Kate Coventry: An Autobiography

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

"Not I, indeed, aunt," was my reply, "nor with anybody else, for that matter. I've pretty good nerves—there are few things that I am afraid of."

"Indeed, Kate, I fear it is so," was my aunt's reply. "I own I should like to see you a little more of a coward."

So it was settled that Aunt Deborah and Gertrude being safely packed up in the close carriage, I should accompany Lady Horsingham, who was rather proud of her charioteering skill, and drove stiff and upright, as if she had swallowed the poker—never looking to the right or left, or allowing her attention to wander for an instant from the ponies she had undertaken to control.

Now, these said ponies had been doing nothing during the frost except consuming their three feeds a day with vigorous appetite and a considerable accession of high spirits. Consequently they were, what is termed in stable language, very much "above themselves"—a state of self-exaltation which they demonstrated by sundry unbecoming squeaks and gambols as soon as they found themselves fairly started on their journey. Tiny, the youngest and handsomest, would persist in shying, plunging, and swerving against the pole, much to the demoralization of his comrade, Mouse, a stiff-built little fellow with a thick neck, who was ordinarily extremely well-behaved, but apt on occasions like the present to lower his rebellious little head and defy all control.

Lady Horsingham was tolerably courageous, but totally destitute of what is termed "hand," a quality as necessary in driving as in riding, particularly with fractious or high-spirited horses. The seat of a pony-carriage, besides, is not a position from which a Jehu has much command over the animals in front of him; and although, as I have repeatedly said, I am not nervous, I had earned sufficient experience in the ways of the equine race to know that we might easily be placed in a position of some peril should anything occur to excite the mischievous propensities of either of the specimens now gambolling before us. More accidents have happened out of pony-carriages than all other descriptions of vehicle put together.

It is said that in the olden and golden days of the road the usual death of a "long coachman" was to be pitched out of a gig; and doubtless that two-wheeled conveniency, particularly when going at any pace, is capable of arriving at a large proportion of grief. But even a gig, if properly constructed, admits of the driver having a certain amount of control over his horse; he is well above the animal, and can get a good purchase to pull him up from, when the acceleration is becoming dangerous, or there is a tendency to the grosser insubordination of a "kicking match." Not so in a pony-carriage: low down upon the ground, even under their very heels, you are completely at the mercy of your team; and the facility of egress in the event of a runaway only tempts you to the fatal expedient of jumping out—another form of expression for "certain death."

To be sure, if people will but sit still, there is no reason why they should be much alarmed, as an "upset" from so low an elevation need not necessarily produce any very serious results. But they never will sit still—at least they won't in nine cases out of ten, and the consequence is that whilst newspaper columns are filled with "horrid accidents" and "frightful occurrences," based on the fact of the "unfortunate sufferer taking an airing in his or her pony-carriage," many an elderly lady and cautious gentleman is not to be persuaded into entering one of these little conveyances, but prefers the slow and sure travelling of his or her own respectable feet.

Well, Lady Horsingham seemed rather uncomfortable on her driving-seat, although far too proud to acknowledge so derogatory a feeling. We had no servant with us; and when I suggested that we might as well take one of the stablemen to open the gates, my proposal was met with derision and contempt.

"I should have thought such a masculine lady as yourself, Kate, would have been above requiring any assistance. I am always in the habit of driving these ponies quite by myself; but of course, if you're afraid, I'll have a groom to go with us immediately."

Afraid, indeed! I scouted the idea: my blood was up, and I almost hoped something would happen, that I might fling the word in my aunt's teeth, and ask her, "Who's afraid now?" It came sooner than I bargained for.