Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAILMAN'S RIDE by ANONYMOUS

First Line: I SCANNED THE DARK AND LOWERING SKY
Last Line: I THINK OF THAT WILD RIDE
Subject(s): ANIMALS;CRIMES & CRIMINALS;DECEPTION;HORSES;POSTAL SERVICE; POSTMEN;POST OFFICE;MAIL;MAILMEN;
I SCANNED the dark and lowering sky
That lined the sullen west,
And wondered if the storm would break
Ere I reached home and rest.
I'd ridden long and far that day
From dawn to setting sun,
My horse was failing in his strides
And he was all but done.

The air was still and sweltering hot,
The road-dust thick and red,
No wind to stir the silent trees,
And all bush life seemed dead.
Great storm-clouds gathered in the west,
Now ominous and black;
I dreaded lest the storm should sweep
And raise the creek to torrents deep
Upon my homeward track.

I had some miles to travel yet
And still some creeks to cross
And anxiously with heel and spur
I urged my weary horse;
The wind now started sighing through
The tall gums overhead—
A horseman galloped down the slope,
A led horse pulling on the rope,
And stopped on just ahead.

He pulled up in a cloud of dust,
His horses flecked with foam,
And said, "I thought I'd meet you back
A few miles nearer home.
There is no time to lose!" he said
While springing to the ground—
He changed the saddle off the hack
And placed it on the other's back
And then turned quickly round:

"Jump on this horse and gallop on
As fast as you can ride,
Your wife's took bad, the doctor's there—
You're wanted home," he cried.
"I'll take the mailbags and your horse,
But mount and do not wait,
Don't spare the horse but travel fast,
The horse is fresh and he will last,
Or you may be too late."

I mounted then and wheeled around
And galloped up the rise,
A deep foreboding in my heart
And salt tears in my eyes.
I wondered what was wrong at home
And if I'd be in time,
I forced along the gallant steed,
His racing hoofs seemed slow indeed
When on the long hill climb.

We crossed the hilltops as the storm,
Long threatening, now came down,
And well I knew the creek would flood
Betwixt me and the town.
No torrents wild nor rushing streams
Would stop me winning through;
With anxious thoughts to spur me on,
A willing horse to ride upon,
No slackening rein I drew.

The sweeping storm raged through the trees,
The blinding rain beat hard
And cracking trees and rending limbs
Endangered every yard;
I heeded not the howling storm
Nor roaring creek below,
I noticed not the lightning bright
Nor yet the darkness of the night,
But faster tried to go.

We reached the grassy banks that guide
The deep creek on its course
And down the slippery bank I rode,
The swirling stream to cross;
The mountain torrent rushing down
Was turbulent and black—
No time to falter or to think,
A moment's pause upon the brink:
In plunged the gallant hack.

I tried to keep his head upstream
And face the rushing tide
As we were sweeping down and fought
To reach the other side;
I'd slipped from off the saddle's seat
To give the horse a show;
With firm hand on the bridle rein,
The other twisted in his mane,
We reached the bank below.

The timbered bank was thick and dense
And difficult to climb
I helped the horse and led him through
And lost but little time.
I mounted as I reached the road
And off again we flew.
The flashing lightning lit the way—
It was at times as bright as day—
And we were winning through.

We swept along the timbered flat
(The flat was in a flood)
And galloped up the sloping rise
And floundered through the mud;
Just one more creek to cross and then
We're on the homeward track,
But on the bank I held my breath,
To try to cross seemed courting death
But I could not hold back.

The raging water, black and wild,
Was thick with drifting wood,
The white foam-caps were whirling down
And circling where we stood;
A death-trap surely this last creek,
Its seething waters high:
The chances seemed against us here—
The game horse showed no sign of fear
As logs went sweeping by.

He faced the stream and, plunging in,
Was caught by current strong
And whirled around and overturned
As we were swept along.
He fought the current inch by inch
To reach the other bank,
And 'mid the debris rushing down
I thought at times we both would drown—
And near the end he sank.

A big bend in the winding creek
Saved both as we were done—
The horse got footing on the bank
And then the fight was won.
Exhausted for a while we lay
Upon the dank wet ground,
Both thankful for the short respite,
For death came close to us that night
When we were whirling round.

At last I reached the little home,
And all seemed dark within;
No sign to tell me how things were,
I softly tiptoed in.
The little lamp was burning low
Upon the mantel bare,
The wife and youngsters sleeping sound,
I turned the light and looked around—
No sign of sickness there.

And shivering in my soaking clothes
I gazed upon the bed,
And with a start the wife woke up.
"You're late, Jack dear," she said.
"I thought you'd stay back at the pub
And come at break of day.
I didn't keep your supper warm.
Whatever made you face the storm?
And the mailbags—where are they?"

The mailbags! I remembered then
The big amount of cash
I carried with the mail that day—
The truth came in a flash:
Some miscreant knew about it all,
And made a plan to steal
The cash, and with the "sick wife" ruse
He gave no time to talk or choose,
He knew just how I'd feel.

I lost the contract for the mails,
And ever since that day
I've longed to meet that man again,
But he got clean away.
They found the bags but not the cash
When they searched far and wide.
The man? No trace in any form—
And when I see a coming storm
I think of that wild ride.



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