Brownsmith's Boy Part 30

"Old! I should just think he is, my lad. Close upon two hunderd I should say's his age."

"Nonsense!" I said; "horses are very old indeed at twenty!"

"Some horses; but he was only a baby then. He's the oldest horse as ever was, and about the best; ain't you, Basket? Come along, old chap."

The horse gave a bit of a snort and followed the man in a slow deliberate way, born of custom, right out into the yard to where the trestle-supported cart stood. Then as I held the lantern the great bony creature turned and backed itself clumsily in between the shafts, and under the great framework ladder piled up with baskets till its tail touched the front of the cart, when it heaved a long sigh as if of satisfaction.

"Look at that!" said Ike; "no young horse couldn't have done that, my lad;" and as if to deny the a.s.sertion, Basket gave himself a shake which made the chains of his harness rattle. "Steady, old man," cried Ike as he hooked on the chains to the shaft, and then going to the other side he started. "Hullo! what are you doing here?" he cried, and the light fell upon Shock, who had busily fastened the chains on the other side.

He did not speak, but backed off into the darkness.

"Got your coat, squire?" cried Ike. "That's well. Open the gates, Shock. That's your sort. Now, then, 'Basket,' steady."

The horse made the chains rattle as he stuck the edges of his hoofs into the gravel, the wheels turned, the great axle-tree rattled; there was a swing of the load to left and another to right, a b.u.mp or two, and we were out in the lane, going steadily along upon a lovely starlight night.

As soon as we were clear of the yard, and Shock could be heard closing the gates and rattling up the bar, Ike gave his long cart-whip three tremendous cracks, and I expected to see "Basket" start off in a lumbering trot; but he paid not the slightest heed to the sharp reports, and it was evidently only a matter of habit, for Ike stuck the whip directly after in an iron loop close by where the horse's great well-filled nose-bag was strapped to the front-ladder, beneath which there was a sack fairly filled with good old hay.

"Yes," said Ike, seeing the direction of my eyes, "we don't starve the old hoss; do we, Bonyparty?"

He slapped the horse's haunch affectionately, and Basket wagged his tail, while the cart jolted on.

The clock was striking eleven, and sounded mellow and sweet on the night air as we made for the main road, having just ten miles to go to reach the market, only a short journey in these railway times, but one which it took the bony old horse exactly five hours to compa.s.s.

"It seems a deal," I said. "I could walk it in much less time."

"Well, yes, Master Grant," said Ike, rubbing his nose; "it do seem a deal, five hours--two mile an hour; but a horse is a boss, and you can't make nothing else out of him till he's dead. I've been to market with him hunderds upon hunderds of times, and he says it's five hours' work, and he takes five hours to do it in; no more, and no less. P'r'a'ps I might get him up sooner if I used the whip; but how would you like any one to use a whip on you when you was picking apples or counting baskets of strawbys into a wan?"

"Not at all," I said, laughing.

"Well, then, what call is there to use it on a boss? He knows what he can do, and he doos it."

"Has Mr Brownsmith had him long?"

"Has _Old_ Brownsmith had him long?" he said correctively. "Oh, yes!

ages. I don't know how long. He had him and he was a old boss when I come, and that's years ago. He's done nothing but go uppards and down'ards all his life, and he must know how long it takes by now, mustn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I said.

"Of course he do, my lad. He knows just where his orf forefoot ought to be at one o'clock, and his near hind-foot at two. Why, he goes like clockwork. I just winds him up once with a bit o' corn and a drink o'

water, starts him, and there's his old legs go tick-tack, tick-tack, and his head swinging like a pendulow. Use 'is secon' natur', and all I've got to do is to tie up the reins to the fore ladder and go to sleep if I like, for he knows his way as well as a Christian. 'Leven o'clock I starts; four o'clock he gets to the market; and if it wasn't for thieves, and some one to look after the baskets, that old hoss could go and do the marketing all hisself."

It was all wonderfully fresh and enjoyable to me, that ride along the quiet country road, with another market cart jolting on about a hundred yards ahead, and another one as far behind, while no doubt there were plenty more, but they did not get any closer together, and no one seemed to hurry or trouble in the least.

We trudged on together for some distance, and then Ike made a couple of seats for us under the ladder by folding up sacks, on one of which I sat, on the other he. Very uncomfortable seats I should call them now; most enjoyable I thought them then, and with no other drawback than a switch now and then from the horse's long tail, an attention perfectly unnecessary, for at that time of night there were no flies.

There was not much to see but hedgerows and houses and fields as we jolted slowly on. Once we met what Ike called the "padrole," and the mounted policeman, in his long cloak and with the scabbard of his sabre peeping from beneath, looked to me a very formidable personage; but he was not too important to wish Ike a friendly good-night.

We had pa.s.sed the horse-patrol about a quarter of a mile, when all at once we heard some one singing, or rather howling:

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

This was repeated over and over again, and seemed as we sat there under our basket canopy to come from some one driving behind us; but the jolting of the cart and the grinding of wheels and the horse's trampling drowned the sound of the following vehicle, and there it went on:

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

But the singer p.r.o.nounced it _Do-ho-ver_; and then it went on over and over again.

"Yes," said Ike, as if he had been talking about something; "them padroles put a stop to that game."

"What game?" I said.

"Highwaymen's. This used to be one of their fav'rite spots, from here away to Hounslow Heath. There was plenty of 'em in the old days, with their spanking horses and their pistols, and their 'stand and deliver'

to the coach pa.s.sengers. Now you couldn't find a highwayman for love or money, even if you wanted him to stuff and putt in a gla.s.s case."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

"I wish you'd stopped there," said Ike, in a grumbling voice. "Ah, those used to be days. That's where d.i.c.k Turpin used to go, you know-- Hounslow Heath."

"But there are none now?" I said, with some little feeling of trepidation.

"Didn't I tell you, no," said Ike, "unless that there's one coming on behind. How much money have you got, lad?"

"Two s.h.i.+llings and sixpence and some halfpence."

"And I've got five and two, lad. Wouldn't pay to keep a blood-horse to rob us, would it?"

"No," I said. "Didn't they hang the highwaymen in chains, Ike?"

"To be sure they did. I see one myself swinging about on Hounslow Heath."

"Wasn't it very horrible?"

"I dunno. Dessay it was. Just look how reg'lar old Bonyparty goes along, don't he--just in the same part of the road? I dessay he's a-counting all the steps he takes, and checking of 'em off to see how many more he's got to go through."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

"I say, I wish that chap would pa.s.s us--it worries me," cried Ike pettishly. Then he went on: "Roads warn't at all safe in those days, my lad. There was footpads too--chaps as couldn't afford to have horses, and they used to hang under the hedges, just like that there dark one yonder, and run out and lay holt of the reins, and hold a pistol to a man's head."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

"Go agen then, and stop," growled Ike irritably. "Swep' all away, my lad, by the road-police, and now--"

"There's a man standing in the dark here under this hedge, Ike," I whispered. "Is--is he likely to be a foot-pad?"

"Either a footpad or a policeman. Which does he look like?" said Ike.

"Policeman," I whispered. "I think I saw the top of his hat s.h.i.+ne."

"Right, lad. You needn't be scared about them sort o' gentlemen now.