Dara

PART ONE. JOURNEY TO CHICAGO

Reflected in the ornate gilt mirror were all the intimate details of my body. Trying to be objective I searched the reflection from top to bottom for blemishes and to see if the passing years had brought about any changes. In my youth, when my breasts were no larger than two halved lemons, there was no concern in my mind for flaws in my developing body. Running wild over the hills and mountains of the Isle of Man I was only conscious of boundless energy and a strange restlessness each time I viewed my growing breasts and the black hairs that were beginning to cover the vent between my legs.

Now that I was approaching my twenty-second birthday I wanted the mirror to assure me that my body was just as desirable to men as it had been during the past seven years. Tonight of all nights I had to be at my best as Bertie and I would be together for the last time. Bertie, known throughout the land as His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, who would soon be married to Alexandra, the beautiful princess from Denmark.

Although we had been lovers for nearly two years, the Prince decided our affair must end because, as he put it in his rather husky voice and rolling his R's as he did when he was most serious, 'A married man must be more circumspect than a single man and, besides, if ever our affair became public knowledge, my mother and the British People would be extremely displeased. Considering that I will be a married man with a particularly beautiful young bride they would think that there could be no possible excuse for infidelity.'

He paused for a moment and then with a smile, 'Alex has a mischievous, gentle, childlike innocence about her that I find absolutely fascinating. I have quite lost my heart to her and would despise myself if I betrayed the trust she places in me.' He looked thoughtful for a moment or two and I tactfully kept my silence, waiting for what he might say next.

Coming out of his reverie he looked up and gave me a warm fond smile. He put his hands on my shoulders. 'My darling Dara, I will never forget you. There will always be a corner of my heart especially reserved for you and if ever you need my help and support, don't hesitate to call roe. You were my first love; indeed you taught me how to love, naturally and spontaneously. Mainly because of what I learnt from you, I will be an understanding, gentle husband with my beautiful Alexandra.'

Looking into the mirror once more I could see that the passing years had been kind to me. The breasts were, of course, larger than in my youth but not overblown or drooping. No baby had ever suckled at those nipples and they remained fresh pink and tilted slightly upwards. My belly gently curved outwards with its small navel which gave me a sly little wink when I pulled in the muscles. Pleasingly plump but firm thighs framed the small patch of curly black hairs that discreetly hid the vent. The vent, often referred to by one of my lovers as 'the cavity of enchantment'. Though there was nothing enchanting about the grunts and groans he made when he entered its pink interior. Yes, I was well pleased with the survey of my image in the mirror.

Five years ago I had boarded the steamship 'Packet' lying alongside the jetty in Douglas Harbour. Little did I know on that early spring day in 1858 that I would never return to my island home or that I would, after many adventures, become the mistress to the future King of England. I was bound for the port of Liverpool from where I would sail across the mighty ocean seas to America.

Relatives who had emigrated some years previously to settle in Cleveland, Ohio, had written home paying tribute to the boundless opportunities and wonders of America. Their descriptions of the new land fired my imagination and strengthened my determination to face the hazards of the journey to this far off country. With the optimism of youth, sustained by my experience of men of all classes, and my resilience and zest for life, I faced the journeying alone without any qualms. To bolster my confidence still more I had tucked into the stocking of my right leg a ten inch dagger, razor sharp on both edges.

I had my first man shortly after my fifteenth birthday. John Bruce didn't seduce me: I made all the running. He was the farmer I worked for who had an ailing wife who very rarely got out of her bed. I was obsessively in love with him to a degree that bordered on madness. Just under six feet, thirty years of good food and hard work on the land had given him a broad muscular body. His labourers respected him for his upright character and strong religious principles. They knew that if they fell upon hard times they could always turn to him for charity.

In contrast to his clean, well ordered farmhouse, the poor crofter's cottage where I lived was more like a pigsty than a home. It couldn't be otherwise. My widowed mother and her six children ate and slept in this one roomed hovel. During the winter months, with the door firmly shut to keep out the freezing cold wind, the stench was suffocating, for in addition to the children huddled around the peat fire there were hens roosting in the rafters overhead, ducks waddling across the earthen floor, and a young calf tethered to the foot of the bed. It was worse when my father was alive. He was a loud-mouthed braggard and a bully who treated us all, including my mother, most cruelly and spent most of his time at home on our one and only bed in a drunken stupor.

Although I had the constant company of my brothers and sisters I was a lonely child, detached from all that was going on around me, escaping into a world of my own imagination where John Bruce was my hero and my lover.

All my passionate feelings for him, which I had nursed secretly for years, came to a head on the night of the 'Mheillea', a harvest festival supper held in the school house adjoining St Luke's, the lonely little church on the ridge of the Royal Way, a track the Viking Kings had used in ancient times. I had been chosen that night to be the queen of the harvest festival. Crowned with a wreath of corn and roses, I graciously received with some ceremony, theBabban Ny Mheillaor Harvest Baby which was the last sheaf of corn of the harvest dressed in a baby's christening gown. As the queen, I was honoured to lead off the dancing and jigging with John Bruce as my partner. I was delirious with delight as he held me firmly in his arms in the dance and excited beyond measure at the closeness of his body to mine. He obviously found me attractive, I could see that by the way he was looking at me.

Later that evening he left the school hall for a breath of fresh air and a quiet smoke of his pipe. I'd seen his departure and left by another door at the rear to run pell-mell into his arms as he leaned against the meadow stone wall. Reaching up I got my arms around his neck and clung to him, drawing my whole body into his and kissed him with all my pent up passion. It took him a moment or two to realize who was kissing him so passionately on his full lips.

'Dara,' he protested, trying to push me off. 'You are too young for this sort of behaviour,' but I hung on to his neck, determined to give my virginity to the man I loved, and no-one else.

Squirming and rubbing up against him, and pushing my belly hard against his crotch, I sensed him yielding to my embrace and when his large, masculine hands came up under my skirt and cupped the bare cheeks of my bottom I knew that he would take what was offered to him so passionately. He was breathing heavily. To give him further encouragement I pressed myself even harder against him and wiggled my hips. He let out a long groan, it was almost like a cry for help.

Lifting me over the wall on to the grassy field he made haste to follow. I flung myself at him smothering him with kisses. He made a feeble attempt to push me away when I began to loosen the cod buttons of his breeches, but all the resistance faded when his cock, pulsing hard with hot blood, sprang out as I undid him. It stood out proudly when I got my soft, long fingers around it. My hands, as if by instinct, gently explored and caressed all his private parts. Getting a firm grip on his cock, I steered its head between my eager lips and into my mouth. In an effort to try to pull away from me he slipped and fell backwards on to the damp grass beneath us but I was not to be denied and quickly got astride him. Breathing very deeply, he raised me up a little and guided the head of his cock into me. When it penetrated right up into my giny and filled it to full capacity I had to suppress a cry of pain that was about to escape from my lips. As the flesh of my giny yielded and gave way to the thrust of the fullness of his cock I shuffled my buttocks and spread my thighs to get into a more comfortable position. Rather like a hen settling on a nest of eggs.

I had just got myself settled, and being without experience in these matters was wondering what I should do next, when he got his strong fingers painfully pressed deep into the soft flesh of the cheeks of my bottom and pulled me hard up against him and then began to see-saw me backwards and forwards. Suddenly he let out a cry of such intense feeling that I feared that I had hurt him in some way.

Are you all right, Mr. Bruce?' I asked anxiously as he lay back panting for air. Getting no reply, I became more concerned, 'Did I hurt you?' I enquired in a whisper and tried to get to my feet but he pulled me hard down on to him and brought his knees up against my back. I sensed then that I had not hurt him and that he had not cried out in pain but because of the intensity of his pleasure.

Spreading his hands around my thighs he moved me gently into a rhythm that opened my knees wider as he strove to push his cock further up me. It made me happy that I had been a satisfactory lover and in a feeling of exhilaration I wiggled and undulated in keeping with the upward thrusts of his hips. I felt proud and innocently delighted when, once again burying his strong fingers into my buttocks, he drew my giny tight up against him as a long deep groan shuddered through his body.

After a few minutes his breathing became more even and struggling out from underneath me he got to his feet and leaned against the stone wall. It wasn't long before I joined him to kiss him with all the ardour a young girl has for her first love. His cock was still hanging out of his open breeches so I got my hand around it and pulled gently until it got big and hard. It brought new vigour back into his loins and with almost brute force he turned me to face the wall and pushed my back down so that I had to cling to the protruding stones to stop myself falling.

Lifting up my skirt he forced his cock deep inside me. It filled my giny so suddenly that it squeezed the breath out of me. The soft curves of my bottom fitted snugly into his strong thighs. Leaning over my back he got his hands under my blouse and around my small firm breasts and then humped me with strong powerful strokes until he was finished with me. He lay slumped over me for some time and then suddenly crying out in anguish, he threw me to one side.

Buttoning up his trousers he said in a hoarse, low voice, 'May God forgive me… and you, for the terrible sin we have committed.'

I had no understanding of his remorse and protested emotionally, 'We have committed no sin. I love you with all my heart.'

He stood there in silence with his head hanging down from drooped shoulders.

'Please. Oh, please don't turn away from me,' I cried out with passion trembling in my voice, 'I live only for you. Nothing else matters.'

Without a word he scrambled over the wall and strode back to the school hall. Puzzled and confused by this frightening change in his mood I lay on the grass and hammered the ground with a clenched fist in a fit of angry vexation. Many times since then I have been left bewildered at the various reactions men have after a woman has pleasured them.

During the weeks that followed I pursued John Bruce unmercifully and, taking full advantage of the rare moments when we were alone together, clammered for his kisses and the intimacy of being crushed within his strong arms. He gave me no encouragement and looked upon me as a pestering nuisance.

On one occasion when he was supervising the milking in the byres I ran up to him and flung my arms around his neck. His forbearance snapped, and he spat out in irritation, 'Get off me, you rotten daughter of Satan. Keep your mind on your work,' he shouted and took me by the arm and dragged me back to the cow I had been milking.

I reached for the cow's udder and as I pulled hard on the tit, quickly turned it so that a stream of warm milk shot upwards, straight between his eyes.

He got so angry that there and then he threw me off the farm telling me never to return, but his conscience must have pricked him for the next day he used his influence to get me a job as a chamber maid at one of the largest and best hotels in Douglas.

Rejected and scorned by the man I loved, I resolved to get even by making as many men as possible submit to my female charms. Such is the Perversity of a young passionate girl scorned by her lover. Within a few days I had seduced the proprietor of the hotel, and, soon after, his bank manager, who dined every lunchtime at the hotel, insisting each time that I sat astride them as they lay on the bed. I wanted to be on top of all men and was determined that I would sit astride them rather than be spread-eagled beneath them. To have them submitting gratefully to the power of my sexual attractions gave me great satisfaction and to see them begging for my favours and snivelling and sulking when I refused them. Sometimes they were like puppy dogs panting for any tit-bits of favours I cared to grant them. I got my gratification out of seeing their red faces beneath me, distorted in an agony of passion, while I, cold-bloodedly, had nothing but contempt for them.

It wasn't long before the wife of the hotel owner got wind of the shenanigans going on between her husband and myself and, giving me a minute's notice, she ordered me off the premises. In all haste I presented myself at the bank and asked a toffee-nosed clerk if I could have a moment with Mr. Scott, the manager.

'Only if you have an appointment,' he said, adding, 'which I doubt very much.' He then looked down at his ledger as if I didn't exist.

'You,' I said haughtily as I prodded him with my finger. 'You tell Mr. Scott that Miss Tully wishes to speak to him at once and if you don't I will march into his office and tell him myself. Now look sharp, I haven't got all day to wait on the likes of you!'

He sat there aghast that I dared to speak to him in this manner and he gaped at me open-mouthed.

'Well?' I demanded. 'Are you going to get yourself off that stool and tell him, or should I do it myself?'

As if in a daze he stumbled to the manager's office and returned looking very subdued and told me very respectfully that Mr. Scott would see me at once.

Scotty, for that was how I often addressed him when I bounced up and down on him as he lay beneath me, patted me on the hand when I related what had happened at the hotel.

'Leave this to me, dear,' he said. 'When they bought the hotel they had to raise a very large loan from this bank. I can demand the return of that money anytime I wish to do so.'

He rose from his chair and putting on his overcoat said, 'I'll go along now and have a quiet talk with them. Make yourself comfortable in my chair and wait here until I get back. In the meantime I will instruct my clerk to bring you a pot of tea and some biscuits.'

It did my heart good to see the clerk bowing and scraping as he placed the tea and biscuits before me.

'I hope the tea will be to your liking. Just ring the bell on the side table if you require more,' he said as he backed out of the door, leaving me alone with my anxious thoughts as to what the outcome was likely to be after the day's events.

I didn't have any need to worry, for within the half hour Scotty was back to tell me that the job at the hotel was mine for as long as I wanted and that there would be no further talk of dismissal. I gave the dear old boy a hearty kiss and cuddle and returned to the hotel where I was given a polite but cold welcome by Madame. She told me that in future I would no longer be required to sleep in the servants' quarters on the top floor, as one of the guest rooms had been set aside for me.

Sizing up my new situation, I took liberties and worked when I felt like it and remained in bed till midday if I had had a strenuous night with one of the gentleman guests.

They were a mixed bunch of all ages and sizes: tall, short, fat and thin; retired service officers, civil and military; business men and dilettantes. They only had one thing in common: an eye for a pretty girl who was willing to be bedded. But it was I who bedded them, not they me. I picked and chose as I pleased and was always on top when they were in my bed. They either submitted to it that way or got nothing.

There was no hint for money or gifts on my part; nevertheless many of them discreetly left a gold sovereign or two under the pillow or returned later that day with a gift of jewellery. There were an equal number who took what I was giving freely without even a 'thank you' and came back a few days later begging for more of the same treatment. The hotel also prospered from my activities, for many of the male guests, single and even those with families, changed their plans when they made my acquaintance, stayed not just for a few days, but for a few weeks. The owners of the hotel eventually came to look upon me as a valuable asset they could ill-afford to lose.

With all this activity I would, undoubtedly, have become pregnant if it hadn't been for the good offices of the cook who, when she heard shortly after my arrival at the hotel of my affair with the proprietor, called me down to the kitchen for an intimate talk. Being a good Christian woman, she first tried to persuade me to give up my wanton ways and be a good girl in the future. Failing in this task, she then warned me of the terrible consequences that would follow the birth of a bastard child which she said was bound to happen if I continued to bed down with men.

After seeing she was getting nowhere on that tack she threw her hands above her exclaiming, 'Mercy, child, if nothing I can say will change your ways then get yourself along to Ma Bustin, the midwife in Fort Street, and for God's sake listen to her and take her advice for she is well versed in the knowledge of how a girl can be bedded without having a baby.'

After giving the matter some thought, common sense prevailed. Upon enquiring in Fort Street of Ma Bustin's abode, I was directed to a basement room in one of the hovels which composed the street at that time. Descending the rickety wooden steps to the basement I knocked repeatedly on the door without receiving any reply. Angry at wasting my time on a fruitless errand, I kicked at the door and, to my astonishment, it flew open. I stepped cautiously inside and, as my eyes became accustomed to the darkened interior, I saw a wizened old woman lying on a makeshift bed holding to her bosom half a bottle of gin. Ma Bustin I presumed. My deliberate coughing had no effect on her slumbers, so I picked up an empty pan and brought it down on the wooden table with a loud bang which immediately brought the old woman to her senses. She set up such a fearful squawking that it was a wonder the neighbours didn't come rushing to her aid.

She calmed down somewhat on seeing that the intruder was a mere girl. Coughing and spluttering between sips of gin from the bottle she rose from the bed.

Focusing her eyes on me in the dim light, she came right up to me and, looking into my face, mumbled, 'I don't know you. Who sent you?'

Before I could answer, there was another question. 'How many months are you with child? It will cost you plenty, you know that.'

Before she could go any further I burst out, 'I'm not wanting to get rid of a baby. The cook at the Crescent Hotel sent me. She said you would tell me how I could bed with a man and not get pregnant.'

'So that's it, is it? Well, sit down on the bed.' She pulled up a wooden stool and sat facing me. 'You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. You get my meaning?' she queried.

I didn't and had no intention of scratching her filthy back or allowing her to put her dirty hands on mine.

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she gripped my knee, took another sip of gin, and whispered hoarsely, 'How much are you going to pay for the secret knowledge that all women would like to learn?'

I opened my purse and offered her half a sovereign.

Displaying three brown-stained teeth in what was meant to be a smile, she said, 'Make it a gold sovereign and I'll tell you all you want to know and show you how to do it.'

I put the coin back in my purse and gave her a sovereign. Money was of no importance to me at the time as I had plenty of it. If she had asked for more I would have given it to her without any argument.

She brought forth from a corner cupboard a piece of sponge about the size of a hen's egg, a small bottle of vinegar and a wooden clothes peg, pouring a small portion of the vinegar into a cup she then filled it nearly to the brim with water. Putting the sponge into the cup she held it down with a finger until it was well soaked with the liquid.

'Alright, my dear, lie down on the bed and put your knees up.'

Before I had time to cry out in protest she had stuffed the wet sponge right up my giny with the wooden clothes peg. Outraged and angry, I jumped off the bed with the diluted vinegar dripping down my legs and glared at her. 'What the hell do you think you are doing, taking liberties with my privates!'

'Don't get yourself all worked up over nothing,' she replied. 'I had to show you how to do it. Now you know.'

Her voice took on a more serious tone. 'Calm yourself, my dear. Sit down on the bed. I have more to tell you and a question I must put to you.'

When I got settled on the bed she asked, 'When did you last have a show of blood?'

'I've just had one,' I answered.

She nodded her head. 'Then you will be alright. If you follow my instructions from now on you'll never have any worry about your monthlies; they will come along as regular as clockwork. But you must do it the way I say.'

'I don't like mucking about with my privates like that,' I protested. 'It's alright a man poking his thing up there, but it doesn't seem right for anything else to be in my giny.'

'Can you feel the sponge?' she asked.

I shook my head.

'That's alright then, you'll never know it's there nor will a man when he gets inside you. Take it with you wherever you go and you will never be caught napping.'

She got on to her feet and brought me another sponge. 'Don't have a sponge in for more than a day. The vinegar loses its sharpness to kill off his seed so change about, day after day; that is why you are going to need two sponges. There you are,' she said, wrapping the sponge, the bottle of vinegar and the peg in a bit of old newspaper and handing it to me. 'That will be ten shillings.'

I looked at the newspaper bundle in my hands. The whole lot couldn't have cost her more than sixpence, but I gave her half a sovereign as I wanted to get out of the place as soon as possible. Giving her the coin, I noticed her black-rimmed finger nails and made up my mind that as soon as I got back to the hotel my private parts would get a good wash. Looking back on those days, I'm very thankful the hotel cook and Ma Bustin took me in hand just in time. For there can be no doubt that with the way I was behaving, there would have been a baby in my belly before long. I've seen what happens to unmarried girls who have bastard babies. Their lives are not worth living and I was very fortunate to have escaped such a fate.

As it happened I had my men without any dire consequences. One of the happy consequences of my association with these gentlemen was a considerable sum of money hidden in a leather pouch under my skirt and in a similar pouch my jewellery was tucked in safe and secure. With this small fortune under my skirts I was able to travel first class and well able to afford a shared cabin.

After booking a berth in what was referred to as a 'second cabin' on Mr. Samuel Cunard's paddle steamer 'Britannia', all of one-thousand-one-hundred-and-fifty tons as the booking clerk kindly informed me, I made my way through Liverpool's docks, passing several masted sailing ships with their long bowsprits reaching out over the quayside.

Leaning wearily against the chandlers' shops were groups of sailors, glassy-eyed and washed out after a night of debauchery in the city's taverns and brothels.

The gangway was crowded with emigrants and their luggage. An officer standing under a huge red funnel which was belching heavy black smoke waved me below to the steerage quarters when I reached the deck but, when he caught sight of my booking ticket, was all smiles and servility and, with a bow, directed me to the poop and instructed a seaman to carry my leather bag to the intermediate cabins. We made our way across the deck which was cluttered with luggage, masts, spars, and rolls of sail cloth.

As I entered the cabin and before the door was shut behind me a loud authoritative voice demanded, 'Who are you, that you presume to enter my cabin before knocking?'

It was my fellow passenger with whom I was to share a cabin. She was a large, bulky woman and, by the look of her, weighed all of twenty stone.

'My name is Dara Tully and I am to share a cabin with you for this voyage,' I answered.

'Tully? Tully?' she repeated. 'I don't recall hearing that name amongst all the county families that I am acquainted with. Who are your family that they allow a girl of your age to travel alone without a chaperon? From your speech you are no gentlewoman and not a member of society.'

She was obviously going to worm the truth out of me before very long so I thought it better to make my position clear right from the start.

'My family are poor crofters and I have recently been in service in a hotel as a chamber maid. And I would be obliged if you will allow me time to unpack my luggage before you ask any more questions.'

She huffed and puffed as the blood rose to her face when she got the unvarnished truth of my background. She was an aggressive, overbearing woman with heavy features, flabby pendulous lips and protruding fish eyes.

'A common chamber maid sharing my cabin. Whatever next? I won't have it,' she shouted. 'I'll see the Captain at once.' And, before she slammed the door behind her, 'You can pack your clothes back into your bag. You are not sharing this cabin with me.'

I unpacked my luggage and was sitting on my bunk contemplating what I could do next when the door burst open and in marched 'Her Ladyship' accompanied by the Captain of the ship, a short, well-built man with a jovial red face and a merry twinkle in his eye.

He started off by saying, 'I understand, Miss, we are having a problem in this cabin.'

Getting to my feet and offering my hand, which he shook gently in an absent-minded way, he took stock of me.

He was about to say something else when I got in first. Speaking with that high-toned voice that I had heard the lady guests use at the hotel, I said, 'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Miss Dara Tully and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm sure.' I gave him a sweet smile as I looked directly into his eyes and, shaking him by the hand once more, said, 'How do you do?'

He was taken aback by the society accent and answered, 'Very well, Miss.' Then searching his mind for something to say, 'I hope you find the cabin comfortable and to your satisfaction.'

The twenty stone of fatty flesh of 'Her Ladyship' was trembling with indignation. Spluttering in her fury, she shrieked that I was 'nothing more than a common serving wench who had no respect for her betters', and then commanded the Captain to throw me out, bag and baggage, or she would report him to Mr. Samuel Cunard.

The Captain smiled when he heard her threat. He straightened his shoulders and drew himself up. 'Mrs. Ponsonby, please do calm yourself. I am sure you are mistaken. There seems to be no reason for complaint. Indeed, I think you are most fortunate to have as a travelling companion on this voyage a charming young lady with such refined manners.'

Before she had time to answer, he took me by the arm and steered me through the door saying, 'A word with you, Miss, before I get back to the bridge.'

Closing the door of the cabin firmly behind him he continued, it doesn't bode well for you having to share a cabin with such a haughty lady. In time she may come off her high horse and condescend to be more considerate of your feelings. This ship is fully booked and there is not another bunk to spare anywhere, otherwise I would have you transferred to another cabin.'

He smiled at me and, putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder, said, 'I know it's going to be very difficult for you, Miss Tully, but try to be patient with her. Take a promenade around the deck and when you get back to the cabin you may find her more agreeable and sociable.' Stepping back a pace, he gave a brief salute and hurried back to the bridge.

I was met with stony silence when I got back to the cabin so, after a few minutes of being treated as if I didn't exist, I departed to explore the ship.

My cabin was on the starboard side of the vessel and looking to the left I could see great confusion with officers shouting to seamen stepping over a swarm of luggage. Moving warily towards the aft deck I suddenly found myself overtaken by crowds of people rushing towards the steerage quarters below decks. Pushed about by the crowd, I was jockeyed willy-nilly down the steps with people carrying their luggage pressing hard up against me, intent only on getting below to secure the best bunks for the voyage.

It was sheer bedlam in the steerage quarters and I was thankful that I had a cabin on deck even if I had to share it with an ogre. The whole place was in an uproar. Women screaming at their children, babies suckling at their mothers' breasts, others bawling their heads off. Men struggling with luggage trying to stow it beneath bunks, occasionally losing their tempers with the children and their women and clouting them across the head with a flat open hand.

There were slatternly women already maudlin drunk, passing a half empty gin bottle to their friends who were droning through a song that was popular at that time in taverns and low dives.

They never got past the first stanza:

'Your husband gave to you a ring,

Set around with jewels rare;

You gave him a better thing-

A ring set around with hair.

Tra-la-tra-la-tra-la.' but they obviously didn't know the rest of the song because as soon as they finished their tra-las they started on the same words again.

Curses and bad language rose harshly above the general noisy swell of the hubbub coming from the emigrants as they pushed hither and thither. There being little or no ventilation, it was suffocatingly hot with a mustiness adding its contribution to the odour from unwashed bodies and babies' puke. One or two men started to ogle me so I strove to regain the level of the higher decks before they could get their hands on me.

I'd had enough of men with their lecherous advances and was sickened by my own shameful behaviour with them at the hotel. One of the main reasons for my decision to go to America was to cast off the past and begin a new life among people who knew nothing of my background.

The 'Britannia' was just leaving the dockside when I got on deck. Within the hour we were in the Irish Sea and heading for the Atlantic Ocean.

Come nightfall, with Mrs. Ponsonby and me undressing in stony silence as we prepared to bed down for the night, it seemed my head had hardly touched the pillow and I was off into a deep sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night the ship began to roll very hard and I was awakened by Mrs. Ponsonby moaning loudly in her bunk.

Lighting a small oil lamp attached to one of the cabin walls, I was about to ask her if she was in pain when, with a face greyish green with nausea, she leaned over the side of her bunk and disgorged the contents of her stomach. I thought she would never stop.

She spewed continuously for over five minutes until the floor of the cabin was covered in vomit. The stench was unbearable to my nostrils and the sour smell hung about me like a graveyard wraith. It was in my throat and choking me with nausea.

Collecting shoes, clothes, warm overcoat and blanket, I got out of the cabin before I spewed up myself. It took but a few minutes to dress and put on my overcoat. Luckily there was no one about to see me in a state of undress.

Tearing a small piece of material from the bottom of my petticoat, I wiped as much as possible of the vomit from my bare feet and put on my stockings and shoes, for my toes were becoming numb in the cold night air. Groping my way along the deck, I found a place near the rail sheltered from the wind and under a lifeboat hanging from its davit. I settled down on the deck with the blanket around my legs and the thick overcoat close to me to keep me warm.

Despite the hard wooden deck under my back I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was feeling a rough calloused hand Moving up between my thighs. The fingers of the hand squeezed the lips of my giny before I became wide awake to what was happening to me. Seething between fear and anger at this outrage, I slid my hand down the outside of my right leg and got a good grip on the handle of the dagger hidden in my stocking, brought it up quickly and prodded the sharp end at the arm between my thighs. Whoever it was let out an almighty yell which was followed by a stream of filthy language as he rocked back on his heels. I couldn't see his face but only the outline of his form, for there was only a ship's lantern behind him. By its dim light he could see my face but his remained in shadow.

'You will pay dearly for that, you fucking steerage whore,' he threatened with a hoarse voice. I felt his hand groping for one of my feet. Sitting up suddenly I leaned forward with the dagger in my hand. He must have seen the blade for he moved just out of my reach.

'You rotten stinking cunt, my arm is soaked in blood! I'll cut your bloody throat wide open if I get my hands on you.'

My blood curdled; I was in a cold sweat and scared out of my wits. Swallowing down the fear that was beginning to grip my throat, I whispered in a menacingly gruff voice, 'Make one, just one, move towards me and I'll cut your ears off and stuff them into your filthy mouth.'

He moved back a pace and stood up. He was about to walk away when he turned to me, his voice choked with anger.

'I've got to stop this bleeding, otherwise I would deal with you now. But get this straight, I'll have my eye on you night and day from now on. You won't get away with it. A pox on your twat,' he grunted. 'I'll see to it that you and your dirty cunt go to a watery grave over the ship's rail before we reach New York.'

The man was obviously insane with a dangerous quick temper and I feared for the days ahead. Waiting until I could no longer hear his footsteps, I picked up the blanket and made a dash for the steerage quarters and the safety of the company of the emigrants below decks.

Stumbling down the steps, I emerged into the steerage quarters where there were only one or two small oil lamps to relieve the gloomy atmosphere. I peered fearfully into the dark shadows between the rows of bunks. God knows, I thought, who is lurking in there, ready to jump out at me.

It came to me then that I would never know who it was that threatened me with a 'watery grave'. His face was never visible as it was always in the shadow, whereas what little light that came from the ship's lantern shone on my face. He would, throughout the voyage, be able to recognize me. There was no doubt in my mind from the way he uttered his threat that he meant every word of it and in the days to come would be stalking me and waiting for the opportunity to push me over the ship's rail. It could be any one of the seamen or any of the male passengers on the boat. Shuddering at the thought of being suddenly tipped overboard without warning I resolved I would move about with great care, always on the alert, looking for any man taking too much interest in me, or with an injured arm.

Impatiently waiting for the dawn, I spent the rest of the night wide awake sitting under one of the oil lamps with my hand resting on the hand of the dagger in my stocking. Escaping from the fetid air of the steerage and emerging into the bright daylight made me blink my eyes until they became accustomed to the change of light. Leaning against the ship's rail and looking at me with some amusement was a tall open-faced clergyman of middle years.

Because of my fears and the need of a trustworthy man I ran to him exclaiming, 'I'm in great danger. Will you please help me?'

His face immediately became serious and showed concern.

'Of course. What can I do to help you?'

Offering my hand I said, 'My name is Miss Dara Tully.'

'And I am,' he answered, 'the Reverend Robert Blake of the Presbyterian Church. You appear to be in some distress. Now tell me what can I do to relieve your anxiety?'

Leaning against the rail with us both looking out to sea, I told him of the night's events. As I related what had happened his face became more and more serious. He was silent for some time after I had finished speaking, and continued to look out to sea with a very stern expression on his face.

'What can I do?' I asked anxiously.

'You, Miss Dara, you cannot do anything, but I can. From now on, until we get to New York, I will be as close to you as your own shadow, guarding you night and day. When you are in your cabin you will keep the door locked and will open it to no one but me.'

His voice, rich and elegantly pedantic, reassured me that I was now safe under his guardianship.

When we opened my cabin door the stench was overpowering. I looked inside; the oil lamp was still burning and I caught a quick glimpse of Mrs. Ponsonby still lying on her bed covered in blankets with her face to the wall.

As I had already given the Reverend Blake my reasons for sleeping on deck, he expressed no surprise and, shutting the door, said, 'Come with me; that cabin will have to be cleaned before you can use it.'

He spoke to a seaman who fetched a mop and two buckets, one with a long piece of rope attached to the handle. Throwing the bucket over the side, he played out the rope until the bucket was full of sea water.

Mrs. Ponsonby, on her bed with her face turned away, ignored us while we watched the seaman who mopped and rinsed the floor three times with fresh sea water before we accepted that the floor was now as clean as a new pin. His face lit up when I proffered a few shillings as payment for his service.

'Now, young lady,' said the Reverend, 'into bed and catch up with lost sleep. Lock the door as soon as you get inside and don't open it to anyone but me. I will be back at midday with some food.'

From that day on I was in the constant company of Robert, as I came to call him. As the days went by I almost forgot about the menace of the man intent on murdering me and, much to Robert's concern, became forgetful about always being on my guard.

When he learnt of my desire to improve my education, almost all my daylight hours were taken up with lessons in English literature and grammar, Robert's favourite subjects. He set me essays to write so that I could improve my spelling and use of words, and fired my imagination with his enthusiasm to such an extent that in the years to come I never lost interest in the written word and became an avid reader of English literature whenever books were available to me.

When we were about four days' sailing time from America the ship began to roll very badly shortly after we got to bed and it tossed so heavily that more than once I nearly fell out of my berth. Within the hour the wind began to roar and howl as if determined to destroy everything afloat. Mrs. Ponsonby, moaning and groaning, turned over and spewed on to the cabin floor. Making a quick decision to move myself below decks, I collected my clothes and got out of the cabin. The force of the gale winds was so violent and the pitch of the ship so steep that I found it almost impossible to keep on my feet, and I was flung against the ship's rail.

Terrified, clinging with all the strength of my arms and hands to the rail, I viewed with horror and abject fear mountainous forty feet high waves crashing down on the deck. Shivering with cold and drenched to the skin, I heard the planks and woodwork of the lifeboat above my head splintering and cracking as it swung like a mad thing from its davit. The smoke stack was making loud cracking sounds and I feared that it would be blown over and set fire to the cabins on the deck. Seamen came from below, no doubt on Captain's orders, with strong heavy chains and began to lash the stack more firmly to the deck.

Peering through the sea spray and catching sight of the entrance to the steerage quarters, I got to my feet with the intention of making a dash for it. As I was waiting for a lull in the wind the ship suddenly pitched hard over to starboard. Seeing the deck heaving up before me I turned round to hold on to the rail with all my strength and then fell to my knees as the ship lurched further towards the raging sea until it was almost lying on its side. Something hard struck me on the back of the head and before my forehead hit the rail and I passed out, I heard above me a man's voice cry out in fear. When I came to my senses, my hands were still clinging fiercely to the rail. Feeling very dizzy, my head throbbing painfully, I crawled on hands and knees back to the cabin and collapsed on the bed. Oblivious to the storm raging outside, I dropped into a deep sleep.

By morning the raging wind had blown itself out and, although there was a heavy swell, it was calm in comparison to the night's violent gale. Robert awakened me about eight in the morning by which time the seas had gone down very considerably. Briefly, I explained my adventures during the storm, after his startled exclamation at seeing the swelling on my forehead, and asked him to allow me to sleep till noon as my head still ached. When he departed I fell into bed thankful that I could continue my slumbers.

By the time he returned at midday I was up and dressed and, although feeling rather delicate, was much refreshed after sleeping most of the morning. He had given a lot of thought to my account of what had happened during the storm and told me of his suspicions that the man who had threatened me with a watery grave had attempted to do just that when I was standing at the ship's rail the previous night, and no doubt would have succeeded in his evil intent but for the ship rolling so suddenly on to its side. It was his opinion that the man had rushed towards me with outstretched hands as I turned to hold on to the rail but flew over my head when I dropped to my knees, kicking me accidentally with his boot on the back of my head as he passed on to his own watery grave.

Later that day, in conversation with the Captain, Robert was informed that one of the seamen was missing and was thought to have been swept overboard during the storm. It seemed to Robert that the Captain felt no sorrow over the loss of this man as his reputation was of the worst. Constantly getting into fights because of his vile temper, he had become most unpopular with the rest of the crew and it was rumoured that he was responsible for the death of a man during a brawl in one of the back streets of Liverpool. One of the crew had seen him washing the blood from a deep arm wound on their first night out from Liverpool. No doubt the result of another fight in that port, the Captain had concluded. I thanked God for my lucky escape and looked forward to arriving at New York and getting the whole dreadful affair behind me.

Three days later we were piloted into New York's bay and its magnificent harbour. In the distance I could see the 'Great Western' and other ocean-crossing vessels lying off Sandy Hook, waiting for their next voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. The sun was blazing down on hundreds of wooden cottage-type houses which made up the city on the lower part of Manhattan Island as I gazed with rapt attention at all the bustle and preparation for our docking.

Having landed in America, the promised land for many of us, we immigrants had to face the officials at Castle Garden on Battery Park. The interviews and official papers were mere formalities for Robert and me as we were not considered 'undesirables', and we were given a warm welcome.

There was a crowd of people of all nationalities waiting to greet their immigrant relatives. Robert pointed out how easy it was to guess their origin in Europe: the Irish by their breeches, top hats and holding cudgels which they wouldn't hesitate to use in a fight; the Swedes with their vests of different colours; the Germans smoking their meerschaum pipes and wearing distinctive caps and short jackets.

I wasn't impressed by what I saw of New York as we were driven to the steamship 'Drew' that would carry us the one-hundred-and-fifty miles up the Hudson River to Albany. The streets were mired in slush and were without pavements, only an occasional high wooden sidewalk. There was filth lying about everywhere. The alleys running off the streets were knee-deep in mud from the overnight rainfall. I had expected to see a clean new city with impressive buildings, whereas it was mostly dilapidated wooden houses and broken down shacks and, to complete the depressing picture, there were chickens pecking at piles of garbage and pigs rooting in the gutters.

The steamer had comfortable cabins and a dining room where we ate our first American meal. Famished, as I had been without food since landing, I soon supped up the first serving of oyster stew and then tucked inside me chicken and lamb chops served with potatoes, peas and cabbage, and finished this substantial feast with buckwheat pancakes swimming in maple syrup. All around us people were gobbling the food in huge mouth-fuls as if they hadn't got a minute to spare.

There was a lot of strong earthy language with exclamations of 'Sodom and Gomorrah' or 'I'll be God-damned' and similar oaths coming from the male passengers, many of them chewing tobacco after their meal and spitting the dark brown juice all over the floor. I was to learn in later months that this filthy habit was prevalent all over America and even carpeted floors were stained with tobacco spittle. Nevertheless, their frank and unconstrained manners appealed to me and were a good deal more honest than those in England.

With that lovely satisfied feeling that comes with a stomach full of good food, Robert and I made our way up on deck where, leaning against the rail, we admired the beautiful scenery on either side as the steamship splashed its passageway up the Hudson River. It was then that Robert told me about his life in Edinburgh as a Presbyterian minister and of his beloved wife who had died of cholera after twenty-six wonderful years of a marriage where there was never a cross word spoken in anger by either of them.

After she had died he became a recluse and neglected his work, much to the dismay of his church members who tried to no avail to rouse him from his torpor. Every article of household furnishing, indeed nearly every feature of the streets of Edinburgh, reminded him of his dear Charlotte. When he received a letter from his brother in America commiserating with him on the loss of his wife and inviting him to come to Montpelier where there was a vacancy to be filled for a minister of the Presbyterian Church, it took but only a day's thinking to accept the invitation and remove himself from all that raised memories of his dearest Charlotte whose love he had cherished since he was but a young man of twenty years.

He informed me that our friendship which had developed from his guardianship on board the steamship 'Britannia' had lifted him from his three months of sorrowing and that he was now taking a new interest in life. I was totally unprepared for what was to come next.

Taking both my hands in his and looking down at our clasped hands he said, 'My dearest, you may be unaware of how fond I have become of you. You are constantly in my thoughts and although there is this difference in our ages I know beyond all doubt that I would be the happiest man in the world if you would become my wife and help me in my work as a minister for God.'

It took me a full minute to recover my senses and realize that this dear man who had gained my respect and admiration was actually making a proposal of marriage.

'Oh, Robert,' I sighed, 'if only I loved you as a girl ought to love her future husband I would accept your proposal with great joy. But the truth is I don't. You are my dear, dear friend and mentor and I am very fond of you.'

I paused for a moment trying to find the words that would put my refusal more tactfully. 'You deserve someone much better than I could ever be. I cannot see myself as a minister's wife and for that matter I have no intention of becoming anyone's wife. Marriage is not for me or ever will be. Please don't be hurt, dear Robert. I am honoured that you have asked me and if I had to get married I would rather be a wife to you than anyone.'

Without another word he kissed me on the forehead and departed for his sleeping quarters.

During our journey to Albany where we would have to part company no further reference was made to marriage and we resumed our friendship as before.

Disembarking at Albany, our first task was to take rooms at an hotel, for the next morning I would board an Erie Canal barge for Buffalo, three-hundred-and-sixty-four miles away, and he to set off for the green mountains of Vermont.

We would be going for hundreds of miles in opposite directions and would probably never see each other again. The thought of our parting made me feel very sad and I wished we could continue our journey together, but I knew no good would come of that.

Nevertheless, desiring to show my appreciation in some way for his kindness and protective friendship that had been constant from the first moment we met, I invited him to dine with me at the best eating place in Albany at my expense, adding that he must order only the very best dishes on the menu whatever the cost.

The dinner was a most excellent meal and we arrived back at the hotel after stumbling and falling about through dimly lit streets, both a little intoxicated from the wine we had drunk throughout the dinner. A gentle kiss on the lips and then he went to his room and I to mine.

I was slipping my nightdress over my shoulders when I thought I heard a light knock. Opening the door, I was surprised to see Robert standing there, bare-footed, dressed only in trousers and shirt, with tears rolling down his cheeks. Concerned at his distress, I brought him inside and shut the door.

He just stood there with bowed head. Going up to him I put my arms around his neck saying, 'There, there, Robert, don't take on so; we may meet again some day.'

He slowly put his arms around me and drew me in close. So close was I pressed up against him that I could feel the prominent bulge at his crotch. Experience of other men told me what that meant. The thought came to me that he had been without a woman for at least three months and if that was what he was in need of I would be only too happy to oblige. I would willingly have done a lot more to make him happy before we parted.

It took but a moment, crouched in a corner, to insert the sponge, slip off my nightdress and return to his arms, naked as the day I was born. He had his eyes closed and was breathing heavily as I unbuttoned his trousers and got him to step out of them.

When his trousers dropped his cock sprang up stiff and erect. I fondled it for a little while, then put it between my soft plump thighs. He groaned like a man being tortured beyond endurance. Pressing hard up against him, my tits flattened against his chest, I milked him by tugging at his cock with my thighs which had a firm grip on it. I could feel it sliding along the moist groove of my giny when I pressed hard on to him.

He suddenly gripped the cheeks of my bottom and pushed the head of his cock right through to my backside. It was pulsing strongly when I felt his arms crush me to him as his emotions climaxed. Then he swayed and his whole body seemed to crumple as he leaned heavily against me. I had to support him with my arms to stop him falling.

The tears were coming down his cheeks again and he was mumbling to himself. I could only catch some of the words:'… Oh, God, forgive me… Oh, Dara, I am deeply ashamed… I'm just a fornicating sinner like the rest of them… I'll never forgive myself.'

When I realized what he was saying I got annoyed. 'Don't be silly, Robert. You are not a fornicating sinner. You are a kind, decent man who has been without a woman for too long. We were not fornicating,' I said, 'you didn't even get it inside me. The truth is you haven't committed a sin. You love me and I did what I did because I'm very fond of you. Please don't take on so, it isn't anything to get into a bother about.'

Blinded by tears, he pushed me away from him and groped for his trousers. He needed my assistance to get into them and get through the doorway back to his own room.

Confused and unhappy that we should part this way, I slept uneasily throughout the night.

When I got downstairs in the morning Robert had gone, leaving a note in an envelope which read, 'Dara, please try to forgive me, Robert.'

I frowned and stamped my foot. How could he, I asked myself, deny his own natural feelings because of his religious beliefs and then take on so because they had got the better of him. I had been prepared to give him a whole night of love and kisses and send him on his way a happy and contented man. Instead it had all turned sour because of his damned religious beliefs.

Tearing his note into small pieces, I threw them into the street. I was doubly annoyed because, for the first time since John Bruce, I had wanted to give myself to a man freely, with affection, respect and a warm heart, and once again I had been pushed off.

The long days spent on the barge taking me through the Erie Canal to Buffalo were dull and boring, apart from the beautiful countryside which was like none that I had ever seen before. After boarding another boat I arrived at Cleveland, a town at the mouth of the Ohio River. My relatives had a farm about twenty miles south of Cleveland. A few enquiries in town led me to a carrier who was willing to take me to within a mile of Peel Farm.

They had named the farm after the town in the Isle of Man where they had emigrated from some eighteen years before. Since they had left the island a year or so before I was born, the only knowledge I had of them was gained from reading letters that they had written to other relatives. The Quirks were not close relations, Mrs. Quirk being my dead father's cousin, but being Manx, like themselves, I was sure that they would give me a warm welcome. As I had departed within a few days of making up my mind to emigrate, I had not written to inform them of my intentions as I knew I would arrive at the farm before a letter could reach them.

The farmhouse was like two log cabins adjoining each other to form a letter L, giving the impression that originally there had only been one log cabin and the second had been built at a later date when more house rooms had been required. There was a porch door on which I knocked repeatedly without getting any answer, so I wandered around to the back where there was a door held open by a small wood log. It was the door to the main room of the house. A spotlessly clean combined kitchen and living room.

A lovely appetizing smell of baking bread emanated from the room and the first thing I saw was half a dozen newly baked loaves on a very large wooden table. On the other side of the table a blonde haired woman, nearly six feet in height and stout with it, was kneading dough. She looked up for just a brief moment as I entered then stooped over her dough again. As I stood with my leather luggage bag, not knowing what I should do or say next, she asked without looking up from her work with the dough, And who might you be?'

'I'm Dara Tully from Baldwin Valley in the Isle of Man,' I answered.

This news was greeted with silence as she continued to knead the dough.

'I suppose you are Mrs. Quirk, my father's cousin.'

She quickly filled six baking tins with the dough and put them in the oven, then turned her full attention on me. 'So you are Sam Tully's daughter. How is he keeping these days?' she asked.

'My father is dead,' I replied.

She gave this information some thought for a moment then said, 'I always thought he wouldn't last very long. Too fond of the drink, that one,' and then, 'What are you doing here in America?'

Perplexed at receiving such a cold reception, I was a little nervous at that question. I tried a smile to see if that would soften her, but her face remained expressionless.

'Well,' I said hesitantly, 'I was hoping you could find me work on the farm or in the house.'

She began to roll out some pastry. 'You don't look strong enough for farm work,' she snapped. 'In any case, my husband and son don't need any help on the farm. We cannot afford it, and I don't need any help in the house. You might find some work in Cleveland. I don't know what we are going to do with you.' 'I can milk cows. I used to work in Mr. Bruce's dairy,' I said hopefully. 'We haven't got any milch cows, only hogs and they don't need a dairy maid.' Her remarks struck her as being very funny and she guffawed herself into a fit of coughing. She paused in her coughing and shouted as she pointed a finger at me, 'You, milking hogs, that's a good one; I would like to see that!' She was obviously enjoying mocking me.

She was still bent over coughing when two blonde giants entered the kitchen. Although my body is slim without an ounce of fat on it, I am of good height and taller than most women, and yet I felt like a dwarf beside these men. With massive shoulders about a yard wide and legs like tree trunks, they seemed to fill the kitchen with their presence. I presumed they were Mr. Quirk and his son and stood waiting for an introduction, but none was forthcoming.

Mrs. Quirk got her coughing under control and pointing a finger at me and looking at her husband said, 'This is Sam Tully's daughter, from the Isle of Man. She has come to help us milk our hogs.'

The absurdity of her introduction set her off again. She neighed like a horse and whooped with laughter. The men just stood there looking at me and then at Mrs. Quirk and back again to me, not understanding the joke but with big oafish grins spread across their faces.

In an effort to bring this ridiculous situation to an end, I extended a hand to Mr. Quirk saying, 'I am pleased to meet you. I hope you are keeping well.' 'Tolerable, I thank ye,' he replied, politely.

My slender hand disappeared from view when he enclosed it in his huge paw. Going to the son I said, 'My name is Dara. What's yours?'

His face was still occupied with a stupid grin and he stared down at me with pale blue eyes for a moment. 'I'm Billy,' he grunted.

In the meantime, Mrs. Quirk, recovered from her laughter, was setting the table with cold meat, a pan of boiled potatoes and a great mound of cabbage. When four large china plates were placed on the table it became apparent that I was expected to join them at their evening meal. Riling three of the plates with meat, potatoes and cabbage, she took the fourth and placed less than half the quantity of the provisions of the other plates on it and handed it to me.

Nevertheless, it was ample for my appetite but her deliberate inhospitality didn't escape my attention and I made up my mind that first thing on the morrow I would be on my way back to Cleveland and out of reach of her insulting uncouth manners.

Our meal was eaten in silence. When we were finished, I asked Mrs. Quirk if I could help with the washing up. Receiving no reply I declared a need for fresh air and said that if it was alright with them I would take a look around the farm. On hearing this, Billy lifted his huge body off the bench and said, 'I'll show you round.'

His mother immediately interjected, 'Now don't you be long, our Billy. You've got to get to bed early. You've a hard day's work to do tomorrow.'

She obviously didn't trust me with her precious son. She needn't have worried; the hulking great brute was of no attraction to me. I would rather have been left to my own devices but he stood in the doorway waiting for me to come out, determined to accompany me on my walk.

'This way,' he said as soon as I emerged through the doorway and strode off to a barn only a short distance from the house. Coming up alongside him, as he stood in the open doorway, I was about to make some excuse and wander off when his hand came around my back and pushed me with tremendous force into the barn. Stumbling and trying to keep my balance, I fell on top of a heap of hay. For a man of his size he was surprisingly quick in action. He had turned me over onto my back and was on top of me, squashing all the breath out of me before I had time to rise. Pulling my skirt up over my face and forcing my knees apart, he knelt between my legs. I was in darkness and trying to bring my skirt down from over my head when I cried out in pain as he roughly forced two fingers, coarsened with farm work, up my giny.

He was digging away inside with his fingers as if trying to find something at the top of my giny when the barn door was flung open and I heard his mother shout, 'Billy, where are you?'

By this time I had got my skirt off my face and saw her stride over to us. She clouted Billy hard around the head and told him to get back to the house.

'As for you, you trollop, keep your filthy hands off my Billy. He is already spoken for by a decent girl on the next farm to ours.'

I pulled my skirt down over my knees as she made a move to leave and was about to rise to my feet when she turned. 'Out you go first thing tomorrow morning, and make no mistake about it.'

Flabbergasted at the ferocity in her voice, I lay there for a moment or two before getting onto my feet.

I walked about for a while and then reluctantly returned to the house as there was nothing else to do under the circumstances. She glared at me as I entered, muscles tightened with aggressive hostility, husband and son absent, no doubt in bed.

'Follow me,' she ordered, and led me along a passageway to a bedroom. Before she closed the door on me she yelled, 'And remember, first thing tomorrow you are out, bag and baggage.'

I'll say this for her, the room was spotlessly clean and well furnished, the chief articles being a wash stand and a massive double bed. Undressing quickly I was about to put on my nightdress when the thought struck me that Billy might waylay me on my way from the farm. Preparing my sponge took but a moment and, crouching, I inserted it up my slot. Being raped was bad enough but the thought of that great brute fathering a baby into my belly was too dreadful to contemplate. Then I remembered the bedroom door and made sure it was well and truly locked in case he tried to walk in his sleep.

Getting into bed I felt the cuddly softness of the feather mattress under me and was about to dim the small oil lamp on the side table when I heard a noise coming from the window. Getting out of bed to investigate, I had just got to my feet when the window opened and a breeched leg came over the sill followed by the rest of Billy's bulky form. Before I had time to protest one of his big hands pulled my head back by the hair and the other closed hard over my mouth.

'Now you keep quiet. If you make a noise, I'll bash your face in so you'll never be the same again,' he threatened.

Looking around the room and getting a firmer and more painful grip around my mouth, he growled, 'Are you going to keep quiet?' The menace in his voice made me nod my head in agreement.

If I cried out, I thought, his mother would only blame me again and throw me out into the dark night. Girls always get the worst of it in a situation like this and are often accused of encouraging the man and leading him on. It has always been that way and always will be. Society shuns even the maid who gets raped in a most cruel fashion.

He dropped his breeches, stepped out of them and then pulled my nightdress off. Lifting me up as if I weighed no more than a child, he threw me on the bed and forcing my knees wide open knelt between them. Getting his fingers around the base of his cock, he wobbled it about, looking down at me and grinning all over his face. I watched horrified as it swelled and hardened and grew larger and larger. In all my experience I had never seen anything like it. It was frightening just to look at. How he was going to get it in to a young girl of my age I didn't dare to imagine.

Putting his hand under me he raised my buttocks and shoved the head of his cock hard at my giny. Under its pressure the lips of my giny began to stretch and strain to such an extent I thought he would split me. The pain was awful and I made a move to rise and get away from him but it wasn't to be. He brought a heavy hand over my face and pushed my head down on the pillow. At the same time he came hard down on me.

I was gasping painfully for breath and squirming to get away from him. The more I wriggled about in an effort to get out from under him, the more he seemed to like it. After a while I resigned myself to his cruel humping and shoving for I was pinned down and couldn't move. He had the constitution of an ox and wasn't to be denied. Oblivious to my gasps of pain, his eyes were fixed on the wall behind me like a man in a trance.

Coming to a climax with an animal grunt, he collapsed on me covering my face with his chest and knocking all the wind out of me. Suffocating, I struggled and pushed against this mass of flesh and hair as I tried desperately to get some air into my lungs. He rolled off just as I was about to black out and lay on his back with his right hand firmly clasped around my left wrist.

I lay flat out like one crucified, with his muscular right leg lying heavy across my thighs making it impossible for me to escape. With bruised ribs and painfully panting for breath I lay there dreading the thought that as soon as he recovered from his exertions he would probably get on top of me again. To my surprise I heard him snoring.

My legs began to get the cramp under the weight of his heavy leg as I waited for him to get into a deep sleep and, easing them gently up, I got them free from his leg without awaking him. He still had a good grip on my wrist so I turned very slowly and, with great care, lifted his little finger from my wrist. The next finger showed more resistance but eventually straightened. I was sweating with the concentration needed for my task and the fear that I might awaken him from his sleep. The longest finger of his hand proved to be more difficult and wouldn't budge.

Losing patience with it, I pulled it towards me. He awoke with a start, sat up, and looked around the room as if puzzled at finding himself there.

The now familiar grin began to slowly spread across his face when he turned and saw me beside him. From the look in his eyes I could see he was going to give me another battering and that there was no hope of appealing to him for mercy.

He went through the same motions as before: kneeling between my outstretched knees and swinging his enormous cock from side to side until he was good and ready to enter me once more.

Moving at a more leisurely pace this time, he played it out for as long as he could. When he did come, I was prepared for it and had my head turned to one side so that I was able to breathe when his chest came down crushing my ribs and head. Finishing with me, he rolled onto his back, holding my wrist as before, but remaining wide awake this time.

When he recovered he scoured my tits with his coarsened hands until my nipples were fiery pink and sore. Tiring of that game, he got astride me with knees over my arms, wobbling his cock about until it got big and hard. Moving up on me he slapped my face with it and kept on walloping me until my skin was flushed red from the beating it was getting. All this slapping made his cock get bigger and harder and made him so excited that he couldn't get it in me fast enough and, becoming impatient when he missed the hole, scowled and slapped me hard across the head with his hand as he prodded frantically at the wrong place. When he did get it in, he went at me like a rutting beast and came in no time at all. I expected him to roll onto his back as before, but he got out of the bed when he finished with me, pulled on his breeches and disappeared through the window.

Too tired and weary to get up and close the window after him, I fell into an uneasy sleep and slumbered fitfully until the first light of day when I was awakened by Mrs. Quirk hammering on the door and yelling at the top of her voice, 'Get out of bed, you slut. I'm having you out of here. Unlock this door.'

Dragging myself out of bed I walked painfully bowlegged to the door and turned the key. In she strode and stood glaring at me with arms akimbo. I stood looking at her sleepy-eyed trying to gather my senses together.

'Well?' she said. 'Don't just stand there. Get your things packed.' And, raising her voice, bawled, 'GET OUT!'

Feeling bruised and battered and particularly sore and tender around my privates, I picked up what few articles I had unpacked and put them in my bag.

At the kitchen door I was about to ask her where someone might be found to take me into Cleveland when she got her hand on my back, heaved me out and slammed the door.

Stumbling with my heavy bag which seemed to weigh a ton, I made my way slowly towards Cleveland. By midday, hot and sweaty, I stopped for the tenth time to rest, wearied beyond endurance, my thighs tender and sore, my private parts burning painfully. Easing myself on to the grass, I sat down and burst into tears.

After a good cry my will to overcome my problems strengthened and, staggering to my feet, I was about to take up my bag when I heard the shrill laughter of children ahead of me around the bend in the road. Hurrying along as best as I could, my spirits rose when I saw a tethered horse and wagon and, sitting in the shade of a tree, a man with a woman and three small girls having a picnic around a cloth well laid out with pies and cakes. As I hobbled towards them the woman got to her feet and, coming up to me, took my leather bag and led me to the rest of the party.

Beckoning me to be seated she handed me a cool glass of cider saying, 'You look exhausted, my dear. Have a long drink; it will help to revive you,' adding, 'it is uncommonly hot today.' And then with a kindly smile, 'Too hot for a young girl to be walking with a heavy bag.'

I thanked her and attempted to give her some explanation of my situation by telling her that I had been informed that I would meet up with a carrier on this road and had set off early for this purpose but had met no one up until now.

Spying the water of a stream nearby as I was talking to her, I bent forward and whispered in her ear that I would have to make a call of nature and would she keep her family where they were while I hid behind the bushes near the stream.

She nodded her head and said out loud for the benefit of the others, 'Yes, my dear. Go down to the stream and splash some of the cool water on your forehead; it will freshen you up I'm sure.'

Hidden by the bushes, I removed my skirt, petticoat, stockings and shoes and quickly got into the stream gurgling in the shade of a tree. The cold clear water was like balm to the burning skin of my under parts. Sitting on the pebbly bottom of the stream I sighed with relief, thankful that in my haste to get into the water my legs had not been encumbered with lace-edged pantalets, a fashion recently taken up by the better bred ladies of society. Females of a lower class never wore such hindrances as they were most inconvenient for women who had to work. My mind was made up when working at the hotel that I would never ensnare my thighs in such garments as I liked to feel cool air between my legs.

Hastily splashing some water on my face, I reluctantly climbed the embankment before the good lady on the road came looking for me. Quickly drying myself with my petticoat, I dressed and rejoined the picnic party feeling much better and more at ease below the waist.

After formally introducing myself, I learnt that they were Mr. and Mrs. Garnet and that their children, whose ages ranged from five years to nine, were named Bella, Emily and Alice. Bella, the eldest, was a very pretty child with long curly chestnut hair. She took it upon herself to wait on me, supplying my plate with portions of meat pie, pickles and fruit cake. I was very hungry having partaken of no food since the previous evening and made short work of disposing of the delicious food placed in front of me.

During the course of our conversation, I learnt that Mr. James Garnet was practising as a lawyer in Cleveland, and that they would be very happy to make a place for me on the wagon for the return journey to town. Mrs. Sarah Garnet's plump, good-natured face showed much concern when she learnt that I intended to travel alone all the way to Chicago and she wasn't reassured on learning that I journeyed alone all the way from Liverpool in England.

On enquiring about hotels, she became very agitated saying, 'Such places are not for young ladies travelling alone. You will lodge with us while in Cleveland.'

When she turned to her husband for his agreement, he nodded, saying, 'You will be most welcome,' and added that there was no need to board the boat for Toledo on the morrow as they would be pleased to have me stay with them for as long as I wished. They were indeed a kindly couple, with three charming daughters, and I thanked providence that these good Samaritans had come to my assistance at a time when I was in great distress.

Tucked in a corner of the wagon with a blanket wrapped around me, I was sound asleep when the vehicle came to a halt outside their home in the centre of Cleveland, and, with Bella's arm to help me, I stumbled indoors.

Mrs. Garnet was much concerned at my condition and felt my forehead which was covered with sweat, exclaiming in alarm, 'My dear girl, you have got a fever. You must go straight to bed at once.'

When we got to the bedroom she wanted to assist me to undress, but I insisted on doing this myself despite my weakness, thinking she might see the bruises or some other ill-effects from the previous night's ordeal.

'Very well,' she said. 'Get into bed as soon as you are undressed and I will bring you a mixture to suppress the fever.'

I had only just got into bed when she was back again bearing a glass of her home-made medicine. When I enquired what it was, for I'm not the sort of person who drinks anything that is offered me, she smiled. 'My dear, it will do you no harm. It's for your fever; all my family swear by it. It's a mixture of orange, lemon, tamarind, nitre and cream of tartar. Drink it up you'll find the taste quite pleasant.'

As my throat had become very dry the liquid quenched my thirst and after a little while reduced the heat of my body. I was restless throughout the night, awaking frequently with a dry throat. Luckily, dear Mrs. Garnet had left a glass and a jug full of her mixture beside my bed. By morning my fever was much reduced, but on Mrs. Garnet's insistence I remained in bed and was allowed to join the family for two hours only in the evening.

The next day the fever had gone and my health was as normal, much to the relief of Mrs. Garnet and her family. The girls were delighted to see me out and about and, as the weather was warm and sunny, I spent much of my time during the next three days playing games with them in the garden. In this happy atmosphere my resolution to resume my journey to Chicago wavered somewhat but, on the other hand, I felt that it was not good manners to continue to take advantage of their kindly hospitality any longer and regretfully announced that I must board the boat to Toledo on the morrow.

Despite their pleading for me to stay longer, I was packed and ready the next morning for Mr. Garnet to escort me to the docks. On the way he pointed out various places of interest and informed me that Cleveland got its name from Moses Cleaveland, a surveyor for a Connecticut land company which bought the land. At a later date the early settlers dropped an 'A' from the spelling of his name.

On arrival at the boat, he told me to seek out in Toledo a Mr. Arthur Selwyn, a carrier of good repute, who would take me on his wagon overland from Toledo to Chicago.

Now, fully restored to good health, my aches and pains gone, I made myself comfortable and prepared to enjoy my voyage on the waters of Lake Erie.

We had just cast off when a furious uproar started up from the dock-side. Going to the rail to see what it was all about, I beheld two men struggling at the dock's edge restraining, it seemed, an old man from jumping into the water. The man they held had a wizened, wrinkled face, weathered and tanned a dark brown from a lifetime of working out of doors. His language was appalling and got worse when he saw the ship's Captain standing alongside me with an amused expression on his face.

'Stop the boat, you goddamned, pot-bellied son-of-a-bitch,' he yelled as he strained against the men holding him, cussing and swearing something awful.

The Captain, who indeed had a great swaggering belly spilling over his trouser belt, shouted, 'Now then, Tom Cuff, behave yourself and mind your language; we have a young lady here.'

As the ship got further from the dock he explained Cuff's peculiar behaviour. 'He is not a bad old codger. Unfortunately he has got a noisome sewer for a mouth,' he said almost apologetically. 'Some ten years or so ago his wife got sick when visiting relatives in Toledo and died before he could reach her. Every now and then when he has had too much to drink he re-lives those days and tries to board a boat to see his sick wife, long since dead. On the occasions that he does get aboard he sails to Toledo, then returns to Cleveland on the next boat with a haunted grim expression, dejected and drooping with the heaviness of his misery.'

I looked at the men still scuffling on the quayside and felt a deep sympathy for an old man who still carried an endearing love for the wife he lost over ten years ago.

Captain Houseman and I became very good friends on that voyage. He was a mine of information about Lake Erie and its neighbourhood. Inviting me to dine with him, he held me fascinated with tales of the early settlers. Learning that I was hoping to find in Chicago some people named Cubbin, from my island home, he told me that Chicago was named after an Indian called 'Checaqua' and that some of the best soap came from that town, manufactured by James Kirk who built his factory on the site of the first house ever built in Chicago. He went on to relate how early settlers floated inland on flatboards or barges down the Ohio River scrambling ashore when they came to unoccupied land and hacked a clearing in the forest to set up their first home in America. I listened to him for hours, learning a great deal about the Northern States and the people who lived there.

Disembarking at Toledo, I made haste to find Mr. Arthur Selwyn who I hoped would be able to take me overland to Chicago. After making a number of enquiries, I met up with his wife who informed me that he was not at home but would be back shortly. She was an agreeable, plump woman with a chubby rosy-apple face and, without asking, placed before me a plate of sliced beef and buttered bread. I was to discover that this kindly hospitality was customary in most American homes.

Having finished my meal, I was sipping at a glass of root beer when the clatter of a wagon was heard outside. It was Mr. Selwyn, a bluff and hearty man with a snuff-stained bulbous nose; he gave a fat smile of welcome to me and to a Mr. and Mrs. Smith who were also to join us on our journey to Chicago. Mr. Selwyn had been out and about collecting a variety of goods that people in the neighbourhood were dispatching to our destination and other places on route. The wagon was piled high with parcels large and small and I wondered how we were to be seated. But Mr. Selwyn, who knew the nature of the freight he was carrying, soon arranged it so that we could sit amongst it in comfort.

With a 'gid-ap' to his horse, Mr. Selwyn had just got started on our journey when a neatly dressed young man with a peaked cap carelessly pushed to the back of his head hailed us to stop and asked Mr. Selwyn if he could take him to Chicago. The freight was rearranged alongside me for our fourth passenger on the wagon.

Before climbing aboard, he swept off his cap and bowed to the company, introducing himself as Elmer Varley. He shook my hand, learnt my name, and then did the same with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, a timid, mousey couple who had little to say to each other or anyone else.

After making several unsuccessful attempts to open up a conversation with them, Elmer Varley turned his attention to me. He had the shameless charm of a born salesman, a bright and breezy manner with a merry look in his eyes and a sly humour which, to begin with, I was slow to take up, not being familiar with his style of wit.

In no time at all, in low tones so that the others couldn't hear, we were exchanging risque jokes, some of which would have scandalized our fellow passengers if they had heard our banter. He was slightly above average height, lean and muscular and had a pleasant open face with clear confident honest blue eyes which you felt you could trust under all circumstances. With a checkered brown and beige jacket and trousers, he wore a coarse striped waistcoat fastened with brown cloth-covered buttons.

Amused and stimulated by his witty conversation, I found him disturbingly attractive and my senses quickened to his captivating gaiety. Before very long we were sitting thigh by thigh, holding between us a book of humorous verse from which he was reading for my ears alone various amusing passages. Bewitched and bemused by his warm personality, time passed quickly.

The day was clear and sunny, a light breeze wafting over the fields on either side of us, but Elmer and I had no eyes for the scenery, only for each other. When daylight gave way to twilight, I looked up in surprise as Mr. Selwyn drew up the wagon for our first overnight stop. The day had gone over so swiftly that I hadn't noticed the passage of time or the sun setting low in the west.

Two small tents were soon erected, one for the ladies and another for the men. Mr. Selwyn, I was informed, would sleep in his wagon guarding his freight. We gathered a stock of wood and twigs and soon had a blazing fire to sit around while we ate the sliced beef, bread and hard-boiled eggs provided as part of the carrier fare.

After our supper I sat in the blushing glow of the firelight and gazed into the flames as I sipped at my mug of coffee. Mr. and Mrs. Smith soon retired for the night to the tents and so it was with Mr. Selwyn, who settled down amongst the freight on the wagon.

Bewitched by the eerie light that comes on a warm summer evening just after the sun has set, I watched them without interest go to their beds. I was in a quiet mood and sat as if suspended in time and space.

After some time Elmer, on the pretext that the fire was getting low, invited me to join him in search for more wood. His voice came to me as if far off. I could see through his manoeuvre to get me away from the light of the fire, but wasn't averse to a kiss and a cuddle in the dark.

Completely bedazzled by his charm and warm personality, I let him take me by the hand and lead me behind a large clump of brushwood. When he sat down on the lush, thick grass I lay on my back beside him, looking up at the stars shining diamond bright in the canopy of the night sky.

Laid back, I felt his hand on my blouse, but made no attempt to stop him when he gently squeezed my breast beneath the silk. Overcome by the magic of the silent night I felt detached and, as far as I was concerned, was in a mind to allow him to do what he liked with me providing it didn't hurt.

Slowly undoing my blouse buttons, he played freely with my bared breasts and bending over me kissed them repeatedly with eager lips. His kisses made them glow with a warm sensuous feeling and for the first time in my life I felt the nipples swell and stand up firm. When his two hands clasped one of my breasts and he sucked at it like a babe I pushed the swollen nipple up further into his mouth, eager for more caresses from his lips. He nibbled it for a little while and then, abandoning my breasts, he kissed me very gently on my mouth. It was like a breath of heaven on my tender lips.

As the tip of his tongue explored my mouth, his right hand came up slowly under my skirt and softly caressed its way up over my thighs until it came to my giny. One of his fingers delicately stroked its way through the moist groove between the tender lips and up to the little nub above. Gently circling this centre of delight with the tip of his finger, he continued to manipulate it until my inflamed senses were burning with a desire to feel the fullness of his cock inside me.

The fervent sensuality of his tongue licking the lower lip of my mouth added more fuel to my ardour. In a fever of impatience to get him between my thighs I brought my hand up to his crotch and caressed the masculine bulge stored there.

My storming emotions subsided a little as he fumbled with his buttons to remove his trousers. Once he was free of them no time was wasted in getting between my pliant legs and easing his hard thickening cock between the moist lips waiting to welcome its entry.

My passions were stimulated to a white heat as the warm fleshy luxury of his cock filled my belly. The rapture that suffused my body and limbs was like nothing I had experienced before. Rising in me was a tenseness bursting to be released and I pressed my belly and the baby belly above my giny into him and rubbed them hard against his muscular flesh.

My feelings rose to an almost unbearable intensity as I frantically wriggled my hips under him. The passion that shook my innermost self took wing and soared up to a peak of exultation, spiralling up and ever upwards to explode into a thousand fragments of passion spent. Trembling in anguished joy, I floated down swirling around in dreamlike clouds of sensual ecstasy. Bathed in a golden glow of bliss and joy, I heard myself murmuring words of love to the man who had lit a flame in my heart that would never be extinguished.