Black Beauty

Black Beauty

My very first memory is of a wide green meadow with a clear pond, willow trees leaning over the water, and a warm stable nearby. I was a black colt with a white star on my forehead and one white foot. My mother, a gentle mare named Duchess, taught me simple things that would help me many times later in life.

“Be kind,” she would say. “Do not bite or kick, even in play. Work honestly when you are treated honestly, and never forget: strength without kindness is worth nothing.”

Our owner was just like that, calm and attentive. He did not allow boys to throw stones at the horses, never overloaded us, and spoke to us as if we understood everything. Perhaps we did not understand every word, but we understood voices and hands very well.

When I was four years old, I began learning to wear a saddle and bridle and to pull a carriage. My owner did everything slowly. I was afraid of the cold iron in my mouth, puzzled by horseshoes, and annoyed by the straps, but no one shouted at me or struck me. Because of that, I learned to trust the person holding the reins.

Before long, Squire Gordon bought me, and I moved to Birtwick Park. That was where I was first called Black Beauty. In the stable lived a small, cheerful pony named Merrylegs and a chestnut mare named Ginger. Ginger was sharp-tempered and distrustful. Later I learned that people had treated her roughly in the past, so she had learned to defend herself with her teeth and hooves. At Birtwick, the groom John Manly and his assistant James were patient, and Ginger gradually became gentler.

During those years I learned that good care is not a luxury. It means water at the right time, dry bedding, rest after a journey, properly fitted harness, and a person who notices when a horse is tired.

Once Ginger and I were pulling our master’s carriage during a violent storm. A large tree fell across the road, so we had to turn back and take another route. Near a bridge, I suddenly stopped. They urged me forward, but I sensed danger and refused to move. Later we discovered that the floodwater had damaged the bridge. If we had gone on, the carriage might have fallen into the river. After that, our master paid even more attention to the fact that a horse sometimes sees or hears what a person does not notice.

Another night, we stopped at an inn. In the stable, a careless boy left a lit pipe near the hay. A fire broke out. Smoke quickly filled the building, and the horses panicked. Some people tried to drag them out by force, but a frightened horse does not always understand where it is being led. James came to me calmly, spoke in a familiar voice, covered my eyes with a cloth, and led me outside. The others were rescued in the same way. Once again I learned that in danger, trust is stronger than a whip.

But the happy days at Birtwick came to an end. The Gordon family had to go abroad, and the horses were sold. Ginger and I were taken to another estate. There, the lady of the house liked horses to carry their heads unnaturally high because she thought it looked elegant. Tight straps were used to force us into that position. Ginger protested, while I endured it, even though my neck and mouth hurt. People often call something fashionable when it causes pain to an animal, simply because they are not the ones wearing the straps.

After that, my life changed many times. One careless driver forced me to go far too fast along a dark road. I fell and injured my knees. From then on, I was no longer considered a flawless carriage horse, and I passed from one owner to another.

The best of my later masters was a London cab driver named Jerry Barker. He had a wife, Polly, a daughter named Dolly, and a son named Harry. In his yard I heard kind voices again. Jerry never made a horse run without need, gave us time to rest, and refused to wear us out even when a passenger offered him more money.

“Just because a horse cannot speak does not mean he cannot become tired,” he would say.

On the streets of London, I saw hundreds of horses. Some were well cared for, while others could barely stay on their feet. One day near a park, I recognized Ginger in an exhausted chestnut mare. She looked nothing like the proud beauty I had known at Birtwick. She had been sold again and again, forced to work beyond her strength, and had lost her trust in people. We had only a little time to stand beside one another. Later I learned that her hard road had ended. I remembered her for a long time and wondered how different her life might have been if every owner had considered kindness a duty rather than a favor.

Jerry, too, had to give up cab work after a serious illness. I was sold again. After that came owners who seemed to care more about money than about a living horse. I pulled loads that were too heavy, worked while hungry, stood cold in the rain, and one day collapsed from exhaustion in the street.

I thought it was the end. But a farmer named Thoroughgood saw me with his grandson Willie. The boy asked his grandfather to give me a chance. They bought me cheaply, took me to their farm, and asked only one thing of me: to rest. Soft grass, clean water, good food, and peace did what blows and force never could. I grew strong again.

When the time came to find me a permanent home, the farmer took me to three kind ladies. Their young groom carefully examined my white star, my white foot, and the small scar on my neck.

“Can it really be you? Black Beauty?” he cried.

I looked closely at him. It was Joe Green, the former stable boy from Birtwick Park, now grown into an adult groom.

He stroked my neck, told the ladies who I was, and promised that no one would ever mistreat me again because of my old scars.

And so I found my final home. The work was light, the stable was warm, and the people were thoughtful. They promised I would never be sold again.

Sometimes before I fall asleep, I dream of that first meadow, the apple trees at Birtwick, Merrylegs, and Ginger. My life was long and full of many different things, but I learned one truth: an animal remembers both pain and kindness. And when a person has the power to guide someone weaker, the best thing they can do with that power is use it fairly.

Sometimes before I fall asleep, I dream of that first meadow, the apple trees at Birtwick, Merrylegs, and Ginger. My life was long and full of many different things, but I learned one truth: an animal remembers both pain and kindness. And when a person has the power to guide someone weaker, the best thing they can do with that power is use it fairly.