“Well, when we got to town, the tide was high, and the vessel jist ready to cast off, and Steve, knowin’ how skeer’d pony was of the water, got off to lead him, but the critter guessed it warn’t a bridge, for he smelt salt water on both sides of him, and ahead too, and budge he wouldn’t. Well, they beat him most to death, but he beat back agin with his heels, and it was a drawd fight. Then they goes to the fence and gets a great strong pole, and puts it across his hams, two men at each eend of the pole, and shoved away, and shoved away, till they progressed a yard or so; when pony squatted right down on the pole, throwd over the men, and most broke their legs, with his weight.
“At last, the captain fetched a rope, and fixes it round his neck, with a slip knot, fastens it to the windlass, and dragged him in as they do an anchor, and tied him by his bridle to the boom; and then shoved off, and got under weigh.
“Steve and I sot down on the wharf, for it was a beautiful day, and looked at them driftin’ out in the stream, and hystin’ sail, while the folks was gettin’ somethin’ ready for us to the inn.
“When they had got out into the middle of the channel, took the breeze, and was all under way, and we was about turnin’ to go back, I saw the pony loose, he had slipped his bridle, and not likin’ the motion of the vessel, he jist walked overboard, head fust, with a most a beautiful splunge.
“‘A most refreshin’ time,’ said I, ‘Elder, that critter has of it. I hope that sinner will be saved.’
“He sprung right up on eend, as if he had been stung by a galley nipper, did Steve, ‘Let me alone,’ said he. ‘What have I done to be jobed, that way? Didn’t I keep within the strict line o’ truth? Did I tell that Frenchman one mossel of a lie? Answer me, that, will you? I’ve been cheated awful; but I scorn to take the advantage of any man. You had better look to your own dealin’s, and let me alone, you pedlin’, cheatin’ Yankee clockmaker you.’
“‘Elder,’ sais I, ‘if you warn’t too mean to rile a man, I’d give you a kick on your pillion, that would send you a divin’ arter your hoss; but you ain’t worth it. Don’t call me names tho’, or I’ll settle your coffee for you, without a fish skin, afore you are ready to swaller it I can tell you. So keep your mouth shut, my old coon, or your teeth might get sun-burnt. You think you are angry with me; but you aint; you are angry with yourself. You know you have showd yourself a proper fool for to come, for to go, for to talk to a man that has seed so much of the world as I have, bout “refreshin’ time,” and “outpourin’ of spirit,” and “makin’ profession” and what not; and you know you showd yourself an everlastin’ rogue, a meditatin’ of cheatin’ that Frenchman all summer. It’s biter bit, and I don’t pity you one mossel; it sarves you right. But look at the grave-digger; he looks to me as if he was a diggin’ of his own grave in rael right down airnest.’
“The captain havin’ his boat histed, and thinkin’ the hoss would swim ashore of hisself, kept right straight on; and the hoss swam this way, and that way, and every way but the right road, jist as the eddies took him. At last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston’s pint, and they wheeled him right round and round like a whip-top. Poor pony! he got his match at last. He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged and fort, like a man, for dear life. Fust went up his knowin’ little head, that had no ears; and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore; but there was no bottom there; nothin’ for his hind foot to spring from; so down he went agin ever so deep: and then he tried t’other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had no tail; but there was nothin’ for the fore feet to rest on nother; so he made a summerset, and as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full stretch of his hind legs.
“Poor feller! it was the last kick he ever gave in this world; he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him for ever.
“I railly felt sorry for the poor old ‘grave-digger,’ I did upon my soul, for hosses and ladies are two things, that a body can’t help likin’. Indeed, a feller that hante no taste that way ain’t a man at all, in my opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor ‘grave-digger,’ though I didn’t feel one single bit so for that cantin’ cheatin’, old Elder. So when I turns to go, sais I, ‘Elder,’ sais I, and I jist repeated his own words—‘I guess it’s your turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the bargain, and no mistake. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all tongue, ain’t they? But these French is a simple people, so they be; they don’t know nothin’, that’s a fact. Their priests keep ‘em in ignorance a puppus.