 CHAPTER 18 Going for the Doctor One night, a few days after James had left, I had eaten my hay, and was lying down in my straw, fast asleep, when I was suddenly roused by the stable bell ringing very loud. I heard the door of John's house open, and his feet running up to the hall. He was back again in no time. He unlocked the stable door and came in, calling out, Wake up, beauty, you must go well now, if ever you did. And almost before I could think, he had got the saddle on my back and the bridle on my head. He just ran round for his coat, and then took me at a quick trot up to the hall door. The squire stood there with a lamp in his hand. Now, John, he said, ride for your life—that is, for your mistress's life—there is not a moment to lose. Give this note to Dr. White, give your horse a rest at the inn, and be back as soon as you can. John said, yes, sir, and was on my back in a minute. The gardener, who lived at the lodge, had heard the bell ring, and was ready with the gate open, and away we went through the park and through the village, and down the hill till we came to the toll gate. John called very loud and thumped upon the door, the man was soon out and flung open the gate. Now, said John, do you keep the gate open for the doctor, here's the money. And off he went again. There was before us a long piece of level road by the riverside. John said to me, now beauty, do your best. And so I did. I wanted no whip nor spur, and for two miles I galloped as fast as I could lay my feet to the ground. I don't believe that my old grandfather, who won the race at Newmarket, could have gone faster. When we came to the bridge, John pulled me up a little and patted my neck. Well done, beauty, good old fellow, he said. He would have let me go slower, but my spirit was up, and I was off again as fast as before. The air was frosty, the moon was bright, it was very pleasant. We came through a village, then through a dark wood, then uphill, then downhill, till after eight miles run we came to the town, through the streets and into the marketplace. It was all quite still except the clatter of my feet on the stones, everybody was asleep. The church-clock struck three as we drew up at Dr. White's door. John rang the bell twice, and then knocked at the door like thunder. A window was thrown up, and Dr. White, in his night-cap, put his head out and said, What do you want? Mrs. Gordon is very ill, sir. Master wants you to go at once. He thinks she will die if you cannot get there. Here is a note. Wait, he said, I will come. He shut the window and was soon at the door. The worst of it is, he said, that my horse has been out all day and is quite done up, my son has just been sent for, and he has taken the other. What is to be done? Can I have your horse? He has come at a gallop nearly all the way, sir, and I was to give him a rest here, but I think my master would not be against it if you think fit, sir. All right, he said, I will soon be ready. John stood by me and stroked my neck. I was very hot. The doctor came out with his riding-whip. You need not take that, sir, said John. Black beauty will go until he drops. Take care of him, sir, if you can. I should not like any harm to come to him. No, no, John, said the doctor. I hope not. And in a minute we had left John far behind. I will not tell about our way back. The doctor was a heavier man than John and not so good a rider, however I did my very best. The man at the toll gate headed open. When we came to the hill the doctor drew me up. Now, my good fellow, he said, take some breath. I was glad he did, for I was nearly spent, but that breathing helped me on, and soon we were in the park. Joe was at the lodge gate. My master was at the hall door, for he had heard his coming. He spoke not a word. The doctor went into the house with him, and Joe led me to the stable. I was glad to get home. My legs shook under me, and I could only stand and pant. I had not a dry hair on my body. The water ran down my legs, and I steamed all over, Joe used to say, like a pot on the fire. Poor Joe, he was young and small, and as yet he knew very little, and his father, who would have helped him, had been sent to the next village. But I am sure he did the very best he knew. He rubbed my legs and my chest, but he did not put my warm cloth on me. He thought I was so hot I should not like it. Then he gave me a pail full of water to drink. It was cold and very good, and I drank it all. Then he gave me some hay and some corn, and thinking he had done right, he went away. Soon I began to shake and tremble, and turned deadly cold. My legs ached, my loins ached, and my chest ached, and I felt sore all over. Oh, how I wished for my warm, thick cloth as I stood and trembled. I wished for John, but he had eight miles to walk, so I lay down in my straw and tried to go to sleep. After a long while I heard John at the door. I gave a low moan, for I was in great pain. He was at my side in a moment, stooping down by me. I could not tell him how I felt, but he seemed to know it all. He covered me up with two or three warm cloths, and then ran to the house for some hot water. He made me some warm gruel, which I drank, and then I think I went to sleep. John seemed to be very much put out. I heard him say to himself over and over again, Stupid boy, stupid boy, no cloth put on, and I dare say the water was cold, too. Boys are no good. But Joe was a good boy, after all. I was now very ill. A strong inflammation had attacked my lungs, and I could not draw my breath without pain. John nursed me night and day. He would get up two or three times in the night to come to me. My master, too, often came to see me. My poor beauty, he said one day. My good horse, you saved your mistress's life, beauty. Yes, you saved her life. I was very glad to hear that, for it seems the doctor had said if we had been a little longer it would have been too late. John told my master he never saw a horse go so fast in his life. It seemed as if the horse knew what was the matter. Of course I did, but John thought not. At least I knew as much as this that John and I must go at the top of our speed, and that it was for the sake of the mistress. CHAPTER XIX Only Ignorance. I do not know how long I was ill. Mr. Bond, the horse doctor, came every day. One day he bled me. John held a pale for the blood. I felt very faint after it, and thought I should die, and I believe they all thought so, too. Ginger and Mary-legs had been moved into the other stable, so that I might be quiet, for the fever made me very quick of hearing. Any little noise seemed quite loud, and I could tell everyone's footstep going to and from the house. I knew all that was going on. One night, John had given me a draft. Thomas Green came in to help him. After I had taken it and John had made me as comfortable as he could, he said he should stay half an hour to see how the medicine settled. Thomas said he would stay with him, so they went and sat down on a bench that had been brought into Mary-legs' stall, and put down the lantern at their feet, that I might not be disturbed with the light. For a while both men sat silent. And then Tom Green said, in a low voice, I wish, John, you'd say a bit of a kind word to Joe. The boy is quite broken-hearted, he can't eat his meals, and he can't smile. He says he knows it was all his fault, though he is sure he did the best he knew, and he says if beauty dies no one will ever speak to him again. It goes to my heart to hear him. I think you might give him just a word. He's not a bad boy. After a short pause, John said slowly, You must not be too hard upon me, Tom. I know he meant no harm. I never said he did. I know he is not a bad boy. But you see, I am sore myself. That horse is the pride of my heart to say nothing of his being such a favourite with the master of mistress. And to think that his life may be flung away in this manner is more than I can bear. But if you think I'm hard on the boy, I will try to give him a good word to-morrow. That is, I mean, if beauty is better. Well, John, thank you. I knew you did not wish to be too hard, and I'm glad you see it was only ignorance. John's voice almost startled me as he answered, Only ignorance? Only ignorance? How can you talk about only ignorance? Don't you know that it is the worst thing in the world next to wickedness, and which does the most mischief heaven only knows? If people can say, Oh! I did not know. I did not mean any harm. They think it is all right. I suppose Martha Mullwash did not mean to kill that baby when she dosed it with Dalby and soothing syrups. But she did kill it, and was tried for manslaughter. And serve her right too, said Tom. A woman should not undertake to nurse attend a little child without knowing what is good and what is bad for it. Bill Starkey, continued John, did not mean to frighten his brother into fits when he dressed up like a ghost and ran after him in the moonlight. But he did, and that bright, handsome little fellow that might have been the pride of any mother's heart is just no better than an idiot, and never will be if he lives to be eighty years old. You were a good deal cut up yourself, Tom, two weeks ago, when those young ladies left your hot-house door open with a frosty east wind blowing right in. You said it killed a good many of your plants. A good many, said Tom. There was not one of the tender cuttings that was not nipped off. I shall have to strike all over again, and the worst of it is that I don't know where to go to get fresh ones. I was nearly mad when I came in and saw what was done. And yet, said John, I am sure the young ladies did not mean it. It was only ignorance. I heard no more of this conversation, for the medicine did well and sent me to sleep, and in the morning I felt much better. But I often thought of John's words when I came to know more of the world. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Joe Green went on very well. He learned quickly, and was so attentive and careful, that John began to trust him in many things. But, as I have said, he was small of his age, and it was seldom that he was allowed to exercise either ginger or me. But it so happened one morning that John was out with justice in the luggage cart, and the master wanted a note to be taken immediately to a gentleman's house about three miles distant, and sent his orders for Joe to saddle me and take it, adding the caution that he was to ride steadily. The note was delivered, and we were quietly returning when we came to the brick field. Here we saw a cart heavily laden with bricks. The wheels had stuck fast in the stiff mud of some deep ruts, and the cart was shouting and flogging the two horses unmercifully. Joe pulled up. It was a sad sight. There were the two horses straining and struggling with all their might to drag the cart out, but they could not move it. The sweat streamed from their legs and flanks, the sides heaved, and every muscle was strained, while the man, fiercely pulling at the head of the four horse, swore and lashed most brutally. "'Hold hard,' said Joe. "'Don't go on flogging the horses like that. The wheels are so stuck that they cannot move the cart.' The man took no heed, but went on lashing. "'Stop! Praise, stop!' said Joe. "'I'll help you to lighten the cart. They can't move it now.'" "'Mind your own business, you impudent young rascal, and I'll mind mine.' The man was in a towering passion, and the worse for drink, and laid on the whip again. Joe turned my head, and the next moment we were going at a round gallop towards the house of the master brick-maker. I cannot say if John would have approved of our pace, but Joe and I were both of one mind, and so angry that we could not have gone slower. The house stood close by the roadside. Joe knocked at the door and shouted, "'Halloo! Is Mr. Clay at home?' The door was open, and Mr. Clay himself came out. "'Halloo, young man! You seem in a hurry. Any orders from the squire this morning?' "'No, Mr. Clay, but there's a fellow in your brickyard, blogging two horses to death. I told him to stop, and he wouldn't. I said I'd help him to lighten the cart, and he wouldn't. So I have come to tell you. Praise her. Go!' Joe's voice shook with excitement. "'Thank you, my lad,' said the man, running in for his hat, then pausing for a moment. Will you give evidence of what you saw if I should bring the fellow up before a magistrate?' "'That I will,' said Joe, and glad too.' The man was gone, and we were on our way home at a smart trot. "'Why, what's the matter with you, Joe? You look angry all over,' said John, as the boy flung himself from the saddle. "'I am angry all over. I can tell you,' said the boy, and then in hurried, excited words, he told all that had happened.' Joe was usually such a quiet, gentle little fellow that it was wonderful to see him so roused. "'Right, Joe, you did right, my boy, whether the fellow gets the summons or not.' Many folks would have ridden by and said it was not their business to interfere. Now I say that with cruelty and oppression it is everybody's business to interfere when they see it. You did right, my boy. Joe was quite calm by this time, and proud that John approved of him, and cleaned out my feet and rubbed me down with a firmer hand than usual. They were just going home to dinner, when the footman came down to the stable to say that Joe was wanted directly in Master's private room, there was a man brought up for ill-using horses, and Joe's evidence was wanted. The boy flushed up to his forehead, and his eyes sparkled. "'They shall have it,' said he. "'Put yourself a bit straight,' said John. Joe gave a pull at his necktie, and a twitch at his jacket, and was off in a moment. Our Master, being one of the county magistrates, cases were often brought to him to settle, or say what should be done. In the stable we heard no more for some time, as it was the men's dinner hour, but when Joe came next into the stable, I saw he was in high spirits. He gave me a good-natured slap, and said, We won't see such things done, will we, old fellow?' We heard afterward that he had given his evidence so clearly, and the horses were in such an exhausted state, bearing marks of such brutal usage, that the Carter was committed to take his trial, and might possibly be sentenced to a three-months in prison. It was wonderful what a change had come over Joe. John laughed and said he had grown an inch taller in that week, and I believe he had. He was just as kind and gentle as before, but there was more purpose and determination in all that he did, as if he had jumped at once from a boy into a man. Now I had lived in this happy place three years, but sad changes were about to come over us. We heard from time to time that our mistress was ill. The doctor was often at the house, and the master looked grave and anxious. Then we heard that she must leave her home at once, and go to a warm country for two or three years. The news fell upon the household, like the tolling of a death-bell. Everybody was sorry, but the master began directly to make arrangements for breaking up his establishment and leaving England. We used to hear it talked about in our stable, indeed nothing else was talked about. John went about his work silent and sad, and Joe scarcely whistled. There was a great deal of coming and going, ginger and I had full work. The first of the party who went were Miss Jessie and Flora, with their governess. They came to bid us good-bye. They hugged poor Mary-legs like an old friend, and so indeed he was. Then we heard what had been arranged for us. Master had sold ginger and me to his old friend, the Earl of—for he thought we should have a good place there. Mary-legs he had given to the vicar, who was wanting a pony for Mrs Bloomfield, but it was on the condition that he should never be sold, and that when he was past work he should be shot and buried. Joe was engaged to take care of him and to help in the house, so I thought that Mary-legs was well off. John had the offer of several good places, but he said he should wait a little and look round. The evening before they left, the master came into the stable to give some directions, and to give his horses the last pat. He seemed very low-spirited. I knew that by his voice. I believe we horses can tell more by the voice than many men can. Have you decided what to do, John? he said. I find you have not accepted either of those offers. No, sir. I have made up my mind that if I could get a situation with some first-rate culpraker and horse-trainer it would be the right thing for me. Many young animals are frightened and spoiled by wrong treatment, which need not be if the right man took them in hand. I always get all well with horses, and if I could help some of them to a fair start, I should feel as if I were doing some good. And what do you think of it, sir? I don't know a man anywhere, said master, that I should think so suitable for it as yourself. You understand horses, and somehow they understand you, and in time you might set up for yourself. I think you could not do better. If in any way I can help you, write to me. I shall speak to my agent in London, and leave your character with him. Master gave John the name and address, and then he thanked him for his long and faithful service, but that was too much for John. Pray don't, sir. I can't bear it. You and my dear mistress have done so much for me that I could never repay it. But we shall never forget you, sir, and please, God, we may some day see Mistress back again like herself. We must keep up hope, sir. Master gave John his hand, but he did not speak, and they both left the stable. The last sad day had come. The footman and the heavy luggage had gone off the day before, and there was only Master and Mistress and her maid. Ginger and I brought the carriage up to the hall door for the last time. The servants brought out cushions and rugs and many other things, and when all were arranged, Master came down the steps, carrying the Mistress in his arms. I was on the side next to the house, and could see all that went on. He placed her carefully in the carriage, while the house servants stood round crying. Good-bye again, he said. We shall not forget any of you. And he got in. Drive on, John. Joe jumped up, and we trotted slowly through the park and through the village, where the people were standing on their doors to have a last look and to say, God bless them. When we reached the railway station, I think Mistress walked from the carriage to the waiting-room. I heard her say in her own sweet voice. Goodbye, John. God bless you. I felt the rain twitch, but John made no answer. Perhaps he could not speak. As soon as Joe had taken the things out of the carriage, John called him to stand by the horses while he went on the platform. Poor Joe! He stood close up to our heads to hide his tears. Very soon the train came puffing up into the station, then two or three minutes, and the doors were slammed too. The guard whistled, and the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of white smoke and some very heavy hearts. When it was quite out of sight, John came back. We shall never see her again, he said. Never. He took the reins, mounted the box, and with Joe drove slowly home, but it was not our home now. End of Chapter Twenty-One. End of Part One. Chapter Twenty-Two of Black Beauty. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. Part Two. Chapter Twenty-Two. Earl's Hall. The next morning after breakfast, Joe put Merrylegs into the mistresses' lochase to take him to the vicarage. He came first and said goodbye to us, and Merrylegs knaved to us from the yard. Then John put the saddle on ginger and the leading rein on me, and rode us across the country about fifteen miles to Earl's Hall Park, where the Earl of—lived. There was a very fine house and a great deal of stabling. We went into the yard through a stone gateway, and John asked for Mr York. It was some time before he came. He was a fine-looking middle-aged man, and his voice said at once that he expected to be obeyed. He was very friendly and polite to John, and after giving us a slight look he called a groom to take us to our boxes and invited John to take some refreshment. We were taken to a light, airy stable, and placed in boxes joining each other, where we were rubbed down and fed. In about half an hour John and Mr York, who was to be our new coachman, came in to see us. Now, Mr Manley, he said, after carefully looking at us both, I can see no fault in these horses, but we all know that horses have their peculiarities as well as men, and that sometimes they need different treatment. I should like to know if there is anything particular in either of these that you would like to mention. Well, said John, I don't believe there is a better pair of horses in the country, and right-grieved I am to part with them, but they are not alike. The black one is the most perfect temper I ever knew. I suppose he has never known a hard word or blow since he was fold, and all his pleasure seems to be to do what you wish. But the chestnut, I fancy, must have had bad treatment. We heard as much from the dealer. She came to us snappish and suspicious, but when she found what sort of place ours was, it all went off by degrees. For three years I have never seen the smallest sign of temper, and if she is well treated, there is not a better, more willing animal than she is. But she is naturally a more irritable constitution than the black horse. Fly is tease her more, anything wrong in the harness frets her more, and if she were ill-used or unfairly treated, she would not be unlikely to give tit for tat. You know that many high-metal horses will do so. Of course, said your—I quite understand, but you know it is not easy in stables like these to have all the grooms just what they should be. I do my best, and there I must leave it. I'll remember what you have said about the mare. They were going out of the stable when John stopped and said, I had better mention that we have never used the check-rain with either of them. The black horse never had one on, and the dealer said it was the gag-bit that spoiled the other's temper. Well, said York, if they come here they must wear the check-rain. I prefer a loose rain myself, and his lordship is always very reasonable about horses. But my lady, that's another thing, she will have style, and if her carriage-horse is not rained up tight she wouldn't look at them. I always stand out against the gag-bit, and shall do so, but it must be tight up when my lady rides. I am sorry for it, very sorry, said John, but I must go now, or I shall lose the train. He came round to each of us to pat and speak to us for the last time. His voice sounded very sad. I held my face close to him. That was all I could do to say goodbye, and then he was gone, and I have never seen him since. The next day, Lord, came to look at us. He seemed pleased with our appearance. I have great confidence in these horses, he said. From the character my friend Mr. Gordon has given me of them. Of course they are not a match in colour, but my idea is that they will do very well for the carriage while we are in the country. Before we go to London I must try to match Baron, the black horse I believe is perfect for riding. York then told him what John had said about us. Well, said he, you must keep an eye to the mare and put the check-rain easy. I dare say they all do very well with a little humouring at first. I'll mention it to your lady. In the afternoon we were harnessed and put in the carriage, and as the stable clock struck three we were led round to the front of the house. It was all very grand, and three or four times as large as the old house at Bertwick, but not half so pleasant if a horse may have an opinion. Two footmen were standing ready, dressed in drab livery, with scarlet breeches and white stockings. Presently we heard the rustling sound of silk as my lady came down the flight of stone steps. She slept round to look at us. She was a tall, proud-looking woman, and did not seem pleased about something, but she said nothing and got into the carriage. This was the first time of wearing a check-rain, and I must say, though it certainly was a nuisance not to be able to get my head down now and then, it did not pull my head higher than I was accustomed to carry it. I felt anxious about ginger, but she seemed to be quiet and content. The next day, at three o'clock, we were again at the door, and the footmen as before. We heard the silk-dress rustle, and the lady came down the steps, and, in an imperious voice, she said, York, you must put those horses' heads higher, they are not fit to be seen. York got down and said very respectfully. I beg your pardon, my lady, but these horses have not been reigned up for three years, and my lord said it would be safer to bring them to it by degrees, but if your ladyship pleases I can take them up a little more. Do so, she said. York came round to our heads and shortened the rain himself, one hole, I think. Every little makes a difference, be it for better or worse, and that day we had a steep hill to go up. Then I began to understand what I had heard of. Of course I wanted to put my head forward and take the carriage up with a will, as we had been used to do, but no, I had to pull with my head up now, and that took all the spirit out of me, and the strain came on my back and legs. When we came in, Ginger said, Now you see what it is like, but this is not bad, and if it does not get much worse than this I shall say nothing about it, for we are very well treated here, but if they strain me up tight while I let them look out, I can't bear it, and I won't. Day by day, hole by hole, our bearing rains were shortened, and instead of looking forward with pleasure to having my harness put on, as I used to do, I began to dread it. Ginger too seemed restless, though she said very little. At last I thought the worst was over. For several days there was no more shortening, and I determined to make the best of it and do my duty, though it was now a constant harass instead of a pleasure. But the worst was not yet come. End of Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the Public Domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter Twenty-Three A Strike for Liberty One day my lady came down later than usual, and the silk rustled more than ever. "'Drive to the Duchess of Bees,' she said, and then after a pause, are you never going to get those horses' heads up, York? Raise them at once and let us have no more of this humoring and nonsense." York came to me first, while the groom stood at Ginger's head. He drew my head back and fixed the rain so tight that it was almost intolerable. Then he went to Ginger, who was impatiently jacking her head up and down against the bit, as was her way now. She had a good idea of what was coming, and the moment York took the rain off the turret in order to shorten it, she took her opportunity, and reared up so suddenly that York had his nose roughly hit and his hat knocked off, the groom was nearly thrown off his legs. At once they both flew to her head, but she was a match for them, and went on plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most desperate manner. At last she kicked right over the carriage pole and fell down, after giving me a severe blow on my near-quarter. There is no knowing what further mischief she might have done had not York promptly sat himself down flat on her head to prevent her struggling, at the same time calling out, unbuckle the black horse, run for the winch, and unscrew the carriage pole, cut the trace here somebody if you can't unhitch it. One of the footmen ran for the winch, and another brought a knife from the house. The groom soon set me free from Ginger and the carriage, and led me to my box. He just turned me in as I was, and ran back to York. I was much excited by what had happened, and if I had ever been used to kick or rear I am sure I should have done it then, but I never had, and there I stood, angry, sore in my leg, my head still strained up to the turret on the saddle, and no power to get it down. I was very miserable, and felt much inclined to kick the first person who came near me. Before long, however, Ginger was led in by two grooms, a good deal knocked about and bruised. York came with her and gave his orders, and then came to look at me. In a moment he let down my head. Confound these check-rains, he said to himself. I thought we should have some mischief soon. Master will be sorely vexed. But there, if a woman's husband can't rule her, of course a servant can't, so I wash my hands of it, and if she can't get to the Dutch's garden party, I can't help it. York did not say this before the men. He always spoke respectfully when they were by. Now he felt me all over, and soon found the place above my hawk where I had been kicked. It was swelled and painful. He ordered it to be sponged with hot water, and then some lotion was put on. Lord was much put out when he learned what had happened. He blamed York for giving way to his mistress, to which he replied that in future he should much prefer to receive his orders only from his lordship. But I think nothing came of it, for things went on the same as before. I thought York might have stood up better for his horses, but perhaps I am no judge. Ginger was never put into the carriage again, but when she was well of her bruises, one of the Lord's younger sons said he would like to have her. He was sure she would make a good hunter. As for me, I was obliged still to go in the carriage and had a fresh partner called Max. He had always been used to the tight rain. I asked him how he bore it. Well, he said, I bear it because I must, but it is shortening my life, and it will shorten yours too if you have to stick to it. Do you think, I said, that our masters know how bad it is for us? I can't say, he replied, but the dealers and the horse doctors know it very well. I was at a dealer's once, who was training me and another horse to go in as a pair. He was getting our heads up, as he said, a little higher and a little higher every day. A gentleman who was there asked him why he did so. Because, said he, people won't buy them unless we do. The London people always want their horses to carry their heads high and to step high. Of course, it is very bad for the horses, but then it is good for trade. The horses soon wear up or get diseased and they come for another pair. That, said Max, is what he said in my hearing, and you can judge for yourself. What I suffered with that rain for four long months in my lady's carriage, it would be hard to describe, but I am quite sure that, had it lasted much longer, either my health or my temper would have given way. Before that I never knew what it was to foam at the mouth, but now the action of the sharp bit on my tongue and jaw and the constrained position of my head and throat always caused me to froth at the mouth more or less. Some people think it very fine to see this, and say, what fine-spirited creatures! But it is just as unnatural for horses as for men to foam at the mouth. It is a sure sign of some discomfort and should be attended to. Besides this there was a pressure on my windpipe, which often made my breathing very uncomfortable. When I returned from my work my neck and chest were strained and painful, my mouth and tongue tender, and I felt worn and depressed. In my old home I always knew that John and my master were my friends. But here, although in many ways I was well treated, I had no friend. Newark might have known, and very likely did know, how that rain harassed me. But I suppose he took it as a matter of course that it could not be helped. At any rate, nothing was done to relieve me. EARLY IN THE SPRING, LORD, and part of his family went up to London, and took York with them. I and Ginger and some other horses were left at home for use, and the head groom was left in charge. The lady Harriet, who remained at the hall, was a great invalid and never went out in a carriage, and the lady Anne preferred riding on horseback with her brother or cousins. She was a perfect horsewoman, and as gay and gentle as she was beautiful. She chose me for her horse, and named me Black Oster. I enjoyed these rides very much in the clear cold air, sometimes with Ginger, sometimes with Lizzie. This Lizzie was a bright bay mare, almost thoroughbred, and a great favourite with a gentleman, on account of her fine action and lively spirit. But Ginger, who knew more of her than I did, told me she was rather nervous. There was a gentleman of the name of Blantyre staying at the hall. He always rode Lizzie, and praised her so much that one day Lady Anne ordered the side saddle to be put on her, and the other saddle on me. When we came to the door, the gentleman seemed very uneasy. �How is this?� he said. �Are you tired of your good Black Oster? �Oh, no, no, not at all,� she replied. �But I am amiable enough to let you ride him for once, and I will try your charming Lizzie. You must confess that in size and appearance she is far more like a lady sourced than my own favourite. �Do let me advise you not to mount her,� he said. �She is a charming creature, but she is too nervous for a lady. I assure you she is not perfectly safe. Let me beg you to have the saddles changed.� �My dear cousin� said Lady Anne, laughing. �Pray do not trouble your good, careful head about me. I have been a horsewoman ever since I was a baby, and I have followed the hounds a great many times, though I know you do not approve of Lady's hunting. But still, that is the fact, and I intend to try this, Lizzie, that you gentlemen are all so fond of, so please help me to mount, like a good friend as you are.� There was no more to be said. He placed her carefully on the saddle, looked to the bit and curb, gave the reins gently into her hand, and then mounted me. Just as we were moving off a footman came out with a slip of paper and message from the Lady Harriet. Would they ask this question for her at Dr. Ashley's and bring the answer? The village was about a mile off, and the doctor's house was the last in it. We went along gaily enough till we came to his gate. There was a short drive up to the house between Tall Evergreens. Blantyre alighted at the gate, and was going to open it for Lady Anne, but she said, �I will wait for you here, and you can hang Orsters rain on the gate.� He looked at her doubtfully. �I will not be five minutes,� he said. �Oh, do not hurry yourself. Lizzie and I shall not run away from you.� He hung my rein on one of the iron spikes, and was soon hidden among the trees. Lizzie was standing by the side of the road a few paces off with her back to me. My young mistress was sitting easily with a loose rein, humming a little song. I listened to my rider's footsteps until they reached the house, and heard him knock at the door. There was a meadow on the opposite side of the road, the gate of which stood open. Just then some cart-horses and several young colts came trotting out in a very disorderly manner, while a boy behind was cracking a great whip. The colts were wild and frolicsome, and one of them bolted across the road and blundered up against Lizzie's hind legs, and whether it was the stupid colt, or the loud cracking of the whip, or both together, I cannot say, but she gave a violent kick and dashed off into a headlong gallop. It was so sudden that Lady Anne was nearly unseated, but she soon recovered herself. I gave a loud shrill neigh for help, again and again I neighed, pouring the ground impatiently, and tossing my head to get the rain loose. I had not long to wait. Blantyre came running to the gate, he looked anxiously about, and just caught sight of the flying figure, now far away on the road. In an instant he sprang to the saddle. I needed no whip, no spur, for I was as eager as my rider. He saw it, and giving me a free reign and leaning a little forward, we dashed after them. For about a mile and a half the road ran straight, and then bent to the right, after which it divided into two roads. Long before we came to the bend she was out of sight. Which way had she turned? A woman was standing at her garden gate, shodding her eyes with her hand, and looking eagerly up the road. Scarcely drawing the rain, Blantyre shouted, Which way? To the right! cried the woman, pointing with her hand, and away we went up the right-hand road. Then for a moment we caught sight of her, another bend, and she was hidden again. Several times we caught glimpses, and then lost them. We scarcely seemed to gain ground upon them at all. An old road-mender was standing near a heap of stones, his shovel dropped, and his hands raised. As we came near he made a sign to speak. Blantyre drew the rain a little. To the common, to the common, sir, she has turned off there. I knew this common very well. It was for the most part very uneven ground, covered with heather and dark green furs-bushes, with here and there a scrubby old thorn-tree. There were also open spaces of fine short grass, with ant hills and mole-turns everywhere, the worst place I ever knew for a headlong gallop. We had hardly turned on to the common, when we caught sight again of the green habit flying on before us. My lady's hat was gone, and her long brown hair was streaming behind her. Her head and body were thrown back, as if she were pulling with all her remaining strength, and as if that strength were nearly exhausted. It was clear that the roughness of the ground had very much lessened Lizzy's speed, and there seemed a chance that we might overtake her. While we were on the high road, Blantyre had given me my head. But now, with a light hand and a practised eye, he guided me over the ground, in such a masterly manner that my pace was scarcely slackened, and we were decidedly gaining on them. About halfway across the heath, there had been a wide dike recently cut, and the earth from the cutting was cast up roughly on the other side. Surely this would stop them. But no, with scarcely a pause Lizzy took the leap, stumbled among the rough clods and fell. Blantyre groaned. Now, Oster, do your best. He gave me a steady reign. I gathered myself well together, and with one determined leap cleared both dike and bank. Motionless among the heather, with her face to the earth, lay my poor young mistress. Blantyre kneeled down and called her name. There was no sound. Gently he turned her face upward. It was ghastly white, and the eyes were closed. Annie. Dear Annie, do speak. But there was no answer. He unbuttoned her habit, loosened her collar, felt her hands and wrist, then started up and looked wildly round him for help. At no great distance there were two men cutting turf, who, seeing Lizzy running wild without a rider, had left their work to catch her. Blantyre's halluc soon brought them to the spot. The foremost man seemed much troubled at the sight, and asked what he could do. Can you ride? Well, sir, I be-aint much of a horseman, but I'd risk my neck for the Lady Anne, she was uncommon good to my wife in the winter. Then mount this horse, my friend, your neck will be quite safe, and ride to the doctors and ask him to come instantly. Then on to the hall, tell them all that you know, and bid them send me the carriage with Lady Anne's maid and help. I shall stay here. All right, sir, I'll do my best, and I pray God the dear young lady may open her eyes soon. Then, seeing the other man, he called out, Here, Joe, run for some water, and tell my missus to come as quick as she can to the Lady Anne. He then somehow scrambled into the saddle, and with a G up, and a clap on my sides with both his legs, he started on his journey, making a little circuit to avoid the dyke. He had no whip which seemed to trouble him, but my pace soon cured that difficulty, and he found the best thing he could do was to stick to the saddle and hold me in, which he did manfully. I shook him as little as I could help, but once or twice on the rough ground he called out, Steady, whoa, steady. On the high road we were all right, and of the doctors and the hall he did his errand like a good man and true. They asked him in to take a drop of something. No, no, he said, I'll be back to him again by a shortcut through the fields, and be there before the carriage. There was a great deal of hurry and excitement after the news became known. I was just turned into my box, the saddle and bridle were taken off, and the cloth thrown over me. Ginger was saddled and sent off in great haste for Lord George, and I soon heard the carriage roll out of the yard. It seemed a long time before Ginger came back, and before we were left alone, and then she told me all that she had seen. I can't tell much, she said. We went to Gallop nearly all the way, and got there just as the doctor rode up. There was a woman sitting on the ground with the lady's head in her lap. The doctor poured something into her mouth, but all that I heard was, she is not dead. Then I was led off by a man to a little distance. After a while she was taken to the carriage, and we came home together. I heard my master say to a gentleman who stopped him to inquire that he hoped no bones were broken, but that she had not spoken yet. When Lord George took Ginger for hunting, York shook his head. He said it ought to be a steady hand to train a horse for the first season, and not a random rider like the Lord George. Ginger used to like it very much, but sometimes, when she came back, I could see that she had been very much strained, and now and then she gave a short cough. She had too much spirit to complain, but I could not help feeling anxious about her. Two days after the accident, Blantyre paid me a visit. He patted me and praised me very much. He told Lord George that he was sure the horse knew of Annie's danger as well as he did. I could not have held him in if I would, said he. She ought never to ride any other horse. I found by their conversation that my young mistress was now out of danger, and would soon be able to ride again. This was good news to me, and I looked forward to a happy life. End of Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five of Black Beauty Now I must say a little about Ruben Smith, who was left in charge of the stables when York went to London. No one more thoroughly understood his business than he did, and when he was all right there could not be a more faithful or valuable man. He was gentle and very clever in his management of horses, and could dock to them almost as well as a farrier, for he had lived two years with a veterinary surgeon. He was a first-rate driver. He could take a fore in hand or a tandem as easily as a pair. He was a handsome man, a good scholar, and had very pleasant manners. I believe everybody liked him. Suddenly the horses did. The only wonder was that he should be in an under situation, and not in the place of a head coach like York, but he had one great fault, and that was the love of drink. He was not like some men always at it. He used to keep steady for weeks or months together, and then he would break out and have a bout of it, as York called it, and be a disgrace to himself, a terror to his wife, and a nuisance to all that had to do with him. He was, however, so useful the two or three times York had hushed the matter up and kept it from the Earl's knowledge. But one night, when Rubin had to drive a party home from a ball, he was so drunk that he could not hold the reins, and a gentleman of the party had to mount the box and drive the ladies home. Of course this could not be hidden, and Rubin was at once dismissed. His poor wife and the little children had to turn out of the pretty cottage by the park gate and go where they could. Old Max told me all this, for it happened a good while ago. But shortly before Ginger and I came, Smith had been taken back again. York had interceded for him with the Earl, who was very kind-hearted, and the man had promised faithfully that he would never taste another drop as long as he lived there. He had kept his promise so well that York thought he might safely be trusted to fill his place while he was away, and he was so clever and honest that no one else seemed so well-fitted for it. It was now early in April, and the family was expected home some time in May. The light brown was to be freshed and up, and as Colonel Blantyre was obliged to return to his regiment, it was arranged that Smith would drive him to the town in it and ride back. For this purpose he took the saddle with him, and I was chosen for the journey. At the station the Colonel put some money into Smith's hand and bid him good-bye, saying, take care of your young mistress Rubin, and don't let black horse to be hacked about by any random young prig that wants to ride him, keep him for the lady. We left the carriage at the makers, and Smith rode me to the white lion, and ordered the hustler to feed me well, and have me ready for him at four o'clock. A nail in one of my front shoes had started as I came along, but the hustler did not notice it till just about four o'clock. Smith did not come into the yard till five, and then he said he should not leave till six, as he had met with some old friends. The man then told him of the nail, and asked if he should have the shoe looked to. No, said Smith, that will be all right until we get home. He spoke in a very loud, off-hand way, and I thought it very unlike him not to see about the shoe, as he was generally wonderfully particular about loose nails in our shoes. He did not come at six, nor seven, nor eight, and it was nearly nine o'clock before he called for me, and then it was with a loud, rough voice. He seemed in a very bad temper, and abused the hustler, though I could not tell what for. The landlord stood at the door and said, Have a care, Mr. Smith. But he answered angrily with an oath, and almost before he was out of the town he began to gallop, frequently giving me a sharp cut with his whip, though I was going at full speed. The moon had not yet risen, and it was very dark. The roads were stony having been recently mended. Going over them at this pace, my shoe became looser, and as we neared the turnpike gate it came off. If Smith had been in his right senses he would have been sensible of something wrong in my pace, but he was too drunk to notice. Beyond the turnpike was a long piece of road, upon which fresh stones had just been laid, large, sharp stones over which no horse could be driven quickly without risk of danger. Over this road, with one shoe gone, I was forced to gallop at my utmost speed, my rider meanwhile cutting into me with his whip, and with wild curses urging me to go still faster. Of course my shoeless foot suffered dreadfully, the hoof was broken and split down to the very quick, and the inside was terribly cut by the sharpness of the stones. This could not go on, no horse could keep his footing under such circumstances, the pain was too great. I stumbled, and fell with violence on both my knees. Smith was flung off by my fall, and owing to the speed I was going at he must have fallen with great force. I soon recovered my feet and limped to the side of the road where it was free from stones. The moon had just risen above the hedge, and by its light I could see Smith lying a few yards beyond me. He did not rise. He made one slight effort to do so, and then there was a heavy groan. I could have groaned too, for I was suffering intense pain, both for my feet and knees, but horses are used to bear their pain in silence. I uttered no sound, but I stood there, and listened. One more heavy groan from Smith, but though he now lay in the full moonlight, I could see no motion. I could do nothing for him, nor myself, but, oh, how I listened for the sound of horse, or wheels, or footsteps. The road was not much frequented, and at this time of the night we might stay for hours before help came to us. I stood, watching, and listening. It was a calm, sweet April night. There were no sounds, but a few low notes of a nightingale, and nothing moved but the white clouds near the moon, and a brown owl that flitted over the hedge. It made me think of the summer nights, long ago, when I used to lie beside my mother in the green, pleasant meadow at Farmer Gray's—end of Chapter Twenty-Five. Chapter Twenty-Six of Black Beauty. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. Chapter Twenty-Six. How it ended. It must have been nearly midnight, when I heard at a great distance the sound of a horse's feet. Sometimes the sound died away, then it grew clearer again, and nearer. The road to Earl's Hall, there through woods that belonged to the Earl, the sound came in that direction, and I hoped it might be someone coming in search of us. As the sound came nearer and nearer, I was almost sure I could distinguish Ginger's step, a little nearer still, and I could tell she was in the dog-cart. I neighed loudly, and was overjoyed to hear an answering-nay from Ginger and men's voices. They came slowly over the stones and stopped at the dark figure that lay upon the ground. One of the men jumped out and stooped down over it. It is Ruben, he said, and he does not stir. The other man followed and bent over him. He's dead, he said. Feel how cold his hands are. They raised him up, but there was no life, and his hair was soaked with blood. They laid him down again and came and looked at me. They soon saw my cut knees. Why, the horse has been down and thrown him. Who would have thought the black horse would have done that? Nobody thought he could fall. Ruben must have been lying here for hours. Odd, too, that the horse has not moved from the place. Robert then attempted to lead me forward. I made a step, but almost fell again. Hello, he's bad in his foot as well as his knees. Look here, his hoof is cut all to pieces. He might well come down, poor fellow. I tell you what, Ned, I'm afraid it hasn't been all right with Ruben. Just think of his riding a horse over these stones without a shoe. Why, if he had been in his right sense as he would just as soon have tried to ride him over the moon. I'm afraid it has been the old thing over again. Poor Susan! She looked awfully pale when she came to my house to ask if he had not come home. She may believe she was not a bit anxious and talked of a lot of things that might have kept him. But for all that she begged me to go and meet him. But what must we do? There's the horse to get home as well as the body, and that will be no easy matter. Then followed a conversation between them, till it was agreed that Robert, as the groom, should lead me, and that Ned must take the body. It was a hard job to get it into the dog-cart, for there was no one to hold ginger. But she knew as well as I did what was going on, and stood as still as a stone. I noticed that, because if she had a fault it was that she was impatient in standing. Ned started off very slowly with his sad load, and Robert came and looked at my foot again, then he took his handkerchief and bound it closely round, and so he led me home. I shall never forget that night-walk. It was more than three miles. Robert led me on very slowly, and I limped and hobbled on as well as I could with great pain. I'm sure he was sorry for me, for he often patted and encouraged me, talking to me in a pleasant voice. At last I reached my own box and had some corn, and after Robert had wrapped up my knees in wet cloths, he tied up my foot in a bran poultice to draw out the heat and cleanse it before the horse-doctor saw it in the morning, and I managed to get myself down on the straw and slept in spite of the pain. The next day, after the farrier had examined my wounds, he said he hoped the joint was not injured, and if so I should not be spoiled for work, but I should never lose the blemish. I believe they did the best to make a good cure, but it was a long and painful one. Proud flesh, as they called it, came up in my knees, and was burned out with caustic, and when at last it was healed they put a blistering fluid over the front of both knees to bring all the hair off. They had some reason for this, and I suppose it was all right. As Smith's death had been so sudden, and no one was there to see it, there was an inquest held. The landlord and hostler at the White Lion, with several other people, gave evidence that he was intoxicated when he started from the inn. The keeper of the toll-gate said he rode at a hard gallop through the gate, and my shoe was picked up among the stones, so that the case was quite plain to them, and I was cleared of all blame. Everybody pitted Susan. She was nearly out of her mind. She kept saying over and over again, oh, he was so good, so good! It was all that cursed drink! Why will they sell that cursed drink? Oh, Rupen! Rupen! So she went on till after he was buried, and then, as she had no home or relations, she, with her six little children, was obliged once more to leave the pleasant home by the tall oak trees, and go into that great, gloomy, union house. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Ruined and Going Down Hill As soon as my knees were sufficiently healed, I was turned into a small meadow for a month or two. No other creature was there, and though I enjoyed the liberty in the sweet grass, yet I had been so long used to society that I fell very lonely. Ginger and I had become fast friends, and now I missed her company extremely. I often nade when I heard horses' feet passing in the road, but I seldom got an answer. Till one morning the gate was opened, and who should come in but dear old Ginger? The man slipped off her halter and left her there. With a joyful winny I trotted up to her. We were both glad to meet, but I soon found out that it was not for our pleasure that she was brought to be with me. Her story would be too long to tell, but the end of it was that she had been ruined by hard riding, and was now turned off to see what rest would do. Lord George was young, and would take no warning. He was a hard rider, and would hunt whenever he could get the chance, quite careless of his horse. Soon after I left the stable there was a steeple-chase, and he determined to ride. Though the groom told him she was a little strained, and was not fit for the race, he did not believe it, and on the day of the race urged Ginger to keep up with the foremost riders. With her high spirit she strained herself to the utmost. She came in with the first three horses, but her wind was touched, besides which she was too heavy for her, and her back was strained. And so, she said, here we are, ruined in the prime of our youth and strength, you by a drunkard and I by a fool, it is very hard. We both felt in ourselves that we were not what we had been. However, that did not spoil the pleasure we had in each other's company. We did not gallop about as we once did, but we used to feed and lie down together, and stand for hours under one of the shady lime trees, with our heads close to each other, and so we passed our time till the family returned from town. One day we saw the ale come into the meadow, and York was with him. Seeing who it was, we stood still under our lime tree and let them come up to us. They examined us carefully. The ale seemed much annoyed. There is three hundred pounds flung away for no earthly use, said he, but what I care most for is that these horses of my old friend who thought they would find a good home with me are ruined. The mayor shall have a twelve-months run, and we shall see what that will do for her, but the black one he must be sold. It is a great pity, but I could not have knees like these in my stables. No, my lord, of course not, said York, but he might get a place where appearances of not much consequence and still be well treated. I know a man in Bath, the master of some livery stables, who often wants a good horse at a low figure. I know he looks well after his horses. The inquest cleared the horse's character, and your lordship's recommendation, or mine, would be sufficient warrant for him. You had better write to him, York. I should be more particular about the place than the money he would fetch. After this they left us. They'll soon take you away, said Ginger, and I shall lose the only friend I have, and most likely we shall never see each other again. It is a hard world. About a week after this, Robert came into the field with a halter, which he slipped over my head, and led me away. There was no leave-taking of Ginger. We naved to each other as I was led off, and she trotted anxiously along by the hedge, calling to me as long as she could hear the sound of my feet. Through the recommendation of York, I was bought by the master of the livery stables. I had to go by train, which was new to me, and required a good deal of courage the first time, but as I found the puffing, rushing, whistling, and more than all the trembling of the horse-box in which I stood, did me no real harm, I soon took it quietly. When I reached the end of my journey, I found myself in a tolerably comfortable stable, and well attended to. These stables were not so airy and pleasant as those I had been used to. The stalls were laid on a slope instead of being level, and as my head was kept tied to the manger, I was obliged always to stand on the slope, which was very fatiguing. Men do not seem to know yet that horses can do more work if they can stand comfortably and can turn about. However, I was well fed and well cleaned, and on the whole I think our master took as much care of us as he could. He kept a good many horses and carriages of different kinds for hire. Sometimes his own men drove them, at others the horse and chase will let the gentleman or ladies who drove themselves. Chapter 28 A Job Horse and His Drivers Here the two I had always been driven by people who at least knew how to drive, but in this place I was to get my experience of all the different kinds of bad and ignorant driving to which we horses are subjected, for I was a job horse, and was let out to all sorts of people who wished to hire me, and as I was good tempered and gentle, I think I was often a let out to the ignorant drivers than some of the other horses, because I could be depended upon. It would take a long time to tell of all the different styles in which I was driven, but I will mention a few of them. First there were the tight-rain drivers, men who seemed to think that all depended on holding the reins as hard as they could, never relaxing the pole on the horse's mouth or giving him the least liberty of movement. They are always talking about keeping the horse well in hand, and holding a horse up, just as if a horse was not made to hold himself up. Some poor, broken-down horses, whose mouths have been made hard and insensible by just such drivers as these, may perhaps find some support in it, but for a horse who can depend on his own legs, and who has a tender mouth and is easily guided, it is not only tormenting, but it is stupid. Then there are the loose-rain drivers, who let the reins lie easily on our backs, and their own hand rest lazily on their knees. Of course, such gentlemen have no control over a horse if anything happens suddenly. If a horse shies, or starts, or stumbles, they are nowhere, and cannot help the horse or themselves till a mischief is done. Of course, for myself, I had no objection to it, as I was not in the habit of either starting or stumbling, and had only been used to depend on my driver for guidance and encouragement. Still, one likes to feel the rain a little in going downhill, and likes to know that one's driver is not gone to sleep. Besides, a slovenly way of driving gets a horse into bad and often lazy habits, and when he changes hands he has to be whipped out of them with more or less pain and trouble. Squire Gordon always kept us to our best paces and our best manners. He said that spoiling a horse and letting him get into bad habits was just as cruel as spoiling a child, and both had to suffer for it afterward. Besides, these drivers are often careless altogether, and will attend to anything else more than their horses. I went out in the fight and one day, with one of them, he had a lady and two children behind. He flopped the reins about as we started, and of course gave me several unmeaning cuts with a whip, though I was fairly off. There had been a good deal of road-mending going on, and even where the stones were not freshly laid down, there were a great many loose ones about. My driver was laughing and joking with the lady and the children, and talking about the country to the right and to the left, but he never thought it worth wild keep an eye on his horse, or to drive on the smoothest parts of the road, and so it easily happened that I got a stone into one of my forefeet. Now, if Mr. Gordon, or John, or in fact any good driver, had been there, he would have seen that something was wrong before I had gone three paces, or even if it had been dark a practised hand would have felt by the rain that there was something wrong in the step, and they would have got down and picked out the stone. But this man went on laughing and talking, while at every step the stone became more firmly wedged between my shoe and the frog of my foot. The stone was sharp on the inside and round on the outside, which, as everyone knows, is the most dangerous kind that a horse can pick up, at the same time cutting his foot and making him most liable to stumble and fall. Whether the man was partly blind or only very careless, I can't say, but he drove me with that stone in my foot for a good half-mile before he saw anything. By that time I was going so lame with the pain that at last he saw it and called out, well, here's a go, why they have sent us out with a lame horse, what a shame. He then chucked the reins and flipped about with the whip, saying, now then, it's no use playing the old soldier with me, there's the journey to go, and it's no use turning lame and lazy. Just at this time a farmer came riding up on a brown cob. He lifted his hat and pulled up. I beg your pardon, sir, he said, but I think there is something the matter with your horse. He goes very much as if he had a stone in his shoe. If you will allow me I will look at his feet, these loose scattered stones are confounded dangerous things for the horses. He's a hired horse, said my driver. I don't know what's the matter with him, but it is a great shame to send out a lame beast like this. The farmer dismounted, and slipping his rein over his arm at once took up my near foot. Bless me there's a stone, lame, I should think so. At first he tried to dislodge it with his hand, but as it was now very tightly wedged, he drew a stone pick out of his pocket, and very carefully and with some trouble got it out. Then holding it up he said, there, that's the stone your horse had picked up, it is a wonder he did not fall down and break his knees into the bargain. Well to be sure, said my driver, that is a queer thing, I never knew that horses picked up stones before. Didn't you? said the farmer, rather contemptuously, but they do though, and the best of them will do it, and can't help it sometimes on such roads as these, and if you don't want to lame your horse you must look sharp and get them out quickly. This foot is very much bruised, he said, setting it down gently and patting me. If I might advise sir, you had better drive him gently for a while, the foot is a good deal hurt and the lameness will not go off directly. Then mounting his cob and raising his hat to the lady, he trotted off. When he was gone my driver began to flop the reins about and whip the harness, by which I understood that I was to go on, which of course I did, glad that the stone was gone, but still in a great deal of pain. This was the sort of experience we job horses often came in for. Then there is the steam-engine style of driving. These drivers were mostly people from towns who never had a horse of their own and generally travelled by rail. They always seemed to think that a horse was something like a steam engine, only smaller. At any rate, they think that if only they pay for it a horse is bound to go just as far and just as fast and with just as heavy a load as they please. And be the roads heavy and muddy or dry and good, be they stony or smooth, uphill or downhill, it is all the same, on, on, on, one must go, at the same pace, with no relief and no consideration. These people never think of getting out to walk up a steep hill. Oh, no, they have paid to ride and ride they will. The horse? Oh, he's used to it. What were horses made for, if not to drag people uphill? Walk, a good joke indeed. And so the whip is plied and the rain is chucked, and often a rough, scolding voice cries out, Go along, you lazy beast. And then another slash of the whip, when all the time we are doing our very best to get along, uncomplaining and obedient, though often sorely harassed and downhearted. This steam engine style of driving wears us up faster than any other kind. I would far rather go twenty miles with a good considerate driver than I would go ten with some of these, it would take less out of me. Another thing, they scarcely ever put on the break, however steep the downhill may be, and thus bad accidents sometimes happen, or if they do put it on, they often forget to take it off at the bottom of the hill, and more than once I have had to pull half way up the next hill with one of the wheels held by the break before my driver chose to think about it, and that is a terrible strain on a horse. Then these cockneys, instead of starting at an easy pace, as a gentleman would do, generally set off at full speed from the very stable yard, and when they want to stop they first whip us, then pull up so suddenly that we are nearly thrown on our haunches, and our mouths jagged with the bit. They call that pulling up with a dash, and when they turn a corner they do it as sharply as if there were no right side or wrong side of the road. I well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day. Rory was the horse that mostly went with me when the pair was ordered, and a good honest fellow he was. We had our own driver, and as he was always considerate and gentle with us we had a very pleasant day. We were coming home at a good smart pace about twilight. Our road turned sharp to the left, but as we were close to the hedge on our own side and there was plenty of room to pass our driver did not pull us in. As we neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down the hill toward us. The hedge was high and I could see nothing, but the next moment we were upon each other. Happily for me I was on the side next to the hedge. Rory was on the left side of the pole and had not even a shaft to protect him. The man who was driving was making straight for the corner, and when he came inside of us he had no time to pull over to his own side. The whole shock came upon Rory. The gig shaft ran right into the chest, making him stagger back with a cry that I shall never forget. The other horse was thrown upon his haunches and one shaft broken. It turned out that it was a horse from our own stables, with the high-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of. The driver was one of those random ignorant fellows who don't even know which is their own side of the road, or if they know don't care. And there was poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the blood streaming down. They said if it had been a little more to one side it would have killed him, and a good thing for him, poor fellow, if it had. As it was it was a long time before the wound healed, and then he was sold for coal-carting, and what that is, up and down those steep hills, only horses know. Some of the sights I saw there, where a horse had to come downhill with a heavily loaded two-wheel cart behind him, on which no brake could be placed, make me sad even now to think of. After Rory was disabled, I often went in the carriage with a man named Peggy, who stood in the next stall to mine. She was a strong, well-made animal, of a bright done colour, beautifully dappled, and with a dark brown mane and tail. There was no high-breeding about her, but she was very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered and willing. Still, there was an anxious look about her eyes, by which I knew she had some trouble. The first time we went out together I thought she had a very odd pace. She seemed to go partly a trot, partly a canter, three or four paces, and then a little jump forward. It was very unpleasant for any horse who pulled with her, and made me quite fidgety. When we got home I asked her what made her go in that odd, awkward way. Ah! she said in a troubled manner. I know my paces are very bad, but what can I do? It is really not my fault. It is just because my legs are so short. I stand nearly as high as you, but your legs are a good three inches longer above your knee than mine, and, of course, you can take a much longer step and go much faster. You see, I did not make myself. I wish I could have done so. I would have had long legs then. All my troubles come from my short legs, said Peggy, in a desponding tone. But how is it, I said, when you were so strong and good-tempered and willing? Why you see, said she. Men will go so fast, and if one can't keep up to other horses it is nothing but whip, whip, whip all the time. And so I have had to keep up as I could, and have got into this ugly shuffling pace. It was not always so. When I lived with my first master I always went a good regular trot, but then he was not in such a hurry. He was young clergyman in the country, and a good kind master he was. He had two churches, a good way apart, and a great deal of work, but he never scolded or whipped me for not going faster. He was very fond of me. I only wish I was with him now, but he had to leave and go to a large town, and then I was sold to a farmer. Some farmers you know are capital masters, but I think this one was a low sort of man. He cared nothing about good horses or good driving. He only cared for going fast. I went as fast as I could, but that would not do, and he was always whipping, so I got into this way of making a spring forward to keep up. On market nights he used to stay very late at the inn, and then drive home at Gallop. One dark night he was galloping home as usual, when all of a sudden the wheel came against some great heavy thing in the road and turned the gig over in a minute. He was thrown out and his arm broken, and some of his ribs, I think. At any rate it was the end of my living with him, and I was not sorry. But you see it will be the same everywhere for me, if men must go so fast. I wish my legs were longer. Poor Peggy. I was very sorry for her, and I could not comfort her, for I knew how hard it was upon slow-paced horses to be put with fast ones. All the whipping comes to their share, and they can't help it. She was often used in a phyton, and was very much liked by some of the ladies, because she was so gentle, and some time after this she was sold to two ladies who drove themselves, and wanted a safe, good horse. I met her several times out in the country, going a good steady pace, and looking as gay and contented as a horse could be. I was very glad to see her, for she deserved a good place. After she left us another horse came in her stead. He was young, and had a bad name for shying and starting, by which he had lost a good place. I asked him what made him shy. Well, I hardly know, he said. I was timid when I was young, and was a good deal frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange I used to turn and look at it. You see, with our blinkers one can't see or understand what a thing is unless one looks round, and then my master always gave me a whipping, which of course made me start on, and did not make me less afraid. I think, if he would have let me just look at things quietly, and see that there was nothing to hurt me, it would have been all right, and I should have got used to them. One day an old gentleman was riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across just on one side of me. I shied and started forward. My master as usual whipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, You're wrong! You're wrong! You should never whip a horse for shying. He shies because he is frightened, and you only frighten him more and make the habit worse. So I suppose all men don't do so. I am sure I don't want to shy for the sake of it, but how should one know what is dangerous and what is not if one is never allowed to get used to anything? I am never afraid of what I know. Now, I was brought up on a park where there were deer. Of course I knew them as well as I did a sheep or a cow, but they are not common, and I know many sensible horses who were frightened at them, and who kick up quite a shindy before they will pass a paddock where there are deer. I knew what my companion said was true, and I wished that every young horse had as good masters as Farmer Gray and Squire Gordon. Of course we sometimes come in for good driving here. I remember one morning I was put into the light gig and taken to a house in Pultney Street. Two gentlemen came out, the taller of them came round to my head. He looked at the bit and bridle, and just shifted the collar with his hand to see if it fitted comfortably. Do you consider this horse wants a curb? He said to the hustler. Well, said the man, I should say he would go just as well without. He has an uncommon good mouth, and though he has a fine spirit he has no vice, but we generally find people like the curb. I don't like it, said the gentleman, be so good as to take it off, and put the rain in at the cheek. An easy mouth is a great thing on a long journey, is it not, old fellow? He said, patting my neck. Then he took the reins, and they both got up. I can remember now how quietly he turned me round, and then, with a light feel of the rain, and drawing the whip gently across my back, we were off. I arched my neck and set off at my best pace. I found I had someone behind me who knew how a good horse ought to be driven. It seemed like the old times again, and made me feel quite gay. This gentleman took a great liking to me, and after trying me several times with the saddle, he prevailed upon my master to sell me to a friend of his who wanted a safe, pleasant horse for riding. And so it came to pass that in the summer I was sold to Mr. Barry. End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the Public Domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter 30 A Thief My new master was an unmarried man. He lived at Bath and was much engaged in business. His doctor advised him to take horse exercise, and for this purpose he bought me. He hired a stable a short distance from his lodgings, and engaged a man named Filcher as Groom. My master knew very little about horses, but he treated me well, and I should have had a good and easy place, but for circumstances which he was ignorant. He ordered the best hay with plenty of oats, crushed beans, and bran, with vetchers or ryegrass as the man might think needful. I heard the master give the order, so I knew there was plenty of good food, and I thought I was well off. For a few days all went on well. I found that my Groom understood his business. He kept the stable clean and airy, and he groomed me thoroughly, and was never otherwise than gentle. He had been a hustler in one of the great hotels in Bath. He had given that up, and now cultivated fruit and vegetables for the market, and his wife bread and fattened poultry and rabbits for sale. After a while it seemed to me that my oats came very short. I had the beans, but bran was mixed with them instead of oats, of which there were very few, certainly not more than a quarter of what there should have been. In two or three weeks this began to tell upon my strength and spirits. The grass food, though very good, was not the thing to keep up my condition without corn. However, I could not complain, nor make known my wants. So it went on for about two months, and I wondered that my master did not see that something was the matter. However, one afternoon he rode out into the country to see a friend of his, a gentleman farmer, who lived on the road to Wells. This gentleman had a very quick eye for horses, and after he had welcomed his friend he said, casting his eye over me. It seems to me, Barry, that your horse does not look so well as he did when you first had him. Has he been well? Yes, I believe so, said my master, but he is not nearly so lively as he was. My groom tells me that horses are always dull and weak in the autumn, and that I must expect it. Autumn fiddle-sticks, said the farmer, why this is only August, and with your light work and good food, he ought not to go down like this, even if it was autumn. How do you feed him? My master told him. The other shook his head slowly, and began to feel me over. I can't say who eats your corn, my dear fellow, but I am much mistaken if your horse gets it. Have you ridden very fast? No, very gently. Then just put your hand here, said he, passing his hand over my neck and shoulder. He is as warm and damp as a horse just come up from grass. I advise you to look into your stable a little more. I hate to be suspicious, and thank heaven I have no cause to be, for I can trust my men, present or absent, but there are mean scoundrels, wicked enough to rob a dumb beast of his food. You must look into it. And turning to his man, who had come to take me. Give this horse a right good feed of bruised oats, and don't stint him. Dumb beasts! Yes, we are, but if I could have spoken, I could have told my master where his oats went to. My groom used to come every morning about six o'clock, and with him a little boy, who always had a covered basket with him. He used to go with his father into the harness-room where the corn was kept, and I could see them when the door stood ajar, fill a little bag with oats out of the bin, and then he used to be off. Five or six mornings after this, just as the boy had left the stable, the door was pushed open, and a policeman walked in, holding the child tight by the arm. Another policeman followed, and locked the door on the inside, saying, Show me the place where your father keeps his rabbit's food. The boy looked very frightened and began to cry, but there was no escape, and he led the way to the corn bin. Here the policeman found another empty bag, like that which was found full of oats in the boy's basket. Filcher was cleaning my feet at the time, but they soon saw him, and though he blustered a good deal, they walked him off to the lock-up and his boy with him. I heard afterward that the boy was not held to be guilty, but the man was sentenced to prison for two months. CHAPTER 31 A Humbug My master was not immediately suited, but in a few days my new groom came. He was a tall, good-looking fellow enough, but if ever there was a humbug in the shape of a groom, Alfred Smirk was the man. He was very civil to me, and never used me ill. In fact, he did a great deal of stroking and patting when his master was there to see it. He always brushed my mane and tail with water, and my hooves with oil, before he brought me to the door, to make me look smart. But as to cleaning my feet, or looking to my shoes, or grooming me thoroughly, he thought no more of that than if I had been a cow. He left my bit rusty, my saddle damp, and my crapper stiff. Alfred Smirk considered himself very handsome. He spent a great deal of time about his hair, whiskers, and necktie, before a little looking-glass in the harness-room. When his master was speaking to him, it was always, yes sir, yes sir, touching his hat at every word, and everyone thought he was a very nice young man, and that Mr. Barry was very fortunate to meet with him. I should say he was the laziest, most conceited fellow I ever came near. Of course, it was a great thing not to be ill-used, but then a horse wants more than that. I had a loose box, and might have been very comfortable if he had not been too indolent to clean it out. He never took all the straw away, and the smell from what lay underneath was very bad, and the strong vapours that rose made my eyes smart and in flame, and I did not feel the same appetite for my food. One day his master came in and said, Alfred, the stable smells rather strong, should not you give that stall a good scrub and throw down plenty of water? Well, sir, he said, touching his cap. I'll do so if you please, sir, but it is rather dangerous, sir, throwing down water in a horse's box. They are very apt to take cold, sir. I should not like to do him an injury, but I'll do it if you please, sir. Well, said his master, I should not like him to take cold, but I don't like the smell of this stable. Do you think the drains are all right? Well, sir, now you mention it. I think the drain does sometimes send back a smell. There may be something wrong, sir. Then send for the bricklayer and have it seen to, said his master. Yes, sir, I will. The bricklayer came and pulled up a great many bricks, but found nothing amiss, so he put down some lime and charged the master five shillings, and the smell in my box was as bad as ever. But that was not all. Standing as I did on a quantity of moist straw, my feet grew unhealthy and tender, and the master used to say, I don't know what is the matter with this horse. He goes very fumble-footed. I am sometimes afraid he will stumble. Yes, sir, said Alfred. I have noticed the same myself when I have exercised him. Now, the fact was that he hardly ever did exercise me, and when the master was busy, I often stood for days together without stretching my legs at all, and yet being fed just as high as if I were at hard work. This often disordered my health, and made me sometimes heavy and dull, but more often restless and feverish. He never even gave me a meal of green food or a bran mash, which would have cooled me, for he was altogether as ignorant as he was conceited. And then, instead of exercise or change of food, I had to take horse-balls and draughts, which, besides the nuisance of having them poured down my throat, used to make me feel ill and uncomfortable. One day my feet were so tender that, trotting over some fresh stones with my master on my back, I made two such serious stumbles that, as he came down, lands down into the city, he stopped at the farriers, and asked him to see what was the matter with him. The man took up my feet one by one and examined them. Then standing up and dusting his hands one against the other, he said, your horse has got the thrush, and badly too, his feet are very tender, it is fortunate that he has not been down. I wonder your groom has not seen to it before. This is the sort of thing we find in vowel stables, where the litter is never properly cleaned out. If you will send him here, to-morrow I will attend to the hoof, and I will direct your man how to apply the liniment which I will give him. The next day I had my feet thoroughly cleaned, and stuffed with toe soaked in some strong lotion, and an unpleasant business it was. The farrier ordered all the litter to be taken out of my box day by day, and the floor kept very clean. Then I was to have brand meshes, a little green food, and not so much corn, till my feet were well again. With this treatment I soon regained my spirits, but Mr. Barry was so much disgusted at being twice deceived by his grooms that he determined to give up keeping a horse, and to hire when he wanted one. I was therefore kept till my feet were quite sound, and was then sold again. Chapter 32 A Horse Fair No doubt a horse fair is a very amusing place to those who have nothing to lose, at any rate there is plenty to see. Long strings of young horses out of the country, fresh from the marshes, and roves of shaggy little Welsh ponies, no higher than merry legs, and hundreds of cart horses of all sorts, some of them with their long tails braided up and tied with scarlet cord, and the good many like myself, handsome and high bred, but fallen into the middle class, through some accident or blemish, unsoundness of wind, or some other complaint. There were some splendid animals quite in their prime, and fit for anything, they were throwing out their legs and showing off their paces in high style, as they were trotted out with the leading rain, the groom running by the side. But round in the background there were a number of poor things, sadly broken down with hard work, with their knees knuckling over, and their hind legs swinging out at every step, and there were some very dejected looking old horses, with the underlip hanging down, and the ears lying back heavily, as if there were no more pleasure in life, and no more hope. There were some so thin that you might see all their ribs, and some with old sores on their backs and hips. These were sad sights for a horse to look upon, who knows not but he may come to the same state. There was a great deal of bargaining, and running up and beating down, and if a horse may speak his mind so far as he understands, I should say there were more lies told and more trickery at that horse-fare than a clever man could give an account of. I was put with two or three other strong, useful looking horses, and a good many people came to look at us. The gentleman always turned away from me when they saw my broken knees, though the man who had me swore it was only a slip in the stall. The first thing was to pull my mouth open, then to look at my eyes, then to feel all the way down my legs, and give me a hard feel of the skin and flesh, and then try my paces. It was wonderful what a difference there was in the way these things were done. Some did it in a rough, off-hand way, as if one was only a piece of wood, while others would take their hands gently over one's body, with a pat now and then, as much as to say, by your leave. Of course, I judged a good deal of the buyers by their manners to myself. There was one man, I thought, if he would buy me I should be happy. He was not a gentleman, nor yet one of the loud flashy sort that call themselves so. He was rather a small man, but well made, and quick in all his motions. I knew in a moment, by the way he handled me, that he was used to horses. He spoke gently, and his grey eye had a kindly, cheery look in it. It may seem strange to say, but it is true all the same, that the clean fresh smell there was about him made me take to him. No smell of old beer and tobacco, which I hated, but a fresh smell as if he had come out of a hayloft. He offered twenty-three pounds for me, but that was refused, and he walked away. I looked after him, but he was gone, and a very hard-looking, loud-voiced man came. I was dreadfully afraid he would have me, but he walked off. Two or three more came who did not mean business. Then the hard-faced man came back again, and offered twenty-three pounds. A very close bargain was being driven, for my salesman began to think he should not get all he asked, and must come down. But just then the grey-eyed man came back again. I could not help reaching out my head toward him. He stroked my face kindly. Well, old chap, he said, I think we should suit each other. I'll give twenty-four for him. Say twenty-five, and you shall have him. Twenty-four ten, said my friend, in a very decided tone, and not another sixpence, yes or no. Done, said the salesman, and you may depend upon it there's a monstrous deal of quality in that horse, and if you want him for cab work he's a bargain. The money was paid on the spot, and my new master took my halter, and led me out of the fair to an inn, where he had a saddle and bridle ready. He gave me a good feed of oats, and stood by while I ate it, talking to himself, and talking to me. Half an hour after we were on our way to London, through pleasant lanes and country roads, until we came into the great London thoroughfare, on which we travelled steadily, till in the twilight we reached the great city. The gas-lamps were already lighted, there were streets to the right, and streets to the left, and streets crossing each other, from mile upon mile. I thought we should never come to the end of them. At last, in passing through one, we came to a long cab stand, where my rider called out in a cheery voice, Good night, Governor. Hello! cried a voice. Have you got a good one? I think so, replied my owner. I wish you luck with him. Thank you, Governor, and he rode on. We soon turned up one of the side streets, and about half way up that, we turned into a very narrow street, with rather poor looking houses on one side, and what seemed to be coach houses and stables on the other. My owner pulled up at one of the houses and whistled. The door flew open, and a young woman, followed by a little girl and boy, ran out. There was very lively greeting as my rider dismounted. Now, then, Harry, my boy, open the gates, and mother will bring us the lantern. The next minute they were all standing round me in a small stable-yard. Is he gentle, father? Yes, Dolly, as gentle as your own kitten, come and pat him. At once the little hand was patting about all over my shoulder, without fear. How good it felt! Let me get him a bran-mash while you rub him down, said the mother. Do, Polly, it's just what he wants, and I know you've got a beautiful mash ready for me. Sausage, dumpling, and apple turn over! shouted the boy, which set them all laughing. I was led into a comfortable, clean-smelling stall, with plenty of dry straw, and after a capital supper I lay down, thinking I was going to be happy. End of Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter 33 A London Care-Porse Jeremiah Barker was my new master's name, but as everyone called him Jerry I shall do the same. Polly, his wife, was just as good a match as a man could have. She was a plump, trim, tidy little woman, with smooth dark hair, dark eyes, and a merry little mouth. The boy was twelve years old, a tall, frank, good-tempered lad. And little Dorothy, Dolly they called her, was her mother all over again at eight years old. They were all wonderfully fond of each other. I never knew such a happy merry family before or since. Jerry had a cab of his own, and two horses which he drove and attended to himself. His other horse was a tall white, rather large-boned animal called Captain. He was old now, but when he was young he must have been splendid. He still had a proud way of holding his head and arching his neck. In fact, he was a high-bred, fine-mannered, noble old horse every inch of him. He told me that in his early youth he went to the Crimean War. He belonged to an officer in the cavalry, and used to lead the regiment. I will tell more of that hereafter. The next morning, when I was well groomed, Polly and Dolly came into the yard to see me and make friends, Harry had been helping his father since the early morning and had stated his opinion that I should turn out to be a regular brick. Polly brought me a slice of apple and Dolly a piece of bread, and made just as much of me as if I had been the black beauty of olden time. It was a great treat to be petted again and talked to in a gentle voice, and I let them see as well as I could as I wished to be friendly. Polly thought I was very handsome, and a great deal too good for a cab if it were not for the broken knees. Of course there's no one to tell us whose fault that was, said Jerry, and as long as I don't know I shall give him the benefit of the doubt for a firmer, neater stepper I never rode. We'll call him Jack after the old one, shall we, Polly? Do, she said, for I like to keep a good name going. Captain went out in a cab all morning. Harry came in after school to feed me and give me water. In the afternoon I was put into the cab. Jerry took as much pains to see if the collar and bridle fitted comfortably as if he had been John Manley over again. When the crapper was let out a whole or two, it all fitted well. There was no check-rain, no curb, nothing but a plain-ringed snuffle. What a blessing that was! After driving through the side street, we came to the large cab stand where Jerry had said good-night. On one side of this wide street were high houses with wonderful shop fronts, and on the other was an old church and churchyard surrounded by iron palisades. Alongside these iron rails a number of cabs were drawn up, waiting for passengers. Bits of hay were lying about on the ground, some of the men were standing together talking, some were sitting on their boxes reading the newspaper, and one or two were feeding their horses with bits of hay and giving them a drink of water. We pulled up in the rank at the back of the last cab. Two or three men came round and began to look at me and pass their remarks. Very good for a funeral, said one. Too smart looking, said another, shaking his head in a very wise way. You'll find out something wrong one of these fine mornings or my name isn't Jones. Well, said Jerry pleasantly, I suppose I need not find it out until it finds me out, eh? And if so, I'll keep up my spirits a little longer. Then there came up a broad-faced man, dressed in a great grey coat with great grey cape and great white buttons, a grey hat and a blue comforter loosely tied around his neck. His hair was grey, too, but he was a jolly-licking fellow and the other men made way for him. He looked me all over, as if he had been going to buy me, and then, straightening himself up with a grunt, he said, he's the right sort for you, Jerry, I don't care what you gave for him, he'll be worth it. Thus my character was established on the stand. This man's name was Grant, but he was called Grey Grant or Governor Grant. He had been the longest on that stand of any of the men, and he took it upon himself to settle matters and stop disputes. He was generally a good, humid, sensible man, but if his temper was a little out, as it was sometimes when he had drunk too much, nobody liked to come too near his fist, for he could deal a very heavy blow. The first week of my life as a cab-horse was very trying. I had never been used to London, and the noise, the hurry, the crowds of horses, cuts, and carriages that I had to make my way through made me feel anxious and harassed. But I soon found that I could perfectly trust my driver, and then I made myself easy and got used to it. Jerry was as good a driver as I have ever known, and what was better, he took as much thought for his horses as he did for himself. He soon found out that I was willing to work and do my best, and he never laid the whip on me unless it was gently drawing the end of it over my back when I was to go on. But generally I knew this quite well by the way in which he took up the reins, and I believe his whip was more frequently stuck up by his side than in his hand. In a short time I and my master understood each other as well as horse and man can do. In this stable, too, he did all that he could for our comfort. The stalls were the old-fashioned style, too much on the slope, but he had two movable bars fixed across the back of our stalls, so that at night, and when we were resting, he just took off our halters and put up the bars, and thus we could turn about and stand whichever way we pleased, which is a great comfort. Jerry kept us very clean, and gave us as much change of food as he could, and always plenty of it. And not only that, but he always gave us plenty of fresh, clean water, which he allowed to stand by us both night and day, except of course when we came in warm. Some people say that a horse ought not to drink all he likes, but I know if we are allowed to drink when we want we drink only a little at a time, and it does us a good deal more good than swallowing down half a bucket full at a time, because we have been left without till we are thirsty and miserable. Some grooms will go home to their beer, and leave us for hours with our dry hay and oats, and nothing to moisten them. Then, of course, we gulp down too much at once, which helps to spoil our breathing, and sometimes chills our stomachs. But the best thing we had here was our Sundays for rest. We worked so hard in the week that I do not think we could have kept up to it, but for that day. Besides, we had then time to enjoy each other's company. It was on these days that I learned my companion's history.