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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 066 Honor's Family
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Date: Tue,  1 Jun 2004 15:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 066.txt" begin>


Rebel 066 (Old Bill) (no sex hist)

Honor's Family

	"Those beasts," said Madam Von R--, "are holding a fair, as 
they call it, and have a girl, a very comely girl, as one of the prizes in 
some sort of contest."

	"One of our people?" I asked.  "A rebel?"

	"Of course.  Why else would I bother?" she said impatiently.  
"Go get her out of there."

	"Yes'm," I said and set out.  It made for a very curious 
weekend.

	That Friday I nosed around and found that there was, indeed, 
a competition, open only to militiamen, no British regulars or 
mercenaries, and that, indeed, the prize was a girl, a maiden as she 
was advertised, of some sixteen years.  Most men in the tavern 
doubted that, doubted there was a women left in New York over 
the age of twelve who was a virgin.  "Less'n she were awful fast," 
one said. "Or powerful ugly," joked another.

	Early Saturday, I set out to get me a militia uniform and fell 
into real luck.  The first inn I tried was chuck full of young men from 
the Eastern Shore of Maryland who had been recruited and 
uniformed by some wealthy tobacco grower, perhaps one of the 
much-divided Taliaferro clan.  They were called riflemen and all 
carried heavy-barrelled long guns.  I wandered about until I found 
the biggest of the bunch and invited him out to try some rye I told 
him I had in my saddle bags.  Sipping whisky from Maryland, I told 
him.

	I left his body behind the stable, deep in a pile of manure and 
straw, and buttoned his fancy jacket about my chest.  Then I 
presented myself as a contestant, paid the one crown fee, and 
displayed my borrowed Pennsylvania rifle.  I was given a number, 
seventeen as I recall, and told that the three-part competition would 
begin at high noon.

	"Where's the girl?" I asked.

	The busy adjutant smiled.  "Some a'my boys are gittin' her 
ready."

	I feared she would soon lose her virginal status if she had truly 
brought it with her to the city.  I went and drank a bit more, cleaned 
my weapons and rested in the shade after firing the rifle twice and 
finding it pulled slightly right. I polished some balls until I was sure 
of their roundness.

	At twelve or so someone rang a big bell and about a score of 
men, in a wide variety of uniforms, appeared and displayed their 
numbers.  We crowded around the adjutant who had evidently 
sponsored this thing, and he told us the rules: rifle shooting at one 
hundred yards, then knife, tomahawk or ax throwing at twenty 
paces, and the top finishers then in a catch-as-catch-can melee for the 
young female.  Then, with a flourish and a grin, he hauled up the 
prize.

	And she was, a prize that is.  A young, long-haired blonde girl, 
slender but womanly, wearing a long pale frock, bare foot and grim 
faced, probably sixteen or less, nubile but barely ripe.  "The winner," 
the adjutant cried, "gets her for twenty-four hours, then she goes 
into the regiment's rest house."

	The girl stared out over the crowd, her mouth wiggling and 
her eyes wet.  She was pale but her cheeks were pink and her knees 
shook.  I watched her grip the boards with her toes and felt pity for 
her.

	We got three shots at three penny pieces set on a post.  By the 
time I got my turn, only two men had hit even one of the coins.  The 
brisk wind was from the sea, and I had watched some men who 
claimed to be dead shots miss wide, post and all.  We had to fire 
standing, and at a hundred yards, a copper is a mighty small target. 
 
	I was lucky, my first shot hit low and spun up to strike the coin 
and knock it flying.  My second shot was better, not dead center, 
but pretty close and the crowd made a noise as the coin seemed to 
disappear.  My third shot went a triffle high; the ball might have 
been a bit irregular, but it clipped the top edge of the coin without 
dislodging it.  The upshot was, I won the shooting contest, but five 
men got at least one penny so they were surely in the running as we 
moved on to throw at a board target about a foot square nailed to a 
tree.

	Most of the contestants were terrible at throwing things at 
that tree.  By the time I was up, only one had stuck his blade in the 
target.  I plunked my first throw right in the middle and then, I 
suppose, got overconfident, and barely nicked it with the next two, 
but burying my big blade into the old tree both times.  Two 
tomahawk tossers, one of whom threw underhand, beat me with 
two good hits, and the three of us went to the final round along 
with four shooters, stripped off our shirts and stepped into an area 
marked off with chalk dust.  I wondered if I had not heard all the 
rules.

	I had seen a few melees in my time so I picked out the smallest 
man out there, grappled with him hard, grunting and flailing about 
while the others tussled and eliminated two of our number.  I threw 
my opponent out of the ring and took on the biggest of the ones 
left, ducked his wild swing and kicked him right in the stones.  
Another man jumped on my back, and we went at it pretty hard 
until I got my arm about his neck and twisted his wrist, forcing him 
to yield.  I went back to the fellow rolling in the dirt and holding his 
groin.  He shook his head when I asked if he wanted to continue.  I 
found the last pair wrestling each other, pulled them apart and 
floored them both with little effort since they had just about 
exhausted each other.  So I won without working up much of a 
sweat.

	I yanked my shirt back on, recovered my knife and rifle and 
the grinning adjutant dragged the girl to my side and handed me 
the rope tied about her thin neck.

	"Y'want a'do here right here, boy?" he asked me in a nasal, 
New England twang. "Like t'watch'cha, big as you is."

	I shook my head, untied the young woman, took her hand 
and led her away as the crowd dispersed.  Two men approached as 
we headed for a tavern nearby, a place I more or less trusted, and 
both offered me money to let them have a few minutes with my 
prize after I had deflowered her.  We both ignored them.

	I got the girl to a corner table in the back room, poured her 
some beer and then waited until we both had calmed.

	I introduced myself, told her I was a rebel and from Maryland.

	She said her name was Honor, and then she sniffed.  "They 
took my mother and sisters to that place."

	"Their whore house?" I asked.

	She nodded and made a face, a sad face.

	"You know where it is?"

	She nodded again, vigorously. "Gonna put me there."

	"Stay here," I told her.  I hurried off despite her protests and 
was back in fifteen minutes with a well-worn skirt of hard material, 
what they called Scotch cloth, an apron of linsey woolsey and a pair 
of wooden clogs.  She wrapped the skirt about herself almost twice, 
and we were soon on our way.

	"That's the place," she said pointing after we had dismounted 
in a woodlot.  "They came to our farm at night and grabbed us.  
They knew the men were away somehow.  They aren't home yet.  
They took me there first, before I became a prize."  She sniffed and I 
hoped she wasn't going to cry.

	The old house was unprepossessing, much in need of care, and 
I only saw one lackadaisical sentry lolling about.  I left the girl 
tending my horse and watching over my new rifle and marched 
right up to the front steps.

	The sentry rose up from his daydreaming and challenged me.  
I told him I had a pass to use the place, fumbled in my jacket and 
when I saw him relax, tripped him up and killed him with his own 
bayonet.  I dragged his body back in the bushes and hurried into 
the house where a man and a woman were playing cards.

	"What d'ye wan'?" the old woman asked.

	"Into the cellar, both of you," I said, showing them my big 
bayonet.  They stumbled over each other doing what I had ordered.

	The six women in the house had been shackled to their 
bedsteads by a wrist so it took some time to free them.  Three I told 
to run, but the fair-haired woman and her two wide-eyed 
daughters, I led back to their sister.  The reunion was tearful but 
brief.

	We hiked, letting the girls ride now and again, until nightfall 
and then made camp by a small stream.  The weather was friendly, 
but the four of them managed to huddle under my thin blanket until 
dawn when the woman rose and roused her children.  She forced 
me to sleep while she made up the fire.  I rested, one eye open until 
the sun was well up and then we hiked again until high noon when 
we crested a ridge and they all pointed and cried, "There it is."

	We sat on the edge of the treeline and watched as men came 
and went from their house and barn, carrying off goods, supplies, 
furniture and equipment.

	"That's our neighbor, Frederickson," the woman told me.  
"Those are his boys.  Tories, every one of them."

	"How many?" I asked.

	"He's got four full-grown sons, but I've only seen three 
working down there."  The woman's face was very stern as we 
watched the men loading a big wagon.

	I got my rifle, rested it on a stump, ignored the girls' protests 
about the range and knocked one right off the tail of the wagon 
with the first shot, a good chest hit that sent him spinning.  By the 
time the other two came from the barn, I had nearly reloaded.  One 
stood looking around the area while the other bent over the man I 
had brought down.  I sighted in on him and was lucky enough to hit 
him right in the ear.  He tumbled over atop his brother.  I reloaded, 
but as I did I watched the other man mount up and ride out of sight.

	We went down the hillside, through the ripe hay, and the girls 
began unloading the wagon and putting things back where they 
belonged, ignoring the bloody corpses.

	I stripped the bodies and hauled them off to the barn, tossing 
them into an empty corner.  All the animals were gone as well as 
most of the tools that one usually found on barn walls.

	"A lot of things are missing," the woman told me as we ate 
some ham and hard bread.

	"Don't you expect that man and his boys to be back?" I asked.

	"Likely," she said just as they rode into the barnyard on 
lathered horses.

	My musket was handy, loaded with buck and ball, so I went 
out to meet them.  The woman came with me after warning her girls 
to stay out of sight.  I stopped near the well.

	"Where are my boys?" the man demanded, staying on his 
horse while his sons dismounted.  They wore heavy pistols; he 
carried a shotgun.

	"In the barn," I said.  "Both dead.  They were stealing this 
lady's goods."

	"Lady?" he yelled, raising his weapon.

	I shot from the hip and knocked him off his horse.  One of the 
boys fired his pistol at me while the other ran toward the house.  
The woman ran after him.  I drew my bayonet and dispatched the 
son with the smoking pistol before he could start to reload.

	From the house came the sound of a gun firing and then just 
shouts.  By the time I got there, the young man was down and out, 
and two girls were beating on him with iron frying pans.  I saved his 
life, dragged him out into the yard, made him load his father and 
brothers' bodies into his wagon and then told him I would soon be 
over to collect the rest of the stolen property including the stock.  
He nodded, his eye swollen shut and his nose broken.

	I got things settled, put Honor up on my horse, mounted 
behind her, and we rode to Fredericksons.  The surviving son and I 
loaded the wagon while the girl shooed some cows, goats, mules 
and two riding horses together in a pen.

	I made the boy help us get the animals and goods back where 
they belonged and then gave him a choice of dying right then and 
there or leaving the people alone.  I sent him on his way to do his 
burying.

	We ate together, and then the woman sent her girls off to bed 
and sat with me for a bit.  We talked about the future.  Then she 
went to bed.  As we had agreed, I slept in the barn.

	Early the next morning, Honor climbed the ladder and smiled 
at me.  "I won," she said.  "We drew straws."  She held up the twig 
and grinned at me.

	"What did you win?" I asked, opening my blanket so she 
could roll in beside me.

	"You," she said.  "You won me, and I won you."

	I was terribly hard but surely did not want to inflict my 
rampant prod on this youngster.  She had suffered enough from 
men.

	She snuggled close, her thin nightgown all that lay between us 
since I had shed my shirt early in the evening.  "My sisters are so 
jealous.  They think I cheated."  She kissed my chest and slipped her 
hand down to touch my rearing prong.  "Oh," she said and her eyes 
widened. She stroked the hot thing with one finger.  "Don't you 
want to?" she asked.

	"That's the silliest question I've heard today," I said.

	"Well?" she said, flopping to her back and spreading her legs.

	I rose on my elbow and kissed her gently.  "You go back and 
tell your sisters that I wasn't in the mood.  I thank you for the offer, 
but no thanks."

	She pouted, told me I was mean and disappeared.

	I satisfied myself, got dressed and joined them for some 
breakfast.  Then I went back to the damned war.
	

<1st attachment end>


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