Rebel 002 IN BOSTON 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 hometown to spy out what the Brits were up to in the winter of 1775-76. 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 your ordinary soldier can be friends with a well- educated officer. Colonel Backus had been involved in every Massachusetts action so far including the running fight along the roads 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 one or two 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 beside a disused dock, 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 yard vocabulary until he reached "foocked." "Oh," I said brightly, feeling the fool, "of course, if we have the time, sir." "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 where I usually stood at the bar while he went from table to table, listening and smiling. 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 Rusty," he said, as he slipped into an alley and disappeared like a wisp of smoke. 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 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, tall as my breastbone. "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, elbows nearly touching. I did not struggle. The little man searched me quickly, dumped my thin purse and small pistol on the bar, and then 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 in d'town?" asked the little man, toying with my brass bound pistol. "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 Rusty 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, wiping my mouth, my heart calming. He nodded and drank. Then he pushed my shilling, purse and weapon 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 Rusty `er own dear sef." He grabbed a passing serving girl and pulled her between us. "Big feller's lookin' for ye, dearie," 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, her apron beer and sweat stained. 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, glancing down the front of her gaping dress. "Couldn't we all." She smiled broadly and braced back her shoulders. "Got the time?" "Perhaps. And 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'll y'be goin'?" I gestured with my thumb. "Dorchester, likely," I said. "The hills." She nodded and smiled. "Come," she said with a bent finger, and I followed her up the stairs that stood along one wall of the tavern. She closed the thin door behind us and leaned 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 generous 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, breathing loudly through her nose. 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, raked me with her teeth, nibbled here and there, kneaded my ballocks gently and again slowed to let the hard shaft escape her lips with a final lap of her long tongue. My horn reared, pointing at the rafters, straining my skin. 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 with a wiggle and a sigh, arching back her head. 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, chewing at each other's mouths now and then. 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 mouthed, whispered, "That was grand, big one, just grand," and stood, her feet beside mine. "He'll be downstairs by now. Get your boots back on." I did as I was told and followed her down to the tavern, trying to get my heart to calm and my lungs to work, my knees having turned to jelly. 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 Rusty 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." The next time nearly got us killed, but I did have the opportunity to repay Rusty, 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 Rusty's tavern but could not so decided to play dumb. The officer dismissed the colonel, brushed a woman with a broom on her shoulder aside and came to face me, looking up and sucking his yellow teeth. "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 farther along the street. I exhaled. By then the colonel had disappeared so I made my way to the tavern, looking for Rusty. 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 and hanging stays. I nodded, following her example. "Now what?" I asked, half riled and wearing just my shirt. "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 and got her legs outside my shoulders and then atop them. "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 as she sometimes used my nose as a plow. I had done a few girls back on the farm, just kiss and run, but never like this, never so deeply or diligently. "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 nether 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 foul thing away." I did as I was told and stumbled down the stairs behind her after getting back into my britches and boots. The tavern was much busier, and she hurried off while I got myself an ale, feeling I had been turned 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 Rusty's attentions, I simply nodded and asked for another beer. I spent the day in that tavern, watching Rusty 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 he called fens, 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 my pistol any more. "Just a small knife in my boot," I said. "Have to do," he whispered, pointing. "Get rid of that Redcoat, and do it quietly." I took me perhaps five minute to creep through the sawgrass and nettles on toes and fingertips 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'shitfaced 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 hand, said, "Got to puke," and reached out 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 and sliding in six inches of thin steel. 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, a regular fountain, drenching my right leg, and I let the dead man fall, rolling down toward the lapping water as I felt the urge to really vomit. I shuddered and spat; the feeling passed. The colonel was beside me at once, handed me the fallen 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, taking him off his feet. 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. The colonel 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. The last time I accompanied Colonel Backus into the streets of Boston was deep in the winter, probably late January or early February. Even on the tidal waters, ice had formed. Things went well until the very end that day, and then all hell broke lose. I had become trusted enough that the colonel sent me around to various taverns to gather information from men he knew and trusted. I carried a note in my boot and fancy signet ring on my finger to identify him and myself to these patriots. Of course, I ended up at the smoky place where Rusty worked, and she and I found a few minutes to enjoy each other before the small colonel arrived, dragged me off her ample body, and we headed for our distant tents. When we reached our boat's hiding place, we found that someone had beaten out the bottom of the boat, probably with rifle butts, and we hurried back up the slight bluff nearby. Without warning, a musket flared and fired from our right and then, almost at once, another discharged almost right in front of us, striking sparks and splinters from a rock. I fell to the ground, felt blood on my cheek and tried to dig myself in, scrambling backwards like a crab. "Go get them," someone yelled from the right. "I'm hit," Colonel Backus moaned from just to my left. I reached out and grabbed his foot and kept scrambling back, until the hillside appeared under my belly. Then I grappled the man in, held him to my chest and rolled down the hill. "Where'd they go?" someone said. "Damn," cried another. "Spread out." I picked up the colonel as you would a young child, bent as low and ran like hell. I heard a musket fire behind us but did not look back and never saw or heard the ball strike. I just ran, my feet slipping, mud sucking at my ankles at times, ice cutting my legs now and then as I splashed along the shore. I came to an old, collapsed wharf, dove under it, panting like a dog, put my gasping burden down and tried to breathe as quietly as I could, up to my knees in icy water with the colonel resting on some splintered boards that tilted at a wild angle. "Where you hit?" I whispered. He reached up and put his hand on my mouth. During the next hour or so dozens of Redcoats tromped about our hiding place, even walked above our heads on what was left of the broken wharf, poked into the bushes and weeds, and finally departed. It was likely near midnight when the colonel said a word. "Rusty," he said, tugging my sleeve. I picked him up, waded to dry land, got my bearings and trudged into the dark town, staying close to buildings, using alleys, avoiding all light, and finally approaching the inn from the back. I left the colonel in a corner of the stable, walked out into the courtyard, shivering in the cold, my feet and legs numb, and began tossing pebbles and small clods of dirt up at Rusty's shuttered window. I was using bigger stones, when the shutters parted and her curly head and ghost-like face appeared in the starlight. "The colonel's hurt," I hissed. The shutters closed. She let us in the back door, and I hauled the small man upstairs and put him on her bed, the bed I had grown to know. The woman brought the lamp near and we examined him as best we could. One ball had grazed his face, ripping open his cheek and knocking out several teeth, a wound that had bled a lot and crusted his neck and shirt. It took us a while to find the ball in his thigh. That wound had not bled as much and from the looks of the entry point, it was a ricochet, a misshapen piece of lead that had hit the colonel in the back of his right leg and was still in him. "Can you get a doctor?" I asked Rusty. She nodded, touched my split-open cheek and disappeared. I bathed the barely conscious man as best I could and worried about how warm he felt, feverish I was sure. The leg wound was swollen and purple. It seemed to take forever, but was probably less than an hour when the doctor and Rusty pushed me aside, lit two more lamps and then examined the thigh wound. The doctor cut and probed, dug out the flattened ball with a long, shiny tool and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. I picked it up and put it in my purse. The quiet physician sewed up the colonel's leg and his mouth as best he could. Neither looked very pretty. "That wound was dirty, even had cloth in it," he said, when he stood, holding his back. "Get me some water." Rusty produced a cup and the doctor put a few drops of something in it. "See that he drinks it all," he said to the woman. "I'll be back in the morning." Rusty sat by the colonel and held up his head, holding the cup to his lips until he slept and would drink no more. She covered him up and looked at me. "He's burning up," she said. She fetched a quilt and a blanket from somewhere, and we rolled up together on the floor, keeping each other warm, spooned together, my paw on her warm breast, her butt in my groin. It was surely one of the few times I have slept with a nubile and willing woman, when I just slept. I awoke, ridiculously hard in the pink of pre-dawn and pushed Rusty's dress up above her hips so I could slip my overheated ram into her puffy lips. She woke when I entered her, put her hand back on my arm and sighed, "Slowly." After doing my best in that position, I rolled to my back with the girl atop me, grasped her full breast with one hand, thumbing her hard nipple, and stroked her slit with the other, seeking her love button, until she gasped and clamped tightly on my rod. I was far from done, but I helped her sit up facing my feet and was about to move toward the short rows of my plowing, her hips in my rip, when she said. "Oh lord." The colonel was dead, his leg a mass of red and blue flesh, swollen, streaked and stretched, his face at peace. "Blood poisoning," the doctor said. "You want me to take care of the body?" "He has family hereabouts," I said. "Backus was his name." The doctor nodded. "I know. Someone will come. I'll send word." He left quietly, and Rusty and I held each other for a while and then went down for a tasteless breakfast. "I have to go; to report," I said. She touched my cheek. "He should have sewed you up too." "I don't know if I'll get back," I said. "Things are happening. Artillery's on the way from Fort Ti." "You shouldn't tell me that," she said, smiling for the first time that morning. "You'll see to him?" She nodded, and I kissed her like a brother and hurried off to find a friendly fisherman who could get me across without trouble for a few shillings. I wore the colonel's ring for a while and cannot remember how I lost it.