THE GALLEY SLAVE
"A Young Man's Odyssey into Slavery"
Chapter 2

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over
the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
An archive of my stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the
writer's and shouldn't be used without permission"

Chapter 2: Captured by the Corsairs

Our vessel was heavily laden with a rich cargo of leather-goods,
silks, spices and ceramics from the best warehouses in Venice. It
promised great wealth to the merchants in London who owned our
ship and even as a lowly seaman I was to receive a modest bonus
from them. We'd sailed down the Adriatic and were about to enter
the Middle Sea when we were becalmed; now our heavily laden ship
sat on the ocean's still surface like an overfed goose too lazy
to either swim or fly.

I sensed the deep concern of our captain and the more experienced
sailors. They knew these were dangerous waters at the best of
times but to be wallowing helplessly as we were filled them with
dread for these were the territorial waters of the Corsair
pirates who operated out of Tripoli. As a young, inexperienced
sailor I didn't understand their anxiety and was puzzled by the
way they constantly scanned the shimmering horizons. But the
hoarse cry from our lookout high up in the ship's rigging had
enough panic in it to alarm me. My alarm grew as I watched the
panic of the older hands as they crowded to the rails of the ship
and peered out to starboard. At first I saw nothing; then as my
eyes adjusted to the early morning haze, I saw them.

At first they were just three small black specks on the distant
horizon but as I watched they grew larger until at last I could
see the sun light shining on the brightly coloured lateen sails
of three dark hulled vessels. Even from that distance, I could
see the sun's rays flashing on the oars as they rose and dipped
in unison. I'd caught sight of my destiny.

The general panic that overtook our doomed ship was infectious.
We sat low and stationary in the water and without wind to fill
our sails we had nowhere to run. And given the speed with which
the three galleys were gaining on us, our ship stood little
chance of escape against the combined muscle power of the nearly
five hundred, wretched slaves manning their oars.

Perpetually scourged by the whips of their whip-masters, these
slaves were driven to impossible feats of endurance as they bent
their sweat sodden backs and straining arms to their heavy oars.
Now assured of the rich prize that sat helplessly ahead of them,
the captains of the three galleys ordered a quickening of the
drumbeats and a corresponding increase in the oar strokes. As the
tempo of the drums increased, the overseers enthusiastically
applied their whips to the straining backs of the miserable
slaves. While the whips whistled and crackled over their heads,
the slaves rowed in silence and were prevented from giving voice
to their suffering by the wooden gags clasped firmly between
their teeth.

These gags are a necessary accoutrement of the galley slave and
they are worn on a leather thong around his neck - I wear one -
and along with the chains that secure him to his rowing bench, it
is the only thing to adorn his naked body. Its purpose is
twofold; to prevent the slave biting into his tongue as he takes
the strain of the oar and to help him maintain his silence as the
galley captain and his officers shout orders to their crew. From
our Master's point of view this makes good sense. Ninety slaves
all groaning and grunting as they ply their oars can be both
noisy and distracting.

Jubilantly, the Corsairs anticipated the easy capture of our
merchantman, its rich cargo and the taking of yet more slaves to
carry back to the slave-market in Tripoli.

I had heard of the Barbary pirates - who hadn't - and I had been
brought up with tales of their daring and cruelty. As children,
our clergymen had called them Satan's spawn and we'd been taught
to regard them as the devil's fiends waiting to carry us away to
horrors more dreadful than the fiery pits of Hell. Their boldness
was legendary and all honest folk living along the shorelines of
Europe never knew where the Corsairs would strike next -
destroying their homes and carrying them into slavery in North
Africa. Even the distant, southern coasts of England and Ireland
had suffered their depredations. So now, as I noted the blind
fear and panic of my fellow sailors, I was overcome with a
feeling of impending doom. Was there nothing to save us from
these merciless demons?

My terror-filled, fellow sailors re-acted in different ways; some
ran aimlessly around in sheer panic, others sought hiding places
in the most remote parts of the ship; their effort were to prove
fruitless as the pirates are experts in ferreting out the
bolthole of any potential slave seeking to hide himself.

Others sought refuge in the sea by leaping overboard thereby
choosing a quick death by drowning rather than face the slow,
lingering death of slavery. Others were like me and just stood
dazed at the awful prospect confronting us. Whatever we did it
would be in vain; within two hours those of us who survived would
all be stripped naked, placed in shackles and stowed in the slave
holds of the three galleys.

I stood by the ship's rail and watched helplessly as the three
galleys loomed larger. Even with the powerful strokes of their
oars it still took well over an hour for them to be close enough
for me to clearly make them out. They had been travelling abreast
of one another when suddenly the two outer galleys veered away in
a manoeuvre that was meant to encircle us. Now I could hear the
incessant beat of their tambours setting the pace for their
oarsmen and I could see the rise and dip of the oars keeping
harmony with each beat of the drums.

Then, I was unaware of the true horrors of a galley but to my
inexperienced eyes they were things of beauty. Their sleek, black
hulls were designed for speed and the triangular shape of their
colourful sails reminded me of some exotic bird's wings. Even the
massive wooden oars moving in perfect unison with one another
added to this illusion. But then my senses awoke me to the true
horrors of the galleys; wafting across the surface of the sea my
nostrils was assailed by the sickening smell of their unfortunate
victims. The putrid smell of unwashed, sweating bodies, urine and
human excrement caught at the back of my throat and I found
myself dry-retching. I'd never smelt anything like it not even in
the fetid streets of our home port, London or Venice. It was my
introduction to the malodorous conditions existing on all galleys
and one with which I am now well acquainted.

Next I heard the abusive shouts of the impatient whip-masters
exhorting their charges to superhuman endeavour. I could see the
constant rise and fall of their whips and I could hear the loud
thwack as leather and flesh met; silenced by their gags the
unfortunate slaves weren't able to vocalise their dreadful
suffering. Suddenly, as I watched the appalling scenes being
played out beforeme I saw these men - who were soon to be my
masters - as true demons from Hell and I was afraid.

From that moment on, everything was a blur. Detached from reality
I felt that I was watching some unfolding nightmare from the
sidelines. But this wasn't the case; I was very much a part of
what was happening. I heard the lessening of the drumbeats and
saw the slowing of the oars as two galleys drew alongside our
vessel whilst the third stopped behind us and all three held us
in their vice-like grip. The fresh sea air was fouled by the
nauseating stench of nearly five hundred wretched slaves who were
about to enjoy a brief respite from their inhuman labours.

The oars were withdrawn and slowly the two galleys were allowed
to drift sideways until they bumped the sides of our ship. The
leering, shouting pirates crowded to the sides of the galleys and
waved their fearsome scimitars at us. If this was meant to
intimidate us then they were most successful. With nowhere else
to go, we huddled dejectedly together on the deck like a mob of
frightened, jostling sheep; each of us sought to lose ourselves
among our companions.

Then as the pirates ran out their gangplanks and swarmed aboard
our doomed ship we were overwhelmed by their numbers. Cowed by
their incomprehensible shouting and the loud cracking of their
whips we were soon surrounded by a mob of jeering, laughing
Corsairs. They wasted little time in preparing us for slavery.

Whilst some pirates sought out any hidden crew members, those of
us on deck were quickly dealt with. One by one we were dragged
from the refuge of our huddle, stripped naked, humiliatingly
examined to see that we were in good health and placed in chains.

Those considered not suitable as slaves were swiftly and cruelly
dealt with; they were simply tossed overboard. The ship's cook,
who had befriended me when I joined the ship's crew, was one such
victim. He was jovial man with a large girth who laughed a lot
but he walked with a limp. I watched in horror as he was dragged
struggling and begging for mercy to the bow of our ship and
tossed over
the side like a slop pale of garbage.

It was at that moment that I understood my true plight. I was now
a slave and my only value was in my capacity to work and meet the
demands of my new Masters. The moment I could no longer meet
these demands, I too would be dealt with as ruthlessly as the
cook. These cruel men were without pity or mercy and had no
feeling for their slaves.

Once we'd been processed- and all hidden crewmembers found- we
were divided into two groups and driven over the gangplanks onto
the galley that was to be both our prison and transport to
wherever our captors were taking us. I stumbled blindly over the
gangplank and into the waist of the galley. Here I saw the
appalling conditions of the oar slaves who, exhausted from their
labours, lay slumped over their oars. As I shuffled along the
walkway separating the rowing pits, I looked in horror at the
serried ranks of naked, whip scarred backs still bleeding from
the open cuts the slaves had received during this latest chase.

Ahead of me, one of my crewmates stumbled over his ankle chains
and fell to the walkway. He was shown no mercy; momentarily our
sorry group paused as an angry overseer whipped him to his feet.
Then from behind there were more angry, incomprehensible shouts
and much cracking of whips as we were driven forward. For the
first time I tasted leather as a whip wrapped itself around my
upper body like some venomous, black snake and I heard myself
scream. But the whip had its desired effect upon me and I pressed
forward in an effort to escape its fiery sting.

Ahead of us, a pirate opened a hatch in the walkway and still
driven by the whips we all tumbled down steep wooden steps into
an unspeakable horror. We were unprepared for the dark, fetid
hold which was to house us until we reached port. Barely high
enough for us to stand, we had to stoop as we were driven to the
extreme end of the hold.

Our shackles prevented us from lifting our feet and we were
reduced to shuffling through the noxious, ankle deep, bilge
water. As we moved, our feet stirred up all manners of filth and
released the pungent odours that permeated the hold;
subsequently, we were to learn this foul smelling, greenish
liquid is a mixture of sea water and the seepage from the ordure
of the galley slave benches directly above our heads. Driven into
a corner we were left to fend for ourselves; this was to be our
home for the rest of the voyage. Here we huddled together as a
group and tried to find some solace and comfort in still being
together.

My eyes were as yet unaccustomed to the gloom, but I was able to
make out the shadowy figures of other wretched captives who, like
me, had been roughly seized and enslaved. We, all of us, were
doomed and destined for the auction block in Tripoli.

The voyage to Tripoli took fourteen days - I think. In the semi
darkness of our prison it was hard to keep an accurate count of
the days; our time was measured by the rowing sessions of the
slaves toiling at the oars just above our heads. We were able to
hear their rasping breathing as they strained at the oars, their
grunts and groans of extreme exertion and more fearfully for us
the shouts and snapping of the overseers' whips as the slaves
were exhorted to "bend their backs and apply more muscle" to
their endeavours. Fearfully we listened to the slaves' torment
directly above us and I think many of us saw this as an insight
into our own fates.

Any effort at conversation between us was frustrated by the
monotonous and repetitive beating of the drum setting the stroke
pace for the rowers. The loud drumbeats deafened our ears and
imprinted themselves into our consciousness until mercifully our
minds at last shut down and lessened our hearing to the intensity
of their beat. But they were always there - in the background -
reminding us that with each beat of the drum and with each stroke
of the oar we were that much closer to our destination.

We were fed and watered spasmodically; certainly there wasn't any
set pattern to it. But when the Corsairs did bring food and water
we were always sufficiently hungry or thirsty to beg for more -
our meagre rations of hard weevilly, biscuit and rancid water
were never enough. Clambering over one another, we thrust out our
hands and pleaded with our captors for more and if necessary we
took the food out of another's hands. Bit by bit our humanity
crumbled and we became selfish to our own needs and ignored all
others. Our hunger pangs and our thirst overcame our concern for
others and in such conditions the strong thrived and the weak
grew weaker. It was survival of the fittest and I was strong.

Gradually our stomachs and throats grew accustomed to this
irregular feeding and our nostrils no longer wrinkled at the ever
present stench of the slaves toiling above us or of ourselves. We
had no alternative other than to add our own vomit, urine and
excrement to the foul soup in which we either sat or squatted.
Stripped of our freedom and clothing and reduced to such animal
like behaviour we no longer cared and quickly lost all hope.

Trapped in the dismal gloom of our prison, day slowly followed
night and the dull monotony of inactivity stretched before us.
Soon we longed for release from our dreadful surroundings and for
my part; I wanted only to be taken out from the stench and filth
and once more to fill my lungs with fresh, sea air. I no longer
worried about what my future fate might be; nothing could be
worse than this vile place - or so I thought. I was to be proved
wrong.

Then one day, lost in my usual stupor, I suddenly sensed
something was changing. We'd been rowing furiously since dawn and
now some two or three hours later the drumbeats lessened and the
oars slowed down and I could hear the excited chattering and
shouting of our captors. Could it be that we had arrived at our
destination?

My fellow prisoners also sensed this difference and they stirred
themselves from their lethargy and began to whisper animatedly
among themselves. Those of us who were seaman knew from the
galley's movements that we had reached port and that it was
moving into dock. The drum's beat and oars ceased and we heard
the grating sounds as the oars were withdrawn from the water and
pulled aboard the galley through their rowlocks. My newly
acquired seaman's knowledge felt the almost imperceptive movement
of the galley as it drifted sideways towards its mooring and I
could hear the gentle lapping of water against the outside of the
hull. Suddenly, there was a shuddering bump as our galley and
wharf touched and those of us who were standing were knocked off
our feet and sent sprawling into the obnoxious bilge. As we
scrambled to our feet, we heard the loud cheering of our captors.

They had every reason to cheer. On this, only their second
pirating voyage of the season, they had returned to Tripoli in
triumph. All three galleys were low in the water, laden down with
the rich pickings of their raids; their holds were full of booty
and held many prisoners destined for the slave-market. And
lumbering along behind them was the merchant ship of which I'd so
recently been a crew member. Yes, the Corsairs had reason to
cheer at the prospect of the rich bonuses they would receive and
of spending a few days on shore before returning to sea.

And of course, their slaves will also welcome this break from the
backbreaking labour of the oars. Naturally, there won't be any
rest for them; they will be put to work immediately unloading the
precious cargo and moving it to the nearby warehouses before
provisioning the galleys and making them ready for sea once more.

But for the next few days there will be blessed relief from the
backbreaking labour at the oars and they will enjoy their freedom
of movement - even if their backs  are bent beneath their heavy
burdens.

And after the restrictive confinement of the rowing benches, they
will indeed regard themselves as fortunate.



To be continued......................








