Other Great Horses.
There have been numerous other great horses in our country, some of them
standing on a high pedestal, but none of them on quite such a lofty one
as that supporting Carbine or The Barb. Some may worship the memory of
one, some that of another. It is a case of “laudabunt alii” (each man to
his own choice). But we should like to recall a few of those
celebrities, some of them dead and gone, a few still in the land of the
living. Chester and First King were good, possibly even great horses. As
two-year-olds they never met, but both were champions, First King
winning all his three engagements, and Chester four out of five. The
latter was beaten a head in his initiatory effort by Sir Hercules
Robinson’s Viscount—an evident fluke. As three-year-olds there was a
battle royal between the two. The Derby, Chester won easily by half a
length. In the Mares’ Produce, a mile and a quarter Mr. White’s colt
repeated the dose. But in the Championship, over three miles, First King
won by four lengths, and he beat the New South Welshman, but only by a
short head, in the Leger. Chester had no engagement in the Australian
Cup, which First King won, and in the Town Plate, two miles, Chester had
no difficulty in putting the King down by two lengths. It is possible
that Mr. Wilson’s colt was a little stale after the Australian Cup. They
never crossed swords again, and although Chester won seven out of his
eleven engagements as a four-year-old, I question if he was ever so good
again as he was at three. Horses like Warlock, Melita and Cap-a-pie beat
him at weight-for-age, which, had he been at his best, could never have
occurred. First King did not appear as a four-year-old, but at five
years he was only beaten once, and that was by the Derby winner, the
beautiful, shapely, grey, Snowden colt, Suwarrow, in the Canterbury
Plate, two miles and a quarter. But in his winning efforts he had no
really great horses to conquer, although one or two of his opponents
were good, Richmond—past his zenith—Wellington and Swiveller being the
best of them. On paper, the honours are pretty evenly divided between
Chester and First King, and I daresay old-time racing men could argue
with some gusto after dinner in favour of their particular fancy, and
might finally have to rise from the table unconvinced, or, if convinced
against their will—well, holding the same opinion still.
Grand Flaneur was the next public idol. He was never beaten, and how
good he was it is difficult to say. This great colt only ran once in his
first season, when he won the Normanby Stakes at the Flemington New Year
Day Meeting. Palmyra and Cinnamon were in the field, the former being
favourite at even money. At three years Grand Flaneur commenced with the
A.J.C. Derby, and then went through an unbroken sequence of victories in
the Mares’ Produce, the Victoria Derby, the Melbourne Cup, the V.R.C.
Mares’ Produce, the Champion, the Leger and the Town Plate.
Grand Flaneur may have been lucky in racing during a rather lean year,
but over and over again he cantered home from the Angler colt Progress,
who, when the big fellow was not present, invariably smothered the
opposition in the most convincing manner possible, and there is no doubt
whatsoever that Mr. W. A. Long’s colt was really and truly “great.” He
ran no more after his three-year-old career terminated.
Malua was better than simply a “good horse.” One that could win, in his
four-year-old season, a Newmarket Handicap, six furlongs, the Oakleigh
Plate, five and a half furlongs, and the Adelaide Cup, a mile and five,
was something of a genius. And as a five-year-old he graduated in the
weight-for-age class, taking the Spring Stakes, a mile and a half, the
Melbourne Stakes, a mile and a quarter, and the Melbourne Cup, two
miles, carrying nine stone nine, his rival, Commotion, being half a
length off second, with his nine twelve up. As a six-year-old, with nine
nine, the Australian Cup, two and a quarter miles, fell to Malua, and
then, as an eight-year-old stallion, he won the Grand National Hurdle
Race easily, carrying his owner, Mr. J. O. Inglis, who was a very fine
horseman. It must be confessed that Malua was wonderfully favourably
handicapped for a winner of his great class, as his weight was only
eleven stone seven. Twelve seven would have been a more reasonable
impost. Malua may not have been quite up to the pitch of a “great”
horse, but he was terribly near it, and his brilliant and determined run
over the last two furlongs may have been electrifying enough to have
defeated even the best. And in estimating his merit, we must take into
account his unusual versatility. Of course, Abercorn was a “great”
horse. His was that great light which caused the greater light of
Carbine to burn with such dazzling brilliancy. The great, slapping,
lengthy chestnut won for Mr. White twenty races, all of them against the
highest class of horse, out of a total of thirty-four starts. It was a
case of Greek meeting Greek when Abercorn, Australian Peer, Carbine and
Melos threw down their gauntlets.
Australian Peer scored many points, but undoubtedly Abercorn won the
rubber. A great racehorse, he was promising at the stud, and gave us a
stayer in Cobbity, another lovely mover and good winner in Coil, and a
Derby horse in Cocos. All the three, by the way, were out of the one
mare, Copra. Abercorn was bought to go to Ireland, and there he did very
little good. Had he remained behind in Australia, and continued to
produce horses of like merit with the three mentioned, there might have
been a different tale to tell. As it was, with him the blood of Whisker
seemed to peter out.
Wallace was in the “great” class, and was certainly a very great sire.
His two-year-old career was not so promising in public as it was in
private, for, although backed well upon many occasions, he only secured
a single bracket out of eight attempts. As a three-year-old he commenced
with a second in the Spring Stakes to Hova, and then went from strength
to strength, taking the Guineas, the Derby, and the C. B. Fisher Plate.
In the Leger something happened which fairly made me groan with anguish,
as I sat there watching a good horse being beaten by a comparative
commoner. Mr. H. Oxenham had two representatives, Cabin Boy and
Waterfall, in the race. The latter was a pretty good horse, and Gough,
on Wallace, galloped along beside him, the only competitor whom he
thought was likely to offer any dangerous opposition whatever. Delaney,
Cabin Boy’s rider, meanwhile, in the guise of making the running for his
companion, shot away, secured a tremendous lead, and Wallace could never
quite get up. Next day Idolator, a six-year-old, with seven three on his
back, just got home from Wallace, in the Australian Cup, carrying eight
ten. It seemed to me that Wallace winced in the last few strides as
though he had been struck with the whip on a painful spot, but I never
heard until lately whether this was the case or not. Mr. Phillip
Russell, the owner of Idolater, says “No.” The verdict was half a head.
Next day Mr. James Wilson, Junr.’s beautiful Trenton mare, Quiver, ran a
dead heat with Wallace in the three-mile championship, and they
completed the distance in the then record time of 5 min. 23¼ sec. It has
only once been beaten since, by three-quarters of a second, when Radnor
won, and it will never be equalled again, as the race has since been
abolished. In the autumn, at Randwick, Wallace won the Leger, the Sydney
Cup, with eight twelve, the Cumberland Stakes, but, probably stale, lost
the three-mile A.J.C. Plate to a couple of moderates like The Harvester
and Fort. This practically closed the son of Carbine’s racing career, as
he only once more faced the barrier, in the following spring. At the
stud he has earned imperishable renown. There is, unfortunately, just a
shadow of doubt as to whether or not he is going to be a proven sire of
sires. So far we have seen no son of his who appears to be destined to
carry on the line in tail male. But with Wallace Isinglass, Patrobas,
Wolowa and Trafalgar, there is certainly a distinct hope. As the sire of
great brood mares there is not the slightest anxiety as to his future
fame, for that is established already.
Newhaven followed fast on Wallace’s footsteps, for he won the V.R.C.
Derby the very year after the Carbine colt. As a two-year-old he took,
amongst other races, the Maribyrnong Plate and the Ascot Vale Stakes,
carrying the full penalty. His three-year-old performances quite
entitled him to take his place among the “greats,” and although,
perhaps, a horse of moods, or more likely an animal easily affected by
what might have been a trifle to some of his peers built in a coarser
mould, he was really awfully good. One can never forget how, after
having won the Derby in smashing style, he came out in the Cup, and with
the substantial burden of seven thirteen on his three-year-old back,
seven pounds over weight-for-age, he took the lead before passing the
judge’s box the first time round, never relinquished his advantage, and
finally strode home half a dozen lengths to the good. Some of us, whilst
taking a walk round the course on the evening before the great race,
were talking “Cup” all the time. Mr. W. E. Dakin, a keen judge of racing
and of a horse, pulled up at the five furlong post from home, and with a
wave of his stick, oracularly decided that “here Newhaven will begin to
come back to them.” I had the privilege of sitting beside Mr. Dakin
during the race, and, just at the point which he had indicated, the
chestnut colt seemed to take a fresh lease of life and shot out with an
even more substantial lead than before. I could not refrain from nudging
my friend’s knee and saying: “How about Newhaven coming back to them
now?”
After a very successful three-year-old career, his victories including
the Championship, the Loch Plate, the A.J.C. St. Leger and the A.J.C.
Plate, Mr.—afterwards Sir William—Cooper took him to England. He was a
very free, loose galloper, with a curious amount of knee action, a style
which caused one to be rather doubtful of his staying powers until he
had unmistakably refuted all suspicions by his deeds. Newhaven was by
Newminster from Oceana, by St. Albans (son of Blair Athol), her dam,
Idalia, by Tim Whiffler (imp.) from Musidora, by The Premier—Dinah, by
Gratis from an unknown mare. Hers is one of those pedigrees which one
would give worlds to fathom to the very depths.
Maltster, great as his success afterwards was at the stud, can scarcely
be catalogued amongst the great. He was good, and had he had the
opportunity, might possibly have been promoted to this, the seventh
heaven, but, as it was, his working days were over by the autumn of his
three-year-old career, and he had the fortune to come in a rather lean
year, when no giants as of old were stalking upon the earth.
Poseidon, a failure at the stud, was, on the racecourse, great. He
commenced his career so modestly that no one would have suspected that a
bright sun had arisen in the morning skies. He won a Nursery at the
A.J.C. January Meeting, and was allotted six stone eight in the
Melbourne Cup.
Early in the following spring he was still, apparently, without any
ambition towards higher things. He commenced by winning a welter at the
Sydney Tatt.’s Club gathering in September, and followed it up with a
victory in the Spring Handicap at Hawkesbury. Then, with odds of seven
to one against him, he was proclaimed the A.J.C. Derby winner, beating
Collarit, Antonious, Iolaire and a couple more. With his penalty he was
beaten next day by Solution in the Metropolitan. Then came triumphs in
the Eclipse Stakes at Caulfield, the Caulfield Cup, with a
fourteen-pound penalty, the Victoria Derby, the Melbourne Cup, the St.
Helier Stakes at Caulfield in February, the St. Leger at Flemington, and
the Loch Plate, two miles, beating Dividend. Then he was checked in this
triumphal progress. Dividend took down his number in the Champion, and
again in the Cumberland Stakes at Randwick. Meanwhile, however, Poseidon
had won what was practically a bloodless victory in the A.J.C. St.
Leger.
At four years Poseidon still retained his form, and was successful seven
times, the Spring Stakes, the Eclipse, the Caulfield Cup, with nine
stone three up, the Melbourne Stakes, the Rawson Stakes, the Cumberland
Stakes, and the A.J.C. Plate falling to his lot. Mountain King, however,
who might have been a great horse but for wind troubles, beat him in the
Rawson Stakes in spring, the Craven and the C. B. Fisher Plate. Poseidon
was unplaced (eighth) in the Melbourne Cup that year, carrying ten stone
three, including a penalty, and he did but little more. Had Alawa
depended upon his three-year-old record, he might have been included in
the Roll of Honour, but his star had reached its zenith by his
three-year-old autumn, and those greater suns, Comedy King and
Trafalgar, obscured his lesser light until it finally sank beneath the
horizon. There was a rich vintage just at this period of our history:
Trafalgar, Alawa, Comedy King, Prince Foote. It was when Comedy King was
a four-year-old and Trafalgar a five-year-old that the real fun began.
The latter was a chestnut horse by Wallace from Grand Canary, by
Splendor from a Lapidist mare, and to see him walking out for his
afternoon exercise, or lagging along in the saddling paddock, you would
never, as a casual spectator, have taken him for anything but a rather
lazy, spiritless, washy old gelding. He was sleepy, indifferent to his
surroundings, careless of the calls of love, or of what the next hour
might bring in the shape of a tussle with some worthy foe.
Comedy King, a rich brown, with fire in his eye, and in his every
movement, with a skin like satin, showing every vein as he paced along,
was the very antithesis of his great rival. He had been imported by Mr.
Sol. Green, at his mother’s side, and he was by King Edward’s horse
Persimmon, out of Tragedy Queen, a Gallinule mare.
Prince Foote was a great three-year-old. But his nine victories at that
age left their effects upon him, and he only started three times as a
four-year-old, winning the Chelmsford and running second in the A.J.C.
Spring Stakes to Comedy King, beating Trafalgar, Pendil, etc. The
Chelmsford came early in the spring, and here, with the exception of
Maltine, he had not much to beat. As a three-year-old, however, he won
the Chelmsford again, against a large field, including that great miler,
Malt King; the A.J.C. Derby, from Patronatus and Danilo; the V.R.C.
Derby, the Melbourne Cup, carrying two pounds over weight-for-age; the
V.R.C. Leger; the Champion Stakes from Pendil; the A.J.C. Leger; the
A.J.C. Plate, from Pendil and Trafalgar; and the Cumberland Stakes, two
miles, from the same couple. Yes, he was a “great” three-year-old.
Between Trafalgar and Comedy King it was a case of “pull devil, pull
baker,” so long as they were running at a distance not beyond a mile and
a half. After that Trafalgar was the master. For, although Comedy King
beat the chestnut in the Cup, the latter was giving weight, and I do not
think that many people, with the exception of Comedy King’s backers,
were altogether satisfied that Trafalgar had had a clear run. The black
horse, at three years, won the Futurity at Caulfield, with a twenty-one
pound allowance; as a four-year-old he took the Cup, the St. George’s
Stakes, the Essendon Stakes, the All-Aged Stakes, and the Autumn Stakes.
And at five years the Eclipse again fell to him, after which he retired.
But Trafalgar, his arch enemy, secured twenty-four high-class races, and
raced on until he was seven years old. He won at distances varying
between nine furlongs and three miles, but the farther he went the
better he liked it, and, strangely enough, he appeared to be gaining in
speed as he grew older. And he never left an oat in his manger, and
would clean up everything that was offered him, even when undergoing a
course of physic, while his legs were of iron. I would not have liked to
go into his box by myself, nor without his boy at his head. He was a
sour old dog, and did not like to be disturbed in his castle. I have
seen him “round” on his trainer and eject him without much ceremony from
his box when in an ill humour. But I have no doubt that after he went
out of training, and had liberty, and not too much strapping, he became
the mildest mannered horse that ever won a race or cut a rival’s throat.
I fear, however, that he is not a success at the stud, although a sure
foal-getter. Comedy King, on the other hand, sires innumerable
gallopers, from hurdle jumpers up to the winners of the greatest prizes
to be gained on the turf to-day. And I think you would have anticipated
the destiny of the pair had you seen them often in their daily lives.
Of the horses of the last lustrum it is difficult to speak, and, indeed,
before history has had time to give her verdict, it might be injudicious
to open one’s mouth. But I can safely say this: I never saw a
performance in my life which equalled that of Artilleryman in the
Melbourne Cup of 1919. He had been a somewhat uncertain performer in his
two-year-old days. As a three-year-old he had run Richmond Main, a very
good colt, a dead heat in the A.J.C. Derby, and had been well beaten by
the same horse in the V.R.C. classic event, a few weeks after. But there
were extenuating circumstances, I admit, in the latter race. In the Cup,
three days later, running next the rails, and in a fair, but not a too
flattering position as the field streamed to the bend, Lewis, his rider,
perceiving a clear space ahead of him, shot his colt through, and in a
very few seconds the contest was all over. Artilleryman, with his
weight-for-age on his back, simply squandered the field. The official
verdict was six lengths. The photographers made it at least a dozen. The
eyesight of the excited spectators pronounced the gap between the winner
and Richmond Main, the second horse, at anything varying between a
hundred yards and a quarter of a mile. From a coign of vantage,
unhampered by the crowd, and in a semi-official capacity, I judged the
brown horse to be over ten lengths to the good as he passed the winning
post. This great colt won his autumn engagements at Flemington, although
to the professional eye there was something not quite all right about
his physical state at that time. Nevertheless, he travelled on to
Sydney, where he was badly beaten in all his engagements. It then
transpired that all was not well with him. A swelling had made its
appearance both on the outside and on the inside of his near thigh, and
his near hock was enlarged. Unfortunately, the trouble went on from bad
to worse, and in a few months this great son of Comedy King succumbed,
dying, strange to say, within a few hours of Mr. Alec Murphy, who was a
partner in the horse with his friend Sir Samuel Hordern.
The verdict, as I write, has not yet been pronounced upon the risen sun
of to-day, Eurythmic. That he is a very good horse indeed, there can be
little doubt. That he is a really great one is not yet quite certain.
The best of judges point out that Eurythmic has been tremendously lucky;
that he has never met anything which can be called great, with the
exception of Poitrel, who undoubtedly was a very excellent stayer
indeed. At a mile, and, perhaps, at a mile and a half, Eurythmic was
superior to game little Poitrel, but we only once saw them meet over a
distance of ground, and that was in the Melbourne Cup. Here, giving ten
pounds, Poitrel won cleverly, with Eurythmic a good fourth. At
weight-for-age, Poitrel would have been giving his rival only six
pounds. So that it certainly looks as though the Poitrels “had it on the
voices.” But there is just a lingering feeling in the mind that
Eurythmic had not yet quite come to his own on that fine spring day when
the Cup was decided, and his subsequent form showed very distinct
improvement. We shall see. But the name of Poitrel is assuredly one of
those “that glow from yonder brass.”