The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 69, July, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 69, July, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
To be sure, I had forgotten to unfasten him, and there those two men had
stood and known it all the time! I was in the wagon, so they were secure
from personal violence, but I have a vague impression of some "pet names"
flying wildly about in the air in that vicinity. Then we trundled safely
down the lane. We were to go in the direction leading away from home,--the
horse's. I don't think he perceived it at first, but as soon as he did
snuff the fact, which happened when he had gone perhaps three rods, he
quietly turned around and headed the other way, paying no more attention
to my reins or my terrific "whoas" than if I were a sleeping babe. A horse
is none of your woman's-rights men. He is Pauline. He suffers not the
woman to usurp authority over him. He never says anything nor votes
anything, but declares himself unequivocally by taking things into his own
hands, whenever he knows there is nobody but a woman behind him,--and
somehow he always does know. After Halicarnassus had turned him back and
set him going the right way, I took on a gruff, manny voice, to deceive.
Nonsense! I could almost see him snap his fingers at me. He minded my whip
no more than he did a fly,--not so much as he did some flies. Grande said
she supposed his back was all callous. I acted upon the suggestion, knelt
down in the bottom of the wagon, and leaned over the dasher to whip him on
his belly, then climbed out on the shafts and snapped about his ears; but
he stood it much better than I. Finally I found that by taking the small
end of the wooden whip-handle, and sticking it into him, I could elicit a
faint flash of light; so I did it with assiduity, but the moderate trot
which even that produced was not enough to accomplish my design, which was
to outstrip the two men and make them run or beg. The opposing forces
arrived at the pump about the same time.
Halicarnassus took the handle, and gave about five jerks. Then the Anakim
took it and gave five more. Then they both stopped and wiped their faces.
"What do you suppose this pump was put here for?" asked Halicarnassus.
"A mile-stone, probably," replied the Anakim.
Then they resumed their Herculean efforts till the water came, and then
they got into the wagon, and we drove into the blackberries once more,
where we arrived just in season to escape a thunder--shower, and pile
merrily into one of several coaches waiting to convey passengers in
various directions as soon as the train should come.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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