Lust in the Caribbean

by Noah Harris

  “Nice drink,” he said smacking his lips. “You done yet?”

  “Me? I’m only getting started,” Maggie replied.

  Frenchie filled their glasses again.

  The second drink went down as smoothly as the first. As Frenchie refilled their glasses again, the alcohol began to hit. Thomas felt a warmth spread out from his belly to ease his tired muscles. The throbbing pain in his arm and ass ebbed into a low ache. The light of the lanterns glowed a cheery gold.

  “It was kind of you lads to give me a drinking contest after the ordeals you put me through,” Thomas said, a little too loudly. “This is just what I needed.”

  “You won’t need the splitting headache you’ll suffer tomorrow, or me boasting how I bested you!” Maggie said with a mocking laugh.

  “Come, now. You may be a fine master gunner, but no woman has ever drunk a healthy man under the table.”

  “Oh, those are fighting words!” someone said from the crowd. The others laughed.

  Thomas drained his glass, meeting Maggie’s eyes over the rim. Maggie drained her own in one gulp.

  “Careful, my lady, lest you get sick.”

  “You’re an idiot. Frenchie?” She held up her glass, none too steadily. Thomas held up his own.

  “Why are you called Frenchie, anyway?” Thomas asked.

  “Because he’s Russian, you ball licker,” Maggie snapped. “Now, drink up.”

  Frenchie filled their glasses and both gulped the rum down. Thomas coughed. Maggie let out a tremendous belch.

  “You spilled some on your shirt, you cheating little shit!” Maggie bellowed.

  “You spilled some, too!” Thomas shouted back, pointing at a puddle on her side of the table.

  “Another one!” Maggie said, raising her glass and banging it against Frenchie’s face.

  “Oops. Sorry, Frenchie,” she slurred.

  “You’re drunk, you silly cow,” Thomas grumbled.

  Frenchie refilled their glasses and called for two more bottles of rum. Both competitors somehow managed to get more down their gullets than onto their clothing.

  By the time the next two bottles came, Thomas felt his head spinning and he faced not one but two Maggies.

  “No fair. Two againshe one. I wanna recunt—erp—I mean retry. Or—um—somethink.”

  “You can’t hold yer cock, you liquorsucker.”

  Both found this hilariously funny and ended up falling off their seats and rolling on the floor. The pirates picked them up and put glasses of rum in their hands.

  “I alreddy won! The bitch fell down firsht!”

  “Who yer callin’ a bitch, ya bitch? You fell firsht!”

  “Drink!” Frenchie ordered.

  They drained their glasses, then another round, and perhaps a third. Thomas wasn’t sure. He could barely see, and the ship rocked as if it were caught in a storm.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t see anyone anymore. Then he realized why—he was staring at the deck. He tried to turn around and discovered he wasn’t staring at the deck, he was lying on the deck, staring at the ceiling. A pair of blurry Maggies leaned over him, grinning.

  “I tole you yer couldn’t hold yer likker, ya cocknballsucker!”

  She tried to say more, but instead of words, all that came out was vomit. Thomas felt the hot splash on his trousers and shirt. It was comforting, like a cozy blanket. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  The pirate crew of the Manhunter may have been cruel to their enemies, but they were kind to one of their own. After his ordeal, Thomas was not expected to work the next day. There was no way that he could have. His flesh was a mass of bruises. Every joint ached, and the arm that Captain Seawolf had struck had swollen to twice its size.

  But that was nothing compared to how he felt on the inside. His stomach roiled with every movement of the ship, and his shipmates had given him a large bucket to spew and shit in. He did both with frightening regularity.

  Doctor Hartencourt visited him to dress his wounds twice that day. In the morning, Thomas was barely conscious. On the doctor’s second visit, as the sun sank low in the sky, Thomas felt somewhat better and was able to speak with him.

  “So how does the crew feel about me now?” he asked.

  The older man put a reassuring hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Have no fears about that. Many did not trust you before, as you well know. I, myself, was unsure as to your motives. All that has changed now. Once you are in, you are in. These men have accepted you as one of their own.”

  He did not feel like a pirate and, in fact, still did not want to be one. Nor did he want to be a part of the corrupt society that had persecuted and rejected him. “You seem an educated man and far more refined than the rest. I am surprised to find you on such a vessel instead of running a thriving practice on shore.”

  Doctor Hartencourt sighed and nodded sadly. “It is true that I am an educated man, unlike many a man who calls himself a doctor. I studied medicine at Cambridge and graduated with honors. I had a respectable practice in London, a place I chose because of the plentiful taverns for people like us. For a time, I prospered and gained respect in my community. Then, my secret got out. I don’t know how. People began to whisper. Rocks were thrown through my windows, and one morning I found a pile of dead rats heaped on my doorstep. People stopped coming to my office. No one ever confronted me directly. They merely shunned me. I was ruined.”

  “I tried moving to other towns, first to St. Albans, then farther north to York, but wherever I went, the rumors quickly followed. Someone back in London had decided to ruin me for life. The Lord only knows why. I never harmed anyone. I’ve never understood why they hate us so. Hounded as I was, I took to drink and soon could barely practice my craft. I was one step away from the gutter when I met a wonderful man who lifted me out of it.”

  Doctor Hartencourt’s face lit up as he remembered.

  “Peter was his name, and a lovely man he was. Young, fit and strong. How he became enamored with an aging wastrel like I had become, I will never know. He always used to say, ‘I see more in your heart than you do.’ Maybe so. He was a sailor, and like me, he was pursued by rumors wherever he went. It was he who discovered this ship, and we joined together.”

  “He sounds like a fine fellow. I’d like to meet him.”

  Doctor Hartencourt’s face fell. “He’s gone. Last year we were being pursued by a Spanish warship. They raked us with a broadside before we could get away. Peter was killed instantly.”

  Thomas took the older man’s hand. “I am so sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am. Now, I am stuck here on a ship full of cutthroats. I, a Cambridge graduate who wants nothing but a nice man and a library full of books, and instead, I’m scouring the seas for booty.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” Thomas asked.

  Doctor Hartencourt looked at him. “Where else would have me?”

  That evening Maggie came to visit. She looked almost as bad off as he did. At least she hadn’t been beaten up by the captain and sodomized by the ship. She carried his clothes, freshly washed. Thomas had been lying naked under the covers all day.

  “I call a truce. Let’s not do that again,” Thomas said. “And thank you for washing my clothes.”

  “I was still on my feet when you were lying on the deck as helpless as a baby, but you put up a good fight, I’ll give you that. Here.” She placed the clothes beside him. “I haven’t washed a man’s clothes since I ran away from home, but fair’s fair. If you’re fit to walk, the captain would like to see you on deck.”

  “I could use the fresh air.”

  Maggie turned around while he got dressed and then helped him up. He hurt all over and his stomach still roiled, but once he got up the stairs and sucked the sea breeze into his lungs, he felt a bit better. It was late dusk, the sky a pale blue to the west. They were on a course to the northwest.

  Captain Seawolf came up to him. Thomas felt some validation to see he had a lovely bruise covering one half of his face
.

  “How are you feeling, lad?”

  “I’ll be back on duty tomorrow, although the doctor says my arm will keep me from doing any heavy work for a couple of days. Where are we headed, sir?”

  Captain Seawolf shook his head. “No ‘sirs’ here. You can call me Captain or Seawolf or ‘hey you,’ but not ‘sir.’ We’re equals here, lad, except when we’re taking a ship. Then, my word is law, you understand?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “I see you’ve made friends with Maggie. That’s smart, because her enemies don’t live long. I’m the only man who can outdrink her” - a mocking snort came from the master gunner - “and no one on this ship knows more about cannons than she. Now then, I’ve called you up here to tell you what’s what now that you’re one of us.”

  “All right,” Thomas said, not without some trepidation.

  “All crew get one share of all the booty we take. Officers such as Maggie, the doctor, and myself get three shares. A fifth of the booty is put in a reserve fund to maintain the ship and to supply and victual it. Frenchie has control of all funds because he’s the only one everyone trusts. Anyone can ask to count the treasury or see the account books at any time. Can you read?”

  “I can.”

  “Good. I like an educated man. I never had a chance at that myself. Now each member of the crew has to do their share of the work and of the fighting as they are able, and I have seen that you are able at both. Doctor Hartencourt is excused from the fighting, as is our navigator because they’re too valuable to lose, and the doctor is too old, in any case.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “There is no treachery on this ship. If you have a problem with a man, you must either work it out with him or in front of an assembly of the crew. If that doesn’t solve the matter, you are free to have a duel. But any backstabbing or theft or rape will result in execution. Shirking of work will get you before an assembly of the crew who can either impose a fine, put you on forced duty, or - for really bad cases - set you ashore. We run a tight ship here. It’s the only way to keep this band of cutthroats working together and making money.”

  “I agree to all of that. I’ve noticed that this ship runs just as smoothly as any ship I’ve been on, and better than some.”

  “True enough. When there’s a battle on, I’m in command. I’ve told you that before, but it bears repeating. During regular sailing conditions, the navigator is in command, although any good sailor worth his pay already knows what needs to be done. And of course, Frenchie is in charge when it comes to payday and distributing rations.”

  “So, you really aren’t in command of this ship,” Thomas said with wonder.

  Captain Seawolf put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve entered a new world, lad. Put all the ideas of your old world aside. And you’re about to enter yet another world soon enough.”

  “Another world?”

  “You asked about our course. We’re heading for Cutlass Cove, in the Dutch Antilles, as we discussed earlier.”

  “I’ve never heard of it before I came on this ship.”

  “That’s by design. You’ve never heard about it because it’s a pirate haven. It’s a fair-sized town with a fort protecting the harbor and good farms all around. All ships can find safe anchor there, although you have to watch yourself in town. Not all pirates are as disciplined as we are.”

  The captain emphasized this point by sending him to Gonzalo, who was in charge of the ship’s armory. The Spaniard fitted him out with a musket, two pistols, a cutlass, and a long, keen-edged knife.

  “I’ve never done much shooting,” Thomas said.

  “We’ll teach you,” Gonzalo promised. “We need every man to be a good shot.”

  They sailed for three days, bearing northwest. The weather turned for the worse, and the Manhunter got beaten by a heavy rain and high seas. The ship rocked as it rode the big swells. Gonzalo told Thomas that his shooting lessons would have to wait for fairer weather. There was too much to do, and even Bill Husk couldn’t shoot straight in such conditions.

  It was no tropical storm, and while it made work more difficult, it did not dampen the spirit of the experienced sailors. Thomas learned the names of all the crew and got to sample the bodies of many of them. His hesitation at making love in the lamplight in front of other people fell away, and soon he was participating in lovemaking with three or more people at the same time.

  And yet he kept finding himself drawn back to Radbert, the smooth-skinned young German whose ass proved so enticing. Radbert showed some resistance, and only once in those three nights consented to sleep by Thomas’s side. The other nights, Thomas tossed and turned, wracked with jealousy at the sounds Radbert made with other men. He tried to control his feelings, but there was no helping them.

  Being young and vigorous, Thomas soon recovered from the wounds the captain had inflicted upon his body, and he was in good shape to join the boarding party when, on the fourth day, they spotted a small merchant vessel flying the British flag.

  “A local ship,” Captain Seawolf said, studying it in his spyglass. “We’re well within the Caribbean, and I’ll wager it’s going from one island to another. Might be good pickings, might be nothing. Shall we try for it or move on, lads?”

  The majority voted for taking it, including Thomas. He still felt reluctant to rob a ship, but he feared how his shipmates would look upon him if he voted no. Although the rain had stopped for the moment, the clouds were lowering and the waves still high. A strong wind blew. Boarding the ship would be tricky.

  The wind was with both ships, but the Manhunter proved the faster and gradually overtook it.

  “Hoist the Jolly Roger!” the captain ordered.

  As the skull and crossed phalli unfurled in the Caribbean wind, the merchant ship turned, attempting to outmaneuver the Manhunter. It was a move born of desperation, and after a bit of turning this way and that, the crew of the merchant vessel discovered their pursuers were not only faster but much more maneuverable. They struck their colors as a sign of surrender.

  A cheer went up among the crew, and Thomas cheered, too. He also felt a profound relief that there looked like there wouldn’t be any bloodshed. The Manhunter closed in on its target. The captain of the merchant vessel, a portly older man, came to the railing and, through cupped hands, shouted to them, “We have passengers on board. If you guarantee their safety we will give you no trouble.”

  Captain Seawolf called back. “We want nothing but what’s in your hold and their pockets. Your passengers and crew have nothing to fear if you don’t resist. Prepare to be boarded.”

  “Very well!”

  The Manhunter pulled alongside and threw the grappling hooks. The merchantman crew edged back. Thomas saw no sign of the passengers.

  “Where are these passengers of which you speak?” Thomas called over, suspicious.

  “In the hold, fearing for their lives,” the merchant captain replied.

  Thomas readied his pistol. He remembered the trick the slavers had pulled and worried that the merchant might be planning a similar ruse. He looked at the pistol dubiously. He wasn’t sure he could hit anything in such a sea, but he felt better for carrying it. He’d feel even better gripping his cutlass in his other hand, but he’d need at least one hand free to clamber from one rocking ship to the other.

  The two ships bumped hard into one another and everyone had to steady themselves from the impact.

  “Board her!” Captain Seawolf shouted.

  The pirates swarmed aboard, Thomas with them. To his relief, no line of hidden crew rose to meet them with a volley. He did not want to fight these innocent people, but if they started shooting at him, he would have no choice.

  Captain Seawolf went up to the captain as the pirates spread out, some guarding the crew, others securing the fore and aft hatches and the ship’s wheel.

  “What have you in the hold?” the captain demanded.

  “A variety of goods. We are sailing from Spanish Town
to Martinique with a portion of the cargo from the Dutch merchant vessel Van Huyden. She docked at Spanish Town last week and dispersed her goods, mostly cloth and manufactured goods from Rotterdam. We’re going to sell them to the shopkeepers in Martinique.”

  “Not anymore you’re not. Open your hold!”

  The boards that made up the deck amidships were removed to allow access to the hold. Thomas looked down and saw it full of crates and barrels. In the meantime, the pirates had brought up the passengers hiding below decks. They consisted of half a dozen families, all huddled together in terror. The pirates relieved them of their jewelry and coin and handed the loot over to Frenchie, who put it all in a big sack.

  “All right, lads, get to work. Let’s get all this onto the Manhunter. Snap to it! It looks like the weather will turn foul before long.”

  Thomas joined the offloading crew, hauling the cargo from one ship to the other as Frenchie tallied the booty in a logbook, which he had to hunch over to keep dry from a soft rain that had blown in.

  “Will we have room in the hold for all of this?” Thomas asked the quartermaster as he passed him with a crate in his hands. “I thought you said we were nearly full.”

  “We gave part of our cargo to the men who went with the slave ship. We have room.”

  “Have no fear about the hold, mon ami,” said a French pirate named Lafayette. “Frenchie knows his work. He can tell you how much the hold can bear down to the last inch and the last ounce.”

  “He knows more than that,” Thomas replied with a grin. “That man sure knows how to pleasure a fellow with his mouth.”

  “Ah, yes!” Lafayette said with a sigh. “I have enjoyed his mouth many times. He makes love in what some call the French style. It is said we invented it. I do not know if that is true, but it is certainly a matter for national pride, no?”

  “Is that why they call him Frenchie?”

  “No, they call him that because he is Russian,” Lafayette replied in all seriousness.