Against the Wind

by April Hill

  “Yessir, Cap’n,” Johnson replied, taking her by the arm.

  Emily followed him below, trembling with embarrassment and rage, but unable to see a way out. When they reached Johnson’s small quarters, he directed her to a low, narrow table.

  “I’ll have ye’ bend o’er that bench there, now, trousers down.”

  Emily opened her mouth to object.

  “It’ll go easier if ye’ just do as I say, Miss,” he said, shaking his head. “This is a bit peculiar fer me as well as yerself , but if the cap’n sez you’re to get a strappin’, that’s what ye’ll get. I’ll not look at ye more’n need be, and like he said, I’ve seen many a female bottom, fat and lean, in my day. Be that as it may, it’s all the same to me if you want to keep your drawers on. Won’t make much difference, thin as they are. Jes’ take it as best ye kin, and holler if ye must. There’s no shame in that. Bend over as fur as ye’r able and hold tight to the legs o’ the bench.”

  He turned to a hook on the wall behind him and removed a thick black strap, perhaps twelve inches long and five wide, with a short leather-wrapped handle. Emily shivered, pulled down her trousers, and leaned over the bench with her eyes tightly closed and her teeth clenched.

  There was no delay whatever, and Mr. Johnson proved to be a consummate professional. The first blow of the strap whistled through the stale air of the small cabin and cracked across her backside with a sound Emily would never forget. She writhed and arched her back, emitting a long, low groan, but managed to remain across the stool, panting with pain and disbelief, and gripping the legs of the bench so hard her knuckles turned white. It was impossible to imagine enduring even one more blow, let alone the prescribed remaining three, and it took every last vestige of Emily’s stubborn pride to keep her from leaping to her feet and fleeing the bosun’s cabin.

  In the captain’s cabin, meanwhile, John Turner was enduring his own painful ordeal, in the form of a severe tongue lashing by his superior.

  “My God, John,” McAllister thundered, “What possessed you to toy with the girl in that way? Because you couldn’t curb your appetites, she’s with Johnson now, getting the daylights beat out of her.”

  “I’m sorry, Ethan,” Turner said with a groan. “I didn’t mean anything serious. You know that.”

  “For you, perhaps it wasn’t serious, but you may wish to explain that to Miss Fowler when she’s unable to sit down for her supper, tonight. She’s enough to handle, all by herself. I shouldn’t have to watch my first officer like a hawk, as well.”

  John decided to risk an observation he had made about the captain’s relationship with Miss Fowler. “With respect, Ethan, perhaps you’ve taken too personal an interest in this girl. It appears that you may not see her as just another cabin boy, after all.”

  Ethan sighed.

  “I’ll try to forget that bit of insubordination, John, if you’ll just get out of my sight right for now, and perhaps allow me to trounce you at chess, tonight. I’ve no need to be reminded of my own weaknesses.”

  Turner opened the door and left the cabin, then poked his head in, once more.

  “I believe it was I who first told you about the lady’s breasts. Have you noticed them, yet?”

  McAllister groaned. “Yes, Mr. Turner. I’ve noticed. Now, get the hell out of here!”

  By the third stripe of the wide strap, Emily had given up all pretense at bravery, and began wailing openly. Stiff, and wide enough to reach across both buttocks at once, the tough leather landed with bruising power, its frayed corners leaving perfectly defined little L-shaped marks wherever they struck. Mr. Johnson took his time, pausing between blows as though waiting for the full measure of pain to register before he applied the next one. She knew that her reduced sentence of four blows was a very easy one, and suspected that Mr. Johnson was being easier on her than he was on the boys, yet even this milder treatment was agonizing, and she fully understood, now, why the boys toed the mark as well as they did, trying to avoid Mr. Johnson’s watchful eye.

  Although the captain himself occasionally ordered punishment, it was generally Mr. Johnson who apprehended the younger offenders and decided their fate. Emily had heard it said that he was a fair man, but could hardly be said to be a gentle one, an assessment with which she was prepared to agree when he paused before administering the last stripe, as though regaining his strength. When it came, the stunning force of the final blow (to the lower curve of her left buttock) left her breathless, as well as curing her of any wish to indulge in idle chatter with the handsome Mr. Turner again as long as she lived. She lay there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, and aware that her backside seemed to be giving off heat of its own. When she touched the area with her fingertips, she wasn’t surprised to feel a short ladder of raised, throbbing welts.

  With his task accomplished, Mr. Johnson said nothing else, but simply returned the strap to its hook and pointed to the door. He had warned her that her drawers would be of no help, but as she stumbled from the cabin, Emily thanked a smiling providence for the layer of thin muslin that separated her overheated backside from the coarse, scratchy wool of her ill-fitting trousers.

  In what was becoming a familiar routine, she walked stiffly back to her cabin and fell across the bed. The next morning, a quick glance at her buttocks in the mirror showed that most of the welts had disappeared, replaced by a series of long, faint, but very sore bruises. Mr. Johnson had followed his captain’s orders, and laid them on well. In retrospect, though, and with some reluctance, even Emily would have called the whipping fair.

  It was almost April, now, and much of the dangerous ice had disappeared, making their progress smoother and faster. One Sunday, when the weather seemed almost like a late spring or early summer day, the men removed their shirts and lingered on deck, lounging in the warm sun on this one brief day of idleness and leisure. Emily had managed to hoard three full buckets of fresh water, and that evening, she broke several shipboard rules by washing her hair and enjoying a rudimentary bath. Afterward, she scrubbed her clothing as well as she could, using the same cold water and her last dried scrap of scented soap. She had taken to keeping her hair tied in a tight coil at the back of her neck, but it was still tangled and wild-looking, so, in a fit of anger, she used a knife she’d filched from the galley to hack off the bright-red tresses to just above her shoulders. As she gazed forlornly down at the pile of damp curls at her feet, she wept in frustration, and wished Ethan McAllister a terrible and excruciating death.

  They sighted land early the next morning, and the following evening, the Liza passed through the Narrows and anchored in St. John’s Harbour, Newfoundland. Emily was farther from home than she had ever been before.

  Their stay at St. John’s would be brief, for McAllister was eager to reload and get back to Boston as quickly as possible. The voyage had been slow, made more difficult by ice and wind, and the Liza’s owners in Boston had already booked the ship for a much longer voyage. In late summer, when the Liza was refitted and sea-ready, Ethan would take her on the difficult trip around the horn to San Francisco. Until then, he would use the time off to attend to his affairs and to see to the house he was building outside Boston, which he hoped to see finished before he sailed, again.

  Here in St. John’s, however, there was still the return cargo to load, and small repairs to be made. He gave the crew three full days of leave to go ashore and find what recreation they could in what was still a frontier town by American standards. McAllister himself would stay aboard and catch up on paperwork. On this first morning in port, though, he decided to take the younger boys with him into town. After they had posted the dutiful letters they had been ordered to write to their families, they could explore a bit, on their own. At the last moment, he remembered Emily Fowler, and debated with himself what to do about her. Finally, he sent a note by way of young Harry Eakins, asking that she come to his cabin. Within a few minutes, there was a firm knock at the door, and he asked her to come in.

  “Yo
u sent for me, Captain?” She stood before him with her spine rigid and her eyes straight ahead. He found it difficult not to smile at how well she was able to feign politeness, with murder and vengeance in her heart.

  “Yes, Miss Fowler. It occurred to me that you might like to join the boys and myself in a short trip into town. While there, I’ll be sending a message to your father by telegraph, and I assume you might wish to do the same?”

  “Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate that opportunity.”

  “I’ve permitted most of the crew three days ashore, and I’ve given the boys until midnight to get into—and hopefully out of—what trouble they can. I will return to the ship when my business is done, but since you are of age, you may either remain ashore for those three days, or return this evening with the boys. If there is anything you need to purchase or to attend to, this will be your last chance before we sail for home.”

  “I have three dollars and twenty five cents, Captain McAllister. Even in this dreary place, I suspect that will buy very little.”

  Ethan smiled. “I’ll be happy to advance what you need, Miss Fowler, and add whatever is necessary to the small sum you’ve already earned while aboard. I will, of course, trust your word—in matters of finance, at any rate. Am I correct in assuming that you’ll be returning to Halifax on the Liza? Or would you prefer to make other arrangements.”

  “There are other ships back to Nantucket?”

  “There are several. Some of them faster, but none cheaper, I’m afraid, and you’ll have the speak to the harbormaster to find suitable sailing dates, and affordable accommodations.”

  “In that case, Captain, I will remain aboard—if that is agreeable with you, of course. This regrettable misadventure has cost my poor father quite enough, already.” Ethan could see that she was trying not to cry.

  He nodded. “Very well. The skiff will leave in half an hour. That should give you time to change, if you wish. Your trousers are getting a bit threadbare about the seat, if you don’t mind my mentioning it. A dress might feel more comfortable.”

  In town, when they had finished their business at the telegraph office, he gave instructions to the three youngsters to return to the ship by midnight. When the boys had dashed off at a dead run, in search of excitement, he turned to Emily.

  “I know of a small cafe near here. Would you care to join me for lunch?”

  Emily looked at him with suspicion. “Why?”

  Ethan sighed. “Because I’m hungry. I can’t think of a better reason to eat lunch. Will you join me, or not?”

  “You’ll have to excuse my hesitation, Captain,” Emily replied coldly. “But I’m unclear about your motives. You have barely spoken to me, or acknowledged my existence since we sailed from Halifax, and during that time, I have been subjected to the most outrageous abuse and humiliation imaginable—at your order. None of this mistreatment has been forgotten, and all of it will be fully reported to the proper authorities, once we return to the United States. If you wish to make amends for your ghastly conduct, you may apologize, and I will decide whether to accept your apology or to decline it. But bribery is another matter, entirely. I assure you that my forgiveness for the calumny you have committed upon my person cannot be purchased with a cheap meal.”

  Ethan thought for a moment. “You’re correct about one thing,” he said. “The establishment of which I spoke is cheap. I’m not a wealthy man, by any measure. The meal, however, was meant as a simple gesture of friendship, and nothing more. As far as forgiveness goes, Miss Fowler, you have no apology of any sort coming to you, and that bright red hair of yours will be gray and grizzled before you receive one from me. I had hoped that your time aboard ship had taught you some manners, but I see, now, that I was too optimistic. You owe me for the cost of two telegraphed messages, Miss, which I will, of course, deduct from your wages.”

  With that, he turned and strode down the cobbled street, toward the harbor.

  “I do not wish to return to the ship yet!” she shouted after him. “There are two full days and a half remaining of the shore leave you promised.”

  “Your leave has just been withdrawn, Miss Fowler. You are to return to the ship immediately.”

  She hurried after him, fuming. “You can’t do that!”

  McAllister didn’t stop, but called back over his shoulder. “On the contrary, Miss. I am the captain. I can do anything I like. You, on the other hand, are a lowly cabin boy, than which nothing on this earth is lower. Now, move your damned ass!”

  Emily stopped and stomped her foot, a petulant gesture that had always been sufficient to get what she wanted, but McAllister merely walked on, whistling.

  Finally, Emily turned around and hurried back up the street, swishing her skirts angrily and swearing beneath her breath. She had no funds with which to find lodging, but somewhere in this miserable place, she would find the boys and remain with them until they returned to the ship. It was 1871, and slavery had been outlawed, damn it! She knew her rights.

  The dock area was large and bewildering, and she could find none of the other cabin boys in the countless low and seedy places she looked. There were some establishments that she wisely chose not to enter, and several others into which she was invited, but hastily declined the invitations. As afternoon turned to early evening, she had despaired of locating a friendly face. During that same time, though, the numbers of drunken, rough-looking men in the streets had begun to increase. Many of these unkempt men accosted her in strange languages she had never heard before, but their meaning was amply clear. Hungry and cold, she purchased a simple supper of bread and sausage, a bag of sweets, several hair ribbons, and two pairs of socks, only to discover that her three dollars and change was not sufficient. The precious, warm socks had to be returned to the sullen shopkeeper. Afterward, bereft of money, she waited miserably under a street lamp, fending off the advances of several ill-smelling ruffians and packet rats. She had almost given up hope when young Harry Eakins strolled down the street toward her, chomping on an apple and humming merrily. She hurried to join him, and a few minutes later, Little Eli appeared as well. When the last of the original group—Jack Hinton—failed to appear, the three pooled their meager funds and hailed a skiff to row them out to where the Liza lay moored. As they approached the ship, the two younger boys confided to her that they had planned to risk the captain’s wrath and stay ashore for the night with the older and more adventurous Jack Hinton, but after some reflection, they had both decided that their own cramped hammocks were preferable to no dinner, a comfortless night on the streets, and an unpleasant few minutes over Mr. Johnson’s wooden bench.

  The ship was dark when the three cabin “boys” climbed the rope ladder to the deck, choosing that method to reach their quarters without detection. The only sounds on board were the creaking of the Liza’s timbers and the gentle slap of her furled sails. The boys hurried below to get warm, and Emily followed, eager to fall into her bunk and put this awful day behind her. She had almost reached the hatchway when Ethan McAllister stepped from his cabin and beckoned to her.

  “Did you have a pleasant day ashore?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, Captain,” she said smugly. “It was absolutely delightful. I cannot wait to visit again. On my next visit, however, I will be prepared with a large butcher-knife and a fully-loaded pistol, to discourage the local citizenry—most of whom appeared bent on corruption and avarice.”

  McAllister nodded wisely.

  “True, the harbor district is not a fit place for a young lady, or a young gentleman, come to that. Which is one reason I clearly ordered that you return aboard with me. Still, from the look of you, you’re still in possession of your virtue, and have probably not contracted one of the less attractive diseases these places are known for. For that, I’m relieved, since you’re still in my reluctant care until I deliver you to your unfortunate family. There remains, however, the problem of your having disobeyed a direct order.”

  Emily blanched. There was a f
amiliarity about this discussion that had begun to make her nervous.

  “Then I am to be punished with the loss of my remaining time ashore?” she asked warily, as he directed her through the door of his cabin.

  “Among other things,” he agreed. “It is either your good, or perhaps your bad luck, that Mr. Johnson is ashore. In his absence, I’m afraid that–”

  Emily interrupted, a bit frantically.

  “Captain, surely you do not intend another…”

  “Yes, I’m very much afraid that in Mr. Johnson’s absence, the customary penalties for this sort of infraction will be applied by myself.”

  “I will not stand for this, sir!” she cried. She stomped her foot, with no better result than the same gesture had gotten earlier.

  Ethan shook his head. “True enough. You’ll bend over for it, as a matter of fact, and you’ll do so immediately, or suffer the usual added strokes for dallying. Now, please lower your drawers to your knees and assume the required position. Across that chest, there, will do nicely. I will, of course, turn my back until you’re ready.”

  Emily decided to try reason. “If you do this vile thing, Captain McAllister, I will have you arrested as soon as we return to Halifax. I am convinced that such a degrading and degenerate act must be as unlawful in Canada as it would be in our own country. You will most surely be imprisoned, and quite possibly hanged!”

  Ethan shrugged his broad shoulders. “When we arrive in Halifax, Miss Fowler, I will personally escort you to the local magistrate, where you may, if you wish, plead with him to hang me without further delay. But tonight, degenerate act or not, you will be whipped while bent over that very trunk, as any other disobedient cabin boy would be. After which, you will go to your quarters and think very long and very hard about the manner in which you’ve chosen to behave aboard this ship, and about how to avoid a repetition of what is now about to happen.”

  In one last desperate attempt to bluff her way out of this new predicament, Emily threw her head back and marched defiantly toward the door. Before she had made her second step, McAllister lifted her off her feet, carried her across the room and pushed her, facedown, over the curved top of a tall, brass-bound trunk. She struggled uselessly as he held one hand firmly on her back, raised her skirts and spread the rear flaps of her drawers. Emily unleashed a tirade of obscenities.