Chapter 10 A Talk in the Orchard Ginger and I were not of the regular tall carriage horse breed.
We had more of the racing blood in us.
We stood about fifteen and a half hands high.
We were therefore just as good for riding as we were for driving,
And our master used to say that he disliked either horse or man that could do but one thing,
And as he did not want to show off in London parks,
He preferred a more active and useful kind of horse.
As for us,
Our greatest pleasure was when we were saddled for a riding party.
The master on Ginger,
The mistress on me,
And the young ladies on Sir Oliver and Merrylegs.
It was so cheerful to be trotting and cantering all together that it always put us in high spirits.
I had the best of it,
For I always carried the mistress.
Her weight was little,
Her voice was sweet,
And her hand was so light on the rein that I was guided almost without feeling it.
Oh,
If people knew what a comfort to horses a light hand is,
And how it keeps a good mouth and a good temper,
They surely would not chuck and drag and pull at the rein as they often do.
Our mouths are so tender that where they have not been spoiled or hardened with bad or ignorant treatment,
They feel the slightest movement of the driver's hand,
And we know in an instant what is required of us.
My mouth has never been spoiled,
And I believe that was why the mistress preferred me to Ginger,
Although her paces were certainly quite as good.
She used often to envy me,
And said it was all the fault of breaking in,
And the gag bit in London that her mouth was not so perfect as mine,
And then old Sir Oliver would say,
There,
There,
Don't vex yourself,
You have the greatest honor.
A mare that can carry a tall man of our master's weight with all your spring and sprightly action,
Does not need to hold her head down because she does not carry the lady.
We horses must take things as they come,
And always be contented and willing so long as we are kindly used.
I had often wondered how it was that Sir Oliver had such a very short tail,
It really was only six or seven inches long,
With a tassel of hair hanging from it,
And on one of our holidays in the orchard I ventured to ask him by what accident it was that he had lost his tail.
Accident,
He snorted with a fierce look,
It was no accident,
It was a cruel,
Shameful,
Cold-blooded act.
When I was young I was taken to a place where these cruel things were done.
I was tied up and made fast so that I could not stir,
And then they came and cut off my long,
Beautiful tail,
Threw the flesh and threw the bone,
And took it away.
How dreadful,
I exclaimed.
Dreadful,
Ah,
It was dreadful,
But it was not only the pain,
Though that was terrible and lasted a long time,
It was not only the indignity of having my best ornament taken from me,
Though that was bad,
But it was this,
How could I ever brush the flies off my sides and my hind legs anymore?
You who have tails just whisk the flies off without thinking about it,
And you can't tell what torment it is to have them settle upon you and sting and sting,
And have nothing in the world to lash them off with.
I tell you it is a lifelong wrong,
And a lifelong loss,
But thank heaven they don't do it now.
" What did they do it for then?
" said Ginger.
For fashion,
" said the old horse with the stamp of his foot.
For fashion,
If you know what that means.
There was not a well-bred young horse in my time that had not his tail docked in that shameful way,
Just as if the good God that made us did not know what we wanted and what looked best.
I suppose it is fashion that makes them strap our heads up with those horrid bits that I was tortured with in London,
" said Ginger.
Of course it is,
" said he.
To my mind,
Fashion is one of the wickedest things in the world.
Now look,
For instance,
At the way they serve dogs,
Cutting off their tails to make them look plucky,
And shearing up their pretty little ears to a point to make them look sharp.
I had a dear friend once,
A brown terrier,
Skye they called her.
She was so fond of me that she never would sleep out of my stall.
She made her bed under the manger,
And there she had a litter of five as pretty little puppies as need be.
None were drowned,
For they were of valuable kind,
And how pleased she was with them.
And when they got their eyes open and crawled about,
It was a really pretty sight.
But one day the man came and took them all away.
I thought he might be afraid I should tread upon them,
But it was not so.
In the evening poor Skye brought them back again,
One by one in her mouth.
Not the happy little things that they were,
But bleeding and crying pitifully.
They all had the piece of their tails cut off,
And the soft flap of their pretty little ears was quite cut off.
How their mother licked them,
And how troubled she was poor thing,
I never forgot it.
They healed in time and they forgot the pain,
But the nice soft flap,
That of course was intended to protect the delicate part of their ears from dust and injury,
That was gone forever.
Why don't they cut their own children's ears into points to make them look sharp?
Why don't they cut the end off their noses to make them look plucky?
One would be just as sensible as the other.
What right have they to torment and disfigure God's creatures?
Sir Oliver,
Though he was so gentle,
Was a fiery old fellow,
And what he said was all so new to me,
And so dreadful,
That I found a bitter feeling toward men rise up in my mind that I never had before.
Of course Ginger was very much excited.
She flung up her head with flashing eyes and distended nostrils,
Declaring that men were both brutes and blockheads.
Who talks about blockheads,
Said Merrylegs,
Who just came up from the old apple tree,
Where he'd been rubbing himself against the low branch.
Who talks about blockheads?
I believe that is a bad word.
Bad words were made for bad things,
Said Ginger,
And she told him what Sir Oliver had said.
It is all true,
Said Merrylegs sadly,
And I've seen that about the dogs over and over again where I lived first,
But we won't talk about it here.
You know that Master and John and James are always good to us,
And talking against men in such a place as this doesn't seem fair or grateful,
And you know there are good men and good masters and good grooms besides ours,
Though of course ours is the best.
This wise speech of good little Merrylegs,
Which we knew was quite true,
Cooled us all down,
Especially Sir Oliver,
Who was dearly fond of his master,
And to turn the subject I said,
Can anyone tell me the use of blinkers?
No,
Said Sir Oliver shortly,
Because they are no use.
They are supposed,
Said Justice,
The roan-cob in his calm way,
To prevent horses from shying and starting and getting so frightened as to cause accidents.
Then what is the reason they do not put them on riding horses,
Especially on ladies' horses,
Said I.
There is no reason at all,
Said he quietly,
Except the fashion.
They say that a horse would be so frightened to see the wheels of his own cart or carriage coming behind him that he would be sure to run away,
Although of course when he is ridden he sees them all about him if the streets are crowded.
I admit they do sometimes come too close to be pleasant,
But we don't run away,
We are used to it and understand it,
And if we never had blinkers put on we should never want them,
We should see what was there and know what was what and be much less frightened than only by seeing bits of things that we can't understand.
Of course there may be some nervous horses who have been hurt or frightened when they were young who may be better for them,
But as I never was nervous I can't judge.
I consider,
Said Sir Oliver,
That blinkers are dangerous things in the night.
We horses can see much better in the dark than men can,
And many an accident would never have happened if horses might have had the full use of their eyes.
Some years ago I remember there was a hearse with two horses returning one dark night,
And just by Farmer Sparrow's house,
Where the pond is close to the road,
The wheels went too near the edge and the hearse was overturned into the water.
Both the horses were drowned and the driver hardly escaped.
Of course,
After this accident a stout white rail was put up that might be easily seen,
But if those horses had not been partly blinded,
They would have themselves have kept further from the edge and no accident would have happened.
When our master's carriage was overturned before you came here,
It was said that if the lamp on the left side had not gone out,
John would have seen the great hole that the road makers had left,
And so he might,
But if old Colin had not had blinkers on he would have seen it,
Lamp or no lamp,
For he was far too knowing an old horse to run into danger.
As it was,
He was very much hurt,
The carriage was broken,
And how John escaped nobody knew.
I should say,
Said Ginger,
Curling her nostril,
That these men who are so wise had better give orders that in the future all fowl should be born with their eyes set just in the middle of their foreheads instead of on the side.
They always think they can improve upon nature and mend what God has made.
Things were getting rather sore again when Merrylegs held up his knowing little face and said,
I'll tell you a secret,
I do believe John does not approve of blinkers.
I heard him talking with master about it one day.
The master said that if horses had been used to them,
It might be dangerous in some cases to leave them off,
And John said he thought it would be a good thing if all colts were broken in without blinkers,
As was the case in some foreign countries.
So let us cheer up and have a run to the other end of the orchard.
I believe the wind has blown down some apples,
And we might just as well eat them as the slugs.
Merrylegs could not be resisted,
So we broke off our long conversation and got our spirits by munching some very sweet apples which lay scattered on the grass.
Chapter 11.
Plain Speaking The longer I lived at Birtwick,
The more proud and happy I felt at having such a place.
Our master and mistress were respected and beloved by all who knew them.
They were good and kind to everybody and everything.
Not only men and women,
But horses and donkeys,
Dogs and cats,
Cattle and birds.
There was no oppressed or ill-used creature that had not a friend in them,
And their servants took the same tone.
If any of the village children were known to treat any creature cruelly,
They soon heard about it from the hall.
The Squire and Farmer Grey had worked together,
As they said,
For more than twenty years to get check reins on the cart horses done away with,
And in our parts you seldom saw them.
And sometimes,
If mistress met a heavily laden horse with his head strained up,
She would stop the carriage and get out,
And reason with the driver in her sweet serious voice,
And try to show him how foolish and cruel it was.
I don't think any man could withstand our mistress.
I wish all ladies were like her.
Our master,
Too,
Used to come down very heavy sometimes.
I remember he was riding me toward home one morning,
When we saw a powerful man driving toward us in a light pony chase,
With a beautiful little bay pony,
With slender legs,
And a high-bred,
Sensitive head and face.
Just as he came to park the gates,
The little thing turned toward them.
The man,
Without warning or word,
Wretched the creature's head round with such a force and suddenness that he nearly threw it on his haunches,
Recovering itself,
When he began to lash it furiously.
The pony plunged forward,
But the strong,
Heavy hand held the pretty creature back with force,
Almost enough to break its jaw,
While the whip still cut into him.
It was a dreadful sight to me,
For I knew what fearful pain it gave the delicate little mouth.
But master gave me the word,
And we were up with him in a second.
Sawyer,
He cried in a stern voice,
Is that pony made of flesh and blood?
Flesh and blood and temper,
He said.
He's too fond of his own will,
And that won't suit me.
He spoke as if he was in a strong passion.
He was a builder,
Who had often been to the park on business.
And do you think,
Said master sternly,
That treatment like this will make him fond of your will?
He had no business to make that turn.
His road was straight on,
Said the man roughly.
You have often driven that pony up to my place,
Said master.
It only shows the creature's memory and intelligence.
How did he know that you were not going there again?
But this has little to do with that.
I must say,
Mr.
Sawyer,
That a more unmanly,
Brutal treatment of a little pony,
It was never my painful lot to witness.
And by giving way to such passion,
You injure your own character as much,
Nay more,
Than you injure your horse.
And remember,
We shall all have to be judged according to our works,
Whether they be toward man or toward beast.
Master rode me home slowly,
And I could tell by his voice how the thing had grieved him.
He was just as free to speak to gentlemen of his own rank as to those below him.
For another day,
When we went out,
We met a Captain Langley,
A friend of our master's.
He was driving a splendid pair of greys in a kind of break.
After a little conversation,
The captain said,
What do you think of my new team,
Mr.
Douglas?
You know they are the judge of horses in these parts,
And I should like your opinion.
The master backed me up a little,
So as to get a good view of them.
They are an uncommonly handsome pair,
He said,
And if they are as good as they look,
I am sure you need not wish for anything better.
But I see you still hold that pet scheme of yours for worrying your horses and lessening their power.
What do you mean,
Said the other?
The check reins?
Oh,
Ah,
I know that's a hobby of yours.
Well,
The fact is,
I like to see my horses hold their heads up.
So do I,
Said master,
As well as any man.
But I don't like to see them held up.
That takes all the shine out of it.
Now,
You are a military man,
Langley,
And no doubt like to see your regiment look well on parade.
Heads up,
And all that.
But you would not take much credit for your drill if all your men had their heads tied to a backboard.
It might not be much harm on parade,
Except to worry and fatigue them.
But how would it be in the bayonet charge against the enemy when they want the free use of every muscle and all their strength thrown forward?
I would not give much for their chance of victory.
And it is just the same with horses.
You fret and worry their tempers and decrease their power.
You will not let them throw their weights against their work.
And so they have to do so much with their joints and muscles,
And of course it wears them up faster.
You may depend upon it.
Horses were intended to have their heads free,
As free as men's are.
And if we could act a little more according to common sense,
And a good deal less according to fashion,
We should find many things work easier.
Besides,
You know as well as I that if a horse makes a false step,
He has much less chance of recovering himself if his head and neck are fastened back.
And now,
Said the master laughing,
I have given my hobby a good trot on.
Can't you make up your mind to mount him too,
Captain?
Your example would go a long way.
I believe you are right in theory,
Said the other.
And that's rather a hard hit about the soldiers.
But,
Well,
I'll think about it.
And so they parted.
Chapter 12 A Stormy Day One day,
Late in autumn,
My master had a long journey to go on business.
I was put into the dog cart,
And John went with his master.
I always liked to go on the dog cart.
It was so light,
And the high wheels ran along so pleasantly.
There had been a great deal of rain,
And now the wind was very high,
And blew the dry leaves across the road in a shower.
We went along merrily till we came to the toll bar and the low wooden bridge.
The riverbanks were rather high,
And the bridge,
Instead of rising,
Went across just level,
So that in the middle,
If the river was full,
The water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks,
But as there were good substantial rails on each side,
People did not mind it.
Chapter 13 The man at the gate said the river was rising fast,
And he feared it would be a bad night.
Many of the meadows were underwater,
And in one low part of the road the water was halfway up to my knees.
The bottom was good,
And master drove gently,
So it was no matter.
When we got to the town,
Of course,
I had a good bait,
But as the master's business engaged him a long time,
We did not start for home till rather late in the afternoon.
Chapter 14 The wind was then much higher,
And I heard the master say to John that he had never been out in such a storm,
And so I thought,
As we went along the skirts of the wood where the great branches were swaying about like twigs,
And the rushing sound was terrible.
I wish we were well out of this wood,
Said my master.
Yes,
Sir,
Said John.
It would be rather awkward if one of these branches came down upon us.
Chapter 15 Words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a groan and a crack and a splitting sound,
And tearing,
Crashing down among the other trees came an old oak torn up by the roots,
And it fell right across the road just before us.
I will never say I was not frightened,
For I was.
I stopped still,
And I believe I trembled,
And of course I did not turn around or run away.
I was not brought up like that.
John jumped out and was in a moment at my head.
That was a very near touch,
Said my master.
What's to be done now?
Well,
Sir,
We can't drive over that tree,
Nor yet get around it.
There will be nothing for it,
But to go back to the four crossways,
And that will be a good six miles before we get round to the wooden bridge again.
It will make us late,
But the horse is fresh.
So back we went and round by the crossroads,
But by the time we got to the bridge,
It was very nearly dark.
We could just see that the water was over the middle of it,
But as that happens sometimes when the floods are out,
Master did not stop.
We were going along at a good pace,
But the moment my feet touched the first part of the bridge,
I felt sure there was something wrong.
I dare not go forward,
And I made a dead stop.
Go on,
Beauty,
Said my master,
And he gave me a touch with the whip,
But I dare not stir.
He gave me a sharp cut.
I jumped,
But I dare not go forward.
There's something wrong,
Sir,
Said John,
And he sprang out of the dog cart and came to my head and looked all about.
He tried to lead me forward.
Come on,
Beauty,
What's the matter?
Of course,
I could not tell him,
But I knew very well that the bridge was not safe.
Just then,
The man at the tollgate on the other side ran out of the house,
Tossing a torch about like one mad.
Hoy,
Hoy,
Hallo,
Stop,
He cried.
What's the matter,
Shouted my master?
The bridge is broken in the middle,
And part of it is carried away.
If you come on,
You'll be in the river.
Thank God,
Said my master.
You,
Beauty,
Said John,
And took the bridle and gently turned me round to the right-hand road by the riverside.
The sun had set some time.
The wind seemed to have lulled off after the furious blast which tore up the tree.
It grew darker and darker,
Stiller and stiller.
I trotted quietly along.
The wheels hardly making a sound on the soft road.
For a good while neither master nor John spoke,
And then master began in a very serious voice.
I could not understand much of what they said,
But I found they thought if I had gone on as the master wanted me,
Most likely the bridge would have given way under us.
And horse,
Chase,
Master,
And man would have fallen into the river,
And as the current was flowing very strongly,
And there was no light and no help at hand,
It was more than likely we all should have been drowned.
Master said,
God had given men reason by which they could find things for themselves,
But he had given animals knowledge which did not depend on reason,
And which was more prompt and perfect in its way,
And by which they had often saved the lives of men.
John had many stories to tell of dogs and horses and wonderful things they had done.
He thought people did not value their animals half enough nor make friends with them as they ought to do.
I am sure he makes friends with them,
If ever a man did.
At last we came to the park gates and found the gardener looking out for us.
He said the mistress had been in a dreadful way ever since dark,
Fearing some accident had happened,
And that she had sent James off on Justice,
The roan-cob,
Toward the wooden bridge to make inquiry after us.
We saw a light at the hall door and the upper windows,
And as we came up mistress ran out saying,
Are you really safe,
My dear?
Oh,
I have never been so anxious,
Fancying all sorts of things.
Have you had no accident?
No,
My dear,
But if your black beauty had not been wiser than we were,
We should have all been carried down the river at the wooden bridge.
I heard no more as they went into the house,
And John took me to the stable.
Oh,
What a good supper he gave to me that night.
A good bran mash,
And some crushed beans with my oats,
And such a thick bed of straw,
And I was glad for it,
For I was tired.
And that is the end of our story this evening.
Until next time,
Sweet dreams.
