I looked
over: "What is it?"
"Don't let them break his legs," he entreated me, plaintively.
"Oh, nonsense! He's all right now. He can't move."
By that time the cargo-chain had been hooked to the broad canvas belt
round the pony's body; the kalashes sprang off simultaneously in all
directions, rolling over each other; and the worthy serang, making a
dash behind the winch, turned the steam on.
"Steady!" I yelled, in great apprehension of seeing the animal snatched
up to the very head of the derrick.
On the wharf Almayer shuffled his straw slippers uneasily. The rattle of
the winch stopped, and in a tense, impressive silence that pony began to
swing across the deck.
How limp he was! Directly he felt himself in the air he relaxed every
muscle in a most wonderful manner. His four hoofs knocked together in a
bunch, his head hung down, and his tail remained pendent in a nerveless
and absolute immobility. He reminded me vividly of the pathetic little
sheep which hangs on the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece. I had
no idea that anything in the shape of a horse could be so limp as that,
either living or dead. His wild mane hung down lumpily, a mere mass of
inanimate horsehair; his aggressive ears had collapsed, but as he went
swaying slowly across the front of the bridge I noticed an astute gleam
in his dreamy, half-closed eye.
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