Mary’s Unexpected Journey

Author’s note: This is a story, and the author is aware that it is not 100% historically accurate, although efforts have been made to ensure some degree of realism. It is a work of fiction, however, and intended to be no more than that.



Mary’s Unexpected Journey

“MORE ALE, WENCH, MORE ALE!” the man cried, slamming his empty tankard on the wooden table, causing the flame from the candle in the centre to flicker. He and his three companions guffawed loudly and joined in a chorus of shouts for more, laughing, stamping their feet on the flagstones and banging their own tankards.

With a benign smile, Mary filled two pitchers of ale from the barrel of beer behind the bar counter and then, ducking under the oil-lamps that illuminated the bar, approached the men sitting at their table at the far side of the room.
Although they were getting a bit rowdy that was nothing unexpected – many sailors visited the port of Dartmouth, its deep-water tidal estuary and high valley sides were the perfect shelter for all sizes of ships. These men were no exception, hardened seamen each and, typical of sailors ashore, drinking heavily.

However, they had good humour, and tipped well. Mary was pleased to serve them, as she was most matelows, as her weekly wage of two shillings was paltry. Tips from wealthy customers could sometimes add several farthings to her pay.
Mary had learned that if she wore the top of her blouse pulled low, and strapped her corset tightly, that men loved to look down the valley formed by the gap between her generous bosom. Such men as those were inclined to tip more, and more often.

Mary was glad of her underbust corset, the only item of undergarments that she possessed. It held in her rounded tummy, and pushed up her breasts, giving her close to the figure she longed for, like the daguerreotypes of rich and regal ladies from London which hung in the foyer of the town hall.

How Mary wished that one day she might visit London, its glamour and mystique seemed a life removed from that of a poor orphan girl in a small Devon town. Perhaps she might even go to a theatre to watch a play by the man they called The Bard, who had died just a few years earlier.

At twenty, Mary was as old as the century itself. Her father, a Royal Navy bosun, had died at sea when she was aged two, in a skirmish with a vessel of the Spanish navy, and her mother had succumbed to smallpox four years later.

Her upbringing in the Orphanage of Saint Saviour’s had been austere and bleak, gruelling physical work and harsh treatment. Memories of being awoken early on chilly winter mornings, washing in cold water, dressing in the dark then walking across to the adjacent Church of Saint Saviour’s in order to clean and polish the ornate ironwork door, or dusting the interiors and seeing to the rood screen within came back to her mind.

Mary was slightly less unfortunate than some of the other children as an endowment, a legacy of her father’s death in the service of the King, ensured that she received more substantial meals than otherwise, although she often gave some of her food away to other children who remained hungry even after the daily supper of vegetable broth and bread.

Beatings with a stick or belt were not uncommon, for girls as well as boys, although Mary often escaped punishment due to her capacity for hard graft and an aptitude for school lessons, a determination to one day escape her poverty driving her on.
She had proved an able and eager pupil in the classroom, learning her numbers by the age of nine, and her letters by thirteen.

Mary was shaken from her reverie as she reached the table, and began pouring ale from her pitchers into the tankards of the waiting sailors. Their speech was coarse but good-natured, bantering with the young woman.

“Har har har, lovely pair of jugs!” said one, chuckling heartily.

“Arr, I do keep thinking of peaches for some reason!” said another.

One of the men grabbed Mary’s buttocks through the pleats of her skirt as she bent forward, grasping tightly.

“OUCH!” exclaimed Mary, standing upright “Unhand me, sir, you cad!” she admonished, although she giggled coquettishly as she did so, well used to men pawing or groping at her.
The sailors all laughed loudly.

The men had already tipped her a penny each, a day’s wages for a young barmaid, and she well knew that plenty of flirting would earn her more besides.

Most of the other customers had slipped quietly into the darkness of a Saturday night, the locals only too aware that bibulous seamen were best avoided, and although these were private merchantmen rather than Royal Navy sailors they could still cause trouble later.

Old Joe, who ran the inn looked over from his position behind the bar and rolled his eyes. Outwardly he tried to affect an air of disapproval of his barmaid’s flirting but he knew that it was good for business, and usually prevented drunken mariners from causing damage in the bar.

Mary had worked for him for five years now, and had been one of the best girls he had employed in his score of years running the inn known as The Carv’d Angel. As Mary returned to the bar he heard the men shout once more.

“Landlord! Landlord!” they cried. One spoke up above the others.

“Some Marc, Landlord, some Marc!” he hollered.

Joe took a key from the pocket of his britches, opened a wooden cabinet on the back of the bar, and removed a bottle of pomace brandy. Pouring the clear liquid into four glasses he placed them upon a tray. Mary carried the tray to the table and set the glasses before the men. One called out to the innkeeper.

“Landlord! Another glass, if thee will!”

Affecting an air of puzzlement, Joe poured another measure and placed it on the bar. Mary took it to the table and set it down, but the men clamoured for her to drink it herself.

She glanced at Joe, who gave a tacit nod. It was nearing the end of the night, and if the men were prepared to spend even more money on expensive spirits in order to give them away then that was fine with him.

Mary lowered her face, cocked her head to one side and turned her eyes innocently upwards “Art thee tempting me with strong liquor, sire?” she asked, although the thin line of a smile on her face belied her naïve words.

The men guffawed once more, clapping loudly. One said “Arr, a lass such as thee, I daresay ye could ne’er handle strong drink, eh?” challenging her to consume the drink.

“Oh no?” said Mary, with an air of mock defiance. Picking up the glass she took a deep breath and raised the glass to her lips, tipping the liquid into her mouth and gulped it down in one.

Uproar followed from the four men, cheers and catcalls rang out, and they capered in their seats like tethered dancing bears.

“Ha ha! She swallows well!” one spluttered, to a peal of laughter. “Barkeep, five more if you will!”

Joe brought over the bottle and refilled the glasses, giving Mary a disapproving frown. Mary winked at him. He rolled his eyes once more, but gave Mary a subtle answering wink.

“Leave the bottle, landlord.” said one of the men. “And pray, let this young maid sit and take drink with us as a reward for her hard travails this eve?” He motioned for Mary to draw up a wooden seat and join them. Blushing slightly, Mary obeyed. It was a relief to sit down, having spent many hours on her feet whilst she worked, the hard wooden shoes making her feet ache, despite the cork insoles she had fashioned for them.

Now turning to his comrades the man said “Heads and tails for who doth pay?” the company nodded, each fumbling in their pockets and producing canvas pouches. They all opened them, revealing a selection of golden doubloons in each. Mary’s eyes opened wide at the money, glittering even in the dim light of the inn.

One of the men passed a coin to Mary, then they each slammed a coin down on the table, keeping it covered with their hand. “Spin the coin, good lady.” said one, and Mary tossed it into the air, catching it and placing it on the table. She noticed that the coins were in fact sovereigns, golden guineas worth twenty-one shillings each.

Her coin bore the image of the king, and the men removed their hands, revealing that three of them also had Heads. These men screamed with laughter, jeering their comrade who reluctantly left his coin on the table, and added a second. Picking up the coins he launched them in an arc towards Joe who, despite his age and the dim light caught them adeptly. His eyes now opened wide as he saw what the coins actually were.

“That should cover us for the ale and brandy, doth it not?” Said the man who had paid.

Each of the two coins were easily much more than the value of the drinks they had consumed, and so Joe bowed his head politely, and graciously smiled and confirmed that indeed, it was. He returned to the bar, leaving Mary sitting with the four seafarers.

They drank another round of the brandy and introduced themselves to her; John Cooper and Gilbert Wilson, helmsmen, Richard Ward, cook and Robert Standish, bosun. They revealed that their ship, normally a cargo hauler, was currently sailing as a ferry “Carrying folk along th’ coast, port to port. Not th’ most excitin’ o’ trips as yet, but the pay is good.” said Cooper.


Mary found herself particularly attracted to Robert Standish, perhaps as his rank on the ship was the same as that of the father she could not remember, the father-figure she never had. They drank another round of spirits, emptying the bottle.

As he spoke of the ship’s journeys to foreign lands Mary found herself imagining travelling the world. A pipe-dream for a poor girl such as her, but a fantasy nonetheless.

By now, three large brandies were beginning to make Mary slightly light-headed. Her head was resting on Robert’s shoulder as she laid her hands gently on his arm.

Somewhat drunkenly she suddenly asked “Are there really men with black skins?”

The company laughed uproariously at her naivety. Cooper spoke “Indeed there be darkies in far-off lands, we’ve seen them!” he chuckled “They wear no clothes, women as w’ll as men – and the men all ha’ manhoods the size of your arm hanging down!” He placed the palm of his left hand in the crook of his right arm, and raised his right fist.

As the others roared with laughter Mary straightened up and gasped in mock surprise“Why sir, I’m sure I know not of what you speak!”

Wilson the cook chortled “You mean you hath never known a man? I wager that is not the case!” he said.

Mary’s cheeks flushed red. Indeed she had known man. Several men in fact. Having left the orphanage at the age of fifteen she had gained lodgings with the Widow Babbacombe, an aged woman who lived alone in a large house following the death of her husband many years earlier. Old Mrs Babbacombe had taught her the secret of avoiding being with child. Her words echoed still in Mary’s mind “A week from the beginning o’ the curse is fine, but ne’er the two weeks hence, then the fourth week ye be good again.”

Mary had used this knowledge to great advantage in the past. Once, after a brief liaison with a handsome young boatman who worked on the riverboats she had been given passage up the river for a day out in the market town of Totnes, ten miles upstream, past the villages of Stoke Gabriel and Dittisham. It was the only time in her life Mary had ever left Dartmouth.

Her willingness to accompany a man to his bed chamber had gained her several friends among the local menfolk, although many of the town’s womenfolk and clergy were less pleased.

At church on a Sunday Mary frequently overheard talk behind her back suggesting that she ought to be put in the pillory in Smith Street, and that she brought disgrace upon the town. Mary was unperturbed. After her hard upbringing she was prepared to do whatever she needed to in order to get by in life, and damn what anyone else thought.

Right now, she knew that it had been twenty-two days from the beginning of the curse, so safety was assured. She smiled, clutching once more at Standish’s arm. “Mayhap I hath known of man. Mayhap I may know of him again afore this night is out.” she said, coyly.

The four hooted and whistled loudly. As the tankards and the brandy bottle were now empty, Robert suggested that they depart, and invited Mary to return with them to “visit our fair vessel for a time”

Mary agreed, and fetched her shawl from behind the bar. Old Joe shook his head at her, but gave a final conspiratorial wink before she departed.

As the five of them stumbled out into the night, past the carved cherub which stood above the doorway of the inn they looked back at the building, its black tarred oaken beams breaking up the whitewashed areas of wall. Mary blew out the lamp which hung outside the front door and wrapped her shawl close around her shoulders. Summer was nearing its end, and the threat of autumn was in the air. She heard the bolts slide shut inside the door, so she knew she was alone with the four sailors.

She had no fears though, for although mariners could be a rough lot, they were generally salt-of-the-earth types, and she felt strangely safe clutching Robert’s arm. The brandy warmed her insides, causing her to stumble a little as they made their way from Higher Street down Broad Steps to the Embankment. Her shoes clattered on the wide flagstones and John Cooper seized her other arm to steady her. He maintained his grip as they descended, then they walked unsteadily past the Butterwalk along the promenade towards their ship.

All four men chattered and joked, making several lewd comments about Mary’s ample assets, several of them groping her rear on occasions, causing her to giggle and eventually hiccough.

Illuminated only by the moonlight, the five made their way towards the wharf of Bayard’s Cove at the far end of the embankment. As they approached the dock-master’s office at the entrance of the narrows that led to the Cove they crept quietly, not wishing to draw attention to the fact that a woman was being smuggled surreptitiously on board a vessel.

Like the Carv’d Angel, the dock-master’s office was a tall Tudor building, its whitewashed walls broken up by dark tarred beams. As they neared the narrows they realised their caution was unwarranted – in an office on the ground floor a night-watchman slumbered soundly in a chair. The five of them chortled, each placing their hands on their mouths and whispering “Hushhh!” to one another.

As they came out onto Bayard’s Cove itself the ship, a four-masted vessel of a good thirty yards in length could be seen at the far end of the short wharf. In the moonlight Mary read the name of the vessel, engraved upon a plaque below the captain’s room in the stern of the ship.

The scent of the salt air filled Mary’s nostrils as she walked along the quay.

Her feet stumbled on the cobble-stones of the cove, and she almost slipped whilst continuing to hiccough. From behind her a voice said “We’ll have to cure thee of those – close your eyes!”

Mary did so, to no relevance though as from behind her a pair of hands covered her eyes. She heard muttering then a voice said softly “This’ll cure thy hics, fair maiden” she suddenly gasped as a pair of hands grasped her breasts, and a pair of lips covered her own. A tongue wriggled its way into her mouth, exploring deeply. She felt the man in front of her press close, the hard lump of his manhood pressing against her belly. Behind her the man holding her eyes also pressed close, rubbing his pelvis against her rump. He too had a hard lump, pressed against her behind.

With a sudden start Mary realised that she was going to be expected to let all four men have their way with her, not just Robert as she had thought initially. The shock was more than tempered however both by the after-effects of the brandy and the feelings coursing through her body as she felt two sexually excited men gyrate against her. She could feel herself moistening inside, as she realised that she had nothing to lose. Mary had enjoyed sex with one man at a time, four would simply be four times the pleasure, and in the morning the men would sail away on the tide, probably never to be seen again in the town, so no-one would ever know what she had done.

Suddenly she was released from their grip and swept up a gang-plank onto the deck of the ship. From there she was hastened into a room at the rear of the main deck, “Steerage” she was told. In the centre of the room a wide pole protruded upwards from a hole in the deck, as tall as a man. The rear of the room was dominated by a pile of folded canvas sheets.

In the gloom someone lit an oil lamp, throwing a strange yellowy glow across the room. Robert held a finger to his lips “Quietly now, we shall not awaken our passengers, lads!” he warned.

A little nervous now, Mary turned to face the four men. In the light she could see that their eyes were fixed upon her, travelling over ever inch of her body, their lusty smiles only serving to heighten her sense of anticipation.

The smell of caulk and pitch, mixed with the reek of sweat and urine seemed to emanate from the very boards of the ship itself. Mary paused for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly Cooper spoke “Well come on then, let us see it!”

Taking a deep breath, Mary turned around,slipped off her shoes, the damp wood of the boards cool against her feet. She undid the fasteners to the side of the waist band of her skirt, and let it fall to the floor, exposing her bare flanks and rump. She stepped out of the skirt and turned back to face the four men, who had stepped forward and surrounded her.

They gaped at her hairy mound, licking their lips in anticipation.

“Titties!” said Ward excitedly“Let us see thine titties!”

Obediently, Mary crossed her arms and began to pull her blouse upwards. As she did so, her pendulous breasts swung free, propped upwards by the corset below them. Before she had even lifted the blouse off her head a pair of lips clamped down onto each of her nipples, and hands grasped at the smooth, goose-bumped white flesh exposed. She tugged the garment free, to see that it was Ward and Cooper who suckled at her breasts, their hands sliding up the inside of her thighs, stroking over her pubis, fingers running through her pubic hair.

Robert reached out for her face with both hands, pulling it towards his own, and kissing her, his tongue reaching into her mouth, probing, exploring. Behind her Wilson fondled her rear, his fingers kneading the flesh of her buttocks,his breath hot upon her shoulders as he pressed against her, his mouth kissing the nape of her neck, gnawing at her ear lobes.

Suddenly a finger slid into her wet slot, whether Cooper’s or Ward’s she knew not, nor cared, the tip briefly tickling her clitoris before digging deep into her. Mary let out a moan of pleasure, closing her eyes and allowing the men free reign with her body.

A second finger joined the first, the digits curving round to stroke deep within her against the front wall of the inside of her vagina, raising her pleasure further. Suddenly the fingers withdrew. Standish released her from the kiss, stepping back to watch what was happening.

Ward released her right breast from his mouth and fell to his knees. Cooper continued to suck her left breast, his left hand grasping her free nipple.