"It was a glorious sight," says a racing enthusiast, writing under
the signature of "Martingale," "to see Lord George Bentinck, flag in
hand, walking at the head of a field of horses, and conducting them
to the starting-point in as compact a body as possible, every eye
pointed in one direction, every elevated position occupied from which
a view could be obtained, the course perfectly clear, the sun lighting
up the brilliant colours of the jockeys' dresses, gleaming with more
hues than the rainbow, the reins handled, the spirit manifested by the
equine competitors, the result doubtful, victory or defeat hanging in
the balance. The word 'go' was given by the noble starter, and the
flag dropped, and away rushed the mighty host with terrific speed,
presenting a spectacle so imposing and so exciting as never to be
obliterated from the minds of those who had the high gratification of
beholding it."
There are votaries of the turf who prefer to see the start rather than
the finish of a race; but at some meetings, as at Doncaster, both the
beginning and the conclusion of the more exciting contests can be seen.
A race terminates at the winning-post, where sits the judge to
determine which of the runners is to be declared victor, and which two
horses are to have the honour of being placed.
On rare occasions, in two or three instances only, has it happened of
late that a judge has been required to revise his judgment and alter
his verdict; as a rule his decree is final, although, in the opinion
of thousands who have witnessed the contest, it may be an erroneous
verdict. In the race for the Derby Stakes of 1869, when Pero Gomez and
Pretender ran so close together, it was generally considered, till the
numbers went up, that Pero Gomez had beaten Pretender, and many who
saw the race insist it was so, and that the judge on that occasion
committed an error in awarding the Blue Ribbon to the northern-trained
horse.
Long ago, say sixty years since, complaints against judges were much
oftener indulged in than they are at present. A writer on turf matters,
in speaking of the judging of the period (1829), says:
"I have frequently known much dissatisfaction to arise from the manner
in which the judge has placed the horses; for instance, at the last
Epsom Races (1829), the first race, the first day, was very closely
contested by Conrad and Fleur de lis. I was nearly opposite the
winning-post, and felt no hesitation in supposing Conrad the winner; I
heard great numbers express their opinion to the same effect. The judge
decided otherwise. At the Liverpool Meeting in July, 1829, the Gold
Cup was decided in favour of Velocipede, though many persons insisted
that Dr. Faustus was the winner. Templeman, who rode Dr. Faustus,
unhesitatingly declared his unqualified conviction that he won the
race. Now, since no person can tell so exactly which wins as the judge,
from the situation in which he is placed, I am very willing to suppose
that, in both cases, the decision was correct. Many other instances
might be adduced, but as they merely form a catalogue of unmeaning
repetition, I shall not state them. However, a judge, in order to be
master of his business, or qualified for the important office which
he undertakes, should be generally acquainted with the jockeys, the
colours, and also the horses; he should observe the running of the
horses, particularly when they come within distance, or he will find
it a difficult matter, should the race be finely contested, to give
a correct decision--a decision satisfactory to his own mind. A judge
should abstain from betting, if he wish to avoid suspicion."
The judge occupies, as he ought to do, the best position for witnessing
the finish of a race, and of all the hundreds standing near him not
one can view the finale from the same standpoint; they are all more
or less "angled," and see with a squint, hence the varied opinions
which prevail after a close finish. Another point in judging, not
generally known, is, that every race terminates _at_ the winning-post,
and that it is not the horse which is first past the post which
gains the victory, but the animal which is first _at_ it. This great
fact in racing arrangements has led thousands into error, and into
asserting that a horse had won when in reality it had not. The judge
of an important race, therefore, must be a man of nerve, with a clear
head and a cool brain, ready to take in the whole position in half a
second--a consummation which is not easy when there is a very close
finish with a field of perhaps, say, thirty horses, the first three or
four of which, as they rush past the winning-chair, are as nearly as
possible locked together. Other races in which the competitors are much
fewer, are quite as difficult to judge; races, for instance, in which
the first three horses are running widely apart from each other, on
a very broad racecourse. In such instances no one but the recognised
authority can tell which is first, the guesses of lookers-on during the
decision of such events being often wide of the mark.
Curious instances have frequently been related of hats being thrown
up by enthusiastic bettors as a token of rejoicing before the winning
number has been officially signalled, and great has been the chagrin of
these enthusiasts when they saw the number of their horse placed second
or third. Upon one occasion a gentleman who had backed a high-mettled
steed belonging to a friend of his to win him a sum of about £15,000,
watched the race with intense anxiety, and saw, as he thought, his
friend's horse just beaten on the post. Imagine his joy, therefore,
when the numbers went up, when he found that instead of being just
beaten he had just won. Many an opposite tale could be told of men
who, before the winning number was hoisted, felt certain they had won
a fortune, when alas! their horse was only awarded the second or third
place. Still, the judge maintains his high position; he may make an
occasional blunder in his award, but his honesty of purpose remains
unquestioned, although on some of his judgments are dependent large
amounts of money.
On the determination of a race there may be hundreds of thousands of
pounds at stake, and the winning some day of thirty, forty, or fifty
thousand may only be accomplished by a couple of inches--a nose, in the
slang of the turf; indeed, a horse is sometimes said, when the contest
is a notably close one, to win by the skin of its teeth. Under such
circumstances, it is consoling to those interested to know that "the
man in the box" is above suspicion.