'
I wasn't a-goin' to lose her, I warn't such a brute, you bet,
As to leave her to die by inches o' hunger, and cold, and wet;
I never said now't to the missus--we both on us liked her well--
But I takes her the follerin' Sunday down to the Grand Canell.
I gets her tight by the collar--the Lord forgive my sin!
And, kneelin' down on the towpath, I ducks the poor beast in.
She gave just a sudden whine like, then a look comes into her eyes
As 'ull last forever in mine, sir, up to the day I dies.
And a chill came over my heart then, and thinkin' I heard her moan,
I held her below the water, beating her skull with a stone.
You can see the mark of it now, sir--that place on the top of 'er 'ed--
And sudden she ceased to struggle, and I fancied as she was dead.
I shall never know how it happened, but goin' to lose my hold,
My knees slipped over the towpath, and into the stream I rolled;
Down like a log I went, sir, and my eyes were filled with mud,
And the water was tinged above me with a murdered creeter's blood.
I gave myself up for lost then, and I cursed in my wild despair,
And sudden I rose to the surfis, and a su'thing grabbed at my hair,
Grabbed at my hair and loosed it, and grabbed me agin by the throat,
And she was a-holdin' my 'ed up, and somehow I kep' afloat.
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