Rebel 1777 - Cover

Rebel 1777

Copyright© 2014 by realoldbill

Chapter 48: Ashore

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 48: Ashore - A young soldier in Washington's army recalls his adventures.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Historical   Violence  

Time passed slowly in my small cell. Rats came sniffing around now and then, and I got some bread and cheese every day. When we got down around the Delaware Capes a few days later, I guess it was around the first of August, they hauled me up on deck and took the chain off my ankles. I could barely see the shore line, and I guess they thought I would not try to swim for it. They were right.

A big ship came out from Delaware Bay, and pretty soon flags were going up and down, and the sails of all the ships started flapping. One of the sailors told me that it was the Roebuck, said he had served on her. I have no idea how they told one ship from another from a mile away, but they could and knew how many big guns each carried and who the captains were, who flogged and who did not. I learned how to stay out of the way of busy men and generally ended up in a small space at the prow, near what they called a "chaser," the gun they had fired at us.

Whatever happened at this meeting, the fleet soon was sailing on southwards. I had assumed, hoped might be closer to it, that we would be turning for Philadelphia and dry land. I might have a chance to escape there.

We sailed south for about another two weeks during which time I learned about sea-sickness as the winds turned very contrary, and the frigate I was on showed its ability to move in at least three directions at once. By then the captain had given me certain menial tasks such as polishing the brightwork, scrubbing out the heads and whiting some of the rigging. The ship had a regular routine and mealtimes, all regulated by bells which I never figured out.

I did learn to get in line for meals and to stay out of the way when the decks were being scrubbed, as they were daily. I watched the guns drills and came to admire the ability of the wiry sailors to manage the huge guns. On Sunday I listened to the captain read a list of all the things a sailor could be flogged for doing or not doing. I did not get the daily rum ration. The weather was generally very hot, and I was glad I was not on one of the crowded troopships.

As we turned at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay and began another week of sailing, this time northward, I was taken to one of the ships that carried General Howe's horses. The sailors called their ship a ketch, and it held three large pens of horses, all in various states of distress. I was a replacement for several men who had died or had fallen or been kicked overboard. A half dozen cavalrymen or dragoons were aboard, but there was little anyone could do for the poor animals. Evidently the British had planned on a much shorter trip, and both fodder and water was in short supply. My job was to cull out the most distressed animals and coax, lead or push them to a hatch where they were shoved overboard. Each morning, there were dead horses to be disposed off and by the end of each day of sailing I had delivered a few more quivering mounts to be dropped into the Chesapeake.

When we finally reached Head of Elk, at the far northern end of the huge Bay, they lowered the ramps, and we herded the horses that remained into a nearby field, a cornfield. I could have told them what would happen after all those days on meager rations, but nobody asked me. Horses are not very smart animals. By then, despite the chains on my wrists, I was simply accepted as one of the crew with a nasty job to do. As the poor, frightened animals began gorging themselves on the corn, I crept off toward a woodlot, hoping I could simply wander away. I had not noticed the widely spaced guards posted all along the edges of the field. The one I approached watched me with wary eyes.

"Spare me some water?" I asked him.

"G'wan, get 'way from 'ere," he said, scratching at his chin. I was about a head taller than he was and felt sure I could overpower him given half a chance.

"What'cha got in your canteen then? Rum is it?" I asked with a smile, getting a step closer.

He spat at me, raised his bayonet-tipped musket to the port position and pushed me away. I stumbled back, still in balance, and the flipped the long chain over his head. I quickly yanked his neck down and smashed his face into my raised knee. He dropped his weapon and grabbed for me, blood spurting from his crushed nose. Having the advantage of height, I raised my right arm, flipped the chain around his neck and dragged him back into the woods kicking and sputtering.

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