Raped on the Railway

THE MASSAGE SCANDAL

At the Old Bailey, before the Common Serjeant, George Francis Robertson, aged 27 years, described as a musician, was placed in the dock to answer a charge of having demanded money with menaces from Janette Aspeaslagh. There were two other charges of demanding money with menace from two other young women. Mr. J. R. Randolph, who prosecuted, said if the evidence of the prosecutrix was true, the case was one of about as mean and as despicable a character as could well be imagined. The accused, who was a man of education and address, by vocation was a music-writer and known to several members of the Church of England. The allegations against him were that for some time past he had engaged himself on a pretended scheme for the suppression of massage establishments and houses of bad repute in the metropolis, in the course of which operation he had pursued a system of blackmailing of a heartless character. He called on Miss Aspeaslagh at St. John's Wood in October, and having paid her money, he subsequently demanded it back, saying that he was a “detective,” and that unless she refunded the money he would lodge an information against the occupier of the house. As the result of the threat, the prosecutrix returned a sum of 10 s. which the prisoner had given her, although he had had carnal connection with this lady several times, he being a vigorous, very full-blooded man, so that she had been forced to cry out: “for God's sake not to split her in two.

Miss Aspeaslagh, a stylishly-dressed young woman with fine large breasts, hips like a Callipyge, roguish eyes and merry smile, described the visit which Robertson paid her, and said she was terrified by the prisoner into giving him his money back. Two letters were addressed to the National Vigilance Society by the prisoner. In one of these, Robertson, after referring to certain information which he said he had given to the police, went on to write:

“I am a little suspicious of the police and fear they may be guilty of bribery, and indeed often mount the girls and women they are supposed to suppress. I am delighted to think that there is a chance of something being done… Madame M — is very artful, but anyone willing to spend a pound or more there can get any amount of beastliness and immorality; the girls will practice all the genital perversions known, such as flagellation, penis-sucking, etc. described in Dr Jacobus's Ethnology of the Sixth Sense, and Genital Laws; Madame herself being a “taker-on” and a whore of no mean capacity… If I can help you I will, but I don't want to give evidence in court. Address me as follows: “Care of Rev. H. Mosley, M. A., Trinity Mission Club, Tenbyroad, Stratford.”

In a second letter, the prisoner wrote:

“All the printed matter sent by you is of great interest to me, and, though it reveals a terrible amount of Satanic dealings organized with persistency and skill, yet certainly the success of your work is matter for great thankfulness-Your letter confirms my fears as to the practices universally carried on in the treatment for rheumatism, manicure, chiropody, etc-I strongly suspect that women of shameless life are engaged in these practices.”

The writer concluded the letter with a graphic description of a visit he paid to a massage establishment, where he saw ten naked women offering their various charms for all sorts of purposes, and enclosed papers which he said would show his good faith. He added that “Canon Scott Holland was a great friend of his.”

A number of clergymen and other witnesses attended and gave the accused an excellent character, but the jury found him “Guilty.”

Sergeant Croxton mentioned that there were similar cases against the accused, who would give information to the police, and then, learning that a warrant was out, go and attempt to get money from and operate on the bodies of the persons interested.

Mr. Geoghegan said the prisoner's knowledge of Canon Scott Holland was merely in a business capacity.

The Common Serjeant said the one thing in the case which made the conduct of the prisoner so odious was that he pretended to be carrying out a religious propaganda. That a man should be guilty of the conduct imputed to the prisoner, and indulge in religious exercises while fornicating and blackmailing like this, was a horrible revelation.

Mr. Geoghegan: He only writes music for religious journals. The prisoner instructs me that he never took any active part in the work of the mission. A man may perhaps appear a hypocrite to the external world and yet believe himself thoroughly conscientious.

The Common Serjeant: It is difficult to picture a more odious crime and the only redeeming feature is that prisoner has not gone into the witness-box and perjured himself, as was now so common a practice. I have no doubt that the prisoner has been carrying on this nefarious and abominable traffic in going to these houses and indulging himself in immorality and then demanding money from unfortunate women, for some time past. The prisoner was sentenced to four year's penal servitude.

Let us now return to the excited group in the train, where in a first-class compartment of the “Flying Scotchman,” a refined lady is to be unjustly and shamefully beaten by, and in the presence of, strange men.

Little had she dreamt, poor woman, in boarding the train at Euston, that in the space of a few hours she was first to be forcibly ravished, and experience pleasure in the ravishment even against her own will, and finally have her silk dresses and petticoats tucked up, her linen torn, and she, a lady of education and position, held down by rough firm hands while her naked elegant, plump, white-velvet, beautifully rounded backside was exposed to the fury of a merciless whipping. Fate has indeed bizarre surprises in store for many of us, surpassing the ravings of poets, or the unreal dreams of neurotic novelists.

At a signal from the spokesman, the other men seized hold of Mrs. Sinclair by the arms, and despite her struggles, laid her face downwards upon the seat of the compartment.

She seemed like a mere child in their grasp and with a few rapid movements, to which they were evidently accustomed, they soon had the struggling woman helplessly fastened with silk handkerchiefs bound round her wrists and arms.

But her legs were still free and she used them to very good purpose, for already one of the men had received such a kick in his balls that we warrant he must not have been able to have rogered his wife for at least eighteen months afterwards. He simply howled with pain, and was about to strike the woman a blow when he stopped suddenly short at a look from his leader, who muttered between his teeth: “The whorish bitch shall pay you back for that with her arse.

She screamed loudly for help, and kicked and struggled in a most desperate way, but these gentlemen were evidently thoroughly habituated to such scenes, for their eyes sparkled with delight and their lips wore a grim smile of enjoyment while they tried to master the terrified woman.

Never again, we undertake to say, would a railway compartment be destined to witness such a glorious picture of white buttocks, and voluptuous female flesh writhing and twisting and struggling in a most outrageous fashion to hide themselves from the view of these prurient male eyes which seemed to gloat over the helplessness of their intended victim.

After a few moments, the leader made sign to his acolytes, who immediately began very carefully and slowly to draw back the panting woman's dress, which they folded back as far as her waist. Then they served a stout travelling flannel petticoat in the same way, and also a rose-coloured silk petticoat that she wore next to her drawers.

This latter article of feminine toilette calls for special remark. There is great psychological significance in the quality of woman's drawers. We firmly believe, with the talented author of an extraordinary book, which in itself is a perfect exposition of the philosophy of female discipline, — that the tightness or roominess of ladies' drawers exercises inevitably a most powerful influence upon their sexual desires and morals.

We take the liberty of digressing for a moment to quote a passage from that classic of flagellation literature: “The Mysteries of Verbena House, or Miss Bellasis Birched for Thieving, attributed to George Augustus Sala, who is said to have been a most notorious flagellator. A passage which should be written out in letters of gold and hung up in the chief room of every thorough-going English family: “The greatest enemy of woman's chastity is contact. Let her wear her things loose and she may keep her blood cool. Nuns — continental Ones at least — don't Wear drawer's. Peasant women, who are chaste enough as times go, don't wear drawers; and when they stoop you may see the bare flesh of their thighs above their ungartered stockings. But the bigger the whore — professional or otherwise — the nicer will be the drawers she wears, while the prude, or the cantankerous old maid will either wear the most hideous breeches imaginable, or none at all. I positively knew a lady once who not only repudiated drawers herself, but would not allow her daughters to wear them.”

The drawers worn by Mrs. Sinclair were of the finest cambric texture, fringed and most beautifully embroidered.

They seemed to cling to her skin with the caress of a man's hand, and were quite warm from the contact of her body. They were what we should call “indecent” drawers, for they could not have failed to give birth in the bosom — and something else — of their charming wearer to most voluptuous feelings.

At a further sign of the leader, one of the men produced a pair of scissors, and proceeded ruthlessly to cut away the strings and tapes that bound them. The second subordinate then tore them off, and exposed her naked bottom, laying bare the most wonderful riches that it has ever been the lot of man to gaze upon. For such a sight the Turkish Sultan would have given all the treasures of his palace, and an American nabob would have bartered all the auriferous Mines of Klondyke for one view through the carriage window.

But the train still tore on its mad, headlong course, and the Turkish Sultan slept between the thighs of his favourite odalisque, little dreaming of such a scene as this.

Her buttocks, though rather small, were exquisitely shaped, and the flesh was firm, and beautifully white, and smooth. Angry and helpless as Brandon was at the thought that he could not help his mistress, he was struck by her charms, and despite himself, his tool stood stiffly, and he could not help confessing that if he would have liked to have birched that pretty little bottom it would only have been to a sufficient degree to give a higher zest to the delicious poking which would have followed.

She blushed scarlet when she found her body exposed to the gaze of five men, and the blush suffused her whole body making her well-rounded buttocks flush a rosy red.

“Shall we gag her?” asked one of the men.

“I should like to enjoy her screams,” I replied the big man, “and then should know for certain she was feeling her punishment, but I suppose it is better to be on the safe side, so you had better gag her in case her screams should be heard.”

The third man quickly tied a handkerchief loosely over her mouth, leaving her nose free, in order that she might breathe.

“It is a pity we have not a birch rod,” said her brother-in-law, “we could have tickled up her arse in fine style, but I suppose we shall have to give her the strap.”

“You will find a nice pliable cane amongst my sticks and umbrellas,” said one of the men. “Here, up in the rack.”

The giant went to the place indicated, and found a long thin pliable cane, which he swished in the air half-a-dozen times.

“Yes, this will make the little bitch jump,” he said, “but I will prepare the way for it by first giving her a dozen with the strap.”

He twirled the strap in the air, and brought it down with a dexterous sharp jerk across her buttocks diagonally from the left flank to the right thigh. A bright red band marked the expanse of white.

Shifting his position slightly, he brought down the strap again and this time it was followed by a red mark which crossed the bottom in the other direction.

“By Jove!” said one of the men who was holding her down, “you have marked her bottom with St. Andrew's Cross.

“And now it looks something like the Union Jack,” said Sinclair, as he brought down the strap straight across both cheeks of her arse.

The woman had borne the pain pretty well. Though her pretty bottom was bright red all over long before the twelfth blow had fallen, the pain though severe was not intolerable, and she only moaned and sobbed, more with the thought that her naked person was exposed to the lustful gaze of so many men rather than from the physical pain she suffered.

“The tawse doesn't seem to have hurt her much,” said one of the men.

“No, but it has made her nice and tender for the cane,” replied the big man. “You had better handle that, Jock, and I will take your place and hold her down. I am a bit too heavy-handed, and I might hurt her too much — besides you are a schoolmaster and ought to know how to apply a cane properly.

“You bet I do,” said the man grimly. “You hold her, and I'll soon show you.

The two changed places, and the schoolmaster raising the cane above his shoulder, brought it down smartly with a quick motion of his forearm. Instantly a thin white line crossed the bright red buttocks, but it disappeared again and gave place to a livid weal.

The effect of the cut on Mrs. Sinclair was remarkable. She uttered what would have been a piercing shriek if the handkerchief had not stopped it in a great measure, and her struggles were so great that the two strong men who were holding her were hardly able to keep her still.

Down came the cane again, and another weal marked her bottom, and the woman, in her vain efforts to shield her cruelly treated bottom, tried to turn over, and despite the two men holding her, turned completely on her side. Rage and shame had made her forget modesty, and she did not know that she was displaying to the enraptured eyes of the men a large triangular fleece of golden chestnut hair, which covered the whole of the lower part of her belly, and beneath which could be seen the pink lips of her dainty coynte.

Pretty as the spectacle was, the men quickly turned her on her belly again, and down came the cane a third time. There was another attempt at a scream; through the handkerchief could be heard her voice in a hoarse whisper, saying: “Oh, you wretches! Oh, you curs! Oh, you beasts!” with even worse language which would certainly have astonished her husband if he had heard it.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth cuts descended on her smarting bottom; and Mrs. Sinclair arched her loins at one moment and the next tried to press them into the seat.

The man flogged slowly and methodically, allowing time for each cut to have its full sting.

Seven! eight! nine! and the bottom, but a few minutes before so dazzling white, was now a dull brick red all over, crossed with livid seams.

The pain was intolerable and made the poor woman scream out.

“Oh, don't!” she cried. “Oh! Ha! Ah! have mercy. Oh! Oh! not so — hard — Oh! Oh! it will kill me.- Oh! please don't — I'm too soft — Oh! Oh! I shall die!”

None of the men took the slightest notice, and the schoolmaster delivered the last three strokes as coolly as though he had been beating his coat.

When he had finished, Mrs. Sinclair lay huddled up on the seat half swooning with pain. The men had released her, but the sting of the cuts still remained, and she continued to squirm and wriggle, at times raising her body so much that the abode of love between her legs could be plainly seen. Gradually the pain diminished and she was able to pull down her petticoats over her tortured bottom, and then she burst into a flood of tears.

The big man turned to Brandon.

“I was sorry to have to tie you up in this way, but there was no help for it,” he said. “If you consider yourself aggrieved I will give you any satisfaction you like, but you had better hold your tongue. If you poked this woman with her consent she has been punished enough for her misdeeds and you would only ruin her reputation; whereas if you did rape her it might be unpleasant for you to have to do five years' hard labour. As it is we shall none of us say anything about tonight's work, and you had better follow our example.

With that they released Brandon, who in his rage and indignation would have attacked the men regardless of the odds against him, but at the sight of the shrinking and weeping figure in the corner, he remembered that a free fight would bring about a scandal, and that would cause the loss of her reputation, and he sunk back into his corner, moody and wrathful.

A few minutes later the train arrived at Edinburgh, and the men got out.

“What! changing carriages again, gentlemen?” cried the guard.

“Yes,” said the big man, “we couldn't stand those love birds, and I hate to spoil sport, so we have determined to leave them alone — and here is a sovereign for you if you will do the same. Let them enjoy themselves as — as much as they can.”

The vicinity of Glasgow is unmistakable. The flames of pauseless industries are here and there marked on the distance. Vast factories stand close to the track, and retching chimneys emit roseate flames. At last one may see upon a wall the strong reflection from furnaces, and against it the impish and inky figures of working men. A long, prison-like row of tenements, not at all resembling London, but in one way resembling New York, appeared to the left, and then sank out of sight like a phantom. At last the driver stopped the brave effort of his engine. The four hundred miles were come to the edge. The average speed of forty-nine and one-third miles each hour had been made, and it remained only to glide with the hauteur of a great express through the yard and into the station at Glasgow.

A wide and splendid collection of signal-lamps flowed toward the engine. With delicacy and care the train clanked over some switches, passed the signals, and then there shone a great blaze of arc-lamps, defining the wide sweep of the station roof. Smoothly, proudly, with all that vast dignity which had surrounded its exit from London, the express moved along its platform. It was the entrance into a gorgeous drawing-room of a man that was sure of everything. As the train definitely halted, a long, harsh gasp burst from the engine and a jet of white steam feathered overhead. A loud panting could be heard.

The porters and the people crowded forward. In their minds there may have floated dim images of the traditional music-halls, the bobbies, the 'buses, the 'Arrys and 'Arriets, the swells of London.

When they arrived at Glasgow, Mrs. Sinclair allowed Brandon to lead her to a cab, for she could scarcely totter. He attempted to make profuse apologies to her for having been the cause of all her misfortunes, but she made a sign to him with her hand to be silent.