Black Beauty The autobiography of a horse
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 rein
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
note-book 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, Wright, 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 wrongdoer 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.”
39 Seedy 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 not overwork
me, even had he not been 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
“Seedy 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 'tis 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've six of 'em, 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 mackintosh,
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 sixpence 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 fare, 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 fare, and there were bags and boxes enough
to have brought in a good many twopences 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 sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; 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 'tis
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 the 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 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours
a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, 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
'em 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 this 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 this 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 it's all 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 who's 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 'em, poor brutes, and 'tis
wonderful what they do understand.”
A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's
cab.
“Halloo!” 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,' these 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.”
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
fore-legs 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 fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape with
hard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was now
full of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and her
frequent cough, how bad her breath was.
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 twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, 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 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 wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off
to the knackers.”
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.”
Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her out
of the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed.
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.
41 The Butcher
I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of