328 MEMORIES OF MEN AND HORSES 



("Jack" was some years my junior.) 



He moves off, and I strike a match. It goes out, 

 and the suspense is prolonged. Now another. This 

 one burns bravely ; it is touching the fuse. Fizz ! the 

 fuse is lighted. Away we run down the road as hard as 

 we can go, while the steady fizzing of the fuse still 

 sounds in our ears. We have got some two hundred 

 yards and must needs look back. There it is, spitting 

 its sparks yet ! It is a supreme moment watching those 

 sparks, and expecting the event, with nerves strung to 

 the utmost tension. Will it never come ? There it is ! 

 And with a terrific report and a blaze of light the thing 

 is done, and all is still. 



On this we rush frantically back to the spot to see 

 what has resulted. There is the gate in fragments over 

 the road, and the post, split in four, lying in the form of 

 a Maltese cross ! Nothing could be better. We hastily 

 clear the road, so that it may be safe for traffic, and then 

 away in breathless haste, for the outraged Peckitt must 

 have heard this even in his bed, which is not far off, and 

 with his myrmidons may be nigh at hand. 



Soon the next victim is reached, and the match deftly 

 applied ; once more the flight, and the delirious joy of ex- 

 pectation, as the squib-like fuse spits on. Bang ! What 

 a noise ! By Jove ! what is that ? Something went 

 whizzing overhead, and fell on the road beyond us, but 

 we heed it not now, so intent are we to see the state in 

 which the gate has been left. This post has been shat- 

 tered to fragments and lies, none can say where ; but the 

 gate itself is on the road, not much injured. No matter ; 

 throw it into the ditch, out of the way, and come on. 



Two or three hundred yards down the road " Jack " 

 stumbles over something. 



