I was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite right, and if my master had always been on the premises, I do not think I should have been over-loaded, but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving everyone, and frequently when I had quite a full load, he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him, “’twas no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward.” Jakes, like the other carters, always had the bearing rein up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months, I found the work telling very much on my strength.
One day, I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep uphill: I used all my 229 strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly, “Get on, you lazy fellow,” he said, “or I’ll make you.” Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard, it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet earnest voice,
“Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing all he can, and the road is very steep, I am sure he is doing his best.”
“If doing his best won’t get this load up, he must do something more than his best, that’s all I know, ma’am,” said Jakes.
“But is it not a very heavy load?” she said.
“Yes, yes, too heavy,” he said, “but that’s not my fault, the foreman came just as we were starting, and would have three hundred-weight more put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can.” He was raising the whip again, when the lady said,
“Pray stop, I think I can help you if you will let me.”
The man laughed.
“You see,” she said, “you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use all his power with his head 230 held back as it is with that bearing rein; if you would take it off, I am sure he would do better—do try it,” she said persuasively, “I should be very glad if you would.”
“Well, well,” said Jakes, with a short laugh, “anything to please a lady of course. How far would you wish it down, ma’am?”
“Quite down, give him his head altogether.”
The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times to get the aching stiffness out of my neck.
“Poor fellow! that is what you wanted,” said she, patting and stroking me with her gentle hand; “and now if you will speak kindly to him and lead him on, I believe he will be able to do better.”
Jakes took the rein—“Come on, Blackie.” I put down my head, and threw my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take breath.
The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many a long day. “You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days; you won’t put that rein on again, will you?” for he was just going to hitch it up on the old plan.
“Well, ma’am, I can’t deny that having his head has helped him up the hill, and I’ll remember it 231 another time, and thank you, ma’am; but if he went without a bearing rein, I should be the laughing stock of all the carters; it is the fashion, you see.”
“Is it not better,” she said, “to lead a good fashion, than to follow a bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use bearing reins now; our carriage horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less fatigue than those who have them; besides,” she added in a very serious voice, “we have no right to distress any of God’s creatures without a very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words, but I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better than the whip. Good day,” and with another soft pat on my neck she stepped lightly across to the path, and I saw her no more.
“That was a real lady, I’ll be bound for it,” said Jakes to himself, “she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I’ll try her plan, uphill, at any rate;” and I must do him the justice to say, that he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest will keep up one’s strength under full work, but no horse can stand against over-loading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from this cause, that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well mention here, what I suffered at this time from 232 another cause. I had heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the evil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small window at the end, and the consequence was, that the stalls were almost dark.
Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness into the glare of daylight, it was very painful to my eyes. Several times I stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going.
I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind, and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say, that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive, than one which had imperfect sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner.233
I shall never forget my new master, he had black eyes and a hooked nose, his mouth was as full of teeth as a bull dog’s, and his voice was as harsh as the grinding of cart wheels over gravel stones. His name was Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the same man that poor Seedy Sam drove for.
I have heard men say, that seeing is believing; but I should say that feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till now the utter misery of a cab-horse’s life.
Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer.
Sometimes on a Sunday morning, a party of fast men would hire the cab for the day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to take them 10 or 15 miles out into the country, and back again: never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever so steep, or the day ever so hot—unless indeed, when the driver was afraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and 234 worn that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran mash with nitre in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in hot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable; when we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday morning were as fresh as young horses again; but here, there was no rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and never hung back; for as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest.
My life was now so utterly wretched, that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery; and one day my wish very nearly came to pass. I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the outside cabs, to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged, ours was called for. There was a party of four; a noisy blustering man with a lady, a little boy and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage, the young girl came and looked at me.
“Papa,” she said, “I am sure this poor horse 235 cannot take us and all our luggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up; do look at him.”
“Oh! he’s all right, miss,” said my driver, “he’s strong enough.”
The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a second cab.
“Can your horse do it, or can’t he?” said the blustering man.
“Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter: he could take more than that,” and he helped to haul up a box so heavy, that I could feel the springs go down.
“Papa, papa, do take a second cab,” said the young girl in a beseeching tone; “I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel.”
“Nonsense, Grace, get in at once and don’t make all this fuss; a pretty thing it would be, if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse before he hired it—the man knows his own business of course: there, get in and hold your tongue!” My gentle friend had to obey; and box after box was dragged up and lodged on the top of the cab, or settled by the side of the driver. At last all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein, and slash of the whip, he drove out of the station.
The load was very heavy, and I had had neither food nor rest since the morning; but I did my best as I always had done, in spite of cruelty and injustice.236
I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill, but there, the heavy load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on, goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when—in a single moment—I cannot tell how, my feet slipped from under me, and I fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force with which I fell, seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay perfectly still; indeed I had no power to move, and I thought now I was going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud angry voices, and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I thought I heard that sweet pitiful voice saying, “Oh! that poor horse! it is all our fault.” Some one came and loosened the throat strap of my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me. Some one said, “He’s dead, he’ll never get up again.” Then I could hear a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.237
In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner’s stables, where, I think they did the best for me that they could. In the morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very closely, and said, “This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him a run off for six months, he would be able to work again; but now there is not an ounce of strength in him.”
“Then he must just go to the dogs,” said Skinner, “I have no meadows to nurse sick horses in—he might get well or he might not; that sort of thing don’t suit my business, my plan is to work ’em as long as they’ll go, and then sell ’em for what they’ll fetch, at the knacker’s or elsewhere.”
“If he was broken-winded,” said the farrier, “you had better have him killed out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off in about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up, he may pick up, and you may get more than his skin is worth at any rate.” Upon this advice, Skinner rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me, carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay, bran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my condition than any thing else could have done; those linseed mashes were delicious, and I began to think after all, it might be better to live than go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident 238 came, I was taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change from my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and hoped for the best.239
At this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old broken-down horses—some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some, that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot. The buyers and the sellers too, many of them, looked not much better off than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times had hardened them all over; but there were others, that I would have willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering old man that took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong enough—it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a 240 kind, ruddy face, and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions, he stood still, and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him.
“There’s a horse, Willie, that has known better days.”
“Poor old fellow!” said the boy, “do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a carriage horse?”
“Oh yes! my boy,” said the farmer, coming closer, “he might have been anything when he was young: look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder; there’s a deal of breeding about that horse.” He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck: I put out my nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face.
“Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness. Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with Ladybird?”
“My dear boy, I can’t make all old horses young; beside, Ladybird was not so very old, as she was run down and badly used.”
“Well, grandpapa, I don’t believe that this one is old; look at his mane and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell; though he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses.”
The old gentleman laughed, “Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old grandfather.”
“But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask 241 the price; I am sure he would grow young in our meadows.”
The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word. “The young gentleman’s a real knowing one, sir: now the fact is, this ’ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he’s not an old one, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months run off would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken. I’ve had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller, pleasanter animal I never met with, and ’twould be worth a gentleman’s while to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I’ll be bound he’d be worth twenty pounds next
The old gentleman laughed, the little boy looked up eagerly.
“Oh! grandpapa, did you not say, the colt sold for five pounds more than you expected? you would not be poorer if you did buy this one.”
The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained; then he looked at my mouth—“Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just trot him out, will you?”
I arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff.
“What is the lowest you will take for him?” said the farmer as I came back.
“Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set.”
“’Tis a speculation,” said the old gentleman, 242 shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out his purse—“quite a speculation! Have you any more business here?” he said, counting the sovereigns into his hand.
“No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please.”
“Do so, I am now going there.”
They walked forward and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my new master’s, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner of it.
Mr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of the meadow during the day, and “you Willie,” said he, “must take the oversight of him; I give him in charge to you.” The boy was proud of his charge and undertook it in all seriousness. There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking me out from amongst the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or something good, or sometimes standing by me whilst I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs—“This is our point, Willie,” he would say; “but he is 243 improving so steadily, that I think we shall see a change for the better in the spring.”
The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf and gentle exercise, soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young, so that I had a better chance than many horses, who have been worked before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs improved so much, that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came round, and one day in March, Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect ease.
“He’s growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now, and by midsummer he will be as good as Ladybird: he has a beautiful mouth, and good paces, they can’t be better.”
“Oh! grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!”
“So am I, my boy, but he has to thank you more than me; we must now be looking out for a quiet genteel place for him, where he will be valued.”244
ne day during this summer, the groom cleaned and dressed me with such extraordinary care, that I thought some new change must be at hand; he trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie seemed half anxious, half merry, as he got into the chaise with his grandfather.
“If the ladies take to him,” said the old gentleman, “they’ll be suited, and he’ll be suited: we can but try.”
At the distance of a mile or two from the village, we came to a pretty low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front, and a drive up to the door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield, or Miss Ellen was at home. Yes, they were. So, whilst Willie stayed with me, Mr. Thoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned, followed by three ladies; one tall pale lady wrapped in a white shawl, leaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other, a very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They 245 all came and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady—that was Miss Ellen, took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I had such a good face. The tall pale lady said, that she should always be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might come down again, and if I did, she should never get over the fright.
“You see, ladies,” said Mr. Thoroughgood, “many first-rate horses have had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers, without any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse, I should say, that is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you incline, you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what he thinks of him.”
“You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses,” said the stately lady, “that your recommendation would go a long way with me, and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection, we will accept your offer of a trial, with thanks.” It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day.
In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me; at first, he looked pleased; but when he saw my knees, he said in a disappointed voice,
“I didn’t think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished horse like that.”
“‘Handsome is—that handsome does,’” said my master; “you are only taking him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man, and if he 246 is not as safe as any horse you ever drove, send him back.”
I was led home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left to myself. The next day, when my groom was cleaning my face, he said, “That is just like the star that Black Beauty had, he is much the same height too; I wonder where he is now.” A little further on, he came to the place in my neck where I was bled, and where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began to look me over carefully, talking to himself: “White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little knot just in that then looking at the middle of my back—“and as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used to call ‘Beauty’s threepenny bit,’ it must be Black Beauty! Why Beauty! Beauty! do you know me? little Joe Green, that almost killed you?” And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed. I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young fellow, with black whiskers and a man’s voice, but I was sure he knew me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so
“Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been badly served out somewhere; well, well, it won’t be my fault if you haven’t good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see
In the afternoon I was put into a low Park chair and brought to the door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces. I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire Gordon’s old Black Beauty.
When we returned, the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved myself. She told them what she had just heard, and said, “I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite horse has come to us. How pleased she will be!” After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and to call me by my old name of “Black Beauty.”
I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the other day, “In your place he will last till he is twenty years old—perhaps more.” Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple trees.
The final illustration, with the word “FINIS”, is from the Altemus edition—here an exceptionally close copy of Beer.
Jakes and the Lady.
[In at least one movie version, the lady is given a name: Anna Sewell.]
worth twenty pounds next spring.”
text has single for double close quote
little knot just in that place;”
close quote missing
I never saw a man so pleased.
text has pleased.”
I wish John Manly was here to see you.”
final . invisible
The original of this text is in the public domain—at least in the U.S.
My notes are copyright, as are all under-the-hood elements.
If in doubt, ask.