Black Beauty's Family

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Mr Johnson rode me almost every day. He would take me in the park and make me practise circling and stopping and starting and cantering with each leg leading in turn. Then he took to riding me in a side-saddle, which felt very strange at first and not nearly so comfortable as having one of the rider’s legs on each side to keep you balanced and give signals. I soon learned that a tap with the whip gave the signal on the legless side, but I could not understand why I must now always canter with the off fore leading and straight from the walk without any trotting in between. Juno explained it to me. She said that it was very jolting for the lady if a horse cantered with the near fore, as that was the side she was sitting on, and trotting fast was very jolting too, so ladies’ horses were taught to canter straight from the walk and were generally much more carefully trained than gentlemen’s horses.

  By the time that the family came back from London, Mr Johnson was able to tell Sir Clarence that I was now a suitable mount for Miss Fanny.

  There followed a very happy time. Miss Fanny rode me almost every day and seemed delighted with me. Her sisters had given up until a more satisfactory mount could be found for Miss Griselda and, as it was not considered correct or safe for a young lady to ride alone, Mr Johnson or another of the older grooms, riding one of the carriage horses, always accompanied us. Mr Johnson was much more adventurous when not weighed down by the responsibility of timid riders or a long string of valuable hunters and we were allowed long, fast gallops and quite a few jumps. Miss Fanny and I were always on the look out for suitable hedges and brooks, we found stiles and timber and once a five barred gate though Mr Johnson disapproved of this.

  For me it was as though I had Ned again. We would see a tempting stretch of turf or a conveniently placed fence at the same moment and know each other’s mind. When ridden by Sir Clarence or Mr Johnson I was a horse taking orders, but Miss Fanny and I were partners, sharing the same excitements, planning, sometimes even plotting together.

  Though I missed the freedom of the fields these rides, the freshly cut bundle of grass that was brought me daily and the company of my cat kept me contented. Sam and I often played together and it was considered one of the sights of the stable to see the whole of his tail disappear into my mouth while he purred happily, Miss Grace, being of nervous disposition always screamed. I would push him about with my nose making ferocious faces and he, pretending to be equally angry, would slap my face with his paws, always keeping his claws carefully sheathed. He often slept on my back, comfortable and warm on my summer rug, and then I had to move with great caution to avoid throwing him off.

  4

  A GOOD HORSE RUINED

  THE SUMMER PASSED, the other hunters were brought up from grass, fat, sleepy and rather dull. Grooming, exercising and ever-increasing oat rations began again, but this year I was the fittest horse in the stable. Estella was back in the next box, rather jealous that I had become such a favourite with Miss Fanny and already bemoaning the fact that her beautiful golden coat would soon be shaved away by the clipping machine.

  That season I became an experienced hunter. I carried Sir Clarence for several weeks, generally as his first horse, and then he decided that I was behaving in a manner so much more temperate that Miss Fanny would be safe with me.

  We were both delighted. She was so light and easy to carry and with the two of us watching to see which way hounds broke we rarely got a bad start. This, with our fondness for jumping, meant that we were always well up and we soon made a name for ourselves. There was the famous occasion of the five mile point from Crowley’s Gorse to Austin’s Mill spinney when only the huntsman, one very hard-riding squire and Miss Fanny were up and everyone else, including Sir Clarence, had been stopped by the swollen state of the Beverley brook.

  Sir Clarence was rather proud of his daughter’s riding, but Mr Roger seemed to be jealous and was always making unkind remarks, saying that it was unfeminine to ride hard, that she would never get a husband, that any lady who rode too well became a laughing stock in the men’s clubs.

  Happiness, though pleasant to experience, is dull to read about. I could tell of endless hunts, of hundreds of fences jumped without mishap, of a few falls, of spring and autumn rides, of summer holidays fetlock deep in grass, of getting fit and of being roughed off. Enough to say that the seasons passed. That I filled out and became rather more handsome and a great deal more sensible. That Miss Fanny grew up and became beautiful. That Sam also grew larger and more magnificent and we were such fast friends that sometimes the lads would move me to another loosebox just to tease him and then listen laughing to Sam’s loud miaows and my answering whinneys until we found each other again.

  There were some less happy events. Bayard became touched in the wind and was sold for light work, Estella’s elegant legs began to give trouble so it was decided that she should stop work and have a foal and she disappeared to the farm. Bert left to work on the railway and Ben who had been one of the little stable boys was promoted to his place.

  Ben’s story was a sad one. He had no parents and no relations that he’d ever heard of and was found, ragged and barefoot, living on rubbish from a market and sleeping in a ruined building with a gang of homeless boys, all huddled together for warmth, by the famous Dr Barnardo who started so many homes for starving boys and girls. Sir Clarence, who was a great supporter of this work, hearing that there was a boy who wished to work with horses had found him a family on the estate and taken him on as stable boy. It had turned out a great success for Ben loved horses and we loved him. And, though he never grew very tall, through having been so starved in childhood, he had a nice, kind, freckled face and was always lively and good-humoured.

  So four years passed and it seemed to me that Earleigh Court was the world, and happiness the natural state of things. The first blow fell suddenly; we heard that Lady Hilton was ill and must spend the winter in a warmer climate and that Miss Fanny would go with her.

  Miss Fanny came to tell me about it herself. She cried a little as she told me how much she was going to miss our hunting, ‘But it’s only for a few months, Ebony,’ she promised me, ‘I shall be back in the spring.’

  There was a subdued feeling in the stables all the next week and no hunting. But, once Lady Hilton and Miss Fanny had left with Sir Clarence, who was going to settle them in and then return, Mr Roger appeared and began to lord it over everyone. He had grown into a stout young man of twenty-four with a loud, fruity voice and a pompous and sometimes overbearing manner. He was disliked by both grooms and horses so I was not at all pleased at hearing him order me for the meet next day. ‘Ebony and Sultan,’ he said, ‘and I shall ride Ebony first. Send a lad on with them and I’ll take the dog cart.’

  ‘Now, Sir, you know that Ebony isn’t really up to your weight,’ said Mr Johnson respectfully. ‘Sir Clarence was always careful not to give him a hard day when he rode him; it would break Miss Fanny’s heart if any harm came to that horse.’

  ‘If you think he’s going to spend the whole winter eating his head off in idleness you’re very much mistaken,’ Mr Roger spoke rudely. ‘He must take his turn with the rest and, since Miss Fanny is abroad, her feelings are neither here nor there.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said Mr Johnson coldly.

  So next day Ben rode Sultan and led me over to Catterick Park. We went slowly but arrived early and stood in the drive outside the large plain house watching the other arrivals. The hunters were mostly ridden up by grooms, the gentlemen came on their covert hacks or in their dog carts. Country house parties came in carriages or wagonettes and the ladies who had come to watch drove up in elegant phaetons and carriages of every description.

  It was a lawn meet, which meant that there was a party indoors and menservants came round with drinks and sandwiches for those outside. Ben had a glass of ale and seemed pleased with it. At last Mr Roger raced up in our dog cart, he threw the reins to the groom sitting behind him and strode into the house.

  ‘Oh dear, why doesn’t he a
llow more time?’ gasped poor Shamrock who was dripping with sweat. ‘We waited at the front door for twenty minutes getting thoroughly chilled and then we came here at such a pace, uphill and downhill, I haven’t drawn breath all the way.’

  Presently the riders began to come out of the house and the grooms pulled off rugs and tightened girths. Everyone was mounting but there was no sign of Mr Roger, I fidgeted impatiently. At last he came, his face was redder than ever. ‘Cherry brandy,’ said Sultan sniffing.

  Hounds were moving off. I sidled and pranced in an agony of impatience for I could see that we were going to be left behind. Mr Roger swore at me and then at Ben who was trying to hold me still. Even when he was up he was fiddling with his whip and gloves. I snatched at the reins and when he jerked my mouth in retaliation I gave a small protesting rear. At last he let me go and I hurried forward making my way through the press of horses to what I thought of as my rightful place, the front.

  We caught up at covertside and I watched, trembling with excitement, as hounds waded through the undergrowth, their sterns lashing as they found faint traces of fox. At any moment their deep cry would resound through the wood, the huntsman would blow his horn and we would be off across country taking hedge and fence and ditch as they came. Miss Fanny had always understood my excitement and given me a pat or a calming word or walked me up and down a little. But Mr Roger had found a crony; he was sitting sideways on my saddle smoking a cigar and they were talking in loud voices about a dance they’d been to and discussing the merits of the various young ladies in a very disrespectful way.

  I began to fidget and twirl about, forcing Roger to sit properly, for all the knowledgeable riders were slipping away. The Vicar came past on his stout white cob. ‘Your sister’s horse doesn’t approve of your coffee housing, Roger,’ he laughed, ‘you’d better get moving.’

  ‘He’s had far too much of his own way,’ said Roger jerking my mouth and kicking me with his spurs. I had stood all I was going to so I gave a plunge and a buck and shot off up the track. We were just in time. Hounds had found and were pouring out on the far side of the covert. The huntsman blew the ‘goneaway’ as he galloped on with the main body of the pack, the whippers-in were cheering on the tail hounds.

  ‘Hold hard! Hold hard! Give them a chance,’ shouted the master, as with one hand held up, he tried to control the eager riders. We horses were wild with excitement, the clamour of hound and horn had gone to our heads. The riders crammed down their hats and shortened their reins and then we were off, across a great grass field with a tall, dark bullfinch ahead. I leapt clearing the solid part of the hedge brushing through the straggling branches above. Mr Roger protected his face with his arm, there was a yawning ditch, I stretched out to clear it and landed in the next field. Hounds were bearing left-handed, I went after them.

  I could give you a fence by fence account of that hunt, but I know from my own experience at Earleigh Court, where tired hunters would describe in detail every leap they had taken during the day’s sport, how very dull such accounts can be. But it was a long and fast run and Roger’s weight and riding were a great hindrance to me. He seemed to think that great activity from him was needed at every fence and he would spur away at all the wrong moments. He held me on a tight rein when we went downhill, he sat on the back of the saddle belabouring me with his stout hunting crop when we went uphill. He liked to be masterful but he did none of the things a good master should: picking the good going, steering his horse away from rabbit warrens, choosing the easiest line of country as his horse tires, slowing him for a breather.

  We seemed to gallop for miles without a check. I was labouring, rolling in my stride, my breath was coming in gasps. There were very few horses left with us, but I was determined to keep with hounds. I was giving all I had, but those spurs were still prodding my sides, that crop still drumming on my ribs. There was a stile in a hairy hedge. I gathered all my remaining strength for it was uphill and both take-off and landing looked slippery. Instead of keeping me together and sitting very still Roger lurched in the saddle, brandished his whip, spurred me violently and shouted ‘Hup’. I suppose he thought he was encouraging an unwilling horse to jump, but he disorganised everything. I slipped as I took off, landed awkwardly and felt a sharp pain shoot up my off fore leg, but I recovered my balance and galloped on struggling up the hill.

  Mercifully hounds had stopped. They were milling round several holes beneath the windswept trees of a sandy knoll.

  ‘Gone to ground, dammit,’ grumbled Roger, as the huntsman blew the call. Other horses came struggling up the hill to join us. Their riders jumped off, turned their heads to the reviving wind and loosened their girths. Roger sat slumped on my back, a terrible dead weight. Sandwich cases, and flasks appeared.

  As I cooled off I noticed the bitter chill of the wind and I was glad when the huntsman called hounds together and we set off downhill. There was no sign of the second horsemen. Several gentlemen said that their animals had had enough and they would go home, the rest of us jogged wearily to the next draw. I felt very tired and my off fore was still giving me twinges of sharp pain, so I felt no disappointment when we drew the covert blank. We hacked on to a larger covert and still the second horses had not come up.

  This time we found and we were soon galloping across open country, but I felt none of my usual fire. I was jumping carefully saving my off fore. Roger didn’t notice that anything was wrong and I feel sure that I was only saved from breaking down completely by a check, and the arrival of the second horses. It was a great relief to have Ben’s light weight on my back and to set off for home.

  For the first time in my life I failed to eat up and Ben and Mr Johnson fussed over me offering gruels and mashes. Next morning they found that my foreleg had heat and swelling and I had to stand with water from the hose pipe trickling down it for an hour and then have liniment rubbed in three times a day. It soon felt better, but for two days I was only led out for walking exercise up and down the drive. Then, on the third day, I heard an angry voice outside my box, ‘Well, is the wretched animal lame or isn’t he?’ demanded Mr Roger. ‘I’ve told you, Johnson, I’m not standing for mollycoddling that horse, he’s got to take his turn with the rest. I need six horses tomorrow, for my two friends and myself. If we have Pegasus, Merlin and Jupiter for first horses that leaves Ebony, Sultan and Nimrod for the second string.’

  ‘But you know Sir Clarence’s views on hunting a horse two days a week, sir. He never permits it except in very exceptional circumstances,’ objected Johnson. ‘And two days with heat in a leg is asking for trouble; a strain can so easily become a sprain and then . . .’

  ‘These are exceptional circumstances,’ interrupted Mr Roger. ‘And I think it’s a very poor business that with an establishment of this size I can’t ask a couple of friends down without all this trouble over mounting them. In my opinion a stud groom doesn’t know his job if he can’t turn out six sound horses for a bye day.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said Mr Johnson controlling his anger, ‘but I wish it to be clearly understood that you have gone against my advice and that if anything happens to Ebony I am not responsible.’

  ‘Of course you’re not responsible. In my father’s absence I am master here and I’ll thank you to remember it.’

  Ben redoubled his efforts with the linament and I felt quite myself again and almost inclined to agree that Mr Johnson was mollycoddling me. So the six of us set off quite cheerfully for the meet.

  We saw our stable companions move off to the first covert and then we joined the rest of the second horses and guided by the master’s groom, who had a list of the draws, we hacked quietly in pursuit of the hunt.

  We came up with them at about one-thirty and found our friends very much exhausted. Pegasus complained of an overreach, Jupiter of a badly bruised knee, while Merlin, who was getting on in years, just stood with his head drooping.

  The three young men still seemed very full of spirits. They mounted us and were of
f larking over fences before hounds had found a fox. At first we entered into it all enthusiastically. Mr Roger knowing of my ability to leap anything in cold blood, challenged his friends first to a brook and then to some park palings that were quite five feet. They were looking round for something else to jump when the master realised what was going on and called them to order. Then hounds found and we were off, our riders urging us on, putting us recklessly at the highest part of every fence and showing off to each other in a very wild manner.

  As we grew tired the fun began to pall, but the young men seemed to have forgotten that we were flesh and blood. The run was a very long one, but if they had saved us at the start I think we would have finished, for we were all very fit. As it was, the larking about and racing had taken it out of us and we dropped farther and farther behind. Then poor Nimrod fell, crashing heavily into a ditch and lay there exhausted. He was pulled out, got back on his feet and remounted. We went on, following the tracks of the vanished field into the gathering dusk. Sultan stumbled twice and all but fell with exhaustion. My foreleg was giving me considerable pain and I was soon so lame that even Mr Roger noticed. He swore and dismounted. ‘Here’s a fine thing,’ he said. ‘What a collection of old crocks! I’m going to advise my father to dismiss Johnson, the man’s useless; then he can send this lot to the knackers and buy some decent horses.’

  The friends had dismounted too. ‘There’s a small farm down there,’ said one of them pointing. ‘Shall we make for it?’

  ‘Yes, there’s nowhere better in sight. With luck the farmer will have some sort of trap and we can get home in that and leave the brutes here for the men to fetch.’

  It was a long painful hobble down to the farm and we were all hitched up in the stable while the young men told the farm lad to look sharp and get the trap ready, for he could see to the horses when they had gone. They drove off laughing and then the lad did his best to make us comfortable.