Duel and Duality
Chapter 1: Gone for a soldier

Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Historical, Oral Sex, Violent, Prostitution, Military,

Desc: Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1: Gone for a soldier - Follow Jack Greenaway, lawyer's apprentice and poacher, from Lincoln to Waterloo and beyond, as he experiences the life and loves of a soldier in Wellington's army, in war and in peace. He battles with Napoleon's troops abroad and Luddites at home, finds his true love (twice!) and eventually faces his nemesis on the duelling ground. All references to snuff in this novel apply to the tobacco product, and should not be confused with 21st Century usage.

The citizens of Lincoln call the thoroughfare which winds its way up from the south gate to the castle, Steep Street. It is well named, for we were all puffing and panting like old men when we eventually reached the castle entrance, and I doubt if any in the party of new recruits, bound for the 69th Regiment of Foot, waere over twenty years of age. The sentinels at the castle entrance viewed us with bored indifference as we made our way under the portcullis; many such parties as ours had arrived at the castle over the past few weeks. The Second Battalion of His Majesty’s Sixty Ninth Regiment of Foot, had not long returned from the West Indies, greatly reduced in strength due to the depredations the Caribbean climate inflicts on Europeans, and was now in the process of building up its numbers. The year was 1806, and Britain was still locked in the war with France, and needed all the soldiers it could muster.

Becoming a soldier was not what I had envisaged as a career a mere ten days ago, but circumstance had rather thrust it upon me. Had I not been caught poaching, along with several other apprentices, I would have remained in the office of Mortimer Teazle, and Grubbe, scratching away at dull dusty law documents. The magistrate gave me the choice of transportation to Van Diemen’s Land or enlistment into the army. I chose the latter, but some of my companions in poaching opted for transportation. I often wonder what befell my felow apprentices, Barney Humphries, Tommy Foster, and Ralf Harris, in the Antipodes.

After a cursory medical inspection we recruits swore the Oath of Allegiance, were issued with uniforms and equipment, and then distributed among the ten companies that made up the battalion. As fortune would have it I was the first of those assigned to Number 4 Company to be called before the Captain, who was sitting behind a a desk with a quill pen in his hand, and sheath of paper and an ink pot before him.
“I am Captain Ebenezer Merryweather, commander of Number Four Company. What is your name?” His question was asked in a quiet tone of voice, and he gave me a small smile.
“Elijah John Greenaway,” I answered with some pride, as my family were of yeoman stock, and well respected in South Lincolnshire.
“Sir!” The man stood by the side of the desk, a sergeant or something — I was not fully conversant with military ranks as yet — did not have a quiet tone of voice. In fact his thunderous bellow had me jumping out of my skin.
He favoured me with a ferocious scowl. “You will always address an officer as ‘Sir’ Do not make that mistake of omission again, or you will cause me much displeasure.”
He did not say it, as I had wit enough to discern for myself, that it would also cause me great discomfort.
While I was having this discourse with the sergeant Captain Merryweather was writing down the information I had given him. He then asked how old I was.
“I will be sixteen in two months’ time, on the twenty fourth of November — Sir.”
Once again he wrote down the information, then let out a cry of frustration.
“Hell and damnation! The quill nib has broken again.”
I fished in my pocket and pulled out my pen knife. “May I sharpen the quill for you, Sir?”
He handed me the quill, and I soon fashioned a good nib on the end of it, before handing it back to him.
“Tell me Greenaway, how is it you happen to have a pen knife in your pocket, and the skill to sharpen a quill?”
“I am, or rather I was, an articled scrivener, to a firm of lawyers in Grantham, Sir.”
“And how long had you been apprenticed as a clerk at law?”
I made a quick calculation; I had left The King’s School four months before my fifteenth birthday. “Just over a twelve month, Sir.”
Captain Merryweather positively beamed at me. “Capital. Capital. I have need of a company clerk, the previous incumbent died on the homeward passage. You shall take down the information given by the rest of the recruits, and if you have fair enough a hand you shall be appointed company clerk. Sergeant Major Stone will instruct you as to your duties.”

That is how I became the company clerk, and also the protégée of Captain Merryweather, who from then on addressed me as ‘Jack’, as he thought Elijah far too solemn and exalted a name for a lad of my years. In fact most of my friends and family also call me Jack.
Oliver Stone, the Company Sergeant Major — and his surname matched his character, as never had I met a man so hard and unyielding — introduced me to the Company’s duty rosters, nominal rolls and the other administrative records, and I soon had the mastery of the paper work.
This was just as well, for although I was the company clerk the prime occupation of a soldier lies in the killing trade, and for the next three years I learnt all the necessary skills of that trade. Marching, foot drill on the large parade square of Lincoln Castle, loading and firing the Brown Bess musket, bayonet drill, marching, foot drill on the large parade square of Lincoln Castle, loading and firing the Brown Bess musket, bayonet drill, marching, drillin g— I think I make my point?

At the end of those three years I could load and fire the musket in my sleep, and march and counter march, in whatever patterns the Lieutenant Colonel desired, whilst doing so. The Lieutenant Colonel (Lt. Col.) in question being Sir Edmund Bywaters (Bart.), who was the genial old buffer appointed to the position when the Second Battalion arrived back in England minus their Lt. Col. who had unfortunately died of fever in Jamaica.
Sir Edmund, who had formerly been in command of the Kesteven Militia, had his estate at Syston Grange, and in fact was a near neighbour of my father, who farmed and owned Greenaway Farm near Grantham. Sir Edmund was also the employer of my Uncle Caleb, the Syston Grange Farm bailiff and steward.

Lincoln is only some thirty miles from Grantham but for sophistication and fashion it could be in a different country. Grantham has a cattle market once a week, but Lincoln has ‘Society’ and the Assembly Rooms, where the great and the good of the city meet at dances, concerts, whist drives and other fashionable events. Lincoln also boasted a brothel that would not have been out of place in the great metropolis of London. Madame de La Croix’s Establishment for The Discerning Gentleman was just as popular a meeting place, well at least for the males of the city, as was the Assembly Rooms. The lower, and therefore less discerning, classes of Lincoln’s males were also well catered for when it came to lechery, by a series of bawdy houses, stews, and the common street walkers who plied their trade alongside the newly completed canal – the Lincoln, Newark and Nottingham Navigation.
‘Brothel’ was really too coarse a name to apply to Madame de La Croix establishment, and those who regularly fornicated there referred to it as The Temple. The 69th Foot (The Anyway Ups, or The Soixante Neufs) were very popular with the ladies of the establishment as members of the regiment were all expected to be experts in the art of cunnilingus and soixante neuf*. I had no idea of what either term meant, or indeed what they entailed, when first visiting the Temple.

*A note to my reader: I have used the technical, and probably more prosaic, terms for the above throughout my story. You may know them by other terminology. Indeed in the battalion we called soixante neuf a ‘sixty niner’, or ‘a regimental’. Whereas we referred to cunnilingus as ‘muff delving’ or ‘wearing the beaver’.

I knew little about copulation, other than that gleaned from watching bulls servicing cows, and stallions mounting mares, although I once discovered my brother Elisha rogering our parlour maid in the stable. I had never yet tupped a woman, and my forays into experiencing the pleasures of the flesh were confined to some rather frantic fumbling with tavern wenches, when out roistering with other like-minded apprentices.
However, thanks to the generosity of Captain Merryweather, on the 24th of November I was introduced to the manifold delights of fornication by an experienced young whore in Madame de La Croix’s esteemed establishment. It was my sixteenth birthday, and never was a birthday gift more energetically enjoyed.
I was transported to paradise by the extreme pleasure the skilled strumpet afforded me, and eventually, after a few false starts, the pleasure I evidently gave to her. From that first, floundering, trembling, terrifying, wondrous venture into the unknown I became a regular worshipper at this shrine to the pleasures of the flesh. I was an enthusiastic pupil, and learnt my lessons well from those libidinous Temple acolytes. By the time the regiment moved from Lincoln I had progressed from Beginner through Improver to Journeyman Cocksman. I vowed I would keep practicing the skills and become an Adept, or Master Cocksman, and have endeavoured to keep to that promise.

I enjoyed my time in Lincoln. There were days of firing our muskets and drilling; evenings carousing in The Saracen’s Head or The White Swan taverns, and nights engaged in lusty coupling with accomplished harlots — what’s not to like?

In January 1809 a British army was tumbled out of Spain by the French, losing in the process one of our best generals in the training of soldiers, Sir John Moore. However, the British bulldog was not to be gainsaid, and another army was assembled in Portugal under the command of a little known General, Sir Arthur Wellesley. He had won several battles in India, fighting against native troops, and in fact had already shown his mettle against the French by whipping them at Vimero and Rolica, in Portugal, the previous year.
In September 1809 the 2nd/69th set sail from Portsmouth, to join Wellesley’s army in the Iberian Peninsula.

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