How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Years | Page 8

hint from the deacon, he swung himself and the cumbrous old

sleigh into line and began to straighten himself for the coming brush.
Now, Jack was, as I have said, a horse of huge proportions, and needed
"steadying" at the start, but the good deacon had no experience with the
"ribbons," and was, therefore, utterly unskilled in the matter of driving.
And so it came about that Old Jack was so confused at the start that he
made a most awkward and wretched appearance in his effort to get off,
being all "mixed up," as the saying is, so much so that the crowd roared
at his ungainly efforts and his flying rivals were twenty rods away
before he had even got started. But at last he got his huge body in a
straight line and, leaving his miserable shuffle, squared away to his
work, and with head and tail up went off at so slashing a gait that it
fairly took the deacon's breath away and caused the crowd that had
been hooting him to roar their applause, while the parson grabbed the
edge of the old sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall black hat
with the other.
What a pity, Mr. Longface, that God made horses as they are, and gave
them such grandeur of appearance and action, and put such an eaglelike
spirit between their ribs, so that, quitting the plodding motions of the ox,
they can fly like that noble bird and come sweeping down the course as
on wings of the wind.
It was not my fault, nor the deacon's, nor the parson's, either, please
remember, then, that awkward, shuffling, homely-looking Old Jack was
thus suddenly transformed by the royalty of blood, of pride and of
speed given him by his Creator from what he ordinarily was into a
magnificent spectacle of energetic velocity.
With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, the few hairs in it streaming
straight behind, one ear pricked forward and the other turned sharply
back, the great horse swept grandly along at a pace that was rapidly
bringing him even with the rear line of the flying group. And yet so
little was the pace to him that he fairly gamboled in playfulness as he
went slashing along, until the deacon verily began to fear that the
honest old chap would break through all the bounds of propriety and
send his heels anticly through his treasured dashboard. Indeed, the
spectacle that the huge horse presented was so magnificent and his

action so free, spirited and playful, as he came sweeping onward that
the cheers, such as "Good heavens! see the deacon's old horse!" "Look
at him! look at him!" "What a stride!" ran ahead of him; and old Bill
Sykes, a trainer in his day, but now a hanger-on at the village tavern, or
that section of it known as the bar, wiped his watery eyes with his
tremulous fist, as he saw Jack come swinging down, and, as he swept
past, with his open gait, powerful stroke and stifles playing well out,
brought his hand down with a mighty slap against his thigh, and said:
"I'll be blowed if he isn't a regular old timer!"
It was fortunate for the deacon and the parson that the noise and
cheering of the crowd drew the attention of the drivers ahead, or there
would surely have been more than one collision, for the old sleigh was
of such size and strength, the good deacon so unskilled at the reins, and
Jack, who was adding to his momentum with every stride, going at so
determined a pace, that had he struck the rear line with no gap for him
to go through, something serious would surely have happened. But as it
was, the drivers saw the huge horse, with the cumbrous old sleigh
behind him, bearing down on them at such a gait as made their own
speed, sharp as it was, seem slow, and "pulled out" in time to save
themselves; and so, without any mishap, the big horse and heavy sleigh
swept through the rear row of racers like an autumn gust through a
cluster of leaves.
[Illustration: "_Jack was going nigh to a thirty clip!_"]
But by this time the deacon had become somewhat alarmed, for Old
Jack was going nigh to a thirty clip--a frightful pace for an
inexperienced driver to ride--and began to put a good strong pressure
upon the bit, not doubting that Old Jack, ordinarily the easiest horse in
the world to manage, would take the hint and immediately slow up. But
though the huge horse took the hint, it was in exactly the opposite
manner that the deacon intended he should, for he interpreted the little
man's steady pull as an intimation that