other men laughed, grasping her, their hands exploring her breasts and buttocks as they pushed her from one crewman to the next.
Grosbeck put one arm around her waist from behind and again lifted her into the hammock, getting on top of her before she could flee. She raked his face with her nails, and the watching crewmen laughed. He slapped her once, twice, three times, his hand striking her face with the monotony of a pendulum. He stopped only when she at last lay still.
He yanked her skirts and petticoats up around her waist. He loosened his own clothing, but when he had bared himself she struck his sex with her fist and he grunted, doubling over in pain. Again the men laughed.
Grosbeck found a roll of twine and bound Margarita's hands beneath the hammock. She screamed, kicking at him as he climbed into the hammock, but to no avail.
Seven other men ravished her after Grosbeck was done with her. At last Grosbeck carried her, bleeding and unconscious, to the captain's cabin. He knocked, and when Bouchard opened the door, Grosbeck held Margarita toward him.
"You wanted her," he said. "Now take her."
Bouchard took Margarita in his arms and carried her across his cabin, laying her gently on his berth. He shook his head sadly as he removed her soiled clothes. Bringing a basin of water, he placed it on the deck beside the berth and used a cloth to bathe the blood and filth from her naked body.
When he had finished, Bouchard dimmed the lamp until the cabin was in almost total darkness. After removing his clothes he folded them carefully over the back of a chair, went to the berth and stood looking down at Margarita. He spread her legs, took her limp body in his arms and entered her.
When she recovered consciousness her body ached and her head throbbed, and when she tried to raise her head, she gagged. Bouchard lay asleep beside her. She crawled from the berth, pulling herself to her feet and leaning against the table. Her hands examined the clothing on the chair but found nothing of hers. Hanging from a peg on the bulkhead, though, she found a pistol and the dirk. After she pulled the dirk from its sheath, she ran her finger along the blade, the dried blood flaking off under her touch.
Margarita turned, holding the dirk in her hand, and looked down at the sleeping figure of Bouchard. She shook her head, then knelt beside the berth, holding the dirk in both hands as though it was an offering. She tried to say the rosary but the familiar words of the prayers eluded her.
"Hail Mary," she whispered. "Oh, Mother Mary, forgive me for what I'm about to do."
She bowed her head and put the point of the blade against her bare flesh beneath her left breast, under her lowermost rib, then plunged the dirk upward into her body to its hilt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alitha stared at the spear protruding from Malloy's back. She looked past his fallen body and saw an Indian, naked, brown-skinned, black-haired, running toward her. She edged away, fearfully crossing her hands over her breasts.
The Indian stopped and held out both hands with his open palms upward. The little finger of his left hand, she noticed, was missing. He had a net bag slung over one shoulder and a piece of wood thrust in his thick hair. When she suddenly realized he wasn't a man at all but a boy, she stepped forward, raising her own hands as he had. The boy, who must have been no more than ten or eleven, she decided, stared at her, then lowered his hands and looked down at Malloy.
Putting his foot on Malloy's back, the Indian grasped the end of the spear and levered it from side to side. Alitha closed her eyes. When she heard a wild cry, she opened her eyes to see the Indian standing with the blood-tipped spear held high above his head. Raising his face to the darkening sky, he began a slow, rhythmic chant.
She watched him in wonderment and fear. The chant over, he lowered his spear and stared at her. Alitha drew back. The boy took the spear,
Grosbeck put one arm around her waist from behind and again lifted her into the hammock, getting on top of her before she could flee. She raked his face with her nails, and the watching crewmen laughed. He slapped her once, twice, three times, his hand striking her face with the monotony of a pendulum. He stopped only when she at last lay still.
He yanked her skirts and petticoats up around her waist. He loosened his own clothing, but when he had bared himself she struck his sex with her fist and he grunted, doubling over in pain. Again the men laughed.
Grosbeck found a roll of twine and bound Margarita's hands beneath the hammock. She screamed, kicking at him as he climbed into the hammock, but to no avail.
Seven other men ravished her after Grosbeck was done with her. At last Grosbeck carried her, bleeding and unconscious, to the captain's cabin. He knocked, and when Bouchard opened the door, Grosbeck held Margarita toward him.
"You wanted her," he said. "Now take her."
Bouchard took Margarita in his arms and carried her across his cabin, laying her gently on his berth. He shook his head sadly as he removed her soiled clothes. Bringing a basin of water, he placed it on the deck beside the berth and used a cloth to bathe the blood and filth from her naked body.
When he had finished, Bouchard dimmed the lamp until the cabin was in almost total darkness. After removing his clothes he folded them carefully over the back of a chair, went to the berth and stood looking down at Margarita. He spread her legs, took her limp body in his arms and entered her.
When she recovered consciousness her body ached and her head throbbed, and when she tried to raise her head, she gagged. Bouchard lay asleep beside her. She crawled from the berth, pulling herself to her feet and leaning against the table. Her hands examined the clothing on the chair but found nothing of hers. Hanging from a peg on the bulkhead, though, she found a pistol and the dirk. After she pulled the dirk from its sheath, she ran her finger along the blade, the dried blood flaking off under her touch.
Margarita turned, holding the dirk in her hand, and looked down at the sleeping figure of Bouchard. She shook her head, then knelt beside the berth, holding the dirk in both hands as though it was an offering. She tried to say the rosary but the familiar words of the prayers eluded her.
"Hail Mary," she whispered. "Oh, Mother Mary, forgive me for what I'm about to do."
She bowed her head and put the point of the blade against her bare flesh beneath her left breast, under her lowermost rib, then plunged the dirk upward into her body to its hilt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alitha stared at the spear protruding from Malloy's back. She looked past his fallen body and saw an Indian, naked, brown-skinned, black-haired, running toward her. She edged away, fearfully crossing her hands over her breasts.
The Indian stopped and held out both hands with his open palms upward. The little finger of his left hand, she noticed, was missing. He had a net bag slung over one shoulder and a piece of wood thrust in his thick hair. When she suddenly realized he wasn't a man at all but a boy, she stepped forward, raising her own hands as he had. The boy, who must have been no more than ten or eleven, she decided, stared at her, then lowered his hands and looked down at Malloy.
Putting his foot on Malloy's back, the Indian grasped the end of the spear and levered it from side to side. Alitha closed her eyes. When she heard a wild cry, she opened her eyes to see the Indian standing with the blood-tipped spear held high above his head. Raising his face to the darkening sky, he began a slow, rhythmic chant.
She watched him in wonderment and fear. The chant over, he lowered his spear and stared at her. Alitha drew back. The boy took the spear,
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