Black Beauty
The Autobiography of a Horse
by Anna Sewell
Illustrated by Sabrina Kelsey
To my dear and honored Mother, whose life, no less than her pen, has been devoted to the welfare of others, this little book is affectionately dedicated.
©2014 Illustrated Books
Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / brux
Interior Images © Sabrina Kelsey
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for brief quotations for review purposes only.
Illustrated Books
PO Box 631
Floyd VA 24091-0631
ISBN 13: 978-1-63384-283-0
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
My Early Home
The Hunt
My Breaking In
Birtwick Park
A Fair Start
Liberty
Ginger
Ginger's Story Continued
Merrylegs
A Talk in the Orchard
Plain Speaking
A Stormy Day
The Devil's Trade Mark
James Howard
The Old Hostler
The Fire
John Manly's Talk
Going for the Doctor
Only Ignorance
Joe Green
The Parting
Part II
Earlshall
A Strike for Liberty
The Lady Anne, or a Runaway Horse
Reuben Smith
How it Ended
Ruined and Going Downhill
A Job Horse and His Drivers
Cockneys
A Thief
A Humbug
Part III
A Horse Fair
A London Cab Horse
An Old War Horse
Jerry Barker
The Sunday Cab
The Golden Rule
Dolly and a Real Gentleman
Seedy Sam
Poor Ginger
The Butcher
The Election
A Friend in Need
Old Captain and His Successor
Jerry's New Year
Part IV
Jakes and the Lady
Hard Times
Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie
My Last Home
Part I
My Early Home
The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master’s house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook overhung by a steep bank.
While I was young I lived upon my mother’s milk, as I could not eat grass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close by her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.
As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.
There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and round the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.
One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me to come to her, and then she said:
“I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even in play.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s advice; I knew she was a wise old horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess, but he often called her Pet.
Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children. We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would pat and stroke her and say, “Well, old Pet, and how is your little Darkie?” I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we were his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market day in a light gig.
There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at them to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.
One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the next field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge he