The Transformation, The Pain That Ensued

Secretly, I stole ten of Jacob's plain white shirts, a leather belt, five pairs of his smallest and loosest long pants, and two old pairs of his leather knee high boots, all of which he had carelessly and thoughtlessly discarded. On market day, I bought a blue handkerchief, on the pretence to keep my hair out of my way when I was cleaning house. In addition, I brought yards of plain white cotton, to bind my chest flat. In my room, I packed away the clothes into a shoulder satchel I bought from the market; I kept it hidden underneath my bed. I also began to pack away small pieces of jewellery, and other small valuables into the shoulder bag.

In with the clothes and jewellery, I put in some belongings: two threadbare blankets; a black handled hunting knife which I had stolen from Father; a small pistol along with enough bullets and a small sack of powder to shoot thirty men; my plain black telescope; a four month's supply of smoked meat, dried fruit and vegetables, and hard bread; a small mess kit with a set of cutlery; a set of quills and a few packets of dried gull ink powder; a sheaf of coarse white vellum; a compass and my set of navigation tools; a small sewing kit for clothing repairs. I looked around my room for other things to bring, when my eyes fell upon the bureau drawer the contained my pirate journals. If the Almighty One had a purpose for me writing it, then now was the time to use it.

All this time, I pretended to become the perfect daughter, preparing for my marriage to Sir Goodall. I became happier and more pleasurable to be around, than I had been for the past few days. Father complimented me on my sudden change in disposition, going from despondent to practical, taking the worst from our situation, and making it better for us all.

Since we had paid off our debts to the bank and the merchants, I spent my time work on embroidery and spinning, making myself household linens for my dowry. Father had supplied me with porcelain and pewter dishes from England, wine glasses imported from Italy, pewter cutlery from Spain, costly furs from Russia, a beautiful cosmetics kit from France, and the finest of embroidery silks, painting supplies, dancing slippers, and fabrics for dresses, all of which he had collected over the many years of travels since my birth. This was the same dowry that my brothers were so eager to sell for their gambling games.

Father, at least, now had the sense to rein in his wayward sons, and teach them how to become proper Irish gentlemen. Once their debts were paid off, arrangements were made for all three of them to join the Navy. Jacob, now 21, led both John, 19, and Joshua, 15, to the docks to become registered as midshipmen. For once, they were at the bottom of the pit, and nothing about their wealth or merchant standing could change that. But, they only had wealth and merchant standing because of my future nuptial arrangements. My wedding to Sir Frederick Goodall was this family's ticket back into power. I packed all of my belongings, my few books and dresses, my bed linens and carpets, everything that was dear to me in my cedar wedding chest, all except a certain bag hidden in a cache underneath my bed.

Finally, I was all set for leave. Late on the night of Beltane's eve, a month before my wedding, with only the full moon for company, I got myself ready for the sea. I cut my hair to shoulder length, tying it back off my face with a throng into a horsetail; I knotted the blue kerchief around my head. I changed into a set of Jacob's old clothes, grabbed the shoulder bag from underneath my bed, and jumped out of my bedroom window.

I did not think to leave a note to tell the others where I had had gone to. What was I going to say: "Ran away; I love you"? It was better to leave nothing at all. Let their imagination run wild when they discover that I was missing the next morning, for all I cared! I ran along the coastline away from my home, never looking back. I kept running, and when I slowed to a walk, I was in the harbour. A few brand new ships were floating quietly in the night-time waters.

Lady Luck must have been with me, because there before one of those grand vessels, was a recruiter; he looking for strong and willing hands for a nine-month trading journey to the islands of the Spanish Main. I signed on to be a sailor on board the vessel New Hope. I was given a hammock, a set of oilskins, and a contract to sign that said that I was going to be paid five pounds a week, an average sailor's wage. I could collect the wages at the end of the voyage. I signed the document, and walked on board.

Looking back into the past, I should have stayed at home. Marriage to the pompous Sir Goodall would have been better than what happened to me on that nine-month journey to the Caribbean. The ship and its captain were not a new hope at all; in fact, they were a hellhole unto themselves. The ship's keel was so old and rotten, that I barely considered it sea worthy. Sickness spread like wildfire, decimating the crew and rotting the food. The Captain was no better. He was a grisly old man, a cruel taskmaster, whipping any and all men who tarried in his duties.

Every week, the Captain would pick a poor soul from among the crew to whip, as an act of discipline for the entire crew. I was the Captain's special favourite for this treatment. I was new to ships, and I had not the faintest idea what I was supposed to do half of the time. So the Captain unleashed his fury with the crack of the cat-o'-nine tails.

When I got picked for the lashing, my jacket was taken off, my hands and feet were tied to the starboard rope ladders, and my shirt was ripped off my muscled back. Each session was about fifteen lashes. Each lash would crack on my back and hug around my ribs, leaving its bloody signature with every snap of the captain's wrist. Fifteen lashes were enough to severely injure a full-grown man; for a twelve-year old, it was enough to cripple me for the rest of the day.

After my first session with the cat, the crew left me tied up unconscious to the ropes. Only one crew member, I think his name was Derek, stayed behind; I can not even remember what he looks like. I could hear the shocked talking of the crew as Derek gently climbed the ropes and cut the ropes with his sailor's knife. I remember falling to the deck and regaining my senses when my back rippled with pain.

Derek jumped off the ropes and picked me and my discarded clothes up like a father carrying his sleeping son. "No one deserves that," he said to himself as he hauled me down to the berths. He placed me on the chair near his berth. On the floor was a bucket of salt water. Soaking a cloth in the water, he began to dab it against the open wounds. I may not remember what Derek looked like, but the pain of salt water on open wounds is something no sailor forgets. Still, the comfort of the gentle touch abated some of my fears. When he was finished, he placed my clothes next to the chair and left the room.

After every session with the cat-o'-nine tails, Derek and one other man would untie me from the mast, pick up my discarded clothes, and carry me in their arms back to the berths. There, they would place me in the cabin's chair; Derek always held my hands in front of the chair to hold me down. Once I was secured, the other sailor would pour the bucket of cold salt water on my beaten and bloodied back. The men did this to form salt scars, so that the wounds would not become infected. Every time the water was poured on to my back, unspeakable pain swam through my body. The screaming that came from within me was so unnatural; it frightened me as much as the whippings themselves.

Once the deed was done, they would leave me alone. An hour later, I would hobble out, my jacket back on, to continue on with my duties on board this hell ship. The men would look at me, a twelve-year-old boy, with pity, but out of fear of the captain, they would not come to help me when I stumbled. It only meant that the next week, I would probably be the whipping boy.

But not even the cat-o'-nine tails could keep me from my duties. I was posted permanently on sail duty, furling and unfurling the sails. At night I was given a watch post up in the crow's nest. To me, it only made sense that I set up my hammock in the crow's nest. I loved being along the ropes and masts, because I loved to climb and hand down from them. I learned early on from the men to never raise a hand against one of the officers or the captain; if ever they corrected me in anything, I was to knuckle my brow and get down to it. One of the sea-men tentatively showed me what to do during the first week of the voyage, and then left me to my own devices. That, and the assistance that I would receive after the beatings, was the only interaction I had with the crew.

I never worked so hard in my whole like as I worked on that ship. Every night, I strung my hammock in the sails, and slept deeply until dawn the next morning. I slept whenever I could; it was not as easy as it seemed to go from a sturdy bed to a hammock that swayed in the wind. My muscles, lax from simply sitting and walking, became tough and defined from climbing the ropes and doing tasks that were a hundred times harder than I was used to do. My back, although covered in old whip scars, rippled with every movement I made. My legs, once soft and delicate, were now as tough as the cobblestone roads back home. My hands, with which I used to take meticulous care of, were now rough and callused; my knuckles became scared from working and hitting the sails and ropes. My skin, once white as new satin, was now tanned to the color of a bronze coin. So, there was a little beneficial result from my mistake in signing on.

Whenever food came around, I was always last to be fed, being the newest sailor amongst the crew. I grabbed for a piece of weevil-ridden tack or a piece of rotting meat or fruit, but most of the time there was nothing left for me. Eventually, I stopped eating the ship's rations, and I began slowly dipping into my own stash of food. I was pretty grateful that I had packed the rations in my bag, but I had to spread them out, because this was going to be a long journey, and I had brought enough food for only four months.

No one on board the New Hope knew that I was a girl. Before I had left home, I had bound my breasts with the cotton strips that I had bought, in an effort to make my chest flatter. So far, it had worked well. Besides, I grew to be a loner, preferring the open sea breeze on the crow's-nest, then the shaky friendships that the men tried to form. At night, I would sew my shirts back together from the lashes it had endured, instead of smoking and chattering in bed. The only times that my disguise came close to being discovered was when my back was bared for the whippings. The captain never cared; all he cared about was getting someone to scream while they were whipped. I explained to the crew when they asked, that I had injured myself before the expedition, and the doctor insisted that the bandages stay on until I return from my trip. Besides that, no one cared for the recluse Matthew Cutting, a quiet twelve-year-old boy. All anyone really cared about was getting enough to eat, and making sure that they weren't the ones beneath the captain's lash.