One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India — John Shaqi
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for IndiaStrang, Herbert
History
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; India -- History -- 18th century -- Juvenile fiction
The girl--a fair, rosy-cheeked, merry-eyed damsel of fifteen or
thereabouts--left the horses’ heads and entered the carriage with her
mother. Desmond made a rapid examination of the harness to see that all
was right; then he mounted the box and drove off. The noise of the
rumbling wheels penetrated the besotted intelligence of the struggling
men; they scrambled to their feet, looked wildly about them, and set off
in pursuit. But they had no command of their limbs; they staggered
clumsily this way and that, and finally found their level in the slimy
ditch that flanked the road.
Desmond whipped up the horses in the highest spirits. He had hoped for a
hit in a farmer’s cart; fortune had favoured him in giving him four
roadsters to drive himself. And no boy, certainly not one of his
romantic impulses, but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladies
in distress, and on a spot known far and wide as the scene of perilous
adventure.
The carriage was heavy; the road, though level, was thick with autumn
mud; and the horses made no great speed. Desmond, indeed, durst not
urge them too much, for the mist was thickening, making the air even
darker than the hour warranted; and as the roadway had neither hedge nor
wall to define it, but was bounded on each side by a ditch, it behoved
him to go warily. He had just come to a particularly heavy part of the
road where the horses were compelled to walk, when he heard the thud of
hoofs some distance behind him. The sound made him vaguely uneasy. It
ceased for a moment or two; then he heard it again, and realized that a
horse was coming at full gallop. Instinctively he whipped up the
horses. The ladies had also heard the sound; and, putting her head out
of the window, the elder implored him to drive faster.
Could the two besotted knaves have put the horseman on his track, he
wondered. They must believe that the carriage had been run away with,
and in their tipsy rage they would seize any means of overtaking him
that offered. The horseman might be an inoffensive traveller; on the
other hand, he might not. It was best to leave nothing to chance. With
a cheery word, to give the ladies confidence, he lashed at the horses
and forced the carriage on at a pace that put its clumsy springs to a
severe test.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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