Then they again began to go over the woman’s writhing posteriors in the same way as before; one man flogging down, and the other man flogging up. The bamboos cracked like pistol shots on the victim’s quivering bottom; the big cheeks opening and shutting, as she alternately contracted and relaxed the muscles in agony; while as the punishment went on, her shrieks became loader and more piercing. When the bamboos again met, the Mandarin made a sign; then the two men ceased flogging, and the other men let go their hold of the woman’s limbs; bat she remained lying on the floor, squealing and twisting herself about in anguish.
She had received, in all, fifty severe strokes-I had counted them-and her bottom looked like a huge piece of liver; but not a drop of blood had been drawn. No one took any notice of her; and after a time her crying subsided to choking sobs which shook her whole body and made her fat buttocks quiver like jelly.
Straggling to her feet, she palled up her trousers; and with some difficulty, for she was trembling all over, she tied the strings round her waist. Then two soldiers took her by the arms, and led her oat of the court, sobbing, moaning, and hardly able to put one foot before the other. She was taken to prison; for in addition to the flogging, she had been sentenced to a year’s imprisonment. I left the court, got into my chair, and was carried back to the hotel Then I gave Ah Wan a good “cumshaw,”-a present-and he departed, his face looking as inscrutable as ever.
Two days afterwards, I left Canton for Hong Kong, where I caught the mail steamer, and in due course arrived in London.
Since my return to England, three months had passed; during which period I had been living quietly at Oakhurst; but I could always get a poke whenever I felt inclined, as I had at my disposal one of the parlourmaids named Mary.
This girl had not been in the house at the rime I went away; but she had been engaged by the housekeeper during my absence.
Mary was about twenty-three years old, a tall, good-looking, well-made girl, with dark brown hair and neat feet and ankles. I had taken a fancy to her, a few days after my return home; and had managed to get hold of her without the least difficulty, as she had often been fucked before she entered my service. However, she was a fairly good poke, and she had a nice, white, smooth skin, firm bubbles, and a big plump bottom; moreover she was particularly clean in dress and person, so that I was never afraid of turning up her petticoats at any moment. I cannot touch a girl if she has on dirty underlinen.
Mary was also well versed in the “arts of love,” and she would let me do anything I liked to her except in one respect. She would never allow me to whip her in any way.
One day, after I had given her a good poke; I asked her why she was so afraid of a little whipping. She told me the reason; and she also gave me a short account of her life.
She had been left an orphan, at the age of six years; and had been brought up in a charity institution where corporal punishment was freely applied to the girls whenever they committed an offence of any sort; the little girls being spanked, and the big girls being birched. She herself had been so often soundly spanked when she was a little girl, and so often severely birched when she was a big girl, that now the very idea of a whipping made her flesh creep.
When she was at the institution, it had contained upwards of fifty girls, who were kept until they were sixteen years of age; then they were put out to service; and every girl was liable to be birched, up to the day she left the establishment
There was a regular “punishment parade” every morning in the schoolroom at nine o’clock, when all the culprits of the previous twenty-four hours were flogged in succession, from the youngest to the oldest, in the presence of all the other girls. Everything was carried out in a methodical manner, but the preparations for punishment did not take long, as no drawers were worn by the girls at the institution. The little culprits were, one after the other, stretched at full length on a bench, and well spanked by one of the assistant mistresses. Then the big culprits were, each in turn, held over a high desk by two of the assistants. The matron, who was the only person authorized to use the rod, would then apply the birch; never giving less than six cuts, and sometimes giving as many as eighteen, for serious offences, such as stealing, or indecent conduce. She always flogged severely, and sometimes drew blood. Nearly every morning there was a culprit to be punished, and sometimes there were two or more; and she had seen as many as eight big girls birched one after the other.
I could hardly believe that girls were treated with such severity in a charity institution in these humanitarian days; but Mary assured me that it was a fact; and she added the though it was seven years since she had left the institution, she knew that the discipline of the establishment was still maintained in the same severe way as it had been in her rime.
Then she went on to tell me what had happened to her since she left the institution. When she had reached the age of sixteen, she was put out to service as an under-housemaid in a large country house, where there were three young men, the sons of the master. The three young chaps at once made a dead set at her, and a couple of months after her arrival in the house, she was seduced by the eldest son of the family.
Then she had allowed the other two brothers to “have” her, and between the she had had a lively rime during the two years she lived in the house. She used to get a poke from one or other of the young men nearly every day; and often all three would poke her in one night, each man spending a couple of hours in bed with her.
She had been in two establishments as parlourmaid before coming to Oakhurst; and she wound up by telling me, with a laugh, that in both places she had been poked by the master of the house.
I laughed, gave her a kiss, and sent her away.
A few days afterwards, I was reading “The Times” after breakfast; and in glancing down the column of births, deaths, and marriages, my eye caught the name of Markham in the list of deaths. I hurriedly read the few lines which announced that Robert Markham had died at Wynberg, in the Cape Colony, on the 10th of April; aged 50 years.
It was now the 26th of May, so Frances had been a widow for upwards of six weeks. I put down the paper, and thought, with a mixture of feelings, about my old sweetheart-as I still called her in my mind-and I was surprised that she had not written to tell me of her loss. Then I wondered what she would do now that she was a widow. Would she remain at the Cape, or would she come back to England? and if she did return, and I were to meet her, I wondered what would happen. During the period that had passed since her marriage, I had often thought of her; and now I knew she was free, my old fondness for her revived, and I hoped, some day or other, to again clasp her in my arms.
For days afterwards I expected to hear from her; but no letter came; and as the days passed into weeks without my receiving any communication from her, I came to the conclusion that she had remained at the Cape. The time passed on. It was the end of June, and I was thinking of going to the seaside; when, one morning, I received a letter, and though it bore the London postmark, I knew by the handwriting on the envelope, that it was from Frances. I eagerly tore it open, and glancing at the top of the page, saw that the address was Kensington. Then I read the letter. It was a long one, written in affectionate terms, giving me full details of all that had lately occurred; and asking me to call on her any day that was convenient to me. I was delighted with the letter; as the way in which it was written made me think she was still fond of me. But withal, I was not quite sure that she would let me poke her when we met. However, time would show.