Almayer again raised his head and in the accents of a man accustomed to the buffets of evil fortune asked hardly audibly: 

“I suppose you haven’t got such a thing as a pony on board?”

I told him almost in a whisper, for he attuned my communications to his minor key, that we had such a thing as a pony, and I hinted, as gently as I could, that he was confoundedly in the way too.  I was very anxious to have him landed before I began to handle the cargo.  Almayer remained looking up at me for a long while with incredulous and melancholy eyes as though it were not a safe thing to believe my statement.  This pathetic mistrust in the favourable issue of any sort of affair touched me deeply, and I added: 

“He doesn’t seem a bit the worse for the passage.  He’s a nice pony too.”

Almayer was not to be cheered up; for all answer he cleared his throat and looked down again at his feet.  I tried to close with him on another tack.

“By Jove!” I said.  “Aren’t you afraid of catching pneumonia or bronchitis or something, walking about in a singlet in such a wet fog?”

He was not to be propitiated by a show of interest in his health.  His answer was a sinister “No fear,” as much as to say that even that way of escape from inclement fortune was closed to him.

“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 spoilt and passionate child.  He whisked his tail incessantly; he arched his pretty neck; he was perfectly delightful; he was charmingly naughty.  There was not an atom of vice in that performance; no savage baring of teeth and lying back of ears.  On the contrary, he pricked them forward in a comically aggressive manner.  He was totally unmoral and lovable; I would have liked to give him bread, sugar, carrots.  But life is a stern thing and the sense of duty the only safe guide.  So I steeled my heart and from my elevated position on the bridge I ordered the men to fling themselves upon him in a body.