The Parson’s Secret Ringer
When a local sexton entered a decrepit, bony carriage horse into a high-stakes town race, nobody expected the old animal to outrun the finest steeds in Snohomish.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
There were horses and colts like statues at play, dancing and tossing their rippled manes, while wagons and gigs ranged about as fashion flaunted her gay turnout. Then, back behind the rest, a cart and wagon rudely pressed. The person's lean and bony bay stood harnessed in his one-horse alley, lent to the sexton for the day. He was a wreck of what was once a steed—scant-maned, sharp-incited, and shaky-kneed. Sportsmen and bettors knew him not, and yet they say he once could trot among the fleetest of the town, 'til something elected and broke him down. The sexton, longing in his sleeve, led forth the horse. Unhitched the breeching from a shaft, unclasped the rusty belt and mouth, and stripped the mane, setting him free. He stood there, his coat rough, his tail thin. A youngster threw his leg across, and so, his race, his heck, began as he reached the track. The old horse neared the judge’s stand, and at the call, a fire thrilled every limb. The race was on! The old horse, once famous, thundered past them all. He beat the rest! He won the trot no mortal could explain. Some said, 'Old Dutchman come again!' The parson's horse had won the bet, and back in the one-horse shay he went, the sexton wondering if the funeral had been a trick or if the corpse had driven it double-quick.
“The race was on! The old horse, once famous, thundered past them all. He beat the rest! He won the trot no mortal could explain.”
Long before the Snohomish River was a destination for modern recreation, the town’s social life centered on the spectacle of the track and the eccentric characters who turned everyday labor into legend. This story captures the spirit of early Snohomish, where the divide between the elite with their 'gay turnouts' and the humble working man was bridged only by the unpredictable speed of a 'broken down' horse.
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