It was a fortunate circumstance that Captain Phillips was
along with his "turn out," as he calls a top-buggy that Captain Cook
brought here in 1778, and a horse that was here when Captain Cook came.
Captain Phillips takes a just pride in his driving and in the speed of
his horse, and to his passion for displaying them I owe it that we were
only sixteen minutes coming from the prison to the American Hotel--a
distance which has been estimated to be over half a mile. But it took
some fearful driving. The Captain's whip came down fast, and the blows
started so much dust out of the horse's hide that during the last half of
the journey we rode through an impenetrable fog, and ran by a pocket
compass in the hands of Captain Fish, a whaler of twenty-six years
experience, who sat there through the perilous voyage as self-possessed
as if he had been on the euchre-deck of his own ship, and calmly said,
"Port your helm--port," from time to time, and "Hold her a little free
--steady--so--so," and "Luff--hard down to starboard!" and never once
lost his presence of mind or betrayed the least anxiety by voice or
manner. When we came to anchor at last, and Captain Phillips looked at
his watch and said, "Sixteen minutes--I told you it was in her! that's
over three miles an hour!" I could see he felt entitled to a compliment,
and so I said I had never seen lightning go like that horse. And I never
had.
The landlord of the American said the party had been gone nearly an hour,
but that he could give me my choice of several horses that could overtake
them.
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