Great American Horse Stories

by Sharon B. Smith

  Henry was, as heretofore, not less than three lengths in the clear ahead. They had not proceeded more than twenty rods upon the first part of the sweep when Eclipse made play, and the spur and whip were both applied freely; when they were at the extreme point or center of the sweep, I observed the right hand of Crafts disengaged from his bridle, making free use of his whip; when they had swept about three-fourths of the way round the turn and had advanced within twenty-five rods of my station, I clearly saw that Crafts was making every exertion with both spur and whip to get Eclipse forward, and scored him sorely, both before and behind the girths; at this moment Eclipse threw his tail into the air, and flirted it up and down, after the manner of a tired horse or one in distress and great pain; and John Buckley, the jockey (and present trainer), who I kept stationed by my side, observed, “Eclipse is done.”

  When they passed me about the commencement of the stretch, seventy to eighty rods from home, the space between them was about sixteen feet, or a full length and a half in the clear. Here the rider of Henry turned his head round and took a view for an instant of his adversary; Walden used neither whip nor spur, but maintained a hard and steady pull, under which his horse appeared accustomed to run. Craft continued to make free use of the whip; his right hand in so doing was necessarily disengaged from the bridle, his arm often raised high in air, his body thrown abroad, and his seat loose and unsteady; not having strength to hold and gather his horse with one hand, and at the same time keep his proper position; in order to acquire a greater purchase, he had thrown his body quite back to the cantle of the saddle, stuck his feet forward by way of bracing himself with the aid of the stirrups, and in this style, he was belaboring his horse, going in the last quarter.

  Buckley exclaimed, (and well he might) “Good G——d, look at Billy.” From this place to the winning post, Eclipse gained but a few feet, Henry coming ahead about a length in the clear. The shortest time of this heat, as returned by the judges on the stand, was 7 minutes 37½ seconds. Many watches, and mine (which was held by a gentleman on the stand) among others, made it 7 minutes 40 seconds; and this time the Southern gentlemen reported.

  I pushed immediately up to the winning post, in order to view the situation of the respective horses after this very trying and severe heat; for it was in fact running the whole four miles. Sir Henry was less distressed than I expected to find him; Eclipse also bore it well, but of the two, he appeared the most jaded; the injudicious manner in which he had been rode, had certainly annoyed, and unnecessarily distressed him; the cause of his throwing out his tail, and flirting it up and down, as already observed, was now apparent; Craft, in using his whip wildly, had struck him too far back, and had cut him not only upon his sheath, but had made a deep incision upon his testicles, and it was no doubt the violent pain occasioned thereby, that caused the noble animal to complain, and motion with his tail, indicative of the torture he suffered. The blood flowed profusely from one or both of these foul cuts, and trickling down the inside of his hind legs, appeared conspicuously upon the white hind foot, and gave a more doleful appearance to the discouraging scene of a lost heat.

  The incapacity of Crafts to manage Eclipse (who required much urging, and at the same time to be pulled hard) was apparent to all; he being a slender made lad, in body weight about 100 lbs. only. A person interested in the event, seeing Buckley, who had rode the horse on a former occasion, with me, requested that I would keep him within call, and ready to ride in case of an emergency. It was, however, soon settled and announced that Mr. Purdy would ride him the second heat, upon which, long faces grew shorter, and Northern hope revived—six to four was, nevertheless, offered on the Southern horse, but no takers.

  The horses, after a lapse of 30 minutes, were called up for a second heat. I attentively viewed Eclipse while saddling, and was surprised to find that to appearance he had not only entirely recovered, but seemed full of mettle, lashing and reaching out with his hind feet, anxious and impatient to renew the contest. Mr. Purdy having mounted his favorite was perfectly at home and self-confident. The signal being again given, he went off rapidly from the start; Sir Henry being now entitled to the inside, took the track, and kept the lead, followed closely by Eclipse, whom Mr. Purdy at once brought to his work, knowing that game and stoutness was his play, and his only chance of success, that of driving his speedy adversary, up to the top of his rate, without giving him the least respite.

  Henry went steadily on, nearly at the top of his speed, keeping a gap open between himself and Eclipse of about twenty feet without much variation for about two miles and seven-eighths, or until towards the conclusion of the third mile they had arrived nearly opposite the four-mile distance post. Here Purdy made his run, and when they had advanced forty rods further, which brought them to the end of the third mile, was close up, say nose and tail. They now entered upon the fourth and last mile, which commences with a turn or sweep the moment you leave the starting post. Here the crowd was immense; I was at this moment on horseback, stationed down the stretch or straight run, a short distance below the winning post, in company with a friend, and Buckley the jockey, who kept close to me during the whole race. We pushed out into the center, or open space of the ground, in order to obtain a more distinct view of the struggle, which we saw making for the lead; every thing depended upon this effort of Purdy; well he knew it; his case was a desperate one, and required a desperate attempt; it was to risk all, for all; he did not hesitate.

  When the horses had got about one third of the way round the sweep, they had so far cleared the crowd as to afford us a distinct view of them a little before they reached the center of the turn; Eclipse had lapped Henry about head and girth and appeared evidently in the act of passing. Here Buckley vociferated, see Eclipse! Look at Purdy! By heaven on the inside! I was all attention.

  Purdy was on the left hand or inside of Henry. I felt alarmed for the consequence, satisfied that he had thus hazarded all; I feared that Walden would take advantage of his position, and by reining in, force him against or inside one of the poles; when they had proceeded a little more than half way round the sweep, the horses were a dead lap; when about three-fourths round, Eclipse’s quarter covered Henry’s head and neck, and just as they had finished the bend, and were entering upon the straight run, which extends along the back part of the course, Eclipse for the first time was fairly clear, and ahead.

  He now with the help of the persuaders, which were freely bestowed, kept up his run, and continued gradually, though slowly, to gain during the remaining three quarters of a mile and came in about two lengths ahead. As they passed up the stretch or last quarter of a mile, the shouting, clapping of hands, waving of handkerchiefs, long and loud applause sent forth by the Eclipse party, exceeded all description; it seemed to roll along the track as the horses advanced, resembling the loud and reiterated shout of contending armies.

  I have been thus particular in stating that Mr. Purdy made his pass on the inside, understanding that many gentlemen and particularly Mr. Stevens, the principal in the match on the part of Eclipse (and for aught I know Mr. Purdy himself), insist that the go by was given on the outside. After the heat was over, I found that my friend Mr. M. Buckley and myself were far from the only persons that had observed the mode in which Mr. Purdy ran up and took the inside track from his adversary.

  The circumstance was in the mouths of hundreds. In corroboration of which, I will quote a passage from the New York Evening Post, of May 28th, 1823, giving a description of this second heat:

  Henry took the lead as in the first heat until about two-thirds around on the third mile, when Purdy seized with a quickness and dexterity peculiar to himself, the favorable moment that presented, when appearing to aim at the outside, he might gain the inside, made a dash at him accordingly, and passed him on the left.

  Here, then, the observations of many independent of my friend Mr. M. Buckley, or myself, added to the instantaneous and striking remark of B., w
hich did not fail to rivet my peculiar attention, form a wonderful coincidence. Thus circumstanced, and long conversant with turf matters, rules, and practices, and familiar with sights of this kind, it was impossible I could be mistaken. I was not mistaken, the honest belief of some gentlemen to the contrary notwithstanding. Time, this second heat, 7 minutes, 49 seconds.

  It was now given out, that in place of the boy Walden, who had rode Sir Henry the two preceding heats, that Arthur Taylor, a trainer of great experience, and long a rider, equaled by few, and surpassed by none, would ride him this last and decisive heat. At the expiration of 30 minutes the horses were once more summoned to the starting post, and Purdy and Taylor mounted; the word being given, they went off at a quick rate; Purdy now taking the lead, and pushing Eclipse from the score; and indeed, the whole four miles, applying the whip and spur incessantly; evidently resolved to give Sir Henry no respite but to cause him, if determined to trail, to employ all his speed and strength without keeping any thing in reserve for the run in.

  Sir Henry continued to trail, apparently under a pull, never attempting to come up, until they had both fairly entered the straight run towards the termination of the last mile and had advanced within about sixty rods from home. Here Sir Henry being about five yards behind, made a dash, and ran up to Eclipse so far as to cover his quarter or haunch with his head, and for a moment had the appearance of going past; he made a severe struggle for about two hundred yards, when he again fell in the rear, and gave up the contest.

  Thus terminated the most interesting race ever run in the United States. Besides the original stake of $20,000 each, it was judged that upwards of $900,000 changed hands. In this last heat Sir Henry carried 110 lbs. being two pounds over his proper weight; it not being possible to bring Arthur Taylor to ride less, and although a small horse and wanting twenty days of being four years old, he made the greatest run ever witnessed in America. Time, this heat, 8 minutes, 24 seconds.

  Thus the three heats, or twelve miles, were run in 528 minutes, 50 seconds, or an average of 7 minutes, 57 seconds each heat; or 1 minute, 59 seconds per mile.

  20

  The Story of a Jockey

  by Richard Harding Davis

  Horse racing remained at the forefront of public imagination during the first decades of the twentieth century in spite of roadblocks put up by anti-gambling crusaders. The drama of the sport attracted the attention of some of the best and best-known writers in the country, including Richard Harding Davis, who rose to fame as an intrepid war correspondent during the Spanish-American War. Davis enjoyed producing stories for young readers in which a moral message was wrapped around an exciting tale, but his reputation as a hard-hitting journalist drew adult readers to these stories as well.

  Among the best of his short stories is this one. A young lover of horses rejects the chance of an alluring payoff, preferring to protect his own honor and that of a horse he loves.

  Young Charley Chadwick had been brought up on his father’s farm in New Jersey. The farm had been his father’s before his father died and was still called Chadwick’s Meadows in his memory. It was a very small farm and for the most part covered with clover and long, rich grass that were good for pasturing and nothing else. Charley was too young, and Mrs. Chadwick was too much of a housekeeper and not enough of a farmer’s wife to make the most out of the farm, and so she let the meadows to the manager of the Cloverdale Stock Farm. This farm is only half a mile back from the Monmouth Park racetrack at Long Branch.

  The manager put a number of young colts in it to pasture and took what grass they did not eat to the farm. Charley used to ride these colts back to the big stables at night, and soon grew to ride very well, and to know a great deal about horses and horse breeding and horse racing. Sometimes they gave him a mount at the stables, and he was permitted to ride one of the racehorses around the private track, while the owner took the time from the judges’ stand.

  There was nothing in his life that he enjoyed like this. He had had very few pleasures, and the excitement and delight of tearing through the air on the back of a great animal, was something he thought must amount to more than anything else in the world. His mother did not approve of his spending his time at the stables, but she found it very hard to refuse him, and he seemed to have a happy faculty of picking up only what was good, and letting what was evil pass by him and leave him unhurt. The good that he picked up was his love for animals, his thoughtfulness for them, and the forbearance and gentleness it taught him to use, with even the higher class of animals who walk on two legs.

  He was fond of all the horses, because they were horses; but the one he liked best was Heroine, a big black mare that ran like an express train. He and Heroine were the two greatest friends in the stable. The horse loved him as a horse does love its master sometimes, and though Charley was not her owner, he was in reality her master, for Heroine would have left her stall and carried Charley off to the ends of the continent if he had asked her to run away.

  When a man named Oscar Behren bought Heroine, Charley thought he would never be contented again. He cried about it all along the country road from the stables to his home, and cried about it again that night in bed. He knew Heroine would feel just as badly about it as he did, if she could know they were to be separated. Heroine went off to run in the races for which her new master had entered her, and Charley heard of her only through the newspapers.

  She won often and became a great favorite, and Charley was afraid she would forget the master of her earlier days before she became so famous. And when he found that Heroine was entered to run at the Monmouth Park racetrack, he became as excited over the prospect of seeing his old friend again as though he were going to meet his promised bride, or a long-lost brother who had accumulated several millions in South America.

  He was at the station to meet the Behren horses, and Heroine knew him at once and he knew Heroine, although she was all blanketed up and had grown so much more beautiful to look at that it seemed like a second and improved edition of the horse he had known. Heroine won several races at Long Branch, and though her owner was an unpopular one, and one of whom many queer stories were told, still Heroine was always ridden to win, and win she generally did.

  The race for the July Stakes was the big race of the meeting, and Heroine was the favorite. Behren was known to be backing her with thousands of dollars, and it was almost impossible to get anything but even money on her. The day before the race McCallen, the jockey who was to ride her, was taken ill, and Behren was in great anxiety and greatly disturbed as to where he could get a good substitute. Several people told him it made no difference, for the mare was as sure as sure could be, no matter who rode her. Then some one told him of Charley, who had taken out a license when the racing season began, and who had ridden a few unimportant mounts.

  Behren looked for Charley and told him he would want him to ride for the July Stakes, and Charley went home to tell his mother about it, in a state of wild delight. To ride the favorite, and that favorite in such a great race, was as much to him as to own and steer the winning yacht in the transatlantic match for the cup.

  He told Heroine all about it, and Heroine seemed very well pleased. But while he was standing hidden in Heroine’s box stall, he heard something outside that made him wonder.

  It was Behren’s voice, and he said in a low tone, “Oh, McCallen’s well enough, but I didn’t want him for this race. He knows too much. The lad I’ve got now, this country boy, wouldn’t know if the mare had the blind staggers.”

  Charley thought over this a great deal, and all that he had learned on the tracks and around the stables came to assist him in judging what it was that Behren meant, and that afternoon he found out.

  The racetrack with the great green enclosures and the grandstand as high as a hill were as empty as a college campus in vacation time, but for a few of the stable boys and some of the owners, and a waiter or two. It was inte
resting to think what it would be like a few hours later when the trains had arrived from New York with eleven cars each and the passengers hanging from the steps, and the carriages stretched all the way from Long Branch. Then there would not be a vacant seat on the grandstand or a blade of grass untrampled.

  Charley was not nervous when he thought of this, but he was very much excited. Howland S. Maitland, who owned a stable of horses and a great many other expensive things, and who was one of those gentlemen who make the racing of horses possible, and Curtis, the secretary of the meeting, came walking towards Charley, looking in at the different horses in the stalls.

  “Heroine,” said Mr. Maitland, as he read the name over the door. “Can we have a look at her?” he said.

  Charley got up and took off his hat. “I am sorry, Mr. Maitland,” he said, “but my orders from Mr. Behren are not to allow any one inside. I am sure if Mr. Behren were here he would be very glad to show you the horse; but you see, I’m responsible, sir, and—”

  “Oh, that’s all right!” said Mr. Maitland pleasantly, as he moved on.

  “There’s Mr. Behren now,” Charley called after him, as Behren turned the corner. “I’ll run and ask him.”

  “No, no, thank you,” said Mr. Maitland hurriedly, and Charley heard him add to Mr. Curtis, “I don’t want to know the man.” It hurt Charley to find that the owner of Heroine and the man for whom he was to ride was held in such bad repute that a gentleman like Mr. Maitland would not know him, and he tried to console himself by thinking that it was better he rode Heroine than some less conscientious jockey whom Behren might order to play tricks with the horse and the public.