Across the Sea

Chapter 1 “A handful of apples. A handful of bloody apples. That’s all I took. It’s not like he missed them. The bugger had a whole tree full of them. More than he could eat. And I had brothers and a sister to feed.” Jacob rolled onto his back and stared at the base of the bunk above. He’d ceased to be affected by the constant rise and fall of the ship weeks ago, and only felt nauseous when the weather turned bad; when raging winds whipped the waves into great towering giants that threatened to send the Poseidon to the sea floor. Much worse was the constant stench of sweaty, unwashed men, of vomit, and of piss and s**t, although his senses had become somewhat accustomed to it. Most of the time he barely noticed it, but every couple of days the convicts were taken above deck for sunshine and fresh air, and to bathe, or shake their bedding out. Returning below decks, with the scent of fresh sea air still in his nostrils, was when the stink of human filth really packed its punch. “How did he find out?” asked Peter. Peter was in his mid-forties and was likewise being transported to the new British colony of Australia. For theft. He was ruggedly handsome, swarthy, and a life of manual labour had sculpted a stocky, solidly muscular body. “An informer.” Jacob propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Peter, sitting at the end of his bunk. “When the constable came knocking, he found two apple cores. He reckoned that was evidence enough to take me in.” Peter shook his head. “You know who the informer was?” Jacob lay down again. “Could’ve been anyone.” He sighed a doleful sigh. “Makes no difference now, does it?” Whenever there was a lull in conversation, the only sounds to be heard were those that never ceased—the creaking of the ship and the sea water splashing against the side of the vessel; the clumping of footsteps overhead and the occasional shouted instruction; the constant symphony of wheezing, coughing, and spluttering of those surrounding him in the twilight of the prison deck. “What do you think’ll happen to us when we reach Sydney Town?” Jacob asked. Peter shrugged. “Can’t say. I don’t know what to expect.” He stood and walked across to the wooden bucket containing their water supply. There was barely two cupfuls left. He dipped his tin mug in and scooped up just enough water to moisten his mouth and throat. He held the mug out to Jacob. “You want some?” Jacob shook his head. Over in one corner, a shadowy figure relieved himself into another bucket, farting without embarrassment. Jacob barely noticed it. None of the thirty-two men he shared the prison deck with could perform even the most personal function without an audience. Lack of privacy and humiliation were two things every one of them had had to get used to. There was no room for modesty on the prison deck. That evening after a meagre meal of watery stew whereby Jacob received four lumps of potato and two cubes of grey meat in his bowl, the men retired to their bunks. For a good while Jacob lay in the darkness with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep to arrive. Yet the more he longed for the escape of dreams, the more awake he felt. Thoughts crowded his mind, taking him further and further away from sleep. He thought about his sickly mother and his brothers and sister. What would be their fate now he’d been taken from them? And what of his own fate? A new country, both for England and for him. A country no one knew much about, other than it was wild and dangerous. He crawled out of his bunk and walked to a patch of pale moonlight filtering in through the ventilator in the deck above. Through the wooden grid he could see a patch of stars, dazzling like jewels in the pitch of the night sky, and he was immediately filled with a sense of peace. The night sky had always fascinated him. It was vast and mysterious. He could lose himself amongst those heavenly bodies, and often stood staring up at them whenever he had something on his mind. Sometime later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He gasped. His body tensed. The spell was broken. “Shhh. It’s me, Peter.” Jacob exhaled slowly as Peter wrapped an arm around his waist. The tension melted away. “What’s wrong, lad?” “I can’t sleep,” Jacob whispered. “My head…it’s so full of thoughts and…” Peter placed a finger over Jacob’s lips. “Shhh. Come over here.” Peter took Jacob’s hand and led him to the corner furthest from the sleeping men. He backed Jason up against the wall and pressed his body against Jacob’s. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft and low. He kissed Jacob tenderly on the mouth. “Tell me what’s troubling you, lad.” Jacob could feel his c**k growing hard against Peter’s thigh. “Tell me,” said Peter, kissing him again. “I want to help.” Jacob made tiny whimpering noises as Peter continued to kiss him. He put his arms around Peter, running his hands slowly up and down the muscular contours of his back. “You want Peter to make it better?” Jacob had only ever had s*x with two girls, and one of those had been a lady of the night. The thought that two men could have s*x had never occurred to him, though Peter had demonstrated on several occasions they could. It had been a revelation to Jacob that the touch of another man, the feeling of a hard body against his own and the rougher, more animalistic coupling, could feel infinitely more pleasurable than anything he’d done with either of the two girls. He rested his head against Peter’s broad chest and nodded. Peter began stroking Jacob’s golden hair. “Shhh.” Slowly Peter released Jacob, turning him around to face the wall. Jacob braced himself. He felt Peter reach around, his fingers fumbling at the buttons on his breeches. After Peter had tugged them down, he heard Peter spit repeatedly into his hand and then the sweet pain of Peter’s swollen cockhead penetrating him. He cried out and immediately Peter’s hand was over his mouth. “Shhh,” said Peter, slowly easing his c**k in. Jacob closed his eyes, his body quivering as Peter’s enormous c**k penetrated deeper, filling him completely. Its throbbing heat burned into him, radiating outwards and warming his body against the cold night air. He moaned as Peter gripped his hips and began thrusting into him, slowly at first before growing in both intensity and speed. His whole body rocked and his own erection was soon slapping against the smooth skin of his stomach. “Keep it down, ya pair of mollies,” called a voice from the darkness. Jacob took hold of his c**k and the slapping sound stopped. He squeezed it then began to rub his hand up and down the shaft. It became more difficult to keep his balance, but what did it matter? Peter wouldn’t let him fall. Peter nuzzled Jacob’s ear from behind. “I’m close,” he whispered, the rich timbre of his deep voice making the back of Jacob’s neck tingle. He began thrusting with more urgency. Puffs of Peter’s warm breath burst against the back of Jacob’s neck. The thought of Peter climaxing inside him set his hand sliding at a faster rate up and down his erection. It wouldn’t be long now. For either of them. Then he heard Peter grunt, felt Peter’s fingers dig deeper into the flesh of his hips, holding himself there as he shot his seed deep inside him. It was that thought, that thought of something so intimate between two men, between Peter and him, which soon had thick ropes of seed shooting from the eye of his c**k and splattering against the wall of the ship. Peter kissed the back of his neck. “Feel better?” he whispered. Jacob nodded and for a few quiet moments they remained locked together, Peter’s c**k inside him and Peter’s arms embracing him. Had it not been for these stolen moments of comfort, Jacob could quite possibly have gone mad. In lonely moments, he could almost believe the stained and stinking walls were closing in on him, or that the other convicts were plotting to take him in ways more violent and aggressive than Peter ever had. He thought of Peter almost as a father, but there was more to the feelings they shared, something deeper and infinitely more intimate. It was almost as if…as if Peter had become his husband, although who’d heard of such a thing? Finally, Peter withdrew his c**k and pulled his stained and dirty trousers back on. He turned Jacob around and kissed him on the lips. “You’ve exhausted me, lad.” Jacob pulled his breeches up and together they returned to their bunks. Without another word or a final good night kiss, Jacob climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep. The following morning, Jacob overslept. He was awoken by the bustle of the other convicts bundling up their bedding in readiness to take it above deck for an airing. A soldier, dressed in full uniform, most notably the red coat for which they were named, was already at the gate, his keys clinking and clattering at the lock. When the gate swung open the convicts streamed out towards the steps that would take them up to the daylight and fresh sea air. By the time Jacob stepped into the blinding light of day there was already a line of men along each of the bulwarks, shaking their blankets and mattresses out over the churning water below and beating their pillows against the wood, sending clouds of fine dust and God-knows-what else drifting out over the ocean on sea breezes. He hurried to the end of the nearest line, avoiding eye contact with the redcoats. If there was one danger about being on deck, it was of being noticed and singled out by one of the redcoats. Most of the other convicts had nothing to worry about. They had nothing the redcoats wanted. However, Jacob was young and slender; his body smooth except for a small nest of dark blonde pubic hair. “Your beauty isn’t just the beauty of youth,” Peter had told him. “It’s almost feminine.” It had made him squirm, though not as much as when he saw the look in the eyes of the redcoats. It was the same look he’d seen in the eyes of some of the convicts. Without Peter’s presence, he’d have been having a very hard time of it. Unfortunately, if one of the redcoats took a shine to him, there’d be nothing Peter could do to protect him. He dropped his pillow and blankets by his feet and began shaking out his mattress, a thin, floppy thing, barely up to the job of cushioning his body against the hard wood of the bunk. “We heard ya last night,” said Collins, a tall, scrawny man whose straw-coloured hair always put Jacob in mind of a scarecrow, the way it stuck out all over the place. Jacob stayed focused on the task at hand, but noticed Collins looking around to check for redcoats. “And I’m gonna give ya the same thing one of these nights,” he said, grinning. “Make no mistake…” He grabbed his crotch. “…Collins is gonna get his share.” The crack of a whip startled Jacob. He heard Collins yelp as the tail of the whip sliced a neat line through the man’s shirt and across his back. Without another word Collins moved off, but Jacob dared not turn his head to see in which direction. Once the whip was out, the overseer, a stocky man with crude tattoos all up and down his arms, was more than happy to use it at the slightest provocation. When he’d finished airing his blankets and pillow, he placed them on the mattress then folded the mattress over to create a neat, easy-to-carry bundle, which he left on the deck by his feet. Peter, not wanting to attract attention, ambled casually over to him and leaned against the bulwark. When he was certain the patrolling redcoats were out of earshot, he asked, “What did Collins say?” Jacob began to study his tattered shoes. “Nothing.” “I heard him say something, lad.” “Nothing important is all I meant.” He glanced at Peter and saw the dark expression he was wearing, but what was there to be gained by upsetting him with what Collins had said? A few of the men had tried to take from him what he willingly and happily gave Peter, but Peter had always put an end to their efforts. If Collins did try to make good on his threat, Peter would stop him as he’d stopped the others. And if what Collins had said was all talk, which he suspected it was, he’d be getting Peter worked up unnecessarily. Without another word, Peter walked over to where Collins was sitting with another man called McCready. Collins had his head hung, but it was clear he was saying something. It’s what they all did when they wanted to talk above deck. Jacob was momentarily distracted by someone calling out, “Oranges.” The man carrying the tub of oranges appeared from below decks and was immediately swamped by convicts eager for the juicy sweetness of the fruit. It was a rare treat, albeit a necessary one, since oranges, along with lemons and limes, had the remarkable power to keep scurvy at bay. It was the only food item of any nutritional value given to men whose other sources of sustenance were stew, served to them once a day, every day, and made from vegetables which had already started to go bad, and gruel. At once the overseer’s whip was cracking like lightning, leaving crimson streaks down the back of any man unfortunate enough to get in its way. “Back, you dogs! Get back!” Jacob watched the men slink away, heads down in submission. It seemed the overseer’s insult hadn’t been far from the truth, for at that moment the men truly did resemble dogs; and if they’d had tails, they would have been tucked between their legs. “Nice and orderly now,” growled the overseer. Jacob moved forward, knowing it was no longer just the overseer observing them, but that the redcoats, drawn from their conversations and daydreams by the commotion, were keeping a more watchful eye on them. It was a fact that didn’t bother him. Nothing was going to get in the way of him and the tub of oranges. Already his mouth was watering at the thought of that sweet juice trickling down his throat. Suddenly a skirmish broke out. He turned and saw Peter slam his fist into Collins’s jaw. The overseer cracked the whip and two redcoats came running to assist. Jacob ran at the man with the tub of oranges and snatched up two of them. As the redcoats struggled to separate Peter and Collins, Jacob tucked one orange under his armpit and tore the skin off the other, pushing large chunks of thirst quenching fruit into his mouth. Finally, the redcoats were able to separate the two men. “What’s the meaning of this?” asked the taller of the two redcoats. “It was him, sir,” said Collins, pointing a bony finger. “He just came at me with his fists.” Jacob stuffed the remaining pieces of orange into his mouth, the juice leaking out over his lips and leaving a sticky mess on his chin. The redcoat turned to Peter. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” Peter looked the redcoat in the eye and replied, “Does it make any difference?” Jacob momentarily stopped chewing. He looked from Peter to the redcoat and back to Peter. He felt the blood drain from his face. The redcoat glared at Peter, an expression of disgust on his face. “Fifty lashes for both of them then put this one into the stocks.” This one? ‘This one’ meant Peter. But why only Peter? He swallowed the mouthful of orange, nearly choking as he did so. His eyes moved from Peter to Collins, who was already looking back at him, a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. Collins gave a single nod and suddenly Jacob didn’t feel like eating his second orange. He could only hope the fifty lashes would leave Collins so weak and exhausted, he wouldn’t have the energy for anything else. “Everybody back below!” shouted the overseer. “Come on. Let’s be quick about it.” Jacob removed the orange from his armpit and returned to the spot where he’d left his bedding. He gathered up the folded mattress containing his blankets and pillow, and began walking slowly towards the steps leading down into the darkness below. He looked back at Peter, who was shaking his head as if to say sorry, and then at Collins, whose eyes were on someone further back along the line of convicts. When he turned further round to see who Collins was looking at, his stomach lurched. McCready. They were as thick as thieves and cut from the same mean, nasty cloth. His heart began to pound. When McCready turned to face the front and their eyes met, Jacob felt as if he was going to pass out.