In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or forbidden for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two consenting young men is requested to refrain from continuing. A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
LORD OF THE WINDS
by Marin Giustinian
Post Civil War on Portsmouth Island, North Carolina.
The 1860 census recorded 802 villagers living in Portsmouth before the war, amongst whom were 117 slaves. Ten years later, after the war, only 337 residents had returned, amongst whom six former slaves were counted, according to the same census.
Maximilian Percy Winthrop was fourteen years old when the Union troops took over Portsmouth. Their occupation involved very little violence but the islanders fled just the same.
Max's widowed father was a preacher. He had remarried and the newly composed family had no other choice but to move out, with the others. His tiny congregation had dwindled to such an extent that he and his family could no longer meet ends.
To make things even worse, hurricanes had devastated the nearly abandoned island and the shifting sands of the inlet had drastically reduced the channel, putting a halt to the formally brisk shipping trade. When finally the Yankees blocked the inlet to thwart any blockade running, that was the end of the prosperous port of exchange of Portsmouth. It had become, in just a few years, nothing more than a modest fishing hamlet. Those remaining struggled the best they could to keep the island and its culture alive.
Max never adapted to life on the mainland. His stepmother harassed him and her two daughters were simply a constant pain. As he grew into manhood, it became progressively unbearable for him. His sole aim was to return to his island home. When he built his little 18' sailing sharpie, the idea of escaping had already well fermented in this mind.
General Lee surrendered the Confederate Army in April 1865. The war was over and the South, defeated, bled and disgraced. In August of the same year, Max packed his meager belongings, bade his family good-bye. His stepmother kissed him with a sort of 'good-riddance' smirk on her face. His stepsisters weren't even there. His father blessed him and gave him the deed to the little house they still owned on Portsmouth. He hoisted his sails for Portsmouth. He was already eighteen.
Six hours later he was tying up in Portsmouth. Those who recognized Max, now a strapping young man, greeted him with welcoming smiles. His house had lost some of its shingles. The salt laden winds had dimmed the windows and in spite of its forlorn demeanor, Max was glad to feel the cottage welcome him back.
He let it be known around the village that he could mend fishing nets and splice ropes if anybody needed his services. This gave himself enough work to be fed. People lent him tools, whitewash, brooms and such to get his home in livable shape. He was busy from dawn to dusk, gathering firewood, scavenging some meager furnishings here and there, preparing himself the best he could before the tropical storms and winter gales hit.
He also was on the water a lot. The islanders marveled at the way he could sail wherever no one dared going, always finding, by instinct, the ever-changing channels. The people were mystified. He seemed to have no fear of bad weather. He defied the tides and the wild winds when the others stayed tied up or at anchor, waiting for better conditions. He even found his way in the fog. Nothing but a hurricane could stop him. When people asked him how he did it, he just smiled and shrugged, saying, "I just go where my feelings lead me." Some of the islanders said that the boy had the devil in him, others said he's an angel. Whatever! His gift never failed.
He passed the winter. His talent mending nets became well sought after. At the age of nineteen, Max was living on his own, like a man, alone. Back then, boys grew up fast. With only a shadow of down on their cheeks, many had to earn and handle, the best they could, their own lives by themselves.
One evening, in early summer, as he was mending a big net in the backroom, a stiff, rainy wind blew outside, just enough to make the beams under his roof creak and moan a little. At first, he didn't hear the knock on his front door, but when the pounding insisted, he rose, wondering whom it could be and why, at that hour. He went up front and opened the door, holding it steadfast as Frank Howard rushed in, pale, upset and drenched.
Frank was a rather prosperous fisherman, an important man in the village. Max was puzzled about his late and unannounced visit.
"Max, you've got to help me!" he pled, "My wife's in labor and it ain't going like it should. We've got to get her over to Ocracoke or she'll soon be dead and the babe along with her! My two other boats are fishing up around Avon. Your sharpie's too little for three and there ain't no shelter on it. There's just mine, ready to sail. I'd really be obliged if you'd handle her. I've got to take care of Emma. I know you're a wizard skipper, like a gull on wing in this kind of weather. Not me, nor nobody else on this damn island neither! You've got to help me, boy! Please, right now!"
"Sure, I'll sail you all across the inlet, Mr. Howard. Let me put my slicker on. I'll meet you and Emma at the landing."
No more was said. They embarked. Emma was tucked in the cuddy cabin up front. He hoisted only the reefed mainsail and jib and away they sped. Crossing the strong current of the inlet went fine because of the broad reach wind making them fly. The rain whipping Max's face didn't seem to bother him. He just squinted, calmly perched up on the windward gunwale, manning the tiller with one hand and the mainsheet with the other.
"Watch out boy! There's a sand bar ahead!" shouted Frank, with a sound of panic in his voice.
Max continued his route, heading directly onto the shallows. He shouted out to Frank to pull up the centerboard when he said to. The man obeyed the boy, bracing himself for the shock.
"Now Sir! Pull it up!" he shouted.
As Frank held it up with all his force, Max mastered the tiller and using their speed, the boat skimmed crab-like over the sandbar. The scraping sound under the boat and a sudden lull in the speed lasted barely the time of a deep sigh.
"Now you can let it down, Sir."
Shortcutting the entry to the harbor, there they were easing up to the main landing. Frank was ringing the bell and firing his gun over and over. Emma was writhing in pain up front. Understanding the emergency, several men had gathered on the wharf. Emma was immediately wheelbarrowed to the midwife's. She and the babe were saved only by a breath.
Max stayed behind. He had sort of collapsed in the boat, exhausted. As dawn was breaking, a lad came up, bringing Max a hot cup of coffee.
"They told me to come get you to follow me to the midwife's so you can see the lives you saved, Sir."
When Max came into the house, Frank grabbed him and hugged him hard, saying, "I'll never be able to thank you enough, Max. You rescued the most precious thing I have in life! My little family! You're an artist with that boat ; I knew damn well you could handle the situation!"
"I'm mighty glad for you Mr. Howard. I have to say that your schooner there is an awesome craft! Never sailed nothing as close to a pureblood! She really rides the wind! All I had to do was coax her a little and she just did it all by herself. Yes, I'm real happy that we got your Misses and your... by the way, did she give you a boy or a girl, Mr. Howard?"
"A boy, and I'm going to give him your second name, Max. His name is Percy... Percy Howard. As for the boat, I agree, she obeys you better than me! She wants to be yours... and I want to give her to you. It's your reward... that is, if you want to have her."
"What? Mine? Oh my God, Mr. Howard, you can't do that!" exclaimed Max, hardly believing what he had heard.
"You better believe I can, boy! And, Max, I insist! That there schooner now belongs to you!" he snapped back, almost scolding the young man, and then turning to the several neighbors gathered around them, he spoke out, "Listen folks, don't you all think this handsome lad deserves having the boat with which he saved my wife's and son's lives?"
"You damn well know he does, Frank! That's mighty fine of you," quipped one of the elder men as the others nodded in agreement.
"Let me tell you Max. I can afford to replace a boat. That's no problem. But there ain't nothing on the face of this earth that could replace Emma and my baby boy! All I'm asking now is for you to wait for Emma to rest up a while and when she's able, take us all back over to Portsmouth, over to home. Can you do that, boy?"
"Of course I can, Sir. I'll wait for you all as long as need be!" he immediately replied, and with tears of gratitude brimming in his eyes, he exclaimed, "God bless you, Sir!" He gulped and he asked, "Would you mind if I renamed her Rebel?"
"Damn right you can, son! Rebel then she is from now on!"
Everybody laughed and started patting Max on the back. Suddenly, a rather plump, ageless lady shuffled up and grabbed Max by the arm pulling him away from the others, "Come along home with me boy! Fellows your age need to eat! I'm gonna scramble you up a breakfast you'll never forget! Praise be our gracious Lord! Hallelujah!"
Rebel changed Max's life. First of all, his feat of saving Emma Howard and her newborn son was the main subject of gossip all over Portsmouth for the following three or four days. People congratulated him along the paths, in the little general store, on the wharf, everywhere he went.
As for him, he put his little sharpie up for sale and it was immediately bought by a guy over on Ocracoke. With Rebel, he towed her over and pocketed the cash. With that little bit of extra revenue, he spent every spare minute and penny putting Rebel in shipshape! There really wasn't that much to do, but Max wanted to change the smelly fishing boat into something more... let's say, a bit more 'proper', even if he didn't know what he really wanted to do with her. He renovated everything, repairing minor rips in the sails, scraping the filth embedded deck and cockpit floor, polishing the brass. He even beached her at low tide to scrape her down and give her a thorough paint job. He tarred the hull black and the topside, he painted white.
The act of helping out others shook Max deeper than he realized at first. , Saving lives, solving urgent problems had made him grow and feel good inside, giving him a vague notion of purpose and concern, something he had never felt before. He had spent all his youth trying to flee things in his life. He wanted now to face life instead of running away.
He called in on his infant namesake often. He loved holding him in his arms, smelling the scent of toast and honey in his silken hair. Emma said, "If he's alive today and if I'm here to see you hold him, it's thanks to you, Max!"
It was strange how hearing that over and over again made it seem even more unbelievable. For him, he just did what he knew how to do and it worked. If what he knew how to do helped out others, even saving lives, it's just a matter of God's grace. That's what he felt deep inside.
One day, early in September, he was in the general store, which was also the post office and overheard a seemingly desperate situation. There was a lady holding a letter and a wrapped parcel in her hand, saying that it was terribly urgent. The storekeeper handling the mail said that the next boat to come around would call in only the following week.
"If that's the case, is there anybody on this godforsaken pile of sand who could take my parcel and letter to the train station in Morehead and have it dispatched there? The mailboat service has gone to pot since the yankees left!" she exclaimed pacing up and down in front of the counter.
"I can M'am," proposed Max.
"How much would you charge me, boy?"
"I don't know, M'am. How much can you spare me?"
A very lively discussion about how much he should be paid for the charter was held between the storekeeper and the lady and finally they settled for two and a half dollars. The deal was made and the lady was relieved.
"And could you take passengers to the train depot too?" asked another customer cutting in on the conversation.
"Sure, I can take two, maybe three at a time... if there ain't too much luggage."
"That's the best damn news I've heard in a long time!" exclaimed another lady, "Max, you'll finish by saving us all!"
Max couldn't shortcut the mailboat, operating under State license, but he could double it on a private basis, for a fee, going non stop from Portsmouth to Morehead and back. The news spread even to Ocracoke like lightening. That's how in less than three months, alongside his net mending, he had a nice little charter business going.
On one of his trips to Morehead, in late November, he carried a passenger to the train along with a few packets and some urgent letters.
Max took advantage of these trips to go to the new Turkish Bath House downtown. Sweet water was scarce on Portsmouth, so when he was in town, Max sometimes splurged on a long hot bath. If he wanted to really splurge, he also treated himself to a hot meal at the local tavern. On that day, he decided to splurge.
As he was going out of the door, he bumped into another guy looking a bit younger than him. They collided in the door, nearly knocking the boy over with his big backpack hanging on his shoulders. Judging from his smell, he was in dire need of a bath. They exchanged a quick smile, said a polite, "Excuse me!", nodded as each one went his way.
Little did Max suspect that his life and soul were on the verge of a massive change!
After going by the pier where Rebel was moored, Max checked her moorings. Taking his time, he spread out his bedding, put more oil in his hurricane lantern, making sure all was in place for when he came back after supper. He knew he was going to enjoy his beer! He put on his fancy town shoes and left for the tavern.
Max found one little empty table in the corner to the right of the entrance. Maybeline Horner ran the most popular tavern in town. This evening it was jam-packed, full of guys, young and old, smoking their tobacco, drinking and talking really, really loud. Max liked the contrast from his silent, lonely, little island where he was by himself most of the time.
He didn't mind being by himself. In fact he loved it, but every now and then, along with a good soak in a hot bath, having a crowd around him, having fun, was really enjoyed. After claiming his seat, he went up to the bar, ordered his pint of beer and with the mug in hand, he elbowed his way back to his table. As he was about to sit down, he noticed the guy he had bumped into nearly an hour ago. Indeed he looked much better!
Discouraged by the crowd, the young fellow gave up and turned to go out. Max waved, caught his attention and pointed at the empty chair facing his. The boy flashed a very warm smile and worked his way up to the table, plopped down his big bag and sighed as he sat, saying, "Thanks a lot! That's really civil of you to let me sit with you at your table! That's quite a crowd," he exclaimed, "something special going on in town?"
"I don't know. There's really a lot of guys out tonight. Maybe a new boat calling in. I'm from over on the Banks and don't know nothing to be honest. You from out of town too?"
"Yes I am..."
"Listen, after nearly knocking you over at the bath house, let me pay you a beer to get myself forgiven!"
"You don't have to beg my pardon. I wasn't minding where I was going either and, to be truthful, I was scared out of my skin. I ain't never been in a place like that before, but I felt so filthy, I couldn't stand myself anymore. As for the beer, I'll take you up on it! By the way, my name's Jason, Jason Ravanel from Charleston, South Carolina. I peddle tobacco smokes," he said, sticking out his hand over the table.
"Glad to meet you, Jason. I'm Max... Max Winthrop from Portsmouth Island. I mend nets."
They shook hands.
"Now, go and fetch yourself a beer! That way we can toast to our meeting up together!"
One beer led to another. Jason felt he could trust Max and started to loosen up some. Max learned that his family were French protestants, that they had been in Charleston for several generations. His father as well as his grandfather ran a little distillery making floral oils for perfumes and medecine. They got wiped out during the big bombardment of 1863-64. His father was killed in the fire, trying to save is equipment. His mother went crazy and his two older sisters ran away and were never heard of since. He said he plundered a tobacco shop and started peddling his loot on the waterfront. He was just a few days beyond fourteen when the war ended. He had learned how to chop tobacco, sew pouches, whittle out cheap pipes and roll cheroots. He had learned the homeless life too, sleeping in ruins, begging food, even stealing an apple or getting blown. He had worked his way up to Wilmington where he made some really good sales with the port getting back into full swing. He decided to tempt his luck further north, so he hopped on a boat going to Morehead, a growing port also, and there he was. He said he had just enough cash to buy himself a change of clothes, a good bath, a meal and a train ticket upstate. He planned to take the train the next day. He wound up his story by laughing and saying, "You know, the odd thing about all that is that I don't even smoke. I like the smell, but when I try to smoke, I puke! Ha!"
"Makes me sick too, man! But, tell me, you got a place to sleep tonight, Jason?"
"I'm going to sleep on the bench outside the train depot. Doesn't look like rain!"
"I ain't going to let you sleep in the street like a dog, Jason. All well dressed like that, you can draw trouble! There are still some thugs prowling around. There's a little extra room in my berth on the boat. You and your stuff will be safe there. It's moored just two streets over, on the waterfront. It's rather tight quarters, but after all, we're clean as angels!"
"Do you mean it, Max? I'm really obliged to you man! That's way too nice!"
"Now that that's settled! Let's get ourselves something to eat! I'm starved."
The place had calmed down in between time. They went up to the bar and said they'd like to have two servings of what was served that day. Maybeline said she'd bring them pork chops, collards and yams.
They got another beer each and went back to their table. Max told some about himself. He said the war didn't do much damage to the islands. At the start of the war, the yankees just stormed through and occupied Portsmouth. He and his family fled anyway to the mainland in 61. He then told about his return alone to the island and how he got Rebel with little Percy nearly being born in it. Their bonds started to seal.
By the end of the meal, they were just a bit tight, well fed and nearly as close as brothers. They swayed down the street, toting Jason's backpack together. Max led the way onboard. They placed the peddling bag under a bench and peed over board. Max lit the lantern and crawled into the small cuddy cabin up front, beckoning Jason to follow. Once closed up in the small space together, they broke out laughing, jostling each other, trying to undress both at the same time.
Once they had stripped and cuddled in the bedding, Max leaned over and blew out the lamp. Moonlight flowed through the small porthole they left open for air. Jason hugged Max real hard and slurred a bit in his ear, saying, "Thank you, brother! You're my savior! Sweet dreams!"
"Good night, my fair friend, Jason, and sleep tight..."
Their irrepressible male energy crammed the crowded space. In the grips of intimacy, their warmth, their scent, but also, that rather indescribable glow of their wantonness radiated. The density of such a timeless moment dissipated all sleepiness. They breathed out at times a heavy sigh. Restlessness drew their faces closer. Here, a stray arm, there a nudging knee and then spurred by a mutual jolt of desire, they tackled each other. Their straining cocks, thrusting, prodding, poking, yearning together. Their silent consent released a surge of desperate urges to meld. Crushing their open mouths together, their tongues, infuriated, unable to lick the grunting hum in their open throats, danced a savage kind of bout in each other's saliva. Max drooled his way down Jason's belly. Jason released his fist, choking Max's cock. The tumult of bodies writhing over and under, up and around in the tight womb of the cabin calmed as each engulfed their explosively tense cocks. They trembled, jerked, moaned, throbbed, nearly singing as they sucked, tongued and sucked some more, seeking to quench that imperious, mysterious thirst that agonized them both. Then the bolt of ecstasy struck. Spasms of semen jolted, electrified in the thralls of total surrender. Swallowing over and over, wallowing together in the sweat-drenched bedding, little by little the tempest receded, calm, tender, breathless. They suckled the last drops oozing out of their softening cocks. They released each other and turning to lay cheek to cheek once more, they laughed cuddling, having at last lost themselves in each other.
When Max woke at dawn, he felt a kind of dread swelling in his chest. The moment to split was near as he snuggled up to Jason, caressing lightly his cheek.
"The sun is already up. We should scurry to the depot to see if your train's got its head of steam up."
"Good morning, sweet brother. Let me hold you just a minute longer!" mumbled Jason.
"Not too tight! I've got to pee!" jested Max, hiding the tears swelling in his eyes.
Max gave Jason an apple as they hurried out of the boat. The train was steaming, waiting for the moment to begin its lumbering way west. Jason and Max hugged. The conductor sang out, "All aboard!" ripping them apart from their desperate embrace.
The locomotive's whistle belched its steamy howl and the train jolted once or twice, then rolling along, picked up speed. Jason, hanging out of the window, saw his Max slowly shrink, still waving as he stopped running alongside the tracks. He was wiping the tears when a fellow passenger asked, "Got a cinder in your eye, boy?"
"Yes, Sir... I did. A bad, stingy cinder!" he said, lying the best he could, as he flopped down on the bench and looked through the dirty window pane at the passing pines, mile after mile.
Max was sort of glad the wind was light. He wasn't in a real hurry to return home. He went back to the boat, aired out the bedding. Before shaking the comforter, he pulled it up to his face and buried his nose in it, seeking Jason's smell. Then he ruffled it several times, cursing to himself, "Don't be stupid, Max! Guys have needs and that was just one! You had fun, so did he, so now forget it and get back to your 'real' life. You've got nets stacked up waiting for you, so get underway!" he uttered through his clenched teeth.
It was a little before midnight when he tied up to his little landing in Portsmouth. He still felt tired as if something was stuck in his chest. He ate some cold cabbage and potatoes, spiked with some red peppers and went to bed. When he blew out the lamp, he burst into tears.
(to be continued)
A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net.