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Bob "Huck" D.Hi y'all. You don't know me, but my name is Caleb Brown, though everybody calls me "Cal". I wanted to tell you the story of the summer of my Junior Year at Kelly Island, and how I got to be a "pirate".
It all started the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years in High School. I was 16 at the time; just turned 16 that May. My folks decided that they wanted to get me and my sister out of the suburbs and into a more rural, "close-knit" community. So they decided to move to Kelly Island, a little place out in Chesapeake Bay. When I say "little" I mean little. No more than 1,200 permanent residents. It was a far cry from where we were from in Bethesda, and I couldn't wait to get out of there for various reasons. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The only way to reach the island is by ferry boat, or a small causeway leading in from the eastern shore of Virginia. Most of the tourists came by ferry, if only for the sheer novelty of it. Plus, the eastern shore was a long way 'round, and the majority of tourists came from Washington and Baltimore. So they took the ferry. That's how we first arrived as well. I remember when we first drove off the boat. We parked near the waterfront, and took a quick stroll around. My mom and dad did a lot of "oh this is sooo nice..." type talk. But me, I only noticed one thing: poontang baby! Lots of it. Oh man, there were good-looking girls everywhere it seemed. I was in 7th heaven!!
The area near the waterfront was actually kind of cool. Seemed they had restored it to its historical appearance. There was an old set of shops, a shipwright, rope maker, tinsmith, the old jail (they spelled it "gaol"); but the thing that caught my attention was a set of the old-fashioned stocks that set out in the market square. You know, the type of contraption where they lock you up, with your ankles trapped between a set of stiff boards. These stocks were particularly nasty, in that there was a sort of 'rack' behind where the prisoner's back rested, and that allowed for their arms to be tied out as well. Unfortunately, we were well down the street from the stocks, and although I wanted to get a better look, my folks insisted that we needed to get going so that we could see the new house and be there for the moving van to arrive. But as we were getting into the car, I noticed that a couple of guys in old-timey costumes were locking a kid up in those stocks I saw, and he really didn't look happy about it. Then we drove off I noticed I couldn't see the stocks because a crowd of tourists had gathered close around them, but I swear, as we did I could hear what sounded like hysterical laughter from that direction.
We settled in that week, and one day I found myself down in the town square area of the waterfront exhibit. I had already made some friends, and we were trying to score with the tourists gals. The town square was the "happening" place. It was mostly a lot of posturing and gesturing; the tourists didn't really have much liking for us 'locals' except to look at us like we were zoo animals. We were supposed to be throwbacks to an "earlier, romantic era"; kinda like being a museum exhibit in real life, ya know? But heck, it made for fun; and the locals were used it and took it is stride. Plus the tourists brought more than just a snooty attitude to the island; they brought money! And that was really what it was all about.
Well, my curiosity about the old stocks got the better of me, so I excused myself from my friends and wandered over to where they stood. This time I was gonna get a good look, 'up close and personal' as they say. Much to my surprise, there was a kid locked up there, and I knew him! A few people were milling around, but he looked pretty much bored as no one was paying much attention to him at the time. I nodded at him.
"You're Drake right?" I said.
"Yup, Drake Cunningham's the name friend. Don't wear it out." He said with a grin. "I cain't remember yore name?"
"It's Caleb; but call me Cal".
"Why hell, then Cal it is!" he said with a broad smile.
I had met Drake at an illicit beer bash on the beach a couple of nights before. The deputies had closed in on us and we all had scattered. But I heard that a couple of kids had gotten caught. Luckily, I wasn't one of them. It seemed Drake hadn't been so lucky. "What's this all about Drake?"
"Community service" he said. "Ever-body knows ever-body on this daggone island; and somehow the deputies found out that me and Justin Bartlett was throwing the beer party whar I met ye."
Drake has that peculiar dialect that all island natives possessed. It was one of the reasons the tourists flocked here; to hear the quaint "Elizabethan" dialect of the locals. Drake was a son of one of the local commercial fishermen. He was a big, broad-shouldered boy; well-muscled with big size 11 feet. I could tell those feet hadn't seen a single summer with shoes on them in all of the 17 years since he was born, except maybe for church and Sunday School!
Drake shifted his position as best as he could, but his arms were tied out at his sides, and his ankles were trapped between the cedar planks. Even his toes and heels were restrained with straps, so that his big, broad bare feet were completely immobile.
"Man, I hope to hell that daggone deputy comes back 'fore long, cuz I gotta piss something awful", Drake said with a grimace.
"Ya want me to get him?" I asked.
"Nah, he'll be along presently." Drake said. "He always comes to gimme a stretch 'bout once an hour or so."
Right on cue one of the sheriff's deputies showed up and let Drake loose from the wooden contraption he was locked up in. He ran off as quick as he could to make it to the public restroom.
"I seen them piss their pants in there..." the deputy said with an evil smirk.
I squinted at him, "you're kidding right?"
"Hell no. Sometimes the really ticklish ones piss their pants!"
That's when I took notice that "TICKLE ME!" was scrawled on the front of the stocks. I really hadn't paid much attention to it, thinking it was just a joke. I mean, that would be torture, wouldn't it? That's illegal, ain't it?
Drake came strutting back, his big bare feet slapping the ground as he walked. He mugged at the deputy.
"Alright dumbass, get back in there."
"Who you callin' dumbass, huh, dumbass?" Drake said with a sneer as he hopped back into the stocks.
"You cocky little sonuvabitch." said the deputy as he secured Drake's toes.
"Hey, call me all the names you want," said Drake as he stretched out his arms and flexed his biceps. "But the ladies knowwww what they like..." he said, grinning widely.
"OK, OK bad boy," said the deputy as he secured Drake's arms, "we'll make sure you get some tongue before this day's out, I promise."
Drake squinted his eyes and slowly spat out, "Oh...yo...fukkin...bastard! You wouldn't?"
"For you, Drakey-poo?! O believe me, I been a'waiting for this day!" He said, walking away.
"I'm sure you have, piss-ant!" Drake hollered after him.
Once the deputy walked away, I gestured at Drake.
"So, how the heck do you get away with talking to the cops around here like that? Shit, at home, I would've been tasered for calling a cop a dumbass, never mind a piss-ant!"
Drake laughed, "Aww hell son, that moron's mah brother-in-lawr!"
"Oh, that's right! I forgot...you're all inbred here, ain't ya?"
"Hey, hey...watch that now mainlander. I'll get out of here eventually, and then I'm a'gonna hawk you down and kick yore skinny ass!" Drake said with a grin.
"Hard guy, huh?"
"So hard you can roller-skate on me!" said Drake, confidently.
"Sorry man...about the indreeding; bad joke." I said a bit sheepishly.
"So Drake, how much do they pay you for these shows?"
"Shows?" he said, puzzled.
"Yeah, this is a show for the tourists, right?"
"Boy, you are new 'round heah, ain'chya? I done told ya already...this heah is community service. Ya know..." Drake tried to imitate the sound of a judge's voice, "...Drake Cunningham, you are hereby found guilty of underage drinking and providing alcohol to minors...blah, blah, and so the county, and my fat ass, sentences you to a two hundred and fifty dollar fine, loss of license for six months, and two hundred hours of community service."
"So this is the way you all do community service here...like this?"
"Yeah friend, like this." Drake spat, he had a "chaw" in. "I mean it ain't all we do. You gotta put in at least 40 hours per week, that's if ya ain't workin'. I works with my pa crabbin', so I only got to do 20 a week. But I still hafta do all 200 hours of the sentence, daggone it all. I mostly do regular work for the town, it ain't all that bad; ya know, pick up trash, cleaning and scraping barnacles off the ferry boats, taking tourists 'round to see the sights, all that. We even get to work off our fines, but ya gotta do that in here." Drake gestured to the stocks. "You gotta spend at least 4 hours in this contraption once a week; but the more hours you put in, the sooner yer fine's paid off. They comp ya 10 bucks and hour."
"But if the is 'real', ain't this illegal Drake? I mean, like 'cruel and unusual' punishment? You know, unconstitutional?"
"Whoo-boy! We got a big city lawyer here, don't we? Well lemme tell ya sumthin' dawg. Obviously you city boys don't ever take civics in school no more? All that 'political currickness' and such." Drake laughed at his own joke. "When was the constitution ratified?"
"Uh, 1787?"
"Correct! Now, how long were stocks and pillories used to punish petty crimes in these United States?"
"Uhhh...I reckon they stopped after the pilgrim days. Ya know, they outlawed them with the bill of rights, didn't they?"
"Now there ya is all wrong pard, all wrong. They used the stocks and pillory way into the 1800s, and most states and counties never actually 'outlawed' them. They just stopped using them, that's all. Now heah, on Kelly's Island, we just kept a'using them, and so heah I sits!" he said with a toothy grin, trying as best he could to wiggle his big toes. Then his reverie was broken by the arrival of a tour group, as a look of horror spread across his face. Drake moaned, "oh golly...they is 20 or more of 'em! Ah man! Daggone it!"
The tour guide, dressed as an early 19th century dock constable, led the large group of tourists to where Drake was secured. When the group had gathered, he spoke.
"Now here we have a local ruffian, undergoing a bit of public humiliation in the old stocks." Drake sneered on cue as the guide gestured in his direction. "With minor repairs, these same stocks have been in use here since 1796. As you can see, our prisoner here has been found guilty of public drunkenness, and now he must pay the price. He'll stay in here all day."
Two boys dressed in period clothing sauntered up to the stocks, taking position at each of Drake's feet.
"Now, having your bare feet secured like that was done only here, to our knowledge. Tradition tells us that tickling of stocked prisoners was introduced by Captain J. Kelly, the founder of Kelly's Island."
The two boys grabbed feathers that were stuck into the top of the stocks above Drake's feet, and s-l-o-w-ly began to drag them up and down the length of his big feet. Drake started to squirm, and the crowd started to take pictures like crazy.
"You can imagine what it must be like, trapped, no where to go, unable to stop the tickling..."
Drake started to jerk and giggle. The feathers were being dragged between his toes now, and he was really squirming. Then one of the kids turned the feather around, and began using the quill's tip, scratching it in the gap between Drake's big toe and second toe.
"You use it like a turkey call..." the kid said to the onlookers with a grin. The other boy mocked Drake, and began to gobble.
Suddenly, like a blast of a gun, Drake hollered,
"BWAH! HA! HA! HA! AGGGGHHH! HA! HA! HA! You little BRATS! HA! HA! Quit that NOW! HA! HA! HA!"
The boys only redoubled their efforts, and scratched their quills along the entire length of Drake's big soles. He was laughing hysterically now, screaming for mercy, begging for the quills to stop.
"PUHLEEEZE! JASON! TRAVIS! STOP! AGGGGHA! HA! HA! HA! STOOPPPP!!!! I CAIN'T STAND IT!! BWAH HA! HA! HA!"
The kids kept up their insane torment for another few minutes, enough to allow the tourists to get plenty of pics for their albums. Then, the boys gave Drake a breather. He literally collapsed into his bonds.
"Now folks, as you can see our local ragamuffins here have really given poor Drake a regular hammerin! And like Drake here, the most common 'guests' in the stocks were older boys and young men." The girls in the crowd smiled and giggled nervously. Some of the teenage boys shifted uncomfortably, wondering what it would be like to be in Drake's place.
A man in the crowd yelled out, "I know a teenager who could benefit by a little of that treatment...", elbowing his son standing at his side. The boy grinned widely and jumped away.
"NO WAY!" he said.
The guide continued, "Ah well, we can't just take anyone from the crowd folks. This here is punishment, and our young prisoner here needs to learn his lesson. You folks are in for a treat!"
Drake frowned and mumbled some unintelligible curse.
(to be continued)
