BLACK BEAUTY

The story of a horse.
Told by the horse.

By Anna Sewell.

Chapter 1: My Early Home

I remember my first home.
It was a big, nice field.
There was a pond in it.
The water was clear.
Trees hung over the pond.

On one side was a farm field.
On the other side was our master's house.
It was by the road.
At the top of the field were fir trees.
At the bottom was a little river.

When I was young, I drank my mother's milk.
I could not eat grass yet.
I stayed by her side all day.
I slept close to her at night.

When it was hot, we stood in the shade.
When it was cold, we had a warm shed.

When I got older, I could eat grass.
My mother went to work each day.
She came back every evening.

Six other young horses lived in our field.
They were older than me.
We ran and played together.
We galloped around the field.
Sometimes we played rough.
We would bite and kick while playing.

One day, my mother called me over.
She had something to say.

"Listen to me," she said.
"The other colts are good.
But they are farm horses.
They never learned good manners.

You come from a fine family.
Your father is famous here.
Your grandfather won races.
Your grandmother was very gentle.
You have never seen me bite or kick.

I hope you grow up gentle and good.
Never learn bad ways.
Work hard and do your best.
Lift your feet up high when you trot.
Never bite or kick, even in play."

I never forgot what she said.
My mother was a wise old horse.
Our master thought highly of her.
Her name was Duchess.
But he called her Pet.

Our master was kind and good.
He gave us good food and a good home.
He spoke kindly to us.
He spoke to us like his own children.
We all loved him.
My mother loved him very much.

When she saw him, she would run to him.
He would pat her and say,
"Well, old Pet, how is your little Darkie?"

I was very black.
So he called me Darkie.
He gave me bread to eat.
Sometimes he brought my mother a carrot.
All the horses liked him.
But I think we were his favorites.

My mother pulled his cart to town on market days.

A boy named Dick worked on the farm.
He liked to pick blackberries by our field.
Then he would throw stones at us for fun.
It made us run and it hurt.

One day, our master saw him do it.
He jumped over the hedge.
He grabbed Dick's arm.
He gave him a hard smack.

"Bad boy!" said our master.
"You will not scare my horses again.
Take your pay and go home."

We never saw Dick again.
Old Daniel took care of us now.
He was kind too.
We were happy.

Chapter 2: The Hunt

I was not yet two years old.
Something happened that I never forgot.

It was early spring.
There was frost on the ground.
Mist covered the fields.

We heard dogs barking far away.
The oldest horse said, "The hunting dogs are coming!"
We all ran to see.

My mother and an old horse stood watching too.

"They found a rabbit," said my mother.
"We might see the hunt."

The dogs ran through the next field.
They made loud noises.
Men on horses galloped behind them.
Some wore green coats.

We wanted to run with them too.
But they went far away.
Then the dogs stopped.
They lost the rabbit's smell.

"Maybe the rabbit got away," said the old horse.

I asked, "What rabbit?"

"Some rabbit," he said.
"Any rabbit will do for them."

Soon the dogs found the smell again.
They ran back toward our field.
A scared rabbit ran by us.
The dogs chased it.

Many horses jumped over our fence to follow.
The rabbit tried to hide.
But the dogs caught her.
It was very sad.

A hunter pulled the dogs away.
He held up the rabbit.
The men seemed happy about it.

I looked over by the river.
Something bad had happened there.
Two horses had fallen down.
One was in the water.
One lay still on the grass.

One rider climbed out, covered in mud.
The other rider did not move.

"His neck is broken," said my mother.

One young horse said, "That is what he gets."

But my mother did not agree.

"No," she said.
"I do not understand why men do this.
They hurt themselves.
They hurt good horses.
All for a little rabbit or a fox.
But we are only horses.
We do not know why."

Our master ran to help the hurt man.
The man's head fell back.
His arms hung down.
Everyone looked very worried.

They carried him to our master's house.
I heard later his name was George Gordon.
He was the squire's only son.
He was young and tall.
His family was proud of him.

People rode off to get the doctor.
And the horse doctor too.
The horse doctor looked at the black horse on the grass.
Its leg was broken.

Someone brought a gun.
There was a loud bang.
Then all was quiet.
The black horse did not move again.

My mother was very sad.
She had known that horse a long time.
His name was Rob Roy.
He was a good horse.
She never went near that spot again.

A few days later, church bells rang.
We saw black carriages go by.
Black horses pulled them.
They were carrying young Gordon to be buried.
He would never ride again.

All of this happened because of one little rabbit.

Chapter 3: My Breaking In

I was growing up handsome.
My coat was soft and shiny black.
I had one white foot.
And a white star on my head.
Everyone said I was handsome.

My master did not sell me right away.
He said young horses should not work too soon.
He waited until I was four years old.

Then Squire Gordon came to see me.
He looked at my eyes, my mouth, my legs.
He watched me walk, trot, and gallop.

"He will be a fine horse," said the Squire,
"once he is broken in."

My master said he would train me himself.
He did not want me to be scared or hurt.
He started the very next day.

Let me explain what "breaking in" means.
It means teaching a horse many things.

A horse must learn to wear a saddle.
And a bridle on its head.
It must learn to carry a rider.
It must go where the rider wants.
It must stay calm and quiet.

A horse must wear a collar too.
And other straps for pulling a cart.
It must stand still while these go on.

Then it must pull a cart or a chaise.
It cannot walk without pulling it along.
It must go fast or slow as told.

A horse must not be scared by things it sees.
It must not talk back to other horses.
It must not bite or kick.
It must not have its own way.
It must always obey its master.
Even when tired or hungry.
That is the hardest part of all.