“What’s the matter with Masaniello?” cried Archy Chaffinch; “he looks seriously inclined to bolt.”
I had awful suspicions of the same nature. No sooner had the regimental band struck up, than my charger began to evince disagreeable signs of impatience; he pawed, pranced, snorted, curveted, and was utterly deaf to the blandishments with which I strove to allay his irritability. I was even thankful when we were put into motion preparatory to the charge, in the belief that action might render him less restive; and so it did for a time. But no sooner had we broke into a gallop, than I felt it was all up with me. I might as well have been without a bridle. The ungovernable brute laid back his ears like a tiger, and I shot past Randolph in an instant, very nearly upsetting that judicious warrior in my course.
Nor was I alone. Pounset’s mare, who never brooked a rival, and who, moreover, had taken umbrage at the sonorous jolting of Anthony, was resolved not to be outstripped; and, taking the bridle between her teeth, came hard and heavy on my flank. The cry of “halt!” sounded far and faint behind us. We dashed past a carriage, in which, from a momentary glimpse, I recognised the form of Edith; while a dragoon officer—I knew intuitively it was Roper—had drawn up his horse by the side. They were laughing—yes! by heavens they were laughing—at the moment I was borne away headlong, and perhaps to destruction. My sword flew out of my hand—I had need of both to hold the reins. I shouted to Pounset to draw in, but an oath was the only reply!
I heard the blast of the recall bugle behind us, but Masaniello only stretched out more wildly. We splashed through the shallow pools of water, sending up the spray behind us; and onwards—onwards we went towards Joppa, with more than the velocity of the wind.
“Have a care, M’Whirter!” shouted Pounset. “Turn his head to the sea if you can. There’s a quicksand right before you!”
I could as easily have converted a Mussulman. I saw before me a dark streak, as if some foul brook were stagnating on the sands. There was a dash, a splash, a shock, and I was catapulted over the ears of Masaniello.
I must have lost consciousness, I believe, for the next thing I remember was Pounset standing over me, and holding my quadruped by the bridle.
“We may thank our stars it is no worse,” said he; “that stank fairly took the shine out of your brute, and brought him to a stand-still. Are you hurt?”
“Not much. But I say, what a figure I am!”