St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in EnglandStevenson, Robert Louis
General
St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
Our outriders were quick to remark and imitate the manoeuvre, and came
flying after us with a vast deal of indiscriminate shouting; so that the
fine, sober picture of a carriage and escort, that we had presented but a
moment back, was transformed in the twinkling of an eye into the image of
a noisy fox-chase. The two postillions and my own saucy rogue were, of
course, disinterested actors in the comedy; they rode for the mere sport,
keeping in a body, their mouths full of laughter, waving their hats as
they came on, and crying (as the fancy struck them) Tally-ho!’ ‘Stop,
thief!’ ‘A highwayman! A highwayman!’ It was otherguess work with
Bellamy. That gentleman no sooner observed our change of direction than
he turned his horse with so much violence that the poor animal was almost
cast upon its side, and launched her in immediate and desperate pursuit.
As he approached I saw that his face was deadly white and that he carried
a drawn pistol in his hand. I turned at once to the poor little bride
that was to have been, and now was not to be; she, upon her side,
deserting the other window, turned as if to meet me.
‘O, O, don’t let him kill me!’ she screamed.
‘Never fear,’ I replied.
Her face was distorted with terror. Her hands took hold upon me with the
instinctive clutch of an infant. The chaise gave a flying lurch, which
took the feet from under me and tumbled us anyhow upon the seat. And
almost in the same moment the head of Bellamy appeared in the window
which Missy had left free for him.
Conceive the situation! The little lady and I were falling—or had just
fallen—backward on the seat, and offered to the eye a somewhat ambiguous
picture. The chaise was speeding at a furious pace, and with the most
violent leaps and lurches, along the highway. Into this bounding
receptacle Bellamy interjected his head, his pistol arm, and his pistol;
and since his own horse was travelling still faster than the chaise, he
must withdraw all of them again in the inside of the fraction of a
minute. He did so, but he left the charge of the pistol behind
him—whether by design or accident I shall never know, and I dare say he
has forgotten! Probably he had only meant to threaten, in hopes of
causing us to arrest our flight. In the same moment came the explosion
and a pitiful cry from Missy; and my gentleman, making certain he had
struck her, went down the road pursued by the furies, turned at the first
corner, took a flying leap over the thorn hedge, and disappeared across
country in the least possible time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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