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"Damned heathens!" muttered Captain Jacobs "damned bloody savages". But he muttered impotently. There wasn't a blessed thing either he, nor any of his unfortunate crew of hardy young Englishmen and assorted Irish and Scots could do. They were very much at the mercy of pirates of the east indies. They were, in fact, in exactly the same position as those poor African souls in the slave ships of the good captain's Atlantic associates. Perhaps there was some fitting justice at work here. But the captain still muttered his smoldering, impotent fury. Here, in a filthy dungeon of a rudimentary fortress on a godforsaken island somewhere south of Borneo, he and his men lay naked and shackled, awaiting their fate on the largely ignored black market of European slaves captured and sold across South East Asia. Here, in 1754, European colonial power only extended so far. There were other powers here which had not yet been completely intimidated by European weaponry.
Jacobs vessel had run into trouble past Java, heading for Bombay. Blown off course, vessel in shocking condition, they had been apprehended by Lascar pirates. The lads had fought bravely as long as they could, but were eventually overpowered by these cruel bandits. They had known straight away what their initial fate was to be. These pirates scoured the trade routes for European vessels in distress. Finding one they would descend like vultures, subdue and disarm the crew, strip them naked, and haul them in chains down below decks, disembarking to ready slave forts in the archipelagos to await purchase by some local potentate or visiting Arab trader. The pits of the slave fortress were filled with white bodies; Dutch, French, Spanish, English, Irish and Scots. All fine young men, stripped of both clothes and slowly stripped of any notion of their superiority. They were coffled, whipped, beaten, made to shit where they were.
The captain's first mate, Mr O' Brien, a handsome young Irishman, black haired and milky white skin barely 23, had objected rather too vigorously to the pawing a Malay slave-trader had given him when they arrived first.
"jaysus, captain! He's at me manhood! The fookin swine wants me arse! No fookin way!"
But he was answered only by a lash across the face. Two swarthy lascar guards rushed up to aid the Malay. The poor Irishman was dragged to his feet by the coffle collar around his neck and hauled over a nearby barrel. The captain and the rest of the terrified crew had to watch as their comrade was merciless lashed across his bare white arse.
"Filthy white dog!" roared the Malay as he finally pulled the young man off the barrel and towered over him, grovelling and sniveling at his feet. " you will learn your place, dog. You will all learn your place. This dog here has earned the bucket."
This was a punishment which would become horrifyingly apparent later.
For now all the men could do was accept their new status. Toby, the 19year old English cabin boy went over to comfort O'Brien when the guards had left. The captain knew they were lovers. The captain himself had bedded Toby on occasion. He was a good lad. Warm hearted. And pretty enough to do in place of a woman when the circumstance was bereft of the latter. He lay down beside the whimpering O'Brien and kissed him, cuddling in beside him. "good lad" whispered the captain " you give him some peace tonight. We don't know what's coming tomorrow, but O'Brien could do some tenderness now".
The men eventually settled themselves down for the night.
White skin sweated incredibly in this sweltering prison. Morning came swiftly. An morning brought new indignities.