Chapter 94: English girl

I heard about the English girl long before I saw her. She was, they said, a prize beauty and they did not lie. She had been captured along with her officer-husband and four outriders in an ambush. Negotiations were underway for trading the officer for men the Redcoats were holding. The four cavalrymen had died trying to escape, so I was told with a grin, horses being worth a lot more that British cavalrymen, and dead men ate very little.

Lt. Foster detailed me to carry a white flag and accompany him when they decided to trade the colonel for two of our artillery officers. Foster rode in the carriage with the angry and frightened couple, and I drove with a white banner fluttering beside me. I was unarmed. I had touched the young woman's elbow as I helped her board and got a whiff of her. She was a dark-haired, clear-skinned girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen and her husband was at least twice that, a paunchy, well-dressed fop, I decided. I had daydreams of bedding her as we rolled down the rutted road.

We were only halfway to the designated place, an inn both sides frequented from time to time, when a squad of German grenadiers appeared out of the woods, and I pulled the team to a halt and set the brake. The smiling sergeant major gestured for me to get down and I did. He then hit me in the side of the head with his pistol and when I fell to my knees, he hit me again on the back of the head, and I blacked out, falling down a deep well that had no bottom and smelled of rotted weeds.

When I awoke, I was still lying beside the road with dirt in my mouth, and Lt. Foster was standing near a tree shaking his head and spitting blood. Neither of us had any food or water, and we were about five miles from camp. He decided I should continue toward the inn to scout out the situation, and he would go back and get a cavalry squad to come down as soon as possible.

"Them Germans," I said, spitting gravel, "a mean bunch."

"Yep, but the Redcoats might not a'knowed about it. The girl looked real surprised when they stopped us and the man, her husband cursed."

It took me the best part of an hour to get to where I could see the tavern beside the stream. I had eaten a few berries, but I was awful hungry and even thirstier. The rig I had been driving was in the yard with the team unhitched so I decided to see what was going on.

I walked through the woods to the creek, drank my fill, emptied my bladder and then crept toward the inn from that side. As soon as I came around the corner of the carriage house, I saw the dangling bodies. Two American officers, wearing their regimentals, their hands tied behind their backs, were hanging from an old tree, twisting back and forth, very dead, necks broken, swollen tongues protruding from their oddly-offset heads.

I saw no sign of the Hessian horse soldiers so I went on into the tavern. The girl saw me before I saw her. She quickly stood at a table near the fireplace and put her hand to her mouth.

I got a mug of beer and walked over and sat beside her. "What happened?" I asked.

She touched my forehead. "You're bleeding," she said.

"Yes," I said, wiping it away with back of my hand as I had been doing when the trickle of blood got into my eye. The side of my face was crusted with blood and I had another bloody lump on the back of my skull. "What happened?" I reached out and grabbed her wrist since it seemed like she was about to run.

She sat and looked frightened, breathing fast. "They took my husband with them, those men."

"Where?"

"I don't know, but they said they would be back. They expect some Continentals to come after them. I think they went for reinforcements, to set a trap."

"And took your husband?"

She nodded.

"Did you see those men hanging out there?"

She nodded and looked at the table top. "They were dead when we got here. There was a lot of laughing and pointing."

"What are you going to do?"

"They told me to wait."

"I can take you back to camp, in the carriage perhaps. Can you ride?"

"Side saddle," she said with a smile, an awfully good smile, a confident smile. "You'd better go. I'm safe here."

Four men came into the tavern that made me doubt her immediately. Fact is, no woman that pretty was safe anywhere in those days. They were a rough looking bunch, bushwhackers probably or somebody's irregular militia.

"Lookee," one of them said. "A sojer."

"Got his own bitch," said another.

"Pretty piece, ain't she?" said the first.

"Good 'nough for us nohow," another crowed.

I was unarmed except for my bayonet and two of them had horse pistols in their belts. Another carried a musket. I sure didn't want a fight at those odds or in the confined space.

"We'd better go," I said to the girl quietly. "I'll slow 'em down. Run to the creek, go downstream and wait for me at the first bending."

"Wait, please," she said as I pushed her toward the back door, but the bunch had their drinks and were moving toward us, grinning like randy fools, hitching their britches and grabbed at their crotches.

I yelled "Run!" and grabbed a piece of cordwood from the hearth. I threw that at the men and followed it with a chair. Then it got kind of noisy, and there was some cursing and one shot fired. I pushed a table into them and then tossed a bottle at the biggest one's head. Then I ran while they cursed some more.

A shot hit the door beside my ear as I got outside and headed for the barn and then to the creek as fast as I could. I zigzagged through the woods, stopped to listen and then walked as quietly as I could toward the sound of running water. I followed the stream down the gentle hill, hoping it had a turn somewhere and listening for the sounds of pursuit. Things seemed quiet behind me, and then I heard a "Hist."

The girl sat on the bank, her arms around her knees. "What happened?" she asked.

"I threw some things and ran for it," I said.

"Are they following?" she asked, looking worried.

I shook my head and we both listened. All we heard was gurgling water and birds.

"Now what?" she said.

"We walk."

"Where?"

"Away, downstream. There's going to be a fight. My lieutenant went for cavalry."

"Shouldn't you stay and help him?"

"Not today," I said, helping her to her feet. "I don't even have a gun."

"My husband will be worried," she said.

"I'd worry about him if I was you. Hessians might ditch him to get at you."

She glanced at me from the edge of her eye. "They did look at me funny, kind of oddly, like they were hungry," she said.

"Hard not to look at you," I said. She was a true beauty, all straight back and lissome curves, with sparkling eyes and a luscious mouth. She wore well-made clothes of expensive material that looked new and tailored. They fit her well and tightly. She was wearing stays, of course, but when she stood, she put her slim shoulders back and poked out a pair of firm beauties on her slim frame.

"But we're allies, friends, with the Hessians and the Brunswickers."

"Women have no friends among them Germans," I said. "Young or old, they take them all."

"What do you mean?" She held my arm as we crossed some big roots.

"Rape," I said. "That's what I mean."

She did not say anything, and we kept walking beside the small stream. We heard the first shot a few minutes later and stopped. Then there were a series of bangs, gunfire, popping sounds and louder cracks, pistols and muskets. I held the girl's hand. She was trembling. I had no idea who was shooting at who, but I guessed Foster had returned and found somebody to fire at.

The fight went on for five or ten minutes, and then we smelled smoke, powder smoke and then something burning, wood smoke. "Let's get going," I said, helping her to her feet.

"Who won?"

"No telling, but I think that tavern's burning back yonder."

"All my clothes are in that trunk on the carriage, my good clothes."

I looked at her dark red dress, now muddy on the hem. "I'm sure you can have more made."

"Laces, and things." She sniffed and I thought she was going to cry, but we kept on walking.

A short time later we heard riders in the woods behind us. Soon we were sure they were Germans since we could hear their guttural curses. We moved away from the creek and crouched in some tangled deadfall. Two grenadiers passed ten yards away, hacking at the brush with their heavy swords and cursing.

We were about to stand and get back to our stream, when a commanding voice said, "Come oudt, hands up. Quick. Raus."

I stood and turned. The sergeant who had knocked me down sat on his horse, ten feet away, his pistol leveled at my gut. "Vere iss d'voman, d'Fraulein?" he asked.

I looked up into the mouth of his pistol and shook my head, and he cursed and pulled the trigger. His horse reared as the pan flashed by his ear and the shot whirred past my head and smashed the tree behind me as I dropped flat in the weeds.

"Gottdamn," cried the man.

I scrambled up and ran toward him, dead limbs tearing at my legs and arms. I pulled my bayonet. He spurred his frightened horse and the animal spun and dumped him off, right at my feet. I did not waste any time. I put my knee on his chest, smiled and slashed his throat. His blood gushed out over my hands as his head flopped sideways. I wiped my hands on his breeches, took his purse, found his pistol and looked around for his horse. The girl stood behind me, looking horrified. I wiped my knife on my leg and sheathed it.

"The horse is behind you," I said to her.

She turned and walked toward the big gelding, took his bridle and brought him to me, patting his head, soothing him. She looked down at the dead man.

"Did you have to?" she said, pulling her eyes away from his ghastly throat wound.

I nodded, found the pistol equipment in a saddle bag and loaded the weapon. The big, heavy pistol was a lot more useful for hitting people than shooting at them, but it was better than nothing so I put it in my belt. I also found some bread and sausage and walked the horse and the woman back to the creek where all three of us drank, and she and I ate the dead man's food.

I showed her how to pull her skirt up between her knees and helped her mount, admiring her fluffy petticoat, silly slippers and silk-clad legs as she did. Then I climbed up behind her and walked the horse along the stream for a mile or so. I dismounted and hiked for a while and then helped her down, and we walked silently side by side, touching now and again. We did not talk much. It was a good horse but a bit wide for the woman.

By nightfall we were a good ways from the fight and completely lost. I had no idea where my camp was. Our creek had joined a bigger stream, and we turned north, hoping to find a settlement and some food and directions.

"We've got a lot of money," the woman said brightly from astride the horse, hefting the sergeant's purse. "I see a light."

I looked where she pointed and saw it too. I helped her down, and we walked slowly upstream until we saw a rope ferry and a tavern alongside a well-worn road.

We straightened our clothes. She dabbed at my forehead. "It's stopped bleeding," she told me. And we approached the tavern carefully. I had discarded my jacket and stock and no longer looked much like a soldier. I kept the pistol in the back of my britches and held the girl's hand as we entered.

We soon found that it was another of those places caught between the lines and trading with both sides freely, asking no questions as long as the customer could pay. Continental paper, said a sign, traded at ten to one. They served us without comment, and we were glad for it. I began thinking about getting between the woman's legs and enjoying the evening ahead.

We ate well, drank some good ale and exchanged a crown for a room with a large, fairly clean bed and a bottle of locally made apple brandy. The inn-keeper grinned at me and wished me a pleasant evening. I had found out that we were some ten miles south and east of the camp where I had started the day, and that they had seen no Redcoats, Germans or American troops for a week. I pulled the cork, drank a mouthful of raw stuff, and headed for the stairs.

The woman sat on the bed and pulled off her shoes and ruined stockings. Then she doffed her bodice with a shrug of her slim shoulders, slipped out of her skirt and undid her stays. I sat and drank and watched and enjoyed the sight since the single window was just beyond her and the moon was bright. She had a fine body. She rolled under the quilt and turned to look at me, dark hair framing her handsome face.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

"Soon," I said, tilting up the bottle. "Got to make a visit." I pulled the pistol from my belt and handed it to her. "Know how to use this?"

She nodded holding it loosely near her chest, and I went out to the privy and took care of some of my body's needs, thinking about others.

She sat up quickly with the pistol in both hands when I reentered the room and fastened the latch. I squirmed off my boots, peeled out of my britches and lay beside her, atop the quilt. It was a soft night, and the shirt I wore was enough for comfort and modesty, if I had any need, and I was beginning to.

She put her hand on my arm, and I turned toward her. She buried her face on my shoulder and pushed back her hair.

"Did you have to kill him?" she said, her face only a few inches from mine.

"Yes. He tried to kill me. I knew what he'd do to you."

"I've never..." She stopped and I waited, enjoying the smell of her and the pale glow of the silver light on her skin, her barely fuzzy skin, her gleaming, heavily lashed eye. "I've never been in bed with a man other than my husband, not since we wed." She stopped and looked at me.

"I can sleep on the floor or in a chair."

"No, no. I mean it seems strange."

"It is."

"Are you married?" she asked.

"No'm," I said. "Not me."

"Why not?"

"Liable to be dead tomorrow or the next day. Hardly fair to marry somebody and then leave her, sudden like."

"Hm," she said, and turned to lie on her back. She took my hand and held it tightly. "Do you mind?" she said, "it's how I go to sleep."

"Good night," I said, urging my body to calm itself and ignore the fact that a warm, young, lovely female was lying a foot away, wearing only a long shift. Most of me went along with the idea, but one part refused.

'What's your name?" she suddenly said. "I should know who I'm in bed with." She laughed softly, the back of her hand against my hairy thigh.

I told her my name, and she said, "I'm Emma, Emma Robertson. Our home's near Cambridge, but I've never seen it."

I puzzled over that and heard her breathing slow. Her hand relaxed. After a bit, I slept, and the next thing I knew, she was punching me. "Wake up, wake up," she loudly whispered. "Germans."

Dawn was creeping up the edge of the woods, and I quickly rolled out of bed, ignored my stiff cock, and went to the window. There were three of them, and they were roughing up the stable boy and pointing at the horse we had ridden in. I checked the pistol's pan, pulled on my britches with some effort and went to the door.

"Lock this when I go," I told the woman, who still sat in the bed, her shift drooping from one shoulder. She looked very frightened, but she nodded.

I heard the latch fall as I sidled down the creaking steps and made my way to the back door. The inn keeper was there before me and stepped outside. I waited in the dark doorway while he approached the three large men in dark uniforms.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, and the nearest grenadier turned and lashed him across the face backhanded with his straight sword. The man screamed with his hands to his ruined face and the German ran him through. I saw the bloody sword come out the man's back. The other two laughed while the lad lay in the straw looking horrified. I wondered if he had just watched his father die.