The Highwayman

By W.Wm. Mee

I first read Alfred Noyes’s powerful poem when I was just entering my teens. Back then I was drawn to the daring theme, the relentless action and the sudden, shocking violence; but also the choice and ‘flow’ of the poet’s words worked their own magic on me --- as did the obvious sexual attraction of ‘Bess the landlord’s daughter --- the landlord’s black-eyed daughter --- Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.’
I have rather shamelessly but I hope always respectfully taken Alfred Noyes’s timeless story of love, honour, hate and revenge and ‘retold’ it in novel form. I did this not to attempt to make it ‘better’ --- for how can one improve a masterpiece?! I did it in order to explore the characters that Mr. Noyes created in more detail --- to get into their minds and, loving or hating them, to get to know them better.
In doing so I have woven many strands of my own into his beautifully crafted tale, fleshing out the main characters and adding a fair number more. I hope you enjoy reading my version as much as I enjoyed creating it.

‘Sleep ye gentle, rest ye sound.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.Wm. Mee
• Release date: Oct 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005067847

W.Wm. Mee

Wayne William Mee is a retired English teacher who enjoys hiking, sailing and walking his Beagle hound. He is also a 'living historian' or 'reenactor'. You can see Wayne's historical group on Facebook's 'McCaw's Privateers' 18th Century Naval Camp' page. Building & sailing wooden sailboats also takes up a chunk of Wayne's time, but along with his wife Maggie,son Jason and granddaughter Zoe, writing is his true love, the one he returns to let his imagination soar.Wayne would like you to 'look him up' on FACEBOOK and click the 'Friend' button or even zap him an e-mail.If you enjoyed any of his books, kindly leave a REVIEW here at Smashwords and/or say so on Facebook, Twitter, Tweeter or whatever other 'social network' you use.Thanks for stopping by ---and keep reading!!Drop him a line either there or at [e-mail]'ll be glad to hear from you!'Rest ye gentle --- sleep ye sound'

Book preview

Chapter 1: ‘An Affair of Honour’

At the edge of the forest Gentleman Jack Thorpe or ‘Lucky Jack’ as may called him, sat his mount deep in the swirling shadows. High above him the fog-shrouded moon sailed like a ghostly galleon across a milk white sea. The road itself seemed a ribbon of moonlight winding snake-like across the purple moor.

Normally at this time of night most travellers would no longer be on the road at all, but rather safely sitting round the snug, warm fire of a cozy inn --- a drink in one hand and a pipe in the other. And if said traveler was rich and/or handsome, perhaps even a pretty barmaid on his lap as well!

As would be Jack himself --- playing his usual roll of Sir Jacob Smith, a former captain in His Majesty’s Light Horse and now a well dressed ‘arms merchant’ for a large London firm. Sir Jacob was seen by most as a handsome, friendly man prone to good food, fine wine and beautiful women. It didn’t hurt of course that Sir Jacob was also prone to ‘spending money like water’ on friend and foe alike --- a personality trait that greatly endeared him to not only the patrons of The Fox & Hound --- where he rented out their best room on a permanent basis --- but the good folk of Torquay and surrounding villages and farms, to whom he made generous, non-interest loans.

But it was Gentleman Jack Thorp that had some ‘personal business’ to attend to on this foggy, moonlit night, and so the more gentile ‘Sir Jacob’ was necessarily deprived of his cozy fire. A chance for Jack to settle the score with the man that had set him on the road to ruin that could not be passed up, whatever the cost!

***

At the ripe old age of five and thirty, Jackson Augustus Thorp had been many things in his rather eventful life; a farmer’s son who didn’t like farming, a student who didn’t like studying and a sailor who wasn’t overly fond of the sea.

But he had also been a soldier and until recently an officer in the King’s Royal Dragoons. He had not only liked being a soldier, but he was damned good at it --- very good indeed! Swordsmanship and the handling of pistols, horses and men came easily to him and many said that ‘Young Jack Thorp’, despite his regrettable lack of breeding, was on his way up in the world and that one day soon the handsome young captain would be Major Thorpe, commanding his own squad of Royal Dragoons.

But then the unfortunate duel had happened with his superior officer; the result being that the fellow had lost an eye to Lucky Jack’s much quicker sword. The now one eyed officer had screamed bloody murder. Accusations were made, charges of were laid and a swift and rather hasty and one sided court-martial had taken place.

Jack’s previous record had saved him from hanging, but he was still stripped of his commission and sentenced to five years hard labour. On route to the Welsh prison mines however Jack had made good his escape. Alas, one of the guards had been killed and two others were wounded, leaving Jackson Augustus Thorp a wanted man with a price on his head and his future in tatters.

With every man’s hand now turned against him, Jack took to the open road, where he made his living relieving travellers of their wealth and, after keeping a portion for himself, he liberally shared the rest with others even less fortunate than himself. Though Jack was not foolish enough to believe that killing Percy Wedgewood could somehow restore him to his former life, he did know that revenge can indeed taste sweet, especially when served cold. And now, after being a hunted outlaw for over two years, word had reached Jack that Percy Wedgewood, now a full colonel in his Majesty’s Dragoons, would be on the Plymouth coach heading back to Bagshot Heath --- the very coach that was at that moment was coming over the hill bathed in silver moonlight!

Jack checked that his saber was loose in its scabbard, looked to the priming of his various pistols, then patted Hecate, his black stallion that he always rode when venturing out ‘on business’. It was a magnificent creature, a good hand and a half taller than anything he’d ridden in the dragoons. It had cost him over half a year’s thievery but was well worth it, for Jack knew that the only way to stay ahead of all the sheriffs, town constables and redcoated troops that hunted him was to have the respect and goodwill of the poor folk around him, a strong, fast horse beneath him and a good deal of his infamous ‘luck’!

The Plymouth coach was fast approaching his position. Light from the brass oil lamps spilled on the road like liquid honey while above a near full moon sailed ghost-like across a star studded sky. Jack could see a man up top with the driver. At least one of them would be armed, as would be Wedgewood himself. ‘Good!’ he thought. ‘Makes things more sporting!’

Jack had been having an excellent month so far. He’d already robbed the Portsmouth coach twice, the London coach once and several groups of rich looking travellers foolish enough to carry their jewels and bags of guineas unguarded on the open roads! He’d only been shot at twice and hadn’t needed to shoot anyone himself for almost a year --- and that had only caused a wounding, not a death.

Using the alias, Sir Jacob Smith, he paid double for the best room at The Fox & Hound Inn, bought free drinks for the locals, donated money to the parish priest and made interest loans to the nearby farmers.

He was also in love with Bess, the landlord’s beautiful, black-eyed daughter --- or at least he thought it was love --- or lust --- or a healthy combination of both! Whatever it was, Bess had an effect on him unlike any other woman ever had before. He actually found himself dreaming of building a life with her. Perhaps he’d buy a half interest in The Fox & Hound and Bess’s father could ease his way into his old age --- perhaps even bouncing one or two grandchildren on his knee!

Jack had been almost content with his fallen lot in life --- until word had come that the hated Major Percy Wedgewood of Bagshot Heath would be on the next Plymouth coach.

Now, sitting his horse on the edge of the moor, Jack’s handsome face stretched into a wolflike grin at the thought of the man that had ruined his life was unwittingly rushing towards Jack’s waiting blade.

***

Unfortunately for ‘Lucky Jack’, One Eyed Percy Wedgewood was not in the Plymouth coach --- but following along close behind it with his troop of British Dragoons. Inside the coach were three other soldiers; two of them were dressed as civilians and the third was wearing an eye patch, one of Wedgewood’s wigs and a spare uniform. Each man had a brace of loaded pistols and were nervously waiting for former Captain Jackson Thorp to stop their coach at any moment. The one eyed colonel had been very clear however in his instructions to the three ‘decoys’ in the coach and the dozen Dragoons riding with him.

"I have gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to set this trap and I want Thorp taken alive at all costs! Block his escape, shoot his horse, even shoot him if you have to --- but make damn sure the ball hits him in the leg or arm --- for if any one of you fools kills him before I’ve finished with the bastard, then I’ll have you hanged on the spot!"

Now, as the unpopular colonel led his men galloping through the moonlit night, the thought of actually having the notorious highwayman Lucky Jack Thorp as his prisoner brought a rare joy to his sour heart. It was something he had fantasized about for nearly three long years! And now, at long last Thorp was going to be his to do with as he pleased! The thought made Percy’s once handsome face crease into a vicious smile.

‘Finally I’ll get to pay the bastard back for leaving me a disfigured laughingstock! But I’ll have more than just an eye! I’ll take his nose and an ear as well! Maybe even a few fingers from his sword hand!’ Percy’s vicious smile then widened into a wolfish snarl --- tinged with more than a little envy. ‘Maybe I’ll even cut off his cock as well! Then he’ll truly know the pain of a beautiful woman turning away in revulsion!’

Percy grunted to himself as he led his troop down the moonlit road. He rather liked that last part. For years now he that thought of little else than getting his revenge. But Colonel Wedgewood did not intend kill Jack outright! ‘Oh no!’ the one-eyed officer reasoned. ‘Let the overly handsome, low-born upstart see with his one good eye how people turn away from him in disgust; let him hear with his one good ear how they either gasp in horror or laugh at him behind his back. With his ruined face and mutilated privates let him shuffle through this uncaring world unwanted, unneeded and unloved!’

If he was honest with himself, Wedgewood would have ended that last thought with: ‘just the way I have felt for most of my life!’ But Percy Wedgewood, eldest son of Lord Reginald Wedgewood of Bagshot Heath, rarely if ever told the truth --- not even to himself.

***

The three ‘disguised’ Dragoons riding in the coach heard what sounded like a shout come from somewhere outside. The one in a black hat peered into the swirling fog turned molten silver by the moonlight and saw that might be the vague shape of a man on a moving horse --- then again it might just be a branch blowing in the wind.

Nonetheless Black Hat shoved one of his pistols out the window and was cocking it when the man in the grey tricorn grabbed his arm: What the bloody ‘ell are you up too, mate?!

There’s a bloke out there on a ‘orse! Black Hat replied. Didn’t you ‘ear the bloody shout?!

The man in Wedgewood’s eyepatch and borrowed uniform leaned forward and pulled Black Hat back into the coach. "You fire that piece n’ scare away Lucky Jack, Little Percy Piss-Pot will have all our guts for garters!"

Despite himself, Tricorn chuckled when Eye Patch used the troop’s rather unflattering nick-name for their colonel. If Litt’l Percy ‘ears you call ‘im that, we’ll all ‘ang right alongside this Thorpe bastard!

Black Hat’s face turned the colour of the swirling fog outside and his pistol was quickly uncocked and lowered. Sorry Alf. Weren’t thinkin’ right. But this Thorpe bugger’s got me that spooked! They say ‘e’s as bad as Bloody Dick Turpin or those murderin’ Dunsdon Brothers, Tom, Dick n’ ‘arry!

Just then the screech of the brake was heard as the driver called out for his team to slow down.

Alf / Eye-Patch stuck his wigged head out the window. Any sign o’ Thorpe?!

No. Just ta bloody wind blowed down a tree! the driver shouted back. Give us a hand ta move ta bastard!

Sod that! Alf shouted back. I aint getting’ Litt’l Percy’s fancy clothes wet n’ muddy. Move ta bloody thing yerself!

Everyone stay right where they are! Jack called loudly as he suddenly rode out of the shadows; Once I’m finished here you can take the body and be on your way!

"Body?! What body be that?!" the driver demanded.

One of Jack’s pistol pointed directly at the two men on the driver’s seat.

"Yours, unless you both do as I say! So throw down your weapons, now!"

The driver tossed his old, pitted pistol away from him as though it was suddenly scalding hot. The guard, glaring daggers at Jack, slowly lowered his short barrelled blunderbuss, defiantly flipped open the frizen and blew the priming powder out of the pan, instantly rendering the weapon unable to fire. Then, still glaring at Jack, he carefully placed the weapon behind him.

Jack then turned his attention to the passengers inside the coach. You in there! Throw your weapons outside now or I’ll fire on the coach!

Like hell you will! Eye-Patch growled as he thrust one of his pistols out the side window and fired at the shadowy form in the fog. The led ball grazed Jack’s right thigh and vanished into the fog.

Jack fired back at the muzzle flash, hitting Eye-Patch squarely in his chest and killing him instantly. He then thrust the empty pistol into his belt and pulled out another from the brace of holsters slung over his mounts neck.

You inside! Throw down your weapons and step out --- now!

Several pistols were quickly tossed out the window, then the coach door swung open and Black Hat and Tricorn climbed out over Eye-Patch’s lifeless body.

Down on your knees! Jack commanded as he moved his stallion closer, keeping one pistol on the pair on the driver’s seat and the other on the two on the ground. Hands on your heads --- all of you!

Peering closer at Eye-Patch’s slack face, Jack frowned. That’s not Percy Wedgewood.

You’re bloody right it aint! Tricorn said, the defiance in his voice almost overcame his fear. That there’s my friend, Corporal Alf Preston, dressed up to look like the colonel! Alf was a mean bastard but a good fighter. Tricorn then cocked his head to one side and smiled coldly. Ya ‘ear that, Lucky-Jack?! Taint no thunder! That’s the sound o’ Colonel Blood n’ Guts himself n’ a dozen Dragoons comin’ up the road!

Wedgewood planned this?! Jack demanded, suddenly feeling the fool.

Tricorn nodded and his cold smile widened. Even had us pack a good rope for your ‘angin’. It’s back inside with Alf --- but I’ll be getting’ it out for ya real soon.

The rumble of the ‘distant thunder’ had now become the roar of over a dozen galloping horses. Looking back along the foggy road Jack could just make out the dark shapes racing towards him.

Suddenly the sour faced guard, probably wanting to claim at least some of the reward offered for the notorious highwayman, launched himself from the top of the coach. Landing on the stallion just behind its rider, the guard, a tall, sinewy man, grabbed the back of Jack’s overcoat with his left hand and plunged a long, sharp, triangular bladed dagger into Jack’s back.

There was a grunt, a gasp, and the sound of metal scraping on metal as the point of the guard’s blade skidded along the iron back of the Dragoon breastplate that Jack wisely wore beneath his coat.

Jack drove his right elbow backwards into the guard’s snarling face, then, leaning far to the right, slammed him on the left side of the man’s head with the barrel of his pistol. The guard grunted and fell like an