I have been in my life several times taken in, besides to-night, by these waters.
Thank you again, dear gracious moon! She's very bright just now. There is a large tract of blue in the heavens over which, for at least the next twenty minutes, she may travel without being "capped by a cloud;" so I shall have time to look around me. I am nearly in the centre of the pond; the water is perfectly tranquil, except when it bobs against my chin, disturbed by the movement of my head. Lord help me! suppose I should die here!—as, if nobody come to my assistance, I certainly shall.
On my first ascertaining the character of my position, recollecting that horse-ponds are generally in the neighbourhood of towns or farms, I hallooed so lustily that I found my voice grow husky; so I determined to reserve it for a better occasion—I mean in case any persons should approach—Heaven send them! This would be a comfortless bed to die in!
A huge frog has just discovered me; and he sits amongst the weeds below the opposite bank, croaking out his speculations as to what I can be. He stares earnestly; so do I. He takes my eye for a challenge—he is a frog of courage, however, for he plunges into the water, swims towards me, and plants himself directly opposite to my face. He croaks; I answer very naturally, for the water has qualified my voice. The frog stares again: "The voice is the voice of Esau, but the form is Jacob's." Now he very gravely swims entirely round my head, and then again plants himself in front. I laugh aloud; he backs a little. I open my eyes very wide at him; he returns the compliment. My chin splashes the water about him; he takes fright and disappears.
Hark! there are certainly footsteps in the neighbourhood. Halloo!—ough!—ah!—mercy upon me! my voice is quite gone, and I shall be compelled to live in this horse-pond the remainder of my days. Who will feed me, I wonder: the rat will not be so civil to me as the ravens were to Elijah; and I have affronted the frog. Ha! the footsteps come nearer—and nearer. 'Tis a man—I see him—a groom—I'll call. Hallook!—ouk!—cro-ak!
"D—n your croaking soul!" quoth the vagabond; and he flings a huge stone at my head.
Despair and distraction! what shall I do? Die! No, that's cowardly: I'll live bravely; that is, if I can. The fellow is gone, and "I am all alone!" Alone! What do I hear? Voices—yes; they come—most sweet voices. A gentleman and the rascally groom aforesaid.
"You have not dragged this pond to-night," says the master.
"Indeed, sir, we did,—from one end of it to the other," replies the fellow: "see how the weeds are disturbed."
"You lie, you rascal! you did not, or you would have found me there," said I.