When I sensed Captain had finished with me for the moment, I returned to waxing and polishing the chairs. As soon as I had completed them, I went out to check whether the laundry had dried, but more to watch the men again. Such beautiful bodies. As I examined each, I wondered what Captain's looks like, and I brought images of possibilities to mind. It was not long before the tingling and wet returned.

I now realised its cause, but I didn't understand its reason.

Through the hot afternoon, the crew continued to load hogsheads of water and then crates of fruits and vegetables. Near sunset, when eight bells sounded, I went forward and down into the cookery to fetch Captain's food pannier. While I waited for it to be filled, Cookery Mate sliced a piece off a large orange-coloured fruit, and he held it out toward me on his knife. "Have a taste, Boy. This here is papaya."

It was wet and slippery in my hand, and I almost dropped it before I got it to my mouth. Its delightfully sweet flavour reminded me of the marmalade Father had brought back from one of his voyages. As I licked my lips and fingers, I said, "Thank you, Mate. I quite enjoy this. May I have more?"

He laughed. "There'll be a wedge of it with your supper, lad. And ye'll have a slab of fresh meat too."

When I carried Captain's pannier aft along the deck, I realised all the men were now dressed, and this disappointed me. But, at the same time, I was relieved to not have to again wash away my wetness. I must find a way to have Captain explain it to me. I laughed to myself, thinking how easy it would be if he knew I was a woman. I would simply ask him.

We were still at anchor in the bay when I retired to my quarters. I chuckled at Captain's name for the small closet, but I had adopted it as a way to make the space seem bigger. The breeze had died with evening, and there was barely any air movement through the great cabin and none through the ventilation holes in my door.

It was too hot for any cover, so I undressed, lay on the ticking on the shelf and blew out the candle in the lantern. But remembering Mother's stern caution to always remain covered, I laid a piece of cotton across my midriff, allowing the rest of my body to cool, if possible.

As I pondered how to get Captain back into a topic which might lead to discovering the purpose of the wetness, I recalled Mother telling us it was sinful to touch ourselves down there other than to wash. Why? Against God's commandments, she said. Why? She would not tell me more.

Then a flood of memories flashed through my mind. Chris had tried to touch me there, and my loud, surprised outburst had brought Mother running. I sifted through disjointed recollections, realising it was then that she first refused to answer my questions. She warned me not to look at men until I was of age. I had not lost interest; she had prohibited my having any.

Why?

I sighed in frustration, then I allowed my thoughts to drift again to the men on deck, bringing images of them into my mind. So beautiful and so natural. Why would she have told me this is sinful? Then I imagined Captain standing in the great cabin windows as he freed the latches. Unclothed. His broad shoulders and muscular back. His butt. I caressed the image of him in my mind, enjoying the tingling. And then the wetness returned.

I shook my head and forced the images away. But not my curiosity, and I soon realised this would be part of making babies. Preparing to receive him like our mares received the stallions. This is why Mother had refused to answer. I was not yet of age. Not then.

But I am of age. Now. I moved my hands to cup my breasts. These show I am. I caressed for a long while, delighting in the sensations from tweaking my nubbins while they grew as if from the cold.

Then I reached down, knowing I am now of age, and God will forgive. The wet reminded me of the slipperiness of the papaya, and it confirmed my thoughts about its purpose. I moved two fingers to the bud I have always enjoyed washing, and I explored its sensations as I thought about Captain.

<><><>

I awoke to the prolonged pealing of the bell, followed by a loud voice calling, "All hands! Prepare to weigh and sail. All hands."

Hands! I chuckled. One of mine was as if glued to my nether lips by the stickiness, and I trembled at the memory of last night. Then blessing Bosun for all the cotton, I tore off a large piece and wiped as much as could be before I opened the door a crack to admit some light. The great cabin was still dark, so I fumbled for the tin box, found it, and after several strikes of the flint, set a glow in the tinder. Soon, the candle lantern illuminated my tiny space, and I bound my bosom and dressed.

Because the order had been recently given, I knew Captain would still be up on the quarterdeck, so I began my chores by cleaning his privy – after I had sat and then washed myself down there. While I worked, the deckhead prisms lightened with the glow of dawn, and when I emerged into the great cabin, the horizon through the windows was coloured in yellows and pinks.

I recalled Father's rhyme, Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky of the morning, sailors take warning, and I thought back to the spectacular red sunset of last night. This day bodes well.