Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1862-09-02
0Nutttster @allg SPY
The Mad Cabman.


prompt. | struck at the window as loudly as
l could without breaking the glass; l kicked
at the PANELS of the door; l shouted. Sud-
denly, with tremendous bolt on the curb,
the cab stopped As the door opened cried,
''Let me out you rascal, I'll not be robbed ~
1 stepped forward to get out, but was met by
a fierce blow on the chest from the cabman,
whose eyes now literally glared with rage.
''That's enough of your mad tricks, Bedlam
Billy" he said as he thrust me back violently
into the cab; ''you want a straight vescut, you
do, and you shall have one" Then slamming
the door with a wrench that showed extraor-
binary strength, he leaped on the box, and
drove away again with fury that sent me
reeling into a corner of the seat.
Hitherto l had dreamt only of robbery
now was sure that the man who drove me
was mad-stark, staring mad. He was going
to drive me into some river, or down some
pit, or in some way or other to hurry himself
and me to a horrible death. There he was
now, standing up to drive, leaning forward to
lash on the eager horse, that, trothing with
pain, leaped with every blow of the mans
whip. | do not know why did not instantly
break both front windows and pull the man off
the box; or force open the door and throw
myself out; or, breaking all the glass, shout
to every one through the openings that the
man who was driving me had gone mad
From whatever cause it happened | know
not, but l did none of these things 1t was
now long past midnight, and l could see no
one, not even a policeman. We were fast
getting into the suburbs. The speed rendered
It almost certain death to leap out, and, more
over, for some halt or pause that would give
me an opportunity of struggling with the mad
man to whose care had so unhappily trusted
myself.
On we flew, on-the horse leaping and
plunging as if it would have broken from the
harness. We dashed down streets whose ran
dom lamps seemed to race past us; we tore
down lanes, where houses were yet but few,
except at the beginning. Now the wheels
grazed against post, and now against a gar
den WALL but still the mailman who drove me
seemed somehow or other to struggle through
all dangers, and drive on more frantcally than
before.
Once we dashed through turnpike. Some
voices screamed after us, and my driver
screamed to them in return; but what they
said, or what he said could not distinguish.
What could l do? What use was it to
threaten maniac with violence-with blows
of the fst-a man who, perhaps, imagined
himself hunted by devils, or escaping from his
would-ba murderer? His crazy suspicious
had already, doubtle S, associated me with
some old prosecutor or supernatural enemy of
his. How could l reason with him-how
could l soothe such fears? Would he not
leap at once at my throat like wild cat, and
tear my very life out?
We were now racing up long side street,
where, in the distance, to my horror, could
just discern, through the pale light of the first
daybreak, yawning pit dug for the founda-
ton of new houses. There was no railing on
the one side, and the road was mere deep
rutted lane, without limit or boundary.
l saw at once that our fate was inevitable
it came ere l could in any manner extricate
myself from the vehicle The horse, near the
deepest place, gave a plunge and reel, then
dropped, spite of the redoubled flashing of the
frantic driver-yes, fell, dragging the carriage
with it into what seemed to me, i'll that imper-
feet light, and in that whirl of my senses, a
chasm of darkness, at the bottom of which
crouched Death, waiting for his prey. There
was crash-a cry--and fell, stunned.
known not how long l lay insensible; but
when I recovered it was daybreak, faint red
light was stripping the eastern sky, and l could
see surrounding objects, though in dim, I'M
certain way. was lying beside the fallen
coach and its dead horse; the driver l could
nowhere see. My first impulse was to rouse
myself, totter on my legs, and discover where
/ was hurt, or if any bone was broken. To
sound, with the exception of a slight sprain
in my right foot-at least, so l thought at
first; but as put down my hand to touch my
injured foot heavy, red-clotted drop of
blood fell on it. lifted my hand to my fore
head, and found there deep cut, from which
the blood was oozing thickly. / instantly
took out my handkerchief and bound it tightly
around the wound, so as, if possible, to
staunch the blood till could get assistance.
But where was l, and where was the driver?
''Thank Cod" cried aloud, ''that | am at
last rid of that mailman" l looked round to
see what sort Of place the wretch had en-
shared me into.
1t was an unfinished suburban street, with
raw brick skeletons of houses stretching their
frail, dreary walls up into the misty morning
air. Some were Gagged in with scaffold poles
others had great heaps of mortar still piled up
in front of them; unfinished iron ratings
doors daubed like clowns faces, with patches
of red; windows with white circles in their
panes; gateways with gaping pits where steps
were to be, everywhere met my eyes. In front
of me, on dead wall, ''Alpha Terrace" the
name of this future paradise, was written in
staring whitewash letters. The only sound l
could hear, far or near, was the twitter of the
Weakening sparrows. | touched the horse; he
was dead, cold, and already stiffening. The
coach lay on its side, rising like wall before
me, at the bottom OF a new dug foundation,
some twelve feet from the roadway. 1t was
wonderful how had escaped.
But the wretched maniac who would have
taken my life, was he lying crushed beneath
the cab? | must rouse myself and see if
can find any trace of him, though doubtless
he believed me dead. If unhurt, he had fled
bowling and exulting, to meet with that GER
tain detection he had not cunning enough to
escape if injured, he had crawled away to
obtain help.
As these thoughts passed through my mind,
/ stepped painfully over the dead horse, and
again exclaiming, "rhank God, he is gomez
walked round to the other side of the cab,
which hitherto had been hidden from me.
Good heavens what did | see? My enc
my, the mailman, sitting down between the
upturned Wheels and his back against the
body Of the carriage, quietly cutting leather
trace into two long flexible strips. On his
face, which was smeared with blood and gore,
there was hideous smile of malice as his
eyes met mine.
"Vy, hallo Washington" he said--not ap-
pearing in the least alarmed or surprised and
continuing his task-''this is a rum start Of
yours, isn't it? Vot are you a going 10 give
me for my fare? Pm not going away Colney
Hatch, without getting paid for your mad ca
pers, so don't think 1t, Mr.. Hanwell. So now,
then, crazy Bill stump up
at is you who are mad" / said, ''and /
IN