Part IV

46 Jakes and the Lady

I was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he

thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite

right, and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think

I should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always

hurrying and driving every one, and frequently when I had quite a full

load he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name

was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other

always overruled him. “'Twas no use going twice when once would do, and

he chose to get business forward.”

Jakes, like the other carters, always had the check-rein up, which

prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three

or four months I found the work telling very much on my strength.

One day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep

uphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged

continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip

on badly. “Get on, you lazy fellow,” he said, “or I'll make you.”

Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the

whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great

cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor

sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was

so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me

cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet,

earnest voice:

“Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing

all he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best.”

“If doing his best won't get this load up he must do something more than

his best; that's all I know, ma'am,” said Jakes.

“But is it not a heavy load?” she said.

“Yes, yes, too heavy,” he said; “but that's not my fault; the foreman

came just as we were starting, and would have three hundredweight more

put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can.”

He was raising the whip again, when the lady said:

“Pray, stop; I think I can help you if you will let me.”

The man laughed.

“You see,” she said, “you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use

all his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rein; if

you would take it off I am sure he would do better--do try it,” she said

persuasively, “I should be very glad if you would.”

“Well, well,” said Jakes, with a short laugh, “anything to please a

lady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?”

“Quite down, give him his head altogether.”

The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very

knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times

to get the aching stiffness out of my neck.

“Poor fellow! that is what you wanted,” said she, patting and stroking

me with her gentle hand; “and now if you will speak kindly to him and

lead him on I believe he will be able to do better.”

Jakes took the rein. “Come on, Blackie.” I put down my head, and threw

my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load

moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take

breath.

The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the

road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many

a long day.

“You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he

is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You

won't put that rein on again, will you?” for he was just going to hitch

it up on the old plan.

“Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the

hill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am; but if

he went without a check-rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the

carters; it is the fashion, you see.”

“Is it not better,” she said, “to lead a good fashion than to follow a

bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use check-reins now; our carriage

horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less

fatigue than those who have them; besides,” she added in a very serious

voice, “we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a

very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they

cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they

have no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying

my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better

than the whip. Good-day,” and with another soft pat on my neck she

stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more.

“That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it,” said Jakes to himself;

“she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her

plan, uphill, at any rate;” and I must do him the justice to say that

he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always

gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest

will keep up one's strength under full work, but no horse can stand

against overloading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from

this cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well

mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had

heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the

evil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small

window at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost

dark.

Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much

weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness

into the glare of daylight it was very painful to my eyes. Several times

I stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going.

I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind,

and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say

that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect

sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without

any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner.

47 Hard Times

My new master I shall never forget; he had black eyes and a hooked nose,

his mouth was as full of teeth as a bull-dog's, and his voice was as

harsh as the grinding of cart wheels over graveled stones. His name was

Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor Seedy Sam drove

for.

I have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that

feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till

now the utter misery of a cab-horse's life.

Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on

the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no

Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer.

Sometimes on a Sunday morning a party of fast men would hire the cab for

the day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to

take them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and back again;

never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever

so steep, or the day ever so hot--unless, indeed, when the driver was

afraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and worn

that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran

mash with niter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in

hot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable.

Then we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday

morning we were as fresh as young horses again; but here there was no

rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip

with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he

would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head.

Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I

did my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no

use; men are the strongest.

My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger,

drop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish

very nearly came to pass.

I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share

of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was

just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the

outside cabs to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy

train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There

was a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy

and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got

into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl

came and looked at me.

“Papa,” she said, “I am sure this poor horse cannot take us and all our

luggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up. Do look at him.”

“Oh! he's all right, miss,” said my driver, “he's strong enough.”

The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the

gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a

second cab.

“Can your horse do it, or can't he?” said the blustering man.

“Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter; he could

take more than that;” and he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I

could feel the springs go down.

“Papa, papa, do take a second cab,” said the young girl in a beseeching

tone. “I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel.”

“Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don't make all this fuss; a pretty

thing it would be if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse

before he hired it--the man knows his own business of course; there, get

in and hold your tongue!”

My gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and

lodged on the top of the cab or settled by the side of the driver. At

last all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein and slash of the

whip he drove out of the station.

The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since

morning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty

and injustice.

I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy

load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on,

goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a

single moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I

fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force

with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay

perfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was

going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices,

and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I

thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, “Oh! that poor horse!

it is all our fault.” Some one came and loosened the throat strap of

my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me.

Some one said, “He's dead, he'll never get up again.” Then I could hear

a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only

draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over

my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was

covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life

coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to

rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two

attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables

which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some

warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.

In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's

stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the

morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very

closely and said:

“This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him

a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there

is not an ounce of strength left in him.”

“Then he must just go to the dogs,” said Skinner. “I have no meadows to

nurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of

thing don't suit my business; my plan is to work 'em as long as they'll

go, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch, at the knacker's or

elsewhere.”

“If he was broken-winded,” said the farrier, “you had better have him

killed out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off

in about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and

you may get more than his skin is worth, at any rate.”

Upon this advice Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that

I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me,

carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in

giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay,

bran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my

condition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were

delicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live

than go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I

was taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change

from my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and

hoped for the best.

48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie

At this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old

broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some

that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot.

The buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off

than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old

men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag

about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell

a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater

loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times

had hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have

willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but

kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering

old man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong

enough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair,

I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by

his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face,

and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions

he stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye

rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my

appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him.

“There's a horse, Willie, that has known better days.”

“Poor old fellow!” said the boy, “do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a

carriage horse?”

“Oh, yes! my boy,” said the farmer, coming closer, “he might have been

anything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape

of his neck and shoulder; there's a deal of breeding about that horse.”

He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my

nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face.

“Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness.

Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with

Ladybird?”

“My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young; besides, Ladybird was

not so very old, as she was run down and badly used.”

“Well, grandpapa, I don't believe that this one is old; look at his mane

and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell;

though he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses'.”

The old gentleman laughed. “Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old

grandfather.”

“But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask the price; I am sure he

would grow young in our meadows.”

The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word.

“The young gentleman's a real knowing one, sir. Now the fact is, this

'ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he's not an old

one, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months' run

off would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken.

I've had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller,

pleasanter animal I never met with, and 'twould be worth a gentleman's

while to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I'll

be bound he'd be worth twenty pounds next spring.”

The old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly.

“Oh, grandpapa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than

you expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one.”

The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained;

then he looked at my mouth. “Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just

trot him out, will you?”

I arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my

legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff.

“What is the lowest you will take for him?” said the farmer as I came

back.

“Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set.”

“'Tis a speculation,” said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at

the same time slowly drawing out his purse, “quite a speculation! Have

you any more business here?” he said, counting the sovereigns into his

hand.

“No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please.”

“Do so, I am now going there.”

They walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control

his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a

good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my

new master's, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner

of it.

Mr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders

that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of

the meadow during the day, and, “you, Willie,” said he, “must take the

oversight of him; I give him in charge to you.”

The boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness.

There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking

me out from among the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or

something good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He

always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond

of him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field

and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always

looked closely at my legs.

“This is our point, Willie,” he would say; “but he is improving so

steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the

spring.”

The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise,

soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good

constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young,

so that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked

before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs

improved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came

round, and one day in March Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would

try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a

few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect

ease.

“He's growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now,

and by mid-summer he will be as good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful

mouth and good paces; they can't be better.”

“Oh, grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!”

“So am I, my boy; but he has to thank you more than me; we must now

be looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be

valued.”

49 My Last Home

One day during this summer the groom cleaned and dressed me with such

extraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand; he

trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and

even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie

seemed half-anxious, half-merry, as he got into the chaise with his

grandfather.

“If the ladies take to him,” said the old gentleman, “they'll be suited

and he'll be suited. We can but try.”

At the distance of a mile or two from the village we came to a pretty,

low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front and a drive up to the

door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield or Miss Ellen

was at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr.

Thoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned,

followed by three ladies; one tall, pale lady, wrapped in a white shawl,

leaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other,

a very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They all came

and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady--that was Miss

Ellen--took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I

had such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always

be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might

come down again, and if I did she should never get over the fright.

“You see, ladies,” said Mr. Thoroughgood, “many first-rate horses have

had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers without

any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say

that is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you

incline you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what

he thinks of him.”

“You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses,” said

the stately lady, “that your recommendation would go a long way with me,

and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection we will accept your offer of

a trial, with thanks.”

It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day.

In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked

pleased; but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice:

“I didn't think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished

horse like that.”

“'Handsome is that handsome does',” said my master; “you are only taking

him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man. If he

is not as safe as any horse you ever drove send him back.”

I was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left

to myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said:

“That is just like the star that 'Black Beauty' had; he is much the same

height, too. I wonder where he is now.”

A little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled and

where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began

to look me over carefully, talking to himself.

“White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little

knot just in that place;” then looking at the middle of my back--“and,

as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used

to call 'Beauty's three-penny bit'. It must be 'Black Beauty'! Why,

Beauty! Beauty! do you know me?--little Joe Green, that almost killed

you?” And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed.

I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young

fellow, with black whiskers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew

me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up

to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so

pleased.

“Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the

rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been

badly served out somewhere; well, well, it won't be my fault if you

haven't good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see you.”

In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the

door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon

found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces.

I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire

Gordon's old “Black Beauty”.

When we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved

myself. She told them what she had just heard, and said:

“I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite

horse has come to us. How pleased she will be!”

After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared

to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close

carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my

old name of “Black Beauty”.

I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and

kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength

and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the

other day:

“In your place he will last till he is twenty years old--perhaps more.”

Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special

friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I

have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over,

and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still

in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the

apple-trees.