubal had left behind.

"She's yours, Lieutenant. Start tupping her!"

Amanda had a crazy thought that if James made her 
pregnant and Euphemia delivered the baby she'd be duty 
bound to  make the midwife the child's Godmother - 
after all she'd certainly have had a hand at both ends 
of the conception. Then she felt her body parted like 
the Red Sea by God's unstoppable will and James was 
inside her, part of her, and the pain of it was like 
the tumbling of Jericho's walls, triumphant trumpet 
calls mingling in with her yelps of protest. Protests 
which died away into long drawn out moans of 
contentment, other woman holding her hands in comfort 
as if she was giving birth, more women calling out down 
the room and Rebel yells echoing around the 
schoolhouse.

"Fuck her -   fuck her -  fuck her!"

It was Euphemia saying that? Yes, it was, and the 
audience around the desk were joining in the chant as 
Reuben's strokes carried him into Amanda's inner 
temple, where everything in her body and soul was 
falling and worshipping the appearance of this long 
promised godhead. Her body went into convulsive spasms, 
muscles never before used clutching at the flesh which 
had been shaped perfectly by nature to fit into her 
like a fish had been formed to swim in water.

"Fuck her -  fuck her - fuck her!" 

It was impossible, it was a chant in unison, as though 
the excited women were calling out the timing for a 
tug-of-war team at a church picnic. Oh God, the Lord 
himself would surely raise the muddy waters of the 
Missouri to wash away Stony Creek and all its 
unexpected wickedness!

Somehow the crowd parted for a moment and between a 
brown dress and a black one Amanda saw a row of desks, 
a naked woman kneeling on the sloping lid of each one, 
booted feet braced against the back rests, arms down by 
their sides. Gertrude and Madeline, wide eyed and 
gasping, huge breasts hanging and banging together like 
the teats on cows being driven into a milking shed. The 
soldiers behind them were ruthlessly spearing the women 
on their cocks, Sergeant Wade coupling with Gertrude, 
the Corporal with Madeline. Pretty little Gwenneth had 
been press ganged as well, stripped and mounted on a 
desk, then mounted from behind by the eager Jubel. 
Nothing else was visible in the gap, except for a pair 
of boots pointing up towards the roof with their owner 
flat on her back, her skirts piled up around her head 
and a naked Reb on top of her.

Perhaps James saw the scene as well, for he began to 
gasp for air as though he was being hung on a rope's 
end and his strokes grew more frantic yet, plunging 
into her stretched cunt like hammerblows drawing out 
red metal on an anvil.

 "Fuck her - fuck her - fuck her." They were witches 
all of them, underneath their usually respectable 
fronts. Witches - - MacBeth - -'I'll drain him as dry 
as hay'. Was she going to drain James? If she did she'd 
truly be a woman now!

Amanda heard her man bellow, felt a boiling in her 
depths, and then her eyelids were clamped shut as the 
end of the world and the Jubilee hit her together and 
she went flying up into the sky on a rocket blowing off 
stars and sparks. She supposed the gunpowder had 
suddenly exploded for some reason and what St Peter 
would say when the female villagers of Stony Creek 
appeared outside the gates of Heaven in their present 
circumstances hardly bore thinking about. He'd probably 
send all of them straight down to Hell, or back to 
Missouri.

THE END 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 12