The ordeals of a stowaway

Oh, the poor lass I dreamt of the other night. See, she deserved to be punished for being a stowaway: it was well-known that any girl found trying to make her way without papers to the New World would be flogged. But no girl expects to be caught, when she finds herself a nice hiding place before the boat sets sail from Liverpool.

Brought on deck a mere day into the voyage; stripped; manhandled by the crew before the captain arrived. Tied down with rope; caned severely – three dozen strokes.

For the rest of the journey? A plaything for the officers. Made to stand, naked, in the corner of the room as they played cards – each man gambling for the right to take her to his bunk for the night and use her as he wanted.

On arrival on the far side of the Atlantic: handed over to the authorities. Her lack of paperwork ensured another flogging: hands bound above her head in the market place, again quite naked before the onlookers, as the magistrate whipped her back – showing no mercy.

Ordered onto the next boat home. Sneaking away from her captors. Stealing clean clothes from a line; going from house to house seeking work. Eventually finding a position as a maid; working hard; doing well. Spanked occasionally by the housekeeper: which girl wasn’t? Strapped once by the butler, but too good to ever be hauled before her employers to be birched.

Months later, a guest appearing at dinner and to stay overnight. She recognised the captain of the ship on which she sailed immediately, of course. Sadly for her, the recognition was mutual. “Come and see me in my room later,” he commented. And there, as he started to remove her uniform, he promised to say nothing to his friends, provided she was a good and obedient girl for him…