Black Beauty (10 page)

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.

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, and slept in spite of the pain.

The next day after the farrier had examined my wounds, he said
he hoped the joint was not injured; and if so, I should not be
spoiled for work, but I should never lose the blemish. I believe
they did the best to make a good cure, but it was a long and
painful one. Proud flesh, as they called it, came up in my knees,
and was burned out with caustic; and when at last it was healed,
they put a blistering fluid over the front of both knees to bring
all the hair off; they had some reason for this, and I suppose it
was all right.

As Smith's death had been so sudden, and no one was there to see
it, there was an inquest held. The landlord and hostler at the
White Lion, with several other people, gave evidence that he was
intoxicated when he started from the inn. The keeper of the
toll-gate said he rode at a hard gallop through the gate; and my
shoe was picked up among the stones, so that the case was quite
plain to them, and I was cleared of all blame.

Everybody pitied Susan. She was nearly out of her mind; she kept
saying over and over again, "Oh! he was so good—so good! It was all
that cursed drink; why will they sell that cursed drink? Oh Reuben,
Reuben!" So she went on till after he was buried; and then, as she
had no home or relations, she, with her six little children, was
obliged once more to leave the pleasant home by the tall oak-trees,
and go into that great gloomy Union House.

As soon as my knees were sufficiently healed I was turned into a
small meadow for a month or two; no other creature was there; and
though I enjoyed the liberty and the sweet grass, yet I had been so
long used to society that I felt very lonely. Ginger and I had
become fast friends, and now I missed her company extremely. I
often neighed when I heard horses' feet passing in the road, but I
seldom got an answer; till one morning the gate was opened, and who
should come in but dear old Ginger. The man slipped off her halter,
and left her there. With a joyful whinny I trotted up to her; we
were both glad to meet, but I soon found that it was not for our
pleasure that she was brought to be with me. Her story would be too
long to tell, but the end of it was that she had been ruined by
hard riding, and was now turned off to see what rest would do.

Lord George was young and would take no warning; he was a hard
rider, and would hunt whenever he could get the chance, quite
careless of his horse. Soon after I left the stable there was a
steeplechase, and he determined to ride. Though the groom told him
she was a little strained, and was not fit for the race, he did not
believe it, and on the day of the race urged Ginger to keep up with
the foremost riders. With her high spirit, she strained herself to
the utmost; she came in with the first three horses, but her wind
was touched, besides which he was too heavy for her, and her back
was strained. "And so," she said, "here we are, ruined in the prime
of our youth and strength, you by a drunkard, and I by a fool; it
is very hard." We both felt in ourselves that we were not what we
had been. However, that did not spoil the pleasure we had in each
other's company; we did not gallop about as we once did, but we
used to feed, and lie down together, and stand for hours under one
of the shady lime-trees with our heads close to each other; and so
we passed our time till the family returned from town.

One day we saw the earl come into the meadow, and York was with
him. Seeing who it was, we stood still under our lime-tree, and let
them come up to us. They examined us carefully. The earl seemed
much annoyed.

"There is three hundred pounds flung away for no earthly use,"
said he; "but what I care most for is that these horses of my old
friend, who thought they would find a good home with me, are
ruined. The mare shall have a twelve-month's run, and we shall see
what that will do for her; but the black one, he must be sold; 'tis
a great pity, but I could not have knees like these in my
stables."

"No, my lord, of course not," said York; "but he might get a
place where appearance is not of much consequence, and still be
well treated. I know a man in Bath, the master of some livery
stables, who often wants a good horse at a low figure; I know he
looks well after his horses. The inquest cleared the horse's
character, and your lordship's recommendation, or mine, would be
sufficient warrant for him."

"You had better write to him, York. I should be more particular
about the place than the money he would fetch."

After this they left us.

"They'll soon take you away," said Ginger, "and I shall lose the
only friend I have, and most likely we shall never see each other
again. 'Tis a hard world!"

About a week after this Robert came into the field with a
halter, which he slipped over my head, and led me away. There was
no leave-taking of Ginger; we neighed to each other as I was led
off, and she trotted anxiously along by the hedge, calling to me as
long as she could hear the sound of my feet.

Through the recommendation of York, I was bought by the master
of the livery stables. I had to go by train, which was new to me,
and required a good deal of courage the first time; but as I found
the puffing, rushing, whistling, and, more than all, the trembling
of the horse-box in which I stood did me no real harm, I soon took
it quietly.

When I reached the end of my journey I found myself in a
tolerably comfortable stable, and well attended to. These stables
were not so airy and pleasant as those I had been used to. The
stalls were laid on a slope instead of being level, and as my head
was kept tied to the manger, I was obliged always to stand on the
slope, which was very fatiguing. Men do not seem to know yet that
horses can do more work if they can stand comfortably and can turn
about; however, I was well fed and well cleaned, and, on the whole,
I think our master took as much care of us as he could. He kept a
good many horses and carriages of different kinds for hire.
Sometimes his own men drove them; at others, the horse and chaise
were let to gentlemen or ladies who drove themselves.