________________________________________________
_ My uncle and I were up betimes next morning, but he was much out of
temper, for no news had been heard of his valet Ambrose. He had
indeed become like one of those ants of which I have read, who are
so accustomed to be fed by smaller ants that when they are left to
themselves they die of hunger. It was only by the aid of a man whom
the landlord procured, and of Fox's valet, who had been sent
expressly across, that his toilet was at last performed.
"I must win this race, nephew," said he, when he had finished
breakfast; "I can't afford to be beat. Look out of the window and
see if the Lades are there."
"I see a red four-in-hand in the square, and there is a crowd round
it. Yes, I see the lady upon the box seat."
"Is our tandem out?"
"It is at the door."
"Come, then, and you shall have such a drive as you never had
before."
He stood at the door pulling on his long brown driving-gauntlets and
giving his orders to the ostlers.
"Every ounce will tell," said he. "We'll leave that dinner-basket
behind. And you can keep my dog for me, Coppinger. You know him
and understand him. Let him have his warm milk and curacoa the same
as usual. Whoa, my darlings, you'll have your fill of it before you
reach Westminster Bridge."
"Shall I put in the toilet-case?" asked the landlord. I saw the
struggle upon my uncle's face, but he was true to his principles.
"Put it under the seat--the front seat," said he. "Nephew, you must
keep your weight as far forward as possible. Can you do anything on
a yard of tin? Well, if you can't, we'll leave the trumpet. Buckle
that girth up, Thomas. Have you greased the hubs, as I told you?
Well, jump up, nephew, and we'll see them off."
Quite a crowd had gathered in the Old Square: men and women, dark-
coated tradesmen, bucks from the Prince's Court, and officers from
Hove, all in a buzz of excitement; for Sir John Lade and my uncle
were two of the most famous whips of the time, and a match between
them was a thing to talk of for many a long day.
"The Prince will be sorry to have missed the start," said my uncle.
"He doesn't show before midday. Ah, Jack, good morning! Your
servant, madam! It's a fine day for a little bit of waggoning."
As our tandem came alongside of the four-in-hand, with the two bonny
bay mares gleaming like shot-silk in the sunshine, a murmur of
admiration rose from the crowd. My uncle, in his fawn-coloured
driving-coat, with all his harness of the same tint, looked the
ideal of a Corinthian whip; while Sir John Lade, with his many-caped
coat, his white hat, and his rough, weather-beaten face, might have
taken his seat with a line of professionals upon any ale-house bench
without any one being able to pick him out as one of the wealthiest
landowners in England. It was an age of eccentricity, but he had
carried his peculiarities to a length which surprised even the out-
and-outers by marrying the sweetheart of a famous highwayman when
the gallows had come between her and her lover. She was perched by
his side, looking very smart in a flowered bonnet and grey
travelling-dress, while in front of them the four splendid coal-
black horses, with a flickering touch of gold upon their powerful,
well-curved quarters, were pawing the dust in their eagerness to be
off.
"It's a hundred that you don't see us before Westminster with a
quarter of an hour's start," said Sir John.
"I'll take you another hundred that we pass you," answered my uncle.
"Very good. Time's up. Good-bye!" He gave a tchk of the tongue,
shook his reins, saluted with his whip; in true coachman's style,
and away he went, taking the curve out of the square in a
workmanlike fashion that fetched a cheer from the crowd. We heard
the dwindling roar of the wheels upon the cobblestones until they
died away in the distance.
It seemed one of the longest quarters of an hour that I had ever
known before the first stroke of nine boomed from the parish clock.
For my part, I was fidgeting in my seat in my impatience, but my
uncle's calm, pale face and large blue eyes were as tranquil and
demure as those of the most unconcerned spectator. He was keenly on
the alert, however, and it seemed to me that the stroke of the clock
and the thong of his whip fell together--not in a blow, but in a
sharp snap over the leader, which sent us flying with a jingle and a
rattle upon our fifty miles' journey. I heard a roar from behind
us, saw the gliding lines of windows with staring faces and waving
handkerchiefs, and then we were off the stones and on to the good
white road which curved away in front of us, with the sweep of the
green downs upon either side.
I had been provided with shillings that the turnpike-gate might not
stop us, but my uncle reined in the mares and took them at a very
easy trot up all the heavy stretch which ends in Clayton Hill. He
let them go then, and we flashed through Friar's Oak and across St.
John's Common without more than catching a glimpse of the yellow
cottage which contained all that I loved best. Never have I
travelled at such a pace, and never have I felt such a sense of
exhilaration from the rush of keen upland air upon our faces, and
from the sight of those two glorious creatures stretched to their
utmost, with the roar of their hoofs and the rattle of our wheels as
the light curricle bounded and swayed behind them.
"It's a long four miles uphill from here to Hand Cross," said my
uncle, as we flew through Cuckfield. "I must ease them a bit, for I
cannot afford to break the hearts of my cattle. They have the right
blood in them, and they would gallop until they dropped if I were
brute enough to let them. Stand up on the seat, nephew, and see if
you can get a glimpse of them."
I stood up, steadying myself upon my uncle's shoulder, but though I
could see for a mile, or perhaps a quarter more, there was not a
sign of the four-in-hand.
"If he has sprung his cattle up all these hills they'll be spent ere
they see Croydon," said he.
"They have four to two," said I.
"J'en suis bien sur. Sir John's black strain makes a good, honest
creature, but not fliers like these. There lies Cuckfield Place,
where the towers are, yonder. Get your weight right forward on the
splashboard now that we are going uphill, nephew. Look at the
action of that leader: did ever you see anything more easy and more
beautiful?"
We were taking the hill at a quiet trot, but even so, we made the
carrier, walking in the shadow of his huge, broad-wheeled, canvas-
covered waggon, stare at us in amazement. Close to Hand Cross we
passed the Royal Brighton stage, which had left at half-past seven,
dragging heavily up the slope, and its passengers, toiling along
through the dust behind, gave us a cheer as we whirled by. At Hand
Cross we caught a glimpse of the old landlord, hurrying out with his
gin and his gingerbread; but the dip of the ground was downwards
now, and away we flew as fast as eight gallant hoofs could take us.
"Do you drive, nephew?"
"Very little, sir."
"There is no driving on the Brighton Road."
"How is that, sir?"
"Too good a road, nephew. I have only to give them their heads, and
they will race me into Westminster. It wasn't always so. When I
was a very young man one might learn to handle his twenty yards of
tape here as well as elsewhere. There's not much really good
waggoning now south of Leicestershire. Show me a man who can hit
'em and hold 'em on a Yorkshire dale-side, and that's the man who
comes from the right school."
We had raced over Crawley Down and into the broad main street of
Crawley village, flying between two country waggons in a way which
showed me that even now a driver might do something on the road.
With every turn I peered ahead, looking for our opponents, but my
uncle seemed to concern himself very little about them, and occupied
himself in giving me advice, mixed up with so many phrases of the
craft, that it was all that I could do to follow him.
"Keep a finger for each, or you will have your reins clubbed," said
he. "As to the whip, the less fanning the better if you have
willing cattle; but when you want to put a little life into a coach,
see that you get your thong on to the one that needs it, and don't
let it fly round after you've hit. I've seen a driver warm up the
off-side passenger on the roof behind him every time he tried to cut
his off-side wheeler. I believe that is their dust over yonder."
A long stretch of road lay before us, barred with the shadows of
wayside trees. Through the green fields a lazy blue river was
drawing itself slowly along, passing under a bridge in front of us.
Beyond was a young fir plantation, and over its olive line there
rose a white whirl which drifted swiftly, like a cloud-scud on a
breezy day.
"Yes, yes, it's they!" cried my uncle. "No one else would travel as
fast. Come, nephew, we're half-way when we cross the mole at
Kimberham Bridge, and we've done it in two hours and fourteen
minutes. The Prince drove to Carlton House with a three tandem in
four hours and a half. The first half is the worst half, and we
might cut his time if all goes well. We should make up between this
and Reigate."
And we flew. The bay mares seemed to know what that white puff in
front of us signified, and they stretched themselves like
greyhounds. We passed a phaeton and pair London-bound, and we left
it behind as if it had been standing still. Trees, gates, cottages
went dancing by. We heard the folks shouting from the fields, under
the impression that we were a runaway. Faster and faster yet they
raced, the hoofs rattling like castanets, the yellow manes flying,
the wheels buzzing, and every joint and rivet creaking and groaning,
while the curricle swung and swayed until I found myself clutching
to the side-rail. My uncle eased them and glanced at his watch as
we saw the grey tiles and dingy red houses of Reigate in the hollow
beneath us.
"We did the last six well under twenty minutes," said he. "We've
time in hand now, and a little water at the Red Lion will do them no
harm. Red four-in-hand passed, ostler?"
"Just gone, sir."
"Going hard?"
"Galloping full split, sir! Took the wheel off a butcher's cart at
the corner of the High Street, and was out o' sight before the
butcher's boy could see what had hurt him."
Z-z-z-z-ack! went the long thong, and away we flew once more. It
was market day at Redhill, and the road was crowded with carts of
produce, droves of bullocks, and farmers' gigs. It was a sight to
see how my uncle threaded his way amongst them all. Through the
market-place we dashed amidst the shouting of men, the screaming of
women, and the scuttling of poultry, and then we were out in the
country again, with the long, steep incline of the Redhill Road
before us. My uncle waved his whip in the air with a shrill view-
halloa.
There was the dust-cloud rolling up the hill in front of us, and
through it we had a shadowy peep of the backs of our opponents, with
a flash of brass-work and a gleam of scarlet.
"There's half the game won, nephew. Now we must pass them. Hark
forrard, my beauties! By George, if Kitty isn't foundered!"
The leader had suddenly gone dead lame. In an instant we were both
out of the curricle and on our knees beside her. It was but a
stone, wedged between frog and shoe in the off fore-foot, but it was
a minute or two before we could wrench it out. When we had regained
our places the Lades were round the curve of the hill and out of
sight.
"Bad luck!" growled my uncle. "But they can't get away from us!"
For the first time he touched the mares up, for he had but cracked
the whip over their heads before. "If we catch them in the next few
miles we can spare them for the rest of the way."
They were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. Their breath came
quick and hoarse, and their beautiful coats were matted with
moisture. At the top of the hill, however, they settled down into
their swing once more.
"Where on earth have they got to?" cried my uncle. "Can you make
them out on the road, nephew?"
We could see a long white ribbon of it, all dotted with carts and
waggons coming from Croydon to Redhill, but there was no sign of the
big red four-in-hand.
"There they are! Stole away! Stole away!" he cried, wheeling the
mares round into a side road which struck to the right out of that
which we had travelled. "There they are, nephew! On the brow of
the hill!"
Sure enough, on the rise of a curve upon our right the four-in-hand
had appeared, the horses stretched to the utmost. Our mares laid
themselves out gallantly, and the distance between us began slowly
to decrease. I found that I could see the black band upon Sir
John's white hat, then that I could count the folds of his cape;
finally, that I could see the pretty features of his wife as she
looked back at us.
"We're on the side road to Godstone and Warlingham," said my uncle.
"I suppose he thought that he could make better time by getting out
of the way of the market carts. But we've got the deuce of a hill
to come down. You'll see some fun, nephew, or I am mistaken."
As he spoke I suddenly saw the wheels of the four-in-hand disappear,
then the body of it, and then the two figures upon the box, as
suddenly and abruptly as if it had bumped down the first three steps
of some gigantic stairs. An instant later we had reached the same
spot, and there was the road beneath us, steep and narrow, winding
in long curves into the valley. The four-in-hand was swishing down
it as hard as the horses could gallop.
"Thought so!" cried my uncle. "If he doesn't brake, why should I?
Now, my darlings, one good spurt, and we'll show them the colour of
our tailboard."
We shot over the brow and flew madly down the hill with the great
red coach roaring and thundering before us. Already we were in her
dust, so that we could see nothing but the dim scarlet blur in the
heart of it, rocking and rolling, with its outline hardening at
every stride. We could hear the crack of the whip in front of us,
and the shrill voice of Lady Lade as she screamed to the horses. My
uncle was very quiet, but when I glanced up at him I saw that his
lips were set and his eyes shining, with just a little flush upon
each pale cheek. There was no need to urge on the mares, for they
were already flying at a pace which could neither be stopped nor
controlled. Our leader's head came abreast of the off hind wheel,
then of the off front one--then for a hundred yards we did not gain
an inch, and then with a spurt the bay leader was neck to neck with
the black wheeler, and our fore wheel within an inch of their hind
one.
"Dusty work!" said my uncle, quietly.
"Fan 'em, Jack! Fan 'em!" shrieked the lady.
He sprang up and lashed at his horses.
"Look out, Tregellis!" he shouted. "There's a damnation spill
coming for somebody."
We had got fairly abreast of them now, the rumps of the horses
exactly a-line and the fore wheels whizzing together. There was not
six inches to spare in the breadth of the road, and every instant I
expected to feel the jar of a locking wheel. But now, as we came
out from the dust, we could see what was ahead, and my uncle
whistled between his teeth at the sight.
Two hundred yards or so in front of us there was a bridge, with
wooden posts and rails upon either side. The road narrowed down at
the point, so that it was obvious that the two carriages abreast
could not possibly get over. One must give way to the other.
Already our wheels were abreast of their wheelers.
"I lead!" shouted my uncle. "You must pull them, Lade!"
"Not I!" he roared.
"No, by George!" shrieked her ladyship. "Fan 'em, Jack; keep on
fanning 'em!"
It seemed to me that we were all going to eternity together. But my
uncle did the only thing that could have saved us. By a desperate
effort we might just clear the coach before reaching the mouth of
the bridge. He sprang up, and lashed right and left at the mares,
who, maddened by the unaccustomed pain, hurled themselves on in a
frenzy. Down we thundered together, all shouting, I believe, at the
top of our voices in the madness of the moment; but still we were
drawing steadily away, and we were almost clear of the leaders when
we flew on to the bridge. I glanced back at the coach, and I saw
Lady Lade, with her savage little white teeth clenched together,
throw herself forward and tug with both hands at the off-side reins.
"Jam them, Jack!" she cried. "Jam the--before they can pass."
Had she done it an instant sooner we should have crashed against the
wood-work, carried it away, and been hurled into the deep gully
below. As it was, it was not the powerful haunch of the black
leader which caught our wheel, but the forequarter, which had not
weight enough to turn us from our course. I saw a red wet seam gape
suddenly through the black hair, and next instant we were flying
alone down the road, whilst the four-in-hand had halted, and Sir
John and his lady were down in the road together tending to the
wounded horse.
"Easy now, my beauties!" cried my uncle, settling down into his seat
again, and looking back over his shoulder. "I could not have
believed that Sir John Lade would have been guilty of such a trick
as pulling that leader across. I do not permit a mauvaise
plaisanterie of that sort. He shall hear from me to-night."
"It was the lady," said I.
My uncle's brow cleared, and he began to laugh.
"It was little Letty, was it?" said he. "I might have known it.
There's a touch of the late lamented Sixteen-string Jack about the
trick. Well, it is only messages of another kind that I send to a
lady, so we'll just drive on our way, nephew, and thank our stars
that we bring whole bones over the Thames."
We stopped at the Greyhound, at Croydon, where the two good little
mares were sponged and petted and fed, after which, at an easier
pace, we made our way through Norbury and Streatham. At last the
fields grew fewer and the walls longer. The outlying villas closed
up thicker and thicker, until their shoulders met, and we were
driving between a double line of houses with garish shops at the
corners, and such a stream of traffic as I had never seen, roaring
down the centre. Then suddenly we were on a broad bridge with a
dark coffee-brown river flowing sulkily beneath it, and bluff-bowed
barges drifting down upon its bosom. To right and left stretched a
broken, irregular line of many-coloured houses winding along either
bank as far as I could see.
"That's the House of Parliament, nephew," said my uncle, pointing
with his whip, "and the black towers are Westminster Abbey. How do,
your Grace? How do? That's the Duke of Norfolk--the stout man in
blue upon the swish-tailed mare. Now we are in Whitehall. There's
the Treasury on the left, and the Horse Guards, and the Admiralty,
where the stone dolphins are carved above the gate."
I had the idea, which a country-bred lad brings up with him, that
London was merely a wilderness of houses, but I was astonished now
to see the green slopes and the lovely spring trees showing between.
"Yes, those are the Privy Gardens," said my uncle, "and there is the
window out of which Charles took his last step on to the scaffold.
You wouldn't think the mares had come fifty miles, would you? See
how les petites cheries step out for the credit of their master.
Look at the barouche, with the sharp-featured man peeping out of the
window. That's Pitt, going down to the House. We are coming into
Pall Mall now, and this great building on the left is Carlton House,
the Prince's Palace. There's St. James's, the big, dingy place with
the clock, and the two red-coated sentries before it. And here's
the famous street of the same name, nephew, which is the very centre
of the world, and here's Jermyn Street opening out of it, and
finally, here's my own little box, and we are well under the five
hours from Brighton Old Square." _
Read next: CHAPTER IX - WATIER'S
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