Black Beauty
Black Beauty
Black Beauty
beauty
by Anna Sewell
Chapter 1. My first home
The first place I can remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond to
drink from and trees to give shade when it was sunny. There was a brook at one
end and beyond it a steep bank.
When I was young I drank my mother's milk as I could not yet eat grass.
In the daytime I frolicked in the field by her side or played with the other six colts
and sometimes our play got very rough.
During the spring and summer when it was warm, we slept outside, me lying
close to my mother. In the late autumn and winter when it turned cold, we slept
in a warm shed near Farmer Grey's house.
Farmer Grey was our master. He was a kind man who called my mother, Duche-
ss. And because I was dull black, he called me, Darkie.
When I was old enough to eat grass, my mother went to work on the farm or
taking the farmer and his wife to market in his little gig, but she always came
back in the evening.
One day I was playing with my friends when my mother returned from work. As
soon as she saw how rough our games were she whinnied for me to come to
her. "Beauty," she said,
"you shouldn't play boisterous games like that. Yourfriends are good colts but
they haven't yet learned good manners. You comefrom a very good family: your
father won an important race at Newmarket twoyears running and your grandm-
ther was the sweetest tempered horse in theworld. I hope you grow up to be as
gentle and good as she."
I nodded my head.
"And when you are older, always do your work with a good will, lift your feet up
well when you trot and never, ever, bite or kick."
I promised my mother I would remember her words for as long as I lived, even
though it was difficult to be good when Dick, the ploughboy, came to our field top
ick blackberries. He would soon grow bored, and to amuse himself he would
throw stones at me and the other colts to make us gallop round the meadow.We
were fast enough to dodge most of the stones, but when they hit their target
it hurt.
One day when Dick was doing this, Farmer Grey came into the field and saw
what he was up to.
He was furious. He thrust some money into the boy's hand and said,
"Here takethis and get out. I never want to see you on the farm again."
And we never saw the plough boy from that day on.
* * *
One day, just before I was two and was still running free in the field with my
friends, we heard the hounds baying.
"It's the hunt," one of my friends cried. "They've scented a hare."
As he spoke, a terrified hare lopped across the stream and streaked down the
field. A few moments later a pack of ferocious hounds crashed down the bank,
followed by seven or eight horsemen.
They thundered across the field, and I was so excited I was desperate to gallop
after them. But as I went to follow, one of the horses came tumbling to the
ground as it tried to clear the hedge between our field and the plantation beyond.
The young man in the saddle was thrown off and lay where he fell, quite still. His
horse tried to get to its feet, but slumped to the ground obviously in great pain.
The other riders dismounted. "It's young Gordon, the squire's son," I heard one
of them say. "I think his neck is broken."
"And that's Rob Roy, an old friend of mine," said my mother, nodding at the
stricken horse. "He's broken his leg by the look of him.
As we stood watching, one of the men pulled out a gun and pointed it at Rob
Roy. There was a loud flash and then a bang. Rob Roy stopped struggling and
never moved again.
A few days later we heard the church bells toll and when we looked over the
hedge we saw a line of blackdraped carriages all drawn by black horses with
black plumes on their heads, heading for the church.
There was a long, wooden box on the front carriage.
My mother looked at it, shook her head and said sadly,
"A fine horse and a fineyoung man both killed all for one little hare."
And she was so troubled that for the rest of the time I was in the meadow with
her, my mother never went to the part of the field where Rob Roy and the young
man had both died.
Chapter 2. I am Broken In
As I got older I became quite handsome. My coat took on a deep lustre and
became shiny and black all over apart from one foot which was white, a white
star on my forehead and a tiny patch of white on my back.
Several people wanted to buy me, but my master refused to sell me until I was
four because he believed that colts should not work like grown horses.
And so, just after I had turned four, he began to break me in, to get me used to
the tack I would have to wear now I was grown up and would be expected to
carry a rider, pull a carriage or do whatever my master wanted me to do, no
matter how tired or hungry.
I was very proud when I heard him say to a friend that because he was so fond
of me, he would trust no one else to do this. "I would hate him to be frightened
or hurt," he said.
The worst part was having to wear a bit and bridle, the piece of metal that horse
shave in their mouths and the leather straps attached to it.
I had seen them before, of course, as my mother always wore them when she
went out but even so, it is difficult to tell how sore it was having the metal bit
pushed into your mouth and held there by a strap. But my master did it as gently
as he could and fed me handfuls of oats to reward me for my pains.
And when I was used to it, he patted me and said,
"Good boy," over and overagain.
Once I was accustomed to the bit and bridle, I was saddled, and once reins had
been attached to the bridle my master walked me round the meadow every
morning for a week or two.
And then one day, he climbed on my back and although he was quite heavy, I
was soon trotting round the field, turning to the left or right whenever he pulled
the reins to that one side or the other.
It felt strange, but I was very proud of myself.
The very next day, he took me to the blacksmith who nailed a curved piece of
iron onto each of my hooves. They made my feet feel stiff for a while, but like the
bit, bridle, reins and saddle I soon got used to them.
Then I was taught to wear a harness, a stiff heavy collar that went round my
neck, and blinkers, pieces of leather fixed to the bridle against my eyes so that I
could only see straight ahead.
I bore everything with great patience, but I almost lost my temper when my
master fitted me with a scrupper, a stiff strap under my tail. It was so
uncomfortable that had anyone else put this on me I would have kicked him, but
I would never have kicked my master for he had been so kind to me
Now I was ready to pull a cart or carriage and often went out in a double harness
with my mother who showed me how go better than a strange horse would have.
During the time I was being broken in, my master sent me for a two weeks to an
eighbouring farmer who had a field which was skirted on one side by a railway.I
had never seen a train before, and when one roared past, smoke puffing from
its stack, I was terrified, but I soon became as accustomed to them as the cows
and sheep with whom I shared the field.
One day as we trotted along side by side, my mother said to me,
"There aremany different kinds of men in the world. Some are as good and kind
as ourmaster, but others are bad and cruel. But no matter what kind of master
you endup with, I hope you always do you best to keep up your good name."
I was old enough by now to realise that my mother was telling me this because it
was time for me to be sold.
Chapter 3. I Go to Birtwick Park
Shortly afterwards I was sold to Squire Gordon, the man whose son had been
killed during the hunt. The squire and his family lived at Birtwick Park, a fine
house that stood in the middle of a large estate.
After Farmer Grey had bid me a fond farewell and I had said goodbye to my
mother, I was taken from the farm to the Park where I was led to the stables, a
large block that had room for many horses.
The squire led me to a loose box lined with clean, fresh hay, and after he had
given me some sweet oats, patted me and left me to settle in.
I was glad that horses kept in loose boxes are not tied up but are free to do what
they please. After I had eaten, I looked around my stall and into the one beyond.
"How do you do," I said to the pretty, but fat, grey pony tethered there. "What is
your name?"
The pony turned round as far as he could, for unlike me he was tied up."Merry-
legs," he replied. "I carry the young ladies on my back. They are very fond
of me."
He stopped and looked me up and down.
"Are you to live in the loose box?" he asked.
When I said I was, he sighed. "Well I hope you are good-tempered and don't
bite."
Just then an ill-tempered-looking chestnut mare in the stall beyond said, "So it is
for you that I was turned out of my box. What has the world come to when a finel
ady like me loses her home to a colt like you?"
"I have turned no one out," I protested. "The man who bought me put me here,a
nd, as for being a colt, I am four years old and a full-grown horse."
The chestnut horse said nothing but simply turned away.
Later, after the chestnut mare had been taken out, Merrylegs told me to pay no
attention to what Ginger said. "She bites," he said. "One day she bit James
Howard, our stableboy, and now the young ladies of the house are afraid to
come in here on their own. I miss them," he added wistfully.
"Why should a horse bite anything but grass, hay and oats?" I said. "I don't, and
I can't see why Ginger does."
"It's just a bad habit," Merrylegs said. "John Manley, our groom, does all he can
to
please her, and there couldn't be a kinder stableboy than James. So it's Ginger's
own fault that she was turned out of her loose box and is now kept tethered."
The next day I was led into the yard by John Manley and given a good grooming
.Just as I was being led back into my box, my coat soft and bright, the squire
came
into the yard. "Take him out and give him a turn round the Highwood and back
by the water-mill and the river," he said. "That'll show his paces."
I remembered my mother's words and my training and did my best to give John
Manley a good ride. We started slowly, then we started trotting and cantering
and when we were on the common by Highwood, he gave me the lightest touch
of the whip and we had a splendid gallop.
"You'd like to follow the hounds, I think," he said when he pulled me up.
As we came into the park we met the squire and Mrs Gordon out walking.
"How does she go, John?" asked the squire.
"First rate, sir," answered John. "Fleet as a deer, and when we passed the mens
hooting rabbits, he didn't startle when the guns went off."
"Good, good," said the squire. "I'll take her out myself tomorrow."
We had a good ride, the squire and I, and when we came back, the mistress
was waiting for us.
"Well my dear," she said. "How do you like him?"
"He's one of the most pleasant horses I've ever ridden," he said. "All we need
now is a name for him."
"How about Ebony?" Mrs Gordon suggested. "Or Blackbird? After your uncle's
old horse."
"He's far handsomer than Blackbird ever was," said the squire. "But he's black
all right and he's beautiful."
"Then we should call him Black Beauty," said Mrs Gordon.
And that's how I got my name.
When James, the stable lad was told my name, he said to John Manley, "I'm
surprised they didn't call him Rob Roy, for never were two horses more alike."
"Little wonder," said John. "For Farmer Grey's Duchess was the mother of them
both."
So the poor horse that was killed in the hunt when I was young was my brother.
No wonder my mother was so sad. It seems that horses have no family, at least
not after they are sold.
Chapter 4. Ginger's Story
A few days later I had to go out with Ginger in the carriage. We worked well
together, both doing our fair share and keeping in step so well that John never
had to use the whip on either on us.
The next day, a Sunday it was, we were all turned out into the orchard.
There were five of us – me, Merrylegs, with whom I was now great friends,Ginge
r, who still seemed to
resent the fact that I had been given the loose box,Justice, an old roan cob used
for riding, and an old hunter, Sir Oliver, who wasnow retired but who was still a g
reat favourite with the master.
What fun it was to run free and roll in the soft grass. Even Ginger was in a good
mood and we fell into conversation.
"Where were you before you came here?" she asked.
When I told her all about my life at the farm and how kindly I had been broken,
she shook her head sadly and said, "My life has been so different, for no one
was ever kind to me."
As I listened to Ginger's story I began to think it no wonder that she was such a
bad-tempered horse. She had been taken from her mother as soon as she could
eat grass and turned into a field along with four or five other colts. "I didn't care
for them," Ginger said, "And they didn't care for me."
"There was no kind master for us," she went on. "We weren't ill-used, but thema
n who looked after us gave us food and winter shelter, and that was all. Hedid litt
le to stop local boys coming to our field and throwing stones at us. Andthat made
us wild and made us think all boys were our enemies."
"What happened when you were broken in?" I asked.
"Three or four men came into the field one day and chased me into a corner.On
e of them caught me by the hair on my forehead. Another took hold of my
nose and a third twisted my mouth open and forced a bit into it. I tried to rear
up, the pain was so bad, but they held me where I was."
When I heard this, I remembered the gentle way that Farmer Grey had fitted my
first bit into my mouth. "What happened next?" I asked.
"I was taken to a field where a man called Samson fitted a leading rein to my
bridle and made me run round and round the field until I was exhausted. One
day when I had been on the rein for hours, he put a saddle on me and climbed
on my back. I tried to buck him off, but he whipped me again and again."
I could hardly bear to listen, but there was no stopping Ginger now.
"Eventually I managed to throw him off. I galloped down the field and stood in
the hot sun, too dazed to bother about the flies buzzing around the wounds that
Samson's whip had inflicted on me.
"Later, Samson's father came into the field and gently led me to the stable. Is
napped when I saw Samson standing by the door.
"'Idiot,' said the old man. 'That was a bad day's work. A bad- tempered man willn
ever make a good-tempered horse.'"
I listened as Ginger went on to tell me how she had been sold to a London
gentleman who knew nothing about horses and only wanted them to look fancy
when they pulled his carriage.
"Fancy?"
"To ride with their heads held high all the time. And to make me do that, he had
me fitted with a bearing rein which pulls your head back all the time."
"That must agonising," I said.
Ginger nodded. "One day I could stand it no more. The rein was so tight that my
neck ached, my windpipe hurt and I could hardly breathe. I kicked and kicked as
hard as I could until I broke free. Of course, my master didn't want me after that
and sold me."
"To a kinder man, I hope."
Ginger shook her head. "No, my next master told his groom to use the bear in
grein, and the one after that, and the one after that."
"How many master have you had?" I asked.
"Far too many. I like it here, and I don't mean to be ill-tempered, but it's hard for
me not to think of men as my enemies."
As the weeks went past, Ginger and I became good friends. She became
happier and happier and her temper turned sweeter and sweeter.
"I do believe the mare is getting quite fond of me," said James one day.
"She'll soon be as good as Black Beauty," said John Manley. "Kindness is all
she needed, poor thing."
Chapter 5. The Storm
And so I settled in at Birtwick. Ginger and I were used to pull the carriage, but as
we both had racing blood in us and were both about fifteen-and-a-half hands
high, we were just as good for riding as we were for driving.
I liked nothing better than the days when we all went out. The squire always took
Ginger, and I always carried my mistress on my back. And with the young ladies
on Merrylegs and Sir Oliver, we cantered across the fields having a fine time.
My mistress was a superb horsewoman: she was light and her touch was so
gentle on the rein that I was guided almost without feeling it.
I had noticed that Sir Oliver's tail was very short, only six or seven inches long,
but it was some time before I plucked up the courage to ask him if he had had
an accident.
"Accident!" he snorted. "It was no accident. When I was young I was taken to a
place where I was tied up so tight that I could hardly move and could do
nothing to stop them cutting off my tail."
I was horrified. "Whatever did they do that for?" I asked. "It must have been
agonising."
"For fashion," said Sir Oliver. "And it was sore, but it wasn't the pain that I really
minded. That went away. It was not having anything to whisk away the flies that I
really minded. Still do, but at least docking is no longer fashionable."
"It was for fashion that I was fitted with that dreadful bearing rein," said Ginger."It
was thought stylish to have a team with their heads held high on drives round
the Park in London. And some people still fit them to their horses."
"Not so much around here any more," said Sir Oliver, "for when the master and
mistress see a horse that isn't being given its head, they try to make the driverse
e how foolish and cruel bearing reins are."
That made me even prouder of the Gordons than I already was and when, a few
days later, the master asked John to put me to the light cart as he had business
in town I nuzzled up to him affectionately.
It had been raining heavily for several days and there was a brisk wind blowing.
But we rode along at a good pace until we came to a small wooden bridge.
"I think we're in for a bad night," called the toll-keeper as we started to cross the
bridge. "The river is rising fast."
When we got to the other side, the water was lying so deep that it came up to
my
knees in places, but the master drove gently, so I was not too troubled and weso
on reached the town.
I had to wait for quite a time for my master to finish his business, so it was quite
late when we started out. The wind was blowing much harder by now, making
the trees creak and sway as it howled around them. I trotted on through swirling
leaves and deep puddles when suddenly there was a dreadful splitting sound
and a mighty oak tree crashed into the road just in front of me.
John was down in a flash.
"What's to be done, John?" called the master.
"The tree has blocked the road, sir," John replied. "We'll have to go back to the
crossroads and take the long road to the bridge. It'll add six miles to the
journey."
And so, when we got to the bridge, the sun had set and it was almost dark. As
soon as my feet were on the wood I knew something was wrong and stopped
suddenly.
"Ride on, Beauty," said my master, giving me the lightest touch of the whip, but I
refused to budge.
John got down from the cart and tried to lead me across the bridge but I dug my
hooves in and refused to move.
"Come on, Beauty," John urged me. "What's the matter?"
How I wished I could speak and not just whinny, for then I could tell him that the
bridge was unsafe.
John tugged at my bridle again, and just as he did so the toll-keeper ran out ofhi
s house on the other side of the river.
"Stay where you are," he shouted to make his voice heard. "The bridge is down
in the middle. If you try to cross you'll fall in and drown, as like as not."
"Thank God for Beauty," cried my master.
John gently turned me into a road that ran by the river and eventually took us to
the Park, where we found the gardener looking out for us.
"The mistress is in a dreadful state, sir," he said. "She's sent James out to
search for you."
"When he comes back tell him I'm safe," said the master. "Walk on, Beauty."
Mrs Gordon must have heard us coming up the drive, for even before we came
to a stop, she ran out of the front door towards us.
"Are you all right?" she cried. "You're so late I thought you must have had an
accident."
"We may well have had if it hadn't been for Beauty," said the master, jumping
down from the cart.
As he started to tell the mistress what had happened, John led me back to the
stable where he gave me a special supper of good bran mash and some
crushed
beans, and made me a bed of straw that was so thick that I fell asleep almost as
soon as I lay down on it.
Chapter 6. Good News for James
One day when John and I were on our way home after having been out on them
aster's business, we saw a boy trying to jump a pony over a gate, but the pony
refused and turned to one side.
I was horrified when the lad gave the pony a good whipping and then tried to
make him take the gate again.
This time, the pony turned the other way and was again soundly whipped.
Just as we drew level, the little horse put his head down, threw up his back heels
and sent the boy into a hedge.
"Serves him right," laughed John, watching the pony gallop off, the reins
dangling around his head.
"I say," cried the boy. "Come and help me out!"
"I think you're in the right place," called John, "and that a few scratches will
teach
you not to leap a pony over a gate that's too high for him." And with that we rode
off.
A few minutes later, as we passed a farmhouse, the farmer and his wife came
running out and signalled us to stop. "Have you seen my boy?" asked the farmer
."He went out an hour ago on my pony and it has just come back without him."
"Your pony's better off without a rider than the one we saw on him a few
minutes ago."
"What do you mean, sir?" the farmer asked.
John told him what had happened. "I love horses," he said, "and it angers me to
see them so badly treated."
"My poor Bill," cried the farmer's wife. "I must go and see if he's hurt."
"Get back into the house, woman," the farmer cried. "It's not the first time he's ill-
used that horse, nor the second. It's time he learned a lesson."
That said, he turned to John and thanked him for leaving the boy where he was.
When we got back to the Birtwick Park, John told James what had happened.
"That must be Bill Bushby," said James. "Serve him right. I knew him at school
and he was always putting on airs and graces just because he was a farmer's
son. He used to bully the little 'uns until we put a stop to it, me and the other
lads of his age.
"And he was cruel, too. Used to catch flies and pull their wings off. When he was
caught, he was sat in a corner and not allowed out at playtime for a week."
John was leading me into my box by now and sent James to get me some oats.
Just then the master came into yard, clutching a letter.
"John," he said, a worried expression on his face. "Have you ever had any
complaints to make of young James?"
"Why no, sir," said John. "He's honest, hard-working and respectful."
"And when he goes with the horses," continued the master, "have you ever
known him stop to talk to his acquaintances, or go into houses where he has no
business, leaving the horses outside?"
"Never, sir," said John. "And if anyone has been saying he has, or that James is
inany way untrustworthy, let him face me and I'll soon put him right."
Neither of them had seen that James had come into the box and that he had
heard most of what had been said. But sensing someone was there, the master
turned round.
"James, my lad," he said with a smile in his voice. "Put these oats down and
come here."
James did as he was bid.
"I'm glad that John has such a good opinion of you, for I have here a letter from
my brother-in-law, Sir Clifford Williams. His old coachman is getting feeble andSi
r Clifford wants me to find him a trustworthy young groom about twenty or
twenty-one who knows his business."
James's eyes lit up when he heard that Sir Clifford would pay eighteen shillings
a week at first while the old coachman trained him for the job, and that he would
have a stable suit, a driving suit, a bedroom of his own and a boy working for
him.
"I don't want to part with you, and I know John Manley would miss you as sure a
she would miss his right hand," said the squire.
"I wouldn't stand in the lad's way, sir," said John.
"How old are you, James?" asked the master.
"Eighteen, sir. Nineteen next May."
"That's young," said the squire. "What do you think, John."
"Why, sir, young James may be young, and although he hasn't had much driving
experience yet, he was a firm, light hand and a quick eye, and no horses will be
better looked after than any cared for by James Howard."
It was settled that James should go to Clifford Hall in about six weeks and in the
meantime he was to get a much practice in driving the carriage as possible.
I never knew the carriage being taken out so often. We drove down country lane
and town streets, at first with John on the box alongside James, but soon with
James on his own. But Ginger and I didn't mind. James had never been
anything other than kind to us and we would do anything for him.
Chapter 7. The Fire
It was during this time that the master and mistress decided to visit friends who
lived forty-six miles from Birtwick Hall and that James was to drive them.
On the first day we drove thirty-two miles, up some fairly steep hills, but Jamese
ncouraged us gently, kept our
feet on the smoothest part of the road and twiceasked the master if we could
stop to rest, Ginger and I.
It was evening when we arrived at the hotel where we were to spend the night.
James skilfully drove us under an arch into the stable yard where two ostlers
came to unharness us. The head one was a pleasant, active little man with a
crooked leg and a yellow-striped waistcoat.
He unharnessed me quickly, patting me gently as he did so, then led me into a
stable with seven or eight stalls in it, horses in three of them. James stood by as
we were rubbed down and cleaned.
The old man was very skilled and did the job so quickly that James could hardly
believe it was done when the old man said it was. But when he inspected me, he
found the job had been done perfectly.
"I thought I was quick," he said. "And John Manley quicker still, but you beat us
both."
"Practice makes perfect," said the ostler. "And I've had forty years' practice."
After he had told James the story of his life, he asked about Ginger and me, "for
better mannered, better kept horses it's hard to imagine. Who owns them?"
"Squire Gordon of Birtwick Park," said James.
"Ah, I've heard of him," said the ostler. "A fine judge of horses and one of the
best riders in the country."
"True," said James, "but he doesn't ride as much now, not since his son was kill
edriding this beauty's brother."
And as the two men left the stable, my thoughts went back to that dreadful day
when the hunt had galloped through the meadow where I had lived with my
mother.
Just before we settled down for the night, another ostler led in a traveller's horse
and while he was cleaning him a young man with a pipe in his mouth came in to
gossip.
"Run up to the loft, Towler," said the ostler, "and put some hay down this horse's
rack, will you? Only lay down your pipe."
A little later, James came in to see that we were settled for the night and then
the door was locked.
I don't know how long I slept for, but when I woke the air was thick and choking
and I could hear Ginger and the other horses coughing because of the smoke.
Suddenly someone shouted, "Fire!" and the old ostler ran into the stable. He got
one horse out but when he tried to get to the one in the next stall, he was beaten
back by the flames. Just then I heard James's quiet and cheerful voice saying,
"Come, my beauties."
He had my bridle on quick as a flash and then he tied his scarf over my eyes an
dcoaxed me out into the yard.
"Here!" he cried, untying the scarf. "Someone take this horse while I go and get
the other."
I was so scared that when I saw James run back into the blazing stable I started
to whinny. There was confusion all around. The horses clattered round the yard
as the carriages in the coach house were rolled out lest they caught fire.Window
s were being thrown open and people were shouting at the tops of their voices.
But I paid no attention. My eyes were fixed on the stable door where the smoke
poured out thicker and thicker and I could see the flames lashing the stalls.
"James Howard! Are you there?" I heard the master call, his words almost
drowned out by a loud crash from within the stable.
I started to fear the worst for James, but suddenly he came through the smoke,
leading Ginger by the bridle. She told me afterwards that it was my whinnying
that had given her the courage to come out. Had I not been making so much
noise, she would have refused to come out and would probably have burned to
death.
Chapter 8. Going for the Doctor
The rest of the journey was very easy, and a little after sunset the next day were
ached the house of my master's friend, where we spent a pleasant few days
before returning home where James had much to relate to John Manley.
After he had told John about the fire he asked if there was any news about who
was to replace him when he went to work for Sir Clifford.
"Little Joe Green at the lodge," said John
"But he's only fourteen-and-a-half," scoffed James, "and he's so small."
"But he's quick and willing and kind-hearted. And if, after six weeks, either of usd
ecides it is not going to work out,
then that will be that and the master will lookfor someone else."
The next day Joe came to the stables to learn all he could before James left. He
was taught how to sweep out the stables, to bring in the straw and hay, to clean
the harnesses and wash the carriage.
It was on Merrylegs that James let Joe practise brushing and washing a horse,a
nd my old friend complained to me that he didn't like being mauled about by a
boy who knew nothing.
But after two weeks he told me that he thought the boy would work out very
well. "He's a bright little fellow and always comes whistling to work," he said.
At last the day came when James was to go.
He was sad to leave his old friends, especially Merrylegs, but John cheered him
up and after he had come to each of us in turn and given us a handful of oats,
he was off.
Merrylegs missed him most of all. The old horse pined for several days and went
off his food, but John Manley soon got his spirits up and within a few days he
was his old self again.
It was a few days after James had left that I was awakened by the clanging of
the
stable bell. As I lay in the straw wondering what was happening, John Manley
came running into my box. "Wake up, Beauty," he cried. "Tonight we must ride
faster than we have ever ridden before, for the mistress's life depends on it."
He had the bridle on my head even as I was struggling to my feet, and as soon a
she was standing the saddle was on my back.
We rode round to the Hall where the squire was waiting for us.
"Now, John," he said, thrusting a letter into the groom's hand. "There's not a
moment to lose. Give this note to the doctor and ask him to get here as quickly
as possible. Give Beauty a rest at the inn and be back as soon as you can."
It was a beautiful night. The moon hung high in the sky, making the frost that
covered the countryside shine like the stars above. I galloped like the wind
across fields, down country lanes and over rough farm tracks, needing neither
whip nor spur to encourage me. If my mistress's life had depended on it, I would
have galloped to the ends of the earth and back, let alone the eight miles from
Birtwick Park to the doctor's house
My shoes clattered on the cobbles as we rode through the deserted streets and
the clock was striking three as we stopped outside the doctor's door.
John rang the bell again and again, and when no one came, started to thump on
it so hard that I was afraid he would break it down.
Suddenly an upstairs window flew open and Doctor White's head appeared.
"Who's that making such a commotion?" he cried, flicking the end of his night
cap from out of his eyes.
"John Manley, sir. Squire Gordon's groom," John called up. "The mistress is ill,
and I have to give you this letter. Come quick or she will surely die."
The doctor was at the front door in no time, tucking his shirt into his trousers
and struggling into his great coat. "My horse has been out all day," he said, "and
is quite exhausted. My son has just been called out and has taken the other. I'll
have to use yours."
John stroked my neck and must have felt how hot I was. "He came at a gallop all
the way, sir," he said, "and I was to give him a rest, but I think the master would
not be against it."
Then he noticed the whip in the doctor's hand. "You'll have no need of that, sir,
"he said. "Black Beauty will go till he drops."
The doctor climbed into the saddle and I could tell at once he was not a good
rider, but I rode as fast as I could and was grateful when he pulled up at the
bottom of a hill and told me to rest for a moment or two.
As soon as I had my breath back, we were off again and it wasn't too long
before reached the Park, where the master was waiting with Little Joe Green.
The two men ran into the house and Joe led me back to the stables.
I had been riding so hard for so long that my legs were shaking and I could only
stand and pant, sweat dripping off my soaking coat.
"Poor Beauty," Joe said as he rubbed me down. "Never mind, I'll take care of
you."
The lad did his best, but because I was so hot he didn't give me a blanket as he
should have done. But he did give me a pail of cold water which I drank thirstily,
although I would rather have had the warm drink that John Manley would have
given me.
When I had finished drinking, Joe gave me some hay and corn and, thinking he
had done all the right things, left the stable and went to bed.
He hadn't been gone for long when I began to shiver. Oh, how I wished I had a
warm blanket over me. I also wished that John Manley was by my side, but hew
as probably still walking the long walk back from the doctor's house.
After a long while, I heard John at the door. As soon as he saw me he gave a
cryand ran to my side. "Stupid boy," he said through clenched teeth. "No blanket
and no doubt the water in that bucket was cold when he gave it to you."
I was feeling very ill by now. I could hardly breathe and when I did my lungs felt
as if they were on fire. John nursed me day and night, and was with me when
the master came to see me.
"My poor Beauty," he said softly. "My good horse, you saved your mistress's life,
Beauty. You saved her life."
I don't know how long I was ill for. I remember the horse doctor coming and
bleeding me to lessen my fever, and after that I began to get better and I can
clearly recall the night Joe Green's father came to see me.
"I wish you'd say a kind word to Joe," he said to John Manley. "The lad is heart
broken. He knows it was his fault, but it was only because he didn't know
what to do."
I think that John must have done as he was asked, for by the time I was better,
Joe Green was back at the stables. He became so attentive and careful that
John
began to trust him, although it was seldom that he was allowed to exercise either
Ginger or me.
But one day when John was out with Justice in the luggage cart, the master
wanted a note delivered to a friend three miles away. "You can take Black
Beauty, he said. But ride carefully."
The job was soon done, but on the way back we saw a heavily laden cart, its
wheels stuck in the stiff mud of some ruts. The driver was furiously whipping the
horses.
"Stop that," cried Joe. "I'll help you lighten the load."
But the driver carried on regardless.
Joe urged me into a gallop and we headed for a house in the distance. When we
got there, Joe told the man who answered his knock what he had seen, for it
appeared that the man employed the carter.
"Thank you, my lad," said the man. "Will you give evidence before the
magistrate?"
"That I will," Joe replied.
When we got back to the stable, Joe told John Manley what had happened.
"You did right, lad," said John. "Many folk would have ridden by and said 'twas
none of their business."
I swear Joe grew an inch in height, so happy was he to have gained John
Manley's
approval, and as the months passed he became one of the finest stable
boys whoever cared for me.
Chapter 9. Goodbye to Birtwick Park
Sadly, Joe didn't look after us for long, for sad changes were about to descend
on us.
We knew the mistress was often ill, for the doctor was called to the house more
and more and as the months passed, the master smiled less and less.
Even so, none of us expected the news that fell upon us like a death knell one
day. The mistress was so weak, we heard, that she had been ordered to go and
live in a warm country for two or three years.
Miss Jessie and Flora, the Gordons' two children, were the first to go. They
cameinto the yard to say goodbye to us all, and they hugged old Merrylegs over
andover again.
My old friend was to be sold to the vicar, for his wife wanted a pony and
Merrylegs was so gentle that he was the perfect horse for the job.
I heard the master tell John that Merrylegs had been sold on condition that he
was never to be sold, and that when he became too old to work he was to be
shot and buried rather than live a painful old age. I told Merrylegs the first of
what I had heard, but thought it best not to tell him the rest.
Joe Green had been hired to take care of Merrylegs and to help in the house.
John Manley had many offers of work and eventually decided that he would like
to become a colt-breaker or horse-trainer. My master gave his faithful groom the
name and address of his agent in
London and promised that he would tell theman that he could recommend John
Manley to anyone.
Ginger and I were to be sold to an old friend of the master's, an earl who lived in
a fine estate called Earlshall Park.
Eventually the sad day came when the master and mistress were to leave.
Ginger
and I were harnessed to the carriage and taken to the Hall to carry the masteran
d mistress to the railway station. Everyone else had gone, apart from JoeGreen
and John Manley and a few servants who brought out cushions and
rugswhen we came to a halt outside the front door. When they were all arranged
, themaster came down the steps, carrying the mistress. He placed her carefully
inthe carriage while the servants stood around crying.
"Goodbye," he said. "We shan't forget any of you." And then he got in the
carriage and told John to drive on.
As we drove through the village, people came out of their houses and I heard
many of them say, "God bless them."
When we reached the station and the mistress bade John farewell, I felt the rein
stwitch, but John made no answer. Perhaps he was as moved as Joe Green
was,for the lad had taken the luggage out of the carriage and was standing close
by our heads to hide his tears.
The train puffed into the station and we watched the master carry the mistress
on board. Then the door slammed shut and the train pulled away. We waited
until all we could see was a trail of thin white smoke and then made our sad way
back to the Hall for the last time.
The next morning Ginger and I were taken to Earlshall Park.
"There are no better horses in the world," John told the earl's coachman, Mr
York. "But one thing I must tell you – we never used the bearing rein on either
of them."
"Well, I'm afraid they must wear it here. I prefer the loose rein myself, and his
lordship doesn't mind. But my lady insists on the latest style and the rein must
be tight when she rides."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said John shaking his head.
It was time for him to go. He came round and patted and spoke to us for the last
time, in a sad, sad voice. I held my face close to him, all I could do to say
goodbye.
Then he was gone and I have never seen him since.
Chapter 10. Earlshall Park
I now had a new home and a new master, and it wasn't long before I had a new
name, too, for the earl decided to call me Baron.
The day after we arrived at Earlshall, Ginger and I were harnessed to the
carriage
by Robert the groom, and as the clock struck three, we were led round to the
front of the house.
A few minutes later, I heard the rustle of silk and when I looked at the front door,I
saw a grand lady come down the steps. She looked at us coldly but said
nothing until she was in the carriage and told the coachman to walk on.
I had been fitted with a bearing rein for the first time in my life, because the
countess was a woman of style and wanted her horses to hold their heads high.
Idid not mind it too much, for although I couldn't put my head down when I
wanted to, the rein didn't pull my head any higher than I usually carried it.
But the next day, again at three o'clock, when the countess came down the
steps
to where we were waiting, she called, "York, put these horses' heads higher.
They are not fit to be seen."
York did as he had been ordered, and I understood why Ginger had hated the
bearing rein when she had been forced to wear it before Squire Gordon had
bought her. As we went up a steep hill, I found it almost impossible to pull with
my head forced back so high.
But the countess was still not satisfied, for the next day she ordered that the rein
be tightened even more. And so, day by day, hole by hole, the bearing rein was
shortened until it was so tight that, instead of looking forward to having my
harness being put on, I began instead to dread it.
At last, I thought, after there had been no more shortening for several days, the
worst was over, but I was wrong.
One day, after I had been at Earlshall for a week or two, we were harnessed and
taken to the front door at three o'clock as usual. We waited and waited until
eventually the countess came rustling down the steps, obviously agitated about
something.
"York," she cried. "We can't go to the duchess's with the horses looking like that.
Are you never going to get these horses' heads up? Raise them at once!"
York came to me first and pulled the rein so tight that the bit cut into my mouth.
Then he turned to Ginger. Knowing what was coming, Ginger began to kick out
with all her strength. She was writhing so violently that suddenly she tripped
over the carriage pole and tumbled to the ground, pulling me down with her.
York sat on her head to stop her struggling while I was set free and taken to my
stable. I was so angry and sore that for the first time in my life I would have
kicked the first person to come near me.
Before long, Ginger was led in by York.
"Confound these bearing reins," York said as he let down my head. "I knew we
would have some mischief soon. The master will be furious, and I am sure to get
the blame for the countess being late for the duchess's garden party."
The earl was angry and when he came into the stable yard I heard him tell York
he shouldn't have given way to the countess about using bearing reins.
"In that case, sir," said York, "I would prefer only to take my orders from you."
But it didn't make much difference. The next time I was harnessed for the
carriage, I had the bearing rein.
Ginger was luckier. She was never put into the carriage again. She was given tot
he earl's son as a hunter. In her place at the carriage pole was a horse calledMa
x, who was obviously used to that dreadful rein for he didn't seem to complain
about it.
"How do you bear it?" I asked him one day.
"Because I must," he replied. "Even though it is shortening my life, and will
shorten yours, too."
For four miserable months, I suffered the rein. I had never foamed at the mouth
before, but now the action of the sharp bit on my tongue and jaw made me
froth. Some people think that it is very fine to see this. "What handsome
creatures," they say when they see a team drive past, heads held high, foaming
at the mouth. But it is as unnatural for a horse as it would be for a man.
Besides that, there was the constant pressure on my windpipe and when I
returned from work, my neck and chest were strained, my mouth and tongueten
der, and I felt worn and depressed.
In my old home, John and the others had been my friends. At Earlshall, I had
none.
In the spring, York drove the earl and the countess to London, and while they
were away, I was used for riding by one of their daughters, Lady Anne. She was
afine horsewoman who rode side-saddle, as did all the lady riders.
We often went out, sometimes accompanied by a man called Blantyre who rode
a mare named Lizzie.
Blantyre often sang Lizzie's praises. "She's a wonder," he would say. "Superb to
ride and so full of life."
One day, when Blantyre and Lady Anne came into the stables, I heard her tell
the lad to put the side-saddle on Lizzie and the other one on me.
"What are you doing?" asked Blantyre.
"I plan to ride this Lizzie that you praise so much," Lady Anne replied, "to see if
she is as good as you say she is."
Blantyre tried to make her change her mind. "Please don't," he said. "She's far
too nervous for a lady."
"Don't be silly," said Lady Anne. "Now help me up."
Blantyre could see that it was useless to argue, so he helped Lady Anne into the
saddle and we set off towards the village where Blantyre had a letter to deliver.
"I won't be longer than five minutes," he said when he dismounted outside a
house and hung my reins over the gate.
"Don't hurry," said Lady Anne. "Lizzie and I won't run away."
A few moments after Blantyre had gone into the house, a boy came down the
road with a group of colts, whipping them on. One of them strayed too close to
Lizzie, who was obviously frightened. I tried to calm her down, but she was
having none of it.
Seconds later she was off, galloping down the street and out of the village.
I whinnied as loudly as I could, and Blantyre came running out of the house.
Seeing Lady Anne in the distance, he jumped into the saddle and we took off
after her.
The road ran straight for a mile and a half and then divided. Lady Anne was sofa
r away by this time that we had lost sight of her.
"Which way did the lady on the bay mare go?" Blantyre shouted at a boy
standing at the fork.
"To the right, sir. Into the park."
We galloped across the park, which was rough and uneven and full of potholes,
and were gradually closing the distance between ourselves and Lady Anne
when
we saw Lizzie race up to a stream that flowed across the park, sheltered by a
steep bank beyond.
She leapt over the water but her front hooves caught the top of the bank and
she went crashing down, throwing her rider to the ground.
"Come on, Baron," cried Blantyre. "You can do it."
With one mighty leap I cleared the stream and the bank, and no sooner were my
feet on the ground than Blantyre had pulled on the reins and brought me to a
stop.
He jumped down and ran to where Lady Anne was lying. Very gently he raised
her head so that I could see her face was deathly pale. "Dear Anne," he said
softly, "do say something."
My mistress moaned softly, and Blantyre laid her head back on the ground. "You
there," he shouted to some men who had been cutting plants nearby. "One of
you take that horse and ride to the doctor's then onto the Hall and tell them to
send a carriage as quickly as they can."
The man who climbed into my saddle was no horseman, but we made it, and
Lady Anne was brought home later that afternoon.
There was a great deal of excitement when I was taken into the stable where,
two days later, Blantyre came to see me. "There she is, the horse that saved my
Anne," he said to the groom and stroking my forehead gently. "She'll be riding
again soon, and please, I beg of you, make sure that from now on she only goes
out on Baron."
Chapter 11. I Move on Again
The earl and countess stayed in London for several weeks, and during that time
one of the men looking after us was a man called Reuben Smith. Smith was
clever and gentle, and everyone liked him, but he had one bad habit, he drank.
York had done his best to conceal Reuben's drinking from the master and
mistress, but one night he had had to drive a party home from a ball and had
been so drunk that he couldn't hold the reins and one of the gentlemen in the
party had had to mount the box and drive the ladies home.
Reuben had been dismissed, of course, and his wife and children had had to
leave the pretty cottage they had lived in by the main gate.
I learned all this from Max, for it had happened some time before Ginger and I
arrived at Earlshall, for by the time we got there, Smith had been taken back on
again after he had promised faithfully that he would never drink again.
One day, not long after Lady Anne had had her fall, Reuben took me to town on
an errand and left me at the White Lion's stables.
"Feed him and have him ready for me at four," he said.
He didn't come back till five and when he did, he told the lad that he had met
with some friends and that he'd be back at six.
"There's a loose nail in one of your horse's shoes," said the lad. "Shall I fix it
for you."
"Don't bother," slurred Smith. "I'll take care of it when we get home."
It was nine o'clock before he came for me, and when he did he was well and
truly drunk.
"Have a care, Mr Smith," the landlord called, seeing the unsteady way in which
Reuben climbed into the saddle.
Reuben answered him angrily and dug his heels into my sides to urge me on.We
were cantering while we were still in the High Street, and by the time we were
out of town, I was being whipped into a gallop.
The roads were stony, and it wasn't long before my shoe became looser and
then came off altogether. If Smith hadn't been so drunk he would have noticed
something was wrong, but all he did was curse me and whip me to go even
faster than I already was.
My foot was hurting terribly, the hoof was split and I could feel that the inside
was badly cut. I was in agony when I suddenly stumbled and fell violently on to
my knees. Smith flew over my shoulders and landed with a loud crash some
distance in front of me.
I got to my feet and limped to the side of the road. Smith made a slight effort to
rise, then groaned and slumped back to the ground and lay there
quitemotionless.
It was midnight before anyone came to look for us.
"Look, there's Baron," said a voice I recognised. It was Robert, the groom.
He came up to me and knelt down, taking my injured foot in his hands.
"He's bad in the foot," he said tenderly. "His hoof is cut to pieces and his knees
are about as bad."
Meanwhile, someone else had found Reuben. "I'm afraid he's dead," he said.
"He must have been drunk, Ned" said Robert. "No one in his right mind would
ride a horse with a shoe missing over ground like this."
I watched as they loaded Reuben's body onto a cart and then Robert very gently
bound my foot with his handkerchief and slowly led me the three miles home.
When I was safely in my stall, he gave me some corn then tied wet cloths round
my torn knees. Next he bound my foot in a poultice to clean it and draw out the
heat before the horse doctor came in the morning.
When he came, I was carefully examined. "He should be all right," he said, "but
he'll never lose the scars that will be left on his knees."
I slowly got better, and when I was able to walk I was turned out in a field to run
free until I was completely recovered. At first I was on my own and felt lonely but
one day I was overjoyed to see my old friend Ginger being let loose in the field.
My joy was short-lived for she told me that Lord George, the earl's son, hadhunt
ed her to the very limits of her endurance and she was now no longer up tothe jo
b. "And so," she said,
"here we are, both of us ruined in our prime of youthand strength – you by a dru
nkard and I by a fool."
Not long afterwards the earl and countess returned from London. The earl was
furious when he heard what had happened to us.
"Three hundred pounds flung away for no earthly reason," he thundered at York.
"But what I care about more is that my old friend, Squire Gordon, thought his
horses would be well cared for here."
He looked at Ginger. "We'll keep the mare for twelve months and see if we can
bring her back to form, but the black one must be sold. I could not have knees
like that in my stables."
"I know a man in Bath," said York. "He often wants horses at a good price, and I
know he looks after them well."
"Write to him," said the earl. "As long as he's well looked after, I don't mind how
much he fetches."
About a week later Robert came into the field and slipped a halter on my neck. I
didn't have time to nuzzle up to Ginger, but we neighed to each other as I was
led off, and she trotted along by the hedge, anxiously calling to me as long as
she could hear the sound of my feet.
Chapter 12. A Job Horse and its Drivers
I was bought by the master of a stables where horses and carriages are kept to
be rented out to whoever has the money to pay for them. I had to go by train,
which was hard at first, but I soon got used to the puffing, rushing and whistling,
and when I reached the end of my journey I was put in a comfortable stable and
was well looked after.
The only thing that troubled me was that the stalls were laid out on a slope, and
as my head was kept tied to the manger I was always on the slope, which I
found very tiring.
My new master kept a good many horses. Sometimes he drove them, and
sometimes the horse and chaise were let out to gentlemen or ladies who drove
themselves.
None of these was as good or as gentle as John Manley or Mr York. Some I call
edtight-rein drivers, who never let the reins go slack and talked about "keeping t
he horses well in". Others were loose-
rein drivers. They paid little attention to theirhorses as they drove along,
gossiping about this and that, or pointing out thesights. They let the reins drop
so loose that it was difficult not to stumble and gosideways, but they didn't seem
to notice.
Then there was the steam-engine kind of driver, who wanted us to start at fullsp
eed and shouted angrily if
the pace was slackened for as much as a moment.And when they stopped, they
hauled in the reins so suddenly that I skidded to anabrupt halt.
But there were good drivers, too. Kind men who knew about horses and how to
drive them. One of these good souls was a man called Mr Barry who took such a
liking to me that, when his doctor advised him to take more exercise, he
persuaded my master to sell me to him so that he could ride me as often as he
wanted.
Mr Barry was an unmarried gentleman who lived in lodgings in Bath. With no
stable of his own, he hired one for me near to his rooms, and took on a man
called Filcher. When I heard Mr Barry order that I should have the best hay with
plenty of oats, crushed beans and bran, I thought I was going to be well off.
For a few days all went well. Filcher kept the stable light and airy and groomed
me thoroughly, but after a while I noticed I was getting less and less oats. I had
the beans but found them mixed more and more with bran rather than oats, and
in two or three weeks this began to show in my condition.
One day, when I was not in the best of spirits, Mr Barry rode me out into the
country to visit a farmer, a friend of his.
"Your horse doesn't look nearly as well as he did when you first had him," said
the farmer.
Mr Barry agreed. "But," he added,
"my groom tells me that horses are always dullin the autumn."
"Fiddlesticks," cried the farmer. "'Tis only August in any case. This horse is not
being fed properly. You'd best check into your stable, for there are men bad
enough to rob a horse of its food."
Could I but speak, I would have told Mr Barry that the farmer was right, for every
morning Filcher brought his small son into the stable and gave him a basket full
of my oats.
My master must have checked, for a few days later just as the boy was leaving
the stable, two policemen arrived.
"We know your father keeps rabbits," I heard them say to the lad. "Show us the
place where he keeps his rabbit food."
Filcher was in my stall at the time and before he could do anything about it, his
son had led the policemen to the oat bin. "In there," he said.
They found my groom where he was, and although he denied that he had been
stealing my oats, the policemen had found the evidence of an empty bag like
that which was found full of oats in the boy's basket.
The man and boy were led away to be locked up. I heard afterwards that the boy
was not held to be guilty, but the man was sentenced to prison for two months.
My new groom arrived a few days later. Alfred Smirk was his name, and never
was a man more suitably named. He was a tall, good-looking man who spent ag
reat deal of time fixing his hair, brushing his whiskers and sorting his necktie.
And every time my master said anything to him, Smirk would say,
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir," as if my master was the most important man in the world.
Everyone thought that my master was lucky to have got Smirk, but he was a
fake– the laziest groom I have ever met. He never cleaned my feet or checked
my shoes. He hardly brushed me and never cleaned my loose box properly, only
taking a little of the dirty straw away before covering what was left with clean.
The smell became so bad that my eyes began to smart and became in flamed
and my appetite was not half of what it should have been.
One day when Mr Barry came into the stable, he noticed how foul the smell was.
"Should you not give that stall a good scrub and throw down plenty of water?" he
asked.
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" said Alfred Smirk,
"but it is dangerous to throw down water ina horse's box, for they are apt to take
cold, sir."
"Could it be the drain?" asked my master.
"Well, sir, now you mention it, I think the drain does sometimes send back a
smell."
"Then send for a bricklayer and have it seen to," ordered Mr Barry.
The builder came and could find nothing wrong, but charged my master five
shillings all the same and my stable still smelt as bad as before.
My feet became so sore from standing on moist straw that when my master took
me out I found it difficult to keep my footing.
When he mentioned this to Smirk, the groom said,
"Yes, sir! Yes, sir! I havenoticed this myself when I exercise the horse."
Now Smirk hardly exercised me at all, but he fed me as if he did and I became
heavy and dull and sometimes restless and feverish. But he was so ignorant he
did not know that a meal of green meal or bran mash would have cooled me
down, and poured all sorts of medicines down my throat, which made me feel
and uncomfortable.
One day my feet were so tender and I was feeling so out of sorts, I stumbled
when trotting with the master on my back. He led me to the blacksmith.
The man looked at my feet one by one and said,
"Your horse has got the thrush. Iwonder your groom has not seen to it."
My master asked how I could have caught such a thing.
"From standing in foul stables where the straw is never properly cleared. Send
your man round with the horse tomorrow. I will tend to hoof and tell your man
how to apply the liniment I will give him."
The next day I had my feet cleaned and soaked in strong lotion, and very
unpleasant it was too.
He told Mr Barry to make sure that all the litter was taken out of my stall every
day and the floor washed and dried before fresh straw was put down. I was to
have bran mash and a little green meal and not so much corn until my feet were
well again.
I soon regained my health, but Mr Barry was so disgusted by being deceived by
two grooms – first Filcher and now Smirk – that he decided to give up keeping a
horse and to hire one when he wanted to go out riding.
So I was kept till my feet were quite sound, and then sold again.
Chapter 13. A London Cab Horse
No doubt a horse fair is a very amusing place to those who have nothing to lose.
But to a horse, whose future is at stake, it is a very different matter.
Many people came to see me. They prodded me, felt me over, looked in my
mouth. But those who were gentlemen always turned away when they saw my
knees, saying that they couldn't have a horse with such blemishes in their
stables.
One man stopped and poked me here and poked me there so roughly that when
he made an offer of twenty-three pounds for me, I was afraid I may be sold tohi
m. But I was relieved when Mr Barry's agent said that was not enough.
A short while afterwards, a man with kind grey eyes looked me up and down and
examined me very carefully. When he spoke to me, his voice was soft and
gentle and I knew I could be happy with him.
"Easy does it, old fellow," he said tenderly, then turned to the agent and offered
twenty-four pounds for me.
"Twenty-five and he's yours," came the reply.
"Twenty-four pounds and ten shillings, and not a penny more," said the man.
"Done!" said the dealer. "And you may depend upon it that's cheap for such a
horse. And if you want him for cab work, he's a bargain."
The money was paid, and I was led to an inn where my new master had a
saddle
and bridle waiting for me. He gave me a good feed of oats, standing by me as
Iate, talking gently to me, and half-an-hour after I had finished he climbed intothe
saddle and we were on our way to London.
We rode through pleasant country lanes and roads until we came to the great
London Road which took us into the city. The gas lamps were already lit and I
could see streets to the left of me and streets to the right, streets crossing each
other: so many streets I thought we would never come to the end of them.
But after we had passed a line of cabs and my master had hailed some of the
drivers, we turned into a narrow street and stopped outside a slightly shabby
house.
My master whistled loudly and the door flew open. A young woman ran out,
followed by a girl and a boy.
"Open the gates, Harry, and bring a lantern."
The next minute they were standing round me in a small stable yard.
"Is he gentle, Father?" the little girl asked.
"Yes, Dolly. As gentle as a kitten. Come and pat him."
"Let me give him a bran mash while you rub him down," said the children's
mother.
"Do, Polly, for it's just what he wants."
Later, after I had been well fed, I laid down in my new stall. It was warm and
clean and the straw was as fresh as spring. I knew I was going to be happy.
My new owner was called Jeremiah Baker but as everyone called him Jerry I
shall
do the same. Polly, his wife, was plump, trim and tidy with smooth dark hair,dark
eyes and a merry mouth. Harry was twelve, a tall, good, well-tempered lad.His si
ster was four years younger and just like her mother. I have never known
such a happy family.
Jerry had his own cab and another horse, called Captain, who worked in the cab
all morning, while I went out in the afternoon. Jerry was a gentle as John Manley
and never once used the bearing rein, although when we went into fashionable
parts of town, I was sorry to see teams of horses pulling fine carriages, their
heads held far too high.
On the first day, Harry helped Jerry to groom me, and Polly and Dolly gave me a
slice of apple and a piece of bread and were so kind they made me feel as if I
had been the Black Beauty I once had been.
My first week as a cab horse was hard as I was not used to the noise and
crowds of London. But Jerry was a good driver and we made a fine team.
He never worked on Sundays, even though he could have charged extra money,
for he said that Sunday was a day of rest for all God's creatures. Nor would he
drive me fast, even if he was offered.
I remember one day when two wild-looking young men hailed our cab.
"Victoria Station," one of them said. "Quick as you can for we must catch a train
at one o'clock. There's an extra shilling in it for you."
"I will take you, sirs, for the regular fare, but I won't overtire my horse."
"Take my cab, sirs," said one of the other drivers. "Jerry won't go faster than as
low trot."
The two men got into the other cab and the driver whipped his horse to drive off
as fast as it could.
Jerry stroked my nose and said, "No, old boy, a shilling would not pay for that
sort of thing. Nothing would."
Chapter 14. An Old War Horse
I got to know Captain very well, and one day he told me that he had been broken
in and trained as an army horse. He had enjoyed trotting with the other horses,
turning together to the right and left, halting when the command was given, and
dashing forward to the sound of a trumpet or the signal of an officer.
"One of the worst parts was when we were put aboard a great ship to be taken
to the Crimea, where the British and French were at war with the Russians. We
could not walk off the land onto the ship, so they put great straps under our
bodies and we were swung over the water on to the deck."
"What was it like?" I asked.
"Dreadful. We were put in small stalls and for the entire voyage never saw the
sky and we were never exercised. When the wind blew, the ship rolled around
and we were badly knocked about. But at last it came to end and after we were
swung over the water again, we found ourselves on land again and we snorted
and neighed for joy."
"Did you see any fighting?" I wanted to know.
"Often!" he said. "Sometimes we had to stand around for hours waiting for the
word of command, and then we sprang forward as eagerly as if there were no
cannon balls, bayonets or bullets to be fired, for as long as we felt our rider firm
in the saddle and his hand steady on the bridle we weren't scared, even when
bomb shells whirled through the air and burst into thousands of pieces.
"My master and I came through many actions without a wound," Captain went
on. "I saw horses shot down with bullets, pierced through with lances and
gashed with fearful sabre cuts. I saw brave men cut down and I heard the cries
and groans of the dying. But my master's cheery voice made me feel as if I
could not be killed."
"He must have been a good horseman," I said.
Captain nodded. "He cantered me over ground slippery with blood and
frequently had to turn me to avoid trampling on a wounded man or horse. But In
ever felt terror until one dreadful day."
"What happened?" I asked.
"It was early one autumn morning. As usual we'd been up an hour before
daybreak ready for the day's work. There was a sense of excitement in the air,a
nd when we heard the sound of enemy gunfire, one of the officers rode up and
ordered the men to mount.
"We were at the head of the line, and as we waited for the command to move
forward, my master patted me on the neck and said, 'We shall have a day of it
today, but we'll do our duty as we have done.'
"I cannot tell all that happened that day. We were given the command to charge
several times, and by the time we made the last one we were well used to the
roar of the guns and the rattle of musket fire.
"We regrouped to make our final charge across a valley right in front of the
enemy's cannon. From the right and left and from the front, shot and shells
poured down on us. Many a brave man went down. Many a horse fell and went
without a rider and ran wildly out of line. But then, terrified of being alone,
galloped back to be among his old companions."
"No one stopped, no one turned back. Our ranks thinned as our comrades fell,
but we closed in to keep together and galloped faster and faster towards the
cannon, all clouded with smoke with red fire flashing through it."
Captain stopped for a moment as if the memory was too painful, but then he
went on.
"My dear master was cheering on his comrades, his right arm raised on high,
when a cannon ball whizzed past my head and struck him. I felt him stagger with
shock and the reins went loose as he fell from the saddle.
"I wanted to stay with him and not leave him under the rush of horse's hooves.
But it was useless. I began to tremble, as I have never trembled before, and just
then another soldier whose horse had been shot from under him, jumped up
into my saddle and urged me forward.
"But we were soon forced back, though some of the horses were so badly
wounded that they could scarcely move for loss of blood. Others were struggling
to rise to their feet, their hind legs shattered by shot. Their groans were
piteousto hear, and the look on their faces as we rode past will stay with me
forever."
"What happened to them?" I asked.
"After the battle the wounded soldiers were brought in and the dead were
buried. The badly wounded horses were all shot. The ones that had only slight
wounds were brought back and cared for, but even so for every four horses that
went out that morning, only one returned in the evening.
"I never loved any master as much as the one killed that day. I went into many
more battles and was only wounded once, but not seriously. And when the war
was over, I came back to England as sound and strong as when I went out."
"Do you know why they were fighting?" I asked.
"No! That's more than a horse can understand, but the enemy must have been
very wicked if it was right to go all that way overseas on purpose to kill them.
Chapter 15. London Life
I remember the day we were waiting at the cab stand when a young man
carrying a heavy bag slipped on a piece of orange peel lying on the pavement
and fell down heavily.
Jerry, who had been waiting for a fare, jumped down to help the man to his feet
and into a nearby shop. Ten minutes later, the man came out and asked Jerry to
take him to the South-Eastern Railway. "That fall has made me late and I have t
ocatch the twelve o'clock train."
"I'll do my best to get you there," said Jerry, "if you think you are well enough to
travel."
"I must get that train," said the young man, who looked dreadfully white and ill.
"I'll pay an extra fare."
Jerry helped the man into the cab then jumped up on the box and said, as
hetwitched the reins, "Now then, Jack, my boy. Spin along. We'll show them how
we can get over the ground."
It is always difficult to drive fast in the city in the middle of the day when the
streets are full of traffic, but Jerry and I were used to it and no one could beat us
at getting through when we were set upon it. I was quick and bold and trusted
Jerry without question.
The streets were especially busy that day, but we got on pretty well until we got
to Cheapside where the traffic was jammed.
"I think I'd better walk," called the young man. "I shall never get there if this goes
on."
"I'll do all that can be done, sir," said Jerry. "This block-up cannot last muchlonge
r and your luggage is very heavy for you to carry."
Just then the cart in front started to move and we had a good run all the way to
London Bridge, where we trotted along with lots of other cabs and carriages and
whirled into the station at eight minutes to the hour.
"You have saved me more money than I can ever pay for," said our thankful
passenger. "Take this extra half-crown."
"No, sir," said Jerry. "Thank you all the same."
He called a porter and told him to take the young man's luggage to the Dover
Line, then drove off before the man could force the half-crown on him.
When we got back to the cab stand, the other drivers began to tease Jerry about
the extra fare they had heard him being offered.
"He's a humbug," said one of them. "Remember the day he wouldn't take the
two young men from outside the inn, even although they offered him an
extrashilling."
"Look here, lads," cried Jerry. "The gentleman offered me half-a-crown, but Ididn
't take it. 'Twas quite enough for me to see how glad he was to
catch histrain. And if Jack and I choose to have a quick run now and then to
please ourselves, then that's our business and none of yours."
One day as Jerry was putting me into the shaft, a gentleman walked into the
yard.
"Your servant, sir," said Jerry.
"Good morning, Mr Barker," said the gentleman. "I should be glad to make some
arrangements with you for taking Mrs Briggs regularly to church on Sunday
mornings. We go to New Church now, and it is rather farther than she can walk
comfortably."
"Sorry, sir," said Jerry. "I only have a six-day licence."
"But you could easily alter it. I would see you did not lose by it, and I know Mrs
Briggs would rather be driven by you than anyone else."
"I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir," said Jerry, "but I had a seven-day licenc
eonce and it was too hard on me and the horses. Year in and year out, and neve
ra day's rest, never a Sunday with my wife and children, and never
able to go to church."
Mr Briggs tried and tried to persuade Jerry to change his mind, but it was no
good.
"Very well," said the gentleman. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr Barker. I will
inquireelse where."
And with that, he turned round and walked away.
When Polly came into the yard, Jerry told her what had happened.
"Mrs Briggs is a good customer," he said. "I often take her shopping or on her
calls, and she always pays me fair and honourable like the lady she is. No
beating down, or saying she's only had me for two-and-a-
half hours and not three assome folks do. And if I don't oblige her on this matter,
it is likely we shall lose theBriggs altogether."
"Jerry Barker," said Polly. "Even if you were paid a sovereign for taking them to
church, I would not have you a seven days' cabman again. I'd rather go without
than have you working on Sundays."
News that Jerry had lost one of his best customers soon spread among the
other
cabmen. Some of them thought he was a fool, but two or three stuck up for him
and there was a long argument one afternoon.
"There shouldn't be no need for cabs on Sundays," said Jerry after everyone
hadhad their say. "A good man will find a way to get about without one on a
Sunday.If his church is too far for him to walk to, then let him choose to worship
in
another closer to his home. And if it is raining, then let him wear a mackintosh to
walk to church. If a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done
without."
And none of the other cabmen had any answer to that.
Two or three weeks after this, Jerry and I came home one night to find Polly
waiting for us, obviously bursting to tell us some news.
"You'll never guess, Jerry," she said, "but Mrs Briggs sent a servant this
afternoon
to ask you to pick her up at eleven tomorrow. And when I told the girl that we
supposed the Briggs had employed someone else by now, she told me that her
master had been really angry with you for refusing to take Mrs Briggs to church
on Sunday, but that none of the other drivers they have tried are as good as you,
Jerry. Some are too fast, and some too slow. And others have cabs that are not
nearly as clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but to use you again."
"Hear that, Jack?" said Jerry, stroking my forehead. "We're to carry the gentry
again."
After this, Mrs Briggs wanted Jerry as often as before but never on a Sunday ,alt
hough we did work one Sabbath.
It happened after we had come home very late one Saturday night, both of us
looking forward to our day of rest.
In the morning when Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, Polly came out of the
house.
"What is it, my dear?" asked Jerry.
Poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter to say that her mother is dangerously ill,a
nd Dinah must go to her right away if she wishes to see her alive. But the old
lady lives more than ten miles away, and if Dinah takes a train to the nearest
station, she has a four-mile walk."
Jerry said nothing.
"She wants to know if you'll take her in the cab," said Polly. "And she promises
faithfully to pay you as soon as she has the money."
"It's not the money," said Jerry. "I don't want to lose my Sunday. I'm tired and the
horses are tired, too."
"You know we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us," said
Polly, "and though it won't be the same without you, I know that if it was my
mother who was dying, I would beg you to take me to her in the cab."
"Why, Polly," laughed Jerry, "you're as good as a minister, and as I've had my
Sunday sermon already, tell Dinah I'll be round to get her at ten o'clock. And on
the way back, call on Mr Braydon, the butcher, and ask him if he will lend me his
trap, for I know he never uses it on a Sunday, and I'm sure Jack would like a
change."
Mr Braydon's trap was a light, high-wheeled gig that felt like pulling nothing, after
a week at the cab.
It was a fine May day, and we were soon out of town. It was lovely once more to
have the sweet smells of the country in my nostrils, and the soft country roads
were a treat to trot on.
When we arrived at Dinah's mother's farmhouse, I was turned out into a
meadow where I grazed the sweet grass, rolled over and over, frolicked happily,
then lay down and dozed in the warm sunshine. It was the first time I had been
in a field since I had left poor Ginger at Earlshall.
When we got home, Polly and Dolly were in the yard. Jerry gave his little girl a
bunch of wild flowers and hawthorn he had picked for her and bound with long
sprays of ivy. She clapped her hands in delight when she saw it, and Polly smile
dgently when Jerry said to her, "Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all,
for
the birds were singing hymns in every bush and I joined in the service. And as
for Jack, he was as sprightly as a young colt less than half his age."
On cold winter days, Dolly would often run to the corner to see if Jerry and I
were
at the cab rank waiting for a fare, and if we were she would come back a few
minutes later with some hot soup or pudding that Polly had cooked.
One day, when she had brought her father a basin of soup and was standing by
his side as he ate it, a gentleman hailed him with his raised umbrella. Jerry gave
the bowl to Dolly and was about to take my cloth off, when the man cried, "No,no
! Finish your soup, my friend. I have not much time, but I can wait till you have
done and seen your little girl safely on her way."
"There, Dolly," said Jerry. "There's a real gentleman for you."
When Jerry had finished his soup and taken Dolly across the road, the gentle-
man
asked to be taken to Clapham Rise, and when we got to his house the front door
flew open and three dogs bounded down the path to greet their master. After he
had paid Jerry, he came round and patted me, which was a rare thing for a
gentleman to do. Ladies used to pat me now and then, but ninety-nine out ofone
hundred gentlemen would as soon think of patting a steam engine that
drew a train than they would of patting a cab horse.
We often carried the gentleman after that, and one day he and another man
asked us to take them to Rye Street. When we got there, the gentleman's friend
went into a shop and while we were waiting for him, we noticed a cart with two
fine horses harnessed to it standing outside a wine shop. There was no one with
them, and I never did find out how long they had been standing there, but they
must have decided that they had waited long enough for after a minute or two,
they began to move off.
They hadn't gone far when the carter came out of the shop and ran after them.
When he caught them, he took his whip and began lashing the two horses
angrily. When our gentleman saw what was happening, he ran to the carter and
cried, "If you don't stop that, I will have you taken to the magistrate for leaving
your horses unattended and for brutal conduct."
The carter had obviously been drinking, for his words were slurred as he cursed
our gentleman loudly before clambering onto the cart and taking the reins.
The gentleman took a notebook out of his pocket and, looking at the name and
address on the side of the cart, wrote something down.
"What do you want with that?" growled the driver.
But the gentleman simply nodded and smiled grimly.
By this time, his friend had finished his business and was back in the cab. "I
would have thought, Wright," he said to our gentleman as he climbed in, "that
you had enough to do already without troubling yourself with other people's
horses and servants."
"Do you know why the world is such a bad place?" said Mr Wright after a few
moments, and when his friend made no reply he went on, "It's because people
only think about their own business and won't trouble themselves to stand up
for others. And if you think I'm an interfering old busybody, then I'll tell you that
many a master has thanked me for letting him know how badly his horses have
been used."
And as we trotted to Clapham Rise I heard Jerry say to himself, "I knew I wasn't
wrong when I told Dolly that Mr Wright is a real gentleman."
One day when we were at the cab stand waiting for a fare, a shabby cab drawn
by a tired old chestnut mare drew up beside ours. Her bones were plainly
showing through her dull, ill-kept coat. Her knees were in poor condition and herf
orelegs looked unsteady.
I had been eating hay and the wind rolled some of it in her direction. I tried not
to look as the poor creature strained her long neck to get to it then turned round
to see if there was any more. There was a hopeless look in her eyes, but there
was something about her that made me think I had seen her before.
Suddenly she caught my eye and said, "Black Beauty! Is that you?"
It was Ginger, but how changed she was. Her fetlocks and legs were swollen, he
rface once so full of spirit and life was now a picture of suffering, and I could tell
by the way her sides heaved when she breathed and by her bad cough that she
was in poor health.
Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to my old friend
so we could talk. It was a sad tale she had to tell.
She had been rested for a year at Earlshall Park then sold to a gentlemen who
looked after her well at first. But one day he rode her so long and hard that the
old back strain she had developed when she had been a hunter returned.
She was sold right away, but her next owner didn't keep her for long, and so she
was sold again and again until she was bought by a man who owned several
cabs and horses which he rented to other drivers.
"The man who hires me now pays a great deal of money to the owner, so I work
every day – Sundays too."
"You used to stand up for yourself when you were ill-treated," I said.
"I did it once," Ginger sighed, "but it's no use. Men are our masters, and if they
are cruel and have no feelings, there is nothing a horse can do. You look well off
,and I'm happy for you, but I wish I was dead. And I hope to die at my work and
not be sent to the knacker's yard to be slaughtered."
I was so sad that I put my nose to hers but could think of nothing to say to make
her feel better. And just as her owner came towards us, she said, "You are the
only friend I ever had."
Her driver tugged at her mouthpiece and backed her out of the line.
A few days later a cart carrying a dead horse passed the cab stand. Its head
hung
over the back and I could see the bloodstained tongue hanging out and the open
eyes staring lifelessly at nothing. I saw it was a chestnut with a long thin neck
and a white streak down the forehead.
I think it was Ginger: I hope it was she, for if so her troubles are over and she is
at peace.
Chapter 16. The Election and Afterwards01:20
As we came into the yard one afternoon, Polly came rushing out. "Jerry!" she
cried. "Mr Bennett's been here asking about your vote and he wants to hire your
cab for the election. He'll come back for an answer."
"You can tell him my cab will be otherwise engaged for I won't have it pasted all
over with posters and I won't have Jack and Captain race about from public
house to public house to bring in half-drunken voters."
Polly looked worried.
"Don't frown so," said Jerry. "There will be plenty of work on election day."
Jerry was right.
First there was a fat gentleman with a carpet bag who wanted to go to
Bishopsgate Station.
Then we were asked by a group of people to go to Regent's Park, and after that
atimid little lady asked to be taken to her bank.
We had just set her down when a red-faced gentleman, clutching a handful ofpa
pers, came running up, shouted, "Bow Street Police Station," and jumped intothe
cab.
The streets were very full, and cabs with candidates' colours on them were
dashing through the crowd. We saw two people knocked down that day, one
awoman.
It was the first election I had seen and I never wanted to see another.
When we found time, Jerry gave me a good meal of crushed oats and bran, and
he was just about to eat a pie that Polly had given him when a poor young
woman carrying a child came along the street.
She was plainly bewildered, for she looked this way and that as if she was lost.
Eventually she came up to Jerry and asked if he could tell her where St Thomas'
s Hospital was. She told him that she had just come up from the country and had
not known the election was on. Just then the baby started crying.
"Poor little fellow," she said. "He suffers so much pain. He's four years old and
can hardly walk, but the doctor has made an appointment for him at StThomas's,
to see if he can be treated. How far is it, sir?"
"Why, missus," said Jerry. "You can't get there walking through crowds like this.
It's three miles away. You might be knocked down and the child run over. Now
get into the cab and I'll drive you there."
"No, sir," she said. "I can't do that. I have only enough money to get home."
"Look here, missus," Jerry insisted. "It's coming on to rain. I've got a wife and
children of my own, and I know how I would feel if they were in your place. Now
get in."
"God bless you, sir," the woman cried, bursting into tears.
Just then, two men with a candidate's colours in their hats and buttonholes ran
up, calling, "Cab!"
"Engaged!" said Jerry. But the men ignored him, pushed the woman aside and
sprang into the cab.
"The cab is engaged by that lady, gentlemen," Jerry said, stern as any police
man.
"Lady!" said one of the men. "She can wait. Our business is much more
important. And besides we were first in and it is our right to stay in."
"Stay as long as you want, gentlemen," said Jerry. "I can wait while you rest
yourselves." And he turned his back on them and walked up to the young
woman.
The men got out, calling Jerry all sorts of names and threatening to take him
before the magistrates before they hailed another cab that was passing.
We were soon on our way to the hospital, keeping to quiet side streets as much
as possible. When we got there, Jerry helped the woman down and rang the
hospital bell.
"Thank you a thousand times, sir," she said. "I could never have got here alone."
"You're welcome," said Jerry. "And I hope your child will soon be better."
The rain was coming down heavily now, and we were just about to go, when the
hospital door opened and a porter called, "Cab!"
The lady who came down the stairs stopped when she got to the cab and said,
"Jeremiah Barker! Is that you?"
"Indeed it is, ma'am," said Jerry. "Where can I take you?"
"To Paddington Station," she said. "And on the way you can tell me about Polly
and the children."
I learned that Polly had been the lady's maid before she had married Jerry and
had kept in touch with her over the years.
"And how do you find cab work suits you in winter," she asked after Jerry had
told her all about Polly, Harry and Dolly. "Polly was very worried about you lasty
ear."
"I did have a bad cough that wouldn't go away," Jerry said. "And Polly does
worry when I'm out in all weathers for hour after hour."
"Well, Barker," she said. "There are many places where good drivers and groom
sare wanted. And if you ever think you ought to give up this cab work, let me
know. And here," she went on, taking some coins from her purse. "There's five
shillings each for Harry and Dolly. Give it to Polly for them, she'll know what to
do with it."
Chapter 17. Jakes and the Lady
I was sold to a corn dealer whom, the Governor said, Jerry knew. With him, the
Governor thought, I should have good food and fair work.
I was well fed, that was true. But as to fair work – I was always being asked toca
rry more than I should, for frequently when I had a full load, my master wouldord
er another sack or two to be put on.
Jakes, my carter, often said it was more than I ought to take, but he was always
overruled.
"No use making two journeys when one would do," the dealer would say.
The other thing that upset me was that the drivers all used the bearing rein,
which prevented me from pulling easily, and by the time I had been there two or
three months it had begun to tell on my strength.
One day, when I was loaded more than usual and I was going up a steep hill, I
had to stop several times to catch my breath. This angered Jakes so much that
hebegan to whip me and shouted, "Get on you lazy fellow, or I'll make you."
I struggled on for a few yards then had to stop again.
Jakes began to flog me cruelly, when a lady came over to him and said,
"Pleasestop whipping your poor horse. I'm sure he is doing his best and the road
is verysteep."
"If doing his best doesn't get this load up, he must do more than his best, ma'am,
" said Jakes.
"But it's a very heavy load," protested the lady.
"I agree, but that's not my fault. We were just about to set off with what I thought
was a full load, when my foreman made me put another three hundredweighton
the cart."
He was just about to whip me again when the lady said,
"Please stop. I think I canhelp you if you'll let me."
Jakes laughed.
"He can't pull with his full power," the lady went on. "The bearing rein is holding
his head back. If you were to take it off, I'm sure he would do better," she said
persuasively.
"Anything to please a lady," said Jakes. "How far should I take it down?"
"As far as you can. Give him his head completely."
Jakes loosened the rein as far as he could. I put my head down as far as it
would
go then tossed it several times up and down to get rid of the dreadful stiffness in
my neck.
"Good fellow," said the lady, patting me on the head. "Now, if you speak kindly to
him and lead him on, I'm sure he will do better."
"Come on, Blackie," said Jakes. And I put my head down and threw my whole
weight against my collar. Using every ounce of my strength, I pulled the load
steadily up the hill and only at the top did I have to pause for breath.
The lady followed us up. "There," she said. "He was quite willing when you gave
him a chance. I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, although he hasprobabl
y seen better days. Now you won't use that rein back on, will you?"
"I can't deny it helped loosening the rein like that, ma'am," said Jakes,
"but if Iwent without a bearing rein, I'd be the laughing stock of the stables. It's
the fashion you see."
The lady told him that more and more of the gentry had given up using the
bearing rein – in fact, her own carriage horses hadn't worn them for fifteenyears.
"Surely it's
better to lead a good fashion than follow a bad one," she wenton. "But anyway, I
must detain you no longer. Thank you for trying my plan withyour good horse.
" And with another pat on my head, she was off.
"What a lady that was," said Jakes to himself. "She spoke to me as if I was a
regular gentleman. I'll try her plan, uphill at any rate."
And he did. Whenever we came to a hill, he gave me my head and I man aged
them all.
The overloading went on though. And I was getting so tired that a younger horse
was brought in in my place and I was sold to a man who had several cabs.
I think I got out just in time, for the corn merchant's stable was a badly lit place
with light coming in through just one small window at the end farthest from
my stall.
This had started to weaken my sight, and when I was brought out of the
darkness into the glare of daylight, it was sore on my eyes. Several times Is
tumbled over the threshold for I could barely see where I was going.
But fortunately I got away without any permanent damage to my eyes.
Chapter 18. Hard Times
I shall never forget my new owner, Nicholas Skinner. He had black eyes and a
hooked nose. He had more teeth than a bulldog and a voice as harsh as a
cartwheel going over gravel.
I had never known before how terrible a cab horse's life could be, but I did now,
for Nick Skinner had a bad set of cabs and a bad set of drivers. He was as hard
on his men as they were on the horses, and we worked seven days a week, no
matter what the weather was like.
I was driven by a man who used a whip that was so sharp at the end that it
sometimes drew blood.
But still I did my best and never held back, for, as Ginger had said, men are our
masters and can make us do what they want.
My life was so wretched that, like Ginger, I began to wish I would drop dead at
my work, and one day my wish nearly came true.
I had been at work since eight o'clock and had worked hard all day when my
driver took a fare to the railway station. After we had dropped them off, we
joined the line of cabs waiting for a return fare. The next train to come in must
have been crowded, for all the cabs in front of us were soon taken and we were
hailed by a party of four – a tall man, his wife, son and daughter – and a greatde
al of luggage.
The lady and the little boy got into the cab as the man busied himself organising
the luggage. The little girl walked round to the front of the cab and looked at me.
"Papa," she said,
"this horse cannot take us and our luggage so far. Look at him.He's weak and
worn out."
"Oh, he's all right, miss," said the driver. "He's strong enough."
The porter who was pulling some heavy boxes towards the cab suggested that a
sthere was so much luggage perhaps they should take a second cab.
"Can your horse do the job, or can't he?" asked the gentleman.
My driver assured him I could and helped the porter load a box on that was so
heavy I could feel the cab's springs start to strain.
"Papa, do take a second cab," the girl urged her father.
"Nonsense, Grace," he said gruffly. "Now get in at once."
My friend had no option but to obey. She climbed into the cab and once box
after box had been loaded on to the top or strapped onto the box beside the
driver, the driver jerked the reins, cracked the whip and drove out of the station.
I managed to keep going until we got to Ludgate Hill, when suddenly I slipped
and fell so heavily to the ground that the breath was knocked from me. I lay
there thinking I was about to die.
"Oh the poor horse. It is our fault," cried Grace, jumping down from the cab.
I felt someone unbuckle my throat strap then someone threw some cold water
over me and poured something sweet into my mouth.
Gradually I got my breath back and somehow staggered to my feet. I was led to
some stables nearby and given some warm gruel.
Later I was well enough to be led back to Skinner's stables and in the morning
the horse doctor came to examine me.
"This horse is badly overworked," he said. "If you could turn him out in a field for
six months and make sure he's well cared for, he'll be able to work again."
"I don't have fine fields to nurse sick horses in," said Skinner. "I work my animals
as long as they're good for and then I sell them for whatever they fetch, for dogs'
meat if I have to."
"There's nothing basically wrong with him," said the horse doctor. "There's a
horse sale coming up in ten days. If you rest him and feed him until then, you'll
get more for him than you would at the knacker's yard."
I had ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay and bran mash, and was
then taken to the fair, which was held a few miles outside London.
I knew that anything would be better than life at Skinner's, so I held up my head
and hoped for the best.
Chapter 19. A Happy Ending
I was in poor company – some of the horses were lame, some had lost theirwind
, some were old, and
others were in such poor condition that it would havebeen kinder to shoot them.
Many of the buyers and sellers were not much better than the beasts they were
bargaining for. But there were some men there I would willingly have served.The
re was one tottering old man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I
was not strong enough for him.
I don't know how long I had been there when I saw a man who looked like a
gentleman farmer coming from the part of the fair where the better horses were
being traded. He had a strong back, a kind, ruddy face and was wearing a broad
-brimmed hat.
He stopped and gave me a pitiful look. I pricked up my ears and looked at him."
There's a horse that has seen better times, Willie," he said to the boy at his side.
"Poor old fellow," said the lad. "Do you think he was a carriage horse, Grandpap
a?"
"Oh yes," said the farmer. "Look at his nostrils and ears, the shape of his neck
and shoulder. That's a well-bred horse."
The boy stroked my nose. "Could you buy him and make him young again, as
you did with Ladybird."
"Ladybird wasn't old," laughed the farmer. "She was run-down and badly used, t
hat's all."
"I don't think this one is old," said the boy. "Look at his mane and tail. And his
eyes are not sunk like some old horses."
"The young gentleman knows his horses, sir," said the man who was selling me
for Nick Skinner. "He's been overworked on the cabs and I heard the horse
doctor say that, given six months in the fields, he'd be as good as new. I've been
looking after him these ten days, and I never met a more sweet-tempered horse.
It would be well worth paying five pounds for him now, for in six months he'll be
worth twenty."
"Grandpa," cried the little boy. "You said the colt you just sold fetched five
pounds more than you expected. So you'd be no poorer if you bought this one."
The farmer felt my legs, which were swollen and strained, and then he looked in
my mouth. "I'd say he's about thirteen or fourteen. Trot him out for me, will
you?" he said to my man.
"How much will you take for him?" he asked after I had trotted as well as I could.
"Five pounds," replied my man.
"Very well," said the gentleman, counting out five sovereigns into my man's
hands.
I was led to an inn, given a good feed and ridden gently to my new home by a
servant.
Mr Thoroughgood, the man who bought me, ordered that I should have hay and
oats, night and morning, and given the run of a meadow during the day.
"I'm putting you in charge of him, Willie," he said to his grandson.
There was not a day from then on that Willie didn't come to see me, often
picking me out from the other horses and giving me a piece of carrot, or stroking
me as I ate my oats. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always
examined my legs.
"Old Crony is improving steadily, Willie," he would say. "Well done."
Rest, good food, gentle turf and exercise soon began to tell on me, and when
spring came Mr Thoroughgood harnessed me to a light cart and drove me for a
few miles. My legs were not nearly as stiff as they had been, and I trotted with
great ease.
"He's growing young, Willie," I heard my master say. "By midsummer he'll be as
good as Ladybird. We can give him a little work now, and then we'll find him ago
od home."
"Oh, Grandpapa," cried Willie, "aren't you glad you bought him?"
"Indeed I am, my boy. But he has you to thank more than me."
One day during the summer, Mr Thoroughgood's groom cleaned and dressed
me with such care that I knew something was afoot. He trimmed my fetlocks and
legs, polished my hooves and even parted my forelock.
I was harnessed to the carriage and driven to a pretty house about two miles
from the village where Mr Thoroughgood lived.
Willie waited in the carriage while Mr Thoroughgood went inside after a servant
had opened the front door. A few minutes later he came out with three ladies.On
e was tall and pale and leaning heavily on a young woman with dark eyes and
a very merry face. The third was a very stately looking woman.
"I do not think," said the tall lady,
"that I would like to be driven by a horse thathas gone down. If he fell again
when I was in the carriage, I would never get over the shock."
"But many first-rate horses have had their knees broken through no fault of their
own," said Mr Thoroughgood. "What do you think, Miss Blomefield?"
"You have always advised us well about our horses, Mr Thoroughgood. We'll tak
ehim on trial for a week, as you suggest, if our coachman likes the look of him.
I'll send him round tomorrow."
The next morning, a young man came and examined me carefully. At first he
looked pleased but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice,
"I didnot think, Mr Thoroughgood, that you would recommend a blemished horse
likethat to my ladies."
"You're only taking him on trial. And if he is not as safe as any horse you ever
drove, send him back."
I was led to my new home and put in a comfortable stable.
The next morning, when the groom was cleaning my face, he noticed the white
star on my forehead. "That's just like the star Black Beauty had," he said. "I
wonder where he is now."
Then he saw my white foot and the little patch of white hair on my back. "That's
what John Manley used to call 'Beauty's threepenny bit'. It must be Black Beauty
."
He hugged my neck and cried,
"Beauty! Do you know me? Little Joe Green thatalmost killed you the night you
brought the doctor to Mrs Gordon."
I put my nose to him and tried to say we were friends, and I never saw a man
look so pleased.
That afternoon I was harnessed to a light carriage and taken to the house.
Joe Green helped the dark-eyed lady with the merry eyes into the carriage andg
ot in alongside her. "He seems like a fine horse, Joe," she said after she haddriv
en me for a few minutes.
"Indeed he is, Miss Ellen," said Joe. "He's Squire Gordon's old Black Beauty."
"I must write to Mrs Gordon and tell her that her favourite horse has come to
us," said Miss Ellen. "She will be so pleased."
After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I seemed to be quite
safe, Miss Lavinia, the tall lady who had been nervous about taking me on,
ventured out with me in the small closed carriage.
I have now lived in this happy place for a year. Everyone calls me Black Beauty
again, and Joe Green is the best and kindest groom in the world. Willie comes to
see me quite often, and one day when he brought his grandfather, I heard Mr
Thoroughgood say to Joe that I should live to be twenty, maybe more.
My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, so I have nothing to fear.
And here my story ends. My troubles are over and often, before I am quite
awake, I dream I am still in Squire Gordon's orchard standing with my old friends
under the apple trees.