The Black Stallion: Chapters 1–3

The tramp steamer Drake plowed away from the coast of India and pushed its blunt prow into the Arabian Sea, homeward bound.

Its hold was loaded with coffee, rice, tea, oil seeds and jute.

The captain and crew were kind to Alec, but the days passed monotonously for the homeward-bound boy as the Drake steamed its way through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea.

The Drake kept near the coast of Arabia—endless miles of barren desert shore.

His mane was like a crest, mounting, then falling low.

Two ropes led from the halter on the horse’s head, and four men were attempting to pull the stallion toward the gangplank.

He gave his orders tersely in Arabic.

Alec saw Captain Watson waving his arms frantically, motioning and shouting for the men to pull the stallion toward the stern.

Now he saw the makeshift stall into which they were attempting to get the Black—it had once been a good-sized cabin.

The Drake had little accommodation for transporting animals; its hold was already heavily laden with cargo.

One of the men clambered to the top of the cabin, reached down and pulled the scarf away from the stallion’s eyes.

Alec gazed back at the port, watching the group gathered around the inert form of the Arab who had gone down under the Black’s mighty hoofs; then he turned to the stall.

The ship resounded far into the night from the blows struck by those powerful legs.

Alec wondered why the Black was being shipped to England—perhaps for stud, perhaps to race. The slanting shoulders, the deep broad chest, the powerful legs, the knees not too high nor too low—these, his uncle had taught him, were marks of speed and endurance.

That night Alec made his customary trip to the stall, his pockets filled with lumps of sugar.

Alec felt elated—it was the first time that the stallion hadn’t drawn back into the stall at sight of him.

The Drake lurched crazily and he was thrown onto the floor.

He opened the door and made his way, staggering, to the deck.

Hysterical passengers crowded into the corridor. Alec was genuinely scared now; never had he seen a storm like this!

For what seemed hours, the Drake plowed through wave after wave, trembling, careening on its side, yet somehow managing to stay afloat.

The storm began to subside a little and Alec felt new hope.

The second lifeboat was being filled and Alec waited his turn. But when it came, the boat had reached its quota.

After a few minutes, the rope became taut again.

Alec again saw that small Arabian port and the crowd gathered around the prone figure of the Arab whom the Black had struck.

It seemed that he would never get enough; he doused his head, and let the water run down his back.

Only the vast expanse of blue water spread before him.

Below he saw the Black cantering along the beach.

He turned again to the berries, but they were fast diminishing.

Alec hurried to his shelter and stood still watching intently.

He had found food—food to sustain him and the Black!