THE LAND FARMERS AND THE SAILOR BOYS
The Galley Slave
T-Boy approached his slave, who was still blindfolded and hobbled with his wrists fastened in the small of his back. He even still had the choke chain round his neck.
T-Boy used a small kitchen knife carefully to cut a slit in the layers of gaffer tape at the back of Steve’s head. Putting the knife down T-Boy pushed his fingers down between the tape and Steve’s head several times, loosening it somewhat and causing a lot of flinching and desperately suppressed squeals. He then quickly pulled the cut ends of gaffer tape from the back of Steve’s head and round to the front thus removing it forcibly.
That hurt!
In spite of his word of honour, Steve vocalised!
“That’s alright”, T-Boy reassured him, “You need to be allowed to speak so that you can be very, very polite to your masters”.
He was led, still on his knees, by the choke chain to the table where, now his vision was recovering, Steve could see the Sea Scouts sitting playing cards and drinking Coke. A lot of the things in the Log Cabin had been “re-cycled” from elsewhere. The huge refectory table measured about 1.8 by 3 metres. It was great as a dining table and for laying-out maps. It was even better for stretching out enemies for interrogation.
Little Steve was instructed to go round each of the Sea Scouts in turn and ask, politely, if it was OK to clear his dishes. This was to be no easy feat. He was not allowed to stand up. T-Boy released his arms from the rope, removed the choke chain and instructed him to start. He asked Sam, “Pease, Sir, May I clear your plate now?” Sam graciously assented and Steve reached for the plate, ice cream bowl, fork and spoon and stacked them. By the time he had done this to all present (except Scott), Steve was building quite a pile of crockery and cutlery. He was also building quite a pile of resentment!
T-Boy announced that his slave could stand up for the rest of his task. He must not, however put down his burden. Steve spotted the trap immediately. He was still hobbled and it would be difficult enough to stand even without an armful of dishes and cutlery. He had found out in the past that, if he got into a seated position, crossed his ankles and leaned forwards, he could stand without using his hands except for balance. However, he had never had to change from kneeling to sitting or from sitting to standing without using his hands whilst trying not to drop a somewhat unstable load.
He was beginning to appreciate the “prospect of revenge and retribution” aspect of the games in which he was becoming involved.
He just about managed the transition from kneeling to sitting in spite of its having been made more difficult by a 30 cm hobble between his ankles. Steve was suddenly aware that the Sea Scouts were no longer ignoring him. They were enjoying his distress and making informal bets on whether he would manage to stand without dropping anything thus avoiding further punishment.
The Sea Scouts didn’t really mind if the load was dropped. Plastic and metal both bounce. But watching the Galley Slave suffer did make for good sport.
There was sneaking admiration for what Steve had achieved so far. He went for it. He crossed his legs, tucked them in, offered the pile of utensils forwards to assist balance and, quite slowly, stood up.
There was even a short round of applause from his captors when he succeeded and appreciative calls the like of, “Come on, My Son” and, “Nice one, Shorty”.
T-Boy led his slave to the galley and the rest of the hostage takers turned their attention to Scott.
As Galley Slave, Steve had to start with the washing up. T-Boy replaced the hobble with a length of chain. On one end of the chain a hobble of about the same length was padlocked tightly to each ankle. The other end was fastened to the metal framework supporting the sink. This allowed Steve to reach all areas of the small galley but he could not leave it.
T-Boy then produced another length of chain. This was comparatively light with short links. There were also two small padlocks. They were quite rusty and had obviously been well used. This chain was padlocked tightly around the slave’s wrists leaving him about 60 cms of separation to enable him to perform his tasks.
The galley was on the opposite side of the room from the fire and, if the boiler was not on, it would not have been particularly warm for a boy wearing only his swimming shorts. As it was the flagstones were cold on his bare feet. From where he was he could see what was happening to Scott but didn’t dare to look for too long in case the Sea Scouts decided that he wasn’t working as hard as a slave should.
Steve soon washed the plates, bowls & cutlery using the supply of water from the calor gas boiler topped off with cold water from a nearby bucket. He then had to clean the cooking pots and preparation utensils. The next task was drying up and putting away. T-Boy was very particular about the tidiness and hygiene of “his” galley and there was a labelled place for everything. This made Steve’s labours reasonably easy and it was with a considerable sense of relief that he finally put away the last vessel.
Steve now took the opportunity to see how Scott was doing. Not a pretty sight!
T-Boy heard Steve call, “Please, Sir, I’ve finished.” This was probably a wise move, although it might not seem so. If he was not seen to be busy, further suffering was sure to ensue. T-Boy came away from the “entertainment” being provided by Scott to inspect the work so far.
He looked around his precious galley and noticed the remains on the food preparation area. He also decided that the galley in general was not clean enough for him. He took Little Steve’s jaw in his hand and tilted his head up to face him. “Clean this place up, slave.”
By now Steve had used all the boiling water for the dishes and there was no inside tap. Not good news. His master decided that Steve would have to make several journeys to the outside tap with a bucket to refill the boiler. There was no point in Steve’s trying to escape with the hobble and shackles on him. The Sea Scouts could hear his chains rattling to get a good idea of where he was.
T-Boy released his slave from the metal support, leaving him still hobbled and dragging the rest of his chain around. He also decided that, for the job in hand, Steve didn’t need so much separation of his hands. So he added another padlock shortening the chain to about 15 cms.
A full 20 litre bucket would have been heavy enough already for the little blond guy to carry with his hands fastened in front of him, but he would have to do it at least eight times, even without spillage, to ensure that the boiler was full. And it was now quite cold outside. Even the hard labour could not induce a sweat and there was now nearly as much goose-pimple as there was slave after the first few deliveries.
It must be said that T-Boy was not the only one becoming impressed by the little Land Farmer’s fortitude and stoicism.
The job was eventually completed after 10 bucketsful had been delivered but, of course, the water was not yet even tepid.
Having scraped the food preparation area clean and taken the food remains outside to the compost heap, Steve thought that it really wasn’t necessary for his master to fasten him to the sink support again. His master disagreed. He didn’t even lengthen his wrist shackles again. The chains were now chaffing quite badly but Little Steve didn’t want to display weakness.
The Galley Slave was left with water that was just off cold at best as he took the scrubbing brush to the galley surfaces. The loose section of his wrist restraints clanked almost rhythmically as he scrubbed. But there was worse to come.
The galley floor was now quite cold as Steve had to get down on his knees and scrub it. There was only the heat from the burner at the bottom of the boiler for comfort. The hard flagstones took some scrubbing before T-Boy was satisfied.
As Steve dried-off the floor, he wondered how much longer he could carry on but a quick look at Scott’s sufferings enabled him to find extra reserves.
His labours at an end, T-Boy unchained his slave from the support and took him across to the fire, next to where Scott still struggled to free himself from Alex’s hog-tie. The extra heat was welcome.
T-Boy noticed the chaffing caused by the tightness of the chains that he had applied to his slave earlier. He removed the padlock shortening Little Steve’s wrist shackles and loosened the loops around his wrists by two links. Steve was still unable to slip his wrists through the loops but the links of the chain no longer dug into him. The chain around his ankles was also loosened by one link on each side.
Steve was then ordered to step through the wrist-chain to put his wrists behind him. The padlock was then replaced drawing the slave’s wrists as close together as possible. His tormentors knew that he was supple enough to slip his backside between his arms and get his hands in front of him if the link was too long.
GP approached him with a roll of gaffer tape ready to blindfold him. Having had the previous blindfold ripped from his head, Little Steve wasn’t exactly keen to have the procedure repeated. It was time for drastic action. He decided that dignity could go hang.
“Permission to speak, my Masters.” implored the humble slave. Or at least that’s how he hoped the Sailor Boys would see it.
Permission was granted as long as the slave was prepared to touch his nose to the ground and beg.
“Dignity, be buggered.” he thought and knelt down and bent forwards, falling as he neared the floor until he was prostrate. He begged not to be blindfolded with the tape. He would rather suffer any alternative.
His masters graciously deigned to grant his humble petition. The Sea Scouts still needed him blindfolded in a way that would last overnight.
Steve felt like crap but he couldn’t put up with having tape pulled from his hair again and, as he lay there face down, he wondered what alternatives there were. He soon found out.
T-Boy found two redundant hike-tent bags in stores. They were the duffle bag style with drawstrings at one end.
Steve was hauled to his knees. GP, as usual, sprang into action. He pulled the smaller bag over his head and used the drawstring to fasten it, not too tightly, around his neck.
Even in the subdued light, Steve could still see light passing through the fabric when he faced the fire. Then GP added the second, rather more substantial bag over the first one. After it had been tied on, it was pulled down far enough to give a fair amount of fabric at the prisoner’s neck. The job was completed by the application of gaffer tape, again none too tightly, round both the bag and the victim’s neck. That did the job!
Little Steve had been here before (except for the chains and tent bags): on his knees, hands fixed behind him, hobbled and blindfolded. Plus ça change . . .
TBC