A more
unpromising night for a journey it was hard to conceive. But in
the course of the afternoon the horses had been well roughed; and
King (for such was the name of the shock-headed lad) was very
positive that he could drive us without misadventure. He was as
good as his word; indeed, despite a gawky air, he was simply
invaluable in his present employment, showing marked sagacity in
all that concerned the care of horses, and guiding us by one short
cut after another for days, and without a fault.
The interior of that engine of torture, the covered cart, was
fitted with a bench, on which we took our places; the door was
shut; in a moment, the night closed upon us solid and stifling; and
we felt that we were being driven carefully out of the courtyard.
Careful was the word all night, and it was an alleviation of our
miseries that we did not often enjoy. In general, as we were
driven the better part of the night and day, often at a pretty
quick pace and always through a labyrinth of the most infamous
country lanes and by-roads, we were so bruised upon the bench, so
dashed against the top and sides of the cart, that we reached the
end of a stage in truly pitiable case, sometimes flung ourselves
down without the formality of eating, made but one sleep of it
until the hour of departure returned, and were only properly
awakened by the first jolt of the renewed journey.
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