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Chapter 28 Cockneys There's a style of driving called the steam engine style of driving and these drivers are mostly people from towns who've never had a horse of their own and generally travel by rail.
These drivers always seem to think a horse is something like a steam engine,
Only smaller.
At any rate,
They think if they pay for a horse it's bound to go just as far and just as fast with just as heavy a load as they please.
Even if the roads are heavy and muddy or dry and good,
Even if they're stony or smooth,
Uphill or downhill,
It's all the same.
On and on and on one must go at the same pace with no relief and no consideration.
They've paid to ride,
They think.
They'd never get out to walk up a steep hill and ride they will.
The horse is used to it,
They consider,
And what are we made for if not to drag people uphill?
Then the whip is plied and the rein is chucked and often a rough,
Scolding voice cries out,
Go on,
You lazy beast!
And then another slash of the whip.
These cockneys,
Instead of starting at an easy pace as a gentleman would do,
Generally set off at full speed from the very stable yard,
And when they want to stop they whip us first then pull up so suddenly we're nearly thrown on our horches.
I well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day.
Rory was the horse that mostly went with me when a pair was ordered,
And a good honest fellow he was.
We had our own driver and as he was always considerate and gentle we had a very pleasant day.
We were coming home at a good smart pace about twilight.
The road turned sharply to the left,
But just as we were coming close to the hedge on our own side,
And there was plenty of room to pass,
Our driver didn't pull us in and as we neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down the hill towards us.
The hedge was really high so I could see nothing,
But the next minute we were upon each other.
Happily for me I was on the side next to the hedge.
Rory was on the left side.
He didn't even have a shaft to protect him.
The man who was driving made straight for the corner and when he came in sight he had no time to pull over to his own side.
The whole shock came upon Rory.
The geek's shaft ran right into the chest making him stagger back with a cry I shall never forget.
He was thrown upon his horches and one shaft was broken.
The other horse turned out to be a horse from our own stables with a high-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of.
The driver was one of those random ignorant fellows who don't even know which is their own side of the road.
Then there was poor Rory.
He was bleeding.
They said if it had been a little more to one side it would have killed him.
As it was it was a long time before his wounds healed and then he was sold for coal carting.
After Rory left I often went in the carriage with a mare called Peggy who stood in the next stall to mine.
She was a strong well-made animal of a bright dun colour.
She was perfectly dappled with a dark brown mane and tail.
There was no high breeding about her but she was very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered.
Still there was an anxious look about her eye.
I knew she must have had some trouble sometime.
The first time we went out together I thought she had a very odd pace.
She seemed to go partly at a trot,
Partly at a canter,
Three or four paces and then a little jump.
This was very unpleasant for any horse who pulled with her and it made me quite fidgety.
When I got home I asked her what made her go in that odd awkward way.
Ah,
She said in a troubled manner,
I know my paces are very bad but what can I do?
It's really not my fault because my legs are so short.
I stand nearly as high as you but your legs are a good three inches longer above your knee than mine.
Of course you can take a much longer step and go much faster than me.
I didn't make myself,
You know.
I wish I could have done so.
I wish I did have long legs.
But how is it,
I said,
When you're so strong and good-tempered and willing?
Well,
She said,
The men all go so fast.
If one can't keep up to other horses it's nothing but whip,
Whip,
Whip all the time.
So I have to keep up as fast as I could.
I got into this ugly shuffling pace,
You see.
It wasn't always so.
When I lived with my first master I always went a good regular trot but he was not in such a hurry.
He was a young clergyman in the country and a good,
Kind master.
He had two churches a good way apart and a great deal of work but he never scolded or whipped me.
He was very fond of me.
I wish I was with him now but he had to leave and go to a large town so I was sold to a farmer.
Some farmers,
You know,
Are capital masters.
I think the farmer I was sold to was a low sort of man.
He cared nothing about good horses or good driving.
He just wanted to go fast.
On market nights he used to stay very late at the inn and then I had to drive home at a gallop.
One dark night he was galloping home as usual when all of a sudden the wheel came against some great heavy thing in the road.
It turned the gig over in a minute.
He was thrown out and his arm was broken and some of his ribs.
At any rate that was the end of my living with him.
I was not sorry but it's the same everywhere.
If men go so fast my legs need to be longer.
Poor Peggy.
I felt very sorry for her and I couldn't comfort her for I knew how hard it was on slow paced horses to be put with fast ones.
Peggy was often used in the Faton and was very much liked by some of the ladies because she was so gentle.
After this I was told she was sold to two ladies who drove themselves.
I met her several times out in the country going a good steady pace and I was very glad for her for she deserved a good place.
After Peggy left another horse came in her stead.
He was young but he had a bad name for shying and starting.
I asked him what made him shy.
How do you know?
He said I was timid when I was young and a good deal frightened several times.
If I saw anything strange I used to turn and look at it.
But with your blinkers one can't see or understand anything.
Then my master gave me a whipping which made me start on and it didn't make me less afraid.
If he had just let me look at things quietly and see there was nothing to hurt me I would have been alright.
Anyway one day a gentleman rode with him and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across on one side of me.
I shied and started forward.
My master as usual whipped me but the old man cried you're wrong.
You'll make his habit worse.
I'm sure I don't want to be shy for the sake of it but how should one know what's dangerous and what's not if one's never allowed to see anything.
I'm never afraid of what I know.
I was brought up in a park where there were deer.
Of course I knew them as well as I did sheep or a cow but they're not common you know.
I know many sensible horses who are frightened of them and who kick up before they'll pass a paddock where there are deer.
But I'm not scared of them because I can see them and I know what they are.
I thought carefully about what he'd said to me that night.
I knew what he said was true and I wished that every young horse had as good masters as Farmer Grey or Squire Gordon.
It didn't take me long to get lucky again though.
One morning I was put into the light gig and taken to a house in Pulteney Street.
Two gentlemen came out and the two of them came round to my head.
Do you consider this horse wants a curb?
He said to the hostler.
I should say he'd go just as well without.
He's an uncommon good mouth.
He replied.
I don't like it said the gentleman.
Be so good as to take it off and put the rein in at the cheek.
An easy mouth is a great thing on a long journey isn't it old fellow?
He said patting my neck.
Then he took the reins and they both got up.
With a light feel of the rein and drawing the whip gently across my back we were off and I arched my neck and set off at my best pace.
That day I found I had someone behind me who knew how a good horse ought to be driven.
And it seemed like old times again.
This gentleman took a great liking to me and after trying me several times with a saddle he prevailed upon my master to sell me to a friend of his.
And so it came to pass that in that summer I was sold to Mr Barry.
