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‘Yes, sir, she’s wonderfully improved, she’s not the same creature that she was; it’s the Birtwick balls, sir,’ said John, laughing.
This was a little joke of John’s; he used to say that a regular course of the Birtwick horse-balls would cure almost any vicious horse; these balls, he said, were made up of patience and gentleness, firmness and petting, one pound of each to be mixed up with half-a-pint of common-sense, and given to the horse every day.
CHAPTER 9 Merrylegs (#ulink_3407c900-11c2-5637-8f7f-6b1c81813f33)
Mr Blomefield, the Vicar, had a large family of boys and girls; sometimes they used to come and play with Miss Jessie and Flora. One of the girls was as old as Miss Jessie; two of the boys were older, and there were several little ones. When they came, there was plenty of work for Merrylegs, for nothing pleased them so much as getting on him by turns and riding him all about the orchard and the home paddock, and this they would do by the hour together.
One afternoon he had been out with them a long time, and when James brought him in and put on his halter, he said:
‘There, you rogue, mind how you behave yourself, or we shall get into trouble.’
‘What have you been doing, Merrylegs?’ I asked.
‘Oh!’ said he, tossing his little head, ‘I have only been giving those young people a lesson, they did not know when they had had enough, nor when I had had enough, so I just pitched them off backwards, that was the only thing they could understand.’
‘What?’ said I, ‘you threw the children off? I thought you did know better than that! Did you throw Miss Jessie or Miss Flora?’
He looked very much offended, and said:
‘Of course not, I would not do such a thing for the best oats that ever came into the stable; why, I am as careful of our young ladies as the master could be, and as for the little ones, it is I who teach them to ride. When they seem frightened or a little unsteady on my back, I go as smooth and as quiet as old pussy when she is after a bird; and when they are all right, I go on again faster, you see, just to use them to it; so don’t you trouble yourself preaching to me; I am the best friend and the best riding master those children have. It is not them, it is the boys; boys,’ said he, shaking his mane, ‘are quite different; they must be broken in, as we were broken in when we were colts, and just be taught what’s what. The other children had ridden me about for nearly two hours, and then the boys thought it was their turn, and so it was, and I was quite agreeable. They rode me by turns, and I galloped them about up and down the fields and all about the orchard for a good hour. They had each cut a great hazel stick for a riding whip, and laid it on a little too hard; but I took it in good part, till at last I thought we had had enough, so I stopped two or three times by way of a hint. Boys, you see, think a horse or pony is like a steam engine or a thrashing machine, and can go on as long and as fast as they please; they never think that a pony can get tired, or have any feelings; so as the one who was whipping me could not understand, I just rose up on my hind legs and let him slip off behind – that was all; he mounted me again, and I did the same. Then the other boy got up, and as soon as he began to use his stick I laid him on the grass, and so on, till they were able to understand, that was all. They are not bad boys; they don’t wish to be cruel. I like them very well; but you see I had to give them a lesson. When they brought me to James and told him, I think he was very angry to see such big sticks. He said they were only fit for drovers or gipsies, and not for young gentlemen.’
‘If I had been you,’ said Ginger, ‘I would have given those boys a good kick, and that would have given them a lesson.’
‘No doubt you would,’ said Merrylegs, ‘but then I am not quite such a fool (begging your pardon) as to anger our master or make James ashamed of me; besides, those children are under my charge when they are riding; I tell you they are entrusted to me. Why, only the other day I heard our master say to Mrs Blomefield, “My dear madam, you need not be anxious about the children, my old Merrylegs will take as much care of them as you or I could: I assure you I would not sell that pony for any money, he is so perfectly good-tempered and trustworthy”; and do you think I am such an ungrateful brute as to forget all the kind treatment I have had here for five years, and all the trust they place in me, and turn vicious because a couple of ignorant boys used me badly? No! no! you never had a good place where they were kind to you; and so you don’t know, and I’m sorry for you, but I can tell you good places make good horses. I wouldn’t vex our people for anything; I love them, I do,’ said Merrylegs, and he gave a low ‘ho, ho, ho’ through his nose, as he used to do in the morning when he heard James’s footstep at the door.
‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘if I took to kicking, where should I be? Why, sold off in a jiffy, and no character, and I might find myself slaved about under a butcher’s boy, or worked to death at some seaside place where no one cared for me, except to find out how fast I could go, or be flogged along in some cart with three or four great men in it going out for a Sunday spree, as I have often seen in the place I lived in before I came here; no,’ said he, shaking his head, ‘I hope I shall never come to that.’
CHAPTER 10 A Talk in the Orchard (#ulink_e4ad27a7-6085-5772-a2d1-b58d1464aad9)
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. I 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 had 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 honour; 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, through the flesh, and through 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 any more? You who have tails just whisk the flies off without thinking about it, and you can’t tell what a 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 life-long wrong, and a life-long 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 a 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, forsooth! 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 a valuable kind, and how pleased she was with them! and when they got their eyes open and crawled about, it was a real 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 had all had a piece of their tails cut off, and the soft flap of their pretty little ears was cut quite 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 was gone for ever. 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 towards men rise up in my mind that I had never had before. Of course Ginger was 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 had 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 masters and good grooms besides ours, though of course ours are 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 any one tell me the use of blinkers?’
‘No!’ said Sir Oliver, shortly, ‘because they are no use.’
‘They are supposed,’ said Justice 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 by only 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, and may be the 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 man 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 of themselves have kept farther 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 future all foals 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 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 up our spirits by munching some very sweet apples which lay scattered on the grass.
CHAPTER 11 Plain Speaking (#ulink_bedaa140-edc5-5717-a61a-6864e423d478)
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 bearing reins on the cart horses done away with, and in our parts we seldom saw them; but 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 towards home one morning, when we saw a powerful man driving towards us in a light pony chaise, with a beautiful little bay pony, with slender legs, and a high-bred sensitive head and face. Just as he came to the Park gates, the little thing turned towards them; the man, without word or warning, wrenched the creature’s head round with such a force and suddenness, that he nearly threw it on its haunches: recovering itself, it was going on 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, whilst the whip still cut into him. It was a dreadful sight to me, for I knew what fearful pain it gave that 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 that has little to do with it. I must say, Mr Sawyer, that more unmanly, brutal treatment of a little pony it was never my painful lot to witness; and by giving way to such passions 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 towards man or towards 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 were out, we met a Captain Langley, a friend of our master’s; he was driving a splendid pair of greys in a kind of brake. After a little conversation the Captain said:
‘What do you think of my new team, Mr Douglas? you know you are the judge of horses in these parts, and I should like your opinion.’
The master backed me 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 got hold of that pet scheme of yours for worrying your horses and lessening their power.’
‘What do you mean,’ said the other, ‘the bearing 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 a 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 weight against their work, and so they have to do too 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 out, 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 (#ulink_3e13738d-3d4c-5a4e-95ad-20928e85244c)
One day late in the 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 in 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 river banks 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.
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 under water, and in one low part of the road the water was half way up to my knees; the bottom was good, and the master drove gently, so it was no matter.
When we got to the town, of course, I had a good wait, but as the master’s business engaged him a long time, we did not start for home till rather late in the afternoon. The wind was then much higher, and I heard the master say to John, he had never been out in such a storm; and so I thought, as we went along the skirts of a 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.’
The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when there was a groan, and a crack, and a splitting sound, and tearing crashing down amongst the other trees came an 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; of course, I did not turn round or run away; I was not brought up to 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 round 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 cross roads; 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 happened sometimes when the floods were 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 toll-gate on the other side ran out of the house, tossing a torch about like one mad.
‘Hoy, hoy, hoy, halloo, 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 into the river.’
‘Thank God!’ said my master. ‘You Beauty!’ said John and took the bridle and gently turned me round to the righthand road by the river side. The sun had set some time, the wind seemed to have lulled off after that 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 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, chaise, 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 should all have been drowned. Master said, God had given men reason, by which they could find out things for themselves, but He had given animals knowledge which did not depend on reason, and which was much 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 the wonderful things they had done; he thought people did not value their animals half enough, nor make friends of them as they ought to do. I am sure he makes friends of them if ever a man did.
At last we came to the Park gates, and found the gardener looking out for us. He said that 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, towards the wooden bridge to make inquiry after us.
We saw a light at the hall door and at the upper windows, and as we came up mistress ran out, saying, ‘Are you really safe, my dear? Oh! I have 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 all have 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 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 of it, for I was tired.
CHAPTER 13 The Devil’s Trade Mark (#ulink_3dc4485d-a803-5c3a-ac17-1186659c23d8)
One day when John and I had been out on some business of our master’s, and were returning gently on a long straight road, at some distance we saw a boy trying to leap a pony over a gate; the pony would not take the leap, and the boy cut him with the whip, but he only turned off on one side; he whipped him again, but the pony turned off on the other side. Then the boy got off and gave him a hard thrashing, and knocked him about the head; then he got up again and tried to make him leap the gate, kicking him all the time shamefully, but still the pony refused. When we were nearly at the spot, the pony put down his head and threw up his heels and sent the boy neatly over into a broad quickset hedge, and with the rein dangling from his head, he set off home at a full gallop. John laughed out quite loud. ‘Served him right,’ he said.
‘Oh! oh! oh!’ cried the boy, as he struggled about among the thorns; ‘I say, come and help me out.’
‘Thank ye,’ said John, ‘I think you are quite in the right place, and maybe a little scratching will teach you not to leap a pony over a gate that is too high for him,’ and so with that John rode off. ‘It may be,’ said he to himself, ‘that young fellow is a liar as well as a cruel one; we’ll just go home by farmer Bushby’s, Beauty, and then if anyone wants to know, you and I can tell ’em, ye see.’ So we turned off to the right, and soon came up to the stack yard and within sight of the house. The farmer was hurrying out into the road, and his wife was standing at the gate, looking very frightened.
‘Have you seen my boy?’ said Mr Bushby, as we came up, ‘he went out an hour ago on my black pony, and the creature is just come back without a rider.’
‘I should think, sir,’ said John, ‘he had better be without a rider, unless he can be ridden properly.’
‘What do you mean?’ said the farmer.
‘Well, sir, I saw your son whipping, and kicking, and knocking that good little pony about shamefully because he would not leap a gate that was too high for him. The pony behaved well, sir, and showed no vice; but at last he just threw up his heels, and tipped the young gentleman into the thorn hedge; he wanted me to help him out; but I hope you will excuse me, sir, I did not feel inclined to do so. There’s no bones broken, sir, he’ll only get a few scratches. I love horses, and it riles me to see them badly used; it is a bad plan to aggravate an animal till he uses his heels; the first time is not always the last.’
During this time the mother began to cry, ‘Oh! my poor Bill, I must go and meet him, he must be hurt.’
‘You had better go into the house, wife,’ said the farmer; ‘Bill wants a lesson about this, and I must see that he gets it; this is not the first time nor the second that he has ill-used that pony, and I shall stop it. I am much obliged to you, Manly. Good evening.’
So we went on, John chuckling all the way home, then he told James about it, who laughed and said, ‘Serve him right. I knew that boy at school; he took great airs on himself because he was a farmer’s son; he used to swagger about and bully the little boys; of course we elder ones would not have any of that nonsense, and let him know that in the school and the playground farmers’ sons and labourers’ sons were all alike. I well remember one day, just before afternoon school, I found him at the large window catching flies and pulling off their wings. He did not see me, and I gave him a box on the ears that laid him sprawling on the floor. Well, angry as I was, I was almost frightened, he roared and bellowed in such a style. The boys rushed in from the playground, and the master ran in from the road to see who was being murdered. Of course I said fair and square at once what I had done, and why; then I showed the master the poor flies, some crushed and some crawling about helpless, and I showed him the wings on the window sill. I never saw him so angry before, but as Bill was still howling and whining, like the coward that he was, he did not give him any more punishment of that kind, but set him up on a stool for the rest of the afternoon, and said that he should not go out to play for that week. Then he talked to all the boys very seriously about cruelty, and said how hardhearted and cowardly it was to hurt the weak and the helpless; but what stuck in my mind was this, he said that cruelty was the devil’s own trade mark, and if we saw any one who took pleasure in cruelty, we might know who he belonged to, for the devil was a murderer from the beginning, and a tormentor to the end. On the other hand, where we saw people who loved their neighbours, and were kind to man and beast, we might know that was God’s mark, for “God is Love”.’
‘Your master never taught you a truer thing,’ said John; ‘there is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham – all a sham, James, and it won’t stand when things come to be turned inside out and put down for what they are.’
CHAPTER 14 James Howard (#ulink_6f23c9cc-555c-5750-adc2-02c498418773)
One morning early in December, John had just led me into my box after my daily exercise, and was strapping my cloth on, and James was coming in from the corn chamber with some oats, when the master came into the stable; he looked rather serious, and held an open letter in his hand. John fastened the door of my box, touched his cap, and waited for orders.
‘Good morning, John,’ said the master; ‘I want to know if you have any complaint to make of James?’
‘Complaint, sir? No, sir.’
‘Is he industrious at his work and respectful to you?’
‘Yes, sir, always.’
‘You never find he slights his work when your back is turned?’
‘Never, sir.’
‘That’s well; but I must put another question; have you any reason to suspect that when he goes out with the horses to exercise them, or to take a message, he stops about talking to his acquaintances, or goes into houses where he has no business, leaving the horses outside?’
‘No, sir, certainly not, and if anybody has been saying that about James, I don’t believe it, and I don’t mean to believe it unless I have it fairly proved before witnesses; it’s not for me to say who has been trying to take away James’s character, but I will say this, sir, that a steadier, pleasanter, honester, smarter young fellow I never had in this stable. I can trust his word and I can trust his work; he is gentle and clever with the horses, and I would rather have them in his charge than in that of half the young fellows I know in laced hats and liveries; and whoever wants a character of James Howard,’ said John, with a decided jerk of his head, ‘let them come to John Manly.’
The master stood all this time grave and attentive, but as John finished his speech, a broad smile spread over his face, and looking kindly across at James, who all this time had stood still at the door, he said, ‘James, my lad, set down the oats and come here; I am very glad to find that John’s opinion of your character agrees so exactly with my own. John is a cautious man,’ he said, with a droll smile, ‘and it is not always easy to get his opinion about people, so I thought if I beat the bush on this side, the birds would fly out, and I should learn what I wanted to know quickly; so now we will come to business. I have a letter from my brother-in-law, Sir Clifford Williams, of Clifford Hall; he wants me to find him a trustworthy young groom, about twenty or twenty-one, who knows his business. His old coachman, who has lived with him twenty years, is getting feeble, and he wants a man to work with him and get into his ways, who would be able, when the old man was pensioned off, 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.
