In the Belly of the Bloodhound

by L. A. Meyer

  Sally answers, and it's the same routine—name, glance up and down, note, and so on down the line—Applegate, Bailey, Baxter, Cabot ... and on and on till...

  "Jacky Faber."

  "Here," I say, and come to Parade Rest for the scrutiny I know is to come.

  "Ah, it's you. Does the Jacky stand for Jacqueline?"

  "Whatever you wish."

  "I so wish. It will sound better at auction," he says, and then gives me the once-over. "Best gain some weight, girl, or...

  He lets that trail off, then goes on.

  "Dolley Frazier."

  "Here," says Dolley, as best she can.

  "Elspeth Goodwin."

  "Here, Sir," she gulps, "and I know you're going to let me go back, 'cause I got to go back, you know, 'cause..." A note is pencilled and he moves on.

  Then he summons Martha Hawthorne, writes a quick note, then moves on to call out, "Clarissa Howe."

  Clarissa spits out an obscenity I wouldn't have thought she'd known ... and she delivers it with such force and familiarity that it speaks of some prior extensive use on her part. It is the usual curse, the F variation of Sod off!, which trips so easily off my tongue, wherein she invites Sin-Kay to go do something both unnatural and, I think, actually impossible to himself.

  Sin-Kay does not reply but writes many, many notes next to her name. Cheer up, Clarissa, I'm thinking, if he sends you to a whorehouse, you'll end up owning it within the year, I'll wager.

  Then on and on ... Howell ... Johnson ... King ... Leavitt ... then...

  "Lissette de Lise."

  "Present"

  "Ah, our French maiden," says our overseer, looming over her slight form. Come on, Lissette, remember how your Queen Marie conducted herself when she stood next to the guillotine, hearing the mob howling for her head.

  To her credit, Lissette lifts her quivering chin and says nothing.

  "I think you shall be bound for the slave pens of Morocco. They speak French there, you know. Yes, there are many a sultan or bey who will pay well to relish the idea of having a female French aristocrat tucked in his bed whilst he negotiates treaties with that same girl's own kinfolk. They are funny that way, you see. They like to pay insult for insult, humiliation for humiliation. And they have suffered some at the hands of you French."

  Sin-Kay moves on. Though she trembles, Lissette has not changed expression. Good girl!

  Finally, he nears the end of his list ... Saltonstall ... Samuelson ... Thwackham...

  "Amy Trevelyne."

  "She stayed behind to tend to Mistress," I say.

  "Ah. A pity." He makes a note. He logs in Hepzibah Van Pelt, Frances Wallace, and Julia Winslow, and then turns to Annie. "Well, the loss of Miss Trevelyne is more than made up by the addition of the three fine serving girls. Your name?"

  "Annie ... Annie Byrnes," she says.

  "And yours?"

  "Sylvia Rossio," says Sylvie, hardly above a whisper.

  "Ah. An Italian to spice up the mix. Good!" he says heartily and pencils them in. "And, lastly, you."

  Katy doesn't say anything, she just stares straight ahead, her eyes dead.

  "Come on, what's your name, girl?"

  "Katy Deere," she says at last, her voice flat and as dead as her eyes.

  Sin-Kay looks her tall and graceless form up and down and shakes his head and makes a note. "All right. If you three have been good girls, then I think I can place you as nicely as the others. If not, then you'll have to go to less charming ... establishments."

  He snaps the notebook shut and addresses all the girls:

  "Very well, the cargo manifest is complete. Now you will have something to eat. From now on you will receive two meals a day—one in the morning a half hour after the shutters are raised and once again a half hour before they are lowered. Bowls and spoons will be issued at each meal, then collected and counted afterward." He stops and turns to his man standing next to him looking confused. "Dummy, go get their food. Have Nettles bring down the bowls." The Dummy nods and leaves, lumbering up the hatchway, intent on his mission.

  "You will each be given a cup, which you will keep for the duration of the voyage. You will receive a quart of fresh water a day, one pint in the morning and one in the evening.

  Each day we will have a roll call and inspection similar to what we did today. We expect to get you to market within thirty days, if the wind holds. Till then, enjoy your voyage. Ah, here's your breakfast."

  The Dummy has come back carrying a steaming cauldron in one massive hand and a bucket of water in the other. He puts both down in the entrance to the hatchway. That boy Nettles is right behind him with a stack of bowls and a fistful of spoons clutched in his grubby fingers. A leering smirk is fixed on his face as he looks about at us.

  "Put them down, Sammy, and go fetch the cups. We'll need thirty-two," says Sin-Kay.

  Sammy Nettles drops his burden to the floor with a clatter and runs back up the hatchway, anxious to get the cups and return to the show, I suppose. Sin-Kay goes into the hatchway and swings the barred door shut behind himself. He then takes his key out and locks it. Everything—cauldron, bucket, utensils, Dummy, and now Nettles again—is behind the door.

  "You will get in a line and one by one go up to the door, and the Dummy will hand out your food and water. When you are done, pass your bowls and spoons back to him. He will take them out to the galley and then he will return. He will be your almost constant companion from now on. He may be stupid, but he's smart enough to watch for attempted suicides or any other troublesome things. Believe me, any misbehavior will be dealt with most harshly. Now, if there are no questions, I'll bid you good day. Enjoy your breakfast, enjoy your cruise."

  Before he can leave, I speak up. "Mister Sin-Kay, surely we must have water for washing ourselves and our undergarments. What kind of price do you think you'll get for us if we arrive at the Barbary Coast all filthy and squalid? We must have combs and soap and basins and washcloths and towels, and, furthermore, we need some sheets of canvas to set up a proper privy and..."

  "You shall have none of those things," says Sin-Kay. "Ah, but you are the one who said that I was what—dirty...?—a bit earlier, did you not, girl? Well, let us see just how dirty you become during your stay down here, hmm? But don't worry, ladies, we'll see that you are cleaned up before you are put on the auction block. Are there any other questions? Good. I bid you good day, then. Come along, Sammy."

  Sin-Kay leaves, with Nettles tagging reluctantly behind him. When they exit up top, I listen for the sound of the outer door being locked, but I don't hear it. So ... they don't think it necessary to lock that door when the Dummy is down here below? Ah, yes, the Dummy—that glorious, wonderful Dummy—God must love me after all.

  We line up for our food, and expressions of profound disgust issue from the first girls to receive theirs: "Eeeuuww!" and "What is this stuff?" and "They expect us to eat this?" I get up to the door and stand before the Dummy and watch him slowly ladle out the ration and then slowly put the spoon in it and then slowly hand it out through the bars, all so very carefully as if he had practiced diligently to get it down right, as I'm sure he did. Finally it's my turn. I take the bowl and the tin cup of water he hands out.

  I take a sip of the water—not too foul, and that's good—and then look down into the bowl. Sure enough, it's burgoo. I lift my voice: "It's called burgoo. It's oatmeal boiled in water with whatever they have around to toss in with it. I think this batch has a few peas and maybe some crumbled-up biscuit in it. There's some pork grease floating on the top. You've got to eat it, as it's all you're going to get, and it's probably what you're going to get for every meal." This is met with groans of disgust, but I hear the spoons rattling against the bowls, so I guess they're going to eat it.

  I go to the edge of the Stage and sit down with my legs dangling over the edge. I'm joined by other members of my Division Three. I put down my cup and dig into the burgoo. It's thin and not very good. They must think we need less than
the sailors. We'll have to work on this later. This and the laundry and wash-water needs that will have to be addressed. If Sin-Kay thinks I'm done with that, he's sadly mistaken.

  While the girls are choking down this stuff, I whisper to some of those around me: "Annie. Katy. Sylvie. Bea. When the Dummy goes back out with the dirty bowls, I want you four to fly up to the four corners of the Balcony and look out to see if anyone is listening or spying on us. Annie, starboard-side forward. Katy, port. Sylvie, aft starboard; Bea, port." I point to each spot as I say it, in case they haven't got port and starboard down yet. They nod in agreement.

  I gulp down the rest of my burgoo, stash my still-full cup of water up on the back edge of the Balcony, where I'll be able to get it later, and go to the door.

  "I need a bowl to take to that girl over there," I say, pointing to Rebecca's still form lying on the deck. The Dummy looks down at the several bowls and cups left unclaimed. "They're too sick to come get their own and we have to help them." He thinks deeply, puts two and two together, and nods. He ladles the burgoo into the bowl and dips the cup into the water bucket. I say, "Thank you," then carry them over to Rebecca and sit down cross-legged beside her.

  I lift her head and cradle it in the crook of my left arm. "Come, Rebecca, you must eat something or else you will die, and we don't want that." Her eyelids flicker as she looks up at me. I take a spoonful of the gruel and put it between her lips and she gulps and swallows. Then she bucks and gags and I turn her to the side so the sick comes out of her mouth and slips down through the slattings.

  I put the burgoo aside and lift her head higher and put her cup of water to her lips. "At least you must have water. You lost everything in your belly last night and you must have water or you'll die."

  I put my lips to her ear. "Come on, Rebecca Adams, we need you with us in this." Her eyes open again and she sips at the water and then lies back down. I watch her and she keeps the water in. That is good.

  I look over at Division One. Clarissa and Lissette are together, seated on the Stage, their backs against the port hull, eating their burgoo. I see that Ruth Alden and Judith Leavitt, both of Clarissa's division, are down, in a state similar to Rebecca's.

  I say nothing to Clarissa. Instead, I say to Martha Hawthorne, of Division Two and Dolley Frazier's dearest friend, "Martha. You might look to Catherine and Wilhelmina. Dolley's too sick to take command just yet. Try to get some water down them, at least." Catherine Lowell and Wilhelmina Johnson are both inert forms lying motionless on the deck.

  Martha upends her bowl into her mouth, hands it to Dorothea, and goes over to minister to the two down girls. I look over significantly at Clarissa and then at Ruth and Judith. I catch Clarissa's eye and she catches my meaning—with the advantages of command also come responsibilities— and she says, "Christina, Cloris, see what you can do about Ruth and what's-her-name. See if they will drink some water, at least."

  Well, delegation of task is a part of command, I suppose, so I have no quarrel with Clarissa's method. I do notice, however, that after I have stopped looking at her, she does crawl over to Ruth and speaks to her, after Christina and Cloris had gotten food and water and were trying to minister to the sick girls.

  "Here, Rebecca, try another sip, it'll..."

  There is a tug at my sleeve and I see that it's Elspeth, looking plaintively into my eyes.

  "Jacky ... please ... I've got to ... my parents..."

  Christ! She's still on about that!

  "Elspeth, your parents think you are dead. You are not dead and you should take consolation in that. Now take hold and be quiet!" I hiss at her. I've got to be cruel—she's just got to stop that nonsense.

  Her mouth drops open and her lower lip quivers. I would have thought those eyes had no more tears in them, but they do, and tears stream down her face. Then she bows her head and buries her face in her hands and sobs.

  I turn my attention back to Rebecca and pay Elspeth no more mind. In a while she crawls off and curls up in a ball over by the hull to wallow in her misery.

  Eventually, all who can eat have eaten and the bowls and spoons are put back through the bars, where the Dummy pours any uneaten burgoo back into the cauldron. He then takes it and the utensils and tromps up the stairs and out through the upper door.

  "Now!" I say to my four designated lookouts and they hurry to their positions and peer through the bars. "Report!" I say when they've had a chance to scan the decks.

  "No one near," says Beatrice Cooper. She's from a farm north of Boston and seems to be a capable girl. "There are men back there on that raised-up part where the wheel is."

  "The quarterdeck," I say. They might as well learn the names of things—it will make things easier, later.

  "And I think that's the Captain there ... the one with the crossed belts on his chest and the sword by his side."

  "That's him all right," I say. "Anything else? Annie?"

  "No. Nobody's about."

  "It's plain that the crew takes the Captain's orders to heart, else they would be three deep at the bars, gawking at us," I tell the girls around me.

  "Nothin' over here, neither," says Katy from port forward. "Just some men over there messin' with them ropes."

  "The same," says Sylvie. "I can see the ... the quarterdeck from here, too. The Captain's pointing up at the sails and talking to another man."

  Probably the First Mate, I'm thinking. "All right, keep a sharp lookout and sing out if you see anyone getting near." With that, I turn and face the other girls on the Stage.

  "Listen to me, all of you. Some things need to be said. Elspeth, you sit up and listen!" I pause, and when I'm sure I have everyone's attention, I go on. "Our greatest enemy right now is not those men out there. Our greatest enemy is hopelessness and despair. We cannot allow ourselves to sink into the slough of despond. What Sin-Kay said about suicide sent a chill up my spine, for I know that all of us will at some point feel it is useless to resist and it would be easiest to just give up and end it all—all the misery and pain and the promise of a life spent in shameful slavery." I pause for breath and for effect.

  "But not all is hopeless, for I tell you that we will get out of this, that we will go back home, but to do that we must stick together and be strong and banish all thoughts of gloom and doom from our minds."

  "But, Jacky, how can we have any hope, in all ... in all this?" blurts out Helen Bailey, gesturing with her hands at the Hold in all its grimness.

  "Because, Helen, plans are being made. We can't tell you what they are, for they are not firm enough yet. I will tell you that Clarissa and I did some exploring last night and discovered some very interesting things, things that give us great hope." Many heads turn to look at Clarissa, wondering at the strange fact of she and I doing anything together except trying to strangle each other.

  "And we have resources our captors do not even know about."

  "Resources? What resources?" This from Caroline Thwackham, granddaughter of Judge Thwackham of the People's Court of Boston, with whom I had a passing and not very pleasant acquaintance. I still live under the threat of his sentence of an even dozen lashes should I ever appear in his court again.

  "Caroline, are we all not 'Pimm's Girls' and therefore the finest and fiercest of our sex? Are we not?" I pause for a moment for that to take hold. "Yes, we are and that is our greatest resource and that is what will bring us through this. And mark me on this: Those evil men will yet live to regret the taking of the girls of the Lawson Peabody. And know this, too: It is a long way from here to the coast of Africa, and anything can happen, anything!"

  There are other resources, but I ain't gonna tell them about those just yet.

  Then, all is silence. Is that the stiffening of backbones I sense?

  "Good. Now let us start conducting ourselves in a manner in which Mistress would approve. There are many ways we can improve our condition. Let us get started." This is, for me, a long speech, but I press on:

  "First of all, everything we s
ay or do must be kept secret from our captors. And that's everything—the fact that we have organized into divisions, the fact that we are talking like this, the fact that plans are being made. They must know nothing of us and what we are doing, yet we must know everything about them. That is why we are going to set daylight watches up there where the lookouts are now, and we are starting that watch rotation right now. There are enough of us such that you will each stand a one-hour watch once every day or so. Priscilla, will you set up the schedule?"

  Priscilla Cabot, who is a precise, fussy sort, nods. This sort of task is right up her alley.

  "We must stay sharp in all the ways we can. Lissette, if you could conduct a class in the French language each day for, say, an hour, I know it would be most appreciated. Hepzibah, a choral group would lift spirits—a song each evening before we go to sleep. I have a suggestion for this evening's—"

  "Jacky! Two men coming!" warns Annie. "They're swinging something over here!"

  "It's a lifting thing. Like we had to get hay in the barn," says Katy, who also can see out forward.

  "All right. Hush, everybody." And we all watch to see what is going to happen. Presently a square of light opens up in the hatch cover that is our ceiling. It is a small hatch that has been thrown open, a small hatch that I hadn't noticed before because of the gloom up there.

  "All of yiz. Against the back wall. Quick now, Captain's orders," snaps a man's voice, and two hooks on cables come snaking down into the Hold. "Two of yiz go down there and put the hooks on one o' them tubs."

  Hmmm ... Cockney, from the sound of him.

  "Rose, come with me," I say, and we head down to the Pit. We cross the Pit deck and stand by the tubs and watch as the hooks come slowly down.

  "What will you do with 'em, then, Jock?" I ask up at the unseen man who had spoken.

  "Dump 'em, you ninny, what the 'ell did you think we'd do wi' 'em? But we ain't supposed to talk to yiz, so shut yer gob."

  A real friendly type, I can tell.

  "I know that, Jocko," I says back at him, keeping in the Cockney way of talking to maybe get a little familiar with him. "But when you put them over the side, will you give 'em a bit of a rinse?" The tubs are made of shiny tin, so they would rinse right clean.