by Alison Hart
I swung my head back around. The rider spurred his horse toward me, but I pinned my ears. Flipping his whip off the saddle horn, he uncoiled it. “Get your horse out of my way,” he growled to Papa. “I aim to find out who you're hiding.”
Papa stepped between us. “Coil your whip. It's my daughter,” he said quickly, pulling Katie protectively against him.
The tall man scowled as he rolled up his whip.
The smaller man said, “If you help us, Mr. Landry, there's a mighty nice reward.”
“I know of the reward,” Papa replied. “But I know nothing about runaway slaves. Even if I did, I wouldn't give them up to you.”
“Courageous words from a poor dirt farmer with a runt of a horse,” the taller man scoffed.
I did not know runt, but from the tone of his voice, I knew it was not kind. I swished my tail. I did not like how these slave hunters talked and treated their horses.
“My Morgan's worth four of your horses,” Papa said angrily. “Not only is he stronger, but he's faster.”
The two men burst out laughing. “Faster than our Thoroughbreds? I doubt those boastful words.”
“Now kindly ride off my poor farm,” Papa said. “If you do not, I'll have the sheriff arrest you for trespassing.”
The tall man pointed the handle of his whip at Papa. “We'll catch those slaves without your help,” he declared. Reining their horses around, the two men cantered across our newly plowed field, leaving deep gashes in the dirt.
Papa's face reddened. Katie flung her arms around his waist. “You were so brave, Papa!” Then she hugged me, too. “Imagine calling you a runt, Star. Papa's right—you could beat their horses in a race any day!”
I stamped my feet, ready to gallop, but the trace chains banged against my sides. Looking at the hoofprints dug into the field, I knew there would be no racing today. Only more plowing.
“Gather the basket and bucket, Katie,” Papa said. “We have work to finish.”
“Yes, Papa.” Katie fed me the last hoe-cake. As I munched, I thought about Eliza and the slave catchers and I knew Katie was right. We had to keep our promise.
That night, my legs ached from dragging the plow. My sides ached from straining against the harness. I chewed my hay slowly, almost too tired to eat.
It was late and the barn was dark. Katie and Papa had long ago gone into the house. Bell was tuckered from pulling Mama and a load of syrup to town. Patsy was outside in the paddock, grazing. The chickens roosted on the lid of the corn bin.
My eyelids fluttered shut. I dreamed I was galloping through a meadow of flowers. Blue jays flew beside me, leading the way to wherever I wanted. Katie clung to my mane, laughing.
I heard rustling coming from outside, and my eyes popped open. A shape darted into the barn on silent feet. Fingers lightly touched my neck. “Star, it's me,” Katie whispered. “I've come to keep my promise to Eliza.”
Sleepily, I flapped my lips. Then I heard Katie whispering to Eliza. I heard slave catchers, followed by a sharp cry from Eliza.
I shook, trying to wake up. Bell's head was hanging over her stall door. What is happening? she asked.
Tonight we take Eliza north to find her mother, I told her.
With no light to guide her, Katie bridled us both. When she led me to the barn door, I could see that daylight was far away. I peered past the farmyard to the forest. The trees rose black and thick into the sky. Will danger find us tonight? I wondered.
I stared at the forest, listening for strange sounds. I heard the whoo of an owl and the jingle of a horse's bit. My ears pricked. A jingle in the night?
Breathing deeply, I picked up the scent of the slave catchers’ horses. They were hiding in the forest, waiting. And Katie had no idea.
“We're ready, Star,” Katie whispered as she came up beside me. “Eliza is mounted on Bell. I told her we'd take her to Miss Biddle's house. Teacher will know where Eliza's mother is. She'll know what to do.”
My ears flicked. I knew what I had to do, too. The slave catchers were watching the farm. I had to lead them away from Katie, Eliza, and Bell.
Mother, take Katie and Eliza to Miss Biddle's, I called. Katie led me outside and over to the mounting stump. When she flipped the reins over my head, I butted her hard in the chest, sending her flying.
Without a backward glance, I took off into the dark night, galloping straight for the forest, the slave catchers’ horses, and danger.
A Race
I raced toward the slave catchers’ hiding place. My plan was for them to chase after me. I would lead them away from Miss Biddle's house.
There was only a sliver of moon, but still I wondered if they would see that no one was on my back or if they would fall for my trick.
I galloped into the forest, spying the two horses hidden in a thicket. With a cry of “After them!” the slave catchers took off. I heard their whips crack against their horses’ sides. I heard the clank of their spurs.
Stretching out my neck, I flew through the forest. My eyes quickly grew used to the dark. My hooves dug sure-footedly into the rocky earth. My sturdy legs leaped over logs and rocks.
The slave catchers’ horses might have been fast Thoroughbreds, but they weren't Morgans, bred for the rocky Vermont countryside. They didn't know the paths made by the deer or the lanes that twined through the maple groves. And they didn't know I'd beaten Billy Barton and Prince.
As I ran, I forgot all about the day's plowing. The cool night air blew through my mane. The loose reins slapped against my neck as I led the slave catchers higher and higher—far from the river and Miss Biddle's house.
Behind me, I heard blowing and snorting and the thudding of hooves as the slave catchers’ horses tried to keep up. But then the thudding abruptly stopped.
Puzzled, I slowed. The slave catchers had pulled up. “That horse is leading us nowhere,” the tall one said. “We need to search the farm.”
They turned their horses, spurring them hard. If they went back to the farm and woke Papa, someone would discover that Katie was gone. I needed to warn my mistress and Eliza.
I set off down the mountain, cutting through the maple grove to town. I had trotted many times past Miss Biddle's house, which was on the way to school.
Taking the short way, I arrived at Miss Biddle's. I spotted Bell standing by the front porch.
She startled when I trotted up beside her. I was breathing heavily and my neck was slippery with sweat.
What happened? she asked. We saw you run into the forest. We heard the men call, “After them!”
I will explain later. Where are Katie and Eliza?
Inside with Miss Biddle. They are taking Eliza north in Miss Biddle's carriage.
They'll never get away in time! I whinnied shrilly, and Katie ran onto the porch.
“Star! You're safe!”
How could I tell her that Eliza was not safe? How could I tell her the slave catchers were coming?
Bell understood. Together we pawed the lawn. We tossed our heads. We pranced in the direction of north and the river.
“Eliza!” Katie shouted into the house. “We must leave, now.“
Eliza and Miss Biddle ran onto the porch. “Child, what is it?” Miss Biddle asked.
“The slave catchers are after Eliza.” Grabbing Eliza's hand, Katie ran down the steps. “We have to hurry.” Katie tossed Eliza onto Bell's back. “Hold tightly to Bell's mane. We must ride fast.”
I swung beside the steps so Katie could mount. She jumped onto my back. Bell and I cantered from Miss Biddle's house down to the river. I kept looking around, watching for the slave catchers.
By the time we reached the river, dawn was breaking. We trotted upstream along the bank to a crossing. Here the water was shallow, and the bottom was rocky enough for wagons to cross.
Katie's heels nudged me into the swirling water. It felt cool on my tired legs and sweaty neck. The girls were silent as Bell and I sloshed across.
I kept my ears pricked, listening f
or sounds behind us and ahead of us. The sky was changing from black to gray. Lifting my nose, I sniffed. Horses.
Someone was riding along the bank we had just left. I broke into a trot and clambered from the water. Stopping, I stared across the river. I saw two men on horses silhouetted against the morning sky. It was the slave catchers.
North
“Star?” Katie whispered. “What is it?” Then she must have seen the slave catchers, too, because she gasped in fear.
Eliza cried out, “Don't let me be caught, miss!”
“Never.” Katie slid off my back. “Star and I promised to take you to freedom, didn't we?” Reaching up, she helped Eliza off Bell.
I heard the slave catchers shout. Had they seen us? Would there be time to get away?
Katie handed Eliza a bundle. “This lane leads north to Canada. Miss Biddle will get word to your mother to meet you.”
The two girls hugged. “Thank you, Miss Katie,” Eliza whispered. “You have been a true, brave friend.”
Tears sprang into Katie's eyes. “You are the bravest girl, Eliza. But you'll need more than bravery to get you to Canada. You'll need Star.”
Me? I'm going to Canada?
Then I heard a splash as the slave catchers’ horses plunged into the river. Katie was right. If Eliza didn't flee with me now, we would all meet danger. I glanced at Katie. Bell would make sure that Katie returned home safely. I had to make sure Eliza reached Canada safely.
Katie boosted Eliza onto my back. “Star will take care of you,” she said. As she kissed me goodbye, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Take care of Star, Eliza,” she whispered, and then, stepping back, she swatted me hard on the flank and yelled, “Run, Star!”
I bolted up the riverbank, Bell's whinny goodbye following after me, Katie's cry, “Run!” echoing in my ears.
Eliza clung to my mane as I raced up the lane, which soon turned into a steep, narrow trail. Sharp rocks hurt my hooves. Branches slapped my face.
But I couldn't stop. The slave catchers’ horses were close behind.
Flattening my ears, I pretended I was racing Prince. I pretended I was flying wildly through the meadow. I pretended I was galloping to wherever I wanted.
My legs stretched long and high as I bounded over ledges and streams and through the thick forest. How long did I gallop? How long did Eliza clutch my mane with all her might? How long before the slave catchers’ horses fell behind?
I do not know. But suddenly the only hoofbeats I heard were my own.
Stopping behind an outcropping of rock, I peered down the rough trail. My sides heaved. My breath roared in my nostrils. Eliza panted just as loudly as I.
“We lost them,” she whispered. Slowly, her fingers loosened in my mane.
I listened. Except for us, the woods were indeed quiet.
“We lost them!” Dropping onto my neck, Eliza hugged me. “Thank you, Star. You are as wonderful as your mistress. Now all we need to do is find Canada and my mama.”
Turning north, I again headed up the mountain. My hooves were chipped. My legs were tired. The forest grew thicker. The morning sun rose higher, bringing the heat and the flies. Eliza slapped, and I swatted. When I thought I couldn't take another step, the trees opened into a small clearing.
I stopped in my tracks. A cluster of cabins stood in the clearing. Smoke rose from several chimneys. A milk cow chewed hay in front of a shed. Goats bleated in a small pen. Chickens scratched in the leaves. A small plot of ground had been cleared for planting. It looked much like home.
I heard the sound of an ax blade on wood. I heard human voices.
Is this north? I wondered. Is this Canada and freedom? Is this where Eliza will be safe?
Eliza sat still and watchful on my back. Then a woman came running from one of the cabins. She held her arms wide. “Eliza!” she called over and over as she ran toward us, her bare feet catching in her long skirts. Then a man hurried from behind a tree, an ax in his hand.
“Mama! Papa!” Eliza slid off my back. She hobbled toward her mother, falling into her arms.
Her father rushed over. “Thank heaven you're safe,” he exclaimed as he, too, hugged Eliza.
“The teacher sent word you were coming,” the father said. “We hunted for you this morning when it turned light but found no trace of you. How did you ever make it here by yourself?”
“I wasn't by myself.” Pulling away from them, Eliza limped back to me. “Star was with me. He brought me all the way from Vermont.”
“Thank you, Star.” I felt their grateful pats. Eliza's father led me to the shed. I drank deeply from a water bucket. Eliza took off my bridle and helped rub me with a feed sack until I was dry and cool. Then they fed me some of their milk cow's hay, and I ate hungrily.
When I was finally full, I lifted my head. Eliza, her mother, and her father were sitting on the porch of their cabin. Their arms were around each other as they talked excitedly.
I looked around, realizing that I had found north and freedom. Yet this place called Canada was much like the farm where I lived. Except there was no fence to hold me in.
Eliza and her mama were no longer slaves. They were free. I was free, too. Free to go to the place called wherever I wanted.
I pictured the tears rolling down Katie's cheeks when I galloped away. And suddenly I knew exactly where that place was.
Tired no longer, I trotted from the shed, across the clearing and into the forest. I found the path, and breaking into a canter, I headed toward Vermont, home, my mother, and Katie.
APPENDIX
MORE ABOUT THE
MORGAN HORSE
The First Morgan Horse
A small bay stallion named Figure is considered the first Morgan horse. Figure was foaled in Massachusetts in 1789. His sire (father) is believed to have been True Briton. When Figure was a few years old, he was traded to Justin Morgan. Morgan was a teacher and musician. He was also a horse breeder and bred Figure's dam (mother). In 1788, Morgan moved his family from Massachusetts, settling in Vermont.
Figure had an arched neck that made him look proud; a sleek, soft coat; a gentle disposition; and unusual strength for his size. Morgan rented out his horse for pulling stumps and logs. In 1795, Justin Morgan traded Figure for land. In 1796, Figure raced against the New York horses Sweepstakes and Silvertail. He defeated both, and the road where they raced is still called Morgan Mile. Figure's abilities made him a popular sire in New England. He passed on his fine qualities to his many children. All Morgan horses are related to Figure.
In 1798, Justin Morgan died. Folks began calling Figure “Justin Morgan” after his first owner. By this time, Figure had been traded or sold to several different owners. In 1817, Figure paraded through the town of Montpelier, Vermont. His rider was President James Monroe. Figure died at thirty-two years old, after he was kicked by another horse.
Morgans in History
In the 1850s, when Star tells his story, Morgan horses continued to be in demand. Folks loved them for their speed, personality, beauty, endurance, and strength. Green Mountain Morgan was a popular stallion who resembled Figure. Black Hawk, another Morgan stallion, was famous for his speed and showy gaits. New Englanders continued to want Morgan horses for daily chores. But they also sold Morgan horses to people in big cities like New York, where they were used for pulling carriages, stagecoaches, and freight wagons. They were also raced. When the West was settled, they were used as ranch horses. During the Civil War, about a thousand Morgan horses were used as cavalry mounts. The First Vermont Cavalry rode only Morgans.
The Morgan is considered America's oldest breed. In 1909, the Morgan Horse Club was formed. It started at a fair in Vermont where Morgan owners met to show off their horses. In 1971, the name was changed to the American Morgan Horse Association. Purebred Morgans are registered with the AMHA. The association keeps records of Morgans in the United States and other countries.
Morgans Today
Like Figure, today's Morgan horses have an upri
ght neck; a muscular body; smooth, stylish gaits; a gentle personality; a thick mane and tail; and a sleek coat. They are known for their wide foreheads, large eyes, and small ears. Most range in size from fourteen and a half hands to fifteen and a half hands. (A hand is four inches. A horse is measured from the ground to its withers.)
Morgan horses continue to be popular all-around horses. Families ride them on trails and in their backyards. Riders show them in Western and English classes and in endurance races and parades. They are also harnessed and driven in carriage competitions and for fun. Morgans make excellent horses for mounted police, but unlike Figure and Star, most are used for pleasure, not work.
About 107,950 living Morgan horses are registered with the American Morgan Horse Association. For a horse to be eligible, both parents must be Morgans.
MORE ABOUT VERMONT
Life in the 1850s
Life in Vermont was hard. Summer was short, winter was long, and spring brought the muddy season. Like Katie's family, most Vermonters lived on small farms. To survive, they grew crops, tended orchards, raised sheep, hunted, fished, and made maple syrup. In the 1840s, the price of wool had fallen, and many sheep farmers moved west to cheaper land. Many Vermont farmers switched to dairy cows. In 1848, Vermont's first railroad carried milk, cheese, and butter into New York and Boston. Still, many farmers, both men and women, left the land to work in factories in Vermont and Massachusetts.
Vermont and Slavery
Vermont was the first state to free its slaves after the Revolutionary War. By 1837, the state had eighty-nine antislavery groups. Folks in Vermont were active in the Underground Railroad, a network of safe houses to help slaves escaping to Canada. By 1833, Canada had outlawed slavery and did not allow slave catchers into the country.
