Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 August 1877 — BLACK EAGLE’S LAST BACE. [ARTICLE]

BLACK EAGLE’S LAST BACE.

“ When Mars Dick—dat’s your uncle, chilyun—went off lo Europe, I heah’d -him a-sayin’ fa’well to yur firder. ‘You’ve got do ’heritancc yet, Robert,’ he Bays —‘you’ve got do house an’de lan.’ I’se de prodigal son. I’se lef myself only an empty pocket an’ dese two ole salivants. Will yur gib ’em shelter till day dies, in ’membrance ob ole times ?’ Dem sahvants war dat hoss in de stall yonder—dat great racer, Black Eagle, an’— me.” And the speaker gave emphasis to his remark by a lordly wave of his hand over his skinny little figure, as he sat perched on the top of a barrel. “■Yis, sab! Dat war jes’ like yer Uncle Dick —allers free-handed —gibin’ to de right han’ an’ de lef’ de mos’ valooblest Tings he owned! Dah he is now, in dem far-off lan’s a-dinin’ wid Kings, an’ a-waltzin’ wid Princesses—de Furlongs allers kep’ de best ob company—an neber nigger ob his own to black his shoes. How’s dey to know lie’s de owner ob dat freat hoss, Black Eagle, sah, or obme? ’ur fader, he's got us. He allers had de pick an’ de choose, Mars Robert did.” The Furlong boys did not relish this everlasting grumbling of old Point. They had a pretty clear idea of the true story of Uncle Dick. Boys always do catch glimpses of the family skeletons, no matter how tightly the closet doors are locked. They suspected that it was on racers like Black Eagle that “-Mars Dick” had squandered his property, and that now, in his old age, he did not spend much of his time in dining with the crowned heads pf Europe. But their father, whenever he appeared in the stable-yard, did not allow them to argue with the old man, - no matter how cranky he was. “He was faithfnl to your Uncle Dick, to the lajt,” he would say. “ Poor Dick!” And—stroking the old black horse tenderly—” I wonder if you remember your old master, old fellow?” And always when he went away, he would give orders to Sanders, the man of all work, to “ take especial care of that horse.” Sanders, who was a crabbed, but order- *• ly Scotchman, when behind liis master’s hack would often call Black Eagle‘‘old carrion,” and threaten to “ take him out some flue day and shoot him;” whereat Point would rouse from his doze on the barrel, stuttering with rage. “ De boss understand you, sah, but he can’t answer you! Talk to me, sah! Es Mars Dick on’y knowed how his ole age was being made misabul by dese poor white tiash I” To which Sanders only replied by declaring tnat he “ couldn’t keep the barnyard tidy as long as Mr. Furlong cluttered it up with the carcasses of beasts and old *men.”

So the squabble went on from day to day. I suspect both the old men enjoyed it at heart, though Point insisted that the horse was made wretched by it. “ Dat hoss, childun, neber ’sociated wid sech white trash befoh. He’s kep’ mighty fine oompany in his day. He belong to an English Prince when he’s a colt; an’ when Mars Dick buyed him, and bringed him ober, all de papers in de lan’ war tellin’ de news. I mind de fus’ time he run on de Metairie Course. All do bess gemplun ob de Sous war dar to see him; an’ dey war all his frien’s. Yes, sah! an’ when he run agin dat great,crack horse in de Norf, all de whole Sous beton Black Eagle. Now he hears dis missabul ole rat-catcher call him ‘ carrion!’ I tell yuh, childun, his heart is broke!” Indeed, the boys, too, fancied that the poor old horse followed Sanders with his eves, as a man might, when his vulgar abuse wss loudest. “ I spect he feels pretty much as that lion in the story did when the ass kicked him,” Joe Furlong said. Whether the horse understood or not, there could be no doubt that, old skeleton as he was, there was a real pride and intelligence in his eyes. They were certainly different from the eyes of any other animal the boys had ever knoyn. Dick, who had just put on his first trousers, chose to make Black Eagle his principal companion. He almost lived in the horse’s stall. He could take any liberties with the old racer, who would scarcelj allow Point to touch him—crawling even over his back, sliding down by his tail, and leading him, on warm after-, noons, out to the sunny meadow back of the stable, for a trot. Often the bony old beast and dirty, chubby Dick, would be found lying there together upon the grass, fast asleep. Point was delighted with the boy because of his friendship for the horse. “He am got de right name! He’s got his uncle’s blood. He knows de hosses, and de hosses knows him, at fus’ sight!” But Dick, unfortunately, was not an influential friend. Mr. Furlong left the affairs of the stable to Sanders, who moved Black Eagle from one stall to another, to make room for the new mare, or, as Point said, “dem low-bred Canadian ponies,” until bis place was next the door, in a draughty, damp stall. Many a time, too, his mpply of oats was but scanty, Dick brought out many a lump of sugar to his friend, but he fancied that, as winter came on, his eye grew duller, and that he paid little heed to him. Dick was sure that the mare, and the cow, and every other ordinary brute about the premises, showed their contempt for the horse, and that he felt it It was Point, of course, ‘ who gave the idea to the boy. “ Look at that duck, now, a-quackln’ ’bout his heels, bitin’ ob ’em! She's tellin’ him he isn’t worf he’s salt. De dogs wallops deir fails in his face. Dey hears Sanders talk, yuh see. Oh, dey’s mighty cute, 1 tell yuh! Dat are donkey now’s laughin’ an’ brayin’ alongside ob him! G’lang wid yuh!” with a whack of his stick across the mule’s lego. ” You’ve §ot to know yonr betters! You’re nuffln ut a niggsh ob a brute, anyhow!” . But Black Eagle stood in his exposed stall, day after day, with drooped head and dimmed eye. He ate little. His wrinkled skin grew feverish. At times he chafed feebly against the bars, striving to see outside of the stable to the open field beyond. It needed but little fancy to suppose that the old racer knew that' death was dear, and longed for a breath of freedom. “ What he wants Is to be on de course once more, fbh he dies,” said Point. ” Neber wur a hoes dat had de speerit dat

horse hab, aahl I mind when he walkde course alone at New Orleans. I held him by de rein, an’ walk roan’ wid him, bery slow. I wur in full ihine myself dat day —ecarlet cap an’ jacket—l tell you. An’ de bands a-playin', de 'people shoutin’ an’ de ladies a-wavin’ dar ban’s, all fob Black Eaglet An’ his head war up, an’ he sets his foot down soft, like a lady, his bright eyes goin’ from dis side to dat. Lor, sah, he Itnowed, jes’ as well as a min “ An’ de race he won next year—l neber tole you, did IT He cut his fetlock at de start, an’ one foot hnng helpless; but he went on, neber mindin’, an’ he come In to ae stand like a flash ob ltghtntn’!—his speerit was so up, yuh see—an’ den be fell down flat; an* dar war de tracks ob blood clar roun’ de course. “He ’members dese tings now. sah, when de donkey, and Sanders, and de oder beasts is castiL’ contempt at him.” Owing, perhaps, to these discourses of Point’s, it came to be a settled thing in Dick’s mind, that he and Black Eagle ought to cut all leading-strings, and together go out into the world. So, one bleak December day, when the sides of the stable were sheeted with dripping ice, and the snow lay banked up in the corners of the yard, finding the coast clear, Dick managed to put the hridle on the old horse. He led him out of the gate and mounted him.

Black Eagle turned a look of grave inquiry toward the fat little monkey perched upon his back, and then walked slowly and cautiously down the hill. But inis did not suit Master Dick. He tugged at the reins, shouted, and, finally, breaking a branch from a thorn-bush that was near at hand, he laid it on to the poor old hide. The horse quickened his pace, looking back as if he was amused at the boy. Finally, be "broke into a slow trot. Dick yelled with delight. Sticking like a burr to Black Eagle’s bony old back, be thumped, kicked and struck him with the stick; but Black Eagle would not move a leg the faster. He jogged on slowly as any obstinate donkey. He knew what was good lor Dick quite as well as did the housekeeper, who was now searching the house for the young rogue. Dick continued his journey for at least an hour. He was then about five miles from home, In a lonely road which wound up the South Mountain. His ride had given him an appetite; he was really feeling Lungry. Looking around, he caught sight of some bushes such as he had found chinquapins on a few months before. The snow did not look very promising for chinquapins, nor was he quite sure it was the season for them; but he thought it might be worth while to look at those bushes more closely. So he slid off the horse—easily enough —but the trouble was, that he could not stop sliding. The ground was covered with ice and drifted snow. On the right, the hill rose, thickly wooded. Upon the left was a perpendicular precipice of fifty feet, with a creek at the bottom, which was covered with thin ice. The bushes grew along the edge of this precipice, niding it from view. It was to them that poor little Dick had turned. The horse stood were the child had left him, as (Bough he had tjie ague, and thinking, no doubt, that even the cold stable was a comfortable place compared with this bleak hillside. Suddenly, he heard a crash among the frozen bushes, and a cry. Then he looked about him, and saw that Dick was gone. Cautiously testing the ground at each step, the old horse approached the edge of the precioice and looked over. There was Dick’s fat face a lew feet below him, turned up, a very white little face just then. The child had fallen over the edge of the ravine into the thick bushes that stood below. The brittle stems had bent beneath his weight. It seemed as if they could not support him many minutes. Below was a sheer descent into the frozen creek. Black Eagle, with his fore feet planted on the edge of the cliff, tried to reach Dick with his teeth. The old fellow stretched his neck to the utmost, but could not reach the boy by at least three feet. He tried again, and Dick stretched up his hands to grasp his mane as it hung down, but could not reach it. Then the old racer turned and seemed to measure with his eyes the distance between him and home. He looked at Dick, telling him—in his way, i have no doubt —to hold on until he could come back, and the next moment, the boy heard the beat of his hoofs on the rough, snowfrozen road. Dick called wildly aftor him, but as he raised his head, the slight motion made his brittle bed .'rack and sink beneath him. For the first few rods, Black Eagle’s gait was a careful one. Then, when he reached better ground, it was quickened; but the old horse puffed in a few minutes like a cart-horse forced into a run. It was bitter cold. The solitary mountains, the great gray snow-clouds, the dreadful silence cf the woods, were so different from the stable, that ho was dazed. But his senses soon cauie to him. It really seemed as if he understood it all. There was Dick, whom he loved better than anybody else living, in deadly peril. He would die unless he could bring help.

Black Eagle looked down the long slope of the road. There was at the moment not a living creature on it. His eye began to kindle. I tbink he remembered then some race that he had run long ago —the stroke of the bell as he started, the terrible strain, the flashing by of the massed faces, the shouts, the triumph! The dHTHSErow trembled -, hisears pricked up; the strength of old time ran like flame through his veins, and, after one or two staggering bounds, he was off! Down the road, through the snow-cov-ered swamp, across the wooden bridge, into the highway again, with that long, loping stride which bad brought him m winner against the swiftest horses in the country. Bat he is old now. It was but the vigor of a dream, which might fail at any moment. He was but a poor, dying brute, running a race against death, aud, in some dull way, he knew it. He passed through the village, his tread falling noiselessly on the deep snow. The windows of the houses were closed, and the smoke arose from the slaked fires drowsily into ti e cold gray sky. It would be of no uso to stop tnere; those people would not understand, at least not for a long time, and the loss of a minute might cost Dick’s life. ' One or two men who were closing their barns for the night, saw him pass like a flying shadow. A traveler, out on the road, jogging into the village, saw, as he fancied, a black horse flit by him, its feet scarcely touching the ground. Its strides wore gigantic. Its ears lay back on its neck, the foam flew from Its lips, its eyes blazed. ” It might be the ghost of Black Eagle,” said the traveler, who had seen that great racer in his youth. At Dick’s own home there was by this time a dreadful outcry and search for the lost boy. His-father, brother, everybody, were out hunting for him. Even old Sanders had forgotten to scold, and with shaking hands, was sounding the well, down which he insisted that Dick had fallen. Mr. Fnrlongcame into the yard. " Baddie the mare,” said he, hying to speak calmly. “ I will ride to the village. He may have wandered over there.” The yard was full of people, old Point standing at the gate, when a thundering clatter resounded from the stone pavement without. The next instant Black Eagle stood among them, flecked with foam, his nostrils red with blood, his eyes vainly striving to speak. There was a breathless pause. Then Point yelled:

“ De Lord He’s put de bref of life back into dehorn! He knowa wbah Dick lei” With one bound Point threw himself on to Black ‘Eagle’s back, aid, with the old fellow clinging to hiqt like a cat, the horse darted back down the road he had come. They were speedily followed by Mr. Furlong and everybody who could find anything to ride. Point reached the boy lust in time to save him. The bushes had given way and broken steadily during the few minutes that the horse had been gone. If the desperate Journey had needed but a short time longer, it would have been too late. The old courser had indeed raced against death, and won. Black Eagle is living yet. If you go into that part of Virginia you will be sure to hear of him, and of the sumptuous stable which Mr. Furlong has since built for him. He lives there royally, with Point and Dick as his Prime Ministers — the one creature on the farm which everybody delights to honor. Every stranger that comes to the country-side is brought to see him, and Sanders and Point tell the story of his wonderful ride, and of hid former triumph, each of the old men trying to outdo the other, until the history has grown almost too large for belief. However, we have received the facts, and give them to you as Dick himself tells them.— Youth's Companion.