The Storm

THE STORM

It was a storm like no other. In Bridport, trees fell, roofs rippled and lifted, thatch groaned under the power of the wind and tiles flicked about the streets like knives.

High up on the ridgeway, some miles above the town, was The Beggar’s Rest. For over a hundred years it had stood next to the crossway where two roads met. It was a familiar landmark hereabouts. Some people said it was a dangerous place – others said it was a refuge. – so isolated and far from the town. Joshua Trim, the landlord, a large man with a dark complexion, ran his house with a firm hand. He spoke little and rarely went into town. Since the inn was remote and customers were generally scarce, many believed the smugglers, who brought in rum and brandy, spent time there. Tonight, it was shelter for a throng of folk caught out by the raging weather.

Rain had begun soon after midday and the sky darkened in early afternoon so that travellers and the shepherds who worked the hills sought protection as the storm gathered strength.

Maddie, the publican’s wife added logs to the fire in the great fireplace. Her hair twisted under a plain cap upon her head; her face and tired eyes betrayed the hard life she led. For a minute she rested in the inglenook gazing at the flames as the occasional raindrop dripped down the chimney to sizzle in the heat. Then she gathered her apron and pulled herself up, holding onto the corner as she rose. As usual, she closed her ears to the talk of the men in the bar.

By six o’clock, Sam Barker, Carter Brown and several other men had come into the inn shaking their capes and clogs at the door. Every time the door swung open the wind rushed in like an unruly dog nipping at their limbs and making the flames roar up the chimney.

Outside, the darkness crept over the world. The yard and the crossroad, just beyond, were obscured in the gloom. Joshua struggled out and hung a lantern above the door as a last defiant gesture against the storm. The wind howled a curse and flung the light about like a toy.

At midnight, a loud knock at the door broke the mood. A second pounding hammered against the oak panels and brought everything to a halt. Trim pulled back the bolts and held the open door against the wind. Outlined by the feeble light of the lantern was a man in an oilskin cape. He wore a tarred tricorn hat, black and shiny with rain.

“Can I come in?”

Trim stepped back and nodded to the stranger. All eyes followed as the man slowly moved from door to room, shedding water onto the sacking mat near the door. A pool formed around his feet and where he cast his black cape and hat.

He was tall and thin and gave the impression of a man of consequence. His eye was proud and he stood upright, stiff as a soldier on parade. His dark woollen jacket and trousers were soaked and his boots caked with mud.

“I’m on my way to Bridport but lost my way tonight on the moor. Can I rest here?”

Maddie Trim brought out a blanket from the kitchen and handed it to the stranger without a word. He stripped off his coat and sat in the inglenook stretching his damp legs before the fire, wrapping himself in the rough cloth.

Sam Barker, the tiler, spoke first. “Happen you missed your way out of Denby Wood? Tis a wild way and a lonely one. You chanced your luck on such a day as this.”

The stranger smiled and said, “I came from Ilchester this morning and my business in Bridport is urgent for tomorrow, so I tried to cut across the moor to save my legs.”

“Tis a good three mile from here,” said Barker. “You’ll mak’ no further in this storm tonight.”

“Agreed.” The man eased himself down into the corner of the bench and called for a jug. He had a leather bag with him and laid it carefully beside him.

The fiddler tuned up, and the music stirred the company to a song. One of the carter’s men, Dan Widgery, danced an erratic whirligig till he collided with the bar and went down in a flurry of arms, legs and spilt beer. Roars of laughter followed and even the solemn stranger broke into a thin smile. Next, Jimmy Rant took to the floor with his spoons and rattled away to accompany the fiddle which set the company clapping and stamping. Soon the stranger was forgotten and the guests settled down for the night.

Maddie Trim brought out a cauldron of broth and set it on the table.

“All’s welcome to a bit of broth and bread tonight,” she said, “no man should go hungry on such a night.”

The general murmur of thanks was followed by the clatter of boots and spoons as each found a place round the table.

“Mind!” said Joshua Trim, “the ale and mead is to be paid for.” This was acknowledged with grunts and slurps.

Then the tall stranger spoke up. “Landlord, put out a firkin of ale on my expense to thank you for the company.”

A general roar of approval went up, and Trim obliged by hoisting a barrel from the cellar onto the table and spiked the plug. Soon the room filled with the noise of loud voices and occasional bursts of song as the night wore on. The stranger kept to his seat in the inglenook but joined in the general talk.

“So, tomorrow is a big day for thee?” said Sam, as if the earlier chat had never been broken, “happen it is a big day for the town as well.”

“What’s that then?” said Gaffer Basset from the table side, his ear cupped to catch every word.

“Well, the Assize is due, and the sentence passed on the Barnstaple thief.”

At that moment, the wind rattled and a shaft of lightning blazed across the window. All eyes turned to look. Outside, for an instant, the face of a man was pressed against the glass. Just as quickly, the image disappeared and a rapping commenced, banging urgently on the door.

Trim sprang for the door and others followed. As he lifted the latch the door was flung open with the force of the wind and the body of a man burst into the room.

He was dressed in poor clothing for such a night. His long ragged coat was covered by a layer of sacking, such as used for the field harvest, his leggings and boots were covered in mud, and they slid on the tiled floor.

“God bless you!” he said. “I saw the light an’ salvation too!”

His face was pallid, unhealthy as if he had spent time away from the sun. and his long dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the rain. He looked at the assembly with a keen eye as if he suspected trouble. His eyes took in every face in close inspection, although he glanced away when eye met eye. There was certain ferocity in his stare rather like a wounded animal at bay.

“You’re safe at last,” said the dark man from the inglenook, “come and warm yourself by the fire.”

The stranger nodded his thanks and threw down the sacking as he climbed into the nook and held out his arms to the warmth of the fire. Soon steam rose from his drenched clothing and he pulled off the serge jacket that covered his shoulders.

Maddie brought him a blanket and took his steaming clothes away. For a second she looked hard at the man, and then she nodded to the table where the broth and bread lay.

“Help yourself, like all the others,” she said.

Peter Hinchin, one of the drovers, handed a bowl to the man and said, “How come you was out in such a storm?”

The man gulped down a mouthful before he replied. “I lost a wheel on the Downs and saw the light.”

Hinchin sniffed, his curiosity was not so easily satisfied. “Oh, where? I know the Downs like a pig’s back – was it at the river bridge?”

The stranger supped again as if to gain time. “I don’t exactly know,” he began, “surely not at a bridge but high up near some trees...” He tailed off and took another sip of broth.

Hinchin shook his head, puzzled by the vague description, but looked at the dejected man and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, all will be clear in the dawn,” he said and turned away to gather his mug.

Sitting together at the fireside, the two incomers began to talk as their bodies warmed by the fire and their minds freed up with the ale and the company.

“Good of ye to share the firkin this night,” said the newcomer.

“My pleasure,” said the dark man, “like you, I needed a refuge on this wild night. Where have you come from?”

“I come from,” he hesitated, “Portsmouth, but stopped off in Bridport for a spell.”

He turned to his companion. “What was your route and purpose?”

There was an audience throughout the inn to hear the answer. A hush fell as the assembly pretended to be busy, but each one listened with one ear to the mystery man with the tricorn hat.

The man rose and stretched himself; he stepped out into the living space before the fireplace and raised his pot of ale to the crowd.

“Here’s to the Storm and good company!”

A holler rang out in reply, “An’ here’s to you Sir,” a general toast followed, and the dark man smiled in a genial way.

“I’ll wager a guinea to any man who can guess my trade in one question,” he said and spread his arms out in a broad gesture. Outside the wind still moaned and distant thunder muttered.

Trim’s instinct told him the man was an “official” mayhap a Customs Man.

He offered, “Excise.” The man shook his head.

Sam Barker shouted, “Press gang.” The press gangs had swept through Dorset the year before.

Again, the man smiled and said, “No.”

He pulled his leather bag towards him and said. “A clue to help you.”

The room was now abuzz with interest and the barrel that the man had given was tapped again. From his bag he drew a coil. Not a rough rope of hemp, nor a string of twine, but a pure white silken cord no thicker than a man’s thumb. His eyes scanned the group with a glitter that they had never seen before.

“Merciful Christ! He’s the hangman!” cried Maddie and she covered her

face with her apron.

“A guinea to that good lady!” He smiled thinly and pulled out the coil that unwound

like a beautiful snake emerging from the gaping case. A silence fell across the whole room.

“An’ tomorrow the man what stole Farmer Betwood’s sheep is hung...,” said Peter Hichen.

“I have a job to do. Yes, at ten tomorrow in Bridport.”

He put away the rope and went back to the inglenook and sat beside the other newcomer. Fumbling in his pocket, he found a guinea and offered it to Maddie. She shook her head and gathered up some crocks, intent on leaving. Her eyes never looked at the man again as she left the room.

Gradually, the atmosphere in the bar returned to its former noisy level although the barrel which the hangman had given was empty. Still, some got together with the fiddler and a tune began.

Just then, above the roar of the storm, the boom of cannon sounded from a distance. There was a short silence in the room and then the fiddler began again. A second time they heard the boom above the wind and rain. The music stopped.

The publican Trim said, “It’s the prison gun!”

The whole assembly stiffened. The hangman stepped out into the room and spoke to the whole group.

“The gun must mean the condemned man has escaped. I need a posse to search for him.”

Trim looked to Thom Able the farrier. “Well Thom, you’re the sworn constable, where’s you staff? You need to find the man.”

“I ain’t got me staff with me on such a night! How was I to know the man would run?”

“Never mind the staff!” said the hangman. “I have power to raise a posse here and now.” and he flourished a silver badge from his waistcoat.

Another cannon shot from the prison rang out over the sounds of the storm.

“Hold hard!” said the man with the badge, “I name you all for the posse. Anyone who defaults is reported to the magistrate.”

A sullen murmur ran through the men. Several looked out at the rain and wind outside and shifted their feet.

“A guinea each man for the posse and a name to the magistrate for them that hold back.”

This made a change in the mood and one by one the men began to gather their coats, capes and coverings to follow the dark man who commanded them.

The man from the fireside slipped out into the open room and gathered his sacking and coat. He was the last to follow out into the whirling winds and rain. The posse spread out along the ways of the moors in each direction with shouts and calls to keep contact with each other. Soon they had disappeared in the darkness.

Alone in the inn, Maddie made up the fire and cleared the table. She went to the kitchen and began to wash the crocks when a light knock tapped on the kitchen door and the second stranger in the sacking slipped in and stood with his back to the door.

“I seed you knew me Maddie, from the first off, I got nowhere to go but here so what could I do?” He looked at her with pleading eyes.

“You’re a marked man, Jo,” she said calmly. “What can I do agin the Law?”

“It was no justice to hang a man for one sheep!” he spoke with some fire. “You know well I had been turned out and my childer starving...”

She dried her hands on her apron and gave a slight nod.

“It’s true, we all expected transportation, but the Assizes is London judges, and they show no mercy.”

She sighed and put her hands to her head brushing a wisp of her grey hair away. Then she opened the great chest which stood below the stairs and brought out a heavy coat.

“There Jo, I can do no more – I haven’t a piece of coin I can give you but a coat and a bit of food to set you on your way.”

He grabbed the coat and waited while she cut a thick slice of bread and a piece of cheese from the larder. Wrapping them in an old newspaper, she handed the parcel to him. He held her hands as she gave them to him and for a second their eyes met and her face softened, her eyes grew moist and she bit her lip.

“Go on Jo Gargery, you broke my heart once, but I forgive you.”

He held her hands for a moment but said nothing, and then he kissed her poor chapped fingers and went out of the door into the raging night.

By dawn, some of the men returned to the inn. Joshua Trim threw down his topcoat with a grunt.

“All night and no sign of him. The storm has had us beat.”

He slumped down in his chair by the fire and stirred it into life with a poker. Four of the men had come back to the inn with him and they crowded round the sullen fire warming their hands.

“Well,” said Peter Hichen, “I’ll gather that guinea this morning, I can tell you. I earned it last night, howsoever it turned out.”

The others grumbled along with him and determined to go that morning to claim their rights.

“I heard it were a man from Wellsfield what done it?” said Dan Widgery. He went on, “Poor man – him with them childer.”

A general murmur of agreement passed among the men.

“Mayhap he will escape wide an’ free!” said the landlord. “Now, who can settle for their drink?”

Maddie took the tally down from the wall and began to count the strokes on it. She looked out of the window; a beam of sunlight crept into the room as the new day broke.

“Joshua,” she said, “let’s give a break to these good folk and celebrate the new day.”