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Subject: {ASSM}  {Joanna} The Ignominy Run (MF, caution) [1/3]
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Standard disclaimer: Over 18s only



The Ignominy Run
by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com)
January 2000


Copyright 2000 Joanna de Brito
All commercial rights reserved. Non commercial use of this
story is permitted as long as I am kept informed of that use
by e-mail and all author and copyright messages remain
intact.


AUTHOR'S NOTE
Content Warning

"The Ignominy Run" is a story of pirates, of slavery, of
oppression, of savagery and of the sea; and there's also
some sex (mainly in parts two and three).

Readers may find aspects of this story unpleasant: it is
gritty and some will find it harrowing. Unfortunately, my
story isn't entirely fiction.

Be warned.



Part One


I lie awake at night, as I do each night, the sky is clear
and the air is warm. He lies beside me, his arm caressing my
naked breast. I hear the quiet regular breath of his
sleeping; I feel the dry stickiness of his spent passion and
am comforted by the memory of his kiss.

Outside our simple tent, the embers of a small fire crackle
softly as they cool. I hear the incessant song of the
crickets and some scuffling of prowling rodents in their
search for food.

But hark!

I hold my breath, sweat builds as beads of blood on my dusky
skin, and I incline my ear. Listen! There! Can you hear? You
must! You must, surely be able to hear it. That sound: it
tears at my gut, twisting and ripping me to shreds.

Softly, quietly, inevitably, the tears well in my dull eyes,
they trickle across my cheek and seep silently into my
pillow.

That sound: it's always the same. It never ever leaves me:
the slow hollow rasp as a soul begs for air; the final
frightful gasp that is followed by silence, just eons of
endless nothing. I know it; I dread it; the life of a fellow
being has been extinguished.

I cry out in vain for an answer, dear God, please hear my
prayer: Is happiness to be shortened by its sweetness? Will
they even now find us and hang us both?

I have never told him how much it bothers me, how I am kept
awake at night by my thoughts and conscience. I've never
confided how I think, and ponder, and wonder.

Dear Jesus, merciful father, please, tell me, what is it
that makes us the way we are?

Can it really be as simple as it seems? Can my life really
be measured by the consequence of two moments in time? By so
little? By two pivotal incidents that between them have
escorted me to this distant shore, to this humid jungle, to
this reflective existence; that dropped me quite gently and
yet so firmly into his protective care; that have brought me
love, and yet also so much remorse.

Ah yes, let me think, now, I can see you want to know. The
first? Ah yes, the first. The first was when William asked
me to dance that quadrille: such a jolly dance. I'm sure it
was just a joke. Perhaps he was teased by one of his many
adorers: 'Ask that girl, the one over there, sitting all
alone, watching from her chair!'

How fate twists us in its deadly grasp. For if I had never
tried that dance, how different things might have been. He
would never have called at my house the following day. And
then, of course, he certainly would never have come to know
me, and I, in my turn, should never have agreed to become
his wife.

Dear God! How can I say that? What grief! What anguish!
Agreed. What a lie!

You see, in reality I had no choice in the matter at all. As
soon as William had declared his intentions, my father had
taken me quietly to one side. I remember him standing
against the light of the French windows one spring morning;
early, looking out, his hands clasped firmly behind his
back. He was very patient, apologetic almost, as he quietly
explained that a woman in my situation must be pragmatic,
she must be sober, that although she might dream of love and
romance, she must keep her feet on the ground and not set
her sights impossibly high.

The choice had been simple: I must either agree to be
William's wife or risk having an uncertain future as an old
maid. I told him: I was having none of it, compared with
William, being an old maid wasn't such a terrible option.
But the choice was never offered me; my father had made it
extremely obvious which of these alternatives he expected me
to take.

Yes, that was it, that was the first: definitely. The first
action to shape my fate. Dancing with William: what a
disaster! But he had stood so handsome in his starched white
neck cloth and fashionable waistcoat: his black hair falling
in an aristocratic heap across his face. He would push it
back with a grand sweep of his hand and then smile that
charming smile of his.

And when he smiled, how gay he became! His eyes would light
up: eyes of dark brown flecked with the merest touch of
green, that were deeper and more soulful than any young man
had the right to possess. He knew about young women. He knew
how to flatter and to tease, to beguile and seduce. He knew
that I could not refuse him his dance...

If only I had been able.

Ah, so now for the second, the second incident to shape my
fate. That occurred some months later and was so very
different. I stood on the deck of the Ignominy in just my
chemise. The sea was green and the sky was beautiful. I was
alone apart from a man, a savage Negro who was soon to be
hanged. He was chained to the main mast of the ship and he
was naked.

I could so easily have ignored him. If I had done so, then I
should have continued the safe unhappy existence I had so
recently begun with William. That was the wise course, the
simple course, the right course, but this time my father was
not there to direct my hand. This time, it was lust that was
my better; it was my lust that finally sealed my fate.

What a joke! How sad! Two moments in time! Indeed, doesn't
life dangle upon the weakest thread?

But I'm running ahead of myself already, I'm not telling my
story properly, as it should be told. I'm sorry, please
forgive me, let me try again. Let me start, not at the
beginning, for I haven't any more the patience - too bitter,
too sweet - but with what for me became the beginning, a new
beginning: let me start at the moment I first set eyes on
the Ignominy.

I'm trying to remember how it felt, what thoughts I had. I'm
sure that I wasn't at all frightened; what had I to be
frightened of? I knew nothing of the sea, of its
unpredictability and power, of its danger, of the dirt and
the stench, of the misery and the death.

On the contrary, there was excitement in my veins, for I was
embarking on the grandest of adventures. Here was I being
given a glimpse into strange, unfamiliar worlds: different,
new, colorful and full of surprise.

The day was bright and the wharf full of activity; it was
alive and buzzing, and to a girl of just nineteen, it was
all so exhilarating. Shouts of stevedores busily loading
supplies mingled with the noise of steel rimmed wheels
ripping across gray stone cobbles. Small boys dragged
cartloads of cargo and provisions - sacks and chests and
livestock - the short distance between ship and warehouse.
Young women in tawdry clothes and painted faces chatted
together in small groups or wandered aimlessly along the
pavement. Elsewhere, drunken sailors staggered like
irregular pendulums in search of a quiet corner or a dry
alley in which to curl up and disremember.

I gazed up and saw above me that the skies were speckled
with huge white sea gulls, attracted perhaps by the pungent
perfume of freshly caught fish mixed with the stink of hot
tar and the stench of rotting excrement. These soared and
swooped and cried, and I envied and marveled at their sheer
exuberance.

William glanced out of our hired chaise at the line of
tethered ships that littered the quay. I remember it now, so
very clearly. He tutted irritably, assumed his quizzing
glass and took a second look. "That's her," he said
somberly, pointing. "That is the Ignominy."

I followed the direction of his white manicured finger and
was at once so very disappointed. "But she's small!" I
exclaimed unthinkingly, for the ship he'd pointed out was
the most unimpressive in the dock. It was diminutive,
battered and ancient. "That can't be right, surely?"

His face crumpled at once into the menace of a frown and I
cursed myself for my quick tongue.

"Are you being disagreeable again?" he bit back sharply. "I
thought, I thought we had an agreement."

He thrust angrily his silver quizzing glass back inside his
coat. "I'm sorry," I muttered quickly, hoping that an
apology might salvage something of his humor. I was
particularly flustered because I had no idea what this
'agreement' might be. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I didn't
mean to doubt you."

I had no idea what he was thinking. I cast him several quick
nervous glances, but he remained distantly silent as the
hackney brought the horse to a stand alongside the Ignominy.

I can never tell what William's thinking. I can never please
him: that's a fact. Often I wonder if he would have found me
easier to live with if I had been bound to him as a dog or a
horse rather than as his wife. These are creatures he finds
so easy to admire.

The hackney stepped down, opened the door of the chaise and
helped me out of the box. He was a thin gaunt man, a tall
man, in a crumpled uniform. He knew his station, this man.
He was a good man, this man. He kept his eyes averted,
downcast, never once did he look at me.

I thanked him for his help, and then looked up to get my
first clear view of the Ignominy. This reinforced by initial
opinion, now corrected, that this was a small decrepit
beast. Of course, I'm not an expert like William, but
neither am I a fool. I was quite capable of comparing this
ship with others in the harbor. I have eyes. However, this
time my observation went unspoken, I knew better than to
repeat a mistake.

The hackney clambered up and pulled my chair from off the
top of his chaise. He had a struggle because it had been
tied quite tight.

"Hurry up, what's keeping you, man," William complained
haughtily. "It's cold and windy down here."

"I'm sorry, sir," the hackney apologized repeatedly. "I'm
sorry, madam. Begging your pardon, sir." He dropped the
chair in front of me with a crash, which caused William to
begin another round of cursing. Gratefully I sat down upon
it.

William doesn't care for feminine hysteria. I wouldn't
mention it, but, as the hackney pushed me across the rough
cobbles towards the Ignominy, a couple of small scrawny boys
hastily erected a rickety gangway. I stared nervously. Dear
God, surely, was this, was it really safe? The bridge was so
fragile, hovering precariously above the water between shore
and ship.

I did my best to conceal my fear: nervously pulling my cloak
about me, holding it tight, straightening my bonnet, looking
elsewhere, anything, everything to take my mind from that
flimsy ramp. Did I really have to cross that?

William lifted me up and strode forward. Half way across the
gangway, an icy, bitter gust blew along the foreshore out of
the north. William stumbled; I clung desperately to his
neck, positive that he would drop me into the miry water.
Mary? Is that you, Mary? The wind blew through every stitch
of clothing that I was wearing, through my pelisse, my dress
and my petticoats. I felt it under my chemise, freezing me
to the bone. It was a wind that, somehow, even at the time,
struck me as prophetic.

"Come now, Sarah," William reproved, prizing my fingers from
their hold around his neck. "Let's show a little dignity,
shall we? There are people watching, remember."

"Sorry," I mumbled quickly. "I know. I'm sorry, William. I
didn't mean..."

He set me down on the other side, on the Ignominy.

"Exactly, he said. "That's just the trouble, isn't it? You
never think. What am I to do with you, Sarah?"

I was saved by the appearance of a young man who apparently
was the second mate. He introduced himself as Davy Smithson.

"The Captain sends his apologies," he said with a smile,
bowing politely. "'E was hoping to greet you himself but 'e
was unavoidably detained."

I was warmed by that smile. I had been feeling rather
depressed after a long closemouthed journey, and it lifted
my spirits. Thank you Mr. Smithson.

"Have you traveled far, mam?" he asked me, casually taking
the measure of my figure. I blushed. I could barely believe
what he had just done. What kind of man was this?

Young, I decided. Foolhardy. Hardly any older than I. Cute.
Much too young, surely, to be in a position of command.

"We come from Derbyshire," William interjected from a
distance of several feet. He was supervising the two scrawny
boys as they carried my chair along the gangway. He hadn't
seen the improper way that Mr. Smithson had looked at me,
thank goodness. "I come from Buxton in the Peaks," he said.
"Maybe you have heard of it?"

"No, sir," Mr. Smithson replied, a little amused. "I can't
say that I have." Then, grinning back at me: "Let me show
you to your State Room, mam, I'm sure you must be
exhausted."

He spoke politely, but his appearance was uncouth. There was
a wildness about him, a raw masculinity that I was unused
to. His muscles were firm and strong, covered by skin that
was tough and thick like parchment, hardened by the wind, by
the sun and by the salt. He had blond curly hair and
brilliant blue eyes.

The young boys placed my chair by my side. I smiled politely
and sank thankfully into it, still a little embarrassed.

Mr. Smithson guided us across the busy deck to the narrow
steep stairs that led down to the under deck area below. It
struck me that, close up, the Ignominy was even more cramped
than it had appeared from the wharf. This opening was little
more than a hatch, much too narrow for my chair. I pulled
myself to my feet.

"I'll carry you," William murmured, stepping forward and
picking me up. I was uncomfortable. I knew the reluctance
with which he uttered these words and felt keenly what a
burden I was to him, although neither of us ever
acknowledged it, either publicly or to each other.

The stairs had not been designed for a cripple; they were
claustrophobic and awkward. William did his best, he tries,
but I received cracks to both knees and elbows on the way
down.

I could not afford to protest.

At the bottom there was a small corridor with rooms on
either side hidden by canvas curtains. Here we waited for
the second mate. He pushed past, and then led us a little
way along the corridor.

"This is the one," he said, pulling open one of the soiled
curtain doors with a swish. "This is your State Room."

My heart sank. The term "State Room" may suggest great
opulence and grandeur: nothing could be further from what
now stood before us. Here was a bedchamber that was little
bigger than a cubbyhole; perhaps it was five feet wide and
six feet long. Worst of all, it seemed to have been designed
specifically for dwarfs: what other explanation could there
be for the significant absence of headroom? I felt that I
had regressed somehow into my childhood and from there, into
my doll's house. The room felt so small. It was worse still
for William; he was bent almost double.

My arms and legs were throbbing from where they had banged
against various obstructions. Suddenly, from out of nowhere,
emotion gripped me. I was exhausted by a long difficult
journey. I had left my family: my mother, and my father, my
cousins and my grandparents. I had left my home in Kent, and
now even my country was to be a thing of the past. What did
I have left but a husband who was a stranger and who barely
spoke to me?

I wanted to cry; I was hurting so badly. Dear God, how black
everything seemed, I was so lonely. Excitement can so
quickly become darkness, and hope, despair. Before me
stretched a long endless tunnel. No end. For two years I had
been traveling it, and with every step my poor legs had been
unable to carry me, the path had become darker and more
desperate. Dear God, why don't you just take me now? Why
prolong this agony, this hell upon earth? Take me, and let
me try to explain.

I pulled myself onto my bed, contemplating its narrowness
and the lack of comfort, listening to the second mate
explain to William that we needed to "lash ourselves in"
with ropes so as not to roll out during the night.

It was all too much.

I turned to the small porthole and stared out, carefully
keeping my face averted, hoping, praying that neither man
would seek my opinion nor ask me any question, not that I
considered this event likely. You see, William is always
quite capable of volunteering my opinion whenever it's
requested.

There was some whispered discussion behind me about the
"heads", next a reference to myself, then William told me to
take some rest before dinner. I didn't hear what came after
that, but moments later they both disappeared, leaving me
confined, totally alone.

Dear Jesus, please help me. Where are you? What, dear Jesus,
have I come to?


******

It was the evening of our wedding and I was blissfully
happy. We had left my home in Kent that morning and had
stopped for the night at a small inn close to London. The
plan was that next day we would begin the long trek north to
William's estate, to my new home, Greystone Park in Buxton.

I lay in the large bed considering. Okay, I told myself,
maybe William did have his faults, but doesn't everyone? I
was confident. I was his wife. I could be a force for the
better. I would change him.

I had washed and perfumed myself. I had crimped my silky
brown hair in ringlets solely for his pleasure. I had
adorned myself in a fine white nightgown - a wedding gift
that my mother had presented to me that morning along with
her sly suggestive smile - and had prepared for him to come.

It was a long wait, a very long wait. I know I waited at
least for several hours. I'm sure I must have drifted to
sleep. I thought something awful must have happened on the
estate or that maybe he had received tragic news. But
finally, eventually, yes, he had come.

What can I tell you? How can I explain? There was I, a shy
young virgin, and there was my husband, William: inebriated
and stinking of whiskey. He tumbled into my bed and yanked
my nightdress to my waist without trace of kindness or
finesse.

"Been waiting for me, have you?" he chortled, slurring each
word. In his stupor he couldn't unfasten the string holding
my drawers and this annoyed him. "What you playing at, you
stupid bitch," he snarled. "Are you trying to make fun of
me?"

Where was his charm? Where were those smiling eyes?

"No, William," I exclaimed, my own eyes opening wide,
dazzled by his anger. I was now truly awake. Dear God, what
had I done?

"I'll remind you that I'm your husband now," he snapped.
"Don't you dare try to humiliate me! What kind of string..."

He tried for a second time to unfasten the bow. "I could
make your life so miserable..." he barked.

I couldn't believe that there was such malice within him,
all of it directed against me. "Are you laughing? You
laughing at me? I could make your life so bad, bitch, you'd
never want to laugh. Make your existence so miserable, you'd
rather escape it in any way, in any way at all, than endure
another day with me."

I began to sob. "I'm sorry William," I cried, unfastening
the cord for him. "I don't understand. What have I done?"

"Liar!" he screamed viciously, tugging my drawers down my
legs and then hurling them across the room. "Don't you ever,
ever wear those things to bed again. When I come for you, I
expect you to be ready. You're my wife, do I make myself
clear?"

There was no sense to what he was saying. If I had done
something, said something out of turn, then I might
understand...

"Yes, William," I screamed, trying to hide my anguish as he
thrust into my virginity without knowledge or care. "I
understand."

"Bitch," he cried.

As I lay there under him, breathing his fetid air and being
hurt by his passion, the seeds of revulsion began to shoot.
With each thrust of his disgusting member my respect from
him ebbed and I was left empty inside, naked, numbed.

He never consummated his act of marital rape; part way
through he began to slow, his cock shriveled to nothing
within me and finally he drifted off to sleep. I waited
until his breathing was slow and regular, and even then I
waited. I was so frightened, so very, very frightened. Only
when he began to snore did I carefully push him off.
Quickly, I filled a bowl with water from the jug in the
corner of my room and tried to wash away the dirt and the
blood. Most of all I tried to wash away the revulsion and my
humiliation.

And all the while, I wept softly.

The following morning he bought me a small nosegay and gave
it to me over breakfast. "Good morning, Mrs. Gaskell," he
said, pushing back his hair with the sweep of his hand. His
eyes were smiling; he was calm and relaxed. "What a
beautiful day and how wonderful you look..."


******

The curtain door flew open and I turned, startled. I had
removed my travelling gown and stood in only my red
petticoat. Mr. Smithson filled the doorway, a lascivious
grin adorning his face. His blond curly hair lay lank upon
his head.

He stepped forward. "Mr. Smithson," I gasped, my heart
racing, conscious that the top half of my breasts were
bursting from inside my under garments.

"I'm sorry, mam," he apologized, without dropping his gaze.
"I've brought your trunk, mam."

Blushing, I reached awkwardly for my gown. "Thank you," I
muttered, clutching the gown and holding it to my chest. Two
hefty sailors then stepped uninvited into my room, carrying
my valise.

"If there's anything I can do, mam," Mr. Smithson said, as
they pushed passed him. He was very obviously enjoying my
petticoat.

He awaited my answer. "No, Mr. Smithson," I replied hastily.
"I can manage, thank you."

He nodded, cast my petticoat a final wistful glance, and
then left.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe not so cute, after all.


******

William was gone for nearly an hour. When he returned, he
informed me that he had met the Captain, he went on about it
for ages, and that we had both been invited to dinner in his
quarters.

"Now don't let me down," he ordered.

"No, William."

"For instance, none of your tittle-tattle."

"No, William."

"Or meddling in other folk's conversations."

"No, William."

He made me wear my very best dress. William thought it a
proper mark of respect when eating in the Captain's
quarters. I was less certain because it is the only
expensive gown that I own. My father bought it for a ball
that was given two summers ago in Maidstone. I was walking
then. It is sea green, and adorned with blond lace and with
pearl rosettes. It's a little unfashionable now. I hear that
knots of ribbon are now all the rage in London. However,
this gown was the best that I had.

When I met the Captain that evening, I found him to be a
middle-aged man with a craggy face and bloodshot eyes. His
name was Peters, Captain Peters, and we were all very
fortunate, he informed us, to be in his excellent hands.

"I've been sailing the Atlantic," he said. "Since I was a
young boy swinging about in the upper rigging."

We were also introduced to the four other passengers.

First, there were Major and Mrs. Brindley. The Major was a
tall man with wavy hair thinning on top. He sported a large
moustache and whenever he spoke to me there was a twinkle in
his eye. I felt him rather forward, but decided that this
was probably due to his military background and thus, I
felt, I should make some allowance. Mrs. Brindley, his wife,
was a woman of about forty, although she carried her age
well. Visually she was a stern woman, but when she spoke,
her words were always accompanied by a sweet smile that
softened her appearance.

The other passengers were Lord Edward and Lady Caroline
FitzHoward. At first I thought he must be her father or
grandfather, or some such relative, he appeared absolutely
ancient, but no, they were husband and wife. One mustn't be
too unkind about these things, but seeing them together, I
suspected that she had been attracted to his side more by
his title than his looks. They were a very mismatched
couple. He was gray headed, of limited height and bloated of
torso; she on the other hand was vivacious and pretty,
although rather outspoken, and stood a good six inches
taller than him.

"Can you not walk at all?" Lady Caroline asked me politely.

"She fell from her horse and crushed her legs," William
replied in my stead. He flipped his hair back from off his
eyes and smiled sweetly. He was sitting next to Lady
Caroline and was almost falling into her huge decolletage.
This evening, the charm was most definitely switched on.

"Exercise is all very well, but it can be extremely
unhealthy," Lord Edward muttered, tucking into his soused
pork. "All right for boys, but can't see the sense of it for
girls."

"But you do have feeling in your legs?" Mrs. Brindley
inquired of me. "I mean, you're not paralyzed?"

"No, not at all," I began.

William cut across me immediately. "Sarah's legs were never
properly set. I don't remember why now, why was that?" He
laughed to cover his ignorance. "So, although they mended
and the tissue is repaired, the bones are not in alignment.
She can stand, even walk a little at times, but she finds it
all rather painful."

"How horrible!" Mrs. Brindley sympathized.

"Perhaps one day, in a year or two, if things work out well
in the Indies," William added, with considerable synthetic
concern for my welfare. "We may have the money for an
operation. But Sarah is not so keen. Are you dear?"

My exasperation boiled over. "I don't think any sane person
would be keen to have such an operation," I snapped.

"Come now," the Captain interjected, before William could
react.

"I'll never, never let those butchers touch me," I insisted
vehemently, clutching my knife.

"Of course," the Captain smiled. "Of course, you are right.
But, now. Dinner is getting cold. We'll not dine like this
again until we reach the Indies. No sense in wasting good
food. There'll be plenty of time for talk during the
voyage."

I smiled politely, and William glowered. The Captain then
adroitly changed the subject by explaining that normally
they sailed south to the Dark Continent. There they would
pick up a cargo for transport to the Caribbean. However, on
this run they were fortunate to already have a cargo, and
were therefore able to sail direct.

It wasn't until the conversation was quite old that I
realized that by "cargo", he meant slaves.

"Isn't it dangerous?" I asked, "I mean, to be carrying
slaves. What if they escape?"

Everyone laughed, and immediately I knew I had made a faux
pas.

"What a silly thing you are, Sarah," William ridiculed.
"They wear irons and are kept below decks in the hold. They
can't escape!"

The Captain agreed. "They're no more of a danger to you than
the hogs or the cow,"

"Poor Sarah," Lady Caroline giggled, her partially exposed
boobies quivering in delight. "Imagine being frightened of
Negroes!"

"Then perhaps one of them could be put to gainful employment
helping Sarah about the ship," Mrs. Brindley suggested.
"Since the stairs are so clearly unsuitable for an invalid."

I was horrified. The idea of a Negro carrying me was
repulsive. "Please, no, I couldn't impose..."

"Couldn't have niggers walking round the ship," Lord Edward
protested.

"But it's a splendid idea," William beamed, turning to the
Captain. "Assuming we have your permission?"

But the Major came to my rescue. "Shouldn't we listen to
Mrs. Gaskell's opinion?" he remarked.

William's voice turned cold. "I don't see..."

Mrs. Brindley interrupted at once. "Yes, tell us," she
insisted. "How do you feel about it, Sarah?"

I flushed. I could already feel the heat of William's
displeasure. But, honestly, a Negro! "I don't know. Maybe.
Perhaps William is right and I'm being a little foolish..."
I began.

Captain Peters idly scratched his well-worn chin. "Perhaps,"
he suggested, observing William's fury. "A compromise? What
if I were to assign a member of my crew to be available to
assist Mrs. Gaskell, and then, when she grows more
comfortable in the proximity of slaves, well at that time we
can arrange for a change. Is that agreeable?"

I nodded heartily, and William did so begrudgingly.

"I've never met a Negro before," Lady Caroline asked,
fiddling with her hair. A clip seemed to have come loose.
"Is it true what they say?"

"I don't know, what do they say?" the Captain returned.

Lady Caroline waited until she had finished readjusting her
hair before continuing. "They say," she said, casting a
cheeky flirtatious grin in the direction of William. "Of
course, I have no way of knowing myself. But they say that
they are all very well endowed, in the reproductive
department."

I blushed. I couldn't believe what she had just said. But
nobody else seemed to think her amiss.

William was laughing heartily. "Why don't you take a look
for yourself and judge?" he quipped. "I'm sure you're a much
better judge than I."

"Mr. Gaskell, whatever are you insinuating," she feigned to
protest, a warm sparkle lighting her dark brown eyes. She
thrust her meaty cleavage in his direction. "You make me out
the harlot."

"No, no," he said, refuting her allegation but enjoying the
flirtation. "Not at all. I was merely confessing to my own
inexperience, my Lady." He sipped slowly at his wine, then
set down the glass rather deliberately.

"And you think that my experience is greater," Lady Caroline
suggested with a grin. She wasn't prepared to let him off
the hook just yet.

William's eyes twinkled with delight. "I'm sure that of the
two of us you make by far the prettier judge."

"Mr. Gaskell!" she protested again, prodding him firmly with
her breasts. He was in his element.

The Captain interrupted their interchange. "Perhaps, if it
would amuse you, Lady Caroline," he said rather somberly.
"If, when the slaves have been brought on board, you would
like to pick out a male, then we could mate it with one of
the females. You would not then have to rely on hearsay. If
you're not too tired, that is."

She blushed, casting a quick nervous glance towards her
husband. Seeing no objection forthcoming from that
direction, she declared demurely: "Why, thank you, Captain
Peters. I don't feel at all tired."

"Fine," the Captain said. "I am expecting them soon."

In fact, it was almost an hour later that a small boy
entered our conclave. This boy had the face of an angel but
the hands of a navvy. His shirt was torn and his breeches
stained. He lollopped over to the Captain and whispered into
his ear that the cargo had 'come'. By this time, Major and
Mrs. Brindley had already offered their apologies and had
retired for the night. So, in addition to William and
myself, there were only the FitzHowards and the Captain to
go onto the quarterdeck where we might observe the "cargo"
being quietly smuggled aboard under cover of darkness.

I saw the wretched creatures moving slowly along the gangway
between the wharf and the Ignominy. I recalled how rickety
it was. They walked somberly, despondently, as if to the
gallows. Each one had his hands cuffed behind his back, and
they all wore an iron necklace from which a chain passed
from one to the next, forming a long human rope of misery.

There must have been about a hundred of them, men and women
in equal numbers, but there were no children and no old folk
either. These were all young and strong. They were being
transported to the Indies to work, and what couldn't work,
wouldn't be taken.

What struck me most however, was that they were all naked.
It was not a warm night, I was feeling a little chilly
myself, I had on my shawl and it was pulled close about my
shoulders. Seeing them so frozen, I must have unwittingly
displayed my surprise, because William immediately corrected
me: "Come, now, Sarah," he said. "They're Negroes, remember.
You have no need to blush, no more than when the pigs are
brought on board."

I knew better than to correct him, especially in public. He
wouldn't have been pleased if I'd pointed out that he didn't
know me at all, that it wasn't prudery these people inspired
within me, but human compassion.

For these creatures bore no resemblance whatsoever to pigs.
Under the yellow flickering light of the oil lamps it was
difficult for me to notice any significant difference
between these wretches and good civilized folk. The women
seemed little different in appearance to myself or Lady
Caroline; they each had two breasts to grace their chest;
they had arms, legs and a little hair down below to crown
their glory.

Under the light of those oil lamps, colour was invisible.

"I hope the Captain is an agreeable sort," William was
sniggering to Lord Edward. "The niggers should provide us
with some good sport during the journey."

I didn't hear Lord Edward's reply, for something new was now
happening. Having taken the others below, the crew was now
dragging another man on board. He seemed a demon. It took
four sailors to quell him despite his chains. Rather than
being led to the hold as the others had been, this one they
were chaining to the main mast. He struggled and kicked the
young crewmen, who swore back at him with unmentionable
profanities. One of the officers waited until he was well
fastened and then kicked him brutally in the stomach. The
man crumpled to the deck, gasping for air.

"What has he done?" I murmured, noting both his rippling
muscles and his unbroken spirit. He was hurting, but from
his prone position he still glared back defiantly at the
officer that had kicked him.

"He attacked one of the sailors with a club," a crewman
replied when Lord Edward relayed my inquiry. "But he'll
regret it, we'll soften him first, and then we'll hang him
from the yardarm. The Captain says that when we sight the
Indies, then we'll hang him. He's to serve as a reminder to
the others."

I watched in horrified wonder as they finished fastening his
chains about the mast; still he pulled upon them like a mad
man. The crewmen, having bound him, stood slightly beyond
his reach and taunted him with words and spit. He reacted
with angry guttural abuse in his alien tongue. For me this
was all so new, I was staring and learning with morbid
fascination. I had never seen a black man, but I think what
sealed my initial interest was the clear view I had of his
naked body.

"He looks almost human," I said at last, still staring down
at those bulging muscles and his black naked penis.

Again, I was ridiculed. William sneered and told me I didn't
know what I was saying. "Their brains are undeveloped," he
said. "So although they may talk and are capable of menial
tasks, they lack any concept of spirituality."

One of the sailors had filled a bucket of water from the
sea. He now threw it at the upper body of the Negro who
lifted himself to his knees in order to return more forcibly
what I could only assume to be insults. All the crewmen
laughed at him and tormented.

William was, of course, also watching this, but he continued
without any pause. "The Negro is nothing," he asserted.
"They don't have the power to love nor that divine sense of
justice that we possess. It's ridiculous." He looked at me
accusingly. "How can you mention the European in the same
sentence as the Negro? They can't appreciate poetry nor the
beauty of a sunset. They don't even have the bible."

"They suffered the curse on Ham," Lord Edward nodded
knowledgeably, placing an unlit cigar into his mouth.

When I couldn't quite recall the curse on Ham, he insisted
on refreshing my memory. We returned to his State Room and
he showed me a reference in the book of Genesis. I read it
carefully, and then observed with surprise: "But the curse
was not on Ham at all, it was Canaan that was cursed!"

Lord Edward tutted with irritation, and William explained
that as a woman, I was in no position to understand holy
scripture nor to offer correction. God had placed woman in
subjugation to man, he said.

First Corinthians, chapter eleven, verse three, I added
mentally. You see, I know that one well: he quotes it
frequently.

Lady Caroline and I were then dismissed so that the men
might smoke their cigars.

"A glass of port?" I overheard the Captain saying to Lord
Edward as we left.

Lord Edward accepted. "Thank you, William. Now. I have a
proposition for you. Do you care for cards at all?"

Lady Caroline closed the door and pushed me out of earshot.
Her hands were trembling, although I didn't understand why.
"Would you care for a stroll on deck?" she asked hurriedly.

I did. I can't remember what reason I gave to Lady Caroline,
but I very much wanted to go back on deck. Perhaps it was
curiosity, perhaps it was something more, but I wanted to
take another look at the Negro. We persuaded one of the
sailors to carry me up the stairs, and when he had left us
we sat for some minutes by the rail on the seaward side of
the ship.

The stars were burning brightly, there being a clear sky. I
could see my star sign, Sagittarius, low on the horizon.
Above me there was Pegasus, Andromeda and Cassiopeia. I
remarked on how small and insignificant we are in comparison
to the vastness of this heavenly glory!

I sighed.

>From the hold I could hear the sound of singing. The voices
of men and women joined in a single strained chorus, and the
song was sad. The two of us, Lady Caroline and I, sat in
silence, listening to the song. It was unlike anything I had
ever heard: such peculiar music; yet within it there was
such intensity of grief, an unstated agony with which I
could identify.

Suddenly, there was the harsh cry of an Englishmen, followed
by a sharp crack accompanied by a scream of anguish. The
night now fell silent apart from a faint sobbing.

Lady Caroline had started suddenly at the first sound. For a
while we both sat with our separate thoughts, listening to
the lapping of waves against the side of the ship mingled
with the soft wails from below.

"Proper discipline is a sign of love," I said awkwardly,
repeating what our minister has so often preached. "I think
it says it in, in the book of Hebrews or somewhere." I don't
know why I said it, it was one of those moments when you
feel the need to say something, anything, and end up
uttering something totally inappropriate.

I believe that Lady Caroline was equally ill at ease. "Yes.
Edward says that too," she replied.

"Lord Edward?"

I had no reason to be surprised. It was prompted by the fact
that they had no children. But I sensed instantly that it
was the wrong question. She blushed suddenly, and was
flustered. "Excuse me," she said, her hands trembling, and
then she was silent once more.

Tactfully, I changed the subject. "There is not a single
cloud in the sky," I observed, thinking again about the
black man tied naked to the main mast. "It will grow very
cold. Do you think Negroes feel the cold?"

"You feel far too much for the Negroes," Lady Caroline
asserted, her composure now recovered. "You should forget
them. Pigs don't get cold, and neither do chickens, or cows.
God made them all without need of clothing. The same for
Negroes."

I shook my head. "God made me without need of this chair," I
argued. "But I am lost without it."

Lady Caroline began to push me slowly towards the stern. "It
must be horrible," she said. "I'm not sure that I could cope
if I weren't able to walk."

"You would learn," I said. "As I have learned. At first I
was inconsolable; I wouldn't go out or leave my room. I was
empty, dead. I became very depressed. But we become
acclimatized to tribulation. It grows easier as each year
passes."

"Tell me," she began tentatively. Then she stopped as she
hunted for the right words. Finally, deciding there were no
right words and yet bitten by her own curiosity she began
again. "Tell me, are you able... do you and Mr. Gaskell...?"

I hid my unease. I should have told her to mind her own
business, but the subject was a sore one. Still, I couldn't
be disloyal to William in front of a stranger. "I am quite
fully a woman," I responded.

"Oh," she muttered breezily. "I rather thought... I felt
sorry... Mr. Gaskell is so very attractive."

Yes. Mr. Gaskell is so very attractive. But the words meant
nothing to me.

"And do you," I asked vindictively. "Do you and Lord
Edward...?"

She grinned. "Very much so. All the time. Would you like to
watch?"

It was scandalous! I was horrified. Had I heard correctly?
"No!"

She laid her hand softly on my shoulder, and said, by way of
explanation: "My doing it with Lord Edward is why we're on
this boat, Sarah. I'm not on the Ignominy by choice, none of
us are. I'm not a very good person, Sarah. Do you
understand? Lord Edward has some exotic habits that don't
coexist well with polite society."

"Oh." I had no idea what I should say.

She took her hand from my shoulder and stared back at the
land we were about to leave, dark apart from the occasional
gaslight. "It's okay," she said. "I'm not revealing any
secrets. You'll discover it all for yourself soon enough."

Watching her sad, wistful gaze, I said suddenly: "You remind
me of my sister, Mary. That look, you're a dead spit."

She smiled. "I shall take that as a compliment. Is she
pretty, your sister?"

"She was," I replied, feeling a familiar ache in my breast.
"But she died, two years ago."

Lady Caroline kindly offered her condolence.

Again I changed the subject. I asked her to push me towards
the bow. I wanted to reassure myself that the Negro wasn't
still in pain. But when we had a clear view of him, it was
obvious to me that he was suffering a great deal. He was
already very cold. The water had done its job and he was
visibly shivering.

He lifted his head and stared at the pair of us. He stared
proudly and defiantly. I decided that if I had to vote any
man aboard as being the most physically attractive, then I
would grant it to this man. It wasn't so much his looks,
although he was extremely well developed; it was the way he
carried himself even in this, the most arduous of
circumstances. It was this spirit, his fire, that I found
attractive. His audacity.

I sighed. "I wonder if he knows that they are going to hang
him," I muttered.

"Oh, I expect so," Lady Caroline responded lightly. "If no
one were to tell him, then what would be the point in
waiting until the Indies? In that case, might as well do it
now and save on the victuals."

"I suppose so," I conceded. Then: "Push me closer."

"Be careful," Lady Caroline warned, inching my chair just a
little nearer to the shivering savage.

She suddenly put her hand to her mouth. "My God!"

Lady Caroline was looking at the Negro. I blushed too,
because the man's expression had changed. He was openly and
very obviously undressing us with his eyes. It wasn't lust,
curiosity perhaps. He was looking under our gowns and our
petticoats and inspecting those parts of our bodies no man
had a right to see. The impertinence! How dare he! No man
had ever looked at me the way this man was doing, not even
young Mr. Smithson who had so rudely made me blush that
afternoon. No one had gazed upon me with such feral honesty,
or made me feel so much a woman: animal, sexy, aroused.

He looked from one of us to the other. First, he stared at
Lady Caroline, a harsh smile decorating his face, what had
he seen? Then next he stared at me.

For just a moment his look touched me, not physically, much
deeper, and I could have sworn I saw through his eyes and
into his very soul. But this was madness; for how can a
Negro have a human soul? Confused, I turned my face away
from him and blushed like the innocent teenager that I was.

"Let's go back," I suggested at once to Lady Caroline,
pulling my shawl tighter around me. "Seeing him like that
makes me feel the cold."

"The insolent brute," Lady Caroline remonstrated. "I shall
inform Lord Edward of it. He's an animal, nothing but an
animal. Did you see that, what he did? I shall have the skin
flogged from his back..."

"No," I objected. "Please don't do that."

"But, but you saw how he looked at us," she spluttered.

I nodded. "Yes."

I waited for her to calm. As I watched, her anger turned to
consternation, and then to suspicion before finally a sly
knowing smile spread across her young feminine features.

"You devil," she murmured. "You cunning devil. He's cooking
your goose, isn't he?"

"Pardon?" I had never heard of the expression.

"He is. You devil: I can tell." She was full of wonderment
and satisfaction at the keenness of her powers of
perception. "He's turning you on," she insisted. "The way he
stared at us, so lewdly and voracious. He's really making
you hot."

"He is not," I contradicted her indignantly, the colour
rising to my cheeks. "He's doing nothing of the kind."

"Don't worry about it," Lady Caroline added,
sanctimoniously. "I won't tell your husband. It will be our
little secret."

I wanted to throttle her, perhaps most of all, because
despite my many and adamant denials, she was right. She had
the nail on the head. I couldn't get the Negro out of my
mind. Even as Lady Caroline pushed me away, I couldn't
escape him. What was it about his foreign savagery, his
untamed masculinity that kept drawing me back?

Maybe, I decided later, it was the fact that even in this,
his darkest hour he could retain hope with pride and
dignity. Even now he wasn't giving way to abject despair.
Yes, maybe it was this that was reaching out to me across
our divide and was touching something deep inside, something
extremely raw and unsettling, a part of me that was dark and
unknown.

Yes, he had very definitely made a connection, and I hated
him for it.

"He is a Negro," I told myself. "He is a slave. Sarah
Gaskell, this is madness, folly."

We were by the hatch at the top of the stairs. As there was
no one in the vicinity, Lady Caroline offered to find
William for me.

Oh, if only William would fuck me. That was it; that was my
problem. I was a woman in dire need of a good fucking. What
was I getting so worried about? The answer was simple.
William had married me, and yet he never took care of my
needs, only ever his own. It was inevitable that I would
have strange feelings and perverse reactions. What could
anyone expect? If only William would think of me for once,
rather than just himself.

I grew even colder as the minutes ticked by. What had
happened to Lady Caroline? Where had she gone?

I was beginning to become concerned. Surely it couldn't be
that difficult to find William: the Ignominy wasn't exactly
a labyrinth. I was considering my options when she finally
returned, William in tow.

"I'm sorry," she apologized breezily. "We got talking, and
the time... you know how it is."

She cast William a sideways glance. Her eyes were laughing,
dancing, teasing. What was going on?

I bid her good night and waited for William to carry me.

"Don't I get a good night kiss," Lady Caroline pouted,
fluttering her eyelashes at William.

He smiled, leaned forward and pecked her politely on the
cheek. The fact that as he did it, he was peeping down her
not inconsiderable cleavage was not lost on me.

William carried me down to the lower deck.

"Lady Caroline is a very attractive woman," he said, setting
me down at the bottom of the stairs. His arms were still
round my waist.

"Yes," I stuttered, aware that she was following us down the
stairs. Embarrassed, I pulled myself away from him, along
the corridor to our room. William remained at the bottom of
the steps, talking to Lady Caroline.

He remained outside in the corridor for about ten minutes,
and when he returned, it was only to tell me that he was
leaving. He intended to play cards with Lord Edward and so I
shouldn't wait up for him.

He was preparing to leave when news descended in the
form of a gruff shout. We were going to weigh anchor.
William immediately went to take a look, and I could hear
one or two others doing likewise. I retired to my bed, it
was far too much aggravation to ask to be carried back up
those stairs. However, I couldn't sleep for the hurry,
bustle, noise and confusion that filled every corner of the
ship. In little more than twenty minutes it all seemed to be
over apart from the crowing of a cock that had woken in the
Hen Coop.

I waited for William to return; the minutes passed but his
bed remained empty.

My mind began to wander, from the long journey across
Lancashire to the bustling awfulness of the wharf and the
people I had met. I don't know why, but whichever route I
took, my mind kept returning to one central point: to the
slave shivering on deck, his muscular body defying his
captors, his eyes, yes, his eyes staring at me and
undressing me.

I had lashed myself into my bed with rope, the strings of my
cap were drawn tight under my chin, but my nightgown was
untied. I pulled upon my restraints; thinking of him bound
to the mast, imagining myself in his place. How would I
react if I were stripped naked, tied to a mast, humiliated?
I opened my legs, and allowed my fingers to wander along the
outer folds of my pussy. It's easy for me to do this,
because, you see, I am not allowed to wear drawers in bed.

My fingers wandered inside. William might not want to fuck
me, but I was fully capable of pleasing myself. I am self-
taught; I knew exactly what to do. My fingers found my
clitoris and stroked it gently, while with my other hand I
stroked each of my breasts gently, softly. My eyes were
closed shut because in my imagination I was fastened to a
wooden spar. All the sailors were surrounding me and they
were laughing and joking. Some were spitting; others were
pointing to my mound, another at my breasts.

"I think she's excited, the slut," I heard someone say.
"Look at her breasts, the nipples are all hard."

"Open her legs, go on, open her legs, that's the only way to
tell for certain."

I squirmed, then screamed as they forced my legs apart.
Someone prodded me with a stick, testing to see if it would
go.

There was sneering and barracking, jesting and ridicule.
"She thinks she's brave," someone taunted. "But just make
her wait, let the cat tickle her fancy."

He had a malicious whip in his hand; he was staring at my
open pussy and his eye was cruel.

They were faces: faceless faces. People without shape,
people without names: coming, going, everywhere, and
nowhere. It's always them, every time. Wherever there's
inhumanity, cruelty, barbarity, it's always them.

I shivered in fear. But hark, a soft voice in my ear,
comforting, reassuring. He takes hold of my hand, my chains
fall from my naked body, and he leads me away. He comes to
me often, this man, and we talk, each night when I am
dreaming. I'm not sure how he gets here, who lets him in, or
how he will escape. But I do know that he thinks I'm sexy
and that he doesn't care for the risk. I know that it's his
hands that do these wonderful things and bring me such
sublime pleasure.

He would like to fuck me, but I won't let him, no, not at
all, because, you see, he's promised to another. But
anything else, anything, whatever he cares to do, that I
allow. He fills my need, he makes me a woman, and he makes
me come. Dear God, I must control my voice, there are people
in the next room. Dear God, thank you. Oh, thank you, dear
Jesus, for sending him to me.

I didn't hear William return, for by that time I had drifted
to sleep.


******

"You'll never guess," Lady Caroline beamed, hobbling across
the deck towards us, her face flush with excitement. "The
Captain allowed me to stand at the entrance to the cargo
hold and personally inspect every one of the slaves."

I saw the way she was walking and wondered whether she had
fallen.

"What were you looking for?" William asked mischievously.
"What does a lady look for when she's inspecting a man's
cock?"

She blushed.

"A slave's cock," Lord Edward corrected indignantly.
"There's a difference."

William apologized at once. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
suggest... Of course, a slave's cock."

Lady Caroline's eyes were burning like candles. "Bulk," she
said at once, illustrating her point with graphic gestures.
"Not just length; not just girth. It needs to be a
combination. The one I found, well, see for yourself, here
he is."

The crewmen were pushing a large heavily built man towards
us. I could see at once why he had attracted Lady Caroline.
He was wearing a piece of sackcloth wrapped around his lower
regions, so I knew nothing as yet of his tool, but never had
I seen a man like this. He was massive; he was a powerhouse.
I couldn't help but look at him with envy and wonder what it
would be like to be ravaged by such a man; to feel his
swollen tool crammed inside my inadequate hole.

Stop it, Sarah, I thought. The man is a Negro.

A crowd of sailors was now gathering, standing in a large
circle around the Negro, laughing, joking. Next they brought
out a young Negress. In contrast to the man, she was
diminutive. She must have been the youngest in the
consignment. She was a mouse to his tiger. I leaned forward
to examine her more closely. Like the man, she had a brief
loincloth that she had been given to cover her nakedness.
She had short tightly curled hair, her nose was both wide
and flared and her teeth were as white as anything I have
ever seen. I stared critically at her young breasts. They
were hard plums planted upon her chest, but not yet fully
ripe. I was condescending, flattering myself that although I
was only a couple of years older than she, I had much more
to offer a man.

Listening to the crude comments of our beloved men folk
however, it seemed that I was a poor judge. They certainly
approved the choice, remarking on the slight bouncing of her
breasts, and all obviously enjoying her frantic struggle.

Two crewmen had hold of her, one holding each of her wrists.
They were pulling her forward, forcing her into the
limelight. She didn't want to come; she tried to hold back,
nervous, afraid. There was so much fear in her eyes,
desperation and anguish. She was well aware of what the
white men were planning.

Lady Caroline was standing between William and myself. "Why
her?" I whispered softly. If it had been my task to pick a
partner for that man, then I am sure I would have picked
someone bigger, fuller: someone to be his equal.

Lady Caroline shrugged. "She was so, so timid," she said. "I
just thought that she might be, well, interesting."

Interesting. The word seemed so incongruous. This Negress
might be interesting. I kept repeating the phrase, over and
over in my mind, it wouldn't go away. She might be
interesting. Interesting. Somehow the more I repeated it,
the more that it just didn't fit.

The crewmen pushed the young Negress down onto her knees
immediately in front of the man. They were twisting her arm.
She squawked, protested, writhed in her effort to get away,
but in vain. The crewmen had done this before, probably many
times, I could tell that immediately. Yes, they were
skilled. They knew exactly what they were doing, how to coax
her to do exactly what everyone wanted.

One of them pulled at her loincloth, tearing it from off her
hips with a shuddering screech of cloth. At once her
nakedness was revealed. Like her head, the hair growing on
her mound was short, black and tightly curled. She was
staring at the deck, defiled and ashamed. She tried to cover
herself with her hands. Interesting, this Negress felt
shame. The question sprang immediately to my mind: can an
animal feel shame?

The other crewman was pulling at the man's covering. It fell
away and suddenly he was as naked as she was. I stared at
his tool and, as my eyes opened wide, I knew immediately
that Lady Caroline had been right to choose this man. His
penis wasn't erect, yet his cock hung long, low and thick.

"He's a Negro, Sarah," William said from the other side of
Lady Caroline. It was as though he could read my mind.
"Remember that he's just a Negro."

"Yes," I murmured. "A Negro."

The crewmen were pushing the girl's face towards the man's
tool. Dear Jesus, what were they doing? They couldn't...
they weren't... I had never heard of such a thing. They
wanted her to take his cock in her mouth. Holy Moses. How...
The worst of it was that she didn't seem to be at all
surprised. It was as though she had done it all before and
knew exactly what to do.

I watched transfixed as she sucked upon him, as she licked
his balls, and let her tongue climb to its glorious tip.
What savagery! Her mouth and throat filled with that thing.
It was obscene. I didn't know whether to look or to hide. I
was horrified and yet I couldn't, wouldn't, daren't look
away.

His cock hardened: how could it not? It grew solid like
steel, glistening with a thin coating of Negro saliva. When
the crewmen were happy that it couldn't grow any further,
they pulled on her arms, twisting them up, pulling her back
onto the bare wooden deck and causing her to cry out in
pain. Her legs fell open in a gesture of broken acceptance.
They had crushed her; that was obvious. When they prodded
the man forward, she didn't resist; she simply allowed them
to push his swollen dick into her. One of the crewmen sat on
the Negro's butt, using his weight to ensure that the
engorged cock penetrated as far as was possible.

Lord Edward found that extremely funny.

I wondered how many times the two slaves had been through
this ordeal, maybe not with each other, different actors,
perhaps, but how often had they played the same well-worn
script? Was this why neither displayed much spirit of
defiance?

Or maybe these beasts truly were no different to the
animals. Maybe William, Captain Peters, Lord Edward and
everyone else were right after all. Maybe Negroes simply do
act on instinct, behave according to an innate, insentient
program.

After all, wasn't the Captain the expert? Dealing daily with
the slaves and their needs? I was just the novice.

The slaves were screwing now, their bodies rising and
falling, being given the occasional prod of encouragement,
grunting and groaning. To be honest, I found the sex
repulsive. I'm sure you would rather me say something else,
you would like me to tell you how beautiful it was, you
would like me to describe it with verve and in great detail,
you would like me to arouse and excite you, but to be
honest, I haven't the heart.

It was mechanical, forced, and devoid of all love and
feeling. It made me feel cheap and cheated. I wished I could
have been elsewhere.

If only I could ask someone else to tell my story! William,
Lord Edward or even Lady Caroline, perhaps. If one of them
were writing, then you would have received the description
that you are craving. All three were roused, titillated and
flush with excitement. They were cheering and clapping.

A thought: If the Negro finds screwing this girl so
unpleasant, as his body language suggests, then why is it
that his cock is so hard and determined?

Why are men such hypocrites?

And still I couldn't look away. I had the same unhealthy
curiosity that I'd had as an adolescent when Father used to
take us to town to witness a public scourging. He'd insist
that this experience was necessary to molding our Godly
character, full of such things as moral rectitude and
probity.

Yet it always seemed just an excuse for a lot of men to gaze
lecherously at some destitute girl who had been reduced
through circumstance to selling her body, and who must now
pay man's penalty. Mother never said anything, she never
complained or showed any displeasure; she would sit at
father's side and watch along with the rest of us. She never
once commented on the fact that we never saw men beaten, not
one, whatever their crime or transgression. Neither, it
seemed, were old crows ever flogged. It was always pretty
young whores, scared, timid and sensual.

We would follow the lesson morbidly from our pews, sitting
just as we did in church, stiff, formal and without emotion,
while they stretched some poor wretch over a wooden cart,
tore the rags from her back and then struck her shaking body
with a leather strap.

These were strange memories to be having, but I understand
the reason. It was William; he was excited and eager,
watching every thrust, enjoying every gasp.

Like Father, all those years ago.

When, at last, the Negroes had done all that they had been
asked to do, and everything was over, Lord Edward suggested
to the Captain that it would be good to hang them both,
slowly, naked so he could watch them dance on the yardarm.
Lady Caroline supported the suggestion. That I couldn't
believe. Had she no empathy? She had heard that the male
member grows erect at the approach of death and it was even
possible that he might involuntarily ejaculate.

I was horrified by the suggestion, sickened by them both.
The idea of playing God in this way with life, human or
otherwise, turned my stomach.

Worse was to come. The Captain happily agreed to the
suggestion on condition that Lord Edward bear the financial
loss of two slaves.

"They are cargo," he insisted. "And cargo is money."

I was incredulous. Who were these people that I talked to
and spoke with each day? They appeared on the surface to be
the gentlest of folk, were regarded by society as civilized
and cultured, but in their actions they were monsters.

Lord Edward. Lady Caroline. The Captain. Am I any different?

Am I really as these?

Lord Edward grunted. He was obviously much put out. He made
some unlikely excuse and then quickly abandoned the idea. I
had no idea what to expect next, either from Lord Edward or
from the Captain, and so it was with great relief that I saw
the two slaves being taken back, shame-faced, to the hold.

What I had just witnessed reminded me of the one time, about
one month ago, when William had taken me to a cock-baiting
contest, and I had come away ashamed at having to admit to
being part of the human race.




End Of Part One


The Ignominy Run
by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com)
January 2000

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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