The Amateur Gentleman

Over Westminster Bridge and down the Borough galloped Barnabas, on

through the roaring din of traffic, past rumbling coach and creaking

wain, heedless of the shouts of wagoners and teamsters and the

indignant cries of startled pedestrians, yet watchful of eye and

ready of hand, despite his seeming recklessness.

On sped the great, black horse, his pace increasing as the traffic

lessened, on and on along the Old Kent Road, up the hill at New

Cross and down again, and so through Lewisham to the open country

beyond.

And now the way was comparatively clear save for the swift-moving

lights of some chaise or the looming bulk of crawling market-wagons:

therefore Barnabas, bethinking him always of the long miles before

him, and of the remorseless, creeping fingers of Natty Bell's great

watch, slacked his rein, whereat "The Terror," snorting for joy,

tossed his mighty crest on high and, bounding forward, fell into his

long, racing stride, spurning London further and further into the

dimness behind.

Barnabas rode stooped low in the saddle, his watchful eyes scanning

the road ahead, a glimmering track bordered by flying hedges, and

trees that, looming ghost-like in the dusk, flitted past and, like

ghosts, were gone again. Swift, swift sped the great, black horse,

the glimmering road below, the luminous heaven above, a glorious

canopy whence shone a myriad stars filling the still night with

their soft, mysterious glow: a hot, midsummer night full of a great

hush, a stillness wherein no wind stirred and upon whose deep

silence distant sounds seemed magnified and rose, clear and plain,

above the rhythmic drumming of "The Terror's" flying hoofs. Presently,

out of the dimness ahead, lights twinkled, growing ever brighter and

more numerous and Bromley was before him; came a long, paved street

where people turned to stare, and point, and shout at him as he

flashed by, and Bromley was behind him, and he was out upon the open

road again where hedge, and barn, and tree seemed to leap at him from

the dark only to vanish in the dimness behind.

On swept the great, black horse, past fragrant rick and misty pool,

past running rills that gurgled in the shadows, by wayside inns

whence came the sound of voices and laughter with snatches of song,

all quickly lost again in the rolling thunder of those tireless

galloping hoofs; past lonely cottages where dim lights burned, over

hill, over dale, by rolling meadow and sloping down, past darkling

woods whence breathed an air cool and damp and sweet, on up the long

ascent of Poll Hill and down into the valley again. Thus, in a while,

Barnabas saw more lights before him that, clustering together, seemed

to hang suspended in mid-air, and, with his frowning gaze upon these

clustering lights, he rode up that long, trying hill that leads into

the ancient township of Sevenoaks.