I acquiesced, and sank fainting to a stone. On the strength of
my boy's diagnosis we rubbed it, and found that it hurt still more. Then
diving into a cottage, I brought out a piece of wood, three inches wide
and twenty inches long, placed my arm on it, bade my boy take off one of
my puttees from one of my legs, used it as a bandage, and trudged on
again.
Not realizing that my arm was broken, in the evening I determined to
chastise the animal in a manner becoming to my disgust. Mounting at the
foot of a long hill, I laid on the stick as hard as I could, and found
that my pony had a remarkable turn of speed. At the brow of the hill was
a twenty-yard dip, at the base of which was a pond.
Down, down, down we went, and, despite my full strength (with the left
arm) at its mouth, the pony plunged in with a dull splash, only to find
that his feet gave way under him in a clay bottom. He could not free
himself to swim. Farther and farther we sank together, every second
deeper into the mire, when just at the moment I felt the mud clinging
about my waist, and I had visions of a horrible death away from all who
knew me, I plunged madly to reach the side.
With one arm useless, it is still to me the one great wonder of my life
how I escaped.
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