The Story of John G. Paton; Or, Thirty Years Among South Sea CannibalsPaton, John Gibson
Religion
The Story of John G. Paton; Or, Thirty Years Among South Sea Cannibals
Paton, John Gibson
Missions -- Vanuatu; Paton, John Gibson, 1824-1907
To me, it was a vast surprise to discover that I could sit more easily
on this wild flying thing than when at a canter or a trot. At every turn
I expected that he would dash himself and me against the great forest
trees; but instinct rather than my hand guided him miraculously.
Sometimes I had a glimpse of the road, but as for the "notches," I never
saw one of them; we passed them with lightning speed. Indeed, I durst
not lift my eyes for one moment from watching the horse's head and the
trees on our track. My high-crowned hat was now drenched, and battered
out of shape; for whenever we came to a rather clear space, I seized the
chance and gave it another knock down over my head. I was spattered and
covered with mud and mire.
Crash, crash, went the thunder, and on, on, went "Garibaldi" through the
gloom of the forest, emerging at length upon a clearer ground with a
more visible pathway. Reaching the top of the slope, a large house stood
out far in front of us to the left; and the horse had apparently
determined to make straight for that, as if it were his home. He skirted
along the hill, and took the track as his own familiar ground, all my
effort to hold him in or guide him having no more effect than that of a
child. By this time, I suspect, I really had lost all power. "Garibaldi"
had been at that house, probably frequently before; he knew those
stables; and my fate seemed to be instant death against door or wall.
Some members of the family, on the outlook for the Missionary, saw us
come tearing along as if mad or drunk; and now all rushed to the
veranda, expecting some dread catastrophe. A tall and stout young groom,
amazed at our wild career, throwing wide open the gate, seized the
bridle at great risk to himself, and ran full speed, yet holding back
with all his might, and shouting to me to do the same. We
succeeded--"Garibaldi" having probably attained his purpose--in bringing
him to a halt within a few paces of the door. Staring at me with open
mouth, the man exclaimed, "I have saved your life. What madness to ride
like that!" Thanking him, though I could scarcely by this time
articulate a word, I told him that the horse had run away, and that I
had lost all control.
Truly I was in a sorry plight, drenched, covered with mud, and my hat
battered down over my eyes; little wonder they thought me drunk or mad!
Finally, as if to confirm every suspicion, and amuse them all,--for
master, mistress, governess, and children now looked on from the
veranda,--when I was helped off the horse, I could not stand on my feet!
My head still went rushing on in the race; I staggered, and down I
tumbled into the mud, feeling chagrin and mortification; yet there I had
to sit for some time, before I recovered myself, so as either to rise or
to speak a word. When I did get to my feet, I had to stand holding by
the veranda for some time, my head still rushing on in the race. At
length the master said, "Will you not come in?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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