“She is going to be an uncommonly easy subject, I predict,” he announced.
“But who’d have patience for such slow getting on?” Chet scornfully asked.
“I should imagine a little time apparently wasted in the beginning less loss than a fine horse ruined in the end,” the old man quietly answered.
When he let the young mare go that time she seemed slow to leave him, though he had brushed her even to her heels. The next time he handled her with greater freedom, brushing and talking and finally showing her a little sack of straw. She eyed it a while, smelled it, and then seemed not to care for it.
The man now began to rub her with this, gradually increasing the noise it made. Of course, she was a little shy of this, and inclined to go away. A few gentle touches of the brush reassured her. Then he put a halter on her. She had often worn one before. After this he applied the straw again, stopping every little while to brush and smooth her. In a little time she paid no attention either to the noise or the touch of the sack.
The next day he gave her four lessons of similar character. Later he rattled tin cans and the like about her from head to heels, and had small boys blow tin horns in all directions. Topsy told me afterwards that so long as she could hear that man’s voice or feel his touch, she was not afraid of anything.
Afterward he gradually introduced the bridle and harness. Like all horses, she objected to the bit, and I fancy people would make more fuss than we do, if they had to wear it. It was the first night that Topsy was at the livery barn after her “breaking,” and she was saying she minded the bit worst of all. An old horse replied that well she might hate it.
“For years,” she said, “my tongue has been in a measure paralyzed. It always hangs out of my mouth when the bit is in, and I can’t help it. Sometimes it is more helpless than others and I almost starve. I get better at times where some one owns me who puts a bit in my mouth that don’t hurt; but I am getting used up anyway, and change hands often, and the majority of bits makes the trouble worse.”
“I was once troubled that way,” spoke up another horse, “and my master kept changing bits until he got one that was all right and then I got over it.”
“I, too, had a paralyzed tongue,” said another, “but it was not the bit, it was genuine paralysis—might have been caused by that in the first place, though I never thought of it. Anyway they applied electricity to the nerves and gave me some medicine three times a day—‘strychnia,’ they called it, one-hundredth of a grain at a dose. I soon got well.”
“My tongue was all torn to pieces once with a frosty bit,” put in another. “And how I did suffer! No one noticed it until it was all ulcerated, and I could not eat and scarcely drink. My master was one of those careless fellows who never examines his horse, and seems to forget that, however much they suffer, they can’t speak for themselves. He did not know what to do for me and so sent for a neighbor, who told him to use alum wash until the ulcers were all gone, and leave the bit out until my mouth got well, meanwhile feeding me soft food.”
And still another spoke of her teeth becoming long and rough, and lacerating her tongue badly. She said they filed the teeth and wet her tongue and mouth with a lotion made of calendula and water.
Topsy was a beauty in harness, and Chet was proud of her in his way, but from the first I feared hers would be a hard life, but my darkest forebodings came short of the dread reality. Among other experiences that winter was one in horseshoeing. Master had been exceedingly particular always about my feet, but Herman was like a majority of other men; knew nothing of the business himself and trusted entirely to the smith, who chanced to be a new one.
I had often heard Master and the good blacksmith in the old home denounce the fashion of trimming the frog and thinning the sole until it yielded to the pressure of the thumb, and that was just what this smith did. And then he put on great, heavy shoes, driving in spikes rather than nails. I admit that I kicked and plunged, but it was all wrong, and I knew it; then the last spike went through into the foot. This made me rear and plunge worse than ever, and the blacksmith struck me with the hammer.
“See here, Dr. Dick Wallace won’t stand that,” cried Herman. “He allows no man to strike Dandy.”
“Don’t reckon he’s better than other horses,” he answered.
“Folks might differ on that,” said Herman.
Well, I got out of there at last, but my foot hurt intolerably, and I limped. Herman spoke of it to Dr. Fred, but the latter was in one of his gruff moods, and only answered: “It most always lames ’em at first.”
That night a man came for a doctor in great haste; some one had taken poison by mistake. Dandy was ordered. If I could have spoken, how soon I would have convinced Herman that, with that terrible torture in my foot, I could not go, but I could only mutely look at him, and he, half asleep, paid no attention. It was a good many miles we went, and the doctor drove like mad. It seemed to me that running through fire would have been easy compared with the pain in my foot, aggravated by the ceaseless concussion of the hard roads.
With a blanket thrown over me, I was left tied in a shed. How I longed to lie down on something! All I could do was to hold up that leg. The pains extended clear into my shoulders, and the cords of my neck were growing stiff.
After a long time, a man came out and unhitched me from the road cart. The moment I was free I lay down. Directly the man ran and brought Dr. Fred. They bade me get up, and, rather than to disobey, I tried it, but the moment I threw any weight on that foot had to immediately lay down again. Presently the man noticed me holding that foot, and asked if I was not newly shod. Then Dr. Fred remembered.
“Well, Dandy,” he said, “we must get home. Try it once more.” I got on my feet, but had to hold that one up for awhile. Gradually I compelled myself to put it down, for I knew we must go, as he had said. That was long years ago, but even now I can feel some of the agony of that slow journey.
He went with Herman and me to the shop, and fiercely ordered that shoe removed. The smith was not nearly so independent then. When the doctor saw the heavy thing he raved more than ever.
“Do you put such shoes as those on a horse like this?” he cried. The result was that all the shoes came off, and I was put in my stall till my feet got well.
“An ounce at the toe means a pound at the withers,” quoted the old stable man. “And there’s truth in it; glad the doctor had sense enough to refuse them.”
It was four weeks before I could be shod again, and in the meantime I had a very sore foot. They gave me aconite to keep down my fever, and used arnica on my foot after paring away the horn and poulticing until suppuration ceased. My one thought was: “Will Master never come home?”
And so the winter and spring passed. “Several months,” I thought as much! My experience was pretty much the same right through, but I felt years older when once again I rested my head on my beloved Master’s shoulder.
There was a new stable boy when he came back; Paddy, they called him. Dr. Fred and Herman had quarreled some time before. There was a new span of horses, too; John and Jean. The old stable man privately told Master of some of my hardships, and with tears in his eyes, the latter whispered: “Forgive me, Dandy.”
VI
Racehorses
19
The Great Match Race between Eclipse and Sir Henry
by An Old Turfman
Working horses made up the great majority of the three million or so horses who lived in the United States during the first half of the nineteenth century. But the relatively small number of sporting horses drew a disproportionate amount of attention and money. Horse racing, for both sporting and gambling purposes, was almost universally popular. The sport found itself standing in for the regional conflict between North and South several times during the decades leading up to the Civil War, never more so than in the Great Match Race of 1823.
This is how the match was proposed by newspaper advertisements to horsemen North and South during the early months of 1823:
Great match race . . . over the Union Course, Long Island, May 27th, 1823. Heats four miles, for $20,000. The Southern gentlemen to be allowed to name their horse at the starting post.
A writer who described himself as “An Old Turfman,” actually Cadwallader R. Colden, manager of the Union Course itself, told the story of the race a few years later.
Doubts were entertained by some of the New York sportsmen to the last moment whether this great match would be contested by the Virginia gentlemen. They, it was perfectly understood, had left Virginia, with five horses, selected from the best racers which North Carolina and Virginia could boast of, and proceeded to the estate of Mr. Bela Badger, adjacent to Bristol, in Pennsylvania, distant from the Union Course, about ninety miles, where, having a fine course upon which to exercise and try their horses, they had made a halt.
The horses selected for this great occasion, as also to contend for the three purse races to be run for, on the three days subsequent to the match, heats of four, three, and two miles, were Betsey Richards, five years old; her full brother, John Richards, four years; Sir Henry, four years; Flying Childers, five years; all by Sir Archy; and Washington, four years old, by Timoleon, a son of Sir Archy. With one of the three first named, it was the intention of Mr. William R. Johnston to run the match. Of these, at the time he left home, John Richards was his favorite; his next choice was Sir Henry, and thirdly, the mare; although some of the Southern gentlemen (and amongst others Gen. Wynn) gave their opinion in favor of running the mare, fearing lest Henry might get frightened by so large a crowd of people and swerve from the track.
Unfortunately for the Virginians, their favorite, John Richards, in a trial race, while at Mr. Badger’s, met with an accident, by receiving a cut in the heel or frog of one of his forefeet, which rendered it necessary to throw him out of train; Washington also fell amiss, and he and Richards were left behind at Mr. Badger’s. With the other three the Southern sportsmen proceeded to the Union Course, where they arrived five or six days previous to that fixed upon for the match.
The ill-fortune which befell the Virginians by laming their best horse in the onset seemed to pursue them, for scarcely had they arrived at Long Island and become fixed in their new quarters, when Mr. Johnston, the principal on their part, upon whose management and attention their success in a great measure depended, was seized with indisposition, so sudden and violent, as to confine him not only to his room, but to his bed, which he was unable to leave on the day of the race. Thus the Southrons, deprived of their leader, whose skill and judgment, whether in the way of stable preparation, or generalship in the field, could be supplied by none other, had to face their opponents under circumstances thus far disadvantageous and discouraging. Notwithstanding these unexpected and untoward events, they met the coming contest manfully, having full and unimpaired confidence in their two remaining horses, Sir Henry and Betsey Richards, and backed their opinion to the moment of starting.
At length the rising sun gave promise that the eventful day would prove fine and unclouded. I was in the field at the peep of dawn and observed that the Southern horse and mare, led by Harry Curtis in their walk, were both plated, treated alike, and both in readiness for the approaching contest. It was yet unknown to the Northern sportsmen which was to be their competitor.
The road from New York to the course, a distance of eight miles, was covered by horsemen and a triple line of carriages in an unbroken chain, from the dawn of day until one o’clock, the appointed hour of starting. The stands on the ground for the reception of spectators were crowded to excess at an early hour, and the club house, and balcony extending along its whole front, was filled by ladies; the whole track, or nearly so, for a mile distance in circuit, was lined on the inside by carriages and horsemen, and the throng of pedestrians surpassed all belief—not less than sixty thousand spectators were computed to be in the field.
About half past twelve o’clock Sir Henry made his appearance on the course as the champion of the South and was soon confronted by his antagonist. I shall now endeavor to give a brief description of these noted racers. Sir Henry is a dark sorrel or chestnut color, with one hind foot white, and a small star in the forehead; his mane and tail about two shades lighter than that of his body; he has been represented as being fifteen hands and one inch high, but having taken his measure, his exact height is only fourteen hands three and a half inches. His form is compact, bordering upon what is termed pony-built, with a good shoulder, fine clean head, and all those points which constitute a fine forehand; his barrel is strong, and well ribbed up towards the hip; waist rather short; chinbone strong, rising or arched a little over the loin, indicative of ability to carry weight; sway short; the loin full and strong; haunches strong and well let down; hindquarters somewhat high and sloping off from the coupling to the croup; thighs full and muscular, without being fleshy; hocks, or houghs, strong, wide, and pretty well let down; legs remarkably fine, with a full proportion of bone; back sinew, or Achilles tendon, large, and well detached from the canon bone; stands firm, clear, and even, moves remarkably well, with his feet in line; possesses great action and muscular power, and although rather under size, the exquisite symmetry of his form indicates uncommon strength and hardihood. He was bred by Mr. Lemuel Long, near Halifax, in the state of North Carolina, and foaled on the 17th day of June, 1819. He was sired by Sir Archy (son of imported chestnut Diomed), his dam by Diomed, . . .
Eclipse is a dark sorrel horse with a star, the near hind foot white, said to be fifteen hands three inches in height, but in fact measures, by the standard, only fifteen hands and two inches. He possesses great power and substance, being well spread and full made throughout his whole frame, his general mould being much heavier than what is commonly met with in the thoroughbred blood-horse; he is, however, right in the cardinal points, very deep in the girth, with a good length of waist; loin wide and strong; shoulder by no means fine, being somewhat thick and heavy, yet strong and deep; breast wide, and apparently too full, and too much spread for a horse of great speed; arms long, strong, and muscular; head by no means fine; neck somewhat defective, the junction with the head having an awkward appearance, and too fleshy, and bagging too much upon the underside, near the throttle; his forelegs, from the knee downwards, are short and strong, with a large share of bone and sinew; upon the whole his forehand is too heavy.
To counterbalance this, his hindquarters are as near perfection as it is possible to imagine. From the hooks, or hip bone, to the extremity of the hindquarter, including the whole sweep from the hip to the hough, he has not an equal; with long and full muscular thighs, let down almost to the houghs, which are also particularly long, and well let down upon the cannon bone; legs short, with large bone and strong tendon, well detached, upon which he stands clear and even. Although his form throughout denotes uncommon strength, yet to the extraordinary fine construction of his hindquarters, I conceive him indebted for his great racing powers, continuance, and ability, equal to any weight. I have closely observed him in his gallops; if he has a fault, it is that of falling a little too heavy on his forefeet, and dwelling a little too long on the ground; but then the style and regularity with which he brings up his haunches, and throws his gaskins forward, overbalance other defects.
He was sired by Duroc, a Virginia horse, bred by Wade Moseby, Esq., and got by imported chestnut Diomed, out of Amanda, by Grey Diomed, a son of old Medley. His (Eclipse’s) dam was the noted gray mare Miller’s Damsel, got by imported Messenger. He was bred by Gen. Nathaniel Coles, of Queens County, Long Island, and foaled on the 25th of May, 1814.
All horses date their age from the 1st of May. Thus a horse foaled any time in the year 1819, would be considered four years old on the 1st day of May, 1828. Consequently, Sir Henry, although not four years old complete until the 17th day of June, had, on the 27th of May, t
o carry the regulated weight (agreeably to the then rules of the course) for a four year old, viz. 108 pounds. Eclipse, being nine years old, carried weight for an aged horse, 126 pounds.
At length the appointed hour arrived, the word was given to saddle, and immediately afterwards to mount. Eclipse was rode by William Crafts, dressed in a crimson jacket and cap, and Sir Henry by a Virginia boy, of the name of John Walden, dressed in a sky blue jacket, with cap of the same color. The custom on the Union Course is to run to the left about, or with the left hand next to the poles; Eclipse, by lot, had the left, or inside station at the start. Sir Henry took his ground about twenty-five feet wide of him, to the right, with the evident intention of making a run in a straight line for the lead. The preconcerted signal was a single tap of the drum. All was now breathless anxiety; the horses came up evenly; the eventful signal was heard, they went off handsomely together; Henry, apparently quickest, made play from the score, obtained the lead, and then took a hard pull. By the time they had gone the first quarter of a mile, which brought them round the first turn, to the commencement of what is termed the back side of the course, which is a straight run, comprising the second quarter of a mile, he was full three lengths ahead; this distance he with little variation maintained, running steadily with a hard pull during the first, second, third, and for about three-fourths of the fourth round or mile, the pace, all this time, a killing one.
It may be proper to note that the course is nearly an oval of one mile, with this small variation, that the back and front are straight lines of about a quarter of a mile each, connected at each extremity by semicircles of also a quarter of a mile each. When the horses were going the last round, being myself well mounted, I took my station at the commencement of the stretch or last quarter, where I expected a violent exertion would be made at this last straight run in, when they left the straight part on the back of the course and entered upon the last turn.
Great American Horse Stories Page 19
