34 An old war-horse. Captain had been broken in and trained for an army-horse. His first owner was an officer of cavalry going out to the Crimean War. He said he quite enjoyed the training with all the other horses, trotting together, turning together to the right hand or the left, halting at the word of command, or dashing forward at full speed at the sound of the trumpet or signal of the officer. He was, when young, a dark, dappled iron grey, and considered very handsome. His master, a young high-spirited gentleman, was very fond of him, and treated him from the first with the greatest care and kindness. He told me he thought the life of an army-horse was very pleasant, but when it came to being sent abroad over the sea in a great ship he almost changed his mind. That part of it, said he, was dreadful. Of course we could not walk off the land into the ship, so they were obliged to put strong straps under our bodies, and then we were lifted off our legs in spite of our struggles, and were swung through the air over the water to the deck of the great vessel. There we were placed in small, close stalls, and never for a long time saw the sky or were able to stretch our legs. The ship sometimes rolled about in high winds, and we were knocked about and felt bad enough. However, at last it came to an end, and we were hauled up and swung over again to the land. We were very glad and snorted and nade for joy when we once more felt firm ground under our feet. We soon found that the country we had come to was very different from our own, and that we had many hardships to endure besides the fighting, but many of the men were so fond of their horses that they did everything they could to make them comfortable in spite of snow, wet, and all things out of order. "'But what about the fighting?' said I. "'Was not that worse than anything else?' "'Well,' said he. "'I hardly know. We always like to hear the trumpet sound and to be called out, and we're impatient to start off, though sometimes we had to stand for hours, waiting for the word of command. And when the word was given, we used to spring forward as gaily and as eagerly as if there were no cannonballs, bayonets, or bullets. I believe, so long as we felt our rider firm in the saddle, and his hands steady on the bridle, not one of us gave way to fear, not even when the terrible bombshells whirled through the air and burst into a thousand pieces. I, with my noble master, went into many actions together without a wound, and though I saw horses shot down with bullets pierced through with lances and gashed with fearful sabercuts, though we left them dead on the field or dying in the agony of their wounds, I don't think I feared for myself. My master's cheery voice, as he encouraged his men, made me feel as if he and I could not be killed. I had such perfect trust in him that while he was guiding me I was ready to charge up to the very cannon's mouth. I saw many brave men cut down, many four mortally wounded from their saddles. I had heard the cries and groans of the dying. I had canted over ground slippery with blood, and frequently had to turn aside to avoid trampling on wounded man or horse. But until one dreadful day I had never felt terror. That day I shall never forget. Here old captain paused for a while and drew a long breath. I waited, and he went on. It was one autumn morning, and as usual an hour before daybreak our cavalry had turned out ready comparison for the day's work, whether it might be fighting or waiting. The men stood by their horses waiting, ready for orders. As the light increased there seemed to be some excitement among the officers, and before the day was well begun we heard the firing of the enemy's guns. Then one of the officers rode up and gave the word for the men to mount, and in a second every man was in his saddle, and every horse stood expecting the touch of the rain or the pressure of his rider's heels, all animated, all eager. But still we had been trained so well that, except by the champing of our bits and the restive tossing of our heads from time to time, it could not be said that we stirred. My dear master and I were at the head of the line, and as all sat motionless and watchful he took a little stray lock of my mane which had turned over on the wrong side, laid it over on the right, and smoothed it down with his hand. Then patting my neck, he said, We shall have a day of it to-day, Bayard, my beauty, but we'll do our duty as we have done. He stroked my neck that morning more, I think, than he had ever done before, quietly on and on, as if he were thinking of something else. I loved to feel his hand on my neck, and arched my crest proudly and happily. But I stood very still, for I knew all his moods, and when he liked me to be quiet, and when gay. I cannot tell all that happened on that day. But I will tell of the last charge that we made together.  By this time we were well used to the roar of heavy guns, the rattle of musket fire, and the flying of shot near us, but never had I been under such a fire as we rode through on that day. From the right, from the left and from the front, shot and shell poured in upon us. Many a brave man went down. Many a horse fell, flinging his rider to the earth. Many a horse without a rider ran wildly out of the ranks. Then, terrified at being alone, with no hand to guide him, came pressing in among his old companions to gallop with them to the charge. As well as it was, no one stopped, no one turned back. Every moment the ranks were thinned, but as our comrades fell, we closed in to keep them together, and instead of being shaken or staggered in our pace, our gallop became faster and faster as we neared the cannon.  I felt him stagger with a shock, though he uttered no cry. I tried to check my speed, but the sword dropped from his right hand, the rain fell loose from the left, and sinking backward from the saddle he fell to the earth. The other riders swept past us, and by the force of their charge I was driven from the spot. I wanted to keep my place by his side and not leave him under that rush of horses' feet, but it was in vain. And now, without a master or a friend, I was alone on that great slaughter-ground. Then fear took hold on me, too, and I trembled as I had never trembled before, and I, too, as I had seen other horses do, tried to join in the ranks and gallop with them, but I was beaten off by the swords of the soldiers. Just then a soldier whose horse had been killed under him caught at my bridle and mounted me, and with this new master I was again going forward, but our gallant company was cruelly overpowered, and those who remained alive after the fierce fight for the guns came galloping back over the same ground. Some of the horses had been so badly wounded that they could scarcely move from the loss of blood. Other noble creatures were trying on three legs to drag themselves along, and others were struggling to rise on their forefeet when their hind legs had been shattered by shot. After the battle the wounded men were brought in, and the dead were buried. And what about the wounded horses? I said, were they left to die? No. The army-farriers went over the fields with their pistols, and shot all that were ruined. Some that had only slight wounds were brought back and attended to, but the greater part of the noble, willing creatures that went out that morning never came back. In our stables there was only about one in four that returned. I never saw my dear master again. I believe he fell dead from the saddle. I never loved any other master so well. I went into many other engagements, but was only once wounded, and then not seriously. And when the war was over I came back again to England, as sound and strong as when I went out. I said, I have heard people talk about war as if it were a very fine thing. Ah! said he, I should think they never saw it. No doubt it is very fine when there is no enemy, when it is just exercise and parade and sham fight. Yes, it is very fine then. But when thousands of good brave men and horses are killed or crippled for life, it has a very different look. Do you know what they thought about? said I. No, he said. That is more than a horse can understand, but the enemy must have been awfully wicked people if it was right to go all that way over the sea on purpose to kill them. CHAPTER 35 Jerry Barker I never knew a better man than my new master. He was kind and good, and as strong for the right as John Manley, and so good tempered and merry that very few people could pick a quarrel with him. He was very fond of making little songs and singing them to himself. One he was very fond of was this. Come father and mother, and sister and brother, come all of you, turn two, and help one another. And so they did. Harry was as clever at stable work as a much older boy, and always wanted to do what he could. Then Polly and Dolly used to come in the morning to help with the cab, to brush and beat the cushions and rub the glass, while Jerry was giving us a cleaning in the yard, and Harry was rubbing the harness. There used to be a great deal of laughing and fun between them, and it put Captain and me in much better spirits than if we had heard scolding and hard words. They were always early in the morning, for Jerry would say, If you in the morning throw minutes away, you can't pick them up in the course of a day. You may hurry and scurry, and flurry and worry, you've lost them for ever, for ever and I. He could not bear any careless loitering and waste of time, and nothing was so near making him angry as to find people who were always late, wanting a cab-horse to be driven hard to make up for their idleness. One day, two wild-looking young men came out of a tavern close to the stand and called Jerry. Here, cabbie, look sharp, we are rather late. Put on the steam, will you, and take us to the Victoria in time for the one o'clock train. You shall have a shilling extra. I will take you at the regular pace, gentlemen. Things don't pay for putting on the steam like that. Larry's cab was standing next to ours. He flung open the door and said, I'm your man, gentlemen, take my cab, my horse will get you there all right. And as you shut them in, with a wink toward Jerry, he said, it's against his conscience to go beyond a jog-trot. Then slashing his jaded horse, he set off as hard as he could. Jerry patted me on the neck. No, Jack, a shilling would not pay for that sort of thing, would it, old boy? Although Jerry was determinedly set against hard driving, to please careless people, he always went to good fair pace, and was not against putting on the steam, as he said, if only he knew why. I well remember one morning, as we were on the stand waiting for a fair, that a young man, carrying a heavy portmanteau, trod on a piece of orange peel which lay on the pavement, and fell down with great force. Jerry was the first to run and lift him up. He seemed much stunned, and as they led him into a shop he walked as if he were in great pain. Jerry, of course, came back to the stand, but in about ten minutes one of the shopmen called him, so he drew up to the pavement. Can you take me to the south-eastern railway? said the young man. This unlucky fall has made me late, I fear, but it is of great importance that I should not lose the twelve o'clock train. I should be most thankful if you could get me there in time, and will gladly pay you an extra fare. I'll do my very best, said Jerry heartily, if you think you are well enough, sir. For he looked dreadfully white and ill. I must go, he said earnestly, pleased to open the door, and let us lose no time. The next minute Jerry was on the box, with a cheery chirrup to me, and a twitch of the rain that I well understood. Now, then, Jack my boy, said he, spin along, we'll show them how we can get over the ground if we only know why. It is always difficult to drive fast in the city in the middle of the day, when the streets are full of traffic, but we did what could be done, and when a good driver and a good horse, who understand each other, are of one mind, it is wonderful what they can do. I had a very good mouth, that is, I could be guided by the slightest touch of the rain, and that is a great thing in London, among carriages, omnibuses, carts, vans, trucks, cabs, and great wagons creeping along at a walking pace, some going one way, some another, some going slowly, others wanting to pass them, omnibuses stopping short every few minutes to take up a passenger, obliging the horse that is coming behind to pull up too, or to pass and get before them. Perhaps you try to pass, but just then something else comes dashing in through the narrow opening, and you have to keep in behind the omnibus again. Presently you think you see a chance, and manage to get to the front, going so near the wheels on each side, that half an inch nearer, and they would scrape. Well, you get along for a bit, but soon find yourself in a long train of carts and carriages, all obliged to go at a walk. Perhaps you come to a regular block-up, and have to stand still for minutes together till something clears out into a side street, or the policeman interferes. You have to be ready for any chance, to dash forward if there be an opening, and be quick as a rat-dog to see if there be room, and if there be time, lest you get your own wheels locked or smashed, or the shaft of some other vehicle run into your chest or shoulder. All this is what you have to be ready for, if you want to get through London fast in the middle of the day, it wants a deal of practice. Jerry and I were used to it, and no one could beat us at getting through when we were set upon it. I was quick and bold, and could always trust my driver. Jerry was quick and patient at the same time, and could trust his horse, which was a great thing, too. He very seldom used the whip. I knew by his voice, and his click-click when he wanted to get on fast, and by the rain where I was to go, so there was no need for whipping. But I must go back to my story. The streets were very full that day, but we got on pretty well as far as the bottom of Cheapside, where there was a block for three or four minutes. The young man put his head out, and said anxiously, I think I had better get out and walk. I shall never get there if this goes on. I shall do all that can be done, sir," said Jerry. I think we shall be in time. This block-up cannot last much longer, and your luggage is very heavy for you to carry, sir. Just then the cart in front of us began to move on, and then we had a good turn. In and out, in and out we went, as fast as horse-flesh could do it, and for a wonder had a good clear time on London Bridge, for there was a whole train of cabs and carriages all going our way at a quick trot, perhaps wanting to catch that very train. At any rate we wailed into the station with many more, just as the great clock pointed eight minutes to twelve o'clock. Thank God! we are in time," said the young man, and thank you too, my friend, and your good horse. You have saved me more than money can ever pay for. Take this extra half-crown." No, sir, no. Thank you all the same. So glad we hit the time, sir. But don't stay now, sir, the bell is ringing. Here, porter, take this gentleman's luggage. Doverline, twelve o'clock train, that's it. And without waiting for another word, Jerry wheeled me round to make room for other cabs that were dashing up at the last minute, and drew up on one side till the crush was passed. So glad, he said, so glad. Poor young fellow, I wonder what it was that made him so anxious. Jerry often talked to himself quite loud enough for me to hear when we were not moving. When Jerry's returned to the rank, there was a good deal of laughing and chafing at him for driving hard to the train for an extra fare, as they said all against his principles, and they wanted to know how much he had pocketed. A good deal more than I generally get, said he, nodding slyly, what he gave me will keep me in little comforts for several days. Gammon, said one. He's a humbug, said another, preaching to us and then doing the same himself. Look here, mates, said Jerry. The gentleman offered me half a crown extra, but I didn't take it. It was quite pay enough for me to see how glad he was to catch that train, and if Jack and I choose to have a quick run now and then to please ourselves, that's our business and not yours. Well, said Larry, you'll never be a rich man. Most likely not, said Jerry, but I don't know that I shall be the less happy for that. I have heard the commandments read a great many times, and I never noticed that any of them said, Thou shalt be rich, and there are a good many curious things said in the New Testament about rich men that I think would make me feel rather queer if I was one of them.   Well, said Larry, what is a fellow to do if his horse won't go without it? You never take the trouble to see if he will go without it. Your whip is always going as if you had the St. Vitus dance in your arm, and if it does not wear you out it wears your horse out. You know you are always changing your horses, and why? Because you never give them any peace or encouragement. Well, I have not had good luck, said Larry. That's where it is. And you never will, said the Governor. Good luck is rather particular who she rides with, and mostly prefers those who have got common sense and a good heart. At least that is my experience. Governor Gray turned round again to his newspaper, and the other men went to their cabs. End of Chapter thirty-five. Chapter thirty-six of Black Beauty. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. Chapter thirty-six. The Sunday Cab. One morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening the traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. Your servant, sir, said Jerry. Good morning, Mr. Barker, said the gentleman. I should be glad to make some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to church on Sunday mornings. We go to the new church now, and that is rather further than she can walk. Thank you, sir, said Jerry, but I have only taken out a six-days license, and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday. It would not be legal. Oh! said the other. I did not know yours was a six-days cab, but of course it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you did not lose by it. The fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to drive her. I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days license once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my horses. Year in and year out, not a day's rest, and never a Sunday with my wife and children, and never able to go to a place of worship, which I had always been used to do before I took to the driving-box. So for the last five years I have only taken a six-days license, and I find it better all the way round. Well, of course, replied Mr. Briggs, it is very proper that every person should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I should have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for the horse, and only once a day. You would have all the afternoon and evening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know. Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favours, I am sure, and anything that I could do to oblige you or the lady, I should be proud and happy to do. But I can't give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I can't. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other beasts, and as soon as he had made them, he made a day of rest, and bade that all should rest one day in seven. And I think, sir, he must have known what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me. I am stronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest. The horses are fresh, too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day drivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the savings bank than ever I did before. And as for the wife and children, sir, why, heart alive, they would not go back to the seven days for all they could see. Oh, very well, said the gentleman. Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Barker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else." And he walked away. Well, says Jerry to me, we can't help it, Jack old boy, we must have our Sundays. Polly! he shouted. Polly, come here. She was there in a minute. What is it all about, Jerry? Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every Sunday morning. I say I only have a six days license. He says, get a seven days license, and I'll make it worth your while. And you know Polly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out shopping for hours or making calls, and then she pays down fair and honorable, like a lady. There's no beating down or making three hours into two hours and a half, as some folks do. And today is easy work for the horses, not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are always a quarter of an hour too late. And if I don't oblige her in this matter, it is very likely we shall lose them all together. What do you say, little woman? I say, Jerry, so she, speaking very slowly, I say, if Mrs. Briggs would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a seven days cab man again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays, and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God you earn enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the oats and hay, the license and the rent besides.  God forbid that we should ever turn back to those times. That's what I say, Jerry. And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear, said Jerry, and what I mean to stick to. So don't go and fret yourself, Polly, for she had begun to cry. I would not go back to the old times if I earned twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I'll be off to the stand. Three weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had come from Mrs. Briggs, so there was nothing but taking jobs from the stand. Jerry took it to heart a great deal, for of course the work was harder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say, Never mind, Father, never mind. Do your best, and leave the rest. It will all come right, some day or night. It soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what reason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his part. If working men don't stick to their Sunday, said Truman, they'll soon have none left. It is every man's right and every beast's right. By God's law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day of rest, and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us, and keep them for our children. All very well for you religious chaps to talk so, said Larry. But I'll turn a shilling when I can. I don't believe in religion, for I don't see that your religious folks are any better than the rest. If they are not better, put in Jerry, it is because they are not religious. You might as well say that our country's laws are not good because some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and speaks evil of his neighbour, and does not pay his debts, he is not religious. I don't care how much he goes to church. If some men are shams and hungbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is the best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make a man really happy, or make the world we live in any better. If religion was good for anything, said Jones, it would prevent your religious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of them do, and that's why I say religion is nothing but a sham. Why? If it was not for the church and chapel-doers, it would be hardly worthwhile our coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call them, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I can't get a chance of saving it. Several of the men applauded this, till Jerry said, That may sound well enough, but it won't do. Every man must look after his own soul. You can't lay it down at another man's door like a foundling, and expect him to take care of it. And don't you see, if you are always sitting on your box waiting for a fair, they will say, If we don't take him, someone else will, and he does not look for any Sunday. Of course, they don't go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they never came for a cab, it would be no use you standing there. But people don't always like to go to the bottom of things, it may not be convenient to do it, but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a day of rest, the thing would be done. And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their favourite preachers? said Larry. It is not for me to lay down plans for other people, said Jerry, but if they can't walk so far they can go to what is nearer, and if it should rain they can put on their macintoshes, as they do on a weekday. If the thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done without, and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us cab men as it is for the church-goers. Briggs sent her servant this afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o'clock. I said, yes I thought so, but we supposed she employed someone else now. Well, said he, the real fact is, Master was put out because Mr. Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs, but there's something wrong with them all. Some drive too fast, and some too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker's cab again. Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh. It will all come right some day or night.  Run in and get the supper, and I'll have Jack's harness off and make him snug and happy in no time. After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry's cab quite as often as before. Never, however, on a Sunday. But there came a day when we had Sunday work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday night very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all rest, but so it was not to be. On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard when Polly stepped up to him, looking very full of something. What is it? said Jerry. Well, my dear, she said. Poor Diana Brown has just had a letter brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten miles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the train she should still have four miles to walk. And so weak as she is, and the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible. And she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she promises to pay you faithfully as she can get the money. Tutt, tutt, we'll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking about, but of losing our Sunday. The horses are tired, and I am tired too. That's where it pinches. It pinches all round for that matter, said Polly, for it's only half Sunday without you. But you know we should do to other people as we should like they should do to us, and I know very well what I should like if my mother was dying. And Jerry, dear, I'm sure it won't break the sabbath, for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would not spoil it, I'm quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it. Why, Polly, you were as good as the minister. And so, as I've had my Sunday morning sermon early today, you may go and tell Dinah that I'll be ready for her as the clock strikes ten. But stop! Just step round to Butcher Braden's with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me his light trap. I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make a wonderful difference to the horse. Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and welcome. All right, said he, now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I'll be back in the afternoon as soon as I can. And I'll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for dinner, said Polly. And away she went, while he made his preparations to the tune of Polly's The Woman and No Mistake, of which tune he was very fond. I was selected, and at ten o'clock we started, in a light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled cab it seemed like nothing. It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet air, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads, were as pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel quite fresh. Dinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a meadow with some fine shady trees, there were two cows feeding in it. A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would time me up in the cow shed. He wished he had a better stable to offer. If your cows would not be offended, said Jerry, there is nothing my horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful meadow. He's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him. Do and welcome, said the young man. The best we have is at your service for your kindness to my sister. We should be having some dinner in an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with mother so ill we are all out of sorts in the house. Jerry thanked him kindly, but said, as he had some dinner with him, there was nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow.  Jerry seemed to be quite as happy as I was. He sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to the birds. Then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he is so fond of. Then wandered around the meadow, and down by little brook, where he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up with long sprays of ivy. Then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he had brought with him, but the time seemed all too short. I had not been in a field since I left poor ginger at Earls Hall. We came home gently, and Jerry's first words were as we came into the yard, Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birds were singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service, and as for Jack, he was like a young colt. When he handed Dolly the flowers, she jumped about for joy. End of Chapter thirty-seven Chapter thirty-eight of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter thirty-eight Dolly and a Real Gentleman Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow or sleet or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keen driving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much.  Some of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was a fine thing, but some of the men were so poor that they could not protect either themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very much that winter. When we horses had worked half the day, we went to our dry stables and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes staying out as late as one or two in the morning if they had a party to wait for. When the streets were slippery with frost or snow, that was the worst for all of us horses. One mile of such travelling, with a weight to draw and no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a good road. Every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep our balance, and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting than anything else. If the roads are very bad indeed, our shoes are roughened, but that makes us feel nervous at first. When the weather was very bad, many of the men would go and sit in the tavern close by and get someone to watch for them, but they often lost a fair in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there without spending money. He never went to the rising sun, there was a coffee-shop near, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man who came to our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home were the best things to keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat when he could not get home, and sometimes he would see a little dolly peeping from the corner of the street to make sure a father was on the stand. If she saw him, she would run off at full speed, and soon come back with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Polly had ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safely across the street, often thronged with horses and carriages, but she was a brave little maid, and felt it quite an honour to bring father's first course, as he used to call it. She was a general favourite on the street, and there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across the street if Jerry had not been able to do it. One cold, windy day, Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot, and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun when a gentleman walking toward us very fast held up his umbrella. Jerry touched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking off my cloth, when the gentleman hastening up cried out, No, no, finish your soup, my friend. I have not much time to spare, but I can wait until you have done and set your little girl safe on the pavement. So saying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came back to Dolly. There, Dolly, that's a gentleman, that's a real gentleman, Dolly. He has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cab man and a little girl. Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his orders to drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentleman took our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for whenever we took him to his own door, two or three dogs would come bounding out to meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet, pleasant way, this horse got a good master, and he deserves it. It was a very rare thing for anyone to notice the horse that had been working for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and this gentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word, but ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would have soon think of patting the steam engine that drew the train. The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in his shoulders, as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin and close shut, though they had a very pleasant smile. His eye was keen, and there was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made one think he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice was pleasant and kind. Any horse would trust that voice, though it was just as decided as everything else about him. One day he and another gentleman took our cab. They stopped at a shop in Red Street, and while his friend went in, he stood at the door. A little ahead of us on the other side of the street, a cart with two very fine horses was standing before some wine-volts. The carter was not with them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but they seemed to think they had waited long enough and began to move off. Before they had gone many paces, the carter came running out and caught them. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and rain punished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentleman saw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decided voice. If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for leaving your horses, and for brutal conduct. The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusive language, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking the reins got into his cart. Meantime our friend had quietly taken a notebook from his pocket, and looking at the name and address painted on the cart, he wrote something down. What do you want with that? growled the carter, as he cracked his whip and was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got. On returning to the cab, our friend was joined by his companion, who said laughingly, I should have thought, right, you had enough business of your own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people's horses and servants. Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a little back. Do you know why this world is as bad as it is? No, said the other. Then I'll tell you, it is because people think only about their own business, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed, nor bring the wrong doer to light. I never see a wicked thing like this without doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for letting him know how his horses have been used. I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir, said Jerry, for they are wanted badly enough in this city. After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab, our friend was saying, my doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong, that we have the power to stop and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt. End of Chapter thirty-eight Chapter thirty-nine of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter thirty-nine C. D. Sam I should say that for a cab horse I was very well off indeed. My driver was my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and to not overwork me, even had he not been as so good a man as he was. But there were a great many horses which belonged to the large cab owners, who let them out to their drivers, for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong to these men, the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out of them, first to pay the master, and then to provide for their own living, and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course I understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand, and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, would sometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used. One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of C. D. Sam, brought in his horse-looking dreadfully beat, and the governor said, You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for this rank. The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round upon the governor, and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate. If the police have any business with the matter, it ought to be with the masters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low. If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab, and two horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make that up before we earn a penny for ourselves, I say it is more than hard work, nine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to get your own living. You know that's true, and if the horses don't work, we must starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now. I have six of them, and only one earns anything. I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelve weeks. You know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I don't work hard, tell me who does. I want a warm coat and a Macintosh, but with so many to feed, how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again. Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying he was right. The man went on. You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, have a chance of getting on, and a chance of doing right. I haven't. We can't charge more than six pence a mile after the first, within the four-mile radius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles, and only took three shillings. I could not get a return fair, and had to come all the way back. There's twelve miles for the horse, and three shillings for me. After that I had a three-mile fair, and there were bags and boxes enough to have brought in a good many two-pences, if they had been put outside. But you know how people do. All that could be piled up inside on the front seat were put in, and three heavy boxes went on the top. That was six pence, and the fair one and six pence. Then I got a return for a shilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse, and six shillings for me. There's three shillings still for that horse to earn, and nine shillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course it is not always so bad as that. But you know it often is, and I say, it is a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse. For when a beast is downright tired, there's nothing but the whip that will keep his legs a-going. You can't help yourself. You must put your wife and children before the horse. The masters must look to that. We can't. I don't ill use my horse for the sake of it. None of you can say I do. There's wrong lays somewhere. Never a day's rest. Never a quiet hour with a wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I'm only forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us of cheating and overcharging. Why? They stand with their purses in their hands, counting it over to a penny, and looking at us as if we were pickpockets. I wish some of them had to sit on my box sixteen hours a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings besides, and that in all weathers. They would not be so uncommon particular never to give us a sixpence over, or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of them tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live. But you can't depend upon that. The men who stood round much approved the speech, and one of them said, It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it is no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up? Jerry had taken no part in his conversation, but I never saw his face look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in his pockets. Now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped his forehead. You've beaten me, Sam, he said, for all it's true, and I won't cast it up to you any more about the police. It was the look in that horse's eye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for beast, and whos to mend it I don't know. But anyway, you might tell the poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way. Sometimes a kind word is all we can give him, poor Brutes, and it is wonderful what they do understand. A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's cab. Hello! said one. What's up with Seedy Sam? He's ill in bed, said the man. He was taken last night in the yard and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning to say his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I'm here instead. The next morning the same man came again. How is Sam? inquired the governor. He's gone, said the man. What! gone! You don't mean to say he's dead? Just snuffed out, said the other. He died at four o'clock this morning. All yesterday he was raving, raving about Skinner and having no Sundays. I never had a Sunday's rest. Those were his last words. No one spoke for a while. And then the governor said, I'll tell you what, mates, this is a warning for us. End of Chapter 39 Chapter 40 of Black Beauty This lip of ox recording is in the public domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter 40 Poor Ginger One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the parks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours. The horse was an old worn-out chestnut with an ill-kept coat and bones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and the forelegs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her long, thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse before, she looked full at me and said, Black Beauty, is that you? It was ginger. But how changed? The beautifully arched and glossy neck was now straight and lank and fallen in. The clean straight legs and delicate fitlocks were swelled, the joints were grown out of shape with hard work.  Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to her a step or two that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad tale that she had to tell. After a twelve-months run-off at Earl's Hall she was considered to be fit for work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while she got on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strain returned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. In this way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down. And so at last, said she, I was bought by a man who keeps a number of cabs and horses and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad of it, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found out my weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that I must go into the one of the low cabs and just be used up. That is what they are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what I suffer. They paid for me and must get it out of me, they say. The man who hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he has to get it out of me too. And so it's all the week round and round with never a Sunday rest. I said, You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used. Ah! she said. I did once, but it's no use. Men are strongest, and if they are cruel and have no feeling there is nothing that we can do, but just bear it—bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come. I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not suffer pain.  I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could say nothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said, You are the only friend I ever had.  A short time after this, a cart with a dead horse in it passed our cab stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was slowly dropping with blood, and the sunken eyes—but I can't speak of them—the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse, with a long thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was Ginger. I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh, if men were more merciful, they would shoot us before we came to such misery. CHAPTER 41 THE BUTCHER I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of it might have been prevented by little common sense. We horses do not mind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there are many driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when I used to go in the counters of—scarriage—with my silver-mounted harness and high feeding. It often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used, straining along with heavy loads, or staggering under heavy blows from some low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little grey pony with a thick mane and a pretty head, and so much like Mary-legs that if I had not been in harness I should have naved to him. He was doing his best to pull a heavy cart, while a strong, rough boy was cutting him under the belly with his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it be Mary-legs? It was just like him, but then Mr. Bloomfield was never to sell him, and I think he would not do it. But this might have been quite as good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young. I often noticed the great speed at which Butcher's horses were made to go, though I did not know why it was so, till one day when we had to wait some time in St. John's wood. There was a butcher's shop next door, and as we were standing a butcher's cart came dashing up at a great pace. The horse was hot and much exhausted. He hung his head down, while his heaving sides and trembling legs showed how hard he had been driven. The lad jumped out of the cart and was getting the basket, when the master came out of the shop much displeased. After looking at the horse he turned angrily to the lad. How many times shall I tell you not to drive in this way? You ruined the last horse and broke his wind, and you were going to ruin this in the same way.  It is a disgrace to have a horse brought to the shop in a condition like that. You were liable to be taken up by the police for such driving, and if you are you need not look to me for bail, for I have spoken to you till I'm tired, you must look out for yourself. During this speech the boy had stood by, sullen and dogged, but when his father ceased he broke out angrily. It wasn't his fault, and he wouldn't take the blame. He was only going by orders all the time. You always say, now be quick, now look sharp, and when I go to the houses one wants a leg of mutton for an early dinner, and I must be back with it in the quarter of an hour. Another cook has forgotten to order the beef. I must go and fetch it, and be back in no time, or the mistress will scold. And the housekeeper says they have company coming unexpectedly, and must have some chops sent up directly. And the lady at number four in the crescent never orders her dinner till the meat comes in for lunch, and it's nothing but hurry, hurry all the time. If the gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day before, there need not be this blow-up. I wished a goodness they would, said the butcher, it would save me a wonderful deal of harass, and I could suit my customers much better if I knew beforehand. But there, what's the use of talking? Whoever thinks of a butcher's convenience or a butcher's horse? Now then, take him in and look to him well, mind he does not go out again today, and if anything else is wanted you must carry it yourself in the basket. With that he went in, and the horse was led away. But all boys are not cruel. I have seen some as fond of their pony or donkey, as if it had been a favourite dog, and the little creatures have worked away as cheerfully and willingly for their young drivers as I work for Jerry. It may be hard work sometimes, but a friend's hand and voice make it easy. There was a young Costa boy who came up our street with greens and potatoes. He had an old pony, not very handsome, but the cheerfulest and pluckiest little thing I ever saw, and to see how fond those two were of each other was a treat.  Jerry liked the boy, and called him Prince Charlie, for he said he would make a king of drivers some day.  He wore a coal heaver's hat, and looked rough and black. He and his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good partners who understood each other. The horse would stop of his own accord at the doors where they took coal of him. He used to keep one ear bent towards his master. The old man's cry could be heard up the street long before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children called him Old Bar R R Who, for it sounded like that. Polly took her coal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place. End of Chapter forty-one Chapter forty-two of Black Beauty The Slippery Fox recording is in the public domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter forty-two The Election As we came into the yard one afternoon, Polly came out. Jerry, I've had Mr. B. here asking about your vote, and he wants to hire your cab for the election. He will call for an answer. Well, Polly, you may say that my cab will be otherwise engaged. I should not like to have it pasted over with their great bills, and as to making Jack and Captain race about to the public houses to bring up half-drunken voters. Why? I think it would be an insult to the horses. No, I shan't do it. I suppose you'll vote for the gentleman. He said he was of your politics. So he is in some things, but I shall not vote for him, Polly. You know what his trade is? Yes. Well, a man who gets rich by that trade may be all very well in some ways, but he is blind as to what working men want. I cannot in my conscience send him up to make the laws. I dare say they'll be angry, but every man must do what he thinks to be the best for his country. On the morning before the election, Jerry was putting me into the shafts, when Dolly came into the yard sobbing and crying, with her little blue frock and white pinafore spattered all over with mud. Why, Dolly, what is the matter? There's naughty boys, she sobbed, have thrown the dirt all over me, and called me a little ragamuffin father. They called her a little blue ragamuffin father, said Harry, who ran in looking very angry. But I have given it to them. They won't insult my sister again. I have given them a thrashing they will remember, a set of cowardly, rascally, orange blaggards. Jerry kissed the child, and said, run into mother my pet, and tell her I think you had better stay at home today and help her. Then, turning gravely to Harry. My boy, I hope you will always defend your sister, and give anyone who insults her a good thrashing, that is as it should be. But mind, I won't have any election blaggarding on my premises. There are as many blue blaggards as there are orange, and as many white as there are purple or any other colour, and I won't have any of my family mixed up with it. Even women and children are ready to quarrel for the sake of a colour, and not one in ten of them knows what it is about. Why, father, I thought blue was for liberty. My boy, liberty does not come from colours. They only show party, and all the liberty you can get out of them is liberty to get drunk at other people's expense, liberty to ride to the pole in a dirty old cab, liberty to abuse anyone that does not wear your colour, and to shout yourself hoarse at what you only half understand—that's your liberty. Oh, father, you were laughing! No, Harry, I am serious, and I am ashamed to see how men go on who ought to know better. An election is a very serious thing, at least it ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience, and let his neighbour do the same. CHAPTER 43 A Friend in Need The election day came at last. There was no lack of work for Jerry and me. First came a stout, puffy gentleman with a carpet bag. He wanted to go to the Bishop's Gate Station. Then we were called by a party who wished to be taken to the Regent's Park. And next we were wanted in a side street, where a timid, anxious old lady was waiting to be taken to the bank. There we had to stop to take her back again, and just as we had set her down, a red-faced gentleman with a handful of papers came running up out of breath, and before Jerry could get down he had opened the door, popped himself in, and called out, Boast Street Police Station, quick! So off we went with him. And when, after another turn or two, we came back, there was no other cab on the stand. Jerry put on my nose-bag, for as he said, we must eat when we can on such days as these, so munch away, Jack, and make the best of your time, old boy. I found I had a good feed of crushed oats, wetted up with a little bran. This would be a treat any day, but very refreshing then. Jerry was so thoughtful and kind, what horse would not do his best for such a master?  The streets were very full, and the cabs, with the candidates' colors on them, were dashing about through the crowd, as if life and limb were of no consequence. We saw two people knocked down that day, and one was a woman. The horses were having a bad time of it, poor things, but the voters inside thought nothing of that. Many of them were half-drunk, harrowing out of the cab windows if their own party came by. It was the first election I had seen, and I don't want to be in another, though I have heard things are better now. Jerry and I had not eaten many mouthfuls, before a poor young woman carrying a heavy child came along the street. She was looking this way and that way, and seemed quite bewildered. Presently she made her way up to Jerry, and asked if he could tell her the way to St. Thomas's Hospital, and how far it was to get there. She had come from the country that morning, she said, in a market cart. She did not know about the election, and was quite a stranger in London. She had got an order for the hospital for her little boy. The child was crying with a feeble, pining cry. Poor little fellow, she said, he suffers a great deal of pain. He is four years old, and can't walk any more than a baby. But the doctor said if I could get him into the hospital he might get well. Pray, sir, how far is it, and which way is it? Why, Mrs. said Jerry, you can't get there walking through crowds like this. Why, it is three miles away, and that child is heavy. Yes, bless him he is, but I am strong, thank God, and if I knew the way I think I should get on somehow, please tell me the way. You can't do it, said Jerry, you might be knocked down than the child be run over. Now look here, just get into this cab and I'll drive you safe to the hospital.  No, sir, no, I can't do that, thank you. I have only just enough money to get back with. Please tell me the way. Look you here, Mrs. said Jerry. I've got a wife and dear children at home, and I know her father's feelings. Now get you into that cab and I'll take you there for nothing.  Heaven bless you, said the woman, and burst into tears. There, there, cheer up, my dear, I'll soon take you there. Come, let me put you inside. As Jerry went to open the door, two men, with colours in their hats and buttonholes, ran up calling out, cab! Engaged, cried Jerry, but one of the men, pushing past the woman, sprang into the cab, followed by the other. Jerry looked as stern as a policeman. This cab is already engaged, gentlemen, by that lady. Lady, said one of them, oh, she can wait. Our business is very important. Besides, we were in first. It is our right, and we shall stay in.  All right, gentlemen, pray stay in as long as it suits you. I can wait while you rest yourselves. And turning his back upon them, he walked up to the young woman who was standing near me.  Don't trouble yourself, my dear. And they soon were gone, for when they understood Jerry's dodge, they got out, calling him all sorts of bad names and blustering about his number and getting a summons. After this little stoppage, we were soon on our way to the hospital, going as much as possible through by-streets. Jerry rung the great bell and helped the young woman out. Thank you a thousand times, she said. I could never have got here alone. You're kindly welcome, and I hope the dear child will soon be better. He watched her go in at the door, and gently he said to himself, in as much as he have done it to one of the least of these. Then he patted my neck, which was always his way when anything pleased him. The rain was now coming down fast, and just as we were leaving the hospital, the door opened again, and the porter called out, cab. We stopped, and the lady came down the steps. Jerry seemed to know her at once. She put back her veil and said, Barker? Jeremiah Barker? Is it you? I'm very glad to find you here. You are just the friend I want, for it is very difficult to get a cab in this part of London today. I shall be proud to serve you, ma'am. I'm right glad I happened to be here. Where may I take you to, ma'am? To the Paddington station, and then, if we are in good time, as I think we shall be, you shall tell me all about Mary and the children. We got to the station in good time, and being under shelter the lady stood a good while talking to Jerry. I found she had been Polly's mistress, and after many inquiries about her she said, How do you find the cab work suit you in winter? I know Mary was rather anxious about you last year. Yes, ma'am, she was. I had a bad cough that followed me quite up into the warm weather, and when I am kept out late she does worry herself a good deal. You see, ma'am, it is all hours and all weathers, and that does try a man's constitution, but I am getting on pretty well, and I should feel quite lost if I had not horses to look after. I was brought up to it, and I am afraid I should not do so well at anything else. Well, Barker, she said, it would be a great pity that you should seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own, but for Mary's and the children's sake. There are many places where good drivers or good grooms are wanted, and if ever you think you ought to give up this cab work, let me know. Then, sending some kind messages to Mary, she put something into his hand, saying, There is five shillings each for the two children. Mary will know how to spend it. Jerry thanked her, and seemed much pleased, and turning out of the station we at last reached home, and I, at least, was tired. Chapter 44 Chapter 44 Old Captain and his successor Captain and I were great friends. He was a noble old fellow, and he was very good company. I never thought that he would have to leave his home and go down the hill, but his turn came, and this was how it happened. I was not there, but I heard all about it. He and Jerry had taken a party to the Great Railway Station over London Bridge, and were coming back, somewhere between the Bridge and the Monument, when Jerry saw a brewer's empty dray coming along, drawn by two powerful horses. The drayman was lashing his horses with his heavy whip, the dray was light, and they started off at a furious rate.  One young girl was knocked down and run over, and the next moment they dashed up against our cab, both the wheels were torn off, and the cab was thrown over. Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one of them ran into his side. Jerry, too, was thrown, but was only bruised. Nobody could tell how he escaped. He always said it was a miracle. When poor Captain was got up, he was found to be very much cut and knocked about. Jerry led him home gently, and a sad sight it was to see the blood soaking into his white coat and dropping from his side and shoulder. The drayman was proved to be very drunk and was fine, and the brewer had to pay damages to our master, but there was no one to pay damages to poor Captain. The farrier and Jerry did the best they could to ease his pain and make him comfortable. The fly had to be mended, and for several days I did not go out, and Jerry earned nothing. The first time he went to the stand after the accident, the governor came up to hear how Captain was. He'll never get over it, said Jerry, at least not for my work, so the farrier said this morning. He says he may do for carting and that sort of work. It has put me out very much. Carting, indeed. I've seen what horses come to at that work around London. I knew wish all the drunkards could be put in a lunatic asylum instead of being allowed to run foul of sober people. If they would break their own bones, and smash their own carts, and lame their own horses, that would be their own affair, and we might let them alone. But it seems to me that the innocent always suffer, and then they talk about compensation. You can't make compensation. There's all the trouble, and vexation, and loss of time, besides losing a good horse that's like an old friend. It's nonsense talking of compensation. If there's one devil that I should like to see in the bottomless pit more than another, it's the drink devil. I say, Jerry, said the governor. You were treading pretty hard on my toes, you know. I'm not so good as you are, more shame to me. I wish I was. Well, said Jerry, why don't you cut with it, Governor?  I'm a great fool, Jerry, but I tried once for two days, and I thought I should have died. How did you do? I had hard work at it for several weeks. You see, I never did get drunk, but I found that I was not my own master, and that when the craving came on it was hard work to say no. I saw that one of us must knock under, the drink devil or Jerry Barker, and I said that it should not be Jerry Barker, God-helping me. But it was a struggle, and I wanted all the help I could get, for till I tried to break the habit I did not know how strong it was. But then Polly took such pains that I should have good food, and when the craving came on I used to get a cup of coffee, or some peppermint, or read a bit in my book, and that was a help to me. Sometimes I had to say over and over to myself, give up the drink or lose your soul, give up the drink or break Polly's heart. But thanks be to God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I have not tasted a drop, and never wished for it. I have a great mind to try at it, say ground, for it is a poor thing not to be one's own master. Do govna do, you'll never repent it, and what a help it would be to some of the poor fellows in our rank if they saw you do without it. I know there's two or three would like to keep out that tavern if they could. At first Captain seemed to do well, but he was a very old horse, and it was only his wonderful constitution, and Jerry's care, that had kept him up at the cab-work so long. Now he broke down very much. The farrier said he might mend up enough to sell for a few pounds, but Jerry said no, a few pounds got by selling a good old servant in the hardware commissary would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the kindest thing he could do for the final fellow would be to put a sure bullet through his head, and then he would never suffer more, for he did not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days. The day after this was decided Harry took me to the Forge for some new shoes. When I returned, Captain was gone. I and the family all felt it very much. Jerry had now to look out for another horse, and he soon heard of one through an acquaintance who was undergroom in a nobleman's stables. He was a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another carriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself that he was no longer fit for a gentleman's stables, and the coachman had orders to look round and sell him as well as he could. I can do with high spirits, said Jerry, if a horse is not vicious or hard-mouthed. There is not a bit of ice in him, said the man. His mouth is very tender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident. You see, he had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had exercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a balloon. Our governor—of the coachman, I mean—had him harnessed in as tight and strong as he could, with the martingale and the check-rain, a very sharp kerb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar.  Likely enough, I'll come and see him, said Jerry. The next day, Hotspur—that was his name—came home. He was a fine brown horse, without white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very handsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting by way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first night he was very restless. Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his halter-robe up and down through the ring and knocking the block about against the manger till I could not sleep. However, the next day, after five or six hours in the kerb, he came in quiet and sensible. Jerry patted and talked to him a good deal, and very soon they understood each other. And Jerry said that with an easy bit and plenty of work, he would be as gentle as a lamb, and that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good, for if his lordship had lost a hundred guinea-favourite, the cabman had gained a good horse with all his strength in him. Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab-horse, and was disgusted at standing in the rank. But he confessed to me at the end of the week that an easy mouth and a free head made up for a great deal. And, after all, the work was not so degrading as having one's head and tail fastened to each other at the saddle. In fact, he settled in well, and Jerry liked him very much. End of Chapter forty-four Chapter forty-five of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter forty-five Jerry's New Year For some people, Christmas and the New Year are very merry times, but for cabmen and cabmen's horses it is no holiday, though it may be a harvest. There are so many parties, balls, and places of amusement open, for the work is hard and often late. Sometimes driver and horse have to wait for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with the cold, while the merry people within are dancing away to the music. I wonder if the beautiful ladies ever think of the weary cabman waiting on his box and his patient beast standing till his legs get stiff with cold. I had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to standing, and Jerry was also more afraid of hot spur taking cold. We had a great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry's cough was bad, but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a lantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled. On the evening of the New Year we had to take two gentlemen to a house in one of the West End's squares. We set them down at nine o'clock, and were told to come again at eleven. But, said one, as it is a card-party you may have to wait a few minutes, but don't be late. As the clock struck eleven we were at the door, for Jerry was always punctual. The clock chimed the quarters, one, two, three, and then struck twelve, but the door did not open. The wind had been very changeable, with squalls of wind during the day, but now it came on sharp, driving sleet, which seemed to come all the way round. It was very cold, and there was no shelter. Jerry got off his box, and came and pulled one of my cloths a little more over my neck. Then he took a turn or two up and down, stamping his feet. Then he began to beat his arms, but that set him off coughing, so he opened the cab door, and sat at the bottom with his feet on the pavement, and was a little sheltered. Still the clock chimed the quarters, and no one came. At half-past twelve he rang the bell, and asked the servant if he would be wanted that night. Oh, yes, he'll be wanted safe enough, said the man, you must not go, it will soon be over. And again Jerry sat down, but his voice was so hoarse I could hardly hear him. At a quarter-past one the door opened, and the two gentlemen came out. They got into the cab without a word, and told Jerry where to drive, that was nearly two miles. My legs were numb with cold, and I thought I should have stumbled. When the men got out they never said they were sorry to have kept us waiting so long, but were angry at the charge. However, as Jerry never charged more than was his due, so he never took less, and they had to pay for the two hours and a quarter waiting, but it was hard earned money to Jerry. At last we got home. He could hardly speak, and his cough was dreadful. Polly asked no questions, but opened the door and held a lantern for him. Can't I do something? she said. Yes, get Jack something warm, and then boil me some gruel. This was said in a hoarse whisper. He could hardly get his breath, but he gave me a rub down as usual, and even went up into the hayloft for an extra bundle of straw for my bed. Polly brought me a warm mash that made me comfortable, and then they locked the door. It was late the next morning before any one came, and then it was only Harry. He cleaned us and fed us and swept out the stalls, then he put the straw back again as if it was Sunday. He was very still, and neither whistled nor sang. At noon he came again and gave us our food and water. This time Dolly came with him. She was crying, and I could gather from what they said that Jerry was dangerously ill, and the doctor said it was a bad case. So two days passed, and there was great trouble in doors. We only saw Harry and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company, for Polly was always with Jerry, and he had to be kept very quiet. On the third day, while Harry was in the stable, a tap came at the door, and Governor Grant came in. I wouldn't go to the house, my boy, he said, but I want to know how your father is. He is very bad, said Harry. He can't be much worse. They call it bronchitis. The doctor thinks it will turn one way or another to-night. That's bad, very bad, said Grant, shaking his head. I know two men have died of that last week, and takes them off in no time. But while there's life there's hope, so you must keep up your spirits. Yes, said Harry quickly, and the doctor said that father had a better chance than most men, because he didn't drink.  But I believe he thinks he will get over it. Don't you think he will, Mr. Grant? The Governor looked puzzled. If there's any rule that good men should get over these things, I'm sure he will, my boy. He's the best man I know. I'll look in early to-morrow. Early next morning he was there. Well, said he. Father is better, said Harry. Mother hopes he will get over it. Thank God! said the Governor. And now you must keep him warm and keep his mind easy, and that brings me to the horses. You see, Jack will be all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and you can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his legs. But this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all up on end, as you may say, and will be rather too much for you, and when he does go out there'll be an accident. It is like that now, said Harry. I have kept him short of corn, but he's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him. Just so, said Grant. Now, look here. Will you tell your mother that if she is agreeable I will come for him every day till something is arranged, and take him for a good spell of work, and whatever he earns I'll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses' feed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won't keep the horses, and they'll be eating their heads off all this time. I'll come at noon and hear what she says. And without waiting for Harry's thanks, he was gone. At noon I think he went and saw Polly, for he and Harry came to the stable together, harnessed Hotspur, and took him out. For a week or more he came for Hotspur, and when Harry thanked him or said anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all good luck for him, for his horses were wanting a little rest which they would not have otherwise had. Jerry grew better steadily, but the doctor said he must never go back to the cab-work again, if he wished to be an old man. The children had many consultations together about what father and mother would do, and how they could help to earn money. One afternoon Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty. The streets are nothing but slush, said the Governor. It will give you a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry. All right, Governor, said Harry. I shall not leave him till he is. You know I have been trained by my father.  While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur's body and legs, Dolly came in, looking very full of something. Who lives at Fairstow, Harry? Mother has a letter from Fairstow. She seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it. Don't you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs Fowler's place. Mother's old mistress, you know, the lady that father met last summer, who sent you and me five shillings each. Oh! Mrs Fowler! Of course I know all about her. I wonder what she's writing to mother about. Mother wrote to her last week, said Harry. You know she told father if ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what she says. Run in and see, Dolly. Harry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a whish, whish, like any old hustler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable. Oh! Harry, there was never anything so beautiful. Mrs Fowler says we are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that will just suit us, with a garden, and a henhouse, and apple trees, and everything, and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she will want father in his place. And there are good families round, where you can get a place in the garden, or the stable, or as a page boy. And there's a good school for me, and mother is laughing and crying by turns, and father does look so happy. That's uncommon, Jolly, said Harry, and just the right thing I should say. It will suit father and mother both, but I don't intend to be a page boy with tight clothes and rows of buttons. I'll be a groom or a gardener. It was quickly settled that as soon as Cherry was well enough, they should remove to the country, and that the cab and horses should be sold as soon as possible. This was heavy news for me, for I was not young now, and could not look for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Bertwick, I had never been so happy as with my dear master, Jerry, but three years of cab work, even under the best conditions, will tell on one's strength, and I felt that I was not the horse that I had once been. Grant said at once that he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the stand who would have bought me, but Jerry said I should not go to cab work again with just anybody, and the governor promised to find a place for me where I should be comfortable. The day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet, and I never saw him after that New Year's Eve. Polly and the children came to bid me goodbye. Poor old Jack! Dear old Jack! I wish we could take you with us, she said, and then laying her hand on my mane, she put her face close to my neck and kissed me. Dolly was crying and kissed me too. Harry stroked me a great deal, but said nothing, only he seemed very sad, and so I was led away to my new place. End of Chapter 45 End of Part 3 Chapter 46 of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Part 4 Chapter 46 Jake's and the Lady I was sold to a corn dealer and baker whom Jerry knew, and with him he thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite right, and if my master had always been on the premises, I do not think I should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving everyone, and frequently, when I had quite a full load, he would order something else to be taken on. My Carter, whose name was Jake's, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him. It was no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward. Jake's, like the other Carter's, always had the check rain up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months, I found the work telling very much on my strength. One day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep uphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly.  Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards. Again the whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great cart-whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet earnest voice, oh, pray do not whip your good horse any more. I am sure he is doing all he can, and the road is very steep. I am sure he is doing his best." If doing his best won't get this load up he must do something more than his best. That's all I know, ma'am, said Jakes. But is it not a heavy load? she said. Yes, yes, too heavy, he said, but that's not my fault. The foreman came just as we were starting, and would have three hundred weight more put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can. He was raising the whip again when the lady said, pray stop, I think I can help you if you will let me. The man laughed. You see, she said, you do not give him a fair chance. He cannot use all his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rain. If you would take it off, I am sure he would do better. Do try it, she said persuasively. I should be very glad if you would. Well, well, said Jakes with a short laugh, anything to please a lady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?  The rain was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times to get the aching stiffness out of my neck. Poor fellow, that is what you wanted, said she, patting and stroking me with her gentle hand. And now, if you will speak kindly to him and lead him on, I believe he will be able to do better. Jakes took the rain. Come on, Blackie. I put down my head, and threw my whole weight against the collar. I spared no strength. The load moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take breath. The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many a long day. You see, he was quite willing when you gave him the chance. I'm sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You won't put that rain on again, will you? For he was just going to hitch it up on the old plan. Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the hill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am, but if you went without a Czech rain I should be the laughing stock of all the carters. It is the fashion you see. Is it not better, she said, to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use Czech rains now. Our carriage horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less fatigue than those who have them. Besides, she added, in a very serious voice, we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a very good reason. We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words. But I must not detain you now. I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better than the whip. Good day! And with another soft pat on my neck, she stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more. That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it, said Jake's to himself. She spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her plan uphill at any rate. And I must do him the justice, to say that he let my rain out, several holes, and going uphill after that he always gave me my head, but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest will keep up one's strength under full work, but no horse can stand against overloading, and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from this cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the evil. This was a badly lighted stable. There was only one very small window at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost dark. Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness into the glare of daylight, it was very painful to my eyes. Several times I stumbled over the threshold and could scarcely see where I was going. I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purr-blind, and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner. End of Chapter 46 Chapter 47 of Black Beauty This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell Chapter 47 Hard Times My new master, I shall never forget.  His name was Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor CD Sam drove for. I have heard men say that seeing is believing, but I should say that feeling is believing. For as much as I had seen before, I never knew till now the utter misery of a cab horse's life. Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers. He was hard on the men, and the men were hard on horses. In this place we had no Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer. Sometimes, on a Sunday morning, a party of fast men would hire the cab for the day, four of them inside and another with a driver, and I had to take them ten or fifteen miles out into the country and back again. Never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever so steep, or the day ever so hot, unless, indeed, when the driver was afraid I should not manage it. And sometimes I was so fevered and worn that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran-mash with nighter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in hot weather, they used to cool us down and make us so comfortable. Then we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday morning we were as fresh as young horses again, but here there was no rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and never hung back, for, as poor Ginger said, it was no use, men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish very nearly came to pass. I went on the standard eight in the morning, and had done a good share of work when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the outside cabs to take the chance for a return fare. It was a very heavy train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There was a party of four, a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl came and looked at me.  Do look at him. Oh, he's all right, miss, said my driver, he's strong enough. The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a second cab. Can your horse do it, or can't he? said the blustering man. Oh, he can do it all right, sir, summed up the box's porter, he could take more than that. And he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I could feel the springs go down. Papa, Papa, do take a second cab, said the young girl, in a beseeching tone. I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel. Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don't make all this fuss. A pretty thing it will be if a man of business had to examine every cab horse before he hired it. The man knows his own business, of course. There, get in and hold your tongue. My gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and lodged on top of the cab, or settled by the side of the driver.  The load was very heavy, and I had had neither food nor rest since morning, but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty and injustice. I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill, but there the heavy load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on, goaded by constant chucks of the rain and use of the whip, when in a single moment, I cannot tell how. My feet slipped from under me, and I fell heavily to the ground on my side. The suddenness and the force with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay perfectly still. Indeed I had no power to move, and I thought now I was going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices, and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, oh, that poor horse, it is all our fault. Someone came and loosened the throat-strap of my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me. Someone said, he's dead, he'll never get up again. Then I could hear a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes. I could only draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel was brought to me which I drank, thankfully. In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very closely and said, this is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him a run-off for six months he would be able to work again, but now there is not an ounce of strength left in him. Then he must just go to the dogs, said Skinner. I have no meadows to nurse sick horses in. He might get well or he might not. That sort of thing doesn't suit my business. My plan is to work him as long as they'll go, and then sell them for what they'll fetch, at the knackers or elsewhere. If he was broken-winded, said the farrier, you had better have killed him out of hand, but he is not. There is a sale of horses coming off in about ten days. If you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and you may get more than his skin is worth at any rate. Upon this advice, Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me, carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay, bran-mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my condition than anything else could have done. Those linseed-mashes were delicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live than to go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I was taken to the sale a few miles out of London. I felt that any change for my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head and hoped for the best. His grandson Willie. At this sale, of course, I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses, some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot. The buyers, and sellers too, many of them, looked not much better off than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. They were poor old men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds that might drag about some little wood or coal-cart. There were poor men trying to sell a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times had hardened them all over, but there were others that I would have willingly used the last of my strength in serving, poor and shabby, but kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering old man who took a great fancy to me and eye to him, but I was not strong enough. It was an anxious time. Coming from the better part of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer with a young boy by his side. He had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions, he stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye rest on me. I still had a good mane and tail, which did something for my appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him. There's a horse-willy that has known better days. Poor old fellow, said the boy, do you think grandpa he was ever a carriage-horse? Oh, yes, my boy, said the farmer, coming closer. He might have been anything when he was young. Look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder. There's a deal of breeding about that horse. He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my nose and answered to his kindness. The boy stroked my face. Poor old fellow, see grandpa, how well he understands kindness. Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with Lady Bird? My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young. Besides, Lady Bird was not so very old, as she was run down and badly used. Well, grandpa, I don't believe that this one is old. Look at his mane and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell.  The old gentleman laughed. Bless the boy. He is as horsey as his old grandfather. But do look at his mouth, grandpa, and ask the price. I'm sure he would grow young in our meadows. The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word. The young gentleman's a real knowing one, sir. Now, the fact is, this ear of horses just pulled down with overwork in the cabs. He's not an old one, and I hear just how the veterinary should say that a six-months runoff should set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken. I've had the tending of him these ten days past, and a great fuller, pleasanter animal I never met with, and would be worth a gentleman's wild to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I'll be bound he'd be worth twenty pounds next spring. The old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly. Oh, grandpa Pa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than you expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one. The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained, then he looked at my mouth. Thirteen or fourteen, I should say. Just trot him out, will you? I arched my poor, thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff. What is the lowest you will take for him? said the farmer as I came back. Five pounds, sir, that was the lowest price my master set. It is a speculation, said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out his purse. Quite a speculation. Have you any more business here? he said, counting the sovereigns into his hand. No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please. Do so, I am now going there. They walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my new masters, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner of it. Mr. Thurrogood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of the meadow during the day, and, you, Willie, said he, must take the oversight of him, I give him in charge to you. The boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness. It was not a day when he did not pay me a visit, sometimes picking me out from among the other horses and giving me a bit of carrot, or something good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond of him. He called me old crony, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs. This is our point, Willie, he would say, but he is improving so steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the spring. The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise, soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young, so that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs improved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came round, and one day in March Mr. Thurragud determined that he would try me in the fight on. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect ease. He's growing young, Willie. We must give him a little gentle work now, and by mid-summer he will be as good as Lady Bird. He has a beautiful mouth and good paces. They can't be better. Oh, Grandpa Pa! How glad I am you brought him! So am I, my boy, but he has to thank you more than me. We must now be looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be valued. One day, during this summer, the groom cleaned and dressed me with such extraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand. He trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tar-brush over my hooves, and even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie seemed half anxious, half merry, as he got into the chase with his grandfather. If the ladies take to him, said the old gentleman, they'll be suited and he'll be suited. We can but try. At the distance of a mile or two from the village, we came to a pretty low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front, and a drive up to the door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Bloomfield or Miss Ellen was at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr. Thurrogood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned, followed by three ladies.  The other, a very stately-looking person, was Miss Bloomfield. They all came and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady, that was Miss Ellen, took to me very much. She said she was sure she should like me, I had such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might come down again, and if I did, she should never get over the fright. You see, ladies, said Mr. Thurrogood. Many first-rate horses have had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers, without any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say that is his case, but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you incline, you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what he thinks of him. You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses, said the stately lady, that your recommendation would go a long way with me, and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection, we will accept your offer of a trial with thanks. It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day. In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked pleased, but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice, I did not think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished horse like that. Handsome is that handsome does, said my master, you are only taking him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man, if he is not as safe as any horse you ever drove, send him back. I was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left to myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said, that is just like the star that Black Beauty had, he is much the same height, too. I wonder where he is now. A little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled, and where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began to look me over carefully talking to himself.  Then, looking at the middle of my back, and, as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used to call Beauty's threepenny bit. It must be Black Beauty. Why, Beauty, Beauty, do you know me?  And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed. I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young fellow, with Black Whiskers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so pleased. Give you a fair trial, I should think so indeed. I wonder who the rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty.  Well, well, it won't be my fault if you haven't good times of it now. I wish John Manley was here to see you. In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces. I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire Gordon's old Black Beauty. When we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved myself. She told them what she had just heard and said, I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon and tell her that her favourite horse has come to us, how pleased she will be. After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my old name of Black Beauty. I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thurrogad said to Joe the other day, in your place he will last till he is twenty years old, perhaps more. Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have nothing to fear, and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home, and often, before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees. End of Chapter 49 End of Black Beauty The Autobiography of a Horse Translated from the original equine