This also gave me a
chance to shift my seat a bit, for the edges of the kegs were nipping my
calves cruelly. The beach below us was like the wicked place in a
priest's sermon--black as pitch and full of cursing--and by this time
all alive with lanterns; but they showed us nothing. There was no more
firing, though, and I saw no lights out at sea, so I hoped my father had
managed to push off and make for the lugger.
We were now on a grassy down at the head of the cliff, and my mare,
after starting again at a canter which rattled me abominably, passed
into an easy gallop. I declare that except for my fears--and now, as
the chill of the wind bit me, I began to be horribly afraid--it was like
swinging in a hammock to the pitch of a weatherly ship. I was not in
dread of falling, either; for her heels fell so lightly on the turf that
they persuaded all fear of broken bones out of the thought of falling;
but I _was_ in desperate dread of those thundering tub-carriers just
behind, who seemed to come down like a black racing wave right on top of
us, and to miss us again and again by a foot or less. The _weight_ of
them on this wide, empty down--that was the nightmare we seemed to be
running from.
We passed through an open gate, then another; then out upon hard road
for half-a-mile or so (but I can tell you nothing of the actual distance
or the pace), and then through a third gate.
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