Black Beauty The autobiography of a horse
common and the Highwood, and back by the watermill and the river; that
will show his paces.”
“I will, sir,” said John. After breakfast he came and fitted me with a
bridle. He was very particular in letting out and taking in the straps,
to fit my head comfortably; then he brought a saddle, but it was not
broad enough for my back; he saw it in a minute and went for another,
which fitted nicely. He rode me first slowly, then a trot, then a
canter, and when we were on the common he gave me a light touch with his
whip, and we had a splendid gallop.
“Ho, ho! my boy,” he said, as he pulled me up, “you would like to follow
the hounds, I think.”
As we came back through the park we met the Squire and Mrs. Gordon
walking; they stopped, and John jumped off.
“Well, John, how does he go?”
“First-rate, sir,” answered John; “he is as fleet as a deer, and has a
fine spirit too; but the lightest touch of the rein will guide him. Down
at the end of the common we met one of those traveling carts hung all
over with baskets, rugs, and such like; you know, sir, many horses will
not pass those carts quietly; he just took a good look at it, and then
went on as quiet and pleasant as could be. They were shooting rabbits
near the Highwood, and a gun went off close by; he pulled up a little
and looked, but did not stir a step to right or left. I just held the
rein steady and did not hurry him, and it's my opinion he has not been
frightened or ill-used while he was young.”
“That's well,” said the squire, “I will try him myself to-morrow.”
The next day I was brought up for my master. I remembered my mother's
counsel and my good old master's, and I tried to do exactly what he
wanted me to do. I found he was a very good rider, and thoughtful for
his horse too. When he came home the lady was at the hall door as he
rode up.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “how do you like him?”
“He is exactly what John said,” he replied; “a pleasanter creature I
never wish to mount. What shall we call him?”
“Would you like Ebony?” said she; “he is as black as ebony.”
“No, not Ebony.”
“Will you call him Blackbird, like your uncle's old horse?”
“No, he is far handsomer than old Blackbird ever was.”
“Yes,” she said, “he is really quite a beauty, and he has such a sweet,
good-tempered face, and such a fine, intelligent eye--what do you say to
calling him Black Beauty?”
“Black Beauty--why, yes, I think that is a very good name. If you like
it shall be his name;” and so it was.
When John went into the stable he told James that master and mistress
had chosen a good, sensible English name for me, that meant something;
not like Marengo, or Pegasus, or Abdallah. They both laughed, and James
said, “If it was not for bringing back the past, I should have named him
Rob Roy, for I never saw two horses more alike.”
“That's no wonder,” said John; “didn't you know that Farmer Grey's old
Duchess was the mother of them both?”
I had never heard that before; and so poor Rob Roy who was killed
at that hunt was my brother! I did not wonder that my mother was so
troubled. It seems that horses have no relations; at least they never
know each other after they are sold.
John seemed very proud of me; he used to make my mane and tail almost as
smooth as a lady's hair, and he would talk to me a great deal; of course
I did not understand all he said, but I learned more and more to know
what he meant, and what he wanted me to do. I grew very fond of him, he
was so gentle and kind; he seemed to know just how a horse feels, and
when he cleaned me he knew the tender places and the ticklish places;
when he brushed my head he went as carefully over my eyes as if they
were his own, and never stirred up any ill-temper.
James Howard, the stable boy, was just as gentle and pleasant in his
way, so I thought myself well off. There was another man who helped in
the yard, but he had very little to do with Ginger and me.
A few days after this I had to go out with Ginger in the carriage. I
wondered how we should get on together; but except laying her ears
back when I was led up to her, she behaved very well. She did her work
honestly, and did her full share, and I never wish to have a better
partner in double harness. When we came to a hill, instead of slackening
her pace, she would throw her weight right into the collar, and pull
away straight up. We had both the same sort of courage at our work, and
John had oftener to hold us in than to urge us forward; he never had to
use the whip with either of us; then our paces were much the same, and
I found it very easy to keep step with her when trotting, which made it
pleasant, and master always liked it when we kept step well, and so did
John. After we had been out two or three times together we grew quite
friendly and sociable, which made me feel very much at home.
As for Merrylegs, he and I soon became great friends; he was such a
cheerful, plucky, good-tempered little fellow that he was a favorite
with every one, and especially with Miss Jessie and Flora, who used to
ride him about in the orchard, and have fine games with him and their
little dog Frisky.
Our master had two other horses that stood in another stable. One was
Justice, a roan cob, used for riding or for the luggage cart; the other
was an old brown hunter, named Sir Oliver; he was past work now, but was
a great favorite with the master, who gave him the run of the park; he
sometimes did a little light carting on the estate, or carried one of
the young ladies when they rode out with their father, for he was very
gentle and could be trusted with a child as well as Merrylegs. The cob
was a strong, well-made, good-tempered horse, and we sometimes had a
little chat in the paddock, but of course I could not be so intimate
with him as with Ginger, who stood in the same stable.
06 Liberty
I was quite happy in my new place, and if there was one thing that I
missed it must not be thought I was discontented; all who had to do with
me were good and I had a light airy stable and the best of food. What
more could I want? Why, liberty! For three years and a half of my life
I had had all the liberty I could wish for; but now, week after week,
month after month, and no doubt year after year, I must stand up in a
stable night and day except when I am wanted, and then I must be just
as steady and quiet as any old horse who has worked twenty years. Straps
here and straps there, a bit in my mouth, and blinkers over my eyes.
Now, I am not complaining, for I know it must be so. I only mean to say
that for a young horse full of strength and spirits, who has been used
to some large field or plain where he can fling up his head and toss up
his tail and gallop away at full speed, then round and back again with
a snort to his companions--I say it is hard never to have a bit more
liberty to do as you like. Sometimes, when I have had less exercise than
usual, I have felt so full of life and spring that when John has taken
me out to exercise I really could not keep quiet; do what I would, it
seemed as if I must jump, or dance, or prance, and many a good shake I
know I must have given him, especially at the first; but he was always
good and patient.
“Steady, steady, my boy,” he would say; “wait a bit, and we will have a
good swing, and soon get the tickle out of your feet.” Then as soon as
we were out of the village, he would give me a few miles at a spanking
trot, and then bring me back as fresh as before, only clear of the
fidgets, as he called them. Spirited horses, when not enough exercised,
are often called skittish, when it is only play; and some grooms will
punish them, but our John did not; he knew it was only high spirits.
Still, he had his own ways of making me understand by the tone of
his voice or the touch of the rein. If he was very serious and quite
determined, I always knew it by his voice, and that had more power with
me than anything else, for I was very fond of him.
I ought to say that sometimes we had our liberty for a few hours; this
used to be on fine Sundays in the summer-time. The carriage never went
out on Sundays, because the church was not far off.
It was a great treat to us to be turned out into the home paddock or
the old orchard; the grass was so cool and soft to our feet, the air so
sweet, and the freedom to do as we liked was so pleasant--to gallop, to
lie down, and roll over on our backs, or to nibble the sweet grass.
Then it was a very good time for talking, as we stood together under the
shade of the large chestnut tree.
07 Ginger
One day when Ginger and I were standing alone in the shade, we had a
great deal of talk; she wanted to know all about my bringing up and
breaking in, and I told her.
“Well,” said she, “if I had had your bringing up I might have had as
good a temper as you, but now I don't believe I ever shall.”
“Why not?” I said.
“Because it has been all so different with me,” she replied. “I never
had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to
please, for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I
was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts; none of them cared
for me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like
yours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat.
The man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life.
I do not mean that he ill-used me, but he did not care for us one
bit further than to see that we had plenty to eat, and shelter in the
winter. A footpath ran through our field, and very often the great boys
passing through would fling stones to make us gallop. I was never hit,
but one fine young colt was badly cut in the face, and I should think
it would be a scar for life. We did not care for them, but of course
it made us more wild, and we settled it in our minds that boys were our
enemies. We had very good fun in the free meadows, galloping up and down
and chasing each other round and round the field; then standing still
under the shade of the trees. But when it came to breaking in, that was
a bad time for me; several men came to catch me, and when at last they
closed me in at one corner of the field, one caught me by the forelock,
another caught me by the nose and held it so tight I could hardly draw
my breath; then another took my under jaw in his hard hand and wrenched
my mouth open, and so by force they got on the halter and the bar into
my mouth; then one dragged me along by the halter, another flogging
behind, and this was the first experience I had of men's kindness; it
was all force. They did not give me a chance to know what they wanted.
I was high bred and had a great deal of spirit, and was very wild, no
doubt, and gave them, I dare say, plenty of trouble, but then it was
dreadful to be shut up in a stall day after day instead of having my
liberty, and I fretted and pined and wanted to get loose. You know
yourself it's bad enough when you have a kind master and plenty of
coaxing, but there was nothing of that sort for me.
“There was one--the old master, Mr. Ryder--who, I think, could soon have
brought me round, and could have done anything with me; but he had given
up all the hard part of the trade to his son and to another experienced
man, and he only came at times to oversee. His son was a strong, tall,
bold man; they called him Samson, and he used to boast that he had never
found a horse that could throw him. There was no gentleness in him, as
there was in his father, but only hardness, a hard voice, a hard eye, a
hard hand; and I felt from the first that what he wanted was to wear all
the spirit out of me, and just make me into a quiet, humble, obedient
piece of horseflesh. 'Horseflesh'! Yes, that is all that he thought