0 comments/  8860 views/  1 favorites

Rebel in Boston Ch. 01

By: Old Bill



Over the next few months, I managed to get into Boston a half a dozen times as a sort of bodyguard to one of the locals who ventured back into his home town to spy out what the Brits were up to. He was a fine, brave little man named Richard Backus, and although I could hardly understand him at first, we became reasonably good friends, as much as you can be friends with an well-educated officer. Colonel Backus had been involved in every action so far including the running fight from Concord and the debacle on Breed's Hill, and he had the scars to show for it. He also knew many people in Boston and, I believe, had several mistresses there. I do not think he was married, but I am not sure.

The first time I rowed him across, he asked me, as we dragged our small boat up into some weeds, if I was interested in getting laid. I had to inquire twice before I was sure what he meant and by then he had run through his gaudy, Harvard vocabulary until he reached "foocked."

"Oh," I said brightly, feeling the fool, "of course, if we have the time."

"We shaul maike the toime," he said, slapping me on the back, and I will not try again to duplicate his speech.

I followed him as unobtrusively as I could, often on the other side of the street, covering his back as he visited several homes, businesses and, thankfully, taverns. The town was full of what he called "lobsterbacks," but we both tried to ignore them as if they were not there and went about our business quietly. At about sunset, which came early as winter set in, he handed me a few shillings, pointed me toward a many-windowed tavern, and said he would join me in an hour or so. "Ask for Roxy," he said, as he slipped into an alley and disappeared.

When I ducked my head to enter the tavern, a kind of hush fell over the place. It was not very crowded, perhaps fifteen or twenty men were drinking and smoking, but I felt a lot of eyes on me as I ordered an ale and plunked down a shilling.

"An' `oo moite you be?" asked a small man at my elbow. Wizened was the word for him and nearly toothless. 

"Lord North," I said, wiping the foam from my lips.

"Indeed," he said, "delighted." He stuck out his hand, and when I took it another man grabbed me from behind, pining my arms. I did not struggle. The little man searched me quickly, dumped my thin purse on the bar, and nodded to the unseen man behind me. I was released, flexed my shoulders and looked about. No one was there and almost all the eyes were looking away from us.

"Din' oye see ye wif Backys, tidday, up town?" asked the little man.

"Who?" I pushed my tin toward the inn-keeper for another. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Gin," said the little man, and a small glass of cloudy liquid appeared along with my beer.

"Is Roxy about?" I asked, making my face look pleasant.

"She is," he said, "an' `ow would ye be knowin' aboot `er?"

"Friend told me," I said.

He nodded and drank. Then he pushed my shilling back toward me. "Yer money's nae good `ere," he said. He twiddled with the end of his sharp nose. "A short visit is it?"

I nodded.

"Ah," he said with a crooked smile, "`ere's Roxy." He grabbed a passing serving girl and pulled her between us. "Big feller's lookin' for you," he said, and the woman smiled at me and raised an eyebrow. "Knew yer name, `e did."

The girl was probably about my age, a bit disheveled from her work, but strong bodied and dark haired. We stood a few inches apart, our chests touching, lips feeling each other's breath in the narrow space. She tossed her head like a horse to get a long curl out of her eyes.

"Could use some comfort," I said quietly.

"Couldn't we all." She smiled broadly.

"Got the time?"

"Perhaps. Who gave you my name?"

"Can't say. He'll be here shortly, and I'll have to leave." I held my hand out to indicate the colonel's height.

"Well then, where y'goin'?"

I gestured with my thumb. "Dorchester, likely," I said.

She nodded and smiled. "Come," she said, and I followed her up the stairs that lay along one wall of the tavern. She closed the door behind us and stood against it. "Backus, eh?" she said as I sat and pulled off my boots.

I did not answer, and she came and knelt between my legs. She unbuttoned my foreflap, plucked out my tumescent member, stroked it a time or two and took it in her mouth, rolling her tongue about its trembling head. I stopped breathing altogether. She rested her hands on my thighs, raising and lowering herself as my shaft slid in and out of her soft mouth, bobbing her head, eyes closed. I put one hand in her thick and tangled hair and held myself upright with the other as she brought me near, eased me back, encouraged me up again, first faster and then much slower, sucked and licked the length of my heated lance, kneaded my ballocks steadily and again slowed to let the hard shaft escape her lips with a final lick of her long tongue. 

Wordlessly, smiling, she mounted my thighs, tossed her dress over my wet and upright bowsprit, inched forward, put her hands about my neck, rose and impaled herself. She was as ready as I was and we came, almost together, in a minute or less and kept right on humping as if it did not matter.

I have no sense of how long it took or how many times either of us shook and spasmed, but when she was convinced we could do no more, and our groins were thoroughly sodden, she kissed me open mouth, whispered, "That was grand, big one, just grand," and stood, her feet beside mine. "He'll be downstairs by now. Get your boots on."

I did as I was told and followed her back to the tavern, trying to get my heart to calm and my lungs to work. I had never been served so in such a short time. Colonel Backus was indeed at the bar, chatting with the short man who had accosted me. He smiled as we approached, greeted Roxy with a quick kiss and a hug and said, "Let's go."

I dug out the handful of shillings he had given me and held them out to the girl. She shook her head. "Maybe next time," she said. The little man folded my fingers about my coins and nodded.

The colonel and I made out way back to our tiny boat, and I rowed us back to the other shore.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked as I pulled on the oars.

"Yessir," I said. "Indeed."

"She's awful good," he said.

"Yessir," I said.

"Ever have a woman do that for you before?"

"No sir," I said, almost truthfully, still trying to remember the feeling, my ballocks throbbing.

"Now you owe her one," he said. "Remember that next time."

Rebel in Boston Ch. 02



The next time we went into the occupied city nearly got us killed, but I did have the opportunity to repay Roxy, with her generous and instructive help. A marching patrol of four Redcoats and a young officer came around a corner that morning and down the street we were on before we could do anything about it. They stopped the colonel, demanding his name and address, and I knew I would be next. I tried to recall the name of Roxy's tavern but could not so decided to play dumb.

The officer dismissed the colonel and brushed a woman with a broom on her shoulder aside and came to face me.

"Name?" he said.

I made a gurgling sound, choked a time or two, crooked a shoulder forward and forced out, "Ed" in a soprano voice.

"Edward is it?" the man said, glancing at the soldier beside him.

I nodded vigorously, drooling.

"And what do you do?"

I went through the motions of casting and reeling in.

"Fisherman?" he said, "Go on with you." he waved to his men and moved on the along the street. I exhaled. By then the colonel had disappeared so I made my way to the tavern, looking for Roxy.

She saw me from across the room since I guess I'm too tall to easily miss, raised a dark eyebrow and gestured. Again I followed her up the stairs and watched her latch the door behind us. I held her, felt her and kissed her some. "He said I owed you," I told her when we sat on the bed beside each other working on buttons and laces.

"Did he?" she said, pulling off her sturdy shoes, her large breasts all but tumbling from her unlaced blouse.

I nodded, following her example. "Now what?" I asked, half riled.

"On your knees, m' big lad, an' pay y'r debt," she said with a chuckle in her voice. She spread her legs and gathered her skirt about her waist. "Now move in closer." I did, admiring and amazed at the pink petals that appeared while she gripped my shoulders. "Now," she said, "your tongue is what I want. Lick upward, if you will. Gently. Slowly and deeply. Lick, boy, lick."

She held my head, hands clawed, and I followed directions. I had done a few girls back on the farm, just kiss and run, but never like this.

"There," she said when my tongue found a small, firm protuberance that felt a bit like a knotted cord. "Right there," and she leaned back, still holding my head, drawing me into her. "Deeper, deeper," she cried, and I obeyed, my hands at her wide buttocks. I licked and kissed and nibbled and sank my tongue into her, feeling her lips flutter against my mouth, aware that she was becoming wetter and wetter, until she moaned, "Enough, enough," and grabbed my shoulders again. "Now, up and at it," she cried, and I stood and took her, sliding into a warm, greased channel that was waiting and throbbing for me. After a bit, she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes while I held her hips and rogered her soggy quim until she gasped, shuddered and squealed with pleasure, kicking her legs behind me.

"Damn, damn, damn, y'are a good `un," she said, pulling herself upright and yanking my head down to kiss me. "I've got to go back to work. Put that thing away."

I did as I was told and stumbled down the stairs behind her. The tavern was much busier, and she hurried off while I got myself an ale, feeling I had been turned a bit inside out.

"They's out an' about tidday," said the wizened little man who suddenly appeared at my side. "Take care."

Still trying to recover from Roxy's attentions, I simply nodded and asked for another beer. I spent the day in that tavern, watching Roxy work and drinking beer on the house. I ate some bread and gravy, and about sundown the colonel appeared, looking worried. He came and sat with me while I tried to clear my head and look attentive.

"Something's up," he said quietly. "Streets are full of lobsters."

I nodded, and he took my beer away from me and drank it down. I followed him out the back door, down toward the muddy docks and then in and out of old, brick streets, marshy areas, tumbled shacks, rocky ledges, and other places I doubt many Bostonians knew existed. When we finally came in sight of the place we had concealed our rowboat, we saw there were guards along the shore, about one every fifty yards or so. Across the black water I could see General Washington's flickering campfires.

"You have a weapon?" he whispered, gripping my arm tightly.

I shook my head. He had ordered me not to bring any. "Just a small knife in my boot," I said.

"Have to do," he whispered. "Get rid of that Redcoat, and do it quietly."

I took me perhaps five minute to creep through the sawgrass and nettles until I was crouched behind the sentry. It seemed more like five hours, and I was sure he would turn and see me at any moment. Then I rose, coughed and stumbled over a rock at the same time. The man whirled, leveled his bayonet tipped musket at me, and yelled, "Halt right there, y'beggar!"

I decided to play drunk rather than dumb since it was closer to the truth, but the hair rose on the back of my neck as I stumbled on toward the soldier.

"`Alt, I said," he demanded, jabbing his spike in my general direction. I wove a bit, scratched my head, said, "Got to puke," and reached out a hand toward him. He raised his musket across his body to block me, and I bent as if I was going to fall and gulped, drew my little blade and drove it up into his belly, grabbing his face with my other hand to cover his mouth as best I could. I felt his warm blood on my hand, withdrew my knife and stuck him again, higher, just under his crossbelts, bending his back across my knee. He dropped his musket with a clatter on the shale and fell to one knee, trying to pull my hand from his jaw. I pushed his chin back and sliced across his throat. A torrent of blood splashed out, drenching my right leg, and I let the dead man fall, rolling down toward the lapping water as I felt the urge to vomit. I shuddered and spat; the feeling passed.

The colonel was beside me at once, handed me the musket, and we ran to the boat and dragged it toward the water, bending low. I was about knee deep in the swirling stream when someone yelled, "What's goin' on there?" I drew back the flint and cocked my musket.

"Don't fire," the colonel hissed. "Go get him."

I did not hesitate but ran directly at the man silhouetted against the starshine. The beach was wet, rock covered, and I slipped several times as I charged ahead, covering the ten or twelve yards in just a few steps. I faked a jab high, just as I had been taught back in Frederick, and when he blocked it, I swung the gun's butt into his groin. The man grunted, slashed at me, his spike cutting my cheek, and I speared him through the chest and drove him back to the hillside. He dropped his weapon and grabbed mine, gasping, "No, no, no," as I pulled out my bayonet and stuck him again. Black blood poured from his mouth, and I let go of the musket and ran, falling twice, back down the beach and into the icy water.

Col. Backus helped me climb aboard, and he rowed us back to the other shore, wordlessly while I tried to forget the torrent of blood the man had spewed at me.



Rebel in Boston Ch. 03



After Backus was killed, they sent me back into Boston a few more times, but the last trip before the British up and left is the one I remember best. For all I know, it may be a turning point in the Revolution, but that is another story entirely. It was late February or early March, in the midst of a thaw, and I had by then made some useful contacts of my own as well as continuing to check with the colonel's friends. One of my favorite and most useful sources of information was Madam Barry's bordello on Duke Street. It was a tall, frame structure with steep steps up to the front door. I always came in the back and made my way to the cellar where the madam had provided me a substantial old couch and a rickety table and set of chairs. Her "ladies," as she called them, could be a font of wonderful tales, rumors, and first-class information as well as not- so-innocent pleasure. 

I was kissing a young whore who called herself July when she sighed, "They's leavin'."

I yanked my face out of her neck and whispered, "Who's going where?"

"Corny, Howe and them, they's all leaving, every one," she said, pulling her clothes together and shaking her sweaty curls loose. She had done me to a fare-thee-well some time before.

"Where are they going?" I asked, helping her with her quilted petticoat. She had demanded my tongue's attentions as her reward for tolerating a most vigorous swiving under me that left her sore and hurt, so she said.

"Don' know. New Scotland mean anyfing t'you?"

I shook my head between her soft breasts. "When?"

"Fortnight, this feller said. Tole me he'd miss me, `e did." She grinned at me. "Are you leavin' too? You gonna miss me?" she asked as I stood.

"You going with them?" I asked, slapping her open hand aside. I had seldom paid for sex since I was a boy back in Frederick.

She shook her head. "Some of the girls are, them what had regulars among the gentry and such, men that ain't as stingy as you."

"My, my," I said. "and who might know more?"

"I dunno," she sniffed, "Maybe that snooty Miz Singleton. You know `er? She's a real King-lover, that `un. I `eard `em talking `bout her."

I knew who she was, the handsome hostess of one of Boston's best-known salons, perhaps the most flamboyantly dressed woman in New England, a reputed courtesan with many wealthy lovers, a good friend of Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne although some insisted she was only his well-paid harlot, and wife of a notorious rake and libertine who was in the process, so they said, of dying of the so- called French disease. The tall, dark-haired woman of perhaps twenty-five or thirty was an American, Rhode Island born I was told, and reputedly came from a poor, cod-fishing family. She climbed the bedroom ladder of success rung by rung on her shapely back and wide posterior, married into wealth and station, rising in the loyal ranks out of a career as a serving girl and cheap jade in a seafront tavern. If she had a weakness, said her many enemies, it was for over-sized jewels and slim young men.

"Who do you know over there?" I asked the young one as she pulled up her knit stockings.

"Just her maid, thas' all, her very own personal and private maid," she answered proudly.

"Her name?" I asked, holding up a shiny shilling.

"Duchess, they calls her," she said, snatching the coin and making it disappear like a magician. "She's black as tar. Tell `er July sen'cha. She might help." The girl hurried off to earn her meals with her trained coney, and I went out in the twilight to seek information, my physical needs more than satisfied.

At the back of the Singleton's rented manse, a home that I had been told once belonged to some branch of the Adam's family although I'm not sure which Adams, I asked for Duchess. A short girl with an Irish brogue and ringlets at her ears told me to wait and in a minute or two a very dark, angular young woman appeared, wearing a frilly cap and looking curious.

"Dottie said there was a giant asking for me," she said, her speech soft and careful.

"July sent me," I told her and watched her reaction. She raised an eyebrow a quarter inch and the corner of her mouth even less.

"And," she said, hitting the "d" hard and studying me as if she planned on taking me apart.

"She heard the British were planning on leaving soon."

"Well?" said the black woman.

"Might you or your mistress know about that?"

"She might, come in, mind your head," Duchess said with a knowing smile. "I'd guess you don't live around here." She led me into a small library and waved at a fragile-looking chair. "Be right back," she said, disappearing.

I paced the narrow room, looking at book titles and framed engravings, and when the pocket door slid open, I turned. There stood a striking woman, her hair piled so high that it made her as tall as I was. She wore a dark green velvet robe trimmed in soft gray fur, fox probably, which she held together at her narrow waist in a relaxed manner. She had wide shoulders and ample hips, long legs and an upright carriage. She held her chin high and there was some mischief in her gaze or perhaps it was assessment.

"Who are you?" she asked, closing the door soundlessly behind her, changing hands at her middle as she did.

I told her my name, said I was from Maryland, was in Washington's army, and had worked with Colonel Backus. I showed her his ring.

"Well?" she said, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was wearing make-up, what we called paint in those days, that highlighted her eyes and cheekbones; her lips were rouged and her eyelids tinted. "It is true. We are leaving, all of us." She sat on a small, gilt chair and crossed her long legs, flipping her robe's furry hem across to cover her knees. Other than her soft slippers and her dark stockings, she was, as far as I could tell, completely bare under her silken gown.

"When?" I asked, seating myself and trying not to let my rising desire show. I crossed my legs too. She exuded vibrant femaleness, in other words, she smelled like sex. The idea rose in my mind unbidden.

"I don't know, soon I think. I cannot talk to you here." She took a deep breath and made an odd face, almost disgust. "I shouldn't talk to you at all. Where are you staying or are you going back tonight? The colonel was a fine man but always in a hurry; may he rest in peace."

"I can wait for you, wait another day. I'm at Madam Barry's on Duke. You know the place?" I was tempted to tell her I would wait until hell froze over for her.

She nodded and smiled. "I have a soiree here almost at once. Some may already have arrived. I will come later, much later, with Duchess and a driver. I owe Backus that much."

"Come around back, down the cellar steps. I'll leave a lantern in the side yard and one in the doorway."

She nodded and stood. I put my hands gently on her velvet hips and she lifted her chin, not bothering to hold her heavy gown together. Her eyes were gray. I kissed her briefly and was surprised to find the tip of her tongue in my mouth as she drew away, displaying the deep cleft between her upright breasts , the puff of her belly and the shadowed paradise beneath it.

"It will be late," she said and turned with a swish of her fur- trimmed wrap and left, striding through the doorway, taking long steps, swinging her arms, her gown billowing out at the sides. I caught just a brief reflection of her lean, pink body as she passed an ornate, convex mirror on the wall. It was enough to startle my cock into rigid attention.

I spent the day making my usual rounds, avoid the small but annoying patrols and chatting up various founts of sometimes-useful information. Then, after a decent late meal, I dragged myself back to my digs and napped a bit, hoping the lovely woman was as good as her word.

The bell in the nearby church had clanged twice before she and her dark maid came though the basement door, bundled in heavy cloaks, both of them smiling as though they had just shared a good jest. I quickly roused myself, put aside my bayonet, and tried to look alert.

"Ah, he's awake," the woman said, dismissing the maid with a wave. "Tell Jim to return at five." She tossed back her hood and swirled out of her long, dark cape, handing it to me. I laid it aside on my couch, and she walked into my arms. I kissed her gently, and she kissed me firmly and ground her lush, silk-covered and stay- bound body into me. She tasted of wine. It was a fine, warm body that undulated in my arms and breathed desire. My big hands were busy while our mouths and tongues tangled and merged.

"Damn," she said softly, pushing me away. She was wearing a very fancy gown which seemed to have two diaphanous handkerchiefs for a top, pocket hoops that flared out her ornate overskirt and a striped petticoat made of dozens of yards of rustling silk. There were strings of small pearls roped through her dark hair, and she also had dangling pearl ear bobs and a strand of larger, dark and rather misshapen pearls at her throat. Her skin was perfect, nearly translucent, flawless, faintly fuzzy.

We sat on my makeshift bed, and I poured her some corn whisky which was all I had. She sniffed it and then drank it down in a gulp.

"It's true," she said, wiping the back of her hand across her soft mouth while I pawed her. "They are leaving; we are, all of us who are loyal. Soon. In the middle of the month is the best guess; there's something about tides and that fort out there, William is it?

"Oh," she almost chuckled, "but they will be back, that brave bunch, they will be back and hundreds more with them, whole new regiments. They sacked Gates. The Howe brothers are in command, Horny Billy and Black Dick, and they will be back. They mean to crush you, grind you under. Hang Adams, both of them if they catch them, Hancock, that French tinker, all the leaders." She worked on the snaps at the side of her gaudy stomacher, sprung it loose and flung it away into the dark. "Ah, I can breathe," she sighed.

I bent, held her small breast and kissed her. She smiled and stood with her back to me doffing her huge overskirt and strange, basket-shaped hoops. I undid her stay strings, and she let the small garment slide over her hips and stepped from it, kicking it aside. I never saw a woman so careless with obviously expensive clothes. Then she got out of her huge, slick, pleated petticoat, which stood by itself when she set it aside, and pirouetted before me in her delicate shift . "I feel much better," she said, tossing away the gay kerchiefs tucked into her bosom, kicking off her silver-buckled slippers and standing on her toes like a dancer. My flickering candle cast black shadows that moved across her body and face. My heart raced and my member strained.

"Will you go with them?" I asked, taking her hand and pulling her onto my lap. She put her arms about my neck and nodded, Her skin felt cold and prickled. Her mouth was warm and soft. There was no heat except for our bodies in my basement hideaway. I cannot remember the month, but it was still winter and it was cold.

"I must," she sobbed. "Take me. Please. We've just a few hours. You talk too much."

I stripped out of my boots and britches in record time, helped her slide under her cape and the worn quilt on my couch and edged in beside her, stripling eager and main mast hard. The bed had barely room for one my size, but we soon solved that problem, and the woman lay heaving under me, hips pumping up and down, legs kicking wildly, head raised on the couch's soft curve, fingers clawing into my shirt as I held my weight from her and rogered her steadily and firmly, grunting with effort, bending my back to the thrilling task. Her mouth gaped, but she climaxed with just a soft sound like a breeze, shuddering and barely pausing as I increased the pace of my lunging and probing, nearing my peak deep in her wondrously throbbing quim.

She locked her long legs about me, released her arms to press her elbows on the wooden frame, bent her back and took it, groaning under me as I came, teeth clenched, arms fully extended on the couch's sides, smiling down at her. She shook beneath me as I filled her until she overflowed.

I collapsed and pulled her along side, most of her body atop mine. We lay quietly our heads raised on the couch's uplifted end, enjoying the feel of each other, getting our breath back, hoping for more.

"I needed that," she sighed. "Haven't had a real man for six weeks, and then that Mayfair fop I laid with spent most of the time looking in my mirror while he served me. But you, sir, you are a bull, a prize bull."

"Why must you leave?" I asked after I kissed her eyes, ears and neck.

"I must, if I want to live," she whispered, a chuckle deep in her throat as her hand stroked my chest. "They'd, I don't know, the people here, they'd cut off my nose and ears, might hang me. I deserve it." She sniffed and let her hand roam through my tangled hair down my belly and groin and then to my flaccid member, teasing it back to life, scratching its undeside lightly.

"Your husband?" I asked, petting her back. She helped me skin out of my shirt and then gnawed at my mouth and kissed my nipples. The cold air washed over us, and I pulled her cape atop my shoulders.

"Partly, it's expected," she said, "but I've entertained them all, Gage, the military governor, Clinton, the generals, admirals, all of them."

"Pity," I said, kissing her and sucking her mouth, drawing her tongue into mine, pulling her shift to her heaving hips.

"Yes, your friend Madam Barry, you know that's her real name by the way, she might take me in, put me to work, but no one else would have any use for me."

"Did you know the colonel?" I pulled the lacy shift over her head, and it hung from one of her arms until she dropped it behind us.

"Backus?" she asked, my aching stones rolling through her fingers.

I nodded, bending to lick her hard nipples. They were small and pointed. I sucked them briefly.

"Yes, I loved him. He was wonderful, the last man that really satisfied me fully," she said, and I thought she was going to cry, but instead she rose, climbed up my scared body, swung a leg across mine, and while I held up my swelling member, she carefully absorbed it and let it grow and stretch within her, a very pleasant experience that lasted for a some time while she stayed poised above me, breasts and dark hair dangling in my face. Then she lowered herself and we began again with my goal a hundred strokes before I came. I heard the church clock chime three before we stopped, having lost count somewhere in the forties, and I went to visit the privy wrapped in her cloak, leaving her panting and only partly covered on the cot, one knee raised and her arm across her face.

"I've never made love on such a small bed," she said, welcoming me back beside her. I kissed her and then we assumed the spoon position with me behind in order to rest for a spell. I pulled her cape across us both and snuggled in.

"You could come with me, join the patriots," I said to her hair, my hand cupping her breast.

She giggled and shook under my exploring fingers. "I like my life. I'm a wastrel, you big fool. I enjoy good wine, fine food, interesting company, music and dancing, jewelry and gifts, all the rest. And men, big men especially."

We lay quietly, breathing together.

"It's too late for me," she said. "I've made my bed. But, but, when the time comes, when we are in New York . . ."

"What?" I said, more loudly than I had meant to.

"Oh yes," she said, "and they will welcome us, the Dutchies. Wait and see." 

I caressed her, slid my hand down her soft belly and explored her soggy slit. She covered my hand, encouraging my kneading. I hardened and pushed my way into her from the back. She groaned and quivered as I entered again, a fierce and tireless ram.

"I can do the cause more good staying where I am," she said, heaving steadily. "My god, that's good. Deeper, deeper, go on. Oh there, right there." She squealed and shook, lubricating the way once more with a sudden gush of fluid.

Eventually I got her up on her knees with her head down on the foot of the couch and enjoyed her, leaning atop her back until we both were spent. Somewhere in there the clock struck four. We rested, intertwined, she licked me back to life and I slid my spit- annointed rod into her again while she lay spread beneath me, arched up on the top of the couch. Her final orgasm shook us both, and I squelched her brief scream with my mouth. When we could stand, I helped her dress, stealing kisses from time to time, and when Duchess came in the grey of dawn, the woman hugged me, said, "You'll do," and went back to her other life.

I reported what I had learned, but I am not sure I was believed. Then I went back several more times, but failed in repeated attempts to contact the Singleton woman. The British stayed warm and cozy while some men took on duties I forutnately avoided, hauling huge cannon across ide-covered lackes and rivers all the way from Fort Ticonderoga tot he heights of Dorchester which overlooked the teeming city.

My officers expressed surpise when the British fleet sailed out of sight in mid-March carrying off not only the army and marines but hundreds of civilians as well. I went into the town, hardly recognizing it in daylight, enjoyed the celebrating, got drunk as a lord and well laid a number of times. I found the Singleton's looted home empty but Madam Barry's doing a thriving business. Then we were ordered south, toward New York, which the staff had decided would be the next target of our enemies. I was not surprised.



Rebel in Boston Ch. 04



We were passing through a small town in Connecticut which does not help locate it very much since Connecticut was full of small towns and most of them looked pretty much alike - white church, grassy square and all. I guess the point is, I don't remember its name. This one was up in the hills a ways and had two churches. Anyhow, we stopped to eat and before we could get much more than two bites tucked away, the jolly townsfolk jumped us, attacked us with pitchforks, blunderbusses, hatchets, anything they could use as a weapon. A real melee, full of screams and running about. There were dozens of them and only ten of us. We scattered, but they caught two of our men and hacked them to death. Sometimes I can hear their screams, and I still wonder if I could have saved them, but in my heart I know I could not.

I scrambled into an old barn and probably covered my ears and tried to make myself as small as possible while my friends perished, pleading for help and mercy. I guess the barn could not have been too old way out there, but it smelled abandoned and sat behind the ruins of a burned cabin, leaning precariously leeward with holes in the roof, pigeons in the stalls, and some boards already stolen away. I sat quietly while the small, bloodthirsty mob of perhaps a score men surged around and ended up at the tavern, hauling the mangled remains of my two comrades behind them. They hung them from a tree by their feet and went in for a wet leaving the mangled remains swinging and attracting flies and crows.

We evidently had run into a town full of Tories, and I wondered, as my hunger reminded me, if there were any patriot families about. From what I had seen, if there where, they kept their heads down and minded their own business. About sundown, the tavern began spitting out men in twos and threes. I could no longer see what had happened to the bodies they had left hanging in the square. When the moon came up, I went down the rickety ladder with the intent of getting myself out of that town as quickly and quietly as I could.

About the time my feet hit the dirt floor, two men came walking by, one of them toting a lamp and both of them carrying long guns on their shoulders.

"Anybody look in there?" one asked.

"Spose," said the other.

"Let's take a gander, nohow," said the first, and they wandered through the opening where the door had been in better days, outlined by the rising moon. I pressed myself back against the wall, but I guess the combination of the moonlight and their flickering lantern was enough. I expect they saw something move but were not sure what.

"Come out a'there," one said, extra loudly.

"We got guns, rebel," said the other as they both backed up to stand framed in the doorway. My piece was primed and loaded, but I sure did not want to shoot at them and wake the whole bloodthirsty town. I fixed my spike bayonet to the muzzle of my musket as quietly as I could, took a deep breath and ran straight at them, bending low, zigging left and right and hoping surprise might do me some good. It was only about ten steps, but it felt like a mile. I think I yelled at them, too, in the last couple of strides.

I knocked the man with the lantern over on his back with my shoulder, his lamp flying one way and his gun another, and ran the other one through before he could even bring his half-cocked shotgun to bear. He yelled in pain as I drove him back, feet kicking, to the missing door's center post. I pulled out my sticker and jabbed him again, looking squarely into his wide-eyed face. Blood poured blackly from his mouth and nose, and I yanked my bayonet out of his chest and let him fall.

The first man scrambled up and jumped on my back with a curse, clawing at my face. I threw him over my shoulder. He landed atop the still-quivering body, and I stabbed him too, several times until he stopped kicking and moaning. I dragged the bodies back into the barn, rummaged through their pockets and found one heavy purse. Then I kicked straw, a couple of splintered boards and some leaves over them, sheathed my wet bayonet and got back on the road south, moving as fast as I could toward New York, our general destination since we left Boston. Ten minutes later I remembered that I had not bothered to find their weapons or the lantern. I wondered if it was still lit.

I had not gone far before a husky voice loudly whispered, "Hey, what's goin' on out there?"

I kept walking and ignored the call.

"Hist," the voice said. "You one a them rebels?"

I got off the road and crouched behind a stone wall, seeing to my musket.

"You hungry?" asked the husky voice in a slightly louder tone.

That got me since I was ravenous and was feeling the after effects of whatever juices had run through me back at the barn while I was killing two men the hard way, face to face. I could still hear the blood in my ears and feel it on my hands. 

"We ain't all Tories `round here," the voice said. "Come on in." A door opened slowly and let out a sliver of yellow light, and I saw that the voice belonged to a small youngster with unruly hair. My stomach decided to take a chance, and I scurried into the cabin and closed the door behind me. Two barefoot boys and a slightly older and equally barefoot girl faced me, smiling.

"You a soldier?" the voice belonging to the boy with the wild hair asked, no longer trying to whisper.

I nodded and rested my musket against the wall by the door.

"We heerd `em chasing you around out there, saw the two they chopped up, poor fellers," said the girl. "Come sit down."

"Where's your folks?" I asked, perching on a bench at the rude table.

"Black fever got `em las' year," the larger boy said. The younger one was yet to speak and just stared at me. I tried a smile on him and he smiled back and came to sit beside me.

"Sorry," I said, tearing off a piece of bread from the round loaf the girl put on the table. It was good bread. I gave the small boy a piece.

She ladled some thin stew from the pot at the fireplace and poured me a cup of water. I ate, she refilled the bowl and I ate that too and finished the loaf. I pulled out the purse I had taken from the dead man and dumped the coins out on the table. I gave her half and kept a few shillings for myself since I had lost my last one the day before turning cards with one of my mates. It was the last time I would use his deck, and I hoped he was not one of the ones dangling from a limb this night. I wanted to get my money back.

The girl bobbed her head and smiled her thanks and I said mine and complemented her poor and saltless stew. "You could stay the night here, but they're likely to be out looking at dawn, an' they knows we ain't with `em."

I nodded, mopping the wooden bowl with the last crust of bread.

"What happened at the barn?" the smaller boy asked.

"Didn't know you could talk," I said, ruffling his hair. "We had a little fight."

"I saw the two men with a lantern go by," the girl said.

I looked at her. "They're still up there," I said.

"Oh," she said. "They'll be missed soon. They're the night watch, them two."

"You better git," said the older boy.

"Go through the woods to the creek, turn left, upstream, and the first place you come to, `bout a mile, is the Widow Young's. Tell her that the Springs sent you, and she'll take you in. You'll be safe there for the night nohow."

"She's one a'the few rebels round here. Her man was killed up north, Dorchester I think, a Minuteman, back las' summer," the boy said.

I shook all three hands, thanked them and picked up my musket. Just as I was about to open the door, somebody hallooed outside and then yelled, "Call out the watch!"

I blew out the candle, crept into the dark and headed for the woods, tripping and falling over roots three or four times before I slowed down. Just about the time I was feeling fat and ahppy, out of woods as it were, a local with a long gun stepped out from behind a tree. The starlight showed me his smile, and it was not pleasant.

"Hole it," he said very calmly. He did not bother to point his weapon in my direction and mine was in the crook of my arm, loaded and primed. I still did not want to make any noise if I could avoid it, not after seeing what they did to my friends.

"Howdy," I said, giving him back his smile and trying to look harmless, something that generally difficult because of my size.

"Put down that there gun," he said quietly, swinging his weapon up in my general direction, finger on the trigger I noted.

"Mind if I set it against a tree?" I watched him very closely, eager to keep him happy.

"Put it down," he said again, genturing with his musket. I had decided it was not a shotgun.

"Right," I said, and I put the butt of my weapon on the ground and made as if to lower the piece carefully. He took a step closer, and I grabbed the barrel of my rifle and swung it into the back of his legs, hitting him right behind his knee. I let go of my gun and grabbed his, pushing the muzzle high as I could and clamping one hand over the firelock.

I had perhaps a three stone advantage over the slim man, and it only took seconds to wrest his musekt out of his hands and bash him in the side of the head with it. That made a very satisfactory sound, and he dropped, ending up in an awkward tangle at my feet. I kicked him a couple of times, got no response and quickly took his purse and powder, tossing his gun away. 

"What was that?" someone cried as the weapon crashed into the brush.

"Damn," I said loudly. "That you?"

"Jim?" said the vboice, sounding dubious.

I hid behind a large tree and clamped on my bayonet.

"Jim!" he said again, a bit stronger.

I waited, holding my breath and hearing him coming my way. A bit of light glinted from his weapon, and I pressed myself back against the trunk of the oak. He approached, crunching though the leaves. I was about to step out and confront him, when another voice from my left cried out, "Jim, Michael, where `ere ye?"

"Quiet," yelled the man who was probably less than ten yards from my hiding place.

"Wait," the second voice said, "I found something. Come over here."

More crunching and then, "Oh shit, it's Jim"

I looked up at my big tree and saw that the first limb was four or five feet above my head. I quickly stepped back and jammed the bayonet on my musket into the tree trunk at about shoulder level, stepped up on it near the muzzle, grabbed the limb, pulled myself up and then straddled it and wiggled the gun loose, feeling a lot safer and somewhat like a possum. I dismounted and sheathed my bayonet and got comfortable.

For the next five or ten minutes Michael and his companion scoured my part of the woods. Just as I was sure they were going to leave, a bat or something flashed by my face. I involuntarily swatted at it and nearly fell from my perch, dropping my musket in the process.

"Over there," one man yelled and they both made their way in my direction. I could see my musket lying on the ground so I assumed they would find it, and when I saw them walk by under my feet, bent over and cautious, I dropped on the larger of the two. My feet landed on his shoulders and knocked him on his face. I jumped at the other man and got my hands about his neck. I seemed to be doing pretty well until the first man jumped on my back; then it got rather confused. One of the local ended up with my spike bayonet driven through his chest, and I smashed the other face-first into my favorite tree and then kicked the live out of him.

Neither had any money worth taking, so I confiscated their powder and went looking for the creek the children had described.

I found the creek by stepping in it and perhaps an hour later spied a cabin in a clearing of stumps.

I could not remember the woman's name. That outcry and short fight had scared it right out of me. I knew the children who had fed me were Springs and that this was a widow's place, but that was all. I sat on a stump in the dark, mad at myself and tried to think. I spat, gave up, stood and it came to me: Young.

I knocked on the latchless door and said, "Miz Young,"

"Who is it?" came the steady voice from within.

"The Spring children sent me," I said, hoping that would do it. A bar slid away, the door opened slowly, and I walked into what seemed an empty room. I saw the banked fire, crude furniture, night-black window glass on the far wall, and then the door closed. I turned around and there stood a serious-looking woman with a heavy-barreled rifle almost as tall as she was. She was wearing an unbuttoned man's shirt, and it almost came down to her ankles. Her long hair hung loose, but despite all that, she was very handsome, dark-eyed and full-hipped.

"They're after me, the townsfolk," I said. "I'm a soldier, Washington's army."

"Are ye?" she said, looking at my farmer's clothes and holding her long gun pointed at my head. It did not waver much despite its weight.

"Yes'm," I said. "We got ambushed back there. They killed some a'my friends. I got some a'them tonight. Kind of stirred `em up."

She smiled and put down her rifle. "This was my man's," she said. "It ain't loaded." She let down the hammer carefully.

"Looks like a fine weapon," I said.

"Pennsylvania," she said, cocking her head to the side and doing up a button or two. "You hungry?"

"The children fed me," I said. "Good young uns."

She nodded. "You coming from Boston?"

"Round there," I said.

"And?"

"Going to New York, figure they'll be back, Howe and them."

"Likely," she said, licking her lips. "Well, I only got the one bed so you can sleep wi' me or roll up by the fire."

"That's a fine invite," I said, holding her even stare and feeling the urge. She was likely about my age. Her chin came to my breastbone, and she was not very careful about keeping her shirt closed.

"Yes, I suppose," she said. "I been kind'a lonely." She stepped toward me, put her hand on my arm, reached up on tip-toes and kissed me very gently with her belly against mine, I put a hand on her back and then the other on her butt and bent and kissed her. I think we both trembled. I wished I had shaved that week. She made a noise in her throat and pulled away.

I did not take me long to yank off my boots and get out of my clothes. I pulled the shirt over my head and rolled in beside her. She was still wearing that loose shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth.

We talked and kissed for a while and then made love side-by- side. We hung and heaved together as long as we could, hard work but the best kind.

"Damn," she said, while we rested, panting beside each other in the narrow bed, "you sure are a big one. I can barely get my arms or legs `round you."

"Um," I said which was about all I was capable of saying. She was a very demanding lady, strong and durable.

"What do you weigh?" she asked, running her hand through my chest hair and rubbing her leg up and down my thigh.

"Dunno," I said, "maybe fourteen, fifteen stone."

"Lord," she said, "my husband barely went ten."

"You can climb on top," I suggested.

"Can I now?" she said, with a laugh.

As I recall, it got a bit noisy after that. Then we slept, and the next thing I knew, she was tending the fire, still wearing nothing but her late husband's floppy shirt. I rose, pulled on my hunting shirt and boots and visited the privy. When I came back in, she stood and came to meet me, wiping her hands on her ample hips.

"It'll take a while for that to boil," she said as the fire began to rise behind her. "I saw what you were trying to hide." She smiled up and me. I picked her up, deposited her on her bed and climbed aboard, slowly, and we had a very enjoyable rogering among her quilts, We ignored the steaming kettle. 

We ate, loved again, much more gently, and I felt it was time to go, although I'd much rather have stayed.

"Avoid the roads," she said, as she packed up some food for me. "Those Tories will be out in force."

I bent and kissed her.

"Wait," she said. She rummaged through the chest at the foot of her rumpled bed. "Here," she said, handing me a huge knife in a leather belt-scabbard. "It was my husband's. He had a local smith make it for him. He hated that spike bayonet. Poor man never got home to try it. Will it fit?"

I pulled the thing out. It was a fine, steel blade more than a foot long and about three inches wide tapering to a point and welded to a ring just like the one on my sticker. The leather- wrapped handle seemd to fit in my hand as if it had been crafted just for me. I clamped it on my musket, twisted it and then shook the weapon. It sat securely under the barrel, a nasty looking thing.

"Thank you," I said. "I won't forget you."