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.