"I just came down . . ." he mumbled after a while.

"Well, then, now you're here I will land that pony for you at once,
and you can lead him home. I really don't want him on deck. He's in the
way."

Almayer seemed doubtful. I insisted:

"Why, I will just swing him out and land him on the wharf right in front
of you. I'd much rather do it before the hatches are off. The little
devil may jump down the hold or do some other deadly thing."

"There's a halter?" postulated Almayer.

"Yes, of course there's a halter." And without waiting any more I leaned
over the bridge rail.

"Serang, land Tuan Almayer's pony."

The cook hastened to shut the door of the galley, and a moment later a
great scuffle began on deck. The pony kicked with extreme energy, the
kalashes skipped out of the way, the serang issued many orders in a
cracked voice. Suddenly the pony leaped upon the fore-hatch. His little
hoofs thundered tremendously; he plunged and reared. He had tossed his
mane and his forelock into a state of amazing wildness, he dilated his
nostrils, bits of foam flecked his broad little chest, his eyes blazed.
He was something under eleven hands; he was fierce, terrible, angry,
warlike; he said ha! ha! distinctly; he raged and thumped--and sixteen
able-bodied kalashes stood round him like disconcerted nurses round a
spoiled and passionate child. He whisked his tail incessantly; he arched