Black Beauty

treatment; for three years I have never seen the smallest sign of
temper, but he is naturally of a more irritable constitution than the black
horse. Flies tease him more, tigers terrify him; anything wrong in the harness
frets him more; and if he is ill-used or unfairly treated, that means a kick in
the balls and biting your nose.’
    They were going out of the
stable when John stopped and said, ‘I had better mention that we have never
used the bearing rein.’
    ‘Fuck them,’ said York, ‘if
they come here, they must wear the bearing rein.’
    ‘I am sorry for it, very
sorry,’ said John, ‘but I must go now, or I shall lose the train.’ He has never
been seen since.
    The next day, Lord Womble
came to look at us; he seemed pleased with our appearance, but we could not say
the same for him with his arse out of his trousers.
    ‘I have great confidence in
these horses,’ he said, ‘from the character my friend, Mr Gordon, has given me
of them. Of course, they are not a match in colour, but my idea is that they
will do very well for the carriage whilst we are in the country. Before we go
to London I must try to match Baron. The black horse, I believe, is perfect for
riding.’
    York then told him what
John had said about us. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘you must keep an eye to the one who
knocks you on the balls, and put the bearing rein easy, otherwise your balls
are for it. I dare say they will do well with a little humouring at first.
Frightened of tigers, eh? He likes a bubble bath.’
    In the afternoon, we were
harnessed and put in the carriage, and as the stable clock struck three, we
were led round to the front of the house. Two footmen were standing ready,
dressed in drab livery, with scarlet breeches and white stockings. Presently,
we heard the rustling sound of silk as my lady came down the flight of stone
steps. She fell all the way from the top to the bottom. She stepped round to
look at us. She was a tall, proud-looking woman with a face like a dog’s bum
with a hat on, and did not seem pleased about something, but she said nothing,
and got into the carriage.
    This was the first time of
wearing a bearing rein, and I must say, though it certainly was a nuisance not
to be able to get my head down now and then, it did not pull my head higher
than I was accustomed to carrying it. I felt anxious about Ginger, but he seemed
to be quiet and content.
    The next day, at three
o’clock, we were again at the door, and the footmen were as before; we heard
the silk dress rustle, and the lady fell down the steps from top to bottom, and
in an imperious voice she said, ‘York, you must put those horses’ heads
higher.’
    York bent down and said, ‘I
beg your pardon, my lady, but these horses have not been reined up for three
years, and my lord said it would be safer to bring them to it by degrees; but
if your ladyship pleases, I can take them up a little more.’
    ‘Do so,’ she said.
    Day by day, hole by hole,
our bearing reins were shortened, until I was permanently looking up. Ginger
too seemed restless, though he said very little. But the worst was yet to come.

23

A STRIKE FOR LIBERTY
     
    My lady said, ‘Are you never going to get those horses
heads up, I say?’
    My head was drawn back till it was facing the other way
    When they tried it on Ginger
    His groom for he did to injure
    He kicked the carriage to bits
    It gave the terrified passenger the shits
    They never put on the tight rein again
    The weather forecast was for rain.
     
    One day, my lady fell down
the stairs later than usual and the silk rustled more than ever.
    ‘Drive to the Duchess’s,’
she said. ‘Are you never going to get those horses’ heads up, York? Raise them
at once, prop them up with a stick.’
    York came to me first,
whilst the groom stood at Ginger’s head. He drew my head back until it was
facing the other way, and fixed the rein so tight that it was almost
intolerable. Then he went to Ginger, who was impatiently jerking his head up
and down against the bit, as was his way now. He had a good idea of what was
coming, and the moment York took the rein off the terret in order to shorten
it, he took this opportunity, and reared up so suddenly that York had his nose
roughly hit, and his hat knocked off; the groom was thrown off his legs. At
once, they both flew to his head, but he was a match for them, and went on
plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most desperate manner; at last, he kicked
right over the carriage pole