Chapter 6

It seemed to me that the British Army were caught in a catch 22 position in their occupation of the city of Boston because they needed the support of the populace to weed out the patriot scum that made daily disloyal threats against the rule of the King and yet their very dependence on the colonial infrastructure made it impossible for the average American to accept their occupation as anything but out and out oppression.

The farms were a good example.

Most of the active producing farms were split about fifty-fifty between Tory and Patriot.

In the case of the Tory farms, the British troops were welcomed and they received proper compensation for their collected produce. In a large extent, the females of the Tory families were more than receptive to “backing up” a uniformed British regular with a taste for American female favors. There was no need for the lesson of rape on a Tory farm because the women were ready, willing and able to perform when requested politely by one of the boys in red.

Unfortunately, the Hessian mercenaries were not so well- treated and they were usually the perpetrators of the anti-patriot rapes that had the purpose of keeping the American females of disloyal tendencies literally on their toes and furnishing physical solace to the hordes of German speaking enlisted men that were taking the King’s coin.

The Hessians were well-trained and they were, without a doubt, a well-disciplined lot in taking orders from the gentlemen officers that used them extensively to drive a wedge of fear into the colonial hearts because they were not even English speakers and seemed to enjoy the brutal rules of engagement popular at that time and place. They were a valuable element of the British Army order of battle and they could be counted on to follow orders no matter how high the casualties or the difficulty of the mission.

Just like the American forces, the British Army regulars had an extensive contingent of Tory supporters that had experience in the French and Indian Wars. Of course, they were paid for their services, but the inclusion of the Ranger elements into the order of battle was just what the doctor ordered to supplement the pathetic marksmanship of the smooth-bore “Bessies” that the regular British regulars carried without exception.

Most of the Rangers wore forest green or brown and blended into the scenery with the success of a chameleon using cover and concealment to harm the enemy on the field of battle. They usually carried their own weapons and made their own lead balls to fire from the rifled long- guns that were said to be accurate out to two hundred meters or more when the barrel was steady and the target was stationary or slow-moving enough to be smashed into the mud below.

General Washington was well aware of the superiority of the Kentucky or Pennsylvania rifles and he had authorized a force of some fourteen hundred sharpshooters to act as snipers for his advances into enemy-held territory or to defend a position that allowed the Rangers to pick off the easily seen officers dressed in their colorful red uniforms that made wonderful targets in the distance.

I was able to accumulate a reserve of gold and silver coins by winnings at cards and my writing of notes and letters for the unlettered enlisted men around me that desperately needed to communicate their feelings and fears to loved ones far distant and hopefully retaining their memory for that day of return to home and hearth.

My informants had advised me that a local blacksmith was a purveyor of the long rifles that were used to such advantage by the Rangers and other woodsmen for hunting and in the conflicts of enemies on a battlefield engaged in chaos and the need of the best tools for the job at hand.

The blacksmith was a huge bearded man called simply, “Mister Jolly” and it had to be a joke of some nature because he was the ugliest and meanest-looking specimen of manhood that Jack had seen for many a day. The sour-faced laborer pulled out an assortment of long-rifles that were all products of craftsmen from those frontier places that produced the gems of modern warfare in a way that could never be reproduced in any factory or mass production project of any consequence.

It took every last coin in my reserve, but I managed to purchase a fine Kentucky rifle that had a notched wooden stock with an impressive accumulation of tiny scratches assumed to be lives snuffed out at a distance by a steady hand and a will to win the day regardless of the cost in human life or the despair of defeat.

Mister Jolly also furnished “gratis” a number of lead balls and patches to do grave harm to the British regulars. However, he had no access to the much needed gunpowder and out only recourse was to steal it from the British on the road from the unloading dock to the armory in the middle of the city. We were able to secure two loaded wagons and scurried away to our hideouts to distribute the explosive grains to all who served in silence and good order.

I was elected to lead a small expedition of our number into the city to test their defenses without arousing a hue and cry. It was a risky proposition but one that I welcomed because my Dolly was fair taxing me with her constant demands on my masculinity. I had never considered the depth of her feminine needs from the projection of her look of innocence even when she was used in such regrettable fashion by the supposed redcoat gentlemen showing the commoners the name of the game.