The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 01

Our hero's boat is hired by a mysterious passenger (mf)

*

Rochester, New York, 1896

Liam stood upon the foredeck, surveying the boat with satisfaction. He had just finished oiling the deck—a most time-consuming task-- in preparation for winter, and it was yet morning. The bright work was faultless, the sails furled, the sheets and halyards neatly coiled. In this the second year of his chartered sailing business, he had at last turned a small profit—the first year's profit had been consumed in refurbishing the boat. If he could continue to put away money for a few more seasons, his dream of installing a steam engine aboard would be attainable. No longer would he be at the mercy of erratic winds and or be paying exorbitant fees for in-harbor towing services. Scanning the docks, he spotted no telltale smoke stacks upon any of the other small sailing craft. Fate willing, his would be the first upon the lake so outfitted.

He had come a long way: four years ago he had arrived in America penniless and alone. Hard work and an unexpected turn of events now saw him twenty-four years of age, the owner of a fine vessel and with enough money, modest as it was, to open a bank account.

He wiped his hands with a rag and moved to the bow--the anchor was next to be oiled. Squatting over the bowsprit, he grasped the shank and crown, and without hesitation, hefted the nigh two hundred pounds of steel and iron onto the deck. Crouching beside it he used a wrench to unscrew the shackle pin.

"Your pardon sir...are you Mr. Thomas?"

Liam glanced up. Standing upon the dock was a young lad, holding a valise. "Aye," he said.

The lad spoke in a rush. "I'm seeking immediate passage to Toronto. Is your vessel for hire?"

"'Tis too late in the year for lake crossings. We're into squall season now."

"Please, Mr. Thomas...please. It's quite urgent!"

"I'm sorry, lad. Ye can inquire down the dock at the Mary Rose and the Sea Nymph..."

The lad broke in, "I did, sir. They said the same thing. They told me to ask the "big crazy Irishman" at the end of the dock."

Liam chuckled. "'Big crazy Irishman is it? Crazy I may be, but 'tis still too dangerous to cross the lake in November, so it is."

"Please, sir. I'll pay double your usual fare." His face was pleading.

Liam shook his head and began wiping the threads of the shackle pin with the rag.

"I'll pay you---I'll pay you three hundred dollars."

Liam stood. He looked at the lad curiously, now noting the fine wool cap and suit, shined boots, and leather valise. No wharf urchin this, but a lad from a family of means it would seem. At this pause, the lad eagerly opened the bag, rummaged inside and brought out a small leather pouch. "Here Mr. Thomas—I'll give you everything I have now—it's one hundred fifty dollars. My aunt will pay the remainder upon our arrival in Toronto."

Liam considered. "Dinna hold it over the water, lad." He jumped to the dock and took the offered pouch. Inside were indeed one hundred fifty dollars in gold. 'Twas an enormous sum...even without the additional one hundred fifty upon delivery...a substantial portion of the steam engine's cost. His mind raced. The day was fair, a good wind, nary a cloud in the sky. On any one day, the storm risk was low, particularly this early in the month. He had just the previous day released his cabin boy Abe from duty for the winter—but he could, with some quick modifications, sail the boat on his own—he had done so upon several occasions.

"One hundred fifty more upon arrival, ye say?" he repeated.

"Yes sir."

"I dinna have any fancy provisions aboard. If ye want to depart immediately, ye'll have to eat what I eat."

"'It will suffice. I have no need of special food, sir."

"Well..." He made up his mind. "Ye'd best get aboard then. We'll want to get underway as soon as possible. This way." Liam stepped back onto the deck and headed aft to the cockpit, the lad following. "Mind the ladder," he warned as he led him below. The main cabin consisted of a galley, a dining area with built in seats, a small library, and a chart table, all constructed of rich mahogany. The lad looked about, hugging the valise to his chest. "Ye can set your bag down." Liam said. He opened a locker above the chart table and drew out the ledger, glancing as he did so at the barometer (a recent acquisition) upon the bulkhead. The needle was reassuringly unchanged from earlier in the morning. Opening the ledger, he entered the date and started a new entry. Embark: Rochester, Destination: Toronto. "What is your name, lad?"

"Alexander Novikov." The lad spelled the last name while Liam wrote. Under the fare column, he entered $300, $150 paid in advance, $150 to be paid upon arrival.

He wrote out a receipt and handed it to the lad. "May I call ye Alexander?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll show ye your cabin." He took him up the forward passageway, pointing out the commode, then into the starboard cabin. The polished cabin sole was small in area to maximize the built-in appointments, fashioned like those in the main cabin of mahogany. Outboard were a berth for two and a porthole. The berth was at waist height, atop a bank of drawers and lockers, the wood facing of which extended a foot above the level of the mattress to form a wall that kept the occupants from rolling out in high seas. Inboard were a small desk, a cushioned seat, and a hanging locker. He showed Alexander how to light the oil lantern and the various lockers containing soap, towels, and an enameled tin water pitcher and basin.

"Ye get yourself settled. I'll be paying my bill at the marina and sending a telegram to the harbor master in Toronto, then we'll be going."

The lad looked up. "Will you send a telegram for me too, Mr. Thomas?"

Liam nodded. Back at the chart table in the main cabin he provided a pen and paper. "'It's to my aunt," the lad said, writing. "What is the name of this boat?"

"The Singing Selkie...s-e-l-k-i-e."

"When will we arrive in Toronto?"

"Depending upon the wind, either tonight or tomorrow by mid-day at the latest. "

Alexander handed the paper to Liam. "Is my hand legible?"

"It is." Liam read: Mrs. Elizabeth Bourget. Arriving aboard Singing Selkie tonight or tomorrow. Need $150 for fare. Alexander.

*****

Within an hour, a steam tug was towing the boat out of the harbor. Liam had lashed the wheel at centerline with a rope, and moved about the deck readying the sails. He tied the harpoon log to trail astern. After passing the breakwater, the tug towed him into the wind while he quickly hoisted the jib, staysail, and mainsail. The towline was thrown back to him, and with a salute from the captain, the tug turned back to port. At the wheel, he set course by the compass; fortunately the wind was favorable, and few tacks would be needed.

Alexander, who had stayed below since he first boarded, now appeared in the companionway. As he climbed into the cockpit, his eyes were upon the city receding behind them. The anxiety fading from his face did not escape Liam's attention. What was the tale behind this urgent voyage, he wondered. Running away from home, he'd wager—although Liam could not fathom what troubles could beset one who so easily parted with $150. The lad sat sideways upon the windward cockpit seat, looking out to the open water. A few banal comments were exchanged about the lighthouse and the wind, but beyond that he did not seem inclined to conversation; Liam asked no questions, ruminating instead upon his own windfall and how he would use the money.

After some time, Alexander asked if he might sit forward upon the deck. "Aye," Liam replied. "Go up along the higher side. Hold fast to something the entire way." He indicated an area between the mast and the staysail boom where he might sit, and the lad left the cockpit.

Liam felt a familiar exhilaration as the Selkie hit her stride. She was so quick, so nimble—surging over the water, the wheel responsive under his hands. The sound of the bow cutting wake and the intermittent spray were hypnotic...his mind roamed while she logged miles.

They were several hours out onto the lake, when the first warning sign came: a slight shift in wind direction—brisker--skittering over the underlying swell. Presently there came a sense of denseness in his body; a subtle change in his hearing. He applied the wheel stay, and swung down the companionway ladder. The barometer needle had fallen precipitously. He cursed and scrambled back into the cockpit. No doubt there was—the boat was already heeling more, the sails tenser. The sky was darkening. "Alexander!" he shouted. The lad's head appeared above the cabin top. "Come back aft!"

"It looks like we're going to be hit with some weather," Liam informed him when he was back in the cockpit. "I'm going to shorten sail, but I'll need your assistance. Do ye ken how to sail?" The lad shook his head, frightened. "Stand here—take the wheel. When I raise my arm, I want ye to turn the wheel this way," he pointed. "Turn it briskly 'til the sail starts to flap—'twill be a half turn or so. Then ease it back slowly." He mimed the action. "Do ye understand?" Alexander nodded, his eyes wide, looking very small and pale behind the wheel.

The wind strengthened rapidly; whining in the rigging. Sheets creaked under the strain. The boat began to pitch, the leeward gunwale nigh in the water. Liam ran forward to the mast and uncleated the main halyard, keeping one turn of rope braced. He raised his arm and pointed to port. The bow turned into the wind, the sails luffed, and Liam dropped the main, yanking it down arm over arm until it was at the highest reef point. The halyard made fast, he scooted aft upon his knees along the cabin top tying off reef lines under the boom. He dropped into the cockpit and took the wheel from Alexander, letting the bow fall off the wind. The sails refilled with a sudden snap of canvas, sending the bow crashing through a wave. The lad gripped the steering console, trying to stay upright.

As the forward momentum returned, Liam shouted over the wind. "Same thing again!" Alexander staggered back behind the wheel and grabbed the handles. Just as Liam left the cockpit there was a loud report like a gunshot. The jib was suddenly flail; the halyard down and whipping back and forth above the deck. Swearing and running forward, he frantically waved his arm to port. As the boat turned, both foresails began to flog violently. The jib caught upon the bucking end of the staysail boom, and before he could reach it, the canvas rent. He freed the staysail halyard, then jumped to the bow, his arms outspread, and subdued the sails using his body weight. He squashed them down and, with the downed halyard, lashed the bundle of canvas to the bowsprit and staysail boom.

Liam resumed control of the helm, cursing himself for allowing greed to cloud his judgment. No longer caring about the course, he strove only to keep the Selkie from foundering. Even with just the reefed mainsail, the vessel plunged up and down. Alexander held fast to the console, clearly the worse for seasickness. His face was white, his eyes dull, he breathed through his mouth. His distress mounted till he abruptly rose and stumbled to the companionway. "Ye'd best stay topsides in the air," Liam called to him, but the lad heeded not and disappeared below.

For the next two hours Liam rode out the squall. The boat was buffeted by the turbulent water but remained upright without further calamity befalling her. At length the gusts weakened, and the Selkie rolled more slowly in the swell. Liam decided to check upon Alexander; nigh an hour ago, he had heard a muffled crash below, and no further evidence of activity. He lashed the wheel in place and went below. A knock upon the cabin door was met with silence. "Alexander?" He raised his voice. Still no reply. Liam opened the door and peered in.

The lad lay upon the floor, unmoving. Liam stepped inside and saw his trousers were fouled with vomit. He shook his head. "That be why ye want to stay topsides." He crouched and shook the lad's shoulder. "Alexander!" He was unconscious, poor landlubber. "All right, lad, let's get ye cleaned up." He scooped his arm under his shoulders to sit him up; his head lolled back and the cap fell off. To Liam's shock, a bundle of long dark hair uncoiled. His eyes flew to the face--pretty feminine features now obvious. What the devil? 'Twas a lass! He was stunned. His gaze passed down the small body in the lad's clothes, then back to her face. How had he been so deceived?

He was confounded. He had intended to be a good Samaritan to the lad—should he proceed even though she be a lass? Liam considered himself an honorable man; certainly he trusted that he would take no liberties in her defenseless state. Moreover, it was hardly chivalrous to let her stew in her own vomit. He shrugged—he didn't have time for further debate; he needed to get back on deck. He eased her head and shoulders back to the cabin sole. Leaning over, he unbuttoned her boots and pulled them off. She had already removed the jacket. He undid the buttons upon the trousers, opened the flap, and gingerly worked them down her hips, rolling her a little towards one side then the other to facilitate their removal. He bundled them up and tossed them towards the door. Now visible were the tails of a lad's shirt that reached nigh to her knees; below the bottom edge of this was some kind of feminine garment of delicate white cotton. Both had been bunched up inside the trousers. Her legs were clad in stockings of a curious blue color—like a robin's egg-- that were held up by embroidered garters encircling her thighs. Upon inspection, he found the shirttails to be soiled as well from the liquid that had soaked through the trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt and, lifting her torso, pulled it off one arm then the other, and tossed it on top of the trousers.

The remaining garments now exposed were all those of a lass. The garment he had glimpsed under the shirt proved to be a chemise; over it a white corset was tightly cinched. How had she been able to vomit wearing that? No wonder her distress had been so acute! The chemise would need to be cleaned as well, he saw. He knelt behind her and, lifting her under her arms, sat her up with her hips snugly braced between his thighs. With one arm supporting her torso round the front, he leaned her forward, and with his other hand unknotted and loosened the corset laces in the back. Leaning her back against him, both hands went to the front of the corset, pushing the edges of the busk together to release the hooks. Her head fell limply back against his chest; he felt her hair brushing against his neck. Looking down over her shoulder, he could not help but notice the swell of her breasts above the lace trimmed chemise. As he undid the top hooks of the corset, his knuckles pressed against the soft flesh; he swallowed hard, reminding himself of his mission of mercy. He placed the corset upon the berth.

Finally the chemise. He pulled the hem up over her thighs, trying to keep his eyes averted. Lifting her with his arm round her waist, he tugged the fabric out from under her, then up over her head, from whence it joined the pile by the door. Then, with one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, he got to his feet, lifting her slight weight easily. Her head drooped over his arm. When he stood, the full light from the porthole illuminated her and he utterly forgot his honorable intentions—he gaped at the bonnie lass in his arms—naked-- save for the blue stockings. Her skin was like cream—smooth and unmarked. Her breasts, though not overly large, were full, round, and outthrust from her slender torso--even as he stared, they swayed with the motion of the boat. Her nipples were small and pink—his mouth started to water as he noticed them rising coyly in the chilly air of the cabin. Below the narrow waist, her hips curved into lithesome thighs. Like a compass to north his eyes went to the small patch of dark curls at their apex.

He felt himself aroused and could do naught but gawk until a sudden lurch of the boat brought him back to senses. He needed to cover her—for her sake as much as his. He had failed to foresee this problem—what could he use? The jacket was upon the berth, but was too short to cover her. The blanket was an option, although none too practical. Then he spied the valise upon the berth.

He placed her sitting upon the edge of the waist level mattress, her calves dangling, and supported her with one arm round her back against the motion of the boat. Her skin felt warm under his hand. Carefully he eased her legs a little apart so that he could stand between them—a look downward showed him the vee made by her white thighs and dark curls upon the grey woolen blanket. His body surged to feel a lass's knees grazing his flanks -- the instinct to push full up to the junction of her parted thighs was intense. Fighting the temptation, he forced his eyes up and leaned her torso gently against him, so that her head lay upon his shoulder. He turned his face momentarily to breathe in the sweet scent of her hair...briefly wondering if an honorable fellow might later press his nose to the blanket where her naked cunny must now be touching. Glancing back down he saw her breasts squeezed to the front of his pea coat, the pink and white startling against the dark blue wool; for the first time he lamented the coat's thick fabric.

Behind her back he reached with his free hand for the valise. The contents were few and seemed haphazardly packed: a bundled up dress—a possibility, but it appeared elaborate in its fastenings. A pair of handkerchiefs, a toothbrush and tooth powder, a comb, and lastly—could it be? A nightgown. He shook it out with one hand; it was a long loose gown of white cotton with rows of small pleats flanking a button placket upon the chest—his luck, the buttons already undone. Aye, 'twould do.

He gathered the fabric in his hand and slipped it over her head. He moved his supporting arm so that the gown slid down her body like a tent, the excess length pooling upon the mattress about her hips. Reaching into the open placket he guided her arm into the long sleeve; as he withdrew his hand, the boat shifted under him, and his hand bumped into her breast. He jerked his hand away from her as if burned, but his fingers closed tightly round the sensation of the lush flesh bouncing against his palm. When his breathing calmed, he proceeded with more deliberation with the other arm: he pulled the placket away from her chest to make a wider path for his hand, then with his eyes focused upon the contour of her breast (only to avoid improper contact, he assured himself) he got the arm into the sleeve.

Between the rolling of the boat, his large fingers, and the tiny buttons, he made no attempt to fasten the opening. "Let's get ye out into the fresh air," he murmured next to her ear. He stretched to open the cabin door, but a sharp pitch of the boat caused him to lose his balance and his hold upon her shoulder. She tumbled over into the berth. Regaining his footing, he turned to her, and was brought up short. She had fallen onto her side and her knees were reflexively drawing up to her chest. The hem of the gown was bunched about her hips-- he was confronted by the sight of her lovely bare bottom. He stared transfixed; between her thighs he could see her cunny lips peeping out—sweetly pink they were with a delicate tracing of hair. Then he yanked the gown down to cover her. His already agitated cock stirred in protest. "You're a lass ta be sure!" he groaned aloud.

Leaning over he gathered her limp body into his arms, and shouldering the door open, carried her into the main cabin. He paused at the foot of the companionway ladder and let her legs slide down, squeezing her tightly against his body with an arm round her back. Between his height and her petite figure, the top of her head reached only to his breastbone. From a locker next to the chart table he pulled out his ulster, a coat he donned for occasions ashore requiring more refined attire than his rough pea coat. This he draped over her shoulders. 'Twas enormous upon her: the sleeves hung past her fingers, the hem was at her ankles. 'Twould keep her warm... and keep his eyes off of her alluring curves.