MMSA story - 'The Flogging Dutchman - Part 2 - A Cursed Ship' http://www.malespank.net/viewStory.php?

id=27951

The Flogging Dutchman

Part 2 – A Cursed Ship

by Navy Cadet

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly
in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 10 Oct 2012

The main harbour was only a mile away from the orphanage, but to Christian it seemed like the
other side of the world. He had always thought that the dormitory where he had spent most of his
childhood had been crowded, but here there were more people within the first few dozen yards of
the wharf than he had known in his entire life.

Sounds assaulted him from all directions. People were shouting as they delivered cargo or haggled
over payments. There were so many conversations going on that it all merged together until it
stopped being a noise and became waves of energy that were felt rather than heard.

At the centre of the throng were the ships. They lay quietly on their quays, while their servants
bustled around preparing them for the voyages ahead. A few were steamers, but tall masts still
dominated here. They reached up into the clear blue sky like a forest of strange trees.

The carriage forced its way through the crowd until it drew up beside the ship that was to become
Christian's new home. She stood out even amongst these athletes of the sea. Her masts were taller
and her hull sleeker than any of the others. An eagle figurehead graced her high prow. She had
clearly been built for speed in order to take the highest value cargoes racing across the globe, and
Christian could see that the final preparations were being made for her next voyage.

Christian dropped down off the carriage, and opened the door for the lieutenant that had brought
him there. The man stepped down and gestured to Christian to follow him. Christian grabbed their
luggage and followed the man up the gangplank, and onto the ship.

There was a crewman painting the railings at the top of the gangplank. He stood and touched his
cap as the officer passed, and then he turned to Christian. His face was like leather that had been
left out in the sun for too long. Life had carved lines deep into his brow and grey stubble mottled his
chin, but his eyes were soft and looked down at Christian like pools of a deep sadness. He said
nothing to the boy as he hurried passed, but Christian could feel the old sailor's eyes on him all the
way until the passed out of sight below decks.

The lieutenant took Christian to his cabin where the boy dropped off the officer's luggage. The man
then told him that he could lash up his hammock near the sick berth. Christian picked up his own
much smaller load and headed off in the direction that the man had indicated.

Most of the ship was dedicated to its cargo holds, with only a small amount left for the crew
quarters, so it didn't take long for Christian to find the sick berth. The small sign on the
whitewashed door told him when he had found it.

Christian dropped the bag containing the few positions that he had brought with him from the
orphanage and started to lash up his hammock. His mind went back to the first time that they had
been taught to do it. The faces of his dorm mates flashed through his mind, and the sound of and all
the laughter that had come when it came for them to actually try to get into the thing.

As he was thinking this, a sound caught his attention. It was coming from the sick berth, but even
muffled by the wooden bulkhead between them he recognised it. It was a sound that he had heard
many times back at the orphanage. He had often woken up at night and heard one of the other boys
crying into his pillow when he thought that nobody else could hear.

Christian eased open the door, and the crying stopped immediately. He took a deep breath, and

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stepped inside.

The sick berth was completely unremarkable; there was the smell of soap, and whitewashed walls
covered with cabinets. On the far side there was as single bunk, and on the bunk lay a boy.

The boy was laying face down, and completely naked. His backside was a swollen mass of bruises.
The damage wasn't just to his bottom; it extended down his thighs and up his back. As the bruising
started to thin out it resolved into broad welts that might have come from a belt, and narrower ones
that might have been made by a cane.

Christian was used to seeing the results of corporeal punishment from his time in the orphanage,
but he had never seen anything like it before. The sight of the boy's body was so shocking that for a
moment Christian didn't realise that he had been tied down to the bunk by broad leather straps
around his wrists and ankles.

The boy noticed Christian watching him, and beckoned him over. Christian felt torn. Part of him
wanted to try and comfort the poor wretch, but another part was telling him to slam the door and
try to forget what he had seen. He stood frozen for a moment, but his compassion won out. As soon
as he was close enough the boy grabbed his wrist and squeezed it.

“Run. Run now. Run while you still can.”

The boy's eyes shone in the gloom of the cabin. They were so wide that a ring of white completely
encircled the iris, and they were filled with desperation. He squeezed harder.

“You must run, or you too will become a victim to the curse.”

“Curse? What curse?” Christian asked, but the boy wasn't looking at him anymore. Christian could
see eyes were fixed on something behind him. Slowly, he turned around, not really wanting to know
what he would find there.

There was a man filling in the doorway. He was a big man, but not fat. He was more like a normal
person where everything had been scaled up. His navy blue trousers had been tucked into a pair of
huge black sea boots, and Christian had seen ships with masts narrower than the legs that filled
them. The jacket he wore looked like his chest was about to burst out of it. Wisps of black hair
poked out from under his cap fringing a face that glowed red from long exposure to the elements.
Christian's eyes ran down the man's arms to the gold rings on the ends of his sleeves, and his
training took over. He spun to face the officer and snapped to attention.

“Boy Seaman Christian Peterson reporting, Sir!”

The man smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes.

“And I am Captain van Decker. Now come with me, boy, let's leave poor Joshua to rest.”

“Aye aye, Sir!”

The retreated back to the corridor and the Captain closed the door behind them.

“I'm sorry that you had to see that, boy. Joshua was a good cabin boy, but life at sea is hard. You
need to be tough to be able to take it, and unfortunately, in the end, that last encounter with the
storm broke him. Hopefully he will one day recover, but in the meantime we do what we can for
him. Now come over here and let me take a look at you.”

Christian marched to his new Captain as if he was on the parade ground. The man let him come to a
halt and then began his inspection.

Christian felt the man's hands running all over his body. His touch was firm, but gentle. There was
no hesitation to it. He knew what he was looking for, and why. He felt the man squeeze his
shoulders, and then sweep his hands inwards to massage his neck. Christian then felt the man's
hands travelling downwards along his spine, all the way down to his bottom. He felt the man take
one buttock in each hand, and gently squeezed them.

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“Very nice. You've got a good, strong, body. I think that you will be able to take this life much better
than poor young Joshua did. Now come with me.”

Christian followed the captain back up through the ship towards his cabin. The Captain took him
towards the stern of the ship, and several decks upwards from sick berth far below the waterline.
They passed several of the crew on the way, who all gave Christian that same strange, sad, look
that he had seen in the eyes of the man he had encountered on he gangplank.

When they reached the door to Captain's cabin it could have been the same as the door to the sick
berth. It was the same whitewashed wood and just as clinical, the only difference was that instead
of a red cross there was a neatly painted sign which read 'Captain'. Van Decker took a key from his
pocket and unlocked the door. He gestured for Christian to enter.

To most people the Captain's cabin would have looked Spartan, but to Christian it was palatial. He
had never seen a space that was so large for only one person. It spanned the entire width of the
ship. Light poured into the cabin from windows that ran along the back wall giving a panoramic view
of the harbour. Across the other wall were a set of cabinets, which held the captain's books and
personal effects. There was a table and chairs in the centre of the room and, other than the
Captain's hammock and a few boxes, that was all that the cabin contained.

The Captain had remained in the doorway while Christian looked around.

“You will remain here until we have left port.” he said. “I will send somebody to fetch you when it is
time for you to come on deck.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” Christian replied as the Captain closed the door. He did not notice the sound of the
lock sliding home.

Not sure what to do Christian tried to tidy the cabin. He was sure that as a cabin boy that would be
part of his duties and he wanted to show the Captain how diligent he was, but there really wasn't
that much mess that he could tidy up. Everything was already stowed away. The only things that
were not were either too big and heavy to move, like the pair of bronze Chinese dog statues
guarding the window, or had been bolted to the deck, like the table.

Christian started looking through the glass panels of the cabinets to see if there was anything that
needed dusting or polishing. He couldn't see a single spec of dust in the first one he came to, but
there was a large collection of crucifixes that hinted at a spiritual side to van Decker that he would
have never guessed at. Other cabinets contained good luck tokens, and more exotic spiritual
artefacts from the four corners of the globe, but no dust.

The boy felt the ship was beginning to move under him. He looked back through the cabin windows
and saw the harbour moving away from him. There were a few scraps of cloud starting to build on
the horizon and the wind was stirring up a gentle swell. Christian guessed that the Captain would be
setting up the ship to take advantage of it while it lasted. There hadn't been any back in harbour,
and he wondered how the van Decker had known that it would be coming. Anybody that could
predict a change in the weather like that was clearly a great mariner and somebody who he could
learn a lot from. He walked over to the books to see if they would tell him anything.

Christian looked over the titles of the books. They might have been on meteorology, but he had no
way of telling. The lettering that covered the cracked leather bindings of the ancient tomes he found
were all in Latin, or other even more obscure languages. He knew that he would not have been able
to understand them, but the wind had picked up and ship was now rolling so much that he would not
have been able to read them anyway.

While Christian was trying to work out why one of the books would have something that looked
strangely like a tattoo on its cover, the door swung open behind him.

“Boy, it is time. Follow me.” said the sailor who had opened it. Christian followed him up to the
quarterdeck where Captain van Decker was waiting. The big man had his back to the boy and was
looking away out to sea. The wind was whipping through his navy blue frock coat, sending its
streaming out behind him. Christian could see the cane in his hand. The sailor cleared his throat.

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“Captain, I have the boy.”

Captain van Decker turned around slowly, and looked down at Christian.

“Very well, boy. Strip.”

Christian wasn't sure what to do. He looked around and found that all of the crew were staring at
him, waiting. Seeing that this was not a joke he began to undress.

He pulled off his jumper and shirt. He could feel his cheeks reddening as he dropped his trousers
and underwear for the second time that day. His erection sprang out in front of the assembled crew,
but they seemed more interested in his buttocks. The Captain tapped it with the tip of his cane.

“Don't worry about that, boy, it will be gone soon. You are to be caned.”

“But, Sir, why?”

“Because it is necessary. Now bend over.”

Christian did as he was told. He bent over and took a firm grip on his ankles. He could feel the cold
wind flowing across his naked body. Then he heard the whooshing sound of the Captain's cane cut
through it. The cane sliced into the firm young flesh of Christian's rear.

“Sir, please sir. What ever it was I did, I won't do it again.” he begged.

The Captain did not say anything. He just raised his cane and swung it again.

The crew watched while the boy took his beating. The cane swished through the air and slashed
burning lines of pain across his pale skin. Christian clung onto his ankles. It got worse with every
stroke. Everybody could see the boy's muscles straining as he struggled to stay in position, but
nobody made any move to help him.

As the pain built inside him it twisted his face into a demonic mask. The skin of his backside glowed
red, like smouldering coals. He would breathe in between strokes, and then let it out in a long
hisses though his gritted teeth as the cane hit.

Christian knew that he should take his punishment without complaint, but he couldn't take it
anymore. The pain was too much.

“Please sir, please forgive me, Sir.” he pleaded the Captain.

“No, boy, there will be no forgiveness. I have begged for it myself often enough.”

With that the Captain raised his arm even higher and sent the cane slashing into the boy's backside.
The boy screamed, and as he did the sun broke through a hole in the clouds.

The sudden light made van Decker pause. He could feel the wind on his cheeks starting to drop, and
the sea under him was beginning to calm. The rest of the crew could feel it as well. He lowered his
cane and ordered the boy to get up.

The crew dispersed back to their duties, with one helping Christian to recover his clothes. While he
dressed Christian tried to ask the man why he had been beaten.

“The others say that is the Captain's curse. He can charm the weather, but he needs to beat a boy
to do it. That is why we can make the time that we do.” he shrugged. “All I know is that we have
been followed by that storm ever since I signed up on this boat. Every day the storm would rise.
Then he would beat that cabin boy, Joshua, and the winds would fall. Poor boy. I guess that will be
your job now.”

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