| Subject: The Whipping Post at Fort Mescalero |
Author:
Stan
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Date Posted: 14:38:29 10/20/17 Fri
I have always had a fascination with the old West, and, on many a vacation, I would drive through some of the western states to explore old mining towns and Army forts.
On one such vacation, I was in New Mexico, and I decided to visit the little-known Fort Mescalero National Historic Site. It was so far off the beaten path that few tourists could justify the 300 mile round trip required to get there. You had to drive back on the same rough dirt road you came in on, and there was nothing but barren desert along that road. The fort had so few visitors that the Park Service could only justify having one ranger on staff there. Ironically, present-day park rangers and the Army soldiers assigned there in the 1860s shared one thing in common: they both considered Fort Mescalero to be a hardship assignment.
I decided to visit Fort Mescalero because I had read that it was in a remarkable state of preservation and there were virtually no intrusions of modern civilization. So one could easily imagine having been transported back in time to the 1860s when the fort was in its heyday, protecting settlers from the much-feared Mescalero Apaches.
When I arrived at the fort, I parked by the sign that said "Visitor Entrance". The only other vehicle in the unpaved parking lot was the Park Ranger's SUV. I went inside and paid the nominal entrance fee. The ranger said that, because of the excessive heat during the past couple weeks, there had been absolutely no visitors during that time. I had been the first one to brave the heat. He told me I could take a self-guided tour with the aid of a booklet, or he could give me a personal guided tour instead. Since I was kind of tired from the long hot drive, I didn't feel like reading a booklet. So I opted for the personal tour.
The ranger was probably in his late 40s, about 10 years older than me. His hair was mostly black with a few signs of salt-and-pepper, but he was still a very attractive man, I thought.
We started on the tour. The fort was laid out in the traditional rectangular pattern. Most of the rooms were located just inside the 4 high protective walls. And the interior of the rectangle was a mostly empty courtyard. We walked around the perimeter of the rectangle visiting the enlisted men's quarters, the officers' quarters, the commandant's quarters, the mess hall, the kitchen, and the stables, among other things. After we finished walking around the 4 sides of the fort, we visited the only building in the courtyard, which was the guardhouse.
Standing off by itself in the courtyard was a wooden structure consisting of 2 vertical posts with a crossbar on top. I asked the ranger what that structure was used for? He said that was the fort's whipping post. He explained that every fort had one as Army discipline was very strict in those days. A manacle was attached by a chain to each of the vertical posts, one for each of the prisoner's hands. The manacles had been locked, undoubtedly to keep tourists from locking each other up in them. I asked the ranger what kind of offenses had merited punishment at the whipping post. He said a soldier could get a whipping for anything from drinking on duty to insubordination. The frequency of whippings depended upon the policies of the particular commander in charge of the fort. I asked him what kind of whip was used for the punishment. He told me that written records indicated that several types of whips had been used for punishment at the fort. The one most commonly used resembled a cat-o-nine-tails. I asked the ranger how many lashes a prisoner would get, and he told me it would depend on the nature of the offense, but according to the records, the minimum that was given was 10 lashes.
I hinted to the ranger that I'd really like to experience what it felt like being tied up to that whipping post. He said it was strictly against the rules. Then I pleaded with him. He said that, since there was no one else there, he'd relent if I promised not to tell anyone. He said the key to the manacles was inside the museum. He told me to follow him there as there was a display I might find very interesting.
Once inside the museum, he pointed out a large display of punishment whips. Inside a glass case were examples of each type of whip that had been used at the fort. I told him I'd really like to feel those whips. He said it wasn't permitted to handle the exhibits, but since the whips were modern replicas, not actual historical relics, he didn't see any harm in it. He pulled out each of the whips, one at a time, and let me handle them.
The first whip he pulled out looked like a cat-o-nine-tails. The strands were several feet long. The ranger told me this whip was technically not a cat-o-nine-tails because there were no knots tied in the leather strands. Knots can cause a whip to cut into a man's back. Also, the tips of the strands of this whip were rounded off. This also minimized the chance of cutting the skin. He informed me this was the lightest whip used for punishment at the fort. Because this whip was used with some frequency, care had been taken in its design to avoid cutting a soldier's skin with the whip, which might lead to infection and render him temporarily unfit to perform his duties. The ranger told me that, although this whip had been specifically designed to avoid causing serious physical injury to the prisoner's body, its effectiveness should not be underestimated. It was still capable of delivering intense pain to the prisoner. This whip was commonly used for less serious offenses or for youthful or first-time offenders. I got really aroused from handling that "punishing leather". I wondered if the soldier who wielded that whip felt a sense of power and complete control over the helpless prisoner who he subjected to the sting of the lash. When I was done, the ranger put that whip back in the glass case and pulled out the next one for my "close" and "thorough" inspection.
The second whip was an authentic cat-o-nine-tails with knots tied into the strands of the whip, and the tips of the strands were cut on 2 sides so they ended in a sharp point. A whipping with this "cat" would almost certainly leave parallel cuts on the prisoner's back as though he had been scratched by the claw of a cat (hence the whip's name). The soldier would be left with "stripes" on his back that might take a very long time to heal. It was more painful than the previous whip and was generally used for more serious offenses or for repeat offenders.
The third whip the ranger pulled out was a "signal whip". It was not a cat-o-nine-tails but a single-tail whip. It resembled a bullwhip except that it was shorter in length. This whip was reserved only for the most heinous of offenses because it would disable a man for at least a week, and it would almost certainly leave permanent scars on his back.
There were a number of other whips on display, and the ranger was very patient with me, pulling each whip out of the glass case, one at a time, handing the whip to me, and letting me get the "feel" of that whip between my fingers. A few times, when I thought the ranger wasn't looking in my direction, I would take a "practice swing" with the whip. It gave me quite a thrill to do so. One time, when I swung one of those whips, I was startled to discover that the ranger had observed me the entire time. I was mortified. I thought he was going to make some disparaging remark, but, instead, he said, "Swinging a whip to see how it responds is an excellent way to get acquainted with it." He actually seemed to be encouraging me. So after that remark, I wouldn't hesitate to swing a whip in his view. Whenever I did so, I thought I detected a subtle smile on his face as though he KNEW the excitement I felt.
I don't think the fact that I was practically "fondling" those whips so intently had escaped the ranger's notice. I asked the ranger if he had any experience with whips, and he told me that, in fact, he had considerable experience with the whips that were in the museum. But when I tried to pry some details from him about that experience, he skillfully deflected my questions.
After I was done looking at the whips, the ranger got the key for the manacles. We then walked out to the whipping post. He told me to take off my shirt (for authenticity), as all whippings were given on the bare back. I enthusiastically complied with his orders. He unlocked each manacle, put my wrist in it, and then locked it again. After that, he pulled on each chain to raise my hands as high as they would go, and then locked them into place. My arms were stretched out as far as possible, exposing the maximum area of my back and shoulders to an imaginary whip.
The ranger asked me how it felt being "tied to the whipping post?" I told him it was really exciting, and I appreciated all he had done for me. However, I had one more favor to ask of him. My experience did not feel quite complete without having felt the lash itself. I suggested to him that, since he had actual experience using the whips in the museum, could he select what he considered the "lightest" whip and give me 10 lashes, which was the minimum number of lashes administered at the fort? That way, I could, at least, have a little taste of an authentic fort whipping.
I thought the ranger was going to bring up all sorts of objections and absolutely refuse to do it. So I was quite surprised when he readily agreed to my request, BUT under one condition that I had to agree to first, and that was, no matter how painful the lash felt, I would agree to take the full 10 lashes, and the ranger would carry it out to completion. He explained that, when corporal punishment was administered at the fort, the exact number of lashes had always been determined in advance, and that predetermined number of lashes had always been carried out and never reduced. He didn't want to break with that tradition. The ranger thought this would appeal to my desire for historical authenticity. I willingly agreed to his terms.
Then, he went back to the museum to retrieve the whip. I got very concerned when he returned a couple minutes later holding what looked like a genuine cat-o-nine-tails in his hand. Noticing my distress, he showed me the whip up close. There were no knots tied in its tails, and the tips of the strands were rounded. So I felt assured that he had indeed selected the lightest of the whips I had seen in the museum. I thought to myself that this whipping was going to be a breeze. The 10 lashes would be over with before I knew it. So I was determined to savor every moment of it.
The ranger called out to me, "Soldier. Prepare to receive your punishment." I braced myself. I saw him draw the whip back and then swing it forward. When the lash struck my back. it felt like a dozen bees stinging me all at once. He had inadvertently swung the whip with too light a force, and the wind resistance had caused the strands of the whip to separate and strike my back in a number of different spots. The ranger called out "ONE". Then he raised the whip again and laid another lash on my back. This time (and hereafter), he put more force into his swing, and the strands stayed together and struck as one. It was more painful than I had ever imagined. It felt like a burning knife slicing across my back. He called out "TWO". As the 3rd lash landed on my back, I yelled out loud from the pain. The ranger called out "THREE". When the 4th lash struck my back, I yelled again. Then, before he could raise the whip again, I yelled out tearfully to the ranger, "STOP! I can't take it any more!", and I began sobbing, but he made no acknowledgement of having heard my plea. He raised that whip and gave me another lash. I yelled at the top of my lungs. I BEGGED him to stop, but he sternly replied, "Soldier! The punishment is 10 lashes, not 5!" He raised the whip, preparing to deliver the next lash. In desperation, I yanked on the manacles repeatedly, trying to rip my hands out of the unyielding steel bonds that held me captive. Risking serious injury to my hands seemed preferable to enduring even one more excruciating lash with that terrible whip. But my efforts were all in vain, and another lash was laid across my back. "OH GOD!", I cried. Then, I experienced a moment of terror when I realized there was nothing I could do to escape the pain of the LASH! Then came the next lash and the next one and the next one. I was yelling or crying almost continuously. My back felt like it was on fire, as though someone had shoved a torch up against it.
I cried out "PLEASE. NO MORE!" But the remorseless lash found its mark once again. I screamed. Then I heard the ranger call out "TEN! The punishment has been completed." I cried for another minute or two after the final lash. I was shaking all over from the pain. Then the ranger unlocked the manacles and released my wrists from them. I felt so weak that the ranger supported me as he took me into his private living quarters. He said I could rest on his bed. He said he hoped that I wouldn't be angry with him. He told me I had wanted an authentic experience of a historical whipping at the fort, and he had given me exactly what I had asked for. He did nothing I hadn't agreed to. And he had even warned me that the whipping would be carried out to completion, no matter how painful it was.
The ranger said that, since it was 5 pm, the fort was now officially closed for the day. He had to go to the office and lock everything up, but he'd be back in a few minutes. When he returned, he told me he didn't think it was wise for me to try to make the long drive back to the main highway after having just endured such a painful whipping. Besides, it was getting quite late in the day. He said I could sleep in his bed. I asked him where he was going to sleep? Then he took me by surprise when he asked, "Would you like to have another authentic historical experience of the fort?" I hesitantly asked him what that was? He said that because Fort Mescalero was so close to hostile Apache territory, women were never permitted to reside at the fort. Since most of the soldiers were in their sexual prime, the only way they could relieve their tremendous sexual pressures was by having sex with their fellow soldiers. Although there were no official records of this practice, it was known to have occurred with great frequency. No one made an issue of it, and officials considered it a necessity to keep the soldiers in line. The ranger asked if I would like to have an authentic experience like that to take away with me from Fort Mescalero. I instantly got a hard-on when he said that, and I just nodded my head up and down slowly in assent. I could feel my heart racing wildly. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I expect to have such a virile guy on top of me exerting his masculinity.
The ranger took off his uniform. As he removed his shirt, I noticed several scars across his back. I asked him how he had gotten those scars? He said, "Remember I told you I had some experience with the whips in the museum. Well, not all of that experience was with wielding those whips. I got some experience on the receiving end of those whips as well. Just before the fort was officially opened to the public, I had to stay there by myself a full month prior to the opening, to protect it from possible thieves or vandals. I asked a gay buddy if he would stay there with me to keep me company. I knew my buddy was into S&M. So when I told him the fort had a whipping post, no more coaxing was needed, and he quickly agreed to stay there with me. Once we were at the fort, he suggested we entertain ourselves by taking turns tying each other up to the whipping post and using the various whips in the museum on each other. The scars on my back were the result of his using the signal whip on me. Boy, did I holler when that whip dug into my back! As a result of that experience, I KNEW which end of the whip I wanted to be on!"
He confessed to me that when I had started yelling from the pain and was pleading with him to stop the whipping, he had gotten a tremendous hard-on. He then told me, in a mock threatening tone, "Now, Boy, you better do exactly what I tell you to do, or I'll drag your sorry ass back to the whipping post and give you 10 more lashes! And this time, I might even leave you with some 'stripes' to remember me by!"
For the curious, don't bother adding Fort Mescalero to your travel itinerary with expectations of viewing that whipping post or having the resident ranger give you a personal demonstration of how it was used. The fort never existed and was a total fabrication of my mind, as was the entire story.
However, there were a lot of Army forts in the old West, and a number of them have been preserved or restored as historic sites. Although I haven't checked them all out, it's quite possible that some of them have whipping posts which have been restored. Now, if you happen to find one, you might have a chat with the resident ranger there and see how sympathetic he is to the idea of recreating "authentic historical experiences".
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