Two or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather
late in the evening, Polly came running across the road with the
lantern (she always brought it to him if it was not very wet).
"It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this
afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o'clock. I
said, 'Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one
else now.'"
"'Well,' said he, 'the real fact is, master was put out because
Mr. Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other
cabs, but there's something wrong with them all; some drive too
fast, and some too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of
them so nice and clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr.
Barker's cab again.'"
Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry
laugh.
"''Twill all come right some day or night': you were right, my
dear; you generally are. Run in and get the supper, and I'll have
Jack's harness off and make him snug and happy in no time."
After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry's cab quite as often as
before, never, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we
had Sunday work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home
on the Saturday night very tired, and very glad to think that the
next day would be all rest, but so it was not to be.
On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly
stepped up to him, looking very full of something.
"What is it?" said Jerry.
"Well, my dear," she said, "poor Dinah Brown has just had a
letter brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that
she must go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is
more than ten miles away from here, out in the country, and she
says if she takes the train she should still have four miles to
walk; and so weak as she is, and the baby only four weeks old, of
course that would be impossible; and she wants to know if you would
take her in your cab, and she promises to pay you faithfully, as
she can get the money."
"Tut, tut! we'll see about that. It was not the money I was
thinking about, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and
I am tired, too—that's where it pinches."
"It pinches all round, for that matter," said Polly, "for it's
only half Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other
people as we should like they should do to us; and I know very well
what I should like if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am
sure it won't break the Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or
donkey out of a pit would not spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor
Dinah would not do it."
"Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I've
had my Sunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell
Dinah that I'll be ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but
stop—just step round to butcher Braydon's with my compliments, and
ask him if he would lend me his light trap; I know he never uses it
on the Sunday, and it would make a wonderful difference to the
horse."
Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the
trap and welcome.
"All right," said he; "now put me up a bit of bread and cheese,
and I'll be back in the afternoon as soon as I can."
"And I'll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of
for dinner," said Polly; and away she went, while he made his
preparations to the tune of "Polly's the woman and no mistake", of
which tune he was very fond.
I was selected for the journey, and at ten o'clock we started,
in a light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the
four-wheeled cab it seemed like nothing.
It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town,
the sweet air, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country
roads were as pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I
soon began to feel quite fresh.
Dinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane,
close by a meadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows
feeding in it. A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the
meadow, and he would tie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a
better stable to offer.
"If your cows would not be offended," said Jerry, "there is
nothing my horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in
your beautiful meadow; he's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for
him."
"Do, and welcome," said the young man; "the best we have is at
your service for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having
some dinner in an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with
mother so ill we are all out of sorts in the house."
Jerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with
him there was nothing he should like so well as walking about in
the meadow.
When my harness was taken off I did not know what I should do
first—whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie
down and rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer
spirits at being free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be
quite as happy as I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree,
and listened to the birds, then he sang himself, and read out of
the little brown book he is so fond of, then wandered round the
meadow, and down by a little brook, where he picked the flowers and
the hawthorn, and tied them up with long sprays of ivy; then he
gave me a good feed of the oats which he had brought with him; but
the time seemed all too short—I had not been in a field since I
left poor Ginger at Earlshall.
We came home gently, and Jerry's first words were, as we came
into the yard, "Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all,
for the birds were singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the
service; and as for Jack, he was like a young colt."
When he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy.
Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There
was snow, or sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing
only for keen driving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it
very much. When it is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will
keep the warmth in us; but when it is soaking rain they soon get
wet through and are no good. Some of the drivers had a waterproof
cover to throw over, which was a fine thing; but some of the men
were so poor that they could not protect either themselves or their
horses, and many of them suffered very much that winter. When we
horses had worked half the day we went to our dry stables, and
could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes staying
out as late as one or two o'clock in the morning if they had a
party to wait for.
When the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the
worst of all for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a
weight to draw and no firm footing, would take more out of us than
four on a good road; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the
strain to keep our balance; and, added to this, the fear of falling
is more exhausting than anything else. If the roads are very bad
indeed our shoes are roughed, but that makes us feel nervous at
first.
When the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit
in the tavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but
they often lost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said,
be there without spending money. He never went to the Rising Sun;
there was a coffee-shop near, where he now and then went, or he
bought of an old man, who came to our rank with tins of hot coffee
and pies. It was his opinion that spirits and beer made a man
colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good food, cheerfulness,
and a comfortable wife at home, were the best things to keep a
cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat when
he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dolly
peeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if "father" was
on the stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and
soon come back with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or
pudding Polly had ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing
could get safely across the street, often thronged with horses and
carriages; but she was a brave little maid, and felt it quite an
honor to bring "father's first course", as he used to call it. She
was a general favorite on the stand, and there was not a man who
would not have seen her safely across the street, if Jerry had not
been able to do it.
One cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something
hot, and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun
when a gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his
umbrella. Jerry touched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly,
and was taking off my cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up,
cried out, "No, no, finish your soup, my friend; I have not much
time to spare, but I can wait till you have done, and set your
little girl safe on the pavement." So saying, he seated himself in
the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came back to Dolly.
"There, Dolly, that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman,
Dolly; he has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman
and a little girl."
Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his
orders to drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same
gentleman took our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and
horses, for whenever we took him to his own door two or three dogs
would come bounding out to meet him. Sometimes he came round and
patted me, saying in his quiet, pleasant way, "This horse has got a
good master, and he deserves it." It was a very rare thing for any
one to notice the horse that had been working for him. I have known
ladies to do it now and then, and this gentleman, and one or two
others have given me a pat and a kind word; but ninety-nine persons
out of a hundred would as soon think of patting the steam engine
that drew the train.
The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in
his shoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were
thin and close shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye
was keen, and there was something in his jaw and the motion of his
head that made one think he was very determined in anything he set
about. His voice was pleasant and kind; any horse would trust that
voice, though it was just as decided as everything else about
him.
One day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a
shop in R—— Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the
door. A little ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart
with two very fine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the
carter was not with them, and I cannot tell how long they had been
standing, but they seemed to think they had waited long enough, and
began to move off. Before they had gone many paces the carter came
running out and caught them. He seemed furious at their having
moved, and with whip and rein punished them brutally, even beating
them about the head. Our gentleman saw it all, and stepping quickly
across the street, said in a decided voice:
"If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for
leaving your horses, and for brutal conduct."
The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some
abusive language, but he left off knocking the horses about, and
taking the reins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had
quietly taken a note-book from his pocket, and looking at the name
and address painted on the cart, he wrote something down.
"What do you want with that?" growled the carter, as he cracked
his whip and was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only
answer he got.
On returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion,
who said laughingly, "I should have thought, Wright, you had enough
business of your own to look after, without troubling yourself
about other people's horses and servants."
Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a
little back, "Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?"
"No," said the other.
"Then I'll tell you. It is because people think only about their
own business, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the
oppressed, nor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked
thing like this without doing what I can, and many a master has
thanked me for letting him know how his horses have been used."
"I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir," said Jerry,
"for they are wanted badly enough in this city."
After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the
cab our friend was saying, "My doctrine is this, that if we see
cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we
make ourselves sharers in the guilt."
I should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my
driver was my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and
not overwork me, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but
there were a great many horses which belonged to the large
cab-owners, who let them out to their drivers for so much money a
day. As the horses did not belong to these men the only thing they
thought of was how to get their money out of them, first, to pay
the master, and then to provide for their own living; and a
dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course, I
understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand,
and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses,
would sometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or
ill-used.
One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name
of "Seedy Sam", brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and
the governor said:
"You and your horse look more fit for the police station than
for this rank."
The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round
upon the Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost
desperate:
"If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be
with the masters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are
fixed so low. If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the
use of a cab and two horses, as many of us have to do in the
season, and must make that up before we earn a penny for ourselves
I say 'tis more than hard work; nine shillings a day to get out of
each horse before you begin to get your own living. You know that's
true, and if the horses don't work we must starve, and I and my
children have known what that is before now. I've six of 'em, and
only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteen or sixteen
hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelve weeks;
you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I
don't work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a
mackintosh, but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to
pledge my clock a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it
again."
Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and
saying he was right. The man went on:
"You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good
masters, have a chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I
haven't. We can't charge more than sixpence a mile after the first,
within the four-mile radius. This very morning I had to go a clear
six miles and only took three shillings. I could not get a return
fare, and had to come all the way back; there's twelve miles for
the horse and three shillings for me. After that I had a three-mile
fare, and there were bags and boxes enough to have brought in a
good many twopences if they had been put outside; but you know how
people do; all that could be piled up inside on the front seat were
put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. That was sixpence,
and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a shilling.
Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings for
me; there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine
shillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of
course, it is not always so bad as that, but you know it often is,
and I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork
his horse, for when a beast is downright tired there's nothing but
the whip that will keep his legs a-going; you can't help
yourself—you must put your wife and children before the horse; the
masters must look to that, we can't. I don't ill-use my horse for
the sake of it; none of you can say I do. There's wrong lays
somewhere—never a day's rest, never a quiet hour with the wife and
children. I often feel like an old man, though I'm only forty-five.
You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us of cheating
and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in their hands
counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were
pickpockets. I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen
hours a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings
beside, and that in all weathers; they would not be so uncommon
particular never to give us a sixpence over or to cram all the
luggage inside. Of course, some of 'em tip us pretty handsome now
and then, or else we could not live; but you can't depend upon
that."
The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of
them said, "It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what
is wrong it is no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to
blow him up?"
Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw
his face look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his
hands in his pockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat
and wiped his forehead.
"You've beaten me, Sam," he said, "for it's all true, and I
won't cast it up to you any more about the police; it was the look
in that horse's eye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and
it is hard lines for beast, and who's to mend it I don't know: but
anyway you might tell the poor beast that you were sorry to take it
out of him in that way. Sometimes a kind word is all we can give
'em, poor brutes, and 'tis wonderful what they do understand."
A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with
Sam's cab.
"Halloo!" said one, "what's up with Seedy Sam?"
"He's ill in bed," said the man; "he was taken last night in the
yard, and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this
morning to say his father was in a high fever and could not get
out, so I'm here instead."
The next morning the same man came again.
"How is Sam?" inquired the governor.
"He's gone," said the man.
"What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?"
"Just snuffed out," said the other; "he died at four o'clock
this morning; all yesterday he was raving—raving about Skinner, and
having no Sundays. 'I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his
last words."
No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, "I'll tell
you what, mates, this is a warning for us."