Creative Writing: The Highwayman
Their journey to London was not a long one, but in the night, it was a
treacherous one. A rolling fog covered the land, one couldn't see twenty feet
ahead, but in the still, quiet night, sound carried for a mile. They began
their trek in the early evening, the sun had yet to dip below the horizon. The
passengers needed in London, could not wait for the next morning. The stage
driver was the best to be found, his fee large, but his experience was priceless.
He was accompanied by another man with a large rifle. The Rifleman had keen
eyes and his ears were at attention, listening over the horses for oncoming
riders; for the Highwaymen who prayed on the stages.
Long after the sun had set, not a sound had been heard over the consistent clip-
clop of the horses. Their hooves hit the dirt road, broadcasting a message for
nearly a mile of the nearing prey. The sound alerting all the nearby predators
to keep a good watch, to be ready, for the prize will soon be in their grasp.
The fog, like a blanket spreading it self out on the land, concealed all stars,
the only light was from a lantern suspended above the stage driver. The
passengers nervous, expecting to hear shots fired. The jumped at every bump in
the road that the wheels struck. Clutching their baggage close, they prayed
that the night would pass quickly.
The Highwayman, alerted to the approaching stage, was hidden by the road, and
concealed by the fog, he was not yet able to discern the light from the quickly
approaching lantern. Clutching his pistol, his only weapon, he planned to take
all the that he desired from the stage. His family was at home, sitting by the
fire. His late night occupation provided their home, food and clothing. During
the day he works in a stable for the nearby English noble. Feeding and grooming
their horses, only he knows the stable well enough to "barrow " a horse. Not
every night, but often enough for his family to live better than... [continues]
Their journey to London was not a long one, but in the night, it was a
treacherous one. A rolling fog covered the land, one couldn't see twenty feet
ahead, but in the still, quiet night, sound carried for a mile. They began
their trek in the early evening, the sun had yet to dip below the horizon. The
passengers needed in London, could not wait for the next morning. The stage
driver was the best to be found, his fee large, but his experience was priceless.
He was accompanied by another man with a large rifle. The Rifleman had keen
eyes and his ears were at attention, listening over the horses for oncoming
riders; for the Highwaymen who prayed on the stages.
Long after the sun had set, not a sound had been heard over the consistent clip-
clop of the horses. Their hooves hit the dirt road, broadcasting a message for
nearly a mile of the nearing prey. The sound alerting all the nearby predators
to keep a good watch, to be ready, for the prize will soon be in their grasp.
The fog, like a blanket spreading it self out on the land, concealed all stars,
the only light was from a lantern suspended above the stage driver. The
passengers nervous, expecting to hear shots fired. The jumped at every bump in
the road that the wheels struck. Clutching their baggage close, they prayed
that the night would pass quickly.
The Highwayman, alerted to the approaching stage, was hidden by the road, and
concealed by the fog, he was not yet able to discern the light from the quickly
approaching lantern. Clutching his pistol, his only weapon, he planned to take
all the that he desired from the stage. His family was at home, sitting by the
fire. His late night occupation provided their home, food and clothing. During
the day he works in a stable for the nearby English noble. Feeding and grooming
their horses, only he knows the stable well enough to "barrow " a horse. Not
every night, but often enough for his family to live better than... [continues]
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