The sinister man summarily shoved me out the door to the room. My head was reeling—all the documents that had to be forged, all the money that had to have exchanged hands, all the relatives back home…I mentally initiated a curse upon the crimp who had shanghaied me. I hoped the bartender choked to death on some of his wares, or got stabbed or shot in a bar fight.

A sharp stinging pain and the crack of a whip cut my musings short. I felt the pain, the initial sharp sting followed by the semi-numb dull ache, left by the leather. “Come now, you brainless twit!” the Englishman screamed. “Hoist those sails! We’ve got to make Shanghai in a decent time, you know!”

I actually had not known, but I had decided that my best bet was to go along with it for the time being. I rather disliked receiving abuse by the Englishman’s hand. I did as I was told: I slowly made up the sails’ rigging, surprised at the sureness of my progress.

I was musing over my sudden sobriety when I lost my grip and slipped.