Date: Thu, 19 May 2005 08:10:29 -0400
From: edcwriter@yahoo.com
Subject: FOR GOD & COUNTRY - 2

FOR GOD & COUNTRY - 2

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 2

(Revisiting Chapter 1)

Slowly, the gray December skies of Rhode Island gave way to the hot sun,
the warm seas of the Caribbean, and the bright tropical colors of the
southern latitudes.  Occasionally, Hugh would spot the flashing surf and
palm trees of a tiny island or join his shipmates in catching the wildly
colored fish that gave them relief from weeks of pickled beef and salt cod.
When the Captain anchored for the night off a little speck of coral that
wasn't even on the maps, Hugh joined many others - actually, all of the
young men save Tom Clarke - in stripping down and bathing thoroughly for
the first time in weeks.  The bawdy comments of some of the old salts who
lined the gunwale on their return were...disturbing, but, after all, they'd
soon be in action and that sort of stuff would surely be forgotten.
Indeed, he forgot them quickly, for all of the stories that he had heard of
warfare between the British, the French, and the Spaniards - not to mention
the pirates who preyed on everyone - came to mind, and his excitement knew
no bounds.

(Continuing Our Story - Jeremiah Arnold, Mate of the Eagle)

Called to the Mate's cabin not long after returning from his swim and
having supper, Hugh Allen was greeted with kindness - indeed, with
apologies for having taken so long to talk.  "May I call you 'Hugh'?"
Jeremiah Arnold had asked genially.  The young lad was near overcome.
Never had he felt such warmth and consideration from another human being,
especially an adult!  Not surprisingly, for he was both bright and
warmhearted, he absolutely glowed in the presence of the gracious,
interested, and educated officer.

After inquiring as to how things were going, Arnold told the boy that
henceforth several hours each day, including many evenings, would be spent
in his service.  In return, he offered to tutor the youth in the Three Rs,
as well as in the nautical arts.  "You are an intelligent and personable
young man," he allowed thoughtfully.  "I think you could become a master
one day."  Hugh was overcome with joy and gratitude.  He had seen the
direction of his life in Newport - and, however undefined, however grateful
he was to Father John and Mother Patience, he wanted more.  Perhaps his
chance had come, and in a most unlikely setting!  "I swear, sir, that I
shall be the best servant and student that you have ever had!" he blurted
out, totally forgetting that one did not speak to an officer until given
leave to do so.  Jeremiah smiled and allowed his hand to rest momentarily
on the side of the sturdy lad's head.  "Ah," he thought," the boy had
bathed recently.  He must have been among those beautiful bodies that he'd
seen splashing about just off the ship.  Good."

Moving on, the mate inquired about his kit "After all," he stated, "I am
now responsible for your welfare, young Hugh."  Deeply embarrassed, Hugh
confessed that beyond the worn pair of loose canvas knee-length breeches
that he had secured from the ship's slop chest and the tattered lockram
shirt that he wore, plus his canvas shorts and a knife - and, oh, yes, a
borrowed wooden spoon - he had nothing.  He began to apologize for his
poverty, but Jeremiah cut him off, saying that he was the stuff of a new
nation and should be proud of both his family and himself.  "On the other
hand," he added quickly, "I am Mate of the Eagle and can't have you
appearing in rags.  You have a choice, young Hugh.  You can content
yourself with what you can pick up from the slop chest - or I shall outfit
you from my own store of such things."  "There wasn't much left in the
chest," Hugh confessed, not wanting to appear as if he were looking for a
handout.  "No, it is early in the voyage," Jeremiah agreed.  (He left it
unsaid how the clothing and supplies were accumulated.)  "I should be proud
if you would outfit me, sir," the boy stated firmly.  "Know that I shall
repay you from my wages."  "No, no, young Hugh, this is dress and equipment
that you need in my employ.  They cost me nothing.  I give them to you
freely as someday you will give such goods to another lad who has both
promise and need."  The young lad blushed, first looking down at his bare
feet and then up into Arnold's eyes with the beginnings of that which any
knowledgeable man would term "devotion."  "Thank you, sir," he said simply,
but with the deepest feeling.

Jeremiah went to the first of three large chests in his crowded cabin.
Opening a heavy padlock, he looked within.  Looking back up at the curious
youngster, he estimated the size of his head.  Returning to the chest, he
reached in and tossed a sailor's hat [low crowned, flat topped, narrow
brimmed, of black felt] to the boy.  Hugh tried it on, but it was too
small.  "Sorry, lad, let me measure the right way."  With that he strode
over to the youth and, with his hands, measured the size of Hugh's head.
Returning to the chest, he tossed him a second hat...that fit perfectly.
"Very handsome, young Hugh," he murmured.  Hugh blushed and felt
very...sailorly.  Besides, ALL the seamen had hats!  Returning to the
chest, the officer pulled out a haversack ("Only officers get chests to
store their gear on this craft," he chuckled.), a small pillow, a gray
blanket, a wooden mug bound in leather, a wooden bowl, and a wooden spoon.
Hugh looked on wide-eyed.  "Oh, that's not all," Jeremiah chortled,
returning to the chest.  Removing a cutlass sheathed in black leather from
inside the lid of the chest, he tossed it to the boy.  "Do you know how to
use that?" he inquired.  "Yes, sir, but one can always get better,
especially when one's life depends on it."  "Yes," Jeremiah replied, "I
shall have the bosun give you some instruction.  He's the best man with a
cutlass on the ship.  Now here's the last of your tools.  Take care of it.
The brave lad to whom it belonged gave his life to save mine."  With that
he tossed a cudgel to the open-mouthed youngster.  Wide-eyed, his chin set
firmly, he exclaimed, "I will take care of it, sir.  I will!  And if I ever
have to give my life to save yours, know that I will...in a flash!"
Jeremiah shut the chest lid, turned towards Hugh, and hugged him tightly.
"Let's hope it never comes to that...for either of us.  Thank you, lad."
Hugh couldn't believe the feelings of respect - and something far more
intense - that were coursing through him.

"Now let us move on to clothing," Jeremiah murmured, turning to the second
of the great chests.  "Kindly remove the rags in which you are dressed,
young man."  Hesitating not a second, Hugh tore off the tattered shirt and
canvass slops.  The mate turned to behold a sight that fair drove the
breath from his chest: the magnificently handsome face of a youth fast
turning into a man; his golden yellow hair gathered into a pigtail; a
defined, muscled torso and arms capped by wide, heavy shoulders; sexual
equipment that would be the pride of any mature man - a long thick cock and
a slightly longer sack that allowed two great, egg-shaped balls to swing
just below the head of his straight cock; glorious thighs on which the
muscles appeared carved of shining marble; strong, rounded calves, and
solid sailor's feet.  Other than the golden hair on his head, a thin patch
of lighter yellow pubes, and a shimmer of light golden fuzz on his calves,
the young lad was still hairless.  Smooth, flawless skin - tanned to a
golden brown from the waist up and from the knees down...ivory in between -
stretched tautly over his heavily muscled frame.

Watching the mate's eyes scrutinize his body...inch by inch...the lad began
to blush.  "Do not be embarrassed, young Hugh.  I would be utterly
dishonest with you, however, if I did not tell you that you are the most
handsome young man upon whom I have ever laid my eyes."  Hugh blushed
crimson and gazed down at his bare feet.  "I am sorry.  Let us continue,"
Arnold stammered and made ready to resume the outfitting.  Clearing his
throat, the youngster whispered huskily, "Do not be sorry, sir.  It's just
that I have never before had such a compliment, especially from one whom I
might have wished it to come."  Arnold smiled softly and approached the
boy.  "I fear that you will become a diplomat," he murmured.

Swallowing, Jeremiah muttered hoarsely, "Shirts!  Let me measure you
properly."  Using his hands and jotting his findings on a scrap of
foolscap, Arnold measured the naked boy's shoulders, the circumference of
his biceps fully flexed, his neck, and the length of his torso from the top
of his pubes to a bit below his Adam's apple - a measurement that he
repeated from the middle of the boy's buttocks to his neck.  Poking around
in the trunk, he found a folded shirt in a checkered pattern that he tossed
to Hugh.  It fit perfectly.  A second in a somewhat more sturdy fabric
followed.  Finally, he drew out a third shirt.  Caressing it, he told the
boy that it was of a more rare fabric, cotton, and should be saved until,
perhaps, he would do him the honor of being his guest for dinner.  Scarcely
able to contain his glee, Hugh fingered the beautiful light blue shirt and
agreed that would be "proper."

"Very well, my young gladiator.  You will need three types of covering for
your lower body.  Again, let me measure.  Stand straight now and do not
move."  At this point, completely with the operation, Hugh stood straight
and still.  Actually, he was beginning to sense feelings that theretofore
he had only experienced in the privacy of his attic loft in Newport, but
they were good feelings...exciting feelings...and he hoped Arnold's hands
would touch his body wherever he wished.  The mate carefully measured the
boy's waist, the distance from one inch below his knees to his waist, and
the distance from his ankles to his waist.  "I need two more measurements,
Hugh, but they are a bit embarrassing.  Will you forgive me."  "I am your
obedient servant, sir," the boy intoned...somewhat breathlessly.  "Please
do what is necessary."  Fumbling a bit as his hands slid over the
youngster's beautiful flesh, Jeremiah calculated that which he had to allow
for Hugh's muscular buttocks.  Then, mumbling that his build demanded the
trousers not have too high a rise, he cupped his genitals and measured the
distance from the waist to the bottom of the boy's hefty balls.  As one
might guess, Hugh's powerful cock immediately erected and stood out stiffly
before him, red and oozing precum.  His feelings mixed, the embarrassed
mate exclaimed, "I am sorry, my dear boy.  Please forgive me."  Though he
could barely speak, Hugh managed to choke out, "Do not be sorry, sir.  'Tis
nothing."

Retreating precipitously to the chest, Arnold gratefully buried his head in
the contents and rummaged around until he found the pair of slops [loose
fitting breeches of canvass or old sail cloth, cut to fit just below the
knees, and having a fly front]. Needing a moment more to compose himself,
he found a pair of trousers [of the same description other than for the
fact they were cut at the ankles].  "Try these on," he mumbled, his voice
still unsteady.  They fit perfectly as he knew they would.  A second pair
of each quickly followed.  "There is one more garment, Hugh, but my back is
hurting.  Will you please rummage around until you find a package wrapped
in red?"  Moving to the chest, the boy bent over low and searched beneath
the many shirts and pants until the found the desired packet.  Arnold found
the sight of the sturdy youth's lower body, especially his buttocks and the
swollen genitals that protruded from between his thighs, to be
more... considerably more...than he could bear.  With a groan, he felt his
cock explode.  Whirling quickly as the lad began to turn, he grabbed a
towel from his wash basin and tucked it into the top of his pants.

Exerting the full force of his will, the mate forced himself to speak in
normal tones.  "This garment, lad, has many uses.  It's called a skilt
[more properly, "petticoat breeches"].  It's often used over one's slops or
trousers to protect against tar and other messy substances with which you
must work on board.  Real sailors have a second use for it.  In these
latitudes, you see, the heat and humidity are usually fierce.  Pants give
you neither air nor freedom of movement under such conditions, for the
canvas or osnaburg [a coarse linen fabric] simply sticks to your body.  On
such days, the experienced sailor simply wears the skilt alone.  As you can
see, it also has a fly and comes to slightly below the knees.  Here, try it
on."  Hugh did as he was bade, found that the garment was indeed
comfortable, and nodded appreciatively to Mr. Arnold.  Jeremiah went back
into the trunk - showing no great signs of pain - and found a second
parcel.  Here, my friend, here is a small reward for your bravery tonight.
This second skilt is of a finer fabric - and might look handsome if paired
with your cotton shirt on festive occasions."

Other than for a pair of shoes that Arnold said he would have to locate, a
knitted cap in dark blue, a bandana in a blue fabric flecked with gold, two
pair of knitted stockings and, in dark blue, a light jacket and a great
coat completed Hugh's ensemble

The lad removed his skilt and put it on top of the truly impressive pile of
clothes and other gear.  His lips trembled, his eyes were beginning to
tear.  In his memory, he had never been treated with as much dignity, in
such an openhanded manner, or with such personal warmth.  Rightly or
wrongly, he was sure that Jeremiah Arnold cared for him.  And he?  His body
quivered with feelings of excitement, awe and, yes, love.  Though his knees
shook, he couldn't simply stand there!  Still naked, he strode over to
Arnold and wrapped him in his sturdy arms.  "Now, sir, it is I who must
apologize," he said in a trembling voice.

Arnold knew that the boy was his for the taking.  Once again, generous
gifts to a needy youth had worked their magic!  It wouldn't be his first
shipboard dalliance and, other than one, they had all been pleasant.  Yet,
strangely, he hesitated.  There were a dozen lads on the ship with whom he
would thoroughly enjoy a good fuck.  Still, he couldn't escape the
deep-seated feeling that he wanted more with this young Viking whose arms
enclosed him.  Despite himself, he had told Hugh far more about his true
feelings that he had ever revealed in past seductions. Though already in
his late 20s - 29 in fact - he somehow suspected that he had found the One.
He would play it differently - indeed, he wouldn't PLAY IT at all.  As best
he could, he would BE everything that young Hugh thought he was.  He hands
found the lad's rounded buttocks and pulled him close.  (That was something
of a mistake, because the boy's explosive erection just about tore away his
balls - and that through towel and trousers!)  He leaned backwards and
kissed the youngster square on the mouth.  "Do you know how I feel, my
beauty?" he asked breathlessly.  "Yes, sir, I think I do," the boy gasped.
"Very well," Jeremiah said, "but you must know.  The fact remains that I
have obligations to you...in addition to loving you with all of my heart."
Arnold could scarcely believe he had finally said it - and it was the
truth.  He felt the muscular youth melt into him.  What a glorious
sensation!  Weakening for a moment before he caught himself, he found his
lips nuzzling the top of the lad's heavy shoulders.  "We must wait until
you are sure...absolutely sure...that this is what you want.  "Will you be
my guest for dinner on Friday, three nights hence?"  Though tears were
falling freely from his eyes. Hugh nodded affirmatively and reluctantly
stepped back.  As he did, his lips reached involuntarily for Jeremiah
Arnold's.

(The Third Day)

Hugh was absolutely on fire - and never did descend from the heights during
the three days that followed.  More than once, his battery chief had to
swat his rump or clout him alongside the head and demand that he return
from his dreams and attend to duties upon which all their lives depended.
The bosun who was tutoring him in the use of the cutlass shook his head in
despair.  He could have killed him a hundred times!  Several of the more
experienced salts noticed and licked their lips.  The lad's body was
emitting pheromones that had he been a bitch would have had a pack of dogs
yelping at his heels in a frenzy.  It would be a long voyage and whatever
his sexual orientation, a man needed relief.

One sailor took a more direct approach.  Tom Clarke, the 19 year-old son of
a rich Tory merchant in Newport, had evidently been blown off the British
sloop during the first broadside.  As the Eagle passed her the second time,
he had been plucked from the water, miraculously little injured.  Used to
getting what he wanted, he cornered Hugh in a hold where the two young men
had been sent to bring some heavy sacks to the galley.  Clubbing him from
behind, he forced the barely-conscious boy down onto a pile of sacks, tore
the slops from his body, and raped him.  Unfortunately for Clarke's
purposes, the Captain chose that moment to conduct one of his frequent
inspections that found him in all parts of the ship at irregular intervals.

Captain Coffee, in an absolute rage, had both young men brought to his
cabin under guard.  Ascertaining the facts of the matter as best he could,
he had Clarke taken to the brig to await punishment.  He then spoke most
threateningly to Hugh.  "I do not hold you fully responsible for this act,
Allen.  No man, however, is entirely without guilt in such matters.  Know
well that I will not have acts of filthy degeneracy on my ship!  Do you
understand me?"  Although the boy's head throbbed, his stomach heaved, and
he felt the humiliating sensation of Clarke's cum dripping down the back of
his thighs, he raised his head and firmly said, "Aye, sir!"  "Understand,"
the Captain continued. "You are but 16 and do not appear to have been the
instigator in this matter, but I shall be watching you.  One more mistake
and I'll feed you to the sharks!  Dismissed!"  Hugh touched his forelock
and slunk below to clean himself as best he could.  Jeremy Stuart found him
crouched naked in a dark corner and spent a few minutes roughly holding him
as the boy wept.

Later that afternoon, the drums beat, calling all hands to witness
punishment.  With heads uncovered to show respect for the law, the ship's
company heard Captain Coffee rail against sexual perversion and promise
that a second instance would result in hanging from the yardarm. A
disdainful, aristocratic Tom Clarke was then brought forward, asked if he
had anything to say in mitigation of punishment, ordered to remove his
shirt, and had his hands secured above his head to an upended grating.  At
the order "Bosun's mate, do your duty," a sturdy seaman stepped forward
with the cat-o'-nine-tails - a wooden handle red in color, to which was
attached nine waxed cords of equal length, each with a small knot in the
end. With this the man was lashed on the bare back with a full sweep of the
arm. After each dozen lashes a fresh bosun's mate stepped forward to
continue the punishment. Each blow of the cat tore back the skin and
subsequent cuts bit right into the flesh so that after the three-dozen
lashes had been inflicted Clarke's back resembled raw meat. After each
stroke the cords were drawn through the bosun mate's fingers to remove the
clotting blood.  Hugh Allen took no pleasure in the event. Although
Mr. Arnold stared straight ahead, his features cast in stone, the Captain
looked on with obvious satisfaction.  After the lad had been cut down, he
was taken to the sick berth when the surgeon rubbed salt into his wounds to
lessen the chances of infection.  Few spoke to him over the days that
followed as he clawed his way back to sanity.

(The "Lass of Tyneside")

As the afternoon drew to a close, an incident occurred that fortuitously
took the crew's mind off the earlier events.  As the cry, "Sail Ho!" wafted
down from the crow's nest and the drums beat the call to action stations,
Hugh and his shipmates rushed to their various posts.  Looking up, they
suddenly saw a new sight, a sight that brought them to their feet cheering.
A giant flag of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, with a union of
thirteen white stars circled in a blue field, waved for the first time in
the tropical sky.  A wealthy Newport merchant had been in Philadelphia
during the late summer.  Having invested heavily in the sloop, he wanted
there to be no doubt about her (or his) loyalty to the new nation.

It was soon apparent that the Eagle was fast overtaking a fat British
merchant vessel named, as it turned out, the "Lass of Tyneside."  Asked to
strike his colors, the British Captain responded by firing at the sloop
with the cannon mounted on his stern.  Coffee promptly drew closer and,
with a murderous barrage of grape, cut the sails and rigging to shreds and
littered the deck with dead seamen.  When the Lass of Tyneside still
refused to strike her colors, the American Captain cleared her deck (and
smashed her remaining gun) with another broadside, brought the Eagle
alongside, and boarded her with a party of screaming Newport and Portsmouth
lads wielding cutlasses and hatchets.  Quickly the decks were cleared and
the few remaining seamen driven below.  Whereas its Captain had died,
largely as a result of his contempt for "colonials," his second in command
surrendered the merchantman without a sneer.

The Lass was found to have a rich cargo of fine silk and other fabrics from
Cathay, a hold loaded with casks of port, and several richly jeweled pieces
destined for the consort of a British governor.  Coffee placed a prize crew
on board, gave the remaining British sailors the choice of helping make the
ship seaworthy or jumping into the sea, and ordered the Lass when prepared
to follow the Eagle into Fort-Royal on Martinique.

As Mr. Arnold stood at the gangway, welcoming the lads who were returning
to the Eagle, he beheld the smiling face of Hugh Allen.  When the mate
placed his hand over his heart, the handsome youth bobbed his head and
touched his forelock in what was far more than a perfunctory acknowledgment
of Arnold's gesture.  Captain Coffee watched from the quarterdeck...as he
had promised.


(To Be Continued)