Shanghaied

by K'Anne Meinel

  His whipping had been public and brutal and was a respectable lesson to those who would have balked at the work heaped on them, especially those unfamiliar with it, like Mel. She tried to keep herself away from the others, which was nearly impossible in the close confines of the ship. There was very little privacy, and she barely got away with trying to use the bucket. It was worse when her period was upon her and she had to find a way to hide the rags, so the blood wouldn’t leak onto her pants and expose her. With the damage to the other man’s back, she volunteered to help him. He was unable to lie in his hammock, instead using a straw-packed pad in a corner, which rustled with things that lived in the straw. There were also unpleasant things that could be found on the floor and absorbed by the material of the pad. Still, Mel tried to keep his back clean, and the water helped to soothe the inevitable heat from the fever of some of the infections he eventually incurred. The doctor on board prescribed horrific things that Mel ignored as she sponged his back, putting her own bloody rags in with his as she washed them all out.

  “Why are you helping me?” he rasped out as she pulled his shirt away from his bloody back, the pus disgusting as it held the material against him, and she was forced to rip open some of the sores.

  “Someone’s got to do it,” she told him, deliberately lowering her voice to sound like a man. She already had another bucket holding her own rags, signs of her menses in there as she put his rags on top of it.

  He appreciated her kindness, but he still watched her warily. There were friendships on the ship, some longtime friendships grown from familiarity, and some were even romantic, but he wanted none of those. The boy with them had already been claimed by a couple of the men and taught how to service them. He had not returned to the communal living quarters, instead sharing space with the two men as they used him shamelessly. Mel wasn’t certain the boy realized how precarious his position was as he preened over the status they afforded him by giving him special privileges, treats, and elevating him above his peers. The captain and his men didn’t care, so long as the men were happy and did their work. For now, the boy had his usefulness.

  Mel offered guarded friendship to those who would teach her. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she was a hard worker, who was willing to learn and used her tremendous strength to their benefit. She minded her business and dealt with those who would do her harm in a fashion they could admire. It was a hard life at sea, and this wasn’t the best ship. A couple had noted that she took the slop pail often and cleaned it. Few men willingly did this, but they just shrugged it off, assuming she must have been some type of gent back in the states. It didn’t matter. She was here now and no better than they as they all worked to keep the ship going.

  Mel was swabbing the deck midships one day, having a hard time of it as the ship was in particularly rough waters that day, when one of the troublemakers deliberately walked through her clean area. Without another thought, she put her mop between his legs, tripping him up, then once he was down, she dragged him by his matted head of hair across to her bucket and put his head in the soapy and disgustingly filthy water. He fought her, but she was stronger than he had anticipated, and she nearly drowned him before she realized that several of the officers were watching, and she was forced to let him up. “You come near me again, and I’ll kill you,” she hissed her threat in an undertone that left no doubt in the man’s mind that she meant it. Word of the incident spread as she calmly went back to work without another word, cleaning the area around the bucket and where he had walked. The officers watched her, but her hard work soon won out over any recriminations for having had an altercation with another of the crew.

  Mel and several others wondered if they would get leave on the islands they were heading for after many weeks at sea. They were doomed to be disappointed as those last on board, the latest shanghai victims, were locked up in the brig well before they anchored off the tempting coast. It created more work for the others, who would have a roaring good time ashore after their own work was done. The captain had many hands offloading goods to be traded with the natives. They took on fresh fruit and vegetables, water, and other goods to trade elsewhere. Many of the men went ashore to avail themselves of the native women, who welcomed them. They spread their diseases to these women, who in turn passed them on to any sailor who didn’t already have one. Some of the women lay with sailors from all over the world, who stopped in these islands and availed themselves of the beautiful women. Mel listened to the gossip as the men scratched and grumbled in the weeks after they had lain with these easy women. She realized what had happened and was repulsed by it. She felt sorry for those simple island women, who didn’t know any better and would probably die of the diseases men like these brought to them and their people. She also heard the grumbles from some of the men because not all the women were like this. Some women had been kept away from the sailors, and they wished they could have lain with them. Still, the men guarding such women were formidable with their spears, their size, and their countenance.

  Mel didn’t care to go ashore to lay with a woman. She had her dreams and thoughts, and frequently found herself thinking back to Abigail and the time she had spent in England with her. She also thought about escape constantly, wondering if or when these men would ever trust her enough that she could slip off this cursed ship. She heard her companions sharing thoughts of such dreams as they talked, but she kept herself quiet. She wasn’t about to confide anything with anyone, and even the few overtures of friendship or camaraderie that had been accepted weren’t enough to make her share her thoughts. She told nothing about herself, although she knew many thought her a cowboy from the clothing she had been found in. They hadn’t been far wrong, but she was so much more than that. Mel saw one of the men with the boots she had been wearing, his nearly toothless smile smug on his face when he saw her glance at him as they sat next to his hammock. How he had acquired them she didn’t know; he didn’t have much else. Her hat had gone to another man, who wore it despite the incongruity of wearing it aboard a ship, and another man had somehow gained her leather vest. She missed that vest as it had helped to hide her breasts. She had to be so careful to hide them here on the ship too, the bindings she used wearing and chafing where they wrapped around her upper body.

  It rained as the ship lay at anchor. It had rained during the long weeks of travel from San Francisco, but at those times, she had been forbidden to be on the deck because of her being so new to the ship. They didn’t want her or the other new sailors being swept overboard. The crew gathered in the sails, working on slippery ropes and decks in the wind and rain and lightning. Some gathered water into barrels, so they would have fresh water to drink, adding it to their limited supply. Others stood by, ready to act on a moment’s notice as the ship rocked through the storms it encountered. It was dangerous to be out there. Even more experienced sailors could easily be swept overboard by the waves that came over the decks of the ship as they fought through the storm. They lost one man, the boom whipping about and catching the man unawares as the ship was thrown about like a toy on the sea. He was hit broadside and flung off the ship. They agreed they couldn’t have saved him and abandoned him to his fate as they sailed on through the storm. Turning back to look for him was not an option, apparently. Some lay in their hammocks to wait, cursing having nothing to do, and some slept. Mel was left with her memories and plans, none concrete yet. She just knew that given the chance, she’d escape this place and time, if she could.

  Laying there, sometimes for hours, Mel cursed the downtime, preferring to be kept busy and away from her thoughts from long ago. In her head, she went over every moment she had been with Abigail, something she had done many times before. The memories and the hurt were fading, but still tormented her. They had tormented her on the many trails she had ridden since then, the years fading only a bit of the memory and hurt. Now, on this ship, they came back to her fresh. She had enough downtime to lay in her hammock when she wasn’t exhausted and trying to slee
p or feigning sleep as others around her inconsiderately stayed up to play cards, dice, checkers, or occasionally drink, if the captain allowed them to have rum.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Abigail was a delight, and Melissa found herself enchanted by the young woman. Part of the Earl of Pembleton’s extended family, she knew privilege and rightfully took her place in le bon ton, often referred to simply as the ton. Her father was an enormously fat man and not especially well-educated, despite having attended some of England’s best schools, but he enjoyed the horses. While Abigail learned the details of the beautiful thoroughbreds in England, he gambled on them, earning and losing vast sums of money.

  “Daddy lost again,” she confided, worried as she watched her father drink away his bitterness.

  Mel wasn’t sure what to say to her new friend, afraid it would come out wrong. Her own father was investing in a thoroughbred farm that bred the champions, which could be traced back to the three foundation sires imported to England in the early eighteenth century.

  “James Weatherby recorded the details of every horse in the breed,” Abigail had advised him, and it was with this young girl’s knowledge, which continually surprised the man, that he considered with his purchases.

  “What will you do?” Mel finally ventured to ask, feeling odd that they were discussing her friend’s family finances.

  “Oh, he’ll win it back,” she said airily, her hand dismissing the money as though it meant nothing.

  Mel wasn’t so sure of that. She had bet from time to time, more as a diversion, but knowing if she lost the money it was for amusement only, not for the purpose of getting ahead with the funds she was certain she would win. She had met Sir Baxter, a man she was certain shouldn’t drink or gamble, but who couldn’t seem to help himself. She also met Lady Baxter, a petite woman, who was pleased with her daughter’s American friend. Abigail’s brothers were tolerant of the older woman who had befriended their little sister, and Abigail’s younger sister didn’t seem to notice anything but the puppies in the stable. Mel was fascinated by this big family. She knew her own mother and father had intended to have more children, and she often wished she had siblings, but remembering some of the women her father had considered as possible mates, perhaps not.

  Mel had been surprised when Abigail’s second-born brother, Anthony, had taken an interest in her. Suspicious that it was her father’s money and not herself that appealed to him, she kept him on a friendship level. Not used to having women who only wanted to be friends with him, he was confused.

  “Tony wants to be your beau,” Abigail teased.

  “I’m not interested,” Mel admitted sincerely. She knew she wasn’t attractive to men in general, and those few who had showed a genuine interest were too late, in her opinion. She now knew where her inclinations lay. She looked at Abigail, wondering, not for the first time, if she could ever confide in her friend. She would probably shock the seventeen-year-old girl. She looked at the other friends she had made, none of them as close as Abigail Baxter, and knew she could never confide in them either. They wouldn’t understand.

  “Why not? He won’t be the earl like Robert, but he is still related to earls and will have the second son’s portion.” Abigail sounded genuinely curious.

  “Don’t you want to love your partner?”

  “My partner?” she asked, surprised by the word the American used.

  “Your husband?” she amended, realizing she had to be careful. The young woman wasn’t as worldly as Mel felt she was.

  “Well, that’s not always possible in our world,” she said practically, and Mel was shocked. She knew that they married for status, but she hadn’t thought they would completely dismiss all thoughts of love.

  “Everyone deserves love,” Mel answered, sounding almost sad as she wondered if she would ever have it. She knew her father loved her, even Edith loved her when they were in New York, but she wasn’t sure she would ever experience the love between two spouses.

  “Of course, they do, silly. My children will know I love them. There are those,” she lowered her voice, so they wouldn’t be overheard as she explained, “who take a lover after they have given their husband heirs.” She sounded intrigued.

  “That’s frowned upon,” Mel pointed out, trying not to laugh at the young woman’s romantic notions of what love could be. Apparently, it wasn’t associated with a husband that was chosen more for his status and situation than for anything romantic.

  “Of course, it’s the forbidden that is the most appealing!”

  Mel enjoyed the spark she saw in her friend’s young eyes. They ran into each other time and time again as her father negotiated for his investments in the thoroughbreds and arranged for someone to manage them for him since he wouldn’t be directly overseeing the farms or the horses. His money would be put up, and someone else would get the acclaim, but ultimately, the profits, if any, would be his.

  “What do you see in that American? She’s so…so provincial,” Abigail’s other friends asked her.

  “She’s a delight! She’s like a breath of fresh air, and I don’t find her provincial in the least,” she faithfully defended her newest friend, sure her friends were just jealous.

  “Look, there is the Earl of Worthington,” Abigail pointed out one day as they all met at a race. She saw that Mel was dressed tastefully in a gown that didn’t really flatter her dark good looks but at least was stylish. Her friends had noted, cattily she thought, that Mel wasn’t competition for any of their beaus. No one with a title would marry an American. They were wrong but young enough to think they knew it all.

  “And who is he?” Mel asked, unable to keep up with the many earls, lords, ladies, and even a duke, which she understood was another name for a prince, that she had met in her father’s travels. She relied on this friend of hers to help her keep them straight.

  “He’s an enormously successful breeder of Thoroughbreds. He is the Earl of Worthington,” she finished, as though that should mean something to Mel. At her puzzled and uncomprehending look, Abigail went on to explain that he was very wealthy, had never married, and at the age of fifty-four, many wondered if he intended to let his line die out along with his noble title. “I’ve heard he prefers young men,” she confided in a whisper, much to Mel’s shock. Mel was surprised she would know such a thing and wondered if the naive blonde understood what that meant. “He owns mills and other manufactories.”

  “I’m sure my father would wish to make his acquaint–” Mel had started to say when Abigail put her hand on her friend’s arm to stop her. She nodded towards the two men, who were animatedly speaking, having obviously made each other’s acquaintance already.

  “Did you wish to go with me to Belgium?” her father asked Mel one day as they dined in their hotel. It was difficult to find a hotel. Most who traveled stayed in the homes of those they were traveling to see. In business, Victor was frequently invited to stay with his associates, depending on the level of business they were doing. Melissa was frequently included, although the women tended to look on her as an object of curiosity.

  “Oh, I thought I was already coming with you?” she asked, surprised that he was giving her a choice.

  “I can arrange for you to stay in England, if you wish. The boat should only take two days to take me from England to Belgium. I’m looking at farms over there, with an eye towards importing their stock to breed with those I’ve already purchased. I know you are enjoying the horses and people we have met here. I believe you are friends with young Lady Baxter? Her father could be persuaded to invite you to their home, if you like? How does that sound, spending time with young people nearer to your age?” He desperately hoped something would come of young Anthony Baxter’s interest in his independent daughter. She was already taking on the vestiges of spinsterhood, and he really hoped to see her settled with a grandchild or two to dangle from his knee before he died. He even had a stipulation in his will for her children to inherit, if they were male children. Melissa
would receive the majority of his many investments and monies, but she would need trustworthy men to oversee things like the stud farms he was investing in; he must be realistic. Melissa showed no real interest in the young man, who was two years her junior. He knew only a real man could handle a woman like Melissa; her intelligence alone was intimidating.

  “Oh, I should like that,” she answered, “but I would also like to see the horses in Belgium. Maybe we could offer to take Abigail Baxter with us? She has an eye for the horses,” she pointed out.

  Victor Lawrence was at first, surprised, but thinking over what his daughter suggested, he had to agree. It had been young Abigail’s advice that had led to his purchase of the horse farm. She did know things about the breed as well as those in the industry he was investing so heavily in. “I’ll speak with her father.”

  Lord and Lady Baxter agreed to allow Abigail to accompany her American friend and her father but only if he further agreed to a chaperone for the young girl. Melissa was far too young to chaperone their precious older daughter, and if they were to allow her to go, someone must be found. Upon hearing her parents’ requirement for a chaperone, Abigail put forth the name of her old nanny. Mrs. Jessup, who always enjoyed traveling, agreed to chaperone the impressionable young women on their trip to Belgium with the American’s father.

  “This is going to be so much fun,” Abigail said delightedly, squeezing Melissa’s arm in excitement as they sailed across the English Channel to Belgium.

  Mel’s father had made all the arrangements, pleased to give the girls such a treat. Mrs. Jessup was a delightful old bird, who was frequently found dozing in a chair as she oversaw the young lady. They had some of the finest accommodations. No expense had been spared as Victor brought his letters of credit to the banks and introduced himself to the principles. He asked for recommendations on places to stay near the farms he intended to visit and further inquired about the people he had been advised to purchase horses from.