How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Years | Page 9

his driver was getting over his
flurry and beginning to treat him as a horse ought to be treated in a race,
and that he could now, having got settled to his work, go ahead. And go
ahead he did. The more the deacon pulled the more the great animal felt

himself steadied and assisted. And so, the harder the good man tugged
at the reins, the more powerfully the machinery of the big animal ahead
of him worked, until the deacon got alarmed and began to call upon the
horse to stop, crying, "Whoa, Jack, whoa, old boy, I say! whoa, will
you, now? that's a good fellow!" and many other coaxing calls, while
he pulled away steadily at the reins. But the horse misunderstood the
deacon's calls as he had his pressure upon the reins, for the crowds on
either side were yelling and hooting and swinging their caps so that the
deacon's voice came indistinctly to his ears at best and he interpreted
his calls for him to stop as only so many encouragements and signals
for him to go ahead. And so, with the memory of a hundred races
stirring his blood, the crowds cheering him to the echo, the steadying
pull, the encouraging cries of his driver in his ears and his only rival,
the pacer, whirling along only a few rods ahead of him, the monstrous
animal, with a desperate plunge that half lifted the old sleigh from the
snow, let out another link, and, with such a burst of speed as was never
seen in the village before, tore along after the pacer at such a terrific
pace that, within the distance of a dozen lengths, he lay lapped upon
him and the two were going it nose and nose.
What is that feeling in human hearts which makes us sympathetic with
man or animal, who has unexpectedly developed courage and capacity
when engaged in a struggle in which the odds are against him? And
why do we enter so spiritedly into the contest and lose ourselves in the
excitement of the moment? Is it pride? Is it the comradeship of courage?
Or is it the rising of the indomitable in us that loves nothing so much as
victory and hates nothing so much as defeat? Be that as it may, no
sooner was Old Jack fairly lapped on the pacer, whose driver was
urging him along with rein and voice alike, and the contest seemed
doubtful, than the spirit of old Adam himself entered into the deacon
and the parson both, so that, carried away by the excitement of the race,
they fairly forgot themselves and entered as wildly into the contest as
two ungodly jockeys.
[Illustration: "_Go it, old boy!_"]
"Deacon Tubman," said the parson, as he clutched more stoutly the rim

of his tall hat, against which, as the horse tore along, the snow chips
were pelting in showers, "Deacon Tubman, do you think the pacer will
beat us?"
"Not if I can help it! not if I can help it!" yelled the deacon, in reply, as,
with something like a reinsman's skill, he lifted Jack to another spurt.
"Go it, old boy!" he shouted, encouragingly, "go along with you, I say!"
And the parson, also, carried away by the whirl of the moment, cried,
"Go along, old boy! Go along with you, I say!"
This was the very thing, and the only thing, that the huge horse, whose
blood was now fairly aflame, wanted to rally him for the final effort;
and, in response to the encouraging cries of the two behind him, he
gathered himself together for another burst of speed and put forth his
collected strength with such tremendous energy and suddenness of
movement that the little deacon, who had risen and was standing erect
in the sleigh, fell back into the arms of the parson, while the great horse
rushed over the line amid such cheers and roars of laughter as were
never heard in that village before. Nor was the horse any more the
object of public interest and remark,--I may say favoring remark,--than
the parson, who suddenly found himself the centre of a crowd of his
own parishioners, many of whom would scarcely have been expected to
participate in such a scene, but who, thawed out of their iciness by the
genial temper of the day and vastly excited over Jack's contest,
thronged upon the good man, laughing as heartily as any jolly sinner in
the crowd.
So everybody shook hands with the parson and wished him a happy
New Year, and the parson shook hands with everybody and wished
them all many happy returns; and everybody praised Old Jack and
rallied the deacon on his driving, and then everybody went home
good-natured and happy, laughing