As soon as he was in,
notwithstanding all my tugging and hauling, he ran his nose into the
holy-water font, and drank it all up. Although I thought, that seeing
how few Christians have any religion, you could not expect much from a
donkey, yet I was very much shocked at the sacrilege, and fearful of the
consequences. Nor was it without reason, for the people in the church
were quite horrified, as well they might be, for the brute drank as much
holy-water as would have purified the whole town of Port Mahon, suburbs
and all to boot. They rose up from their knees and seized me, calling
upon all the saints in the calendar. Although I knew what they meant,
not a word of their lingo could I speak, to plead for my life, and I was
almost torn to pieces before the priest came up. Perceiving the danger I
was in, I wiped my finger across the wet nose of the donkey, crossed
myself, and then went down on my knees to the priests, crying out _Culpa
mea_, as all good Catholics do--though 'twas no fault of mine, as I said
before, for I tried all I could, and tugged at the brute till my
strength was gone. The priests perceived by the manner in which I
crossed myself that I was a good Catholic, and guessed that it was all a
mistake of the donkey's. They ordered the crowd to be quiet, and sent
for an interpreter, when I explained the whole story. They gave me
absolution for what the donkey had done, and after that, as it was very
rare to meet an English officer who was a good Christian, I was in great
favour during my stay at Minorca, and was living in plenty, paying for
nothing, and as happy as a cricket.
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