Their surprise was so great, that the drinking cups instantly dropped from their grasp; though for a good while, not one of them was able to recover his reins—which the lubberly attendants had in the most stupid manner hauled over the heads of their horses!
It did not diminish their astonishment to see the escaping prisoner pull up as he approached the bridge; raise his fingers to his lips; and give utterance to a shrill whistle, that came pealing back upon the ears of the crowd.
It did not diminish their astonishment, to hear a horse neighing—as if in reply to that strange signal. On the contrary, it increased it.
Their surprise reached its climax when they saw that, of all their number. Cornet Stubbs was the only one who had the presence of mind—the courage and command of himself and his horse—to start immediately in pursuit!
That he had done so there could be no mistake. The black charger went sweeping past them like a bolt fired from a culverin—close following upon the heels of the fugitive, with Cornet Stubbs seated in the saddle, apparently urging the pursuit.
Alas! for Cornet Stubbs! He was not long allowed to enjoy an honour, as unexpected as unsought; no longer than while his fiery steed was galloping over the ground towards the spot where the troop horse had been hauled up.
As the two steeds came into contiguity, Stubbs became sensible of a strong hand clutching him by the gorget, and jerking him out of his stirrups. The next moment he felt a shock, as if he had been hurled heavily to the earth. He did, by Ged!
Although all this passed confusedly before his mind, the spectators saw every movement with perfect distinctness. They saw the cornet lifted out of his saddle, and pitched into the middle of the road. They saw the cavalier, who had accomplished this feat, change horses with him whom he had unhorsed—without setting foot to the ground; and, amidst the wild huzzas that greeted the achievement, they saw the blade horseman once more firmly seated astride his own steed, and galloping triumphantly away.
The cheer was an utterance of the most enthusiastic joy—in which every individual in the crowd appeared to have had a voice—the discomfited cuirassiers excepted. It was the true English “hurrah,” springing from the heart of a people—ever ready to applaud an exploit of bold and dangerous daring.
Why was it not protracted: for it was not? It subsided almost on the instant that it had arisen—ere its echoes had ceased reverberating from the walls of the adjacent houses!