Date: Thu, 26 May 2005 07:35:55 -0400
From: edcwriter@yahoo.com
Subject: FOR GOD & COUNTRY - 4

FOR GOD & COUNTRY - 4

Copyright 2005 by Carl Mason and Ed Collins

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the authors.  However based on real events and
places, "For God & Country" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  If you would like to read other Mason-Collins stories, you
might turn to "Out of the Rubble," "Castle Margarethen," "The Priest and
the Pauper," and "High Plains Doctor" which are archived in Nifty's
"Historical" section.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be
addressed to the authors at edcwriter@yahoo.com .

"For God and Country" is much indebted to a long out-of-print work titled
"Ask No Quarter" by George Marsh (Sun Dial Press, 1946).  In many ways, it
is an "alternative" retelling of parts of that grand story.  To be sure,
most of the content is unique to this yarn.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands that anything other than safe sex is sheer insanity!


CHAPTER 4

(Revisiting Chapter 3)

The Captain ended the burial ceremony by saying that the British would not
allow the continuing decimation of their merchant fleet.  The Eagle had to
expect a major military response by the Royal Navy in the near future.  He
also said that he knew his Newport and Portsmouth lads would do their duty.
He and Hugh, whose mate's cubbyhole adjoined the Captain's cabin, did
theirs that night - and nearly every night thereafter.

(Continuing Our Story - Cartagena)

"I am really sorry about Bobby," Hugh murmured as he sat across from Jeremy
Stuart in a Cartagena bar.  Jeremy strained to hear as the babble of many
patrons swirled around them, most shouted in different languages.  The
music that accompanied a voluptuous dark-haired woman who whirled in a wild
Spanish dance on a small stage was completely drowned out.  Jeremy opened
and closed his mouth several times in frustration, but finally looked about
him and shoot his head.  Hugh grabbed his rum, rose, and bent down to speak
in his friend's ear.  "This noise is hopeless, Jeremy.  Let's at least go
out on the patio.

"Thanks, Hugh," the young redhead exclaimed once he could be heard.  "He
was a good buddy.  I've found no better...save you," he added sadly.  "Why
the long face, Mr. Stuart?"  Hugh asked, trying to jolly him out of his
dark mood.  Despite his fears, Jeremy answered frankly.  "I miss our talks,
I miss our being together.  In Newport, scarcely a day went by that we
didn't laugh and talk...of so many things," the handsome youngster boldly
exclaimed.  "Now we live in different worlds," he added, brushing a long
strand of red hair away from his eyes.

Hugh looked at the lad for a moment.  What he said was true.  He'd had no
closer friend his whole life through - well, at least before falling in
love with Jeremiah Arnold.  Slowly, he reached out and laid his hand on top
of Jeremy's.  The boy's body jerked, the heavy brown bicep that showed
through the tattered shirt flexing slightly as he swallowed and a tremor
seemed to move across his face.  The blond-haired mate of the Eagle stared
into his friend's green eyes and spoke with all of the sincerity that was
within him.  "Jeremy, it's true that the Captain is my friend, but that
doesn't mean that you're not my friend, too.  God's breath, I've loved you
all my life!  Do you think I could stop now?"  The muscular young sailor
who sat before him looked down into his rum for a moment and then abruptly
looked back up.  A soft, reassured, and ever so slightly embarrassed smile
played over his face.  "Thank you, Hugh," was all that he could manage.

"Are the men ready for sea?" Hugh asked, thinking it time to change the
subject.  "They are!  They are!" the redhead exclaimed.  "And ready to tie
another knot in Billy Bull's tail!"  "Good!"  responded Hugh.  "We're
provisioned; the Spanish sold us everything we needed by way of powder and
shot, and the repairs have been made.  I dare say we'll sail on the evening
tide."  "It's a good thing we can sail into so many Caribbean ports,"
Jeremy responded.  "Yeah," Hugh agreed, "without the Spanish, the Dutch,
and the French, we'd be in trouble.  Only the Danes have hewn to a line of
relative neutrality.  At least we don't have to face fortifications of the
type you see all about you here in Cartagena!"  "How so?" the redhead
asked.  "Well," Hugh smiled, "Only 35 years ago, Admiral Vernon sent 186
ships with their 2,070 cannons and sailors, plus over 23,000 men ready to
go ashore, against Cartagena.  The Spanish only had about 500 soldiers
backed up by around 2500 slaves and Indians - but they had one of the
world's great forts.  The citadel had been built over decades to protect
their gold against pirates and, of course, the English.  When it was all
over, the Spanish flag still flew over the Fort of San Felipe de Barajas
and the city it guarded.  The English had to go home with their tails
between their legs."  "Wait till we're through with them!" Jeremy growled.

(The "Savage Attack")

Jeremiah and his young mate stood hunched over a large chart in the
Captain's cabin.  "I have to believe, sir, that the naval situation in the
Lesser Antilles is going to get a mite hot...and quickly.  We've been too
successful for them to be content with half-measures any longer."
Agreeing, Jeremiah caressed Hugh's muscular forearm before reaching down
and squeezing his buttocks through the fabric of his light skilt.  "Why is
it, Mr. Allen, that I cannot keep my hands off you, especially when you don
this garment that the gods themselves must have made for my pleasure?"
Kneeling, the Captain reached his hand under the skilt and slowly ran it up
the back of the youth's smooth thighs until he could knead Hugh's posterior
without interference.  Instinctively, the young man widened his stance and
allowed the wandering hand to toy lovingly with his genitals.  Gasping, his
mouth open, the golden-haired boy's muscled neck snapped backwards.  "Oh,
Jeremiah, your touch sets me on fire!  I would have you take me to your
bed, but, I pray thee, let us wait but for a moment. Forgive me, but I must
tell you of an idea that may put another thorn in the lion's paw."
Reluctantly, the enflamed officer arose, nuzzled Hugh's neck, and said,
"Only under protest, my beloved.  Only under protest."  Slowly, the
passions of the two lovers subsided and they returned to the chart table.

"When a weak man is frightened, he runs," Hugh began.  "When a brave man is
frightened, he grows cautious.  Hence, though the British are both brave
and disciplined, it is still possible to introduce caution into their
actions that can only serve our purposes.  We may ask what frightens them.
Frankly, I know of only one force in these waters - in addition to the
Eagle," he smirked - "that gets their attention.  The others are but gnats
that they have either conquered or swat on occasion when they grow too
bold.  This legendary force?  The "Carib" is a fearsome warrior.  Coming
out of the jungles of the Oronoco, they cruelly conquered the other native
peoples of the eastern Caribbean and fiercely resist colonial powers to
this day.  What's more, though the charge is probably unjustified, they are
said to be "cannibals."  I think it high time that these 'cannibals' attack
a British ship and give the Admiralty something else to think about besides
us.

"If the Caribs aren't about to cooperate with the colonial powers, Hugh,
what makes you think they would cooperate with us?" Jeremiah mumbled
thoughtfully.  "The American record in these waters is not without
blemish."  "Oh, I don't know, sir," the Mate replied, "As I wander the
ship, especially the fo'c'sle, I notice a good many young hearties who
would make fine warriors."  Grinning, he added, "Some may even be
cannibals...like us!  I must also tell you that when in Cartagena, I
stopped by a shop that prepares fabrics.  The staff was most cooperative in
preparing a dye that is remarkably close to the skin color of the Yellow
Caribs, that is, those who have not heavily intermarried with the Africans
brought to these shores as slaves.  The blacksmith has told me that he
could make neck decorations of the type worn by the Caribs.  What if we
were to . . .?"

Before the hour was out, the two officers of the Eagle, chuckling and
sniggering all the way, had devised a plan that promised to insert a (very)
large thorn in the lion's paw!  With a great sigh of satisfaction, Jeremiah
rose from the table, stretched vigorously and, with a great yawn, noted
that he hoped he would see his mate at first light.  At that point, Hugh
let out a mammoth guffaw, grabbed his Captain by the arm, and whirled him
into a bone-crushing embrace.  Covered with kisses and grinning like the
canary that had just swallowed the cat, Jeremiah "allowed" himself to be
dragged towards his bed, both men throwing articles of clothing in every
direction at they went!

On the morrow, Captain Arnold, accompanied by his Mate, spoke to all hands.
"Once again, lads," he shouted, "we sail against the ships of the King!"
(A great cheer rose from every throat!)  "It's time that the proud British
relearned the lessons of Lexington and Concord!  Though we fight on the
waves rather than from behind tree and rock, our goal is the same.  Terror
must grip all hearts that would hold free men in chains!"  (A second great
cheer rocked the ship.)  "Mr. Allen will explain the coming action and your
part in it.

Hugh briefly explained the fear that the ferocious Caribs still struck in
the hearts of all Europeans in the Caribbean, a fear increased, he added,
by the charge that they were cannibals.  The British were undoubtedly
assembling a major force to end the Eagle's destruction of so much of their
commerce.  Their energies, their concentration, needed to be diverted.
"What would be the result," he asked, "if a few British sailors escaped to
report that a Carib raiding party had taken their ship in a savage attack
and carried off their shipmates...TO BE EATEN?"  "Might be better than that
last load of beef we took on in Cartagena!" a voice cried out from
somewhere in the ship's company.  Snickers and laughter broke out
throughout the waist of the ship, Hugh and Jeremiah joining in
wholeheartedly.  "How are we going to get the savages?" another voice
inquired.  "I'm looking at them!" Hugh replied directly.  A buzz ran
through the company that clearly awaited the Mate's next words with rapt
attention.  "We'll be close in to a major British port when we take a
smaller ship, hopefully in fog or rain.  Thus, it must be taken with native
weapons...if at all possible.  The party - all volunteers - will be
handpicked from the best of our boarders.  They will be dressed as wild
Indians; their skin will be dyed to look like the natives; their hair will
be worn Carib-style; and they will wear Carib trinkets around their necks.
"Mr. Allen," one of the ship's boys called out, "I didn't think that the
natives wore clothes in battle!"  "You're right, Harry!" Hugh answered,
"but don't forget that no one goes who isn't a volunteer or who won't do
the same thing I do as leader of the boarding party."  For a moment or two
there was relative silence as the men absorbed what they had just been
told.  Then a rough voice cried out, "We're with you, sir!  Bugger the
Brits!  Three cheers for Mr. Yaller Hair!  Three cheers for Captain
Arnold!"  The crew's reaction was instantaneous!

Several days later, the Eagle closed in on Antigua and its great naval
base.  "It's time to prepare the lads, Hugh," Jeremiah whispered as his
lover slipped out of his bed to return to the Mate's cabin through an
adjoining door.  He had scarcely washed and dressed when a tap sounded at
his door.  Opening it, he found Jeremy Stuart.  "Morning, sir!" the young
redhead said brightly as he brought his knuckle to his forelock.  "The
boarding party is busy applying the dye, buddy helping buddy.  They have
your instructions - no clothing for 24 hours to allow the stuff to
penetrate the skin and dry.  I seem to be the odd man out," he muttered
sadly.  "Maybe we could be buddies for this job?"  Throwing an arm around
the youth's neck, Hugh growled, "Jeremy!  Remember what I told you in
Cartagena!  We've always been buddies - and we always will be!  Get in
here; get the clothes off; and let's have a go with this stupid color!"

As the unclothed mate faced the grinning redhead whose joy poured out of
every pore of his sturdy body, his mind returned to earlier days when he
had yearned for the boy who now stood naked before him.  Reaching out, his
hand grasped the sturdy arm whose powerful cutlass slashes were the talk of
the boarding parties.  "Come closer, Jeremy," he breathed.  As the youth
approached, swallowing convulsively, he turned him slightly to the side and
rested one hand on his solid buttocks while he explored his taut, muscled
stomach with the other.  Suddenly, he whirled the lad into a tight embrace,
felt the redhead's sudden erection, and allowed his hands to explore the
trembling body.  "Do you still have any questions about my feelings for
you?" he whispered into the redhead's ear.  By way of answer, the youth
raised his head and passionately kissed his friend.  "I've always loved
you, Hugh," he mumbled.  "You've always been my hero!  I was just scared
you didn't like me."  With that, Hugh fell to his knees, inhaled the boy's
heavy shaft, and brought him to a massive orgasm.  When Jeremy came to, he
found the mate rubbing dye into his body.  He simply lay back on the floor,
a happy and wondrously satisfied smile on his face, his fingertips lightly
touching the face and hair of the man who had always been his dream.

Eventually, two very muscular young Caribs faced each other.  Fondly
tousling Jeremy's hair, Hugh directed him out of the cabin and up on deck
where they joined most of the others who were allowing the warm sun to dry
their naked, dyed bodies.  (It was reported that two pair were still at
it.)  As they passed the Captain, Jeremiah softly whispered, "Beautiful,
Hugh, simply beautiful...you and the redhead."

As the Mate passed among the 35 men of his boarding party, he sensed their
excitement and their pride, as well as their determination to really put
one over on Billy Bull.  They, including Hugh, were as one.  Benji, the
young son of one of the leaders of the Tuoro Synagogue in Newport - the
oldest place of Jewish worship in North America - and one of the ship's
boys, ran up to him and saluted.  Opening his hand, he showed his treasure.
"Seven of the men have holes in their nose, sir!" he piped.  "Me and my
shipmates found bones that will fit!"  As atypical as the behavior was for
the time, the Mate crouched down on his haunches, examined the bones
carefully, and suddenly lifted the lad up onto his shoulders.  "When the
Brits see seven ugly Americans with bones through their noses, they'll fair
piss their pants!" he yelled. "Three cheers for Benji and the Ship's Boys!"
Though they had already seen the bones - up to a dozen times or more - the
ship's company still broke into raucous cheers.  A blushing - and very
proud - young Rhode Islander was set back on the deck where he quickly
scampered over to his friends.  As he continued his inspection, Hugh
complimented the blacksmith on several "caracolis" that he had fashioned
from copper.  (Caracolis were crescent-shaped pendants worn around the neck
when awarded by Carib chieftains for bravery in battle.)  Nor was he any
less complimentary when he held near replicas of twine and vine Carib chest
hangings that had been expertly copied from samples he had purchased from
natives in Cartagena.  Approaching a great chest over which a scarred
bosun's mate stood guard, he was met by a sharp salute.  "And what have we
here?" Hugh asked, whereupon the bosun's mate proudly raised the lid The
chest was filled to the brim with vicious-looking weapons made of wood,
stone, and bone.  "You've done all this since we landed on Martinique four
days ago to resupply and cut down Gommier trees for the Carib war canoes?"
Mr. Yaller Hair asked.  "Yassir!  Our contribution!"  Hugh clapped the old
bosun's mate on a hefty arm, noticing the red veins that stood out
prominently on his cutlass-scarred cheeks and the blackened stumps of teeth
that one scar displayed.  "God's Blood," the First Mate swore, "I'm proud
to sail the warm seas with the likes of you and your mates!"

With that, Hugh looked up at the Captain who was standing on the
quarterdeck, saluted sharply, and nearly shouted, "Sir, I beg to report
that all hands have done their duty and are ready to send more invaders of
our land down to Davy Jones' Locker!"  Murmurs of approval and even a few
cheers began to be heard, but the Captain quieted them with a raised hand.
"Men," he said, "Like Mr. Allen, I am proud to sail the warm seas with the
likes of you.  Before the coming night is out, I promise you that King
George has a surprise coming that he'll be a while getting over.  Good
work!  Complete your preparations!"  A high-pitched young voice was
suddenly heard over the hubbub.  "Three cheers for Captain Arnold and
Mr. Allen - the best officers who fight under our new flag!"  And they were
given with an enthusiasm that left no doubt about the Eagle had finally
matured as a fighting ship.  Hugh looked over to see a crimson-faced Harry
being lifted down off one of the taller boy's shoulders.  As they looked
squarely into each other's eyes, Hugh winked widely.

As a light sea fog swirled about them, the Eagle sailed closer to the
position where a smaller commercial sloop had been spotted before
visibility was much reduced.  Evidently, she had hove to for the night,
choosing to navigate the dangerous reefs at the entrance to the harbor in
daylight.  Soon the Eagle herself anchored with no lights showing and under
orders to maintain silence.  Preparations for the attack had continued.
The men's long hair, loosened from pigtails and blackened, had been secured
with thin headbands.  Body decorations had been donned...  the nose bones
to a certain amount of muffled merriment.  Carib weapons in which the
bosun's mates had practiced the boarding party had been distributed.
(Selected men also carried pistols and cutlasses, but had been ordered not
to use them other than in an emergency.)  The bronzed bodies of the men had
been painted in wild pagan colors.  Three long dugout canoes had been
quietly lowered into the water.  Loaded with 36 savage boarders, they
paddled off in the direction of the sloop.

As they silently approached the sloop, they beheld no signs of activity
beyond the presence of two sentries.  Thoroughly experienced in their
duties, they brought the canoes alongside and silently swarmed over the
sides of the sloop.  The sentries were dead before they could give the
alarm.  With wild heathen screams they spread through the small ship,
clubbing any who offered the slightest resistance.  Within 20 minutes, it
was all over.  A small band of bloodied British seamen stood huddled on the
deck, fearing for their lives.  Wild savages danced fiercely about them in
the light of torches, howling and gibbering away in an unknown dialect.  A
young sailor was separated from the band and stripped.  Their gestures,
facial expressions, and occasional words in pidgin quickly conveyed the
idea that a discussion was going on about how his various body parts would
taste once barbequed.  As he broke into tears and urine ran down the front
of his legs, a great Carib war chief roughly pushed him back into the
prisoners who were now being loaded into the canoes.  Four seamen for whom
room could not be found in the dugouts - including the naked, terrorized
lad - were loaded into one of the sloop's boats and told to keep up with
the canoes or they would be the next to die.  As the canoes approached the
Eagle, however, it was found that the sloop's boat had been lost in the
fog.  With a wide grin on a face that was handsome even in war paint,
Jeremy reported to Hugh that when last seen, the boat was headed for the
harbor as fast as its occupants could propel it through the still water!
The others, thoroughly confused, found themselves herded into the Eagle's
brig.

Given their location, Jeremiah took the jubilant American sloop of war into
Guadeloupe where a new governor offered a welcome far different from that
which had met Captain Coffee.  Mutual promises were made (for example, some
British prizes would henceforth be brought into Guadeloupe), the prisoners
were taken off the Captain's hands, and the Eagle's crew was told that it
was a night for "rum-all-around" and shore leave - at the Governor's
expense!  (Before the Eagle sailed, the Governor told Jeremiah that reports
had reached him that the British had been completely taken in by the report
of cannibals in their midst.  Indeed, naval authorities on Antigua had
ordered two of the three frigates newly arrived from England to find and
punish the Carib attackers!)

As he made arrangements for the skeletal crew that would remain on board,
Hugh found Jeremy who, though his skin still appeared bronzed, appeared
none the worse for the wear.  "Jeremy, the Mate began, you may well prefer
to join your shipmates in the renown fleshpots of Guadeloupe.  On the other
hand, you might prefer to enjoy dinner - and some pleasant entertainment -
with the Captain and me.  The choice is yours - and there will be no hard
feelings either way."  "The Captain knows?" the hunky youth inquired
nervously.  "Yes, Red.  It was he who gave me permission to invite you."
His Adam's apple bobbing up and down, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on
his forehead, the handsome lad stammered his acceptance of the invitation.
"At six bells [7:00 pm]," Hugh smiled.  "Clean some of the mess out of your
beautiful hair and have a good wash in the water, but wear regular ship's
dress.  It's wicked hot!"

Promptly at seven, a knock sounded on the Captain's door and an excited
young redhead was admitted to the cabin.  Relieved to find the Captain and
Hugh clad only in slops, he soon relaxed and quickly accepted the
invitation to doff his own shirt in the heavy humid heat.  When Jeremiah,
as Hugh insisted on calling him, grasped his thick upper arms and
complimented him on the tales he had heard of his actions in the taking of
the sloop, he relaxed even more.  "You just had to terrorize that young'un
with your pidgin comments about which of his parts would taste best when
grilled, didn't you, redhead?" Hugh asked with a grin.  "Well, sir, a
little improvisation..." Jeremy snickered.  When Jeremiah and Hugh folded
him into a laughing bear hug, the handsome boy immediately felt himself a
full member of the party!

After a fine dinner with excellent French wine served by Jean Pierre, the
Captain rose, sweat pouring down his muscular chest.  "I'm sorry,
gentlemen, but even with the windows open, I am in agony with this heat.  I
beg your forgiveness for my discourtesy, but this heavy cloth has got to
go!"  Peeling tight uniform pants down and off his legs, he stood, looking
around questioningly.  Hugh's slops were already on a nearby chair.  Only
Jeremy remained clothed...blushing...nervously swallowing...his lips
forming words that no one could hear.  "You need not, Red, but do know that
you are among friends," Hugh whispered.  Slowly, the young sailor's slops
came down to reveal a gorgeously endowed and muscled body that fully
equaled that of the other young men in the room.  The sweat pouring down
their bodies, painfully erect, they slowly moved into an embrace.  As
Jeremiah passionately attacked Jeremy's lips and was welcomed into his
mouth, Hugh dropped to his knees and allowed his tongue to play with the
boy's smooth scrotum and the sturdy balls that lay within.  Moving up, he
dug the tip into the lad's frenulum before polishing the dark, shiny head
from which precum was flowing in torrents.  Under such an assault, the
beautiful lad surrendered even more quickly than had the British sloop!

As they lay panting on Jeremiah's bed...kissing, licking, and murmuring in
delight...Hugh devilishly commented that their new companion was a virgin.
Jeremiah quickly raised up on one elbow and looked down at the youngster
whose face, ears, neck, upper chest, and tackle had suddenly turned as red
as the setting sun.  "Well," the Captain grunted, "that is a sad condition
for so brave and muscular a sailor boy.  Methinks he MIGHT want us to
correct it and welcome him into manhood.  What say you, boy?"  "I say, sir,
that it should surely be corrected," Jeremy panted, as he lifted up and
feverishly kissed his Captain.  For the better part of a half hour, Hugh
covered every square inch of Jeremy's body with kisses and little licks and
nibbles as Jeremiah alternately rimmed and tongued the lad's anus.  When it
winked open, his tongue and then fingers coated with partially melted
butter from the dinner table opened him up.  Gradually they loosened his
tight anal muscles, driving him right mad when they brushed against his
perineum.  By the time that Jeremiah said that it was time, the redhead was
nearly out of his mind, his head slapping aimlessly from side to side,
little cries muffled by drool falling from his lips, his thick muscles
quivering as if made of jelly.  Kneeling far forward over the maddened boy
whose tongue and lips immediately sought his long scrotum, Hugh saw the
Captain enter him with no appreciable resistance and take his own dripping
cock into his mouth on the thrust.  For some minutes, the scene resembled
nothing less than the wooden rocking toys that so delighted young children
in years long past.  All too soon, of course, the bucolic scene exploded
into roars that shook the cabin and spilled out over the water through the
open windows.  When Jeremiah and Hugh came to, they found their necks under
the control of a brawny redhead's muscled arms, down whose face tears were
streaming and from whose lips were spilling fervent thanks.

Eventually, of course, even the best of things must come to an end.
Smiling at his beloved Hugh, Jeremiah mumbled that the Eagle's boats would
soon be returning.  He would take the deck.  "Take this beautiful,
beautiful young lad into your cabin and make sure that he is safe for the
night," he commanded as Hugh's lips sought his.  His naked second gently
took the exhausted, young redhead into his arms and headed for the door
that led to his adjoining cabin.

(Captured by Pirates)

Some days thereafter, resting, luxuriating in the safe waters of the Great
Bay of Martinique, Hugh was swimming near a small island not that far from
the entrance to Fort-Royal.  Suddenly, he felt himself ensnared in a net.
Struggling under water to free himself, he only remembered the net's being
pulled toward the surface and a heavy blow sending him into blackness.

Regaining consciousness, he knew not how much later, the sturdy mate of the
Eagle found himself in that which appeared to be a ship's brig.  "Torture
chamber" might have been a more accurate description.  Stripped of even his
canvas shorts, chains connected his wrists to eye bolts in heavy timbers
over him.  Below, his heavy legs were held widespread by the chains that
secured his ankles to bolts set in massive deck timbers.  Confused, his
vision blurred, his head ached as if all the devils of hell had been let
loose inside his skull.

Slightly lifting his chin, Hugh beheld a most unlikely sight.  A heavy,
gilded chair, its cushions of richest blue brocade had been placed before
him.  On it sat a figure from the previous century when pirates terrorized
the Spanish Main.  Though seemingly foppish, a dandy of the worst sort, his
eyes were as cold as...death.  His long coat was of burgundy silk accented
by a jabot of shining whiteness that fell gracefully from his neck.  Lace
as white as the snow of a New England winter puffed from the cuffs of the
coat.  The long sleeves and padded shoulders were adorned with fine gold
trim.  All in black, his silk shirt was tucked into pants that, in turn,
were fitted into high leather boots of the finest quality.  He sat lazily
in the chair, tapping his fingernails against a cruel hook of bright steel
that replaced his right hand.  One edge seemed honed to a sharpness equaled
only by the finest cutlass or sword.  Behind him stood two massive brigands
who were dressed as flamboyantly as he, albeit in simpler materials.  Their
belts held pistols and knives.

Noticing that Hugh had regained consciousness, the apparition stood and
moved closer to the youth.  As he lifted Hugh's chin sharply upwards with
his hook, he said menacingly, "Listen well, Monsieur.  You are in the
presence of Capitaine Henri Reynard of the sloop Le Tonnerre [Thunder].  I
sail under the warrant of Louis XVI, By the Grace of God, King of France
and of Navarre.  You have been identified as an escaped British spy sent to
Martinique to report on French naval movements.  Though not patient, I am a
generous man.  If you answer my questions truthfully, your death will be
quick and relatively painless.  If you refuse to answer, you will suffer
tortures far worse than anything dreamt by the Inquisition, and the pieces
of your body will be fed to the sharks.  Decide quickly."

"Sir," Hugh answered, "I am Hugh Allen, Mate of the American sloop-of-war
Narragansett Eagle now lying in the harbor of Fort-Royal.  I demand to be
set free and returned to my ship."  "You demand...you DEMAND?" Reynard
exploded with a force that sent spittle into the young American's face.
"You DEMAND?  Ventre du biche!  VENTRE DU BICHE!"  With the oath, the
infuriated Captain whipped his hook across Hugh's chest.  A thin line in
his thickly muscled torso suddenly turned red as blood began slowly seeping
from the foot-long slit and trickling down his body.  Turning to his men,
he growled, "While I take my dinner, teach this idiot that it would be
easier to tell me what I want to know!"  With that, he turned sharply and
departed the area.

On the pirate captain's return, Hugh hung motionless in his chains, blood
seeping from various wounds, badly beaten and unconscious.  When a bucket
of seawater was thrown over him, he sputtered and struggled to regain
consciousness.  Several minutes having passed, Reynard slowly strode over
to him, inserted the point of his hook behind the lad's scrotum, and raised
his heavy genitals. "I need only pull forward, spy, and you'll father no
more babies!  In fact, you'll piss from a hole between your legs like a
woman!  Tell me what I want to know...NOW!"  The 18 year old shuddered, but
defiantly muttered his earlier identification, his pain-blurred eyes
staring defiantly at the figure he could barely discern.

Suddenly, a cry of "Sail ho!" was heard from above and, within seconds, the
pirate mate entered the brig.  "Sir," he said calmly, "the American sloop
has rounded the point and is bearing down on us."  Exchanging his coat of
burgundy silk for something more serviceable on deck and handed his hat,
Capitaine Reynard immediately joined his mate and went above.  A long,
rakish sloop, flying a giant American flag, her ports open, her guns run
out, was slowly approaching the black privateer moored in the deep cove.
"Ahoy there, Le Tonnerre!" her Captain's voice boomed across the water.
"Stand down!  Make no move to endanger my ship or I'll reduce your sloop to
kindling and your crew to splotches of blood on the water!  You have
someone who belongs to us - and we'll have him...or you.  Take your
choice!"

"Capitaine Arnold," Reynard responded, "we sail under warrant of the French
King and the Governor of Martinique.  No illegal is on board save a
captured British spy who has been gathering information on shipping for
transmission to Antigua.  If you will, come on board as an ally and see for
yourself!"  As the Eagle paused in position to decimate the privateer - her
men crouched at their guns or poised in the rigging and on the deck like
quills on a porcupine with rifles pointed at the black ship - the Captain's
launch was lowered and Arnold was rowed over to the privateer.  Three
heavily armed men, including a muscular young redhead, accompanied him.
Receiving full honors as he climbed through the gangway onto the deck, he
was met by Capitaine Reynard who bowed low with a flourish of his hat.
"Bring the spy on deck!" he commanded his officer.  Hugh was quickly
dragged up from below and dumped on the deck at Arnold's feet.  He could
only utter a faint groan and reach out weakly with a hand as he lay, slow
trickles of his blood staining the wooden planks.

"This is my Mate - and my friend," he added bitterly - "Mr. Hugh Allen of
Newport in Rhode Island.  Do not think that I shall ever forget your
infamous conduct, Captain Reynard, for neither I nor the Eagle ever shall.
For now, it is enough that we take him with us."  His face impassive,
Reynard simply bowed again with a flourish.  "Jeremy," Arnold commanded,
"gather Hugh up - gently now - and move him to the launch."  Tears in his
eyes, the redheaded one lifted the naked, bloody youth into his arms and
passed between his armed guard.  With neither gesture nor word of courtesy,
Jeremiah contemptuously turned on his heel and followed.  When they were
safely in the launch, the armed sailors followed.  All of her men and boats
on board, her sailors at battle stations, the Eagle moved cautiously out of
the cove.

Although no word of apology ever came from the black sloop, two cases of a
superb French wine were delivered anonymously to the Eagle later that
evening.  In the Captain's cabin, the surgeon was assuring the Captain that
Hugh would recover.  "He's been beaten badly, but he's a tough one.
Fortunately, the slash across his chest is superficial.  There will barely
be a scar.  Brightly adding that two or three days of rest and proper food
would see him up and around, he departed.  Jeremy, who had been with his
blond god since he had laid him gently on Arnold's own bed - in fact had
insisted on personally bathing and cleansing his body - looked up at
Jeremiah whose face remained wreathed in concern.  "Thank God," Jeremiah
muttered," that someone saw the capture and reported it to us...even if
hours later." "The men thirst to attack the pirate,' Jeremy growled by way
of response.  "No," the Captain replied reluctantly.  "This is neither the
place nor the time, but they will come.  Believe that they will come, my
beautiful redhead.  This is the second time we have sighted that accursed
ship.  Something in my bones says that the third time will be...fatal."

On board Le Tonnerre, the mate entered his captain's cabin only to find him
deep in thought.  Refilling his superior's wine glass, he interrupted his
thought to suggest that he had men who could eliminate the blond youth
"within days."  "No," Reynard replied, "it would only bring unnecessary
trouble with the Governor who favors these Americans.  Besides," he added,
Martinique is a better place to bide our time than some speck of coral
where the water and the women are scarce and the heat and mosquitos even
worse!  Besides I found out what I needed to know."

"Mon Capitaine?"

"Yes, Rene, I had to know - and now I do.  The American sloop of war is
considerably more dangerous than the British frigates.  Further, as planned
from the beginning, I have been able to look her Captain and her Mate in
the eye.  They are anything but cowards.  When the time is ripe, we must
give the British enemy some assistance in ridding the Caribbean of this
menace."


(To Be Continued)