The Little Boy In The Boat

August 8, 1853

Six Leagues East of Cape Cod

The shadows were already long on the deck of the

Mordecai Brown

as a handful of whooping sailors made their way aft, dragging with them some baggy clothes and the teenager therein. "Captain Gregg!" one of the seamen beckoned as the group reached the master's cabin.

"What?" called a gruff voice from within.

"We gots us a stowaway, sir," the sailor reported.

A scraggly, white-bearded old man emerged from the sterncastle. He carefully eyed the unauthorized passenger as yet more of the crew gathered around. "What's yer name boy?" the captain sneered.

"Ab..." The youngster's eyes darted among the surrounding horde, never settling on any one man for more than an instant before finally finding their way to the captain. "Abner."

A ripple of snickers wound its way through the crowd.

Captain Gregg raised one of his bushy eyebrows. "Abner, is it?"

The youth nodded sheepishly.

"Alright, Abner," grunted the old man. "What brings you to trespass on my ship?

"I, uh," Abner gulped. "I want to be a sailor, sir."

The captain leaned forward. "Oh ya do, do ya?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen?" the captain sneered. "I can hear your voice crackin', boy. You'll be a man by the time we get back to port for sure, but I'll blow barnacles out my ass if you're a day over fourteen."

"I'm nineteen, sir," the youngster insisted.

"Really?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is it you done learnt about sailin' in them

nineteen

long years?"

Abner cowered just slightly. "A little."

"Know a little do ya?" Gregg looked upwards, into his ship's rigging. "So can you name even one thing you see up thar?"

Abner looked up into the billowing canvas. "Sails."

"Aye, that they are, boy," The captain growled. "But do you happen to know the

name

of one of them?"

Abner's head twisted slightly from side to side. "No."

"And you don't know the name of any o' them poles and ropes up thar neither, do ya?"

"No."

The old man leaned back, crossed his hands behind his head, and stretched his torso to and fro, before leaning forward once again with his fists on his hips. "Then what good are you to me?"

Abner's eyes wandered. "I don't know."

"Well, whatever it is," began the captain, "it ain't much. You see, a sailor your age starts by bein' a cabin boy. 'Cept we already gots us one, young Tom there." The old man nodded his head and shifted his eyes left, behind the youth.

Abner turned to see a tall, sinewy lad. The swarthy hue and rough texture of his baked skin leant him a look older than his twenty years. His dreadlocked tresses were as dark as his ebony eyes. Tom's countenance was a tad menacing until he flashed a broad grin, revealing a gap where his front teeth should have been.

"What do ya say boys," the captain called. "Do we really need

two

cabin boys?"

The crew cheered their general approval.

The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like your in luck, lad. I guess the boys are of a mind we could use another cabin boy after all. You gots any idea what a cabin boy does?"

"No," Abner replied.

"Mostly cleaning," declared Gregg. "Show us how you'd be at scrubbing that thar deck." The captain pointed to the planking.

Abner looked to the wood. Unsure what was expected, the youngster dropped to all fours and began to feign cleaning, in wide sweeping motions. The crew laughed.

"Not bad, for a landlubber," grunted Gregg. "Now show us how you'd clean this."

Abner looked up to see the captain had loosened his trousers and freed his masculinity. The semi-erect shaft looked like a hairy sea serpent to the youngster; Abner had younger brothers, but had never beheld a true man before.

"Up onto your knees, boy," commanded the captain. "I'm big enough to be sure, but you'll still not reach me from there."

The crew let loose another round of hooting and hollering. Still unsure exactly what was to follow, Abner moved to kneel before the ship's master.

"Has your pecker even got one hair on it yet?" asked the captain as the commotion subsided.

"Not exactly," admitted Abner.

"Nineteen, eh?" Gregg sneered, to the continued amusement of his subordinates. "Scrawny rat like you, I guess that's possible. No matter, I don't care how old you is. Get your mouth up here and start cleaning, cabin boy."

A murmur of jovial anticipation swept the crew. Abner's eyes grew wide as the realization of exactly what the captain expected struck home.

Gregg saw the look of revulsion that quickly followed the look of surprise. "Am I to understand," he leaned forward, "that you don't want to clean my cock for me?"

Abner's head snapped from side to side.

"So you don't want to be a cabin boy?"

"No, sir."

"Fine," shrugged the captain. He looked up at the crew and smiled. "Toss the rat overboard."

The horde swarmed over Abner. Anonymous, clutching hands came from all angles, quickly hoisting the youth from the deck. Just as quickly, the gang made their way to the railing.

"Wait!" Abner cried. "Wait!"

"What's that?" the captain bellowed. "Did the boy let out a peep?"

"He did, sir," called a gruff voice in reply.

"And did he decide he might like to be a cabin boy after all?"

Abner looked at all the faces in the crowd, every one of which looked back expectantly. The teen tried to speak, but found a dry throat. Mouth still agape, the youth's head bobbed frantically.

With a mock cheer, the crowd carried Abner back to where the captain stood, dropping their human cargo roughly upon the deck.

The captain leaned forward, hovering over the huddled form below. "Now you don't get no third chance, boy. Understand?"

"Yes," Abner replied glumly.

"Good boy." The captain put his hands to his hips and thrust his waist forward for emphasis. "Now get over here and start cleanin'!"

Abner inched forward.

"C'mon lad," growled Gregg. The old man reached out with a hand, clutching a handful of short, black hair. "At this rate I'll die with a dirty cock." The captain pulled Abner's face into his crotch, rubbing his sweaty member all over the youth's face to the audience's general approval.

Abner's nose crinkled of its own accord; it had detected worse odors, but only on beasts of burden.

Gregg noticed the look of disgust as he pulled the youngster's face free. "Well, boy," he chuckled. "I told you it needed cleaning, now didn't I?"

The sailors let out a roar. Gregg released his grip on the hair and moved his right hand to find an ear instead, giving a severe turn as he took hold.

"Now what's it going to be lad?" The captain leered at the youth. "You can either say your prayers or start suckin'. Either way, it's time to open your mouth."

Abner's mouth opened, with some faint hope of explaining why being a cabin boy would just never work.

The other cabin boy stepped forward before Abner could speak. "Sir," Thomas began. "Do you remember my first time?"

The old man closed one eye and stared suspiciously with the other. "Can't say that I do."

"Well, I certainly do sir," declared Thomas. "I puked right away and then couldn't keep my teeth off your cock, nor could I keep going long enough to do anything more than raise your ire."

"Yeah." The captain's head bobbed ever so slightly. "That could be. So?"

"Well, sir," began Tom, "Do you really want to go through all that again?"

"What it is yer suggesting?" growled the captain. "Out with it. I don't got all night!"

"Bein's how I'm pretty good at it now," said Tom. "I reckon I could have this one," he motioned to Abner, "taught proper by morning."

Gregg crossed his arms and eyed the youngster still on the deck below. He'd rather looked forward to humiliating this new cabin boy in front of the crew, but the little urchin did strike him as a potential biter. "Alright!" he snarled. "Take this one below and teach him proper."

"Yes, sir," said Thomas.

"I'll give you the night," Gregg announced. "By morning this rat better be able to smoke all of my pipe and lick my balls while he does it."

"Yes, sir," Thomas snapped in respectful reply.

"Without biting!"

"Yes, sir."

"Or puking!"

"Yes, sir."

"And loosen his ass for us too," the captain added. "That little prick of yours should get him ready for the real thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

The captain glared. "Now!"

"Yes, sir," Thomas repeated. He turned to the other youth and jerked his head. "This way." He turned to walk through a narrow gap in the crowd. Abner leapt to follow, anxious to be away from the captain, if only temporarily.

"Teach him good," called one of the sailors as the two made their way forward.

"You sure you don't need no help?" asked another.

"Yeah," Gregg concluded as the uproar subsided. "And if I feel any of them teeth tomorrow I'll knock 'em out just like I done Tom's."

Other sailors added to the din of hoots and hollers as a wide-eyed Abner followed Thomas into the forecastle and then below, into the bowels of the ship. The elder youth easily moved into the darkness, momentarily leaving his companion.

"Wait," Abner begged. "I can't see."

"Stay there," called Tom. He quickly found a lantern on one of the huge horizontal timbers and lit it effortlessly in the lazily pitching vessel.

As the lamp chased the darkness to the corners of the hold, Abner saw the boy ahead and moved towards him.

"Grab a bucket," Thomas instructed, flipping a pail and settling upon the bottom.

Abner followed the example.

"Where ya from?" Tom asked.

"Needham."

Thomas cocked his head while dropping his brow. "Needham?"

Abner's mind scrambled. "What's odd about that?"

"Because it's inland."

"So?"

"So what are you doing on a ship?"

"I told you," insisted Abner, "I want to be a sailor."

Tom's head bobbed slowly. "What sort of work does yer family do?"

"Farmed."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Show me your hands," Tom demanded.

Abner extended them in a hesitant fashion.

Tom grabbed one of the hands and moved his thumb across the palm. "Them ain't no worker's hands," he noted at once. He held his own splayed hand outward for inspection. "Feel the difference?"

Abner ran a finger across the open palm. "It's like a piece of wood."

Thomas nodded. "So what does your family do?"

Abner pondered the question for some time, regretting very much the decision to ever leave that family. "Does it really matter now?"

"No," Tom sighed. "I guess not. Just thought it might be polite to get to know you a bit before I fucked you, that's all. So, which do you want to do first?"

"What?"

"Your butt or your mouth?" said Thomas plainly. "You got to do both, of course. Which one you want to start with?"

Abner was stunned by the Tom's matter-of-fact attitude as much as anything else. "I, uh, don't know."

"Well," shrugged Tom, "if you don't care, let's start with your ass. Drop your trousers." The boy stood and began to remove his own pants.

Abner simply stared at the floor for a moment, then bolted for the exit. Not three steps had the teen taken before the chamber went dark.

"Where are you running?" asked Thomas. Listening, he only heard the creak of the hull, but he knew the other youth had not yet reached the ladder.

The movement of the ship and lack of visual references soon left Abner dizzy and disoriented. "I don't know."

Tom pounced on the sound. The two of them rolled together briefly on the floor before the elder easily gained the upper hand.

"Please," Abner begged, "Don't hurt me."

"I don't mean to hurt you," Tom said, moving his knees atop the other's arms.

"It already hurts," Abner protested, squirming.

"Then quit struggling," Thomas demanded.

Abner ceased resistance and concentrated instead on simply not weeping.

"Good." concluded Tom. "Now let's get on with it, shall we?" He reached down to grasp Abner's shirt, intent on pulling the other cabin boy upright.

Thomas paused as his closed fist detected a surprising softness beneath the cloth. Curious, he reached with his free hand to locate the other breast and found it just as supple.

Tom's hand recoiled as if he had been bitten. "You're..."

"No!" the prone youth squealed, struggling briefly again before Thomas regained his position and, shifting his weight, effectively ending the second fruitless escape attempt.

His quarry subdued, Thomas moved a hand purposefully down the abdomen, slipping it beyond the shirt and into the trousers.

"Please," the subdued youth sniveled. "Please don't."

"Be still," Thomas snapped. He slid his hand across a surprisingly substantial patch of hair to find the feminine crease he had anticipated, yet feared. "You're a girl!"

"So you can tell the difference!' the other cried. "Now will you get off of me?"

"And you've got far more than one hair down there," Tom continued. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"You don't look twenty."

"I am!" the girl affirmed. "Almost anyway! Now would you please get off of me?"

"Are you going to run away?"

"No!"

"Stay there," Thomas ordered. He rose and walked calmly to re-light the lantern. When he turned, he saw the lass clutching her disheveled clothing in a pitiful display of modesty. "So what is your name?" he asked.

"Abigail," the girl replied. "Abigail Frazier."

"Well," Thomas nodded, smiling, "that's a lot better than Abner."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Tom admitted. "But, there ain't no point in teachin' you to be a cabin boy."

"Cabin boy or cabin girl," began Abigail. "What does it matter?" "They're going to have me either way."

"Yes," conceded Tom. "But now they'll throw you overboard afterwards."

"

What?

"

"It's more than just bad luck to have a girl aboard," noted the lad.

"Why?"

"Because you'll be nothing but trouble," Tom explained. "The crew will all fancy you. There'll be jealousies and quarrels, probably worse."

"Over

me

?"

"Yes, you," affirmed the boy. "Even if you weren't pretty, you bein' the only girl these men might see for a few years, well, you'd certainly look good enough after a month or two."

"Years?"

"Yes,

years

," said Tom. "This is a whaler, girl. We won't be back 'til these barrels are full and hundreds more like them." He motioned to the gigantic casks that surrounded them in the hold.

"So," Abner swallowed, "they're really going to just kill me?"

Tom nodded solemnly

"Couldn't they just take me back?"

"Have you noticed," asked Tom, "that the captain ain't the friendliest fellow?"

"Yes, but..."

"He ain't going to turn his boat around to take some girl back to port what shouldn't have been on board to start with. 'Specially since all you'd do once you got there was spread rumors about his nastiness, and true ones at that."

"How can he just do that?" the girl gasped. "Just

kill

people? And how can you talk about it like it's

nothing

?"

Thomas tensed at the unexpected verbal assault. "I didn't mean nothin'," he stammered, gulping before he continued. "I just thought I ought tell you the truth sooner rather'n later."

"I may as well jump myself then," Abigail resolved, "and not give the dogs the pleasure."

The lass released a long, mournful sigh; hoping; wishing; praying this was all just a bad dream. But she knew better. She foundered upon the bucket, too depressed to even sob. She could see all her hopes, all her aspirations, and all her silly childhood fantasies. That she might never achieve any of them now was crushing even to her resilient spirit.

Thomas just sat, feeling more helpless, more apprehensive, than he had ever felt before. He could think of nothing to say. He dared not even look the girl in the eye.

Abigail's eyes sprang from the floor to the boy's face. "Will you do me?"

"What?" Thomas queried.

"I want to know a man before I die. I realize it's no big concession, but you appear to be the best of the lot."

"Oh, I, uh..." Tom started.

"And I don't want your captain to be my first, either!"

Thomas eyed the little lass. Her frame was delicate, as were her facial features. Her black hair was cropped short and uneven, looking much like the upturned end of a worn mop; still he imagined it was a comb away from shining. Two tiny ebony orbs wandered with apparent randomness below a pair of thick eyebrows. The girl's smooth skin sported a few moles, but was otherwise pale, in stark contrast to her dark hair and eyes.

Abigail looked every bit as helpless as she was, but she had courage; and Tom knew she was meant for some fate other than satisfying the loins of sailors or the bellies of sharks. "I got a better idea," he announced. "Follow me."

Thomas walked to the far end of the hold. "You hide in here while I get a few things ready."

"What?" queried Abigail.

"Get in the barrel," Tom ordered gruffly.

"Oh," Abigail muttered. She hastily jumped inside the huge wooden cask. Her nose wrinkled as she discovered the foul scent that subtly permeated the hold was overwhelming within the container. "What's that smell?"

"Just a bit o' leftover oil in the wood from last voyage." said Tom. "You'll get used to it. Now settle down and be quiet. Don't move until I get back."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not even sure yet," the lad admitted. "You just be quiet and keep out of sight while I figures it out."

Abigail reclined into the odorous vat, anxious, but somehow hopeful that she might yet see the sun rise. She rested in the darkness for over an hour, hearing an occasional voice or thud, but generally having only the creaking and rolling of the hull for company.

At long last, Abigail heard the approaching footfalls and saw a shadow play across the rim. "I'm so glad you're back," she said, her smiling face popping from the confines of the cask. Her features melted as she saw the visitor was not whom she had anticipated.

"Where's Tom?" asked a gaunt and weathered mariner.

"I don't know," Abigail admitted.

The man walked to the barrel. "Leave you all alone did he?"

Abigail froze, unsure what reply, if any, was best.

Grinning through a dentist's nightmare, the sailor grasped the edge of the container and threw it roughly on its side, spilling Abigail onto the planking. "I reckon if he's stepped out for a spell, ain't no reason I can't learn you a thing or two myself."

Abigail rolled onto her stomach, intent on gaining her feet. She regretted the maneuver instantly as the man sat atop her backside.

"What's the trouble, boy?" the sailor asked. "You and my cock will be old friends by tomorrow anyway."

The man shifted his weight to the girl's torso. Reaching for her trousers, he began to loosen them, and none too gently.

"Tom's supposed to teach me!" Abigail protested.

"Aye," drawled the sailor. "But looks like he's derelict o' duty. I won't report him though, if just you settle down and quit making such a fuss."

A shadow crossed Abigail's head. The sailor's neck swiveled in response, but it never brought his eyes to bear. The first blow caught the man just below his left temple, stunning him. The second sent him and both of his teeth to the deck, in separate piles. The third landed with a sickening crunch on the already unconscious form.

"Guess we'll have to go sooner rather'n later now," declared Tom, dragging the pliant form of the seaman from atop the petrified girl.

Abigail scuttled to her knees. "Is he...?" she gasped, looking at the limp body of the man who had so recently accosted her.

"If he ain't, then I broke a perfectly good oar for nothin'," Tom noted, tossing the splintered shaft aside before looking back to the girl. "Can you swim?"

Abigail shook her head slowly. "No."

"I thought as much. Follow me." The boy picked up the lantern and walked calmly to the ladder, then turned and hurled the lamp back into the hold where it shattered into a mass of flame.