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Subject: {ASSM} The Colonel's Diary (Part 2) (MF, Hist) By Katzmarek
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Continuing the adventures of Colonel Macfarlane in the War Between the States
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<1st attachment, "The Colonel2.doc" begin>
The Colonel (Pt2)
Author's Note
This work cannot be leased, resold, ripped off, creased or folded
without the author's express permission.
Furthermore it is entirely a work of fiction although I have used
some historical characters to add an air of authenticity.
Continuing my reading of my ancestor's diary, Colonel Thomas
Macfarlane
Of the 3rd Tennessee Cavalry in the army of Nathan Bedford
Forrest during the War Between the States.
Lieutenant Elijah Briggs was from an old family traditionally
associated with mine. We all hailed from Chester County NY but my
father, becoming alarmed at the growing overcrowding and poverty
he saw in eastern cities, emigrated west.
We were a rich mill-owning family and the Briggs had been our
managers. My father had bought the Pine Estate and bred the
finest horses in the State. The Briggs had assumed their old role
on the estate as managers, this time in the breeding of horses.
Elijah was the third son and had enlisted in the Tennessee
militia, like myself.
The South's society is more like 17th century pastoral England in
it's manners. The emphasis on breeding and bloodlines, it's codes
and ethics, and the Cavalier spirit of it's young men. To sit on
a thoroughbred horse is to raise one's standing in society, and
my father produced the means.
Elijah Briggs died on active service on the 30th January 1863,
somewhere among the swamps along the Wabash river in Southern
Illinois. Killed by an old flintlock blunderbuss with the
lock-cam bearing so worn it jumped free from the trigger-release
at the slightest movement. Standing a mere pace away from the
muzzle, the blast and birdshot took most of his head off. A
pointless death at the hands of a stupid, frightened woman living
way out in the swamplands with her two young daughters.
The Federal conscriptors had taken Rosemary McCaskill's husband
into the Infantry. Some sharp jokester had sold them the swamp as
a farm. They did their best, augmenting their meager living with
trapping and fishing.
All this she tearfully related to me in between bursts of remorse
for the terrible accident. The gun barrel of my Colt had raised a
good bruise across her face and I bid the lady an apology. She
offered to show me the way south providing I escort herself and
her family from that god-forsaken place to some fair-sized town
along the way.
31st January 1863, Southern Ill.
Rosemary was true to her word and escorted me free of the
marshes. I led the horses while she and her children rode along
behind on their dray. We were barely free of the swamp when I
called a halt to the party.
One develops a sixth sense when at war in the forest. I became
aware of an unnatural quiet about us. No birds, animals and even
the sound of the wind through the trees died away. I drew my Colt
and motioned my companions to hush. Just then there was a click
followed by a whispered voice.
"Colonel"?
Suddenly around fifty southerners lifted up from the surrounding
foliage, grinning and flinging their arms wide in greeting.
Although joyous in finding me they made hardly a sound, true
hunters. They were mostly Arkansas boys and a few from my
regiment tasked with gathering survivors and looking for me. They
told me that some 600 or so of my command were at the meeting
place although stragglers were still coming in. It was not more
than 7 miles away.
Evening.
Oh the joy of our reunion. There was much hugging and renewal of
acquaintances. I resolved to leave straight away lest we attract
unwanted attention. We thus headed south for the Ohio.
2nd February 1863 North bank of the Ohio River.
We are encamped 3 miles from the river. There is heard the dull
booming of a cannonade from somewhere along the riverbank. I have
sent Captain Harris and a sergeant to reconnoiter the ground and
to establish the state of affairs. Stragglers have been catching
us up all the time and I have established lookouts down the way
to guide them to our location.
Capt. Harris reported that there is a battery emplaced on the
riverbank engaged with one of ours on the southern bank. A
regiment of infantry distributed somewhat haphazardly along the
river protects it. Most appear to have eyes only for the southern
bank. We are all agreed that we should attack it and relieve our
friends.
Evening.
Oh what a glorious day it has been! The Roughriders charged in on
horseback from along the bank, taking their infantry and
Artillery people by surprise. A stiff fight ensued, which was
more of a fighting retreat for the Federals. They re-grouped some
distance away and formed close-ranks to meet a Cavalry charge, or
so they thought.
Our men had no intention of charging a hedge of bayonets, indeed,
the horses would have refused to do so, intelligent creatures
that they are.
At the signal, the pennant-bearer threw the spike of the staff
into the ground, the Roughriders dismounted, dropped to their
knees, and commenced a rapid fire into the close ranked infantry,
all in one fluid movement.
The Union troops quickly dissolved into chaos. At that point The
Tennessee Cavalry erupted on their flank and charged headlong
into the fray.
Simultaneously, as if by design and quite unexpectedly, the river
crossing suddenly filled with whooping troopers from General
Forrest's army.
Beset on all sides, and with the help of some enterprise from our
boys, who discovered some of the 9-pounders were charged and
ready and began to turn them towards the enemy, the union
infantry fled.
Later we learnt that the General had taken advantage of the
enemy's dispatch of large numbers of men north of the Ohio and
commenced his own operations. This was in part to facilitate our
return to Tennessee via Kentucky and additionally to throw the
Union off-balance and so relieve Vicksburg, then under siege.
Their General Grant was proving himself a pest in that part of
the world because of his engineering expertise and unusual
tenacity.
By nightfall we were all safely making our way south on the snowy
Kentucky roads.
Rosemary and her daughters had resolved to follow us, as by then
she was feeling safe in the company of our gallant troopers.
Indeed, our boys behaved most respectfully towards them. I felt
also that she was taking a shine towards me in particular and
seemed to delight in the smallest courtesy.
In wartime one can't afford to give oneself over to grief for
long for it is a constant presence. You become almost blas about
death, blas but never indifferent. To preoccupy yourself with
death would only hasten your own demise, or so we thought. Poor
Briggs I deliberately put to one side. To do otherwise would not
serve the dead, or the living.
Upon reporting the account of our operations to the General I was
warmly praised and received a field commission of Brigadier.
Indeed it was slightly unusual for a mere Colonel to have command
of several Regiments, in fact a small Brigade. Unusual but not
unheard of in these chaotic times. Additionally I was given three
weeks leave.
During my time off I was expected to raise more recruits from the
Chattanooga area and acquire horses and equipment.
I suggested I escort Rosemary and her family to some such
peaceful area to which she readily agreed.
4th February 1863, Tennessee.
We have taken the Nashville and Central RR to Chattanooga. A
Lieutenant-aide and a Color Sergeant as befitting my rank escort
me. I fear my servant Samuel has disappeared somewhere up north.
He has probably run off, ungrateful fellow.
I find it strange to be called 'Brigadier' and find the deference
shown somewhat off-putting. In my grubby campaign uniform, still
with its Colonel's insignia on my collar, I don't feel the part
and resolve to have a proper uniform made at my tailors in
Chattanooga. I need a dress jacket, pelisse, sash and cape to go
with my new position. I have in my pocket a Brigadier's star and
a new dress saber hangs at my waist, both the gift of General
Nathaniel Bedford Forrest.
Across the compartment sits my female companions. They are
reveling in the attention afforded them as part of the party of a
Brigadier General. People have assumed that they are my family,
an assumption I have not disabused them of as it saves awkward,
and lengthy explanations.
Rosemary is not unpleasant to look at though a little time worn.
Her life in Illinois must have been hard but she turns out to be
not without style or deportment. She has rich auburn hair, which
she has taken to wearing loose about her shoulders. She is
wearing a new dress, made by the boys for her from white muslin
liberated from some Union supply train. The neckline is cut low
across her chest, which she conceals with her shawl.
I have, however, caught enough glimpses over the past few days to
convince me that she has an ample and attractive bust.
Evening.
It is a long journey by train, of some three days and nights,
notwithstanding delays caused by snow and track. There was some
embarrassment concerning sleeping arrangements as the Railway
people assumed Rosemary was my wife. The two girls were ensconced
in the fold-down cots, which left but one bunk. I gallantly
offered to sleep on the floor however Rosemary would not hear of
such a thing. She demurely assured me that she had full trust. So
here I am writing this by the pale lamp as Rosemary rests
peacefully beside albeit with her back to me.
5th February 1863. On the train.
It is morning. I am sitting on the train that has stopped at a
station for breakfast. Rosemary and the girls have gone for a
walk to stretch their legs.
It was very cramped in the cot last night. It must have been
twelve below outside and although there is a stove at the end of
the carriage, it was quite cold. I was grateful for the warmth
provided by Rosemary.
Pressed together in such a way my member adopted a mind of it's
own and proceeded to swell up. It found it's way naturally into a
position along the valley of Rosemary's bottom. I was desperate
to regain control lest she wakes and thinks I am taking advantage
of her. A slight flexing of her cheeks occasionally did nothing
to alleviate the situation.
While I was pondering the dilemma I became aware of her hand
sliding slowly between us to rest right over the offending organ.
I was astonished to feel it begin to squeeze and grope my pink
dagger over my long-johns. It seemed like an age I held by breath
when her fingers began to seek out the drawstring of my underwear
and deftly unlace me.
All this time she had otherwise not moved a muscle. Her regular
breathing had induced me to believe she was still asleep. Once
she had her hand on me she began to pull on it with gentle
enthusiasm. Her touch was exquisite and I stood out like a
branding iron. In my mounting passion I decided to seek out the
two treasures she had concealed beneath her shawl. Her shirt now
only covered them so I was able to confirm to myself their full
weightiness. I cupped and squeezed them till I felt a stiff teat
on the palm of my hand. I thought I detected a change in her
breathing however I was preoccupied with the impending crisis. I
tried to turn onto my back so I would not spill on her nightwear
but she would have none of that. Consequently as I felt the seed
rising I could do nothing but erupt across her bottom, wetting
her and leaving her hand in a sticky state. I soon fell asleep.
Later on in that late night I awoke to find the train stopped at
some crossing. No doubt the workmen were clearing some snow for
the train to proceed. To my delight I now felt not cotton against
me but warm flesh. Rosemary had raised her nightshirt and lowered
her pants. I immediately supposed she had woken to discover they
were coated in my emissions. Her bottom though was now
rhythmically moving against me and consequently I immediately
rose to attention.
Rosemary's breathing was quick and shallow and she was sighing
quietly. I then became aware of her hand moving between her legs
and realized she was giving herself relief. My hands quickly
sought her teats once again but this time they were soft and
smooth and the texture of warm skin. This elicited a muffled gasp
from her which satisfied me I was not unwelcome. She slowly
turned onto her back and looked at me for the first time. Her
lips made to open but I silenced them with my own.
My mouth stayed glued to hers for a good five minutes as we
wrestled tongues and danced with our gums. My hands were not slow
to size up the situation and were soon exploring every inch of
her I could reach. I discovered her belly was a little rounded
and the flesh around her abdomen slack from child-bearing. Her
thighs were fleshy but felt smooth and free of blemishes.
Eventually I replaced her hand at the junction of those thighs
and found her hot and moist honey-pot. It was well accompanied
with womanly bristle, now matted with her effusions.
Then she uttered the only words she spoke.
"Come over..... please"?
How could a gentleman ignore such a desperate request from a
lady? so I heaved myself over to lie on top of her. On the way
she found my tool with her hand to satisfy herself it was equal
to the task. She then directed it to the place it would do the
most good.
We were careful not to disturb the children with our activities
so we ground and slid ourselves together with as little rough
movement as possible. Horse riding causes one to be supple around
the hips so I gave her the benefit of much subtle pressure. I
also wished to prolong my own experience so I delayed my own
crisis by gyrating my pubic bone against her mons rather sliding
myself in and out. This resulted in extended pleasure for her
which she showed in her whimpers and cries. Every so often she
would bite the back of her hand as her body stiffened in a
crisis. My mouth was busy on her, alternating between breast and
her own mouth. Eventually she signaled by grabbing my ass with
her hands and pulling me into her, that she wished me to finish.
Obliging, I offered her a series of rapid thrusts that quickly
brought me to a conclusion.
We lay for several minutes afterwards exhausted and puffing away
at one another. Eventually I slid off her and she rolled back
onto her side, with her back to me. We finished the rest of the
night like that, laying spoon-fashion.
10th February 1863 Chattanooga, Tennessee.
Rosemary and I made love at least seven times on our way to
Chattanooga. I pumped so much seed into her that I am sure I have
got her with child. Mistresses are a common sight in our society
but one is expected to exercise discretion. I was much feted when
I arrived at the train depot as word of my deeds up north had
preceded us. Rosemary kept her distance as I retold again and
again the tale of our campaign. My father welcomed me with open
arms and promised twelve good cavalry mounts for me to take back.
He even assisted me in finding a decent cottage for my 'family'
and did not bother to ask too many questions.
Again no questions were asked as I took my leave at night to
spend with Rosemary. When we retired she would quickly bring me
relief by opening my trousers and putting my member in her mouth.
This was to take away the 'urgency' to enable me to give her the
best possible fucking. She refused to discuss possible pregnancy
except to say it would be 'alright' and I 'needn't worry'.
So at night I fill her with my juice from on top, behind,
underneath, standing up, sitting down and any which way our
imaginations can devise. She clings to me, stiffens, grunts and
groans, and bites the back of her hand as she comes again and
again. I find I'm enjoying her soft body more and more and for
the moment want nothing else.
This is despite my elevated popularity with the ladies,
particularly now that I'm dressed as befits a proper General. I'm
not short of recruits for the Cavalry but they are generally of
poor quality. It seems the best of them have already enlisted.
You simply can't turn an apprentice baker into a Cavalryman over
a few short days. Nevertheless I sign up 30 of the best ones and
endeavor to teach them how to stay on a thoroughbred.
I'm informed by Telegraph that I'm to get them ready in two weeks
in preparation to join a relieving force for Vicksburg,
Mississippi. Things are looking grave there and if it be lost
then the Confederacy will be cleaved in two.
<1st attachment end>
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