Chapter 18: The Ferry

I don't even recall the name of the stream, but it was wide and usually shallow with a rocky bottom. When we got there, however, the water was high and a large. old ferry was plying the flood. Our job was to hold the ford, now a ferry, until the whole army, what was left of it, had scampered, cross in several places. Then we could cross and join them, so we were told.

As our forlorn troops ambled by in ones and twos, in knots and platoons, the wounded moaning in farm wagons or helping each other along, we had a few brushes with the leading elements of the British forces hounding us onwards. We held our own without much effort and with no casualties since the dragoons were not very anxious to mix it up.

Finally, after nearly a week, we were told to move to the far bank, destroy the ferry and then hold for two more days, a rear-guard action that became our norm. The river was still pretty high, armpit deep I would say. Once we were across and in good defensive positions, Lt. Foster sent me back to chop the ferry loose after making sure it could not be used. The old barge was big enough to carry a stage and its team, but I had a sharp hatchet and was ready to do my assigned task.

I had not bargained on the ferryman, especially since it turned out that she was a ferrywoman, and a fine and healthy one too. She stood, feet wide apart, the loose-fitting duck trousers tucked into her high boots, her breeches hard against her long legs in a stiff breeze and a man's shirt flapping from her strong-looking arms and stretching across her jutting boobies when I told what I intended to do.

"And you'll die right there doin' it, you will," she said, her knuckles whitening on the long, thick pole she used to propel her craft in the river's current. "I'll crack yer head wide open, I will."

"Now, miss," I said, admiring her flashing eyes and firm jaw as well as a pair of prominent nipples and the well-rounded rump on her. "It's the war. We have to stop the enemy."

"Not wi' my father's ferryboat, y'don't." She put her free fist on her wide hip and showed me her teeth. I would guess she might have gone five-foot-ten in her thick-soled boots and probably weighed in around twelve stone, an impressive young woman with black hair and a trace of a brogue on her tongue. When her shirt flapped open, her impressive chest seemed to swell, making my hands itch and ballocks pound.

"Could we float it somewhere downstream then and hide it?" I asked, holding my hatchet awkwardly behind me, more than a bit ashamed but enjoying the sight of the lass before me, angry as she was. Her thighs looked as thick as mine and the muscles in her forearms bulged as did her fine bosom. She was breathing hard, really angry and perhaps a bit frightened, her face reddening.

"Y'kin go to hell, is what you can do," she said.

I stuck out my hand in friendship, but she brushed it away. "Let's go see your father," I suggested.

"Can't," she announced. "they took him prisoner, locked him away."

"Who did?"

"Dunno, some Redcoats las' week," she said, her tone easing a bit, but her chest still rising and falling rapidly and disturbingly.

"All right, let's us go back to your house and talk a bit. Maybe I can do you some good."

She narrowed her eyes but cast off, polled twice and let the big craft drift to the other shore, rocking a good bit since it was empty. She made it secure with two heavy ropes and led up the bank after tossing the big pole into the hulking craft's bottom. I enjoyed watching her move in front of me as we climbed the slippery bank and felt myself hardening. Her hips were wider than mine, and they moved like well-oiled machinery.

"Mary Margaret Mulligan," she said as she poured some whisky in a pewter can for me. She hefted the jug to her forearm and drank deeply then set the big stoneware container down and smiled. I told her my name, said I was happy to know her, and offered her what little food I had in my knapsack. She had some dark bread. We ate without any talk, my mind playing with the idea of bedding the girl and forgetting her ferryboat.

The clatter of hooves ended our meal, and a big grenadier sergeant trailed by a young ensign came through the front door without even a knock. "Where the hells' the bleedin' ferryman?" the noncom demanded, his face nearly as red as his jacket while the adolescent officer in his silly hat stood gaping at the woman.

"Sick," the young woman quickly said as I turned my back to the intruders enjoying the freckled view her unbuttoned shirt provided. She tossed back her hair and glared at me after feeling my eyes on her swelling breasts.

"I've, we've got a scoutin' party to get across the bloody river," the sergeant said, getting louder, "so get somebody on the rotten ferry. Be quick about it, woman." He popped his quirt against his boot.

She started to stand, but I put my hand atop hers, smiled into her eyes and said calmly, "I'll do it, Miss Mulligan." She nodded and sat back down, tucking her tongue into her cheek and pulling her shirt together.

The slim officer grinned at me, the supercilious shit, and said to his sergeant, "I'll stay here while you check this out, eh?" His voice cracked.

"Go on," the girl said to my back.

I shambled out, bent over as if with a deformity and found two other riders waiting to cross the stream that was still tumbling along, full of debris. They skidded their four animals down the muddy banks, tethered them to the wooden cleats, and I loosed the ungainly boat and pushed it out in the current after the thick-necked sergeant told me not to wait for his officer.

"He'll be busy, 'is lordship will, but won' take long," he laughed, scratching at his stones. "'E never does."

Once we were moving reasonably well, I pulled the seven-foot pole up and smashed the nearest soldier into the water with an easy swing that probably cracked his skull from the sound of it. Then I poked another into the river with the muddy end, but the sergeant ducked, sprawling on the wet decking as the horses pranced with excitement. I stepped on his hand to hold him in place, kicked him in the ear, rolled him over and took his purse. He looked up at me, bug-eyed as my big blade pricked his chest.

"Can you swim, sergeant?" I asked quietly, my knee on his belly.

He shook his head, clawing at me, and saying, "Don't, don't."

I drove the big knife through the middle of his chest and into the boards beneath him, pulled it free and rolled his spurting body overboard. I washed and wiped the bloody blade, got the raft headed back where we had started, made it firmly tied, took the horses to the half-roofed shed and hurried back to the cabin.

"What did you do?," the young woman asked as I bolted the door. Her shirt had been torn open and the ensign, his throat gaping wide, sprawled in a corner with blood dripping to the floor beneath him. He looked surprised as well as dead.

"They decided to swim," I said, tossing her the heavy purse, "but they paid first. What happened to him?"

She weighed the bag by hefting it and smiled at me. "Made a mistake." She pulled her shirt together and then looked about for her lost button.

"Now where's your father?" I asked after I dragged the slight body to the stream and returned to the cabin with the young officer's fancy purse, decorated pistol and gold ring.

"Tomorrow," she said, shedding her leather jerkin and meeting me in the middle of the room, letting her shirt fall all the way open. "I've been without a man for some time, and you're damn near my size." She nearly growled when I grabbed her, a hand on each haunch, pulling her heaving belly to mine.

"Poor little thing," I said, dragging her unbuttoned shirt out of her breeches and yanking it over her head while she loosed my thick belt and licked at my chest, biting me in several places.

Her breasts were the size of a 12-pounder's solid shot with dark nipples as big as my thumb joint, and they rode high on her ribs, looking up at me. She growled again as she came into my arms and met my lips with her own, wide parted and hungry, her hairy mound grinding into me, hips already moving anxiously as I skinned down her britches over her firm cheeks. Our tongues met.

"By damn," she said when she pulled her mouth away, "By damn." We did not say much after that but quickly disrobed each other and tumbled into her disordered bed, actually panting to be at it. My searching fingers told me she was ready, and I plunged into her, nearly halfway in at the first shove. She grunted and lifted her pelvis up to meet my deepening thrusts.

When I was sure I was fully in, I held her impaled, stretched to the very limit, and she opened her eyes, looked up at me and whispered hoarsely, "What are you waiting for?" Her big body shivered, poised on the end of my long, hard spear, on the spit and ready to be basted, its thick base grinding at her slit and moving up and down in her hairy groin. I smiled down at her and flexed my rigid weapon. She snorted and smiled.

We began very slowly, but her impatience soon overcome my urge to prolong the pleasure. She screamed like a banshee when she came, nearly scaring me out of my wits, beating on my chest and kicking me in the rump, and she managed another rollicking spasm, rearing under me with her eyes squeezed closed and mouth clamped shut, before I was spent and called for a bit of rest. We were, as she had guessed, a good match for each other.

"That was grand," she pronounced, rolling out of bed and crossing the room to find a pipe, stuff it full of rough-cut leaf and set it smoking. "It's been a while," she said as she walked to her cluttered table and took a drink from her big jug. I watched her hams flex in smooth motion and her globular breasts sway and jiggle gently with her steps. Her stomach was well-muscled, her belly a soft half-globe, and her black muff looked like a small critter nestled between her heavy thighs. Mucus trickled down one thigh. She rolled in beside me, took a deep pull on the stem and then handed me the pipe.

I put my arm about her wide shoulders and cupped her off breast while she pulled the covers up over our tired bodies. It was strong tobacco.

"You are the hairiest man I ever saw" she said, snuggling her face on my chest and combing my body hair with her fingers as our legs interlocked. Her knee moved up to prod my privates.

"And you are by far the strongest woman I've met today," I said. "You are some hard driving swiver."

"Anything that's worth doin'," she said with a laugh as she began working on my flabby member and shriveled stones. I put the pipe aside to tend to more pleasant matters and kneaded her hard butt while I sucked an upright dug. She pulled my head away from her chest and kissed me hard, gnawing my mouth.