Justin Morgan Had a Horse

  Contents

  1. Joel Meets Little Bub

  2. A Fuzzy Shadow

  3. Northward to Vermont

  4. Horse-Trader Hawkes

  5. Pa Gets an Idea

  6. Seven Years! Seven Years!

  7. A Stranger Knocking

  8. The Pulling Bee

  9. Stronger’n a Ox

  10. A Challenge from New York

  11. High-Duck Dandies

  12. Out of the Satchel

  13. Bub Travels the Singing Circuit

  14. The Auction Block

  15. Little Bub Lost

  16. “I’ll Go to Plattsburg!”

  17. A Whinny in the Night

  18. Justin Morgan and the President

  To my Morgan horse, Friday, and to Fred Tejan, who gentled him

  Foreword

  THIS IS THE STORY of a common, ordinary little work horse who turned out to be the father of a famous family of American horses. He lived in the Green Mountain country of Vermont in the days when America was growing up. In fact, he helped it grow up. He dragged logs and cleared the land. He helped build the first log houses. He helped build bridges and cut roads through the wilderness.

  Even in his own lifetime, the willingness of this little horse became an American legend. He labored hard all day, and then at sundown, when he should have been fed and bedded down for the night, he took part in races and pulling bees. He could walk faster, trot faster, run faster, and pull heavier logs than any other horse in all Vermont!

  Today his descendants, known as Morgan horses, are renowned throughout the world. Yet nobody knows whether that first Morgan’s parents were British or French or Dutch. And nobody really cares. As Joel Goss figured it out: “He’s just like us. He’s American. That’s what he is! American!”

  M.H.

  1. Joel Meets Little Bub

  THE LITTLE reddish-brown colt stopped nibbling grass. He lifted his head high and sniffed the noonday wind. His nostrils fluttering, he sniffed again. Long, quivering sniffs. A man and a boy were coming up the road. They must have journeyed a long way, for their man-smell was almost blotted by dust.

  Now the colt whinnied sharply. Instantly a bigger colt, scratching at a green-head fly, alerted. He alerted so suddenly it seemed as if his name had been called out. He trotted over to the little colt, touching noses with him. Then his ears pricked as he caught the sound of booted feet walking slowly, and of bare feet running. Now he, too, knew that strangers were coming up the road.

  Wearily, wearily the man’s steps dragged. As he reached the fence, he rested his arms on the top rail and his whole body seemed to go limp. The boy leaned against the fence too, but not from weariness. His was an urgent desire to get close to the colts. The boy’s blue linsey-woolsey shirt was faded and torn, and his breeches, held up by a strip of cowhide, were gray with dust. His stubbly hair was straw-colored, like a cut-over field of wheat. Everything about him looked dry and parched. Everything except his eyes. They peered over the fence with a lively look, and his tongue wet his dry lips.

  “You!” he said with a quick catch of his breath, as the littler colt came over and gazed curious-eyed at him. “I could gentle you, I could.”

  The man sighed. “We’re here at last, Joel. We can put our bundles down and rest a spell before we see if Farmer Beane’s at home.”

  The boy had not heard. He just stood on tiptoe, holding his bundle and gaping at the colts as if he had never seen their like before. “That little one . . . ” he whispered.

  Just then a door slammed shut, and from the house beyond the meadow a farmer in his working clothes started down a footpath toward them. “How-de-do!” he called out as he came closer. Two rods from them, he shaded his eyes and stared intently.

  With a whistle of surprise he stopped in his tracks. “Great Jumping Jehoshaphat!” he shouted. “If it ain’t Justin Morgan, schoolmaster and singing teacher! Why, I’m as pleasured to see you as a dog with two tails.” He set down a bucket he was carrying and shook hands across the fence. “Who’s the fledgling you got with you?” he asked, pointing a thumb toward the boy.

  “This lad is Joel Goss, one of my scholars. I board with his parents,” the schoolmaster explained. “And when I mentioned that I’d be going off on a junket till school starts, I could see he wanted to traipse along. Joel,” he said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I’d like you to meet Farmer Beane, an old neighbor of mine.”

  Reluctantly Joel turned from the colts to face the farmer. He had never been introduced before. It made him blush to the roots of his sunburnt hair.

  “Cat got your tongue, boy?” the farmer said, not unkindly. “Or be you smitten on the colts?” And without waiting for an answer, he popped more questions. “Where in tarnation you two come from? You hain’t come all the ways from Randolph, Vermont, to Springfield, Massachusetts, be you?”

  Justin Morgan nodded.

  “Sakes alive! You must be all tuckered out. Why, even as the crow flies, it’s over a hundred mile down here. You didn’t walk the hull way, I hope.”

  The schoolmaster took off his hat and ran his fingers through graying hair. “Yes, Abner; that is, most all the way, except when Lem Tubbs and his team of oxen gave us a short haul into Chicopee.”

  “Well, gosh all fishhooks, let’s not stand here a-gabbin’. Come in, come in! The woman’ll give us hot cakes and tea. I’ll bet Joel here could do with some vittles. He’s skinny as a fiddle string. Come in, and by and by we can chat.”

  All during the conversation the colts had been inching closer and closer to Farmer Beane. Now they were nipping at his sleeves and snuffing his pockets.

  “These tarnal critters love to be the hull show,” chuckled the farmer, reaching into his pockets. “If I don’t bring ’em their maple sugar, the day just don’t seem right to them. Nor to me, neither.”

  Justin Morgan steadied himself against the fence. “Abner,” he said, “before Joel and I sit down to your table, it seems I should tell you why I’ve come.” He paused, nervously drumming the top rail for courage. After a while he looked up and his glance went beyond the meadow and the rolling hills. “I’ve come,” he swallowed hard, “because I’ve a need for the money you owed me when I moved away to Vermont.”

  There was a moment of silence. It was so still that the colts munching their sugar seemed to be very noisy about it. Joel thought of the bright red apple he had eaten last night. He wished now that he had saved it for them.

  It was a long time before the farmer could answer. Then he said, “You’ve come a terrible long way, Justin, and ’tis hard for me to disappoint you. But me and the woman have had nothin’ but trouble.” He began counting off his troubles on his fingers: “Last year, my cows got in the cornfield and et theirselves sick and died; year afore that, the corn was too burned to harvest; year afore that, our house caught afire. I just hain’t got the money.”

  Master Morgan’s shoulders slumped until his homespun coat looked big and loose, as if it had been made for someone else. “I’d set great store on getting the money,” he said. “I’ve got doctor bills to pay and . . . ” He took a breath. “For years I’ve been hankering to buy a harpsichord for my singing class.”

  There! The words were out. He spanked the dust from his hat, then put it back on his head and forced a little smile. “Don’t be taking it so hard, Abner. I reckon my pitch pipe can do me to the end of my days.” His voice dropped. “And maybe that won’t be long; I feel my years too much.”

  The farmer pursed his lips in thought. “Justin,” he said, “I ain’t a man to be beholden to anyone. Would you take a colt instead of cash?”

  Joel wheeled around to see if Mister Beane was in earnest.

 
“Now this big feller, this Ebenezer,” the farmer was saying as he pointed to the bigger colt, “he’s a buster! He’ll be a go-ahead horse sure as shootin’. If you looked all up and down the Connecticut Valley, I bet you couldn’t find a sensibler animal.” He glanced at the schoolmaster’s set face and spoke more persuasively. “Besides, he’s halter broke! He’d be the very horse to ride to school.”

  Justin Morgan shook his head. “No, Abner, I’m but a stone’s throw from school, and a colt would just mean another mouth to feed.”

  “Why, bless my breeches,” the farmer laughed hollowly, “if you ain’t a-goin’ to use him, you could sell him long afore you run up a feed bill. Already the river folk got their eye on him. He’ll fetch a pocketful of money. Mebbe twice as much as I owed you!”

  The schoolmaster studied his dust-covered boots as if he did not want to look at Ebenezer.

  “By Jove,” the farmer added, “I’ll even give you a premium. I’ll throw in Little Bub for good measure.”

  Joel tugged at the schoolmaster’s coattails. “Please, sir!” His eyes begged. “I could . . . ”

  “ ’Course, he ain’t the colt Ebenezer is,” Mister Beane went on. “He’s just a mite of a thing. But there’s something about those two! They stay together snug as two teaspoons. Scarcely ever do you see one alone.” The farmer spoke more hurriedly now, as if the rain of words might convince where reasons failed. “Eb’s kind of like a mother to Bub. Why, I’ve seen Bub nip Ebenezer on the flank, and that big colt knew ’twas just in fun! He’d turn right around and nuzzle the little one. If’n you didn’t know, you’d actually think the colt was his’n!”

  Master Morgan laughed a dry laugh, like wind rustling through a cornfield. “I don’t need two horses any more than I need water in my hat! They would be two more mouths to feed.”

  Joel broke in timidly. “I reckon I could feed and gentle Little Bub?” he pleaded.

  The schoolmaster’s eyes smiled down at the boy, ignoring the question. “In the hills of Vermont,” he said kindly, “farmers want big, strong oxen. Not undersized cobs like Bub.”

  The smaller colt stood so close to the fence now that Joel reached out and touched the tremulous nose. It felt like plush.

  “Ee-magine that!” clucked the farmer. “The little nipper didn’t even snort. Your Joel’s got a way with him, he has. Wouldn’t wonder if he could gentle the critter.”

  He turned to Ebenezer now and picked up his feet, first one and then another. “Look-a-here, Justin, see how mannerly this feller is! As a schoolmaster, you know good dispositions from bad.” Next he pressed Ebenezer’s muscles, and then lifted his upper lip to show the strong teeth.

  At last he turned to the little colt. “Ye’re right about this ’un,” he said. “Bub is only pint measure. But he’s mannerly, too. Except . . . ” He hesitated. “Yep, I may as well tell ye—’cept when he sees a dog. He can’t abide ’em! They make him mad as any hornet. He strikes out at ’em with his feet, and squeals and chases ’em until they go lickety-split for home, tails tucked clean under their bellies.”

  Joel laughed in glee, as if he could see the whole performance.

  But Justin Morgan stood grave and silent. “Perchance,” he said at last, “you are right, Abner. Perchance in Vermont I can sell Ebenezer. But the little fellow would be just a worry to me. It’s kind of you to offer them both, but you keep Little Bub.”

  Abner Beane grasped the schoolmaster’s hand and shook it heartily. “The bargain is sealed,” he said. “And now let’s go in and eat!”

  2. A Fuzzy Shadow

  EARLY THE next morning Joel stirred on his straw mattress, listening to the exciting sounds of the new day-birds making little twittering remarks, a cock crowing lustily, calves bawling.

  Then for a while there was silence, except for the steady breathing of the schoolmaster, who lay sleeping beside him.

  Joel drowsily wondered where he was. He opened his eyes, expecting to see a leafy roof over his head. But in the half darkness he saw beams and crossbeams, like his bedroom ceiling at home.

  Suddenly he was sharp awake. He held his breath, straining to hear a far-off sound—a high, quavering whinny that ended in a snorty rumble.

  Now Joel knew! He was at Farmer Beane’s! He sank cozily into the straw, letting little shivers of happiness race up and down his spine. In imagination he was in the meadow—stroking Little Bub’s neck, now slipping a halter over his nose, now leading him to some green paradise where there was no talk of money or debts. He raised up gingerly, trying to keep the straw in the mattress from crackling. If he was careful not to make any noise, he might steal out of doors and be alone with Little Bub. Even a few minutes alone would be fun.

  Slowly, slowly he sat up, then slid his feet out of bed and to the floor. He felt for his clothes, slipped into his shirt and pulled on his breeches, hitching them up with the strip of cowhide.

  He waited a moment or two, making sure the schoolmaster’s breathing was still steady. Then he tiptoed for the ladder and swung silently down the rungs and into the candle-lit kitchen.

  Mistress Beane was bent double over the hearth, poking in among the ashes. “That you, Joel?” she asked, taking out a stone crock.

  “Yes’m.”

  With an “Oh, me” and an “Oh, my” Mistress Beane got to her feet, using the mantel to hoist herself up. “I hearn as how the schoolmaster’s feeling poorly,” she said, “so I made him some of my Indian meal porridge. It’ll stick to his ribs on that long journey home.”

  Joel edged toward the door.

  “Oh, no, you don’t! “the woman called. “Man or boy, you got to eat, too. I declare! I never seed two such puny critters.”

  She spooned some porridge into a big brown bowl and poured hot butter and milk over it. “You buckle right down and eat. It’ll make you lively as pepper the hull day long.”

  Joel began to eat rapidly, while his eyes kept darting from the bowl in front of him to a basket of red apples in the center of the table.

  “Good years or bad, we most always has apples,” Mistress Beane said, following Joel’s glance. “And land knows when you’ll get your next meal. Help yourself to as many as you can carry.”

  Joel tried to say his thanks, but the porridge stuck in his throat.

  “You’ve et enough, son. If it won’t down, it won’t. Mebbe you’d like to high-tail it outdoors and find Mister Beane. He’ll be milking ’long about now, and there’s some mighty purty kittens to play with in the barn.”

  Joel neatly stacked his dishes. Then he selected two of the biggest and ripest apples, thanked Mistress Beane shyly, and hurried out into the gray morning.

  He spied the colts at once. Down at the far end of the meadow they were stretched out in a joyous run, their tails floating on the wind. Gulping a deep breath, Joel went racing in the dew to meet them. He tried to shout to them, to call their names, but the wind rushed at him, smothering his voice.

  At sight of the oncoming figure the two colts slowed, then halted altogether. Their eyes studied the boy, and the very air seemed charged with suspense.

  “Now is the time,” Joel said to himself. “Now!” He took the apples from inside his shirt and, slowly moving closer, offered one on the palm of each hand. Ebenezer eyed them but a moment. Then he came forward and nimbly helped himself. Little Bub, however, danced away, snorting. Joel made no move to follow. He stood very still, waiting. The little colt snorted again, as if daring Joel to come a step closer. Then curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he could hear Ebenezer crunching the apple, and he could smell its sweetness. His feet moved nearer, one tiny hoof, then another.

  At last the quick breath on Joel’s hand, and the funny little whiskers tickling his fingers. Then Bub lifted the apple, and in that moment boy and colt were friends.

  Joel’s heart seemed to catch in his throat. “I wish ’twas you that was coming along,” he said softly. “Ebenezer—well, he’s nice enough; but you and me, we could grow big together!” r />
  Joel and Little Bub were so lost in a delightful world of their own that they both shied as Master Morgan and Farmer Beane approached.

  Stepping quietly and carefully, the schoolmaster now walked up to Ebenezer. With the farmer’s help he eased a halter over the big colt’s head and fastened a short rope to it. Then he turned to Joel.

  “Here, son, you take the lead rope. You can guide Ebenezer on our homeward journey. Farmer Beane was right. You’ve a way with horses, I do believe.”

  Joel’s hands made no move.

  “Say good-bye to Bub now.” The tired voice was filled with regret.

  Joel bit his lower lip to stop its trembling. Without a word he faced away from Little Bub. He took the lead rope in his clenched fist and led Ebenezer through the gate. His footsteps faltered and his small, resolute chin seemed to say, “I could take care of Bub, too. I could.”

  As soon as Joel and Ebenezer were on the other side of the fence, the schoolmaster blocked the open gate so that Little Bub could not escape. He turned now to shake hands with the farmer. “I know you’ve done the best you could about the debt, Abner.”

  “And I’m obliged to you for crossing it off, Justin. ’Twas extraordinary nice of you to put it in writing. I always did say you was the most elegant writer in the state of Massachusetts.”

  Now the good-byes were said, and there was no delaying any longer. The boy slid his fingers through Ebenezer’s halter strap and headed him northward. The sun was pointing thin fingers of gold above the horizon.

  “Good-bye, Little Bub,” Joel’s lips said. He cast a troubled glance backward, and suddenly his heart began hammering wildly. Farmer Beane had not closed the gate! He was actually standing aside, letting the colt push past him.

  “Hey, Justin!” cried the farmer. “The little one—he wants to tag along. Better take him for the lad.”