We had planned carefully and laid out our trap in a most remote lane. There were just four of us, but we each had a job. When the big carriage came in view, George stepped out and commanded it to stop, his musket centered on the driver’s chest. Michael shot the armed footman while the captain and I waited, eager to do our assigned task.
The ornate door swung open and out popped Colonel Lightfellow in his regimental uniform and white wig. The captain shot him very low in the belly as I pointed my weapon into the carriage. He fell back, twisting away from us, clawed the door frame and collapsed to his knees, keening.
The captain turned him over with his foot. “Lightfellow, Charles Lightfellow, late of the Rhode Island militia?”
The man looked up at my captain and nodded. “You are a foul traitor aren’t you?’
The man moaned.
“Tell him to ease the rig forward ten feet,” Foster yelled to George who passed along the order. The captain and I watched as the thick back wheel passed over the man’s chest. He screamed. “You loaded?” asked the captain.
“You have been sentenced to death,” the captain said after spitting on the groaning man to get his attention. “Are you ready?”
The man did not reply. I placed the muzzle of my musket in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head bounced off the dirt as the back of his skull was blown away.
Michael and the captain were getting three people out of the carriage. Two women and a dapper young man who dripped with lace and had managed to wet himself. Foster made the fop put the traitor’s body in the carriage and then stuff the footman’s corpse atop it. Then he let the man get back in himself, his feet on the bodies. “Tell them what happened,” Foster said to him, and George waved the driver to proceed.
The six of us stood in the road and watched it disappear. Captain Foster took the large, older woman by the elbow, led her to his horse, helped her mount, swung up beside her and said, loudly, “Don’t be all night. Others will be waiting.”
The slim girl looked from one of us to the other, fear in her eyes. We smiled at her but I doubt that it was very encouraging. “Let her choose,” Michael said.
“Be damned,” cried George, “we kin match coins fer ‘er.”
She looked quite young, certainly less than twenty and despite the cool weather, her dress was light, flowing about her legs and revealing her fine body.
“Go on,” Michael said it her. “Pick one. Who do you want first?”
She put her fist to her mouth and looked about. There she was alone with three randy men, miles from anywhere with no help in sight. I felt sorry for her.
“You ‘is doxy?” George asked her after her patted her rump.
She shook her head.
“Well hurry up,” he said, “O’s it t’be?”
She stepped to me and grabbed my arm.
“Shit,” George said.
“By damn,” said Michael. “I’d a bet some real money ‘gainst that.”
I suppressed a smile and said, “Go on, boys. We’ll be along shortly.”
“You’re making a mistake” George told the girl. “He’s a damn rabbit, just roll on and roll off. You’ll see.”
I kicked at him as Michael led him away and took the girl to a fallen tree where we sat.
I introduced myself and asked who she was, holding her hands gently. She said she was Melinda Feather and that the man we had killed was her step-father. She did not seem to be unhappy about the man’s death, but she was obviously afraid of me and of what the future held for her.
“Are they going to, you know, poke me? Roger me?” she asked quietly, eyes down. “All of you?”
“They would like to,” I said.
“And you?” She asked, glancing up.
I nodded. “Of course.”
She swallowed loudly enough for me to hear. “I’m a maiden,” she said with a sigh. “Must I?”
I looked at her more closely. She was slim and girlish rather than womanly, a pretty face, good bones, and wonderful hair. She could have modeled for one of those Popish angel pictures with ease. “Don’t cry,” I said, “you don’t have to, but what shall we do with you? Where is your mother?”
“Williamsburg,” she said. “Virginia. He sent her away when he got that, that woman, his concubine.”
“Well, Melinda, I will take you to stay with a friend of mine. Perhaps she can figure out how to get you down to Virginia safely, maybe by sea. She has all sorts of connections.”
“And you’re not going to swive me?” she asked, chin a tremble.
I shook my head. “It’s your choice.”
She nodded. Mounted behind me with her luscious body pressed to mine and arms about my waist, we headed for Madam Von R--’s. By sundown, we might have been halfway there and I was sure my friends back in camp were furious.
I found what appeared to be a well-kept tavern, and she waited while I saw to the tired horse. She was not very heavy, but my old mare still did not need the extra pounds.
Inside we sat in a corner and ate quietly. Then I saw her up to bed in the women’s room and, after one smell of it, decided I would rather sleep in the stable than with the other men.
She found me early the next morning, just as I was about to roll out and head for the privy.
“The cook told me you were out here,” she said with a smile. “How did you sleep?”
Since her face was right there, I kissed her mouth gently. “Fine,” I said, “and you?”
“Some of the ladies snored, but I slept.” She smiled at me in a very friendly way, and I became aware that my gigantic erection might be showing. She descended the rickety ladder and I followed, my ram well up under my waistband. I survived somehow, feeling noble.
We reached the old lady’s beautiful home about mid-day, and I introduced Melinda and told her story.
“What shall we do with her?” the madam asked.
“Help her. Find a job for her,” I said. “I’m sure she can do something useful.”
“Oh yes,” the girl said, “I’ll be happy in the kitchen.”
That settled, I got some food and went back to the camp, framing all sorts of excuses for mislaying the young lady.
A few weeks later, I was once again assigned to a week in the city with orders to contact all my sources about the enemy’s winter intentions. I started at Madam Von R--’s establishment, as usual, and was warmly welcomed.
“That girl you brought us, Melinda, she is a gem but now she wants to take on the tasks of my other nieces.” The old lady waved her fan toward the ceiling. “This younger generation, I don’t know what they are thinking.”
“I think she capable,” I said. “Don’t you?”
“Hm,” she said. “There is at least one impediment.”
I waited and she waved me down so she could whisper in my ear. “Her maidenhead,” she hissed.
“Ah yes,” I said. “But isn’t that tiny item of some value to you?”
“We have thought about that and decided that we should not barter virginity, even for the cause.” She raised her chin as if posing for a statue, very noble, indeed.
“She could deflower herself,” I said. ‘Give her one of those long handled wooden spoons for the pantry.”
“Get along,” said the madam, kicking at me. “You brought her; you take care of her and be gentle and loving, you big bull.”
I found Melinda in the kitchen, hard at work, her hair limply dangling and a heavy apron tied about her tiny waist. I rescued her from dish washing and led her out back where we sat among the dead stalks of what had been a fine garden.
“You met some of the girls?” I asked after we chatted a bit.
She nodded and smiled. “They told me about you too.”
“Don’t you believe it,” I said, “they’re a bunch of liars.”
“Oh no they are not,” she said. “I saw that thing when I woke you in that loft. I couldn’t believe it.”
“For shame,” I said and stole a kiss. “A maiden should look away.”
.... There is more of this story ...