Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 2/2Payn, James
General
Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 2/2
Payn, James
Detective and mystery stories; Fiction
been attacked by a tiger (out of a travelling caravan), which killed the
off-leader; but this was an exceptional adventure. It was attacked by
highwaymen at least once a year, but in this respect was considered
rather a fortunate coach. Only a few weeks previously, there had been
found by the reapers, in one of Farmer Arabel's wheat-fields, mail-bags
with letters containing many thousand pounds in drafts and bills, which
had been taken by gentlemen of the road from the custody of the guard of
the "Highflyer" in the early summer. These persons had gone into the
standing wheat to divide their booty, and left there what was to them
unavailable property, or too difficult to negotiate.
In the two trips I had already taken to the metropolis, I had gone by
this curious conveyance, of which all Fairburn had something to say; but
I was now to journey even more gloriously still: so thoroughly had Mr.
Long got to be convinced that some immediate danger was imminent to
Marmaduke at the hands of his uncle, that he could not bear the least
unnecessary delay in giving him warning. We posted with four horses, and
generally at full gallop. I agree with the Great Lexicographer in
thinking that sensation very pleasurable indeed. The express-train, it
is true, goes five times as fast, but you do not feel that there is any
credit due to the steam-horse for that; you take it as a matter of
course, and would do so, no matter what exertions it should make for
you, short of bursting. But when you heard the ring of the sixteen hoofs
upon the iron road, and the sharp crack of the whips in the frosty air,
or leaned out of the window for a moment; and beheld the good steeds
smoking in your behalf, you said to yourself, or to your companion, if
you had one: "This is wonderful fine travelling." Perhaps you contrasted
such great speed with that attained by the Exeter flying-coaches in your
ancestors' time, and smiled with contemptuous pity at their five miles
an hour, stoppages excluded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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