Rebel 1777 - Cover

Rebel 1777

Copyright© 2014 by realoldbill

Chapter 66: Spying

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 66: Spying - 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  

And then I awoke in a cellar although it took me some time to figure out where I was. My feet were tied together, my hands bound behind me, there was a damp gag in my mouth and my eyes were bandaged. I mentally took inventory and found most of my other parts were present and in working order. I could not feel any blood or new lumps on my head, but I had a metallic taste in my mouth. The gag was absolutely the worse part not only because it nearly strangled me in my own spit but tore at the edges of my mouth. I stretched at the rope holding my hands together and tried rubbing the knots on the stones behind me but without any success. I was reasonably sure it was daytime since I bit of filtered light penetrated the cloth around my eyes and nose.

I shook some memories loose. I had been in a tavern, a rural place and a shabby one at that, eyeing the serving girls and settling on the buxom woman whose huge jugs presented themselves for admiration when she bent to bring drinks to my table. My purse had been reasonably heavy and my member attentive. Across the room some Redcoats were pestering a blonde wench, but she was holding her own. Then the lights dimmed and my memory ended.

I listened since it was about my only useful sense, and the house I was in sounded empty, hollow somehow. I struggled to my feet after series of painful falls and hopped from wall to wall trying to measure my prison. Then I spent some time and sacrificed some skin trying to rub the blindfold from my eyes. When I got one eye free, I could see that was indeed in a dirt-floored, stone-walled cellar with an outside entrance and a single, high, barred but glassless window too small for anything larger than a terrier to use as a entrance.

My success with the blindfold led to be try to shed my stifling gag, but it was knotted too tightly beneath the back of my skull to budge. Since my oft-broken nose did not work all that well, breathing was somewhat labored with the gag in my mouth. I sat back down to rest and think, rubbing my wrist ropes against the sharp edge of one of the foundation stones and shedding some more skin and a bit of blood. Hours passed. I'm sure it was hours. The light faded and I continued to rub, ignoring the growing pain at the heels of my hands.

Then I heard noises from above, footfalls and soon the door opened to reveal some starry sky to my uncovered eye. A man descended with a small lamp. He was followed by another wrapped in a dark cloak.

"Look a'that," said the first, "the bugger's got the blindfol' nearly off." He came and kicked me in the thigh, a painful blow. Then he pulled the cloth down over my eye. "Aw'roit now, sar," he said.

"Hold the light higher," another, more cultured voice said. "That's good. Are you sure this is the one?"

"Aye," said the first, "a'ways asting about, wanting t'know wha' he shouldn't. They knows 'im in a dozen taverns, the wenches do."

"Perhaps," said the second. "Now fellow, here's the thing. We don't tolerate spies, y'know. You remember that fellow Hale I'm sure. We'll give you a choice; work for us or stretch a rope. Big man like you might take a while to die if we hoist you up rather than letting you drop. Take out his gag."

I felt hands at my ears and the rag came out of my mouth. I spat to the side and croaked, "Water."

"Yes, of course," said the cultured voice and a canteen came to my lips. I must have nearly drained it and enjoyed the feel of cool water running down my beard and chest.

"What do you say?" asked my unseen questioner.

"Price's high," I said.

"I don't understand," he replied.

"My people will hang me too if they don't shoot me. We've no patience with turncoats."

"Yes," he said, "that's true, but you've little choice, eh? After all you were a spy, and besides, we have Amanda as a witness. She is singing like a bird in a cage now that we've branded her here and there with the royal cipher."

I must have winced at that for the man chuckled. "Now, that convinced you did it not? We are serious," he said.

I nodded.

"We'll give you a try, a test," he said calmly. "If you do as you are told, we'll let Amanda go back to her place and her own bed, not much the worse for wear. If you don't she dies after her time in the sailors' brothel."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Names and descriptions of the other men in town doing as you are, spying for the rebels."

"Doubt if I can help you," I said. "In my company, which is all I know, only two of us do this, and I'm the only one that comes into the city with any regularity."

"Surely there are others," the man said. "We know Washington has good intelligence."

"Probably," I said. "But I'm the bottom link of the chain if there is one."

"Perhaps," he said. "Well then, do what you can on that score and give us exact figures for the Continental army's numbers, regiment by regiment with as many leaders' names as you can. I'll give you three days. If you are not back here at sunset then, Amanda goes into the meat grinder. She'll not survive, none do. Those damn tars are hell on women."

I heard him leave and then I was untied, and the scrawny man with a big pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other led me outside where my horse waited with my weapons and blanket roll. They surely had been efficient, thought I as I mounted, somewhat stiffly and made my way back to camp.

Lt. Foster listened to my tale, decided it was an opportunity to feed the enemy false information and went off to concoct the same while I ate and rested, worried about Amanda as well as my own hide which I was about to put back into the enemy's hands. A full day later, he made me copy in my own half-literate scrawl the figures provided, and told me to betray my friend George who, he said, would never be sent in the city again.

On the next day, I rode straight to Amanda's place since my scheduled rendezvous was still twelve hours off and found that, indeed, she had been hauled off, kicking and cussing, by some redcoats about a week before and not heard from since. One of the girls said she knew who had taken Amanda, at least who's company it was and gave me that name. I did some more prying, found their location and spent some shillings in the locals seeking bits and pieces of information without much success.

As the sun set I rested on the basement doors behind the empty house and waited for my British master to arrive. First came the man with the pistol and a blindfold which I meekly accepted. Then came the lighter footsteps and the same syrupy voice.

"Well, what have you for me?"

"My company's Foster's," I said, "Lieutenant Michael Foster of Rhode Island, I think, all volunteers, scouts. Only one, other than me that comes into this area, is a fellow named George. Don't know his last name. He's about this high, dark haired, twelve stone or so. But I did ask about and got you some numbers. Can't vouch for them, mostly tittle-tattle I expect." I handed him my penciled list of militia regiments with inflated numbers.

"Hm," the man said, "George, eh. That's hardly enough. Make another try at spies. I want at least two more if you'd like to see Amanda whole. The men holding her, by the by, tell me is a fine bedmate. And find out the regulars' number."

"Doubt that I can," I said.

"Try, only two names will do the trick," the man said. "Three days, same time. Then we'll put you on the payroll."

When they had left, I rode back to the area when I hoped Amanda was being held and nosed around a bit more without much success. If Amanda was there, no one claimed to have seen her, and she was a woman you would remember.

So back to camp I went, and we invented three spies complete with names, descriptions, areas of work and regiments. One was a captain Joyce but I do not recall the other names. I told Foster that I doubted it would work, but he assured me it was worth a try and then we scoured up a couple of pieces of true and provable information about artillery and supplies for me to feed my questioners, and I was given a soiled copy of the reported losses at Fort Washington and Fort Lee.

Since what I was to give them was well-known and out-of-date, no harm would be done. I talked George into coming with me and staying back out of sight since I wanted to know who my captor was and what he looked like. I hoped that might help me find Amanda.

At the appointed time the little man with the blindfold reappeared and then the officer. I handed over what papers I had, named the three non-existent spies in the British midst and waited.

"Hm," said the man at length, "much of this is useless, but it does show some effort on your part. Hold out your hand."

I did so and he dropped a heavy coin into it.

"There," he said, "now you've taken the King's salt and you must provide him loyal service."

"And Amanda?" I asked.

"Next time, perhaps," he said, "gave us more and better and we'll free her. She's in no real danger, just lying on her back doing what she does best. A fine piece, so I've been told. That right, Riley?"

"Aye," the other man said, "one a'the best I've 'ad in this godforsaken land. Buggered 'er royally, I did."

"Wait a few minutes to remove the blindfold, my "master" said, and I heard them leave. In a minute or two George was beside me, tearing the cloth from my eyes.

"He's a captain, fusilier," my friend said. "About five and half feet, maybe ten stone or so, walks with a limp. T'other's a sergeant, ain't much bigger, bit heftier, also fusilier company of some kind, maybe that Nothumberland bunch we saw up in Boston, that sort of uniform."

"Thanks," I said, "get out of here. I'll be along."

There was still some color in the sky when I returned to Amanda's place for some food, drink and information. I laid out the description I had and got the location of two outfits stationed in and around the city. The small officer was evidently unknown. I went back to the area I had tried before and at the second tavern, struck gold.

"Sound's like the 16th t'me," said the man I had bought a gin. "They takes on all sorts'a jobs. Mean bunch, too." I bit more gin got me the barracks location and the name of the regimental commander. They had taken over an academy and the private homes across from it.

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