Black Beauty The autobiography of a horse
“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.”
A droll smile came over Jerry's face as he shut the door upon them. “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. “They'll soon be gone,” he said,
laughing; “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,
“Inasmuch as ye 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 a 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 am 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 to-day.”
“I shall be proud to serve you, ma'am; I am 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 up quite 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.
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; the
man had no control over them, and the street was full of traffic.
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 'twas 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 fined, 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 we 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 round London. I only 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 are 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? You are too
good a man to be the slave of such a thing.”
“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 wish for it.”
“I've a great mind to try at it,” said Grant, “for 'tis a poor thing not
to be one's own master.”
“Do, governor, 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 of 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 into hard work
and misery would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the
kindest thing he could do for the fine old 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 under-groom 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 vice 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 (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as
tight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a
very sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief
that it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of
spirit.”
“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 a 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 rope 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 cab, 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 favorite, 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.
45 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 that 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 Hotspur 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 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