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From: shaw.alphamale@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} "THE GUNPOWDER GALS" (M+/F+: historical; war)
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Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 19:10:01 -0400
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"THE GUNPOWDER GALS"
(M+/F+: historical; war)

David Shaw
shaw.alphamale@gmail.com

www.alphamalestories.com


THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

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Amanda Shilling is a school teacher with a problem. A patrol of
Confederate soldiers has to destroy a river boat full of Union
gunpowder and Amanda's town is going to get blown up with it. Unless
the women of Stony Creek can find a way of persuading the Rebs to do
their duty without destroying their homes. So the ladies get together
in the school house for a fortifying sip or two of anti-fogmatic
before discussing treaty terms. Only to find out that the Southern
cavalry has a well deserved reputation for getting there fustest with
the mostest -- especially the mostest.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chalk scratched on the blackboard as Miss Shilling carefully wrote
the date on it, '17th October, 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, none 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 small township of Stony Creek 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 townsfolk, 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?"

"She's 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'am, but the Rebs are gathering round Lexington
like a pack of hounds round a treed coon. Ain't no way the captain of
the Henrietta is going down river 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
reveling in the pleasure of being a source of information to his
teacher.

"Why yes, Ma'am, 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 Thanksgiving. 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'am."

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 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, ululating
screams, the sound of shots being fired nearby. The teacher 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 into the air as
the few citizens of Stony Creek who were abroad scurried to get clear
of the onrushing charge. Amanda had no idea at all who the men could
be, until she realized they were wearing uniforms, some of the jackets
a dull gray, 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 realized 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
the town 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'am?"

"I do believe so, Samuel."

The boy was clearly pleased. "Ma'am, 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 grayback
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
must be 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 empty of Union troops and defenseless.

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

The children picked up their 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 pupil.

Then the irritation of the slates ceased because of the sound of a
horse neighing in the street and a southern accented 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 at the thought of her class being threatened by the slave
owning bullies. 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 keen blue eyes fastening
especially on Amanda's generous proportioned 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 jaunty 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, his face deeply
tanned by the weather, handling the reins one handed as if he'd been
born on a horse's back. Very oddly, his face was as hairless as a
boy's, not only clean shaven but freshly shaved that very day. Perhaps
he chose to be so in a world of bearded men because it showed off his
strong jawline and dimpled chin.

"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."

The sergeant's dimpled chin showed up even more clearly as he smiled
again.

"Well, Ma'am, 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 town 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, backbone set straight in 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 demanded to know. The
Rebel NCO seemed happy to answer her.

"All and every able bodied man in the place, Ma'am. We're confining
them in the cargo hold 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 flickered into life again like a candle in a
breeze.

"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 woman folk hereabouts would be glad
to have their children safe at home while their men folk 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 town 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'am, we're from Georgia and we treat all ladies with respect,
especially ones that look as if they like posing on a stage." 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 kind of 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 at the Sergeant's drawling impudence,
Amanda's cheeks blushed scarlet and she stamped a foot in fury as the
Confederates 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 from the windows 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 the partly filled shelves. The
school library was a haphazard collection of old and tattered books,
and though she had read them all Amanda had never expected to find
herself seeking guidance from the one she was now opening: "The Life
and Battles of Admiral Sir 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
again the author's 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 so graphically 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 town seemed abandoned, save for a couple of soldiers riding past.
All the men were imprisoned in the Henrietta, all the frightened women
were staying at home and not even the Rebs were showing much interest
in Stony Creek. 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. She became lost in
thought.

"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 down river.

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 couches 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 was 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 those 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 gray sock with a wooden darning mushroom inside it, and a
needle dangling from the hole on woolen threads. He finally put the
sock down on the coffee table between them, next to a belt with a
saber 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 apologize, 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 Reuben Lee, a Georgia
school teacher and noways related to the general. But I guess I didn't
tell the boys that until after they'd elected me as a company
officer." He smiled, but seemed strangely nervous about meeting her.

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

Reuben 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, as Sergeant Wade says you are. 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 Reuben had been making
of the simple job.

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

Reuben 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 wharf right 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 Union Army rations here as well. Then, tomorrow morning,
we'll turn your men folk loose and tell them to step lively 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 that are left aboard are going to get blown into the
air, most of them on fire I suppose, and then crash down on the roofs
of the rest of the town like a shower of burning comets. I doubt
there's a house in Stony Creek 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 men would probably
shoot 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 homes.
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 in
Georgia right now."

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 mud banks 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 Yankees 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 not very reliable. The only
way I can be sure of doing the job properly 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 what I'm going to
do. And 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?"

"Ma'am, I'm plumb sorry, but a plain 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 town when she
exploded."

"Ma'am! Ma'am!" Reuben 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
patrol just to save some civilians' houses. The boys would think I was
mad if I was to suggest such a thing to them."

"Alright, Reuben, let's talk about making a deal then. Bye the bye,
have you got a pair of scissors?"

The officer 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?"

Lieutenant Lee shook his head in despair at her stubbornness: "Miss
Shilling, they plain won't, even if I was willing to let them try."

Amanda stood up, still holding the repaired sock. "Reuben, 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."

Reuben 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 back of the couch. "Come on, Reuben, relax. You've
earned it. And whilst you're resting we'll discuss a very ancient
legend. Believe me, you'll find it interesting."

Reuben 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 Confederate 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 saber."

Reuben 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 irresistible. He stretched out on the couch and
rested his head on the cushions. Yet his arms remained stiffly 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, Reuben?"

"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 abducted 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, Reuben, I'm afraid this is another holy sock to match the
other one. I'd better take it off as well."

She felt his leg quivering as she ran her fingernails over it, gently
removing the literally down at the heel sock. In truth, although the
smell of Lee's body was deep in the wool, 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,
Reuben?"

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
a grunt.

"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?"

The Georgian 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, Reuben. 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, Reuben. I like seeing it standing up so proud. Are you
thinking about using it on me as if you were my husband?"

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

Amanda stood up again, smiling: "I know you're telling the truth,
Reuben, 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, Reuben? That they can
do whatever they like with all the women in Stony Creek for tonight,
if only they'll agree to try to save the village tomorrow morning when
you fire this steamer?"

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, Reuben. For one night you could be another Caeser.
Rows of helpless women chained and kneeling in front of you, ready to
do whatever you wish them to. 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."

"I'm listening, Amanda!"

"What you should do is search the Henrietta because 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 Richmond finally surrenders. So you
find all the chains and neck irons you can, and you tell your soldiers
to leave them down in the main saloon."

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

"Fine, just fine."

"Then tell them that each man is to leave his shirt in the saloon as
well. And each of them 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 manhood was pushing up a fold of his shirt like a tent post. The
school teacher put her hand on it and squeezed gently. Reuben's
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 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 your men. 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 men down below in the hold
won'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 beneath the pants but the bottom of Reuben's shirt,
draping a column which reared up amid the officer's rumpled clothing
as if were an inflated balloon.

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

Reuben groaned and nodded, his glazed eyes fastened on her hands.

"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 the officer's own shirt, staring at what she had
revealed. "Is all this really you, Reuben? 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 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. "Reuben, 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 chained to her 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 if they'll help save the town tomorrow?"

"Yes! I'll tell them!"

"Alright, Reuben. 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 manhood. He
felt her lips slide around him, the dampness of her tongue against and
around the sides of his erection. 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, heard one of them
singing:

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

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 Reuben's 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
ma'am . . . Oh Lordy, what a night was a-coming!

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 outside. 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 Reuben'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 column. It seemed incredible to him that any
respectable woman would behave so. She was swallowing as much as she
could of him, 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
testicles, every light scratch making him shudder in delight. Reuben
bellowed in triumph, feeling himself ready to spurt forth into the
school teacher'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 a boiler, a sigh 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 sucked in her
cheeks with her eyes closed, as if draining the last drop of sweet
taste from a piece of honeycomb. Incredibly, there seemed some
expression of smugness on her face as if she was 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 Reuben
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 nine inch cigar confiscated 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 Reuben wondered whether
to speak aloud of his curiosity about her behavior. "May I be
permitted to inquire 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 teenaged girl caught with a
hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh dear, must I hold a candle to my shames? Very well then. 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 skillfully 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 in the book show in great detail many of
the .  .  .  the subsequent activities. They certainly give the
impression that the men involved are greatly enjoying themselves."

Reuben 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 learning about."

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."

Reuben spluttered and tugged at his whiskers to regain a measure of
self control: "No, Amanda, I didn't feel at all like laughing. All
kinds of feelings, yes, but certainly not laughter. 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, Reuben. In introducing me to the full pleasures of the
gender. In playing the role of a Roman abductor. Surely you know what
I mean?"

"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 town
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 behavior. 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 drawers. 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 capable of
exploding 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
wantonness.

Amanda herself returned to her home feeling well content with her
efforts. At least she'd succeeded in making an ally of the Reb
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 Stony Creek. 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 a 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 some pictures 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.

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 settlement 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
township 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 away from the town 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 a woman 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 uninhibited 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 all our homes
will be heaps 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 shelter for her family out of branches and blankets."

A chorus of dissent came from her audience and Euphemia shook her head
sharply: "No, nobody 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. 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 boat heading upriver.
So are you fixing to be at the Reb party tonight or not?"

Amanda lifted up her head and stared straight back: "My intention to
do whatever I need to do to save my house and my belongings. As for my
good name, I guess it wouldn't pay anybody to start talking about this
business. Not unless that person want to cause a whole peck of trouble
for themselves and everybody when the menfolk come back from the war."

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 been the saving of us 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 successful a
speech as a Senate candidate arriving on the town green with a wagon
load 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 curiosity."

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
vividly 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 pencil 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, with 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 most
private parts to the laughing approval of his fellows. As for his
victim, her head was tilted back, lips and tongue showing in a cry of
passion 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
scepter, 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."

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, so you know what's a-coming. 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, lots of 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 women whom finally approached the school teacher.

"Come on, Amanda, tell us what you've got planned for tonight. How's
it going to start off?"

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 Rebs 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 coming assignation with
Reuben. Was he planning to do something his officer wouldn't have
allowed if he was awake? The NCO's boyish face suddenly 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 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 all 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,
so shall I read out the list of what's on offer?"

Amanda hesitated only for a second: "Well, ladies, 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
realized the silliness of any such action. She thought it odd that the
young sergeant should seem so much at ease in such a situation. He was
evidently toughened from hard service and full of confidence, as
evident from his ready tongue. Still, the NCO looked so young,
especially with being beardless, such an unusual thing for any
American male past boyhood.

The Sergeant took a piece of paper from his pocket.

"OK, ladies, 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. 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 jaw dropped. In
a second all four of the soldiers had their faces pressed against the
glass in a parody of children peering in at a candy store. The
Sergeant laughed and opened the window, handing the volume through it.

"There you go, lads, never say the Army 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. Meantime
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 to his
temptations? Sergeant, will you not come outside and organize a prayer
meeting so we can decide what's to be done for our 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."

"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."

The graybacks had begun searching through the school cupboards for
some reason. 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 of the flag about level with the desk top. Now, Amanda, you
go and stand behind the desk and look towards your friends over the
top of your flag."

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 harnessed 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 smacked his opened palms together as if starting to
applaud a show.

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

He walked along the row of females. The first he selected was Madeline
Masefield, married to the town soapmaker. She was built on generous
lines, with wide hips and a more than ample chest, and she didn't
squeal she certainly gave several loud gasps as the Sergeant grabbed
both of her bosoms and fondled them thoroughly. 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 continued taking his
liberties with her.

"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
blushing 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 blanched 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 Sergeant'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 Rebel soldiers 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 mens' attention, although
she still tried to avoid the eyes of anybody in the audience.
Madeline, on the contrary, kept on looking around and giggling with
embarrassment 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 an awful lot had to be shown off above the
flag. Amanda 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
breasts as if they were golden treasures. Helen's white skinned
bustline was also receiving much attention whenever the men glanced in
her 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 woman was seized on at random as a
temporary substitute to be squeezed and fondled.

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 with
both hands 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 the teacher's ankles.

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

"It's alright, Amanda," Helen reassured her in a low voice. "You're
only going to get what you would have gotten on your wedding night
anyway. These are good old boys and they ain't drunk, nor out to
hurt.  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 Gertrude drop Amanda's
drawers on the pile of discarded clothing. Tension snapped and
crackled in the muggy air as the two women sheltering behind the flag
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 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 for a birching 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 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 grasping 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 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 in surrender."

His palms smacked together and the flag fell first from Gwenneth's
grasp, then from Yvonne's, to land on top of Amanda's desk. The Rebs
grunted and whistled in appreciation at the unveiling, female gasps
counter pointing the deeper male sounds. Again, 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 war party by 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. The last of the Rebs was
stocky, with a face framed by long ginger hair and ginger sideburns.
Ginger's face was dominated by cunning 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 full beard over the disfiguring
marks. All the soldiers were armed, naturally, but the ginger haired
one had two large knives in his belt as well as a pistol.

Any of the Rebs could have been pencilled into the illustrations of
the book as one of the bandits and fitted the part perfectly -- except
perhaps 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 love pelts 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 with apprehension,
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 finally came 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, judging by the chorus of approval.

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

He moved quickly 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 assaulted 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 would have normally have been the children's 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 buttocks. Gently
but firmly, with flat palms and outstretched 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 herself up to
the Sergeant's touch.

"We're going to fuck you, school ma'am, we're going to fuck you 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 behind her as his greasy fingertips
traced 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 smoldering 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 the
same kind of Rebel war whoop as the soldiers themselves had done when
they stormed into the settlement.

"Ha, we'll make a Southerner out of her yet. When she's got enough Reb
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 that crock
in future. A pity, it was a nice piece of pottery with violets and
roses on it she'd carefully hand painted herself. Then the Reb held
his buttered 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 calls 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 turned his attention to her. Not only
that, the female spectators at the other end of the room were moving
closer to the desk to view the men's actions, edging closer in
cautious groups like feeding crows in a harvest field. 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. The Reb NCO didn't seem to be
feeling any pain, although he let out a shuddering gasp as Gertrude
scratched the hard lumps underneath his protruding ram.

"OK, teacher, 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. 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 between her teeth. 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 womanly entrance was
dissolving into a pool of shimmering white hot mercury which the rest
of her body seemed 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 saber hanging from
his belt. Reuben 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
gray 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 saber 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 callused
from holding reins seized her buttocks, squeezed them passionately.
She moaned with desire and looked around. Reuben was directly behind
her, naked from the waist down and Euphemia was standing next to him,
her fingers running up and down Reuben's stiffening erection,
apparently as skillfully as Gertrude and Madeline had dealt with
Sergeant Wade's. 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 in part fear and part arousal. But Amanda had no time
to worry about what was happening to any other woman while Euphemia
was positioning the head of Reuben's organ 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 Reuben 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 business. Then she felt her body parted like the Red
Sea by God's unstoppable will and Reuben 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 passion, other
woman holding her hands in comfort as if a fever was breaking, more
women calling out down the room and Rebel yells echoing around the
schoolhouse.

"Fuck her, Lieutenant sir, 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 to fit into her as
naturally as a fish had been formed to swim in water.

"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 waters of the
Missouri to wash away Stony Creek and all its 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 thrust down stiffly 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 male organs, 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 Reuben 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 hammer blows
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 Reuben? If she
did she'd truly be a woman!

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 wondered if the gunpowder had
suddenly exploded, 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 at least back to Missouri.

THE END

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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