Black Beauty. Anna Sewell
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to step into his place. He would have eighteen shillings a week at first, a stable suit, a driving suit, a bedroom over the coach-house, and a boy under him. Sir Clifford is a good master, and if you could get the place, it would be a good start for you. I don’t want to part with you, and if you left us I know John would lose his right hand.’
‘That I should, sir,’ said John, ‘but I would not stand in his light for the world.’
‘How old are you, James?’ said master.
‘Nineteen next May, sir.’
‘That’s young; what do you think, John?’
‘Well, sir, it is young: but he is as steady as a man, and is as strong, and well grown, and though he has not had much experience in driving, he has a light firm hand, and a quick eye, and he is very careful, and I am quite sure no horse of his will be ruined for want of having his feet and shoes looked after.’
‘Your word will go the furthest, John,’ said the master, ‘for Sir Clifford adds in a postscript, “If I could find a man trained by your John, I should like him better than any other,” so, James, lad, think it over, talk to your mother at dinner time, and then let me know what you wish.’
In a few days after this conversation, it was fully settled that James should go to Clifford Hall in a month or six weeks, as it suited his master, and in the meantime he was to get all the practice in driving that could be given to him. I never knew the carriage go out so often before: when the mistress did not go out, the master drove himself in the two-wheeled chaise; but now, whether it was master or the young ladies, or only an errand, Ginger and I were put into the carriage and James drove us. At the first, John rode with him on the box, telling him this and that, and after that James drove alone.
Then it was wonderful what a number of places the master would go to in the city on Saturday, and what queer streets we were driven through. He was sure to go to the railway station just as the train was coming in, and cabs and carriages, carts and omnibuses were all trying to get over the bridge together; that bridge wanted good horses and good drivers when the railway bell was ringing, for it was narrow, and there was a very sharp turn up to the station, where it would not have been at all difficult for people to run into each other, if they did not look sharp and keep their wits about them.
After this, it was decided by my master and mistress to pay a visit to some friends who lived about forty-six miles from our home, and James was to drive them. The first day we travelled thirty-two miles; there were some long heavy hills, but James drove so carefully and thoughtfully that we were not at all harassed. He never forgot to put on the drag as we went downhill, nor to take it off at the right place. He kept our feet on the smoothest part of the road, and if the uphill was very long, he set the carriage wheels a little across the road, so as not to run back, and gave us a breathing. All these little things help a horse very much, particularly if he gets kind words into the bargain.
We stopped once or twice on the road, and just as the sun was going down we reached the town where we were to spend the night. We stopped at the principal hotel, which was in the Market Place; it was a very large one; we drove under an archway into a long yard, at the further end of which were the stables and coach-houses. Two ostlers came to take us out. The head ostler was a pleasant, active little man, with a crooked leg, and a yellow striped waistcoat. I never saw a man unbuckle harness so quickly as he did, and with a pat and a good word he led me to a long stable, with six or eight stalls in it, and two or three horses. The other man brought Ginger; James stood by whilst we were rubbed down and cleaned.
I never was cleaned so lightly and quickly as by that little old man. When he had done, James stepped up and felt me over, as if he thought I could not be thoroughly done, but he found my coat as clean and smooth as silk.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I thought I was pretty quick, and our John quicker still, but you do beat all I ever saw for being quick and thorough at the same time.’
‘Practice makes perfect,’ said the crooked little ostler, ‘and ’twould be a pity if it didn’t; forty years’ practice, and not perfect! ha, ha! that would be a pity; and as to being quick, why, bless you! that is only a matter of habit; if you get into the habit of being quick, it is just as easy as being slow; easier, I should say; in fact, it don’t agree with my health to be hulking about over a job twice as long as it need take. Bless you! I couldn’t whistle if I crawled over my work as some folks do! You see, I have been about horses ever since I was twelve years old, in hunting stables, and racing stables; and being small, ye see, I was jockey for several years; but at the Goodwood, ye see, the turf was very slippery and my poor Larkspur got a fall, and I broke my knee, and so of course I was of no more use there; but I could not live without horses, of course I couldn’t, so I took to the hotels, and I can tell ye it is a downright pleasure to handle an animal like this, well-bred, well-mannered, well-cared for; bless ye! I can tell how a horse is treated. Give me the handling of a horse for twenty minutes, and I’ll tell you what sort of a groom he has had; look at this one, pleasant, quiet, turns about just as you want him, holds up his feet to be cleaned out, or anything else you please to wish; then you’ll find another, fidgety, fretty, won’t move the right way, or starts across the stall, tosses up his head as soon as you come near him, lays his ears, and seems afraid of you; or else squares about at you with his heels! Poor things! I know what sort of treatment they have had. If they are timid, it makes them start or shy; if they are high-mettled, it makes them vicious or dangerous; their tempers are mostly made when they are young. Bless you! they are like children, train ’em up in the way they should go, as the good book says, and when they are old they will not depart from it, if they have a chance, that is.’
‘I like to hear you talk,’ said James, ‘that’s the way we lay it down at home, at our master’s.’
‘Who is your master, young man? if it be a proper question. I should judge he is a good one, from what I see.’
‘He is Squire Gordon, of Birtwick Park, the other side the Beacon hills,’ said James.
‘Ah! so, so, I have heard tell of him; fine judge of horses, ain’t he? the best rider in the county?’
‘I believe he is,’ said James, ‘but he rides very little now, since the poor young master was killed.’
‘Ah! poor gentleman; I read all about it in the paper at the time; a fine horse killed too, wasn’t there?’
‘Yes,’ said James, ‘he was a splendid creature, brother to this one, and just like him.’
‘Pity! pity!’ said the old man, ‘’twas a bad place to leap, if I remember; a thin fence at top, a steep bank down to the stream, wasn’t it? no chance for a horse to see where he is going. Now, I am for bold riding as much as any man, but still there are some leaps that only a very knowing old huntsman has any right to take; a man’s life and a horse’s life are worth more than a fox’s tail, at least I should say they ought to be.’
During this time the other man had finished Ginger, and had brought our corn, and James and the old man left the stable together.
Later on in the evening, a traveller’s horse was brought in by the second ostler, and whilst he was cleaning him, a young man with a pipe in his mouth lounged into the stable to gossip.
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