Under this steady though rapid anticipation of the evil which _might_ be
gathering ahead, ah, reader! what a sullen mystery of fear, what a sigh of
woe, seemed to steal upon the air, as again the far-off sound of a
wheel was heard! A whisper it was--a whisper from, perhaps, four miles
off--secretly announcing a ruin that, being foreseen, was not the less
inevitable. What could be done--who was it that could do it--to check the
storm-flight of these maniacal horses? What! could I not seize the reins
from the grasp of the slumbering coachman? You, reader, think that it would
have been in _your_ power to do so. And I quarrel not with your estimate of
yourself. But, from the way in which the coachman's hand was viced between
his upper and lower thigh, this was impossible. The guard subsequently
found it impossible, after this danger had passed. Not the grasp only, but
also the position of this Polyphemus, made the attempt impossible. You
still think otherwise. See, then, that bronze equestrian statue. The cruel
rider has kept the bit in his horse's mouth for two centuries. Unbridle
him, for a minute, if you please, and wash his mouth with water. Or stay,
reader, unhorse me that marble emperor; knock me those marble feet from
those marble stirrups of Charlemagne.
The sounds ahead strengthened, and were now too clearly the sounds of
wheels. Who and what could it be? Was it industry in a taxed cart? Was it
youthful gaiety in a gig? Whoever it was, something must be attempted to
warn them. Upon the other party rests the active responsibility, but upon
_us_--and, woe is me! that _us_ was my single self--rest the responsibility
of warning. Yet, how should this be accomplished? Might I not seize the
guard's horn? Already, on the first thought, I was making my way over the
roof to the guard's seat. But this, from the foreign mails being piled upon
the roof, was a difficult, and even dangerous attempt, to one cramped by
nearly three hundred miles of outside travelling. And, fortunately, before
I had lost much time in the attempt, our frantic horses swept round an
angle of the road, which opened upon us the stage where the collision must
be accomplished, the parties that seemed summoned to the trial, and the
impossibility of saving them by any communication with the guard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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