The harness was not the best in the world; some of it was leather, and some was rope and some was chain.

It was gathered together from various quarters, like the team--nobody seemed anxious to lend good harness.
Grits and thin Hector were the leaders, and Polly and old Selim were the pole-horses, so to speak.
When all the straps were buckled, and the chains hooked, and the knots tied (and this took a good while as there were only twelve men and boys to do it), Dick Ford jumped on old Selim, little Johnny Sand, as black as ink, was hoisted on Grits, and Gregory Montague, a tall yellow boy, with high boots and no toes to them, bestrode thin Hector.

Harry, Tom, and nine negroes (two more had just come into the yard) jumped on the sled.

Dick Ford cracked his whip; Kate stood on the back-door step and clapped her hands; all the darkies shouted; Tom and Harry hurrahed; and away they did not go.
Polly was not ready.
And what was more, old brown Selim was perfectly willing to wait for her.

He looked around mildly at the little mule, as if he would say: "Now, don't be in a hurry, my good Polly.