The Virgin Slave-girl of Cannibal Island

The Virgin Slave Girl of Cannibal Island

A Work of Historical Fiction

By Cal Pflugrath

Chapter 1: The Auction 

In all these seventeen years my mind never felt so humiliated and embarrassed as now, fidgeting naked on that block hands tied behind. Some noose strung tight around a straining neck I sighed and gulped.

Those other twelve stripped Indian girls standing alongside squirmed before a mob of sub-continent deviants poking and prodding as they laughed and fondled. A hot sun baked down at our

sweating bareness radiating off that beach where this crowded bazaar took place.

Tevba the Portuguese slave trader managing our auction argued about me in Hindi among several unseemly types. Thanks to mom, the midwife/surgical nurse/language expert, I was fluent with four dialects of India and knew what they had planned.

A guard lifted me up on some stool. Two others grabbed my ankles and hoisted small bare feet above.

With a grin and wink towards that crowd Tevba un-expectantly yanked the noose tight pulling me up taunt. I squawked. The crowd laughed and jeered. More potential customers approached.

Tying off that noose rope the auctioneer moved between my legs. None too gently and displaying a showmanship’s eye he spread me wide. This exposed that hymen for those skeptical bidder’s examination. They patted and appreciated soft, golden pubic hair. Grimacing I wished to be dead.

The crowd convinced Tevba let go of my loins nodding towards his helpers. Stool yanked away those grinning guards dropped delicate ankles.

A laughing auctioneer hauled in that rope again and I went swinging off an overly warm wooden platform. Noose tightening toes stretched for hot wood just beyond reach.

Potential bidders howled with mirth as I gasped and sputtered face turning blue matching my eyes.

Tevba dropped the rope and I crashed down on that baking wood groaning.

The other slave girls looked away and gulped. Until now they had thought of me as the lucky one.

My name is Sara Jane Burke. I am the only child of Fiona Dallion Burke and James Holdwraith Burke, senior General commanding six divisions controlling southern India that fateful summer in our Lord’s year 1838.

We were the 'Earl Burkes' of central Cornwall, landed gentry enjoying entitlements and positions covering over ten thousand fertile acres.

Hard times had fallen. For our family to maintain those vast holdings and ancient titles father accepted an Indian twelve-year service requirement.

My captivity began when several thousand rebels overwhelmed the caravan in which I traveled. Those fifty cavalry and one hundred infantry father sent as guards were no match and swept away.

When that dust cleared all female prisoners lined up before an examination tent. My turn on some table top came. I was hoisted by five nasty looking brutes including their leader the Koot.

This wrinkled old Moslem smiled and ripped off my under clothes. Grinning helpers spread me wide by wrists and ankles.

Scowling towards him through gritted teeth I panted at his touch.

First he smiled poking me open. Then concern furrowed the Koot’s brow. This would be followed by consternation and a curse uttered in some language with which I was not familiar.

Glaring my way he spat; Lucky British bitch! You a virgin! I so wanted tickling your fancy pants raw!

Clutching those ruined shorts grumbling men marched me back to a woman's slave pen. The Indian girls would not be so lucky.

Ravaged and tortured during the blood lust that follows males at battle most of them seemed in bad shape. Helping all I could and what they might allow many looked at me as the cause for their plight. Was my presence among that caravan the reason this attack and our imprisonment occurred?

My midwife/nurse mother having taught me well I managed assisting several ravaged women recover from that first night’s assaults.

Two days later I gasped kneeling naked before some howling audience. Tevba not missing a beat yanked me back up off that floor.

Once again stretching toes unsuccessfully attempted to find hot wood. I twisted in a slow spin.

Flashing by the auctioneer eyes begging, he grinned back head shaking. My fate rested with this tormentor’s whims.

Little bare feet kicking out capering a wild dance I felt faint. The slip knot further tightened. Like

all hanging victims my mind discovered the more a gibbet dancer struggled that much quicker their noose constricted.

Wondering if this could be it, would the general’s daughter slowly strangle to death before a crowd of cheering strangers? Naked and squirming bare body heaving for their pleasure, large breasts flounced my small nipples hard and erect.

Something from mother's death resonated within. I suppressed it. This had not been a good memory and unlike her I was not yet dead.

At that same time my mind sensed some great relief. If this turned into the finish it should be over, this long, humiliating nightmare of savage sexual depravity.

Clinging to consciousness I felt strange tension at lips, nipples, and moistening loins.

‘What could this be!?’ My body became erotically aroused jerking helpless for that audience! In some odd way the noose dancer found it a pleasing sensation, then embarrassing!

I performed on this gibbet like a randy, condemned slut! Father would be humiliated by such an obscene display!

That mob cheered; realizing their victim’s shame. Unable to control myself I bucked wantonly for the gathering’s sadistic entertainment.

They laughed and pointed their friends towards this miserable, humiliating predicament. My crowd

doubled and then tripled. Their rooting rose to a bizarre crescendo.

Then for the first time in over ten years my dead mother's voice echoed within; ‘Don't fight that noose, Sara! Go still, little one!’

I went limp hands motionless behind a little round bottom. Feet together and toes curled my chin sunk with a sigh.

Tevba dropped his hanging slave girl like a stone. I would be of little use to the auctioneer dead.

Guards helped me up. One of them loosened that noose so I could breathe again. Gasping and smiling up at him the auction started.

That crowd primed they had their money out. First in line and as the virgin some good price could be expected. I might fetch a gold piece, maybe two. An English virgin at that, perhaps three gold pieces with the right bidder.

It was then my eyes noticed the only two white men attending our spectacle. They seemed dressed as Dutch sailors staring at me talking and nodding.

Their apparent leader appeared to be some tall man in his late thirties. He featured a full head of brown hair sprinkled with grey and blue eyes like mine.

Stepping up on that platform this Dutchman reached out. Thumbs circled my little pale nipples.

Play time is over, Tevba scolded. Bid or get off the block!

This man looked the auctioneer a side long glance. Fingers worked their way down from large breasts towards moist privates. Tevba gave a conspirator’s nod and smirk back.

Twenty gold pieces for the thirteen, that sailor offered pulling some small bag from his belt beside a saber and pistol.

The crowd groaned and began walking away. Nobody among this mob could out bid that Dutchman.

Any thug’s thoughts of jumping the man for those riches were dashed by ten armed sailors he had as escort.

‘Twenty gold pieces!’ my mind thought. Last week I bought two ball gowns and jewelry with ten! Dad insisted his daughter replace that lost wife at official military and diplomatic functions. He required my demeanor look well-dressed befitting English nobility.

I didn't like it but obeyed. That ten gold could go towards our troops or their dependents for better cause. The general insisted on me keeping up appearances. As the future Earl's daughter and heir I would be expected to maintain a certain wealthy and prestigious impression.

Before mom's execution she ran free clinics at the gates of whatever base father's headquarters currently operated. She helped those destitute without any other recourse.

I assisted and learned. Mom’s talented digits delved where necessary. Fiona could find a medical

solution when there was one. That would not always be the case.

After she died I turned to the army's chief surgeon, Colonel Bixby for training. Initially he didn't believe some seven-year-old girl should be of any use.

Then he saw what small delicate fingers could do inside a patient his big clumsy hands might not manage.

The human body and its fascinating inner workings stimulated my curiosity. Functioning internal organs and the spurting blood associated with wounds did not bother the General’s young daughter.

Colonel Bixby trained me. He used this adolescent student’s talents saving many lives in surgical situations no male doctor could resolve. Father felt proud.

I continued those clinics honoring mom's memory, happy to help and pleased by this distraction.

Dad’s mourning was painful for us both. He endured a difficult time getting over his beloved Fiona’s loss. I felt relieved assisting people less fortunate and being of some use during this terrible period in our family's life.

I didn't want to think about mom, especially the way she had been cruelly slaughtered. Keeping personal grief internalized my mind moved forward from those dreadful events that claimed her.

Tevba paid nooses removed, the former master's servants brought out those gunny sack robes, our coverings.

Head shaking this new owner insisted; They won't need clothes where I'm taking them. You can keep these rags for your next herd of meat.

And where is that? Tevba asked counting his gold.

Sumatra and the Zazo Batak of Cannibal Island.

Pretty young things like these? the auctioneer argued. What a waste! Can't those Zazo eat old hags? They’re much cheaper.

Pretty young things put on a better show. They will be more entertaining at the spitting block and in a roasting grotto.

‘Cannibals,’ I wildly thought imagining very dark things for the first time during this entire ordeal. ‘He can’t be serious!  Please let him be joking!’

The Indian girls knew enough English to catch what had transpired. They began pleading, crying, and begging.

With a sad shake of his head Tevba announced in Hindi, Sorry girls. All purchases are final.

A rope was strung through steel rings attached to our thin leather collars. Me leading we lurched across the hot burning sand towards docked ships some few miles away.

Taking the rope that new owner jerked us forward.

We staggered through a laughing, groping throng. The grinning escort made little effort protecting our naked flesh.

Hands still tied behind I stumbled defenseless. As humiliated and frightened slaves struggled on our stinging bare feet this new owner began talking.

"My name is Ven Gratus Captaining the Dutch East Indies sloop Grupon, and you are all now meat. Prepare yourselves for a two-week voyage until our arrival at the mouth of Sumatra’s Zazo River.

"From there it’s another day's march to those Zazo villages and their main square. In that square you shall amuse your new owners joining some slave boys already entertaining.

"When their hunting is good a few of you along with some boys will be tied on mounting blocks for recreation. At first the younger villagers shall sexually poke and prod.

"Later the adults also join in this fun and games. I would advise you to play along and do what they want. They take note of uncooperative slaves.

"When their hunting is not good a group shall be tied on the mounting blocks as amusement. From this batch a slave is selected; perhaps a boy, maybe some girl, to volunteer as their long pig.

"This selected victim is impaled up the bottom on an iron grilling spit. Through skill and practice these Zazo miss all internal organs and that spit end then pops out of your mouth.

"Still alive ankles tied on that spit and hands bound behind, they carry you to the roasting grotto. Placed over their fire you shall be turned and basted as a late dinner’s main course.

"Somewhere between those flames licking your sizzling flesh and internal bleeding from that spit thrust up the rear you will experience a slow, painful death.

Now I'm not unreasonable. If one or two of your number appeared entertaining I might consider keeping you as a bed warmer. Think about it.

The Captain smiled back at me shaking his head and pronounced; "Forget about it, Virgin. You are destined to be used with special treatment.

"That Batak word for virgin is Tala. At the full moon these Zazo hold a Taladedom ceremony. First you will be staked out breasts up ten inches off a mounting ramp. Then some special juice designed at heightening the skin's sensory impulses shall be worked into your flesh.

These cannibals enjoy paying extra attention with the sex organs thoroughly lubricating them. It’s quite the spectacle to witness though not much fun for the virgin.

I don't know where this outburst came from. It sounded like dad on one of those rare occasions when he became furious.

As Ven spoke so matter of fact about an impending demise at the next full moon it just roared out of me.

Twisting away from a toothless old man grasping my ample left breast I shouted in anger and disgust; "Please, if you possess one shred of human decency left, stop this!

I don’t need hearing any more details about that ritual slaughter and how I’m to be roasted alive and eaten by cannibals!

Gratus looked surprised and somewhat disappointed. He glared at me. Then shaking his head he mumbled, I thought a Tala would want to know what she could expect.

Chapter 2: Eldon

Around early afternoon we boarded the sloop Grupon. She was some modern sixteen gunner of about one hundred feet and crewed by forty-one souls. Featuring a single main mast and triangle sails this vessel had been designed light, fast, and manageable. The ship’s only weakness would be her smallness. Her greatest strengths were speed and maneuverability.

Below deck crewmembers led us to a stifling hold dimly illuminated by some pair of oil lamps. Sailors locked me and those others in a goat pen slated as our slave quarters for the two-week trip.

We settled into fresh, clean straw. At the far corner there stood some five-gallon bucket featuring handles and a smooth rim. It was half filled with water.

That bucket would serve as a toilet during the duration of our stay onboard Grupon.

This animal pen presented enough room and we stretched out. For the first time in ten hours our hands were not tied behind.

It had been before dawn we last tasted water. All of us began feeling dehydration’s effects. Most looked at that toilet water sniffing and salivating.

That's when some handsome young man came in through the hold hatch carrying a large bucket and three cups. He stood