THE MOURNER'S HORSE[]
By Arthur T. Quiller-Couch[]
Originally published in The Speaker 1892
This sketch tells of the dilemma in which a substitute at a funeral finds himself, and the difficulty he experienced in getting away from the house of mourning owing to his sublime ignorance of horseflesh..
Recently on my way across the downs, I overtook the national schoolmaster and walked some little distance with him discussing free education and what would come of it. The schoolmaster is town-bred — a thin, clean-shaven man, whose black habit and tall hat, though considerably bronzed, refuse to harmonize with the scenery amid which they move. His speech is formal and slightly dogmatic. On the subject of free education he talked with angry positiveness, as one acquainted with the facts. His cold eyes sparkled behind his spectacles, and, tucking his umbrella tightly under his arm-pit, he ticked off his arguments, tapping his right fore-finger on the palm of his left hand.
Thus occupied, we were passing the wall of a farm-house on the edge of the downs, when an ugly sheep-dog — a grizzled, tailless brute — came leaping over it and flew at our legs.
I had wheeled round and my ash-sapling was lifted for a blow when the schoolmaster arrested me with a peal of horrible, discordant laughter. He was crouching, with a hand on either thigh, and his spectacles almost on a level with the dog's jaws. His hat had shifted to the back of his head, and the look of derision on his face was something devilish. At intervals of about three seconds he flung a yell of unnatural mirth straight in the dog's face. Down went the brute's tail, and he slunk round and back over the wall, rubbing his belly on the coping in his abject discomfiture.
The schoolmaster straightened himself and resumed his sombre respectability at once. I stared back on the empty road without speaking. The man's impish outburst, to tell the truth, had startled me not a little. I saw its success, of course, but somehow it had been too well done; and I wondered if he would take up his argument again.
Instead, he chuckled drily after a moment and began:
" That's a better weapon than a gun."
" Ridicule ? "
He nodded.
''You used it uncommonly well,” said I.
" Oh, it's easy. The test of any creature — man or dog — is, Can he parry it ? I never met one that could. You see, every living being has some secret shame : man or dog, we all pretend to be what we are not. It is all very well to say Mike to the crackling of thorns under a pot,' but the point is that we're all in the pot, and liable to be cooked."
He walked on a dozen steps, and resumed, in a tone altogether lighter:
'I will tell you a tale on this point that may amuse you at my expense. I am London-bred, as you know — a Cockney in the grain to this day, though when I came down here to teach school I was barely twenty, and now I'm fifty-six. 'It was during the summer holidays that I first set foot in the neighborhood, a week before school opened again. I came early, to look for lodgings and find out a little about the people and settle down a bit before beginning work.
" The vicar — the late vicar — commended me to the farmhouse we have just passed. It was occupied in those days by an old farmer called Retallack, a widower and childless. His sister, Miss Jane Ann, kept house for him; and these were the only two souls on the premises till I came and was boarded by them for thirteen shillings a week. For that price they let me have a bedroom, a fair-sized sitting-room, and as much as I could eat.
"A month after I arrived, Farmer Retallack was put to bed with a bad attack of colic. This was on a Wednesday, and on Saturday morning Miss Jane Ann came to my door with a message that the old man would like to see me. So I went to his room and found him propped up in the bed with pillows and looking very yellow in the gills, though clearly convalescent.
"'Schoolmaster,' said he, 'I've summat of a favor to beg o* ye. You give the children a half-holiday, Saturdays — hey ? Well, dy'e think ye could drive the brown hoss into Tergarrick this afternoon? 'Fact is, my old friend Abe Walters, that kept The Packhorse, is lyin* dead, an' they bury en at half-after-three to-day. I'd be main glad to attend the feast an' tell Missus Walters how much deceased *ll be missed, but I might so well try to fly. Now if you could attend an' just pass the word that I'm laid on my back with colic, but that you've come to show respect i' my place — There 'II be lashins o' vittles and drink: no Walters was ever interred under a kilderkin, exceptin' their second child that died in teethin” — an' he took a nine-gallon cask, besides port and sherry wine to an uncertain amount. I had that from the mother. “
" Now the fact was, I had never driven a horse in my life and hardly knew (as they say) a horse's head from his tail till he began to move. But that is just the sort of ignorance no young man will confess to. So I answered that I was engaged that evening. We were just organizing night-classes for the young men of the parish, and the vicar was to open the first, with a short address, at half-past six.
You'll be back in loads o* time,' the farmer assured me. To tell you the truth,' said I, * I'm not accustomed to drive much. '
“ He declared that it was impossible to come to grief on the way, the brown horse being quiet as a lamb and knowing every stone of the road by heart. And the end was that I consented. The brown horse was harnessed by the farm boy and led round with the gig while Miss Jane Ann and I were finishing our meal. And I drove oflf alone in a black suit, and with my heart in my mouth.
“ The brown horse, as the farmer had promised, was quiet as a lamb. He went forward at a steady jog, and even had the good sense to quarter on his own account for the one or two vehicles we met on the broad road. Pretty soon I began to experiment gingerly with the reins, and, by the time we reached Tergarrick streets, was handling them with quite an air, while observing the face of every one I met, to make sure I was not being laughed at. The prospect of frightened me a good deal, and there was a sharp corner to turn at the entrance of the inn-yard. But the old horse knew his business so well that had I pulled on one rein with all my strength I believe it would have merely annoyed, without affecting him. He took me into the yard without a mistake, and I gave up the reins to the ostler, thanking Heaven and looking careless.
" The inn was crowded with mourners, eating and drinking and discussing the dead man's virtues. The assembly-room at the back, where the subscription dances were held, was filled with a suffocating crowd, a reek of hot joints, and the clicking of knives and forks. I caught sight of the widow moving up and down before a long table and shedding tears while she changed her guests' plates. She heard my message, and, welcoming me with effusion, hurried away to put on her bonnet for the funeral.
" More than an hour later, I hurried back from the churchyard to the inn and told the ostler to put my horse in the gig. The funeral was over and I had not much time to spare.
"*I beg your pardon, sir,' the ostler said, *but I'm new to this place. Which is your horse ? *
“Oh,' I answered, *he*s a brown. You'll know him easily enough. *
" The man returned in about five minutes. * There's six brown hosses in the stable, sir. Would 'ee mind comin’ an' pickin' out yourn ? '
" I followed him with a sense of coming evil. Sure enough, there were six brown horses in the big stable, and to save my life I couldn't tell which was mine. Of any difference between horses, except that of color, I'd no idea. I scanned them all anxiously, and felt the ostler's eye upon me. I had an impulse to confide my difficulty to him, but reflected that this wouldn't help me in the least. After a minute, pulling out my watch carelessly, I said:
"*By George, I'd no idea it was so early! Never mind. I won't start for a few minutes yet.'
"This was the only course — to wait until the other five owners of brown horses had driven home. I went back to the inn and talked and drank sherry, watching the crowd thin by degrees and speeding the lingering mourners with all my prayers. The time dragged on till nothing short of a miracle could take me back in time for the night-class. The widow came and talked to me. I answered her at random.
" Twice I revisited the stable, and the last time found but three brown horses left. I went back and consumed more sherry and biscuits. Ten more minutes passed, and there were left only the widow herself and a trio of elderly men. As I hung about trying to look unbounded sympathy at the group, it dawned on me that they were beginning to eye me uneasily. I took a sponge cake and another glass of wine. One of the men — who wore a high stock and an edging of stiff gray hair around his bald head — advanced to me. This funeral,” said he,” is over”.
Yes, yes,' I stammered, and choked over a sip of sherry. We are waiting — let me tap you on the back — we are waiting to read the will.*
" I rushed out of the room and down to the stables. The ostler was harnessing the one brown horse that remained. *I was thinkin' you wouldn't be long, sir,' he said; *you're the very last, *a b'lieve, an' here ends a hard day's work.*
" I drove off. It was nearly seven by this, but I didn't even think of the night-class. I was wondering if the horse I drove were really Farmer Retal lack's. Somehow — whether because his feed of corn pricked him, or no, I can't say — he was a deal more lively than on the outward journey. I looked at him narrowly and began to feel sure it was another horse. In spite of the cool evening a sweat broke out upon me.
" Reaching home, I found the farmer dressed and leaning on a stick in tke doorway.
“*Lor' bless my soul,* he hailed me, *I've been that worried about ye, I could'n stay in bed. The parson's been up twice from the school-house to make inquiries. Where, in the name o' goodness *
That's a long story,” said I; and then, feigning to speak carelessly, though I heard my heart go thump; 'How d'ye think the brown horse looks after the journey ? '
" Oh, he's right enough,' the old man replied indifferently. “It 'd take a lot to hurt the.But I had never felt so glad in my life. “