After Twenty Years.
“You dog! you confounded lubber! Drive on, or you’ll have them out of sight!” shouted a frank, opened-faced young fellow of some three or four and twenty, as he leaned out of the front window of a post-chaise, and urged his post-boy to increase of speed.
“An’ how can I get another mile an hour out on such bastes, yer honner?” said the post-boy in answer. “The crayture I’m riding takes no more heed of the spur than the grate baste the levvyathan of Howly Scripture; and as to the blind mare there, the more I larrup her the more she hangs back out ov the collar.”
“Gammon!—nonsense!” cried the young man: “you can catch them if you like.”
“Shure, sor, I’d catch ’em if it was me. The spirit of me’s been close alongside this last quarter of an hour; but the bastes here ’ave got skins like a rhinosros.”
“Half a guinea if you catch them and go by in the next two miles,” shouted the traveller.
“An why didn’t ye spake sooner, sor? It’s meself’s the boy to get it out of the bastes if it’s to be done at all;” and the effect of the golden spur was soon visible in the way in which the mire of the cross-country road flew up from the whirling wheels.
For a couple of hours now, with the present and the preceding post-boy, had this chase been carried on,—now one chaise, now the other, being to the fore; the explanation of this being of the simplest character.
Lieutenant Brace Norton, of H.M.S. “Icarus,” had just arrived in port, and was, as he put it, homeward bound after his first voyage with the rank of lieutenant. In fact, he took so much pride in his epaulette, won after no end of midshipman’s adventures, that, until better sense prevailed, he had had some thought of wearing it home. He had travelled as far as the county town by rail, and now, having a rather large idea of his own importance, was finishing his journey in one of the post-chaises—scarce things then—left upon the road. At the railway station he had twice encountered a fair young face, small, dark, oval, and with a pair of sad-looking, lustrous eyes, their owner leaning upon the arm of a tall, grey-haired gentleman; and after making his way to the hotel and ordering his conveyance, spending the time consumed in getting it ready by smoking a cigar, he was startled, upon going to the door to lounge about the steps, by seeing the same travellers take their places in a chaise which had been prepared before his own.
“Do you know who that gentleman is?” he had said to the landlord, who had bowed his visitors to the door.
“Can’t say, sir, I’m sure,” was the reply. “Please excuse me, sir—I’m wanted.”
“Here waiter, my chaise; look sharp!” exclaimed the young lieutenant, slipping a shilling into the man’s hand, on seeing the direction the first chaise had taken. “Hurry them on, there’s a good fellow, and tell them to put in the best pair of horses.”
“Best pair’s gone, sir, with number one chaise, but I’ll get them to look alive.”
In spite of his stamping with impatience, and conducting himself in a most unreasonable manner, even to going into the yard himself, and hoisting the sluggish post-boy—a youth of about sixty—into his jacket, a full quarter of an hour elapsed before the chaise began to rattle out of the yard with the traveller in it.
“Here—hi! stop!” shouted a voice, as they turned down the main street.
“What the deuce now?” exclaimed the traveller, as the post-boy pulled up, after nearly running into a flock of sheep, and the waiter came panting up.
“Please, sir, you ain’t paid for the cigar, and sherry and biscuit,” exclaimed the man, in injured tones.
“Confound it, no!” cried the young man. “And—I say, I haven’t got my portmanteau! There, my man, look sharp, whatever you do!”
Five minutes more elapsed, but at length the bill was paid, the portmanteau secured to the front, and the crazy vehicle was once more well under weigh, the young sailor fuming the while with impatience. But as soon as the town was passed, liberal promises sent the shabby cattle scuffling along at a pretty good pace; and when the traveller had about given up all hopes of again seeing the face that had attracted his attention, the first post-chaise became visible, slowly crawling up one of the hills about half-way between Lincoln and Marshton, when again urging on the post-boy, the vehicle was at length overtaken, and whilst passing it the young man’s heart leaped as he again caught sight of the fair traveller, leaning forward to see who was passing, but withdrawing instantly upon seeing that she was the object of attention.
Twice did Brace Norton find the opportunities for a short glance at the now averted face: once during the stages, and again when they changed horses at Marshton; but now, to his disgust, it seemed that he had been favoured with worse cattle than before; and in spite of his urging the fresh post-boy—a native of “Sorrey,” as he took an opportunity of assuring his employer—it seemed that he was to be left entirely at the rear, to see the face no more.
But the golden spur prevailed; and as the young lieutenant saw that they were gaining rapidly, he threw himself back, muttering, “What a thing it is that there are no women at sea! It only wants their presence to make it perfect. I wonder who those can be, though? On a visit somewhere. Jove! What luck if it’s anywhere near us!”
His reverie was interrupted by the broadly-speaking post-boy yoho-ing to the one in front, and the next minute they passed the first chaise in an easy canter; but Brace Norton obtained no view, for, to his great chagrin, the window on this side—the side occupied by the gentleman—had the blind drawn down.
“Didn’t I do it in style, yer honner?” cried the post-boy, turning in his saddle to grin.
“Yes—yes; but easy now. Let them pass you.” And then to himself the traveller muttered, “I shall be right next time.”
“Is that to be included in the half-guinea, yer honner?” cried the post-boy, with a leer; but he obtained no answer, save a fierce gesture not to look back; for now the passing was to be performed by the other chaise, which in a few moments had again left them behind, while this time again the susceptible sailor had been doomed to disappointment, for as the chaise passed, the momentary glance showed him that the lady occupants head was averted, and that she was talking to her companion.
“But what a neck!” muttered the young man; “and what glorious hair! What a cluster of braids! Why, she could sit on it, I’d swear, if it were down. Confound you! will you go on?” he shouted, thrusting his head from the window. “What are you crawling like that for?”
“Did yer honner want me to be always passing them, widout ever letting them get first again?” said the post-boy.
“You blundering idiot!” muttered the young man, laughing in spite of himself. “Drive on, Pat,” he said, aloud, “and pass them again.”
“Me name’s Jeames, yer honner, av ye please,” said the post-boy, with dignity, and for a short distance he drove sulkily on at a very moderate pace, till the thought that he had not yet obtained the promised half-guinea prompted him to try and keep his employer in a good temper; and once more he passed the foremost chaise at a canter, slackening again in obedience to orders received soon afterwards.
Now every one who has been much upon the road must be fully aware that there is a feeling existent amply shared by man and horse, which, however strange the comparison may seem, is fully expressed in the old saying, that most people like to play first fiddle. Be driving, and pass the sorriest old jaded brute that was ever verging upon the cat’s-meat barrow, and see if the poor beast does not, for a few minutes, prick up his ears, and break into a trot to regain his place. Generally the driver is ready enough to urge him on, and if you slacken pace for a few minutes, ten to one but you are passed in your turn.
It was so here with the post-boy and horses of the other chaise: to be passed here on the road again and again by a rival was not to be borne; and the slackening under Brace Norton’s instructions being taken as a signal of defeat, there soon came a shout from behind to the Irish boy to draw aside, one which, being rather sulky at having had a mistake made in his country, the post-boy refused to heed; and just as Brace was hopefully gazing from his window for another glance, there came the crash of wheel against wheel, the swerving aside of the horses, and in less time than it can be written, to Brace Norton’s horror, he saw the vehicle of his companions of the road overturned—the off-wheels in the ditch, and one horse kicking and plunging in a way that threatened death to the occupants of the carriage.