Dinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by ameadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it.A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he wouldtie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer.
"If your cows would not be offended," said Jerry, "there is nothing myhorse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautifulmeadow; he's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him."
"Do, and welcome," said the young man; "the best we have is at yourservice for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinnerin an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with mother so ill we areall out of sorts in the house."
Jerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with him therewas nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow.
When my harness was taken off I did not know what I should dofirst--whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie downand rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer spirits atbeing free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be quite as happyas I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to thebirds, then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he isso fond of, then wandered round the meadow, and down by a little brook,where he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up withlong sprays of ivy; then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he hadbrought with him; but the time seemed all too short--I had not been in afield since I left poor Ginger at Earlshall.
We came home gently, and Jerry's first words were, as we came into theyard, "Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birdswere singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service; and asfor Jack, he was like a young colt."
When he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy.
38 Dolly and a Real Gentleman
Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow,or sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keendriving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much. Whenit is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will keep the warmth in us;but when it is soaking rain they soon get wet through and are no good.Some of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was afine thing; but some of the men were so poor that they could not protecteither themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very muchthat winter. When we horses had worked half the day we went to our drystables, and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimesstaying out as late as one or two o'clock in the morning if they had aparty to wait for.
When the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the worst ofall for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a weight to drawand no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a goodroad; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep ourbalance; and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting thananything else. If the roads are very bad indeed our shoes are roughed,but that makes us feel nervous at first.
When the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit in thetavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but they oftenlost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there withoutspending money. He never went to the Rising Sun; there was a coffee-shopnear, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man, who cameto our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion thatspirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, goodfood, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home, were the best thingsto keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eatwhen he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dollypeeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if "father" was onthe stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and soon comeback with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Pollyhad ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safelyacross the street, often thronged with horses and carriages; but she wasa brave little maid, and felt it quite an honor to bring "father's firstcourse", as he used to call it. She was a general favorite on the stand,and there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across thestreet, if Jerry had not been able to do it.
One cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot,and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun whena gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his umbrella. Jerrytouched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking offmy cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up, cried out, "No, no, finishyour soup, my friend; I have not much time to spare, but I can waittill you have done, and set your little girl safe on the pavement." Sosaying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and cameback to Dolly.
"There, Dolly, that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly; hehas got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a littlegirl."
Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his ordersto drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentlemantook our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for wheneverwe took him to his own door two or three dogs would come bounding outto meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet,pleasant way, "This horse has got a good master, and he deserves it."It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had beenworking for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and thisgentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word;but ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would as soon think of pattingthe steam engine that drew the train.
The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in hisshoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin andclose shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye was keen, andthere was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made onethink he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice waspleasant and kind; any horse would trust that voice, though it was justas decided as everything else about him.
One day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a shopin R---- Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the door. Alittle ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart with two veryfine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the carter was notwith them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but theyseemed to think they had waited long enough, and began to move off.Before they had gone many paces the carter came running out and caughtthem. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and reinpunished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentlemansaw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decidedvoice:
"If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for leavingyour horses, and for brutal conduct."
The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusivelanguage, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking thereins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had quietly taken anote-book from his pocket, and looking at the name and address paintedon the cart, he wrote something down.
"What do you want with that?" growled the carter, as he cracked his whipand was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got.
On returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion, who saidlaughingly, "I should have thought, Wright, you had enough business ofyour own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people'shorses and servants."
Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a littleback, "Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?"
"No," said the other.
"Then I'll tell you. It is because people think only about their ownbusiness, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed,nor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked thing like thiswithout doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for lettinghim know how his horses have been used."
"I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir," said Jerry, "for theyare wanted badly enough in this city."
After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab
ourfriend was saying, "My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty orwrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselvessharers in the guilt."
39 Seedy Sam
I should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my driverwas my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and not overworkme, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but there were a greatmany horses which belonged to the large cab-owners, who let them out totheir drivers for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong tothese men the only thing they thought of was how to get their money outof them, first, to pay the master, and then to provide for their ownliving; and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course,I understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand,and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, wouldsometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used.
One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of"Seedy Sam", brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and thegovernor said:
"You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for thisrank."
The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round uponthe Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate:
"If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be with themasters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low.If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab andtwo horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make thatup before we earn a penny for ourselves I say 'tis more than hard work;nine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to getyour own living. You know that's true, and if the horses don't work wemust starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now.I've six of 'em, and only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteenor sixteen hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelveweeks; you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if Idon't work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a mackintosh,but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clocka week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again."
Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying hewas right. The man went on:
"You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, havea chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven't. We can'tcharge more than sixpence a mile after the first, within the four-mileradius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles and only tookthree shillings. I could not get a return fare, and had to come all theway back; there's twelve miles for the horse and three shillings for me.After that I had a three-mile fare, and there were bags and boxes enoughto have brought in a good many twopences if they had been put outside;but you know how people do; all that could be piled up inside on thefront seat were put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. Thatwas sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for ashilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillingsfor me; there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nineshillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course, itis not always so bad as that, but you know it often is, and I say 'tisa mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when abeast is downright tired there's nothing but the whip that will keephis legs a-going; you can't help yourself--you must put your wife andchildren before the horse; the masters must look to that, we can't. Idon't ill-use my horse for the sake of it; none of you can say I do.There's wrong lays somewhere--never a day's rest, never a quiet hourwith the wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I'monly forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect usof cheating and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses intheir hands counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we werepickpockets. I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hoursa day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, and thatin all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular never to giveus a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of'em tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live; butyou can't depend upon that."
The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said,"It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it isno wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up?"
Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his facelook so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in hispockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped hisforehead.
"You've beaten me, Sam," he said, "for it's all true, and I won't castit up to you any more about the police; it was the look in that horse'seye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines forbeast, and who's to mend it I don't know: but anyway you might tellthe poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way.Sometimes a kind word is all we can give 'em, poor brutes, and 'tiswonderful what they do understand."
A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam'scab.
"Halloo!" said one, "what's up with Seedy Sam?"
"He's ill in bed," said the man; "he was taken last night in the yard,and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning tosay his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I'm hereinstead."
The next morning the same man came again.
"How is Sam?" inquired the governor.
"He's gone," said the man.
"What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?"
"Just snuffed out," said the other; "he died at four o'clock thismorning; all yesterday he was raving--raving about Skinner, and havingno Sundays. 'I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his last words."
No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, "I'll tell youwhat, mates, this is a warning for us."
40 Poor Ginger
One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of theparks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours.The horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, andbones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and thefore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the windrolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out herlong thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about formore. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not helpnoticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horsebefore, she looked full at me and said, "Black Beauty, is that you?"
It was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifully arched and glossy neckwas now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs anddelicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape withhard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was nowfull of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and herfrequent cough, how bad her breath was.
Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up toher a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sadtale that she had to tell.
After a twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fitfor work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while shegot on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strainreturned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. Inthis way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down.
"And so at last," said she, "I was bought by a man who keeps a number ofcabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad ofit, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found outmy weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that Imust go into one of the low cabs, and just be used up; that is whatthey are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what Isuffer--they paid for me, and must get it out of me, they say. The manwho hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so hehas to get it out of me too; and so it's all the week round and round,with never a Sunday rest."
I said, "You used to stand up for your
self if you were ill-used."
"Ah!" she said, "I did once, but it's no use; men are strongest, and ifthey are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do, butjust bear it--bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come,I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do notsuffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent offto the knackers."
I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could saynothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said,"You are the only friend I ever had."
Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her outof the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed.
A short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed ourcab-stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue wasslowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak ofthem, the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long,thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it wasGinger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if menwere more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery.
41 The Butcher
I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much ofit might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do notmind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there aremany driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when Iused to go in the Countess of W----'s carriage, with my silver-mountedharness and high feeding.
It often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used,straining along with heavy loads or staggering under heavy blows fromsome low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little gray pony with a thick maneand a pretty head, and so much like Merrylegs that if I had not been inharness I should have neighed to him. He was doing his best to pull aheavy cart, while a strong rough boy was cutting him under the bellywith his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it beMerrylegs? It was just like him; but then Mr. Blomefield was never tosell him, and I think he would not do it; but this might have been quiteas good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young.