"Are you ready, my son?" he asked, returning and mounting beside him.
"Quite."
"Forward, then!"
The two horses broke into a trot. "Ugh," exclaimed Tristram, bobbing
up and down.
"I told you we must go faster. Stick your knees tightly into the
saddle--so."
The wind and the night began to race by Tristram's ears as his horse
leapt forward. The motion became easier, but the pace was terrifying
to a desperate degree; for it seemed that he sat upon nothing, but
was being whirled through the air as from a catapult at the heels of
his father, who pounded furiously through the darkness a dozen
yards ahead. For three minutes at least he felt at every stride an
extreme uncertainty as to his chances of realighting in the saddle.
It reminded him of cup-and-ball, and he reflected with envy that the
ball in that game is always attached to the cup with a string.
At the end of ten minutes Captain Salt reined up, and Tristram's
horse, after being carried past for twenty yards by his mere impetus,
stopped of his own accord and to his rider's intense satisfaction.
"Look," said the Captain, pointing to the sky behind them, which was
now illumined by a broad scarlet glare.
"What is that?"
"One of the ships on fire.
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