Ever since a discussion shortly before Christmas with Kami Robertson, I’ve become rather pre-occupied at regular intervals with images of lasses tied to the mast aboard ship and whipped. There have been stowaways being caught and hauled before the captain. There’ve been girls who’ve masqueraded as boys to run away to sea as crew members, only for their real identities to be revealed.
There was the captain’s girlfriend, serving on board. None of the rest of the sailors knew of their relationship; when she was found guilty of disobeying orders, she was taken before him. He’d have no choice but to deal with her in the traditional way: she’d be stripped, bound with rough rope, flogged with the cat in front of the assembled crew.
Oh, and there was also the daughter of a first-class passenger on a liner. Money being no object for her family, there was no reason for her to slip a silver jug into her purse at dinner. The purser noticed; she and her father were called into the captain’s plush quarters. She denied everything; a thorough search of her room turned up the offending article. Her father and the captain would confer: they’d agree not to involve the police when the ship docked, and two dozen strokes of the cane from the officer would precede far more licks of the parental belt back in the privacy of their cabin.
Mmmmm… Pirates…. Ships… Masts….