Anonymous: The memoirs of Dolly Morton

I had been a little relieved at hearing that I was to be allowed to go in the morning, but I did not like the prospect of spending the night in the dirty shanty with the three men. One of them threw some fresh logs on the fire, and, when it had burned up, fried some bacon, which he put on the table in the frying pan, along with a piece of corn bread, a bottle of whiskey and some tin plates and pannikins. The men, each one drawing his sheath knife, then sat down to the rough supper. They offered me some, but I could not eat a morsel, though I drank some water; then, sitting down wearily on a stool at the far end of the room, I watched my captors as they devoured their food.

All three were coarse-looking fellows. The black-bearded man, who was called Bill Jackson, was about forty years of age. The other two, who addressed each other as Frank and Tom, were respectively about thirty and thirty-five. While the meal was in progress they did not talk to each other, nor did they speak to me. But every now and then one of them would glance at me with a smile on his face.

Strange to say, it did not strike me that my person was in danger. When they had finished eating, they smoked corn-cob pipes, chatted a little and passed around the bottle of whiskey until it was finished. But they all were perfectly sober.

Jackson now rose from his seat and, coming over to me, said with a coarse laugh: We’ve been greatly disappointed at not havin’ found anythin’ in your trunks wuth a dollar to us. We ain’t men who works for nothing’, so we’re bound to git sumethin’ out of you.

Oh, I exclaimed eagerly, I shall be glad to give you anything you want. If one of you will come to Richmond with me tomorrow, my husband, Mr. Randolph, will pay you the money.

I called him my husband thinking to impress the men. But they burst but laughing, and Jackson said: We know better than that. Randolph is not your husband, an’ I guess he would not pay much for you. But whether he would or not, nary one of us will go to Richmond to see. There is rather a prejudice again’ us in the city, and if we was to go there we would never get away again. So, since it is impossible for us to make any money out of you, we intend to make you pay us in another way. We are going to poke you.

Aghast and utterly horrified, I sprang to my feet and, bursting into tears, exclaimed in a choking voice: Oh, don’t do such a thing to a defenseless woman! I will send you any money you like if you will not touch me. Oh! let me go!

They laughed. Then my terror changed to anger, and I threatened them with the consequences which would follow if they dared to outrage me. But they only laughed more. I tried to wheedle them and coax them into letting me go, but without effect. I begged and prayed them to spare me. But all my tears, threats, coaxings and entreaties were useless. In fact, my abject fear and intense misery seemed to amuse the wretches.

Jackson said: Now see here, young woman, you may jest as well shut up. We are going to poke you. Will you take it quietly, or will you not?

No! no! no! I cried. I will not let you do it to me. You shan’t do it to me! Oh, you miserable cowards! Don’t dare touch me! Oh you beasts! You wretches!

The more I raved in my rage and fear, the more they laughed. Well, said Jackson, if you won’t take it quietly, you’ll have to take it fighting. Now lads, let’s strip the little bitch and

’spread-eagle’ her.

The three then seized me. I fought, kicked, scratched and tried to bite, at the same time uttering loud shrieks. But, in spite of my frantic struggles, the men easily carried me to one of the beds and laid me on it. Then, holding me down, they began to strip me, turning me over and over, wrenching off the buttons and breaking the strings of my garments, then pulling them off roughly until I was stark naked except for my shoes and stockings. I resisted with all my strength, screaming, crying and begging them not to do it to me.

Laying me on my back, they now stretched out my arms and legs as widely as possible, fastening my wrists and ankles with ropes to the side of the bed. I was thus spread-eagled, and entirely at their mercy. Standing beside the bed, they looked down upon me, their eyes gleaming with lust as they scanned every part of my naked body, while at the same time they made admiring remarks on my shape and on the whiteness of my skin and on the golden color of the hair shading the spot.

From words they soon proceeded to deeds. They began to feel me, and I had three pairs of hands on my body at the same time. While one was squeezing my breasts and pinching the nipples, another was pulling the hair on the spot and tickling the lips with his finger, while the third was feeling my thighs and bottom. Then they changed places, so that at last everyone had felt my shrinking body from head to foot.

They touched me roughly. Their hands were coarse and hard. I was sick with disgust, and I cried and trembled, but I had given up screaming.

When the wretches had felt me to their hearts’ content, a difficulty arose. Each man wanted to be the first to have me, and so they came to high words, but no one would give way. At last one of them suggested that they settle the matter by cutting a pack of cards, the man who cut the highest being allowed to poke me first, and the next highest to follow. This was agreed to.

Then a dirty pack of cards was produced and cut by the men in turn. The youngest man cut a knave, Jackson came next with a ten and the third man cut a seven.

You can imagine what I felt while my body was being disposed of in such a way. It had been intensely revolting to me to be pawed all over by three men simultaneously, but it would be still more revolting to be poked by the three coarse ruffians in succession. The thought was maddening, and I lay writhing in my bonds, my bosom heaving, my heart swelling and the scalding tears running down my scarlet cheeks.

The man who was to have me first unbuttoned his trousers, letting out his member, which stood stiffly erect. I could not help looking at it with a sort of horrible fascination, noticing that it was long but not very thick.

Saying, here goes for the fust poke, he threw himself upon me like a tiger seizing its prey.

Clasping my naked body in his arms, he tried to get the weapon into the sheath. At first he could not succeed, for, though my extremities were tightly secured, I could move my loins. I twisted about as much as was possible, and thus for some time prevented his entering me.

The other men meanwhile stood looking on, laughing and jeering at their companion’s vain efforts and telling him that he didn’t know how to get into a woman. The struggle lasted for some time, but at last I became exhausted and lay still a moment. Then, before I could recover my breath and renew the fight, the man got his long thing into me up to the roots and began to poke me furiously, at the same time pressing his lips to mine with loathsome kisses.

Filled with disgust, I lay shuddering under him while he worked away at me. He was highly excited, so the end soon arrived. I could not help receiving his copious discharge, and I had no feeling but one of loathing, so I never moved at the supreme spasm.

He got off me, saying in a tone of vexation: She is a damned bad poke. I thought my thing was long enough to have stirred her up, but the bitch had no more life in her than a log of wood.

The brutes laughed. The man Jackson then made ready for the assault, displaying to my horrified eyes a tremendous weapon which he shook up and down, saying with a horrid laugh: I’ll bet this yer little ’thing’ will make her squeak if it does nothing else.