Man O'War

by Walter Farley

  “Perhaps so,” Mr. Riddle answered, “but that’s racing.”

  “Sure, but that’s why Jim Rowe won’t admit defeat yet, either. He’s got skill and energy, and he’ll use them both to advantage. Maybe he figures we’ve got Upset beaten, but now he’ll push harder with the other two colts. Wildair finished third to us in the Preakness, then he won the Metropolitan the other day. So now I’m sure that Rowe figures he’s ready for the Withers tomorrow. I don’t know why he’s holding John P. Grier in reserve. Some of the fellows say he’s the best colt in the Whitney stable.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Mr. Riddle said. “One colt at a time, Louis, and tomorrow Man o’ War will finish off Wildair.”

  The next afternoon Man o’ War went postward on a New York track for the first time as a three-year-old. It was a far different crowd from the one that had watched him at Pimlico. There they had been ready to accept Man o’ War as a champion and their very own, belonging to the state of Maryland, home of Glen Riddle Farm. At Belmont Park it was a more hardened, show-me crowd, one ready to accept Man o’ War as the champion of his division only if he proved it to them.

  There were horsemen in the stands who were known equally as well in Europe as in the United States, but the bulk of the spectators were working people from the city who had managed to get the afternoon off. They had come to see Man o’ War in action. They wanted to decide for themselves if he was still the wonder colt they had seen as a two-year-old. They even discounted his brilliant win in the classic Preakness the week before. Man o’ War must prove his greatness to them. The weather had cooperated. It was a sunny May 29, warm but not hot, and the track was lightning fast.

  Danny inched his way through the crowd to get a good view of the course. He pushed as hard as everyone else to get near the rail. He wanted to miss nothing, for Clarence Kummer had been told by Feustel to go to the front and stay there. This might be the day Man o’ War would show all his matchless speed!

  He watched Man o’ War and his heart swelled with pride at the very sight of him. Major Treat was accompanying the big colt to the post with Feustel himself up on the gelding. The trainer wasn’t taking any chances on Man o’ War’s breaking away from Kummer, as he had done in the Preakness post parade. Kummer had had no objection to being taken to the barrier. It seemed that he had learned his lesson.

  There were only two other colts out there with Man o’ War. Jim Rowe had saddled Wildair in hopes of stopping Man o’ War, just as he had said he would. The third colt was David Harum, who was running solely for the third-place money. All the other trainers and owners had declined to send their horses postward in the Withers, knowing they faced certain defeat. Only Jim Rowe stubbornly refused to accept Man o’ War’s supremacy.

  The Withers Stakes was raced over a mile at level weights, each horse required to carry 118 pounds. That in itself had been enough to scare away all other entries. It was the first time since his earliest starts that Man o’ War would race with such a light impost and give no weight allowances to other horses. Danny knew this would be the big colt’s day. It would be an exhibition of his great speed and not a race at all. Wildair couldn’t stay with him, no matter what Jim Rowe thought with all his years of experience!

  The trio reached the post and for a moment the crowd was silent, awaiting the break. Man o’ War was in number 2 post position. He straightened out with the others and faced the barrier. There would be no trouble today with just the three horses. The crowd held its breath. The start would come fast and soon.

  In less than a minute the barrier sprang up and the three colts came out in a perfect line. For five strides they moved together, then the yellow track was shattered by the hurtling red body of Man o’ War! Long and smooth his strides came as he bounded to the front, opening up a large gap between him and the others.

  The crowd watched him sweep into the first turn with Kummer sitting very still on his broad back. He pulled farther and farther away from Wildair, who was running hard, trying to keep up with him. He passed the quarter pole and entered the long backstretch all by himself.

  “He’s loafing,” said a man next to Danny. “And Kummer’s got such a snug hold on him his head is back to his chest. Look at it.”

  Danny knew that Kummer had a tight hold on Man o’ War, but his colt wasn’t loafing. His strides were so long and smooth that he just didn’t seem to be moving fast. But he was! All one had to do to realize that was to look back at Wildair and see how hard that colt was working.

  As if to lend added emphasis to Danny’s thoughts, a trainer with a stopwatch called the first quarter mile in the blazing time of 24 seconds flat. Man o’ War might be under a snug hold, but he wasn’t loafing at all!

  Down the long backstretch and around the far turn Kummer sat coolly on Man o’ War, his hands low on the colt’s withers and keeping a steady pull on the reins. The crowd roared for him to turn the colt loose when Man o’ War began fighting for his head. But Kummer kept the bow in the big colt’s neck, holding him to what seemed to be an easy gallop. Behind him Wildair was attaining his utmost speed in a futile attempt to catch up.

  In awed silence the spectators watched Man o’ War sweep under the finish wire. But as Kummer sought to bring him to a stop by taking a still shorter hold of the reins, the crowd roared. Man o’ War had broken away from Kummer and was speeding down the track! He was still fresh and full of run! He had fought his way into the turn before Kummer managed to bring him under control again.

  Man o’ War came back to the winner’s circle to the wildest ovation Danny had ever heard. It mounted to still greater heights when it was announced that his time had set a new American record of 1:35 ⅘ for the mile! What might he have done had he been let out? The ease with which he had won the Withers impressed the crowd more than his record-shattering time. Here was a colt without equal, perhaps the best Thoroughbred ever seen on the American turf. The ovation continued for a long, long time, and Danny knew that New York too had now accepted his colt for the great champion he was.

  It had been a big day, but it was just the beginning. It was the height of the season and now his colt would get little chance to rest between races. As great as Man o’ War was, the way would not be easy, for the public would accept no excuse for a poor showing. He had been placed on the pinnacle of racehorse fame, and he had to live up to the great expectations of the fans, regardless of his competition or the distance of the race or the weight put on his back or, simply, the way he felt. Man o’ War had found his rightful place in the sun.

  Two weeks later Man o’ War won the historic Belmont Stakes with the same ease as in his previous victories. What made the race more spectacular than the others was the distance. For the first time Man o’ War went a mile and three-eighths. He won by twenty lengths over Donnacona, the only horse sent against him. And once again it was not a contest but an exhibition of extreme speed. With Kummer holding him back as much as possible without too choking a pull, Man o’ War set a new track record of 2:14 ⅕!

  Ten days after winning the Belmont he was in the winner’s circle again, adding the Stuyvesant Handicap to his growing list of victories. He had carried 135 pounds, more weight than had ever before been placed on his back, and he had cantered home in front of the only other entry, Yellow Hand under 103 pounds, to win as he pleased.

  Danny took Man o’ War back to the barn with the cheers of the crowd still ringing in the colt’s ears. He seemed to know that the applause was for him, and he took it as his just due. He danced rather than walked, his chestnut coat barely wet and glowing in the sunshine. And his bright eyes did not denote defiance but rather a final acceptance of the cheers and adulation.

  “You’re a ham, that’s what you are,” Danny told him. “They clap for you and your eyes light up like a Christmas tree.” Or, he wondered, was Man o’ War laughing at everybody?

  The photographers and newsmen were waiting for them at the barn; there was a constant click of camera shutters as Danny pos
ed the colt for them. It didn’t take much doing, for Man o’ War seemed to have full knowledge of what was going on and he almost posed himself.

  “Why do you keep this colt under wraps?” a reporter asked Louis Feustel. “Why not let him run as he’d like to go?”

  “He’s winning, isn’t he?” the trainer growled in answer. “What more do you want? Keep him under wraps and he’ll last longer. He won’t go breaking down like most of them.”

  “One of these days he just might break the strangle hold Kummer has on him, and pour it on all by himself,” the reporter said.

  “You’ll have to wait until that day then,” Feustel answered.

  Another newsman said, “Perhaps you and Mr. Riddle feel it’s not wise to humiliate the other stables by beating their colts too many lengths. Is that it?”

  “No one likes to see high-class colts made to look like cheap racehorses,” Feustel admitted.

  “You’re scaring them off,” the reporter went on. “If you keep up this way, Mr. Riddle will have no choice but to retire him. There’ll be nothing left to race.”

  Feustel shrugged his shoulders. “That’s up to Mr. Riddle,” he said quietly.

  “I heard he was offered a million dollars for him,” the reporter said. “Will he take it?”

  Feustel laughed. “Mr. Riddle doesn’t need a million dollars,” he said. “He’s got a million dollars; lots of people have. But there’s only one Man o’ War.”

  “Jim Rowe hasn’t given up hope of beating you yet,” the reporter went on. “He’s got John P. Grier ready to go in the Dwyer next week. The talk’s going around that Grier’s the fastest colt Rowe has ever clocked at a mile.”

  Feustel smiled. “Then he’ll make a race of it,” he said.

  “Just the two of them, Man o’ War and John P. Grier,” the reporter said thoughtfully. “It should be something to see.”

  “It should,” agreed Feustel.

  John P. Grier

  24

  Before the horses stepped onto the track for the running of the Dwyer Stakes, Jim Rowe had pulled one of his tricks. Somehow he had succeeded in convincing the track handicapper that John P. Grier should carry only 108 pounds while Man o’ War was given 126. At once the stable talk began. “The Whitney colt is getting an 18-pound pull in the weights. If he’s as good as everyone thinks, he might beat Man o’ War!”

  More than 25,000 people jammed the stands at Aqueduct racecourse to see what might turn out to be one of the most famous races in American turf history. There were only the two starters, John P. Grier and Man o’ War. It hadn’t been set up as a match race but that was what it was turning out to be. All the other stables whose horses had been eligible to race in the Dwyer had been scared off by Man o’ War’s great record. Jim Rowe had brought his colt along carefully with this race in view. Under the weight arrangement he had a chance of beating Man o’ War.

  The crowd swarmed to the saddling paddock to watch the two colts. They pressed against the rail, trying to touch the horses and overhear the words of anyone who might give them a clue as to the outcome of the race.

  Danny held Man o’ War while Louis Feustel tightened the saddle girth. His gaze shifted momentarily to John P. Grier, standing quietly a few stalls away. Jim Rowe’s colt was ready to go, Danny decided. He was on his toes and looked fresh and full of run. He was put together much differently from Man o’ War, being small and compact, and looked every bit the sprinter he was. He could go a mile without a doubt. But could he hold his speed for still another furlong, the full distance of a mile and an eighth?

  Danny turned back to his colt, holding him still as Feustel tightened the girth strap. He recalled Man o’ War’s easy win over this same colt in the Belmont Futurity, the last race of his two-year-old season. He had beaten John P. Grier then over a much shorter distance than today’s race. The homestretch here at Aqueduct was a very long one. It would take a colt with great staying qualities to match strides with Man o’ War in the run for the wire. Danny didn’t believe John P. Grier could do it.

  Major Treat was led over to Man o’ War, and the big colt snorted when he saw him. Feustel would be riding the gelding to the post, accompanying Man o’ War. They were going to make sure nothing happened on the way to the barrier.

  Feustel finished his saddling and stepped over to talk to Mr. Riddle and some friends. Danny heard the trainer say, “He’s a little too nervous, a bit on edge.”

  Mr. Riddle smiled confidently. “You’ve been listening to Jim Rowe too much, Louis,” he said. “You’re a bit too uneasy yourself. He’s never looked better to me.”

  Feustel shrugged his shoulders but the concern remained in his eyes. “I’m not worried over Rowe’s challenge. Our colt’s in top physical condition, as you say. But he’s had too much going on the past few weeks, too many people around. He could do with a few days of peace and quiet.”

  “We’ll give it to him,” Mr. Riddle said, “after the race.”

  Danny’s gaze shifted back to his colt. He didn’t think Feustel had anything to worry about. Man o’ War had held up well in his workouts despite all the clamor and attention he had received. He even seemed to thrive on the adulation. Maybe he was a bit on edge, Danny admitted to himself, but that was only natural. Man o’ War knew what was to come and his eyes were bright and eager, his ears pricked.

  Clarence Kummer came across the paddock, stopping for a moment to pat Man o’ War’s head.

  Danny glanced at the jockey. “You’re not worried, are you, Clarence?” he asked. “You’ve ridden John P. Grier twice this year and won with him both times. But you know you’ve got the winner under you today, don’t you?”

  “I know it, Danny,” the jockey said. “Grier’s a fast colt, one of the fastest I’ve ever ridden. But nothing alive can beat Man o’ War, nothing.” He gave the big colt a final pat and went over to Feustel and Mr. Riddle.

  Danny felt better. It didn’t even bother him to overhear Jim Rowe telling some friends close by, “We’ll trim Man o’ War today!”

  Kummer mounted and Danny listened to Feustel’s riding instructions. “I’m a little worried about him, Clarence,” the trainer said quietly. “He’s not as tight as he might be, a little on the edgy side. So watch him. I don’t want him pushed too hard today and hurt for the races to come. Lay along with Grier all the way, and if you find you can win, don’t try to ride him out but just be satisfied with a length or two.”

  Man o’ War shifted, moving with lightning ease and swiftness. He swept around Major Treat but Danny managed to keep hold of the bridle, bringing him to a stop. The moment of the race had come. The crowd around the paddock was shouting, and there were many who were flocking back to the stands for a place to watch the drama unfold.

  Feustel mounted Major Treat and reached for Man o’ War’s bridle. His eyes, still concerned, met Danny’s, then shifted to Jim Rowe, who was still holding court beside John P. Grier. For a few seconds he listened to the other trainer’s defiant, confident words while waiting for the band music to signal the start of the parade to the post.

  Danny felt the intense excitement being held in check and Louis Feustel’s anxiety as well. Would John P. Grier really prove a worthy challenger to Man o’ War? Was this the day their colt would be tried to his utmost, driven to the wire, matched stride for stride? Was this the day the crowd had been waiting for?

  The bugle sounded, calling the horses to the post, and as its notes ended the band began playing. Feustel moved Major Treat forward and Man o’ War stepped quickly alongside. Danny followed. A few minutes from now it would be over. Everyone would have the answer to his questions.

  John P. Grier was the first out on the track, and the applause mounted when the crowd saw the small, compact horse ridden by Eddie Ambrose. A top colt, lightly weighted, and a top jockey … this was the combination to challenge the great Man o’ War!

  The champion skittered onto the track, trying to break away from his more dignified stablemate. But Major Trea
t would not be pulled very far and Louis Feustel held firmly onto Man o’ War’s bridle. They paraded before the stands, and the eyes of all closely examined the two colts.

  Many in the great stands had come to the course only to see Man o’ War. But as they watched John P. Grier move smoothly, confidently postward their interest heightened, and they too were caught in the flurry of excitement over the prospects of his matching strides with the champion. Was this to be a real race, as Jim Rowe had proclaimed in all the newspapers? They recalled he had beaten Man o’ War with Upset last season. Might he not do it again with John P. Grier? There was always a moment of weakness even in the greatest of champions. Who knew? Perhaps this race might be the finest ever run on American turf. And some of the spectators, loving a challenger in any sport, cried, “Get him, Grier! Get him!”

  The two colts finished their parade past the stands and went around the first turn to the other side of the track, where a long chute entered the backstretch. The barrier awaited them at the far end of it.

  They would race down the chute for a furlong before entering the track’s backstretch, then continue down the long straightaway to the only turn they would have to negotiate. After rounding the turn they would have the long, grueling homestretch ahead of them to the finish wire.

  Danny liked this inverted U-shaped course for his colt. Man o’ War’s huge, ground-eating strides were meant for the two long straightaways he would have to run. The only trouble he might have would be in rounding the sharp turn. He would be going awfully fast by the time he reached it, and his momentum might carry him wide. But he wouldn’t lose enough lengths for John P. Grier to beat him, Danny decided. His colt would be far in front and Kummer, as in all the races past, would be standing in his stirrup irons and looking back at the end.

  From where he stood it was difficult to see the colts as they went down the chute to the barrier. But he felt certain that with only two colts to handle, Mars Cassidy wouldn’t have any trouble getting them away.