From all around her the sounds of a ship coming alive began. Hoarse shouts of bosun and petty officers rousing the crew from their slumber, water sloshing the decks and gun trucks squeaking as they were drawn forward to the readiness of dawn.
She sat huddled in the corner of the tiny room she slept in. She had long ago lost track of just how many times she had heard this chorus. It always started long before any greyness showed itself in the tiny scuttle hatch that was her only window of daylight or darkness.
She shifted on her blanket, hunger stirred in her again.
At first she had wept every morning. The voices of the crew would wake her, and she’d realize anew that she remained a captive. She would awaken and neither softness nor warmth would surround her. No canopied bed nor feather mattress, no servants would greet her, all smiles and obedience. No, instead she would awaken on the hard wooden floor, naked and shivering.
It had been an April morning when everything had come crashing down around her. Her husband, Lord Beck had booked her passage on an East India Company ship bound for Ceylon. A new and adventurous chapter of her life was about to open up. Her husband was the new governor of the colony, and she was traveling to be with him She would see to the household, and sample all that an English noblewoman could in the Far East. Silks, ivories and all manner of fine furniture would adorn her and her home. Everything that the exotic east could offer would be hers.
The sail sighted on the horizon didn’t alarm her at first, but the behavior of the crew around her did. Before she knew it she had been bundled below decks with her servant. The two women had sat there in the darkness, huddled against the bulkhead in confusion and growing fear. They clung to one another as the shouts from above became more frantic and gunfire shattered the forenoon. After that everything had been a whirl of sound and fury. Splintering crashes of shot hitting home, the shuddering of the hull as the ship took blow after blow. Then silence, eerie silence enveloped the very fiber of the ship. It seemed like hours later that boots came slamming down on the ladder and two large, powder-blackened and wickedly grinning sailors saw the huddling women.
Exploding in a whoop of glee one stepped forward and seized her servant by the hair. She was a girl of her early twenties; she screamed and fought like a cat as she was dragged up the stairs by the laughing villain.
That left Lady Beck, wife of Lord Beck, governor of Ceylon face to face with the other sailor. He was large, muscular and grinned like a predator. He frankly surveyed her form, not leering, but appraising her as a jeweler might gauge the value of a gemstone. She crawled back against the bulkhead as he slowly advanced on her. She was gasping in terror, unable to scream. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. Privilege and position had taught her that to have her way, all that was necessary was to speak. Her wish was another’s order. “Stay back... Keep your hands off me!” she gasped through a suddenly parched throat. Terror welled up inside her. Confusion wracked her when he continued walking toward her shaking form. Gathering her last reserve of dignity she scrambled to her feet and shouted at him “I AM LADY BECK, WIFE OF LORD BECK GOVERNOR OF CEYLON AND I ORDER YOU TO KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!”
He stopped then, close under the deck head, smiled and removed his hat, wiped his forehead with a scrap of cloth and cast it aside. “Well, “Milady Beck,” he growled as if the words were coated in something bitter, “You ceased to be able to give orders when you and this ship came into the possession of Captain Packard, and the good ship “Harrier”
All the way up the ladder from the hold, Lady Beck fought and struggled, The sailor who had seized her kept her wrists pinned in an iron grip, bruising them with his uncompromising hold. When it was necessary he grabbed hold of her hair to subdue her. She was swung across to the larger, black-flagged vessel like the rest of the cargo and spoils. When she landed on the deck she had been taken by a large blond sailor and wordlessly thrown into the little room inside the great cabin, really not much more than a cupboard. This little room was to become her cell.
For quite awhile nothing happened, for hours all manner of mysterious sounds came into her room, shouted orders, the screams of the wounded and thumping of looted cargo. For a time she pounded on the door and screamed in fury. Eventually though, exhausted, fearful, Lady Beck fell into a fitful sleep there in the corner of that tiny space.
She was brutally awakened by the door being flung open. The sailor who had originally taken her from the hold stood there with his hands on his hips. “Get up wench,” he said conversationally, as if he were giving an order to a dog. She sat there, glaring at him, his big form outlined in the lantern light from behind him.
“Where is Captain Packard?” She said. “I DEMAND to speak to him!”
The sting of his open hand striking her cheek drew the breath out of her. She reeled back, her hand on the burning flesh, her eyes huge in shock and terror.
“You... demand... NOTHING!” he spat at her, his lips curling, his teeth bared. “You need to understand this my little bitch, and your life may become bearable. You are no longer a highborn lady of England; you are the possession of Captain Packard. He alone will decide if you live, die, become his plaything, or are thrown to the crew to serve every single one of their depraved and disgusting wishes. Do you understand?”
She lowered her hand then, dismissing his last statement as far too outlandish to consider. She stood up, drew herself to her full height, which only just came to his chest. She looked him in the eye and said “Be that as it may sailor, I WILL see the captain, and you can be assured that I will make a full and complete report of your assault and threats. I am a lady, and will be treated...”
The next thing she knew she was looking up from the deck at him, her cheek stinging like it was swarmed by hornets. The big sailor crouched down beside her and smiled like an amused tiger. He reached out and took hold of her long hair, brought her face close to his and said “Lady Patricia Beck no longer exists, only this little slave exists now. Your last free choice will be to either serve Captain Packard, or serve his crew.” With that he let her head go, turned, and closed the door to the cell. Outside she heard him exchange words with another crewman and a padlock snap shut.
Later, how much later she had no idea. She had dozed, or slept, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was how hungry she was when she awoke. She sat on the wooden deck, hunger and thirst working their way into her consciousness. Outside the door boots thumped on the planks, the yellow glow of a lantern lit the break under the door. A key worked in the lock and the door opened again and there stood the big sailor. He put a hand on his hip and said in a bored voice “Get up” Slowly, half expecting another slap she stood up, trying to look defiantly into his eyes, but, in truth scared to.
“I am hungry, and thirsty,” she said trying to sound like she was still in control of herself, when really she was shaking with growing fear of this big man and all he was capable of.
“Come here” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. Then he turned and walked into the great cabin. She followed him hesitantly, wary of his violence. In the middle of the cabin he hung the lamp from the deck head beam and crossed his arms in front of his big chest. He looked her in the eye and said “Disrobe”
“I BEG your pardon?” she said, shocked at the suggestion.
“Take off your clothes” he repeated. “I’ve known high-born sluts like you to hide a knife or two in their bodices to drain the life out of honest businessmen like myself.”
“I will NOT!” she stood, glaring, terrified at the turn this had taken. She had feared rape, of course, but she swore she would fight to her last breath, would die first, before submitting. “I’d rather DIE!” she declared.
Before the last sound left her lips she had been taken by the hair once again and dragged off her feet, an arm was pinned behind her back and she was propelled through the door out onto the quarterdeck. The rail of the quarterdeck slammed her in the stomach and her shocked eyes focused on the sailors in the gun deck below. Filthy, leering men looked back up at her, jeering and hooting. They were calling up for her to come down and join them.
“Cap’n Packard sir!!” cried out the big blonde fellow she had met before, “Has milady decided this fine band of lads appeals more than you?” This question was met with a general howl of animal lust. Bottles were raised and bronzed seaman’s skin glowed in the lamplight. All eyes turned to Lady Beck and the big sailor behind her. He drew her up, feeling the breath gasping in and out of her.
“What’s the answer “Milady?” he whispered close to her ear “Learn to serve me? Or be tossed over this railing right now and serve each of them in every way tonight, and every night”
Her head spun, sobs wracked her body in horror and revulsion. “Take me back there,” she whimpered.
“I thought you’d rather die,” he sneered as his knife came to rest along her white, smooth throat. The coldness of the steel made her cringe. She stood stock still in horror and broke into loud sobs as she shook where she stood.
“Take me back,” she whispered, choking.
“PLEASE take me back SIR” he parroted in her ear.
“PLEASE! Take me back SIR!” she wailed, unable to take her eyes off the men in the gun deck, nor move for fear of that wicked blade. She felt a surge of relief and gratitude as she was yanked back and propelled into the cabin again. The hoots and jeers of the crew followed her, the door not quite able to banish them completely.
“Disrobe,” he repeated as she stood under the spiraling lantern there in the great cabin. This time she set to undoing her green satin dress. Her hands were shaking in panic and shame, and in truth she really wasn’t sure how it came off. All she had ever done was stand and have her servant undo it. The tears were falling from her and she sniffled, whimpering in frustration as ties retreated out of reach, and buttons were stubborn. She cried out suddenly as his hand slipped into her field of view. This time though, she wasn’t struck, but the last of the fasteners of her dress was ripped away. It fell in folds around her ankles and she stepped out of it. She stood there uncertainly, her stockings and petticoats exposed. The sailor stared impassively and motioned her to continue.
“You’re Captain Packard?” she questioned hesitantly as she untied her crinolines and hoops.
