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back below before they could enjoy it. And now that there was much more room to be had the women came out from the shadows, and a few of the coarser slatterns began baiting the jack-tars above on the quarterdeck. I watched in fascination to see what would happen.
    One of the sailors brought out a fiddle and as the screeching notes bounced round the bulwarks many of the younger women started swaying. The older dames stood round the edges, clapping, nodding (or expressing their disgust) while most of the crew stood on the platform above and watched from behind the heavily armed wooden barricado. Violet saw me leaning against the foremast and eagerly beckoned me to come join the girls. She showed me some morris dancing, bounding around with enthusiastic skips and jumps, and when Dollie and Maude recognized one of the tunes they got several of the spectators to join in the chorus. For the first time in months I began to relax, losing myself in the scraped, poignant melodies. Then the fiddler began a familiar gypsy ballad and I fell into an old dance I thought I’d forgotten. Now, it ain’t easy being elegant in a baggy shift, but as I closed my eyes my spirit swam free with the mermaids, and smoldering hope relit in my soul. This was my own personal freedom.
    When the last note floated away on the wake I realized everyone had stopped to watch me. Violet yelled, “Give us another one, Lola,” and the fiddle struck up once again. About halfway through this routine the predators descended the steps and began edging in on the women, offering them swigs of rum, and before long, the deck resembled a tavern. Just as I finished twirling, a rough arm grabbed me round the waist and pulled me onto a waiting knee. A clean-shaven man with a powder-burned face had taken a liking and was trying to kiss me, and the more I tried to squirm away the more urgent his slobbers became. Then suddenly Maude appeared and said, “Hello, handsome.” She mashed her breasts up against his cheek and lulled, “Wouldn’t you rather have a proper woman, darling? I’ll show you a real good time.” He pushed me away absentmindedly and dragged Maude off under the rigging.
    On top of the stairs the quartermaster glowered at the scene from inside his fiery whiskers. He paced back and forth, growling orders at some less than able seaman. I scurried back to Dollie and Violet, at the same time that two eager tars appeared to stake their claims. Violet pushed me behind her back and hissed, “Go hide yourself. Quick!” Then she turned to the drooling crewmen and wiggled provocatively to provide a suitable distraction. I fell to the planks and scooted on all fours behind the water barrel into the shaded part of the deck, where I peered through a tangle of rope and tackle to determine a safe enough spot. The longboats! As cautiously as possible I crept round to the edge of the pile of overturned vessels and wiggled myself underneath the nearest edge.
    The interior was black and humid. A stench of tar hung cloyingly in the thick, smarting air. Then I froze—terrified—when my bare foot touched something live and fleshy, and gagged as an eerie voice snapped, “Piss off! This is my spot.” I rolled round in the confined chamber and instinctively put my hand out toward the noise. My fingers found a mop of coarse hair and the velvety skin of an unshaved chin. It was the cabin boy.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked in amazement.
    “Hiding. Same as you.”
    “Can I share then? There’s some big fellow after me!”
    The bodiless voice was quiet for a moment and then said, “Yes. I suppose. . . .”
    I squeezed his shoulder to express appreciation. After a few moments I asked, “What’s your name, then?”
    “Bristol,” he whispered. Then as an afterthought he asked, “You?”
    “Lola.”
    His breathing echoed round the wooden skin and then formed into the inquiry, “Are you a gypsy?”
    My heart stilled for the briefest pause. I replied, “Of course