Of course I had been picturing to myself the style of home I was going to, and as might have been expected I found it quite opposite to the creation of my mind. I had to myself a house something like that upon the farm, but larger and grander, and surrounded by trees and flowers all carefully arranged, with a fine lawn in the centre; but instead of this I found that my new master lived in the heart of a large country town named Upton, and the ground around it, instead of being to the of flowers, was sacrificed to the art of making beer. My new master was, in short, a , and his house adjoined his place of business.
I am not going into the question of strong drink,—a little concerning that will be found further on; for the present I confine myself to my master and his family. Mr. Crawshay was a , florid man, with a loud voice which many people called —perhaps it was, sometimes—but I have heard that same voice address his wife and daughter in a tone anything but genial.
Personally I had no connection with the , but was especially reserved for the use of Mrs. Crawshay and her daughter. Mrs. Crawshay was an , and only went out in a waggonette, which I had the honour of drawing, and when not required in that capacity, Miss Crawshay put on her habit and used me for purposes. Both these ladies were kind to me—I liked them very much, and used to 14up my ears whenever I heard their voices. The young lady was especially fond of me, and often came to the stable to feed me with some nicety, an apple and so on, out of her delicate hand. Mrs. Crawshay being quite an invalid was unable to perform the same kindness, but I have heard her, at least fifty times, tell the servant, as I stood at the door, to bring me a biscuit; and whenever the morning drive was ended she was always very particular in her injunctions to the to take great care of me, and he being in that respect a very excellent fellow, certainly made me as comfortable as a horse could be.
I cannot tell how it was, I suppose it was instinct, but from the first moment I entered this service I felt sorry for my two mistresses. There was a quiet, patient look on their faces which I did not understand then, but which I understand now—and Mr. Crawshay and his loud, genial voice had something to do with the look you may be sure.
I never was a great favourite with the brewer—he did not dislike me, but, he took no interest in me. Never once did he either ride or drive me, but he kept for his use a tall, creature, who always turned up his nose at my quiet ways, and called me a ‘draught horse;’ and whenever we met, as we sometimes did with Mr. Crawshay on his back, he passed me as if he had never seen me before, although we spent our leisure time in the same stable.
Little have large ears: so have horses, and I soon picked up enough from the groom and the housemaid, who were often chatting together, to learn that genial Mr. Crawshay was a perfect to his wife and daughter, and he had bought me because he had a great dislike to have anything, even a horse, in common with them. To the outer world a horse and chaise for his wife and daughter was an act of liberality, but to the inner life of that wretched home it was deliberate .
Looking back, I remember with joy and pain the kindness I received from that mother and child. Never a morning passed without the daughter visiting the stable, and as I have declared before they always expressed a vast amount 15of anxiety respecting my condition and welfare, which was very to hear. My home, in short, apart from the little anxiety and grief I felt for my two kind mistresses, was a very happy one.
The groom’s name was Richards, and he was a very fair groom in a general way, but he had a failing very common to his class—he was fond of drink. Sometimes he would be sober for a month, and then he would, as Mrs. Crawshay expressed it, ‘break out’—that is, he would begin drinking early in the morning and do little else throughout the day, and tumble into his bed, which was in a room above the stables, in a state which would have disgraced the very lowest order of ; I am certain that even a pig would have been ashamed of it.
Mrs. Crawshay very often reproved him in a quiet way, and did her best to reform the man; but he was too near the brewery—he lived in the very centre of temptation, and he was not strong enough to resist it. From Mr. Crawshay he received nothing but oaths and threats, which had less effect upon the groom than the kind admonition of his mistress; and he would go on in this sad way for about a week, and then suddenly turn to sobriety again. I have often wondered what possible gratification Richards could from this outburst, for it always made him very ill and wretched, and for days afterwards he would about more like a criminal burdened with crime than an honest, hard-working man.
This habit proved fatal to him, and brought a great misfortune upon me. One night, when Richards was in the stable putting all right for the night, Mr. Crawshay came in with a letter in his hand.
‘Richards,’ he said, ‘put Blossom into the dog-cart and drive over to Mr. Turner’s. You have nothing to do but leave the letter and bring back a portmanteau which his man will give you. Keep it in your room for the night, and bring it into the house in the morning.’
Richards, accustomed to obey, made no , and quickly harnessed me to the dog-cart, and drove to Mr. Turner’s residence, a house about twelve miles from Upton. The letter 16was delivered, and a servant brought out a portmanteau, with an injunction to Richards to be careful, as it contained deeds and papers of importance. Richards replied that he knew his business, and always took care of everything, and drove away with a self-satisfied air.
It was now about ten o’clock, and an autumn moon was shining brightly as I briskly towards home. I was always of a sober turn, and never cared for late hours; some horses may like them, but they don’t suit me, so I put my best foot foremost, resolved to get home with the least possible delay. Richards also seemed upon getting back, until we came in sight of a roadside inn, with its well-lighted windows out boldly to invite him in. The unfortunate man could not resist the temptation, but straight for the which decoyed him to his ruin, and pulled up at the door. An ostler came, and Richards, before going in, told the man that he would be out again in a minute, and that he need not trouble about me, as I would stand quiet; he then passed through the and left me to my reflections.
The minute passed, and other minutes were added to it, and Richards did not return. Two other carts came up, and the drivers went in also; and then I heard shouts and laughter, and Richards asking them what they would have to drink, so I concluded that he had met with some old friends—not knowing what I know now, that men under the influence of drink make friends of all comers, and spend their money in the wildest and most foolish manner.
I was kept waiting an hour, and then Richards reeled out in company with the other drivers and about half a dozen other men. They were all in a state of drunkenness, swearing eternal friendship, and declaring that every man there assembled was a glorious fellow without an equal in the known world.
Two of the men were going to Upton, and Richards volunteered to drive them home. They got up, both in front, which was too bad, as their weight pressed very heavily upon me. Sober, Richards would have noticed this, and shifted the body of the cart; but being , he neither knew nor cared how much their weight pressed upon me, nor how great my sufferings in consequence.
We started, Richards driving with a very loose , and I am sure that if ever I needed help from man I needed it that night; a tight rein would have assisted me with all that weight pressing upon my . Bad as it was, I would have taken them home safely if Richards had let me alone. But he would not. First he shouted to me; then he shook the rein; then I felt the cruel whip about my loins and head, until pain and fright bewildered me. We came to a steep hill, but I seemed to be scarcely conscious of where I was, as Richards beat me more furiously than ever. Maddened, I sprang forward and tore down the hill: the weight behind was too much, I could not gather my feet, and down I went with a terrible crash.
For a moment all was still, and I lay panting, half-dead with fear and excitement; then I heard one of the men shouting for help. What followed I can but dimly remember, for I was in a state of bewilderment, like a horse in a dream; but I can just call to mind the arrival of several persons from a house close by, who helped the men to put something heavy into the cart, and then I, having arisen, was led slowly home. I was suffering very much; my knees were dreadfully cut, and I was terribly shaken; but my thoughts were busy with the load I was bearing home. It was poor Richards with a broken neck, quite dead!
They rang Mr. Crawshay up and told him what had happened. His first was for his portmanteau, which was safe; then he expressed a few words of regret for Richards, qualifying his sorrow by saying that it was just what he expected; and wound up by cursing me, as a brute who was not worth his salt. I was very tired and and sore, but I had enough spirit left in me to kick him then; I should have done so, but I remembered the lesson of my mother, and wisely forbore.
Mr. Crawshay did give me shelter for the night, but I heard him declare he would have no broken-kneed beast about his 20place, and that I should be taken away on the morrow to be sold. He carried out his threat, and early on the morrow a small ferret-faced man came and led me away before I had an opportunity of having a parting glance at my mistresses. This act I have always believed to be in accordance with Mr. Crawshay’s general conduct towards his wife and daughter; it was one more link in the chain of unkind deeds with which he had burdened their lives. Mr. Crawshay knew his wife and daughter were fond of me, and would gladly have kept me in spite of my misfortune; but the opportunity for an unkindness offered, such as could safely be performed in the face of the world, and he seized it. Strange it is, but true, that some men will spend a deal and go far out of their way to give pain, when they could happiness with less trouble and half the expense.