St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in EnglandStevenson, Robert Louis
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St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
‘Any one at home?’ I said, and stooped to listen.
There came out of the interior a stifled sneeze, the first of an
uncontrollable paroxysm; another followed immediately on the heels of it;
and then the driver turned with an oath, laid the lash upon the horses
with so much energy that they found their heels again, and the whole
equipage fled down the road at a gallop.
At the first sound of the sneeze, I had started back like a man shot.
The next moment, a great light broke on my mind, and I understood. Here
was the secret of Fenn’s trade: this was how he forwarded the escape of
prisoners, hawking them by night about the country in his covered cart.
There had been Frenchmen close to me; he who had just sneezed was my
countryman, my comrade, perhaps already my friend! I took to my heels in
pursuit. ‘Hold hard!’ I shouted. ‘Stop! It’s all right! Stop!’ But
the driver only turned a white face on me for a moment, and redoubled his
efforts, bending forward, plying his whip and crying to his horses; these
lay themselves down to the gallop and beat the highway with flying hoofs;
and the cart bounded after them among the ruts and fled in a halo of rain
and spattering mud. But a minute since, and it had been trundling along
like a lame cow; and now it was off as though drawn by Apollo’s coursers.
There is no telling what a man can do, until you frighten him!
It was as much as I could do myself, though I ran valiantly, to maintain
my distance; and that (since I knew my countrymen so near) was become a
chief point with me. A hundred yards farther on the cart whipped out of
the high-road into a lane embowered with leafless trees, and became lost
to view. When I saw it next, the driver had increased his advantage
considerably, but all danger was at an end, and the horses had again
declined into a hobbling walk. Persuaded that they could not escape me,
I took my time, and recovered my breath as I followed them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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