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Happy listening.
Chapter 27 It was time for the conversation to be had.
They were to sell me.
He might get a place where appearance is not of much consequence,
Said York,
And he'd still be well treated.
I know a man in Bath,
The master of some livery stables,
Who often wants a good horse at a low figure.
I know he looks well after his horses.
The inquest cleared the horse's character and your lordship's recommendation on mine would be sufficient warrant for him.
You had better write to him,
York,
Said the Earl.
I should be more particular about the place than the money he'd fetch.
And after this they left me.
They'll soon take you away,
Said Ginger,
And I shall lose the only friend I've ever had.
Most likely we'll never see each other again.
Tis such a hard world.
About a week after this,
Robert came into the field with a horter which he slipped over my head.
He led me away,
And there was no leave-taking of Ginger.
We neighed to each other as I was led off,
And she trotted anxiously along the hedge,
Calling to me,
As long as she could hear the sound of my feet.
Through the recommendation of York,
I was brought by the master of the livery stables.
I had to go by train,
Which was new to me,
And it required a good deal of courage,
But as I found the puffing,
Rushing,
Whistling,
And the trembling of the horse box in which I stood,
Did me no real harm.
I soon took it quietly.
When I reached the end of my journey,
I found myself in a tolerably comfortable stable.
I was well attended to.
These stables were not so airy and pleasant as what I'd been used to,
But the stalls were laid on a slope instead of being level,
So as my head was kept tied to the manger,
I was obliged to stand on the slope.
That wasn't too good.
Men do not seem to know yet horses can do more work if they stand comfortably and can turn about.
But I was well fed and well cleaned,
And on the whole,
I think,
Our master took as much care of us as he could.
He kept a good many horses and carriages of different kinds for hire.
Sometimes his own men drove them,
And sometimes the horse and chaise were lent to gentlemen or ladies who drove themselves.
Hitherto,
I'd always been driven by people who at least knew how to drive,
But in this place,
I was to get my experience of all the different kinds of bad and ignorant driving.
I was let out to all sorts of people who wished to hire me.
I was good-tempered and gentle,
And I think I was oftener let out to the ignorant drivers than some of the others because of that.
I could be depended upon,
Which didn't work in my advantage.
First there were the tight rein drivers.
Men who seemed to think all depended on holding the reins as hard as they could.
They were always talking about keeping the horse well in hand and holding a horse up.
They never relaxed the pull on the horse's mouth or gave him the least liberty of movement.
Then there were the loose rein drivers who let the reins lie easily on our back.
Their own hands rest lazily on their knees.
Of course,
Such gentlemen have no control.
If anything happens suddenly,
If a horse shies or starts or stumbles,
They are nowhere,
And they cannot help the horse or themselves until the mischief is done.
Of course,
For myself,
I had no objection to it,
As I was not in the habit either of starting or stumbling.
But I had been used to depend on my driver for guidance and encouragement.
Still,
One likes to feel the rein a little in going downhill,
And one's driver is better if they haven't gone to sleep.
These drivers are often careless altogether.
They will attend to anything else more than their horses.
I went out in the Faton one day with one of them.
He had a lady and two children behind.
He flopped the reins about as we started and gave me several unmeaning cuts with a whip.
Although I was fairly off,
There had been a good deal of road mending going on,
And even where the stones were not freshly laid,
There were a great many loose ones.
I avoided them,
But my driver was laughing and joking with the lady and the children and talking about the country to the right and the left,
Never thinking it worthwhile to keep an eye on me or to drive on the smoothest parts of the road.
This was another time I got a stone in one of my feet.
Now,
If Mr.
Gordon or John or any good driver had been there,
He would have seen that something was wrong.
A practised hand would have felt by the rein there was something wrong in my step,
And they would have got down and picked out the stone.
But this man didn't know what was happening.
He went on laughing and talking,
And every step the stone became more firmly wedged between my shoe and the frog of my foot.
It was sharp on the inside and round on the outside,
Which everyone knows is the most dangerous kind a horse can pick up.
Whether the man was partly blind or only very careless I can't say,
But he drove me with that stone in my foot for a good half mile before he saw anything.
By that time I was going lame.
Well,
Here's a go,
He called out.
Why have they sent us out with a lame horse?
What a shame!
Then he chucked the reins and flipped about with a whip.
Now then,
It's no use playing the old soldier with me,
He said,
There's a journey to go and no use turning lame and lazy.
Just at this time a farmer came riding up on a brown cob.
He lifted up his hat and pulled up.
I think there's something matter with your horse,
He said.
He looks as if he's got a stone in his shoe.
If you'll allow me,
I'll look at his feet.
These loose scattered stones were confounded dangerous things for the horses.
He's a hired horse,
Said my driver.
I don't know what's the matter with him.
It's not right to send out a lame beast like this.
The farmer dismounted and slipped his rein over the arm and at once took up my foot.
Bless me,
There's a stone.
He's lame,
I should think so.
At first he tried to dislodge it with his hand but it was so tightly wedged in.
He drew a pick out of his pocket and very carefully and with some trouble he got it out.
Then holding the stone up he said,
There,
That's the stone your horse picked up.
It's a wonder he didn't fall down and break to his knees in the bargain.
Well to be sure,
Said my driver.
That's a queer thing.
I never knew horses picked up stones before.
Didn't you?
Said the farmer rather contemptuously.
Of course they do.
The best of them will do it and can't help it on roads like this.
If you don't want to lame your horse again,
You must look sharp and get those stones out quickly.
This foot's bruised now,
He said.
And he set it down gently and patted me.
If I might advise,
Sir,
He added,
You'd better drive him gently for a while.
That foot is a good deal hurt and the lameness is not going to go off directly.
Then giving me one last pat,
He mounted his colt,
Raised his hat to the lady,
Then trotted off.
When he was gone out of sight,
My driver began to flop the reins about and whip the harness.
That made me understand I was to go on,
Which of course I did.
Glad the stone was gone,
But still in a great deal of pain.
Now I understood.
As a job horse,
This was the sort of treatment I was regularly to come in for.
