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Message-ID: <47726asstr$1083881403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 033
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Date: Thu,  6 May 2004 18:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 033.txt" begin>

Rebel 033 (Old Bill)  (MF hist)

Jean Marie, the Tory

	Evidently it was some very influential local who had contacts 
with the Congress in Philadelphia that brought the problems of Dr. 
Flannery to Gen. Washington's attention.  And eventually, through 
the chain of command, the problems and the job came to be Lt. 
Foster's and then mine.  The strange and convoluted story, as we 
got it, was that a local Tory of some means had been dispossessed of 
his home and, as if that were not enough, the Redcoats or the 
Hessians, they was not sure which, were holding his daughter for 
ransom and might been mistreating her.  

	"Let her starve," was my initial response since the problems 
involved Loyalists who were no friends of mine or of our cause.  We 
were having enough problems with Howe's army, but this man had 
friends in high places so we had to make at least a token effort to 
see what could be done for him and his missing daughter, who was 
by then, I was sure, serving her king on her back as were so many 
other loyal females.

	With a letter from the good doctor in hand and a truce flag, 
the lieutenant and I, weaponless, made our way to the farm near the 
river and a very impressive brick house with four high chimneys and 
a wide half-circle of outbuildings.  The house, we found, was 
occupied by staff officers of both British and German regiments, but 
the guards were all Redcoats, hulking grenadiers.  We were greeted 
correctly, offered food and drink, and then taken to see the young 
lady who, they admitted, was being held against her will.

	"She's a damn'd mule, that one," our beardless escort told us.  
"Got no more manners than an stray cat.  We been trying to teach 
her, least the captain has, but she refuses to cooperate."

	My lieutenant looked at me and raised an eyebrow.   "Why are 
you holding her?" he asked.

	"We think she's been a spy for your side," the ensign said, "not 
that she's done real damage, and, though I suppose I shouldn't tell 
ya, she knows where there's a fortune buried.  We're sure of that."

	"But her father's loyal, isn't he?" said Lt. Foster as we came to 
a small, crude, windowless log cabin at the very end of a row of 
similar structures.

	The subaltern nodded as he fitted his key to the large lock on 
the iron hasp.  "That he is."  He threw open the door.  "Visitors, 
Miss, from your sire."

	The girl sat on a cot built into the wall on the far side of the 
small hut.  The room measured only about eight by perhaps fifteen 
feet with a cold hearth at one end.  An old table and two worn 
chairs were the only furniture.  A small bowl sat on the table and a 
stoneware jug on the floor.  I did not see anything else worth 
noting.

	"Tell them to go away," the woman said clearly, her voice 
remarkably steady and vibrant.  She looked a perfect mess: hair 
unkempt, clothes dirty and ragged, feet bare.  There was a heavy 
band of iron about one of her ankles and a long chain coiled near 
her feet.  It was fastened to a turnbolt driven into one of the bottom 
logs near the middle of the room.  Around her neck was a more 
narrow iron collar, fastened with a large bolt that sat beneath her 
chin. I had seen "dog collars" like that on runaway servants and 
recalcitrant prisoners, some even with spikes in them but never on a 
white female. Her face and arms were dirty, and her eyes seemed to 
glow with hatred.  The dress she wore was the kind of thing poor 
farmers' wives dressed in to do their garden work, plain and 
shapeless, a kind of muddy brown homespun, gaping at her chest, 
torn at one shoulder.

	"Miss Flannery?" said Lt. Foster with a slight bow.  He doffed 
his hat as the door was locked behind us and the cabin settled into 
gloom with the only light coming under the door and through chinks 
in the walls.  "May I sit down?"

	She nodded, and he sat.  I stood and admired her artless 
grace, fine-boned face and wonderful eyes as well as the rise and fall 
of her round breasts.  She looked both unhappy and angry.

	"Your father is worried about you. He sent this."  Foster 
handed the woman a letter which she placed, unopened, in her lap.

	"I've been here a fortnight.  They treat me like a dog.  Throw 
in food once a day.  There's a hole in that corner I use as a privy."  
She pointed to a broken board in the floor, and I became conscious 
of the smell of the place.

	"Why?" I said, and the lieutenant glared at me.  His orders 
were that I should just watch and listen.

	"They want to know where father buried his gold," she said.  
"That's why."

	"Do they think you're a spy?" Foster asked, shaking his head.

	The woman laughed, a short bark.  She shook her head, 
tossing away the hair from her face.  "They say that, but its just 
nonsense.  They think we've hidden money here."

	"Have you?" the lieutenant asked.

	She clamped her mouth shut and glared at him.  Then she 
looked at me with disdain.  "What do you want?"  she asked us 
both.

	"We were sent," Foster said, "to see how you were, how you 
were being treated and to ask for your release.  Your father is very 
concerned."

	"Is he?" she said.  "They are going to start raping me on 
Monday. You can tell him that. They're his friends.  Five men every 
day, the captain told me.  He did it to me already, in the arse."  She 
touched a bruise on her forehead.  "Just so I could see what it was 
like, he said.  He hit me, too.  Said I needed breaking in.  Then he 
did it, grunting like a pig, bent over that table, sodomized me he did.  
Buggered I think you men call it.  It hurt."

	"I'm sorry," I said and then covered my mouth with my hand.  
Under all the dirt and rags, she was a very pretty girl, perhaps my 
age or a bit younger, and obviously healthy and spitting angry.

	"Will they do that?" asked Foster after he growled at me. 
"Rape you, surely not."

	She nodded.  "Then they are going to starting cutting off my 
fingers, one by one."  She held up her left hand to show that her 
little finger was missing two joints. The stump still looked raw.  "He 
did that too, with a tomahawk, to show what it was like.  Held it 
right on the table there."  She sniffed and sat up very straight.  "But 
I would not tell them or do what they want."

	"What do they want?" Foster asked, sounding confused.

	"The money, of course," she sighed, "and they want me to live 
up there, in my own bedroom, with my own clothes, dress for 
dinner and swive them, be their harlot, whore, mistress, concubine, 
whatever you'd call it.  To do it willingly."  She tugged at her iron 
collar, rotating the joint from under her chin, and then stood, 
dragging her chain across the wooden floor. She came and faced the 
lieutenant.  I was surprised how small she was, barely five feet tall.

	"Please," she said, putting a hand on his arm as he stood up, 
"get me out of here.  Help me."  She trembled, and I feared she 
would start to cry.

	"We'll try," he said, standing and touching her shoulder.  "We'll 
try; do our best."  He gestured to me, and I hammered on the door.

	"Leave me your knife," she said to me, looking at my big 
bayonet.  "I'll cut my wrists and end this."  Her forlorn look made 
me shudder.

	Our guide unlocked the door before I could even answer.  She 
stood in the doorway with her hands together as if in prayer as he 
shut the door and locked it again.

	"That was one of the slave quarters," he said.  "Good joke, eh."

	"Do you intend to mount her?" Lt. Foster asked him.

	He smiled, chuckled, bowed us into the main house and left.

	We argued and debated for an hour, refusing both food and 
drink, and got nowhere.  "You tell her high and mighty father," said 
the British colonel who seemed to be in charge, "that he can have her 
back for two thousand in gold.  We're sure he's buried his money 
here somewhere."

	"She said that you, that your men have mistreated her, even 
violated her," Foster said.  "A captain did her so she told us, 
buggered her."

	"Never," said the colonel, but I noticed that the German behind 
him smiled and nudged his opposite number, a rotund captain in a 
tight-fitting grenadier uniform.  The man made a crude gesture with 
his fist, his other hand on his biceps.

	"She's missing a finger and the wound is fresh," my lieutenant 
said.

	"Pity," said the colonel, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.

	We left, disgruntled and concerned.  We stopped at a tavern 
and ate when we were sure we had cleared the British lines.

	"Can we get her out?" Foster asked.  "How many men would 
it take?"

	"She's a Tory," I said.  "Besides, well, I suppose the two of us 
could do it if we were lucky."

	"I must return immediately," he said, "orders.  You want to try, 
at least scout it out?"

	"If I can get to her, will you come and meet me with a fresh 
horse?"

	He smiled and nodded.  "You're on leave, twenty-four hours," 
he said. That settled that.

	I came through the British lines along a creek bed in a tangled 
old wood where the trees grew so densely it was hard to ride a 
horse.  When I got in sight of the cabin, I tethered my animal and 
rested, planning in my head and wishing I could smoke a pipe but 
making do by chewing some of my twist of dark tobacco.

	When the sunset, I moved closer to the cabin which seemed to 
be unguarded and dark.  I had not noticed a lamp or candle when 
we were there, and the fireplace was empty of everything but ashes 
and what looked like a worm but was probably part of the girl's 
finger. There were still lights in the big house so I waited and 
watched, practicing patience, not one of my usual virtues if I have 
any.  It must have been near midnight, when I heard a man coming 
from the nearly-dark house, singing quietly, and then I heard the 
distinct sound of a large, iron lock being turned.  A door creaked 
open and closed and then a woman screamed, "Get out."  That was 
followed by a slap and a screech and the sounds of chain links 
clanking together.

	I pulled out my bayonet and walked as quickly and quietly as I 
could to the back of the windowless cabin.  I had planned on getting 
in through the roof, but now I had the chance to use the only door.  
The sound of grunts and scrabbling noises penetrated the log walls, 
and then I heard another blow struck and a cry and a laugh, a single 
outcry that might have been pleasure or pain.  I pulled open the 
door and stepped into the dark, dank room.  I left the door open 
and the starlight showed me a coatless man struggling with the small 
woman on the narrow cot, her bare legs kicking at him and the chain 
whipping around between them.

	I reached him in two steps, grabbed his clubbed queue to pull 
him from the bed.  His wig came away and I quickly grasped his 
collar.  He gasped, cursed and I clamped my hand over his mouth, 
pulled him to me and stabbed him in the middle of his back.  I saw 
my blade come through his heaving chest followed by a gout of 
blood.  I kept his mouth covered until he became limp and then I 
pulled out the knife and let him fall.  A glance showed that it was the 
young ensign who had unlocked the door for us that afternoon.  
His foreflap was undone and his limp member dangled freely.

	The woman sat trembling on her bed, her knees pulled up to 
her chin.

	"You hurt?" I asked, sheathing my blade after I wiped it on the 
dead man's sleeve.  His pale belly and shrunken privates gleamed in 
the faint light and his dark blood was a spreading lake that dripped 
through the floor board cracks.

	She shook her head, making the iron collar swivel.

	I took her hand, put the dead man's uniform jacket over her 
thin shoulders and led her across the body and to the place where 
she was fastened to the wall.  Her arm felt strong and warm.  I ran 
chain back through the turnbolt until I had about a yard on each 
side.  Then I sat, braced my feet on the wall, grabbed the chain in 
both hands and slowly pulled the ring from the wall.  I rolled the 
chain around my arm, took the girl's hand and led her out into the 
woods after locking the door behind us and tossing the key aside.

	"Where are we going?" she whispered, almost running to keep 
up with me, pulling the jacket to her belly.

	"Away," I said, doing my best to hurry as the dangling chain 
kept tangling in the underbrush. She cried out from time to time as 
her bare feet met roots, sharp stones and pinecones.  After some 
rather frantic searching, I found my horse, helped her aboard and 
roped the chain to the saddle and blanket roll behind her.  I held the 
reins and walked them out of the woods and along the creek bed.

	It was near dawn when we reached the tavern where Lt. 
Foster and I had stopped.  I was falling asleep on my feet and the 
young woman was nodding in the saddle.  I helped her down, 
stabled the horse, and then the two of us and her twelve feet of 
chain tumbled into an empty stall and were almost instantly asleep, 
curled against each other for warmth.

	I awoke, groggy, when the sun reached my eyes and then I 
joggled the girl awake. I led her to a small anvil visiting farriers 
probably used, found a hammer and a sharp chisel and cut through 
her chain with a couple of hefty blows.  Both the clamp on her ankle 
and the narrow collar around her throat had been crudely fastened 
with hammered rivets so I did not attempt to deal with either of 
those.  I did bring back a couple of buckets of hot water from the 
kitchen and invited her to wash herself some while I stood guard.  
She took my advice, and by the time I led her into the tavern for 
breakfast, she was good bit cleaner than I was and had managed to 
rake her hair back with her fingers.  She lifted her chin and thanked 
me.  One of the serving women sold me her faded blue neckerchief 
for a shilling, and the girl tied it around her throat to cover her iron 
necklace and cushion it away from her abraded skin.  She smiled at 
me; the first time I had seen her smile.

	We ate, drank chocolate and then coffee and waited, expecting 
Lt. Foster at any moment.  I told her that he would come with 
another horse and that she should be reunited with her father by 
sundown and get the iron fetters stuck off.

	"I'm not sure I want to be," she said, shoveling up more 
hoecake and jam.  I could not recall seeing a small woman put away 
more food in less time.  I poured her some more coffee and waited 
for her to go on.

	"I can't support them any more, the King's men, after what 
they did," she said, looking down at the black, bitter liquid with the 
stump of her missing finger pressed against the cup.

	"So now you're a rebel?" I said, grinning at her.

	"No, no, not yet, but I soon may be if you keep feeding me."  
She put her damaged hand on mine and smiled, a lovely smile, one 
that would light a drawing room.

	The door banged open and two big Redcoats carrying 
muskets with fixed bayonets entered followed by the captain I had 
seen the day before, the one with such a smug look when Lt. Foster 
spoke of the woman being raped.

	"There she is," said the fat captain, pointing at us.  "Sit still," he 
yelled to the room in general.  Several people stood to see who he 
was pointing at as the three clumped across the floor.

	I glanced through the window, saw only three horses tethered 
out front, and stood quickly as the first soldier got to the table.  
When my big bayonet entered his belly from below his belt, his eyes 
widened and he screamed.  I twisted the musket from his hands and 
smashed the second soldier in the face with its butt as the first sank 
to his knees, my blade still buried in him.  The second Redcoat 
stumbled back into the startled captain, his face ruined, and 
overturned a table before he tumbled to the floor with his hands to 
his bleeding mouth.

	I reversed the musket and poked the captain with the spike 
bayonet.  "Give me your sword and pistol," I demanded.  He slid 
out his pistol and handed that to me, sputtering threats.  I stuffed it 
in the back of my belt as the man I had stabbed rolled over, moaning 
and trying to pull my knife out of his guts.  The captain used the 
distraction to draw his sword and step back.  I ducked his whistling, 
full-arm swing and drove the bayonet under his chin and up 
through the back of his head.  I twisted the rifle loose and let him fall 
with the triangular 17-inch spike still in him, his arms and legs 
twitching.  I handed the girl the musket, dragged the soldier with 
the crushed mouth from the floor and made him help haul the bodies 
outside, we laid them across two horses after I pocketed the 
captain's heavy purse and gave the young woman his fine boots.  I 
handed the reins of the two burdened animals to the soldier spitting 
blood and bits of teeth and told him to start moving.

	"Take these bodies back to your camp," I said.  "And stay 
away from here unless you want to join them."

	He nodded and started walking, looking back over his 
shoulder occasionally until he disappeared around a bend on the 
road.  I expected him to dump the dead men and ride back to his 
station as fast as he could so I hustled the girl out, got her on my 
horse and then mounted the captain's gelding and started in the 
opposite direction, north.  She looked quite fetching in her Redcoat 
jacket with her shabby skirt pulled up between her legs and her new 
boots tucked tightly into my shortened stirrups.  The boots were big 
enough to hide her iron anklet.

	We ran into trouble an hour later. The British forces had cut us 
off from the camp I was aiming at.  We heard them before we saw 
them and were able to stop in some bracken and watch the trails fill 
with jaegers and grenadiers.  I now had a musket and some 
ammunition, but I also had a young woman to think about so we 
turned east to see if we could find the British flank and get around 
their advancing forces.  I had her discard the military coat she had 
been wearing because it was so bright.  Her ragged dress did little 
to conceal her developing body. I had an old shirt in my saddlebag, 
but it was not cold and she was very pleasant to look at.

	"Where are we going?" the woman asked, fending off limbs 
with her raised hand as we rode through the woods.  

	"Toward White Plains," I told her.  "My lieutenant's in for a 
surprise if he tries to get down this way today."

	After a while I gave her my old long-tailed shirt when I 
noticed the bleeding scratches in her bare forearms.  She rolled up 
the sleeves and buttoned it across her chest.  And she smiled at me 
again, but I could see the fright in her face.  We were hungry by the 
time the sun started to set.  I had yet to find a safe way around the 
enemy picket line of cavalry and riflemen.  We had been spotted 
twice but had not drawn fire.  I had plenty of money so we rode 
south a mile or two and found a tavern along a well-worn road that 
led to the Hudson.  I saw to the animals and then we enjoyed a 
good meal and some fine ale.

	"Stay with me tonight, please," she said, her hand squeezing 
mine and tears in her eye.  "I'm scared."  She swallowed and looked 
pale.

	"We'll get out of this," I assured her although I was not sure 
we would if the whole enemy army was on the move.  I patted her 
hand and tried not to think about what she would look like bare 
with her legs spread and her knees raised.

	There was still a bed available for the night so I hired that, we 
used the privy, and I led her up to the small room. It smelled of 
beeswax and the bed was soft.  I bolted the door. She did not 
hesitate.  She doffed my shirt-coat and the captain's boots, slipped 
out of her shabby dress, which was all she had on, and climbed up 
onto the feather mattress without a word, pulling a tattered quilt to 
her chin.  I got out my clothes and followed her; eager would have 
been a gross understatement.

	"I don't know your name," I said, as I touched her face and 
brushed back her hair while our legs intertwined.  I massaged her 
with my knee, feeling the heavy bracelet on her ankle with my toes.

	"Jean Marie," she told me with her lips an inch from mine and 
her hand on my chest, feeling my heart thump.  "Be gentle, please."

	"We need not," I said, knowing it was a lie.

	"You do," she said.  "And so do I."

	I kissed her and then said I was happy to meet her. She 
giggled.  I stroked her back and her rounded bottom and grasped 
her full thighs, spreading and lifting them.  She was a small but very 
well-made woman and there was nothing bashful about her.  She 
radiated heat and moaned with pleasure and anticipation as we 
explored, caressed, kissed and licked each other.  She squealed, 
kissed me open mouthed and clawed at my back when we joined, 
which took a bit of doing.

	"Um, um," she said as she lifted her legs along my thrusting 
body and arched her back, spreading herself open. 
 
	"Ah, ah," she sighed as I began a steady cadence of rapid in 
and outs, each one deeper than the last, and she raised her legs 
almost to my shoulders.

	"Lord, Lord," she cried and her body shook and began to 
warm to the task, undulating, loudly smacking our groins together, 
her ankles linked in my back, iron scraping my flesh, head rocking 
from side to side, eyes closed.

	"Damn, damn," she grunted as I dug in my toes, thrusting 
deeper, harder, longer, lifting, driving while she kicked me in time 
with my efforts.

	"Now, now, now," she demanded, and I bent higher, arms 
extended, doing my best to keep up with her shattering contractions 
as her legs pumped up and down.

	"Yes, yes, yes," she squealed and rocked her strong body from 
side to side, flailing my face with her tangled hair, mouth agape, 
thighs clamping me in as her hips rotated and heaved.

	"Oh, oh," she gasped as I groaned with release and joy, 
spasming and jumping above her, pumping and shivering, gritting 
my teeth. 

	"Oh, God," she sobbed, and she pounded the bed with her 
feet and arched her back as we continued, unabated, unsatisfied.

	"I can't, I can't, can't, can't," she sobbed, but she did it all over 
again.  We rolled about and almost left the bed at times, hanging on 
to each other and ignoring the world.  She was eager for love and 
willing to put every nerve and muscle into her efforts.  We satisfied 
each other fully and slept soundly until the inn's rooster decided it 
was time for everyone to arise despite the dark clouds. My hungry 
cock had already risen when I awoke, and the rooster brought the 
girl's eyes open in the gloomy room.

	"Good morning," I said as I knelt between her legs and 
caressed her thighs with my callused hands and her slit with long, 
eager member's plum-sized head.  Soon she was making bubbles at 
her lips, her eyes closed and her hands clawing at my hips.  I 
realized I was mashing the air from her lungs, rolled over and she 
rose, mouth gaping, iron collar bouncing.  She slid her knees up 
along my ribs and rogered me until we both could do no more.  She 
splatted down on my body as if she had died, and I held her, 
ignoring the rub of her collar on my neck.  Soft and warm she was.  
We let our ardor cool under the quilts before we dressed and went 
down in the pink dawn to enjoy some food.

	We found our way through the thin British line and reached 
White Plains and the freshly dug trench line late that afternoon.  
Jean Marie was reunited with her worried father, and I went back 
to work for Lt. Foster, enjoying her smell on my dirty old jacket.

	The next time I saw her, I do not believe I would have 
recognized her if it had not been for her diminutive size.  She was 
stylishly dressed in tight-fitting silks, lacy sleeves and colorful 
petticoats and her long hair was piled atop her proud head.  She ran 
to me and jumped up into my arms, her feet well off the ground.  
She kissed me shamelessly and then introduced me to her stately 
and embarrassed father.  He pumped my hand and thanked me 
effusively, and I told him what a fine and brave daughter he had.

	She walked a short way with me, holding my arm to her, 
looked up and whispered, "I want to see you again.  I want to do it 
again, to have you again."

	"Impossible," I said.  "You'd get me flogged."

	"I can do anything," she giggled, twisting away.  "You'll see," 
she cried over her shoulder as she returned to her father.  I could 
see the remains of cruel bruises on both sides of her thin and stately 
throat.

	Late that afternoon, Lt. Foster called me to his tent.  "Dr. 
Flannery wants to see you," he said with a raised eyebrow.  "He 
may want to get his family away from here with Howe finally on the 
move."

	'He's still a Tory is he?" I asked.

	"None a'your damned business," said my officer.  "Get over 
there."

	I went to the hospital tent and found Jean Marie waiting for 
me with a huge smile on her face, a two-wheeled cart and a basket 
of food.  "I'll drive," she said, taking the whip.

	Up into the wooded hills we went ignoring the whistles and 
cat-calls of the soldiers we passed along the road.  When she 
reached a hillside where we could see a silver stream for below and 
the raw earth of the newly-dug entrenchments, she stopped and 
spread a picnic for us on the edge of the woods.

	"Aren't you worried about Indians?" I asked as I unbuttoned 
her bodice.  "Way out here in the wilderness."  She had not worn 
any stays.

	"Not a bit," she said, unhooking my belt and working on my 
waistband buttons.

	We were both still half clothed when she kicked at the clouds 
and her happy face flopped back and forth beneath me, gasping and 
moaning, demanding more and more.  Spent, we ate and drank, and 
then joined again with more leisurely effort and at greater length as 
the sun began to set.  When the wine bottle was empty and our 
bodies satiated, we drove back to the camp.  She kissed me gently 
before we reached the guard line and we parted most decorously.  
The girl and her father left for Albany the next day.  I heard later 
that she married well and within the month.  I still wonder about the 
gold.


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