Black Beauty The autobiography of a horse
trouble him; but my pace soon cured that difficulty, and he found the
best thing he could do was to stick to the saddle and hold me in, which
he did manfully. I shook him as little as I could help, but once or
twice on the rough ground he called out, “Steady! Woah! Steady!” On the
highroad we were all right; and at the doctor's and the hall he did his
errand like a good man and true. They asked him in to take a drop of
something. “No, no,” he said; “I'll be back to 'em again by a short cut
through the fields, and be there afore the carriage.”
There was a great deal of hurry and excitement after the news became
known. I was just turned into my box; the saddle and bridle were taken
off, and a cloth thrown over me.
Ginger was saddled and sent off in great haste for Lord George, and I
soon heard the carriage roll out of the yard.
It seemed a long time before Ginger came back, and before we were left
alone; and then she told me all that she had seen.
“I can't tell much,” she said. “We went a gallop nearly all the way, and
got there just as the doctor rode up. There was a woman sitting on the
ground with the lady's head in her lap. The doctor poured something into
her mouth, but all that I heard was, 'She is not dead.' Then I was led
off by a man to a little distance. After awhile she was taken to
the carriage, and we came home together. I heard my master say to
a gentleman who stopped him to inquire, that he hoped no bones were
broken, but that she had not spoken yet.”
When Lord George took Ginger for hunting, York shook his head; he said
it ought to be a steady hand to train a horse for the first season, and
not a random rider like Lord George.
Ginger used to like it very much, but sometimes when she came back I
could see that she had been very much strained, and now and then she
gave a short cough. She had too much spirit to complain, but I could not
help feeling anxious about her.
Two days after the accident Blantyre paid me a visit; he patted me and
praised me very much; he told Lord George that he was sure the horse
knew of Annie's danger as well as he did. “I could not have held him in
if I would,” said he, “she ought never to ride any other horse.” I found
by their conversation that my young mistress was now out of danger, and
would soon be able to ride again. This was good news to me and I looked
forward to a happy life.
25 Reuben Smith
Now I must say a little about Reuben Smith, who was left in charge of
the stables when York went to London. No one more thoroughly understood
his business than he did, and when he was all right there could not be
a more faithful or valuable man. He was gentle and very clever in his
management of horses, and could doctor them almost as well as a
farrier, for he had lived two years with a veterinary surgeon. He was a
first-rate driver; he could take a four-in-hand or a tandem as easily
as a pair. He was a handsome man, a good scholar, and had very pleasant
manners. I believe everybody liked him; certainly the horses did. The
only wonder was that he should be in an under situation and not in the
place of a head coachman like York; but he had one great fault and that
was the love of drink. He was not like some men, always at it; he used
to keep steady for weeks or months together, and then he would break
out and have a “bout” of it, as York called it, and be a disgrace to
himself, a terror to his wife, and a nuisance to all that had to do with
him. He was, however, so useful that two or three times York had hushed
the matter up and kept it from the earl's knowledge; but one night, when
Reuben had to drive a party home from a ball he was so drunk that he
could not hold the reins, and a gentleman of the party had to mount the
box and drive the ladies home. Of course, this could not be hidden, and
Reuben was at once dismissed; his poor wife and little children had to
turn out of the pretty cottage by the park gate and go where they could.
Old Max told me all this, for it happened a good while ago; but shortly
before Ginger and I came Smith had been taken back again. York had
interceded for him with the earl, who is very kind-hearted, and the man
had promised faithfully that he would never taste another drop as long
as he lived there. He had kept his promise so well that York thought he
might be safely trusted to fill his place while he was away, and he was
so clever and honest that no one else seemed so well fitted for it.
It was now early in April, and the family was expected home some time in
May. The light brougham was to be fresh done up, and as Colonel Blantyre
was obliged to return to his regiment it was arranged that Smith should
drive him to the town in it, and ride back; for this purpose he took the
saddle with him, and I was chosen for the journey. At the station the
colonel put some money into Smith's hand and bid him good-by, saying,
“Take care of your young mistress, Reuben, and don't let Black Auster be
hacked about by any random young prig that wants to ride him--keep him
for the lady.”
We left the carriage at the maker's, and Smith rode me to the White
Lion, and ordered the hostler to feed me well, and have me ready for him
at four o'clock. A nail in one of my front shoes had started as I came
along, but the hostler did not notice it till just about four o'clock.
Smith did not come into the yard till five, and then he said he should
not leave till six, as he had met with some old friends. The man then
told him of the nail, and asked if he should have the shoe looked to.
“No,” said Smith, “that will be all right till we get home.”
He spoke in a very loud, offhand way, and I thought it very unlike him
not to see about the shoe, as he was generally wonderfully particular
about loose nails in our shoes. He did not come at six nor seven, nor
eight, and it was nearly nine o'clock before he called for me, and then
it was with a loud, rough voice. He seemed in a very bad temper, and
abused the hostler, though I could not tell what for.
The landlord stood at the door and said, “Have a care, Mr. Smith!” but
he answered angrily with an oath; and almost before he was out of the
town he began to gallop, frequently giving me a sharp cut with his whip,
though I was going at full speed. The moon had not yet risen, and it was
very dark. The roads were stony, having been recently mended; going over
them at this pace, my shoe became looser, and as we neared the turnpike
gate it came off.
If Smith had been in his right senses he would have been sensible of
something wrong in my pace, but he was too drunk to notice.
Beyond the turnpike was a long piece of road, upon which fresh stones
had just been laid--large sharp stones, over which no horse could be
driven quickly without risk of danger. Over this road, with one shoe
gone, I was forced to gallop at my utmost speed, my rider meanwhile
cutting into me with his whip, and with wild curses urging me to go
still faster. Of course my shoeless foot suffered dreadfully; the hoof
was broken and split down to the very quick, and the inside was terribly
cut by the sharpness of the stones.
This could not go on; no horse could keep his footing under such
circumstances; the pain was too great. I stumbled, and fell with
violence on both my knees. Smith was flung off by my fall, and, owing to
the speed I was going at, he must have fallen with great force. I soon
recovered my feet and limped to the side of the road, where it was free
from stones. The moon had just risen above the hedge, and by its light
I could see Smith lying a few yards beyond me. He did not rise; he made
one slight effort to do so, and then there was a heavy groan. I could
have groaned, too, for I was suffering intense pain both from my foot
and knees; but horses are used to bear their pain in silence. I uttered
no sound, but I stood there and listened. One more heavy groan from
Smith; but though he now lay in the full moonlight I could see no
motion. I could do nothing for him nor myself, but, oh! how I listened
for the sound of horse, or wheels, or footsteps! The road was not much
frequented, and at this time of the night we might stay for hours before
help came to us. I stood watching and listening. It was a calm, sweet
April night; there were no sounds but a few low notes of a nightingale,
and nothing moved but the white clouds near the moon and a brown owl
that flitted over the hedge. It made me think of the summer nights long
ago, when I used to lie beside my mother in the green pleasant meadow at
Farmer Grey's.
26 How it Ended
It must have been nearly midnight when I heard at a great distance the
sound of a horse's feet. Sometimes the sound died away, then it grew
clearer again and nearer. The road to Earlshall led through woods that
belonged to the earl; the sound came in that direction, and I hoped it
might be some one coming in search of us. As the sound came nearer and
nearer I was almost sure I could distinguish Ginger's step; a little
nearer still, and I could tell she was in the dog-cart. I neighed
loudly, and was overjoyed to hear an answering neigh from Ginger, and
men's voices. They came slowly over the stones, and stopped at the dark
figure that lay upon the ground.
One of the men jumped out, and stooped down over it. “It is Reuben,” he
said, “and he does not stir!”
The other man followed, and bent over him. “He's dead,” he said; “feel
how cold his hands are.”
They raised him up, but there was no life, and his hair was soaked with
blood. They laid him down again, and came and looked at me. They soon
saw my cut knees.
“Why, the horse has been down and thrown him! Who would have thought the
black horse would have done that? Nobody thought he could fall. Reuben
must have been lying here for hours! Odd, too, that the horse has not
moved from the place.”
Robert then attempted to lead me forward. I made a step, but almost fell
again.
“Halloo! he's bad in his foot as well as his knees. Look here--his hoof
is cut all to pieces; he might well come down, poor fellow! I tell you
what, Ned, I'm afraid it hasn't been all right with Reuben. Just think
of his riding a horse over these stones without a shoe! Why, if he had
been in his right senses he would just as soon have tried to ride him
over the moon. I'm afraid it has been the old thing over again. Poor
Susan! she looked awfully pale when she came to my house to ask if
he had not come home. She made believe she was not a bit anxious, and
talked of a lot of things that might have kept him. But for all that she
begged me to go and meet him. But what must we do? There's the horse to
get home as well as the body, and that will be no easy matter.”
Then followed a conversation between them, till it was agreed that
Robert, as the groom, should lead me, and that Ned must take the body.
It was a hard job to get it into the dog-cart, for there was no one to
hold Ginger; but she knew as well as I did what was going on, and stood
as still as a stone. I noticed that, because, if she had a fault, it was
that she was impatient in standing.
Ned started off very slowly with his sad load, and Robert came and
looked at my foot again; then he took his handkerchief and bound it
closely round, and so he led me home. I shall never forget that night
walk; it was more than three miles. Robert led me on very slowly, and I
limped and hobbled on as well as I could with great pain. I am sure he
was sorry for me, for he often patted and encouraged me, talking to me
in a pleasant voice.
At last I reached my own box, and had some corn; and after Robert
had wrapped up my knees in wet cloths, he tied up my foot in a bran
poultice, to draw out the heat and cleanse it before the horse-doctor
saw it in the morning, and I managed to get myself down on the straw,