Hume himself would talk openly to his friends about the races he meant

to win, and apparently he seldom attempted to conceal the fact that

some of his horses were meant to lose.

Possibly this very “ingenuousness” may have led some of his friends,

and a proportion of what we should to-day call the general public, to

believe that he acted honourably and always in good faith.

In justice let it be said, however, that he bred good stock,

also that he was a better judge of a horse than the bulk of his

contemporaries—though that is not high praise. While himself engaged

in roguery in connection with racing he was all the time striving to

purify the Turf. He would, in all probability, have amassed a large

fortune—or what was deemed in those days to be a large fortune—had

he been less addicted to gambling for gambling's sake, for it is

certain that from first to last he won much money by laying against

his own horses as well as by backing some of them. The more amazing,

therefore, is it that certain writers, even in comparatively recent

times, should speak of him in all seriousness as a man of remarkable

integrity.

Queen Elizabeth loved the Turf and apparently was extremely fond

of horses, while in her youth she must have been rather a fine

horsewoman. She kept many riding horses for her own use and many

more for the ladies of her court, and we know that she was extremely

partial to chestnut animals.

There is not, I think, any trustworthy evidence that she ever attended

a race meeting held at Newmarket, but the statement made in at least

one history of her period that she witnessed races at Doncaster

probably is accurate, for we have proofs that a racecourse had been

laid down there or marked out by the year 1600. Also we know that

Elizabeth was fond of gambling and that she squandered vast sums

probably in connection with the turf.

It must be remembered, however, that in the second half of the

sixteenth century gambling was a besetting vice. “In the reign of

Queen Elizabeth,” Mr Clarkson writes, “racing was carried on to such

an excess as to injure the fortunes of many individuals, private

matches being then made between gentlemen, who were generally their

own jockeys and tryers.”

The descriptions of some of these matches are almost as quaint as the

account already given of the race between Blanche Rose and Nicolle

Dex, for the majority of the riders were wont to have recourse to the

worst sort of trickery when they believed it might enable them to win.

Thus an instance is recorded of ground glass being mixed with a mare's

food, the ill-starred animal being in consequence hardly able to cover

the course, on which she died in great agony when the race was over.

This statement is made without comment, and cases somewhat similar are

cited which, if they occurred now, would fire our indignation and lead

swiftly to retribution.

From this we may to some extent infer that the morality of the Turf in

Queen Elizabeth's reign had sunk to a low ebb. Indeed the maxim the

majority of the “tryers,” even of the “gentleman tryers,” apparently

was—“Win honestly if possible—but win.”

In Elizabeth's reign it was not customary to run important races for

cups. Nearly all the “big” races were for “specie,” or else for a

silver bell—sometimes for both. Silver bells awarded as prizes over

three hundred years ago are, it is said, still to be seen in some old

country houses and in some museums, but though I have tried I have not

been able to discover the whereabouts of any of them.

In 1603 the Earl of Essex offered a snaffle made of gold as a prize

to be run for at a race meeting held near Salisbury, and at about the

same time it was proposed that “race gatherings” should take place

near Salisbury at fixed intervals.

The latter suggestion, though strongly resented by “a number of

Salisbury gentlemen” who presumably were under the impression that

to establish a race course near their town must necessarily prove

demoralising to the townsmen, was eventually adopted, the queen

having, so it was said, brought her influence to bear in favour of the

proposal.

We may approximately estimate the value of horses of a particular

stamp at about this time from an inventory that was drawn up in 1572

of the effects of the second Earl of Cumberland of Skipton Castle.

Therein we find a stoned horse called Young Mark Antony valued at

£16; another horse, Grey Clyfford, at £11: Whyte Dacre, at £10;

Sorrell Tempest, £4; White Tempest and Baye Tempest, each at £5; Baye

Myddleton, £1, and so on. Some mares and their followers are also

mentioned, and lastly ten cart horses.

Many fictitious stories have been woven around Suleiman, the favourite

charger of the Earl of Essex, but they are not of sufficient interest

to place on record. In Elizabeth's reign a number of barbs, also many

Spanish horses descended from barbs, were obtained from captured

foreign vessels, and these the queen looked upon for the most part as

her personal perquisites.

Consequently about the middle of her reign an order was issued

that all captured horses must without exception be sent direct to

the queen, the infliction of a severe penalty being threatened if

the order should be disregarded. A number of these animals were

subsequently sent as gifts to the more faithful of her nobles, and all

the recipients sent in return “expressions of extremest gratitude.”

There is a diversity of opinion as to what constituted “the staple

article of food” of horses in the sixteenth century, though of course

hay was used largely. Bishop Hall throws some light upon the subject

when he mentions that thoroughbred stallions when largely in demand

were given eggs and oysters.

Reference to eggs and oysters in this connection is made elsewhere, so

we may conclude that the custom of thus feeding stallions was not an

uncommon one, at any rate in the time of Elizabeth.

Horse bread has already been mentioned, but I have not come upon any

direct allusion to oats being used to feed horses upon at this period.

Several of the writers in Elizabeth's reign openly bemoaned the

development of horse racing, urging that trouble and disaster followed

in its train, but their moans were for the most part stifled in the

clamour of general approbation.

Among those who spoke strongly in condemnation of horse racing was the

rather eccentric Lord Herbert of Cherbury. Late in life he wrote—to

the amusement of his friends and relatives—a complete history of his

own career, in which volume he again reverts to his pet aversion by

declaring that among the exercises of which he disapproved were “the

riding of running horses, there being much cheating in that kind.”

Hunting also he clearly objected to, for he goes on to tell his

readers that he does not like hunting horses, “that exercise taking up

more time than can be spared for a man studious to get knowledge.”

From other of his remarks it becomes obvious that some three centuries

ago the men who devoted the better part of their lives to the sport

of hunting became to such a degree engrossed in it that in time they

could hardly be brought to talk, or indeed to think, of anything else

whatever.

That the same can be said with truth of a proportion of our modern

hunting men is well known, and the question is asked to-day, as

it was asked three hundred or more years ago—How comes it that

over-indulgence in the chase has this odd effect upon us, whereas

over-indulgence in other forms of sport but seldom makes its votaries

shallow-minded to the same degree?

Indeed Lord Herbert of Cherbury, eccentric as he admittedly was, made

many sensible observations upon this and kindred topics; and there can

be no doubt that in decrying the then increasing tendency of men and

women of what were looked upon as the educated classes to squander

their fortunes, he voiced the views held by a vast proportion of the

thinking population of this country.

A contemporary of Lord Herbert's wrote practically to the same effect.

His name was Burton, and he reached his heyday about the time that

Shakespeare's era was drawing to a close. The diatribe he launched

against the increasing spread of gambling upon the Turf has probably

never been surpassed in vigour.

In one of his mildest passages he pronounces horse races to be “the

disport of great men, and good in themselves, though many gentlemen by

such means gallop quite out of their fortunes.”

Shakespeare himself, though rather fond of horses, was hardly less

opposed to the practice of heavy betting. His description of a

thoroughbred's points is good:

“Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,

Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostrils wide,

High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong,

Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide.”

It would take long, also it is unnecessary, to describe at length

all the horses of which Shakespeare speaks in his plays. According

to a recent writer, Oliver's steed, Ferrant d'Espagne, or “Spanish

traveller,” has been “bastardised.” What the writer means is, I think,

that the horse has been introduced into works of fiction without

acknowledgment.

Such certainly is the case, and so greatly has the animal been

distorted in some instances that only with difficulty is it

recognisable.

In Shakespeare's time—that is to say during the latter half of the

sixteenth and in the beginning of the seventeenth centuries—the

barbary horse clearly was highly esteemed, for it is referred to

frequently in books and memoirs which bear upon that period.

Shakespeare speaks several times of roan horses too, as for instance

in _I Henry IV._, where we come upon the sentence, “Give the roan

horse a drench.” To bay horses he makes allusion in _King Lear_, in

_Timon_, and elsewhere, and in _Timon_ he refers also to a team of

white horses. These bare allusions make dry reading, but they are

instructive and of interest in connection with the story of the part

the horse played in British history.

More especially is this so when we again bear in mind what has already

been stated at length in the introductory note to this book, and that

is the enormous extent to which automobilism has increased in this

country, and for that matter the world over, since the introduction of

the petrol motor, which makes it obvious that the horse's reign must

be fast drawing to a close.

* * * * *

That we have, as a nation, already to a great extent lost much of

the interest we took only a few years ago in horses, and in all that

appertains to them, is, I think, beyond dispute. The number of men

who keep what must be termed “pleasure” horses decreases year by

year, almost month by month, and indeed it would be possible to name

at off-hand between fifty and sixty well-known men and women fond of

sport who, within the last six months or so, have sold their carriages

and all their harness horses, and whose stables now contain only

hunters, while in other cases even the hunters have been got rid of in

order to make way for automobiles.

And yet, bemoan the change though we may, the gradual transition is

not uninteresting to study. History in the past has for centuries been

both directly and indirectly affected by the horses and horsemanship

of the various races the world over. History in the future is going to

be similarly affected by motor power applied in a variety of ways.

And yet, who knows? Perhaps even half-a-century hence, when the horse

will to all intents be extinct in England, save where he is kept for

racing and in some instances for hunting purposes, interest may still

be taken in Shakespeare's plays and therefore in the stories of such

whimsical characters as the self-satisfied, conceited and generally

grotesque Sir Andrew Aguecheek and his celebrated grey steed, Capilet,

that we find portrayed so admirably in _Twelfth Night_; in Lord Lafeu

of _All's Well that Ends Well_ and his curious bay horse, Curtal, a

name that means literally “the cropped one”; and in Cut, the carrier's

horse of _King Henry IV._,—to name but a few of Shakespeare's

creations that surely must live on for ever.

With regard to barb horses, of which so much has been said and

written, the probability would seem to be that “barbed” is in reality

a corrupt form of the word “barded” that came originally from the

French, _bardé_—that is to say, caparisoned—and therefore it may

signify indirectly a horse in armour. Hence the meaning probably

intended by Shakespeare to be conveyed in the following lines in _King

Richard III._:—

“And now—instead of mounting barbed steeds,

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.”

Shakespeare and Bishop Hall, in addition to one or two other writers,

speak of the horse, Marocco, which lived in Elizabeth's reign, and

belonged to a man named Banks, or Bankes, a brother of the first

keeper of the New Warren.

Foaled, so far as one can gather, at Newmarket, Marocco appears to

have been one of the cleverest of the few horses that at that period

had been trained to perform at fairs, and in shows and circuses.

Some of the feats performed by it are described at length in the old

records, and though we read that in those days such feats were deemed

“marvellous past belief,” we should smile if anybody were to-day to

express amazement at seeing a circus horse perform tricks so simple.

That Marocco should be able to walk upright upon his hind legs, for

instance, was considered so astounding that questions were asked in

all seriousness as to whether supernatural aid of some kind had not

been invoked!

In addition to this, Marocco would rear, kneel, sit, or lie down,

when told to do so, and he would indicate amongst the spectators any

individual selected by his trainer.

What was deemed most remarkable of all, however, was a performance in

which Marocco walked backwards, “the while turning in circles,” when

Banks ordered him to do so.

We are told that upon witnessing this performance a proportion of the

audience was so deeply affected that several people dared not remain.

Consequently one is less surprised at reading that when, later, Banks

and his pupil gave a performance in Rome, both man and horse were

pronounced to be in league with the devil and ordered to be publicly

burnt as magicians, which monstrous sentence was duly carried out.

In justice let it be said that this act of barbarity—the direct

outcome of the pitiable ignorance of the age—created intense

indignation in England, while in Italy it stirred up a strong feeling

of resentment.

Attempts were made later to create the impression that political

wirepullers had been at work, and that man and horse had been

sacrificed expressly to make bad blood between the British Court and

the Vatican, if not between England and Italy, but there is no reason

for believing that the agitators achieved their purpose.

Nor, indeed, is it certain that Banks' death sentence was pronounced

by the Pope, or by his order. That the man had come to be looked upon

as a magician, however, in every part of Italy where his horse had

been exhibited, apparently is beyond dispute.

Though strolling players of many sorts were, as we know, plentiful in

Elizabeth's reign, it seems more than likely that the exhibition given

by Marocco may directly have inaugurated in England the practice of

training animals to perform tricks of the same sort for public shows.

Certainly we hear soon after Marocco's tragic end that exhibitions of

performing animals were advertised to take place in different parts

of the country, and from that time onward incidental allusions to

entertainments of the kind that we to-day call circuses are to be

found in some of the old books.

There mention is made of the methods employed in order to train the

animals to their owners' satisfaction, methods barbarous enough, in

all conscience. Yet none took exception to them. For the tendency

of the age, three centuries ago, and down probably to a much later

period, was one of cruelty. The literature of the last three hundred

years makes that but too apparent.

CHAPTER V

King Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth passionately fond of

hunting—John Selwyn's remarkable feat in the hunting field;

the monument at Walton-on-Thames—Don Quixote and his steed,

Rosinante; Peter of Provence's wooden horse, Babieca; Clavileno

and the Cid's horse—Mary Queen of Scots' favourite horses—Queen

Elizabeth's retinue of 2400 horses—Arundel, Aquiline,

Brigadore—The horses of Anatolia and Syria—Sir Robert Carey's

historic ride from London to Edinburgh in sixty hours—The horses

of Napoleon I.

So far as hunting was concerned, Henry VIII. was, as we know, a keen

sportsman, and Queen Elizabeth would appear to have been almost an

equally enthusiastic sportsman. Passionately devoted to the chase,

nothing gave her greater pleasure than to see “the quarry broken up

before her.” Statements to this effect are to be found in the works of

three trustworthy writers at least, so we may take it that the records

are approximately accurate. The queen “loved to be on horseback for

its own sake,” and was fond of open air at all times.

It is in connection with Elizabeth's partiality for the chase that the

story is told of a man named John Selwyn, for many years under keeper

of the park at Oaklands, in Surrey, where some of the queen's hunters

were usually stabled during the autumn and winter.

Selwyn must in several ways have been a remarkable character, but

it is with his horsemanship only that we have here to deal. On the

occasion, then, of a great stag hunt which the queen had arranged

should take place in the park at Oaklands, Selwyn was “chief in

attendance”—in other words, huntsman.

Suddenly, as we are told, a stag was started.

When it had been hunted only a short time, a fear was expressed by the

queen that it would escape, “the animal having proved of such unusual

swiftness that it was feared the hounds would not be able to overtake

it.”

Determined that this should not happen, “Selwyn pressed spurs to his

horse, and galloping at an angle, and sideways,” succeeded in coming

alongside the stag as it was about to turn off abruptly.

At once the enthusiasm and excitement of the spectators, especially

of the queen, became intense; nor did it abate when they saw Selwyn,

still galloping at top speed, neck and neck with the stag, suddenly

vault right off his horse's back on to the stag's, “where he kept his

seat gracefully in spite of every effort of the affrighted beast to

throw him off.”

Thus he galloped on for some yards, the queen and all the spectators

wondering what he would do next. They were not kept long in suspense.

Of a sudden Selwyn swiftly but calmly drew out his hunting knife.

Then he began to prod the animal with its point, first on one side of

its neck, then on the other, until at last he succeeded in forcing the

stag to gallop round to a point within a few yards of the very spot

where the queen sat waiting.

At last, when the animal was very near the queen, its rider suddenly

plunged his knife deep into its throat, “so that the blood spurted out

and the beast fell dead just by her feet.”

This display is said to have delighted the queen so greatly that she

soon afterwards granted Selwyn several favours, and on the monument

still to be seen at Walton-on-Thames he is portrayed in the act of

stabbing, in the manner described, the stag slaughtered on that

memorable occasion. Selwyn died on 27th March, 1587.

* * * * *

Of the famous horses of fiction and romance in the sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries, one or two more must be mentioned. Don

Quixote's immortal squire, Sancho Panza, who, it will be remembered,

rode upon an ass named Dapple, was Governor of Barataria.

Though endowed with common sense, and though his proverbs have

become historical, he was wholly devoid of what is sometimes called

“spirituality.”

Nevertheless Don Quixote and his horse, Rosinante—a name that means

literally “formerly a hack”—came gradually to be renowned the world

over.

To this day, indeed, “a perfect Rosinante” is the comment not

infrequently passed upon a horse that is mostly skin and bone.

Peter of Provence's wooden horse, Babieca, is another “creature” whose

name must not be omitted.

“This very day,” we read in Don Quixote, “may be seen in the King's

armoury the identical peg with which Peter of Provence turned his

wooden horse which carried him through the air. It is rather bigger

than the pole of a coach, and stands near Babieca's saddle.”

Don Quixote himself rode astride the wooden horse, Clavileno, on the

occasion when he wished to disenchant the Infanta Antonomasia and her

husband shut up in the tomb of Queen Maguncia, of Candaya, and Peter

of Provence rode it when he made off with beautiful Magalona.

Merlin was the name of its maker, and the horse was so constructed

that it could be governed by turning a wooden peg in its forehead.

The name means “wooden peg.” A comprehensive description of these

incidents may be found in the fourth and fifth chapters of the third

book of “Don Quixote,” but the description is not of sufficient

interest to be quoted here.

The story of the Cid's horse, to date back to an earlier century, is

almost as well known as the story of Rosinante. The Cid's horse died

some two and a half years after its master's death, and during the

whole of that period none rode it, the order having gone forth that

under no circumstances was anybody to mount the animal. At its death

its body was buried near the gate of the monastery at Valencia, two

trees being planted close to the grave to mark its whereabouts.

According to the popular legend, the horse acquired its name through

Rodrigo's having, when told in his youth that he might select a horse,

chosen an almost valueless colt. His godfather, annoyed at this

display of ignorance, at once nicknamed the lad “the dolt,” which

nickname Rodrigo presently conferred upon the horse itself. Literally,

however, “Cid” is Arabic for “lord.”

* * * * *

Among the few traits in the character of Mary Queen of Scots that have

not formed subjects for controversy among the many biographers of that

ill-starred sovereign, her undoubted fondness for animals stands out

prominently.

From first to last I have read many biographies of Mary Queen of

Scots, and it is remarkable that no two coincide consistently in

their statements, from which we are forced to the conclusion that the

majority of such works have been produced by writers who either were

bigoted or deeply prejudiced, or else who had some private axe to

grind.

With regard to Mary's horses, her two chief favourites would appear to

have been Rosabelle—the animal at one time worshipped by a proportion

of the body of minor poets!—and Agnes, called after Agnes of Dunbar, a

countess in her own right. This palfrey—almost all the horses of the

period of Mary Queen of Scots are spoken of as “palfreys”—apparently

came as a gift from her brother, Moray, and though it does not appear

to have been a steed of exceptional quality she was extraordinarily

fond of it. We find it referred to occasionally as Black Agnes.

Then, though all the evidence obtainable tends to convey the

impression that Mary Queen of Scots must have been a clever

horsewoman, she does not appear to have been very fond of hunting, in

consequence of which two at least of her biographers go so far as to

hint that her alleged distaste for the chase tended in a measure to

increase Elizabeth's hostility towards her.

From what early historians tell us, Mary probably looked far better on

a horse than Elizabeth ever did—the slimness alone of Mary's figure by

contrast with Elizabeth's may have been in a measure responsible for

this—and the knowledge must have vexed Elizabeth, who took particular

pride in her riding and was desirous above many other things to be

deemed a finished horsewoman. How vast a number of horses must have

been owned by the nobles and by other persons of wealth who dwelt

scattered over the whole of England may be gathered from the statement

of Ralph Holinshed that Queen Elizabeth alone required, when she

travelled, some 2400 animals, almost all of which had to be provided

by residents in the districts in which she moved.

The majority of these horses were employed to drag the great carts

which contained the queen's baggage, yet we are told that “the ancient

use of somers and sumpter horses” having been “utterly relinquished,

causeth the trains of our princes in their progresses to show far less

than those of the kings of other nations.”

Naturally it must be borne in mind that the weight of the baggage of

persons of rank in the sixteenth century was excessive, especially

when it was added to the weight of the clumsy carts that were used for

the conveyance of such baggage, so that four, six and even more horses

were often enough harnessed to a single cart when it was fully loaded.

Then, too, the roads were for the most part in so bad a state of

repair—many of them could not, properly speaking, be called roads at

all—that frequent changes of horses were necessary.

* * * * *

In Drayton's well-known “Polyolbion” we have a horse that is very

famous in romance. Arundel by name—a name that is said to have been

originally a corruption of the French word, _hirondelle_—it was

“swifter than the swiftest swallow.” This horse belonged to Bevis of

Southampton, “the remarkable knight,” and apparently it had as many

good points as any animal can possess. In the sixteenth century almost

every horse of note actually living, or in romance, took its name from

one or other of its chief characteristics. Thus in Tasso's “Jerusalem

Delivered” we find Raymond's steed, Aquiline, that was bred on the

banks of the Tagus, particularly remarkable for what we should to-day

call a Roman nose.

Aquiline figures largely in “Jerusalem Delivered,” and Raymond, who

was Count of Toulouse and commander of some 4000 infantry, and who,

in addition, was remarkable for his wisdom and coolness in debate, is

shown to have owed a measure of his success to Aquiline's phenomenal

sagacity. Indeed Aquiline probably saved him from destruction upon

more than one occasion.

We come upon other horses in several portions of “Jerusalem

Delivered,” especially in connection with the slaying by Raymond

of Aladine, the cruel old king. The stirring description of this

incident, and of the planting of the Christian standard upon the tower

of David by Raymond, is to be found in the twentieth book; but as we

know that the Holy Land was being ruled by the Caliph of Egypt at the

very time Raymond is supposed to have been attacking King Aladine, it

at once becomes obvious that the narrative must have been fictitious.

* * * * *

“The Faerie Queene” is another classic in which we find interesting

allusions to horses, mostly the horses of romance.

One of the best known of these animals is Brigadore, called sometimes

Brigliadore, which belonged to Sir Guyon, and was remarkable for a

black mark in its mouth, in shape like a horseshoe.

Sir Guyon, who impersonated Temperance or Self-Government, was the

companion of Prudence, and he alludes several times to Brigadore. His

fame, as most scholars will remember, rests in a great measure upon

his destruction of the enchantress, Acrasia, in the bower called the

Bower of Bliss, which was situated in the Wandering Island.

The name Acrasia means self-indulgence, and this witch was

particularly dreaded because of her partiality for transforming her

lovers into monstrous shapes and then keeping them captive.

The story of Sir Guyon's stealthy approach while Acrasia lay

unsuspectingly in her bower, and of the way in which he succeeded in

throwing a net over her, subsequently in binding her firmly in chains

of adamant, then in breaking down “her accursed bower” and burning it

to ashes, is too well known to need description here, and of course it

has no direct bearing upon Brigadore.

So far as we can judge, the horses of Anatolia and Syria must have

been well known in Europe by about the middle of the sixteenth

century, though one or two writers aver that they did not come over

until later.

An artist who died about the year 1603, and whose name was Stradamus,

produced, not long before his death, a series of drawings, and a set

of these was subsequently issued under the title, “Equile Johannis

Ducis Austriaci,” which means, “The Stable of Don John of Austria.”

It is interesting to note in this connection that practically all the

horses and mares imported between the year 1660 and the year 1685 came

from Smyrna, though the renowned Darley Arabian and several more came

from Aleppo.

This is of particular importance in relation to the records of the

horse in England's history, for there can be no doubt that a great

part of our thoroughbred racing stock is descended from these very

early importations.

* * * * *

That remarkable feats of horsemanship were performed in the reign

of Elizabeth is beyond dispute, but unfortunately the particulars

obtainable are extremely meagre.

Of Sir Robert Carey's historic ride upon the death of the queen,

details worth recording are given. No sooner had the queen breathed

her last, we are told, than Sir Robert Carey, notorious sycophant that

he was, who for days and nights had been loitering about the queen's

bed-chamber and displaying the keenest anxiety as to her condition,

set off on horseback to convey to the heir, King James, the news of

her death.

“So great was his desire to bring the news to King James before that

monarch had heard it from any other source,” we read, “that with the

lamentations of the dead queen's women still ringing in his ears

he left the bedside of his kinswoman and benefactress and started

to announce the important tidings to King James, an act quite as

indelicate as it was wholly unauthorised.”

Sir Robert's indelicacy, or alleged indelicacy, however, is no

concern of ours. As a feat of endurance, his ride was truly an

extraordinary one, for he actually galloped the whole distance from

London to Edinburgh, about 400 miles, in less than sixty hours, though

during the journey he had at least one severe fall.

How many horses he rode I have not been able to ascertain, but that

he had made in advance full preparations for this journey is more

than likely, as it is beyond dispute that he had covered the first

160 miles by nightfall on the day after he started. The exact time at

which he set out we are not told.

What made the feat more wonderful still was the condition of nearly

all the roads in England during Elizabeth's reign, with the exception

of the Roman roads and a few besides, some north of Doncaster being

really little more than tracks.

That Sir Robert Carey was well repaid for his enterprise may be

gathered from the statement that King James I. “rewarded him for being

the first to bring him the glad news, by granting him signal favours.”

* * * * *

From about this period onward the horse may be said to have entered

upon the third phase of its career in the history of all nations, but

more especially in the history of our own nation. For, as we have

seen, from very early times down to the period of the Norman Conquest

the nations that had not horses had almost without exception been

forced to take a secondary place in the world's progress.

From the period of the Norman Conquest down to the beginning of the

accession of the House of Stuart—indeed, as we shall see presently,

almost down to the period of the Commonwealth—the improvement and

development of the horse as an “arm” in warfare had gone practically

hand in hand with the improvement in the training of men to fight in

battle. And from then onward, that is to say from the beginning of the

period of the Stuarts and the Commonwealth, down to the present day,

the horse has been connected with history in the capacity of charger

or war horse, hunter or pleasure horse, and thoroughbred or race horse.

Let me state at once, then, that it is not my intention to describe

at length, or even to mention by name, all the more or less famous,

horses that have been owned by the more prominent or distinguished men

at any time within the last three hundred years, for such a collection

of names, or of descriptions, would not be likely to prove of interest

to the modern reader. In addition comparatively few of the records

concerning these animals bear the impress of truth.

As we come to the close of the nineteenth and the opening of the

twentieth centuries historical records increase enormously in volume,

so that now we find ourselves confronted by a mass of reports, many

of which bear directly upon horses that are of no interest whatever,

though they may have belonged to famous men whose names are still

household words.

Thus in a single history of Napoleon I. we find two pages of

descriptive matter to do with a horse of his called Wagram; two pages

about Cyrus, another of his horses; a page about his horse named Emir;

half-a-page about his Coco; three pages about Gongalve; two about

Coquet; three about Tausis, and so on all the way through, while

everything that is said about them could quite easily be condensed

into three or four short sentences.

Indeed the biographers of the majority of our great military leaders

have deemed it necessary to write long and verbose descriptions of the

animals that were owned by these historical celebrities, apparently

for no other reason than that they did belong to celebrities.

When all is said, it is difficult to imagine how or whence they can

have obtained such circumstantial information. Granting, however, the

truth of all the statements—and one cannot say definitely that any

one of them is not true in every detail—was it worth while to tell us

that Piers Gaveston owned a grey, or that Blucher remarked upon some

uninteresting occasion that he had a horse that used to jib?

Yet trivial points of this sort are to be found mentioned in plenty of

the so-called popular biographies of our great men.

Of more interest it would have been had the biographers succeeded in

discovering, and then told us, what sort of bits Napoleon liked to

ride his chargers in, and his reason or reasons for preferring them,

or whether Blucher ever tried his grey in blinkers. Then the horses

described at such weary length might possibly have taught us a lesson

or two worth learning.

PART III

FROM THE STUART PERIOD TO THE PRESENT DAY

CHAPTER I

Arrival of the Markham Arabian, the first Arab imported into

England—Newmarket village founded by James I.—Decline of the

“great horse”—The Royal Studs—James I. organises a race meeting

on the frozen River Ouse—Superstitious beliefs concerning

horses—James I. meets with a grotesque riding mishap—Prosperity

of the Turf—Riding match between Lord Haddington and Lord

Sheffield—The Turf vigorously denounced as “an evil likely to

imperil the whole country's prosperity”

“King James I.'s love of racing,” writes a trustworthy chronicler of

the movements at the court of James I. and Charles I. “was due to the

importation into England of the first Arab horse ever seen here.”

That simple statement records one of the most important incidents

that has occurred in the development of the horse in this country, an

incident that subsequently proved to be of great moment in connection

with the history of Great Britain. For though the assertion has many

times been controverted, careful research proves beyond doubt that

until the arrival in England of the Markham Arabian—which in after

generations was to become so greatly renowned—no Arab of any sort had

been brought into this country.

[Illustration: STATUE OF COLLEONI BY VERROCCHIO IN VENICE]

The stories that have been told of this, the first of the famous

Eastern sires, are numerous, and, as is usual in such cases, the

majority of them are apparently untrue.

One of the most widely circulated of the misstatements was to the

effect that the price paid by King James to Mr Markham for this

particular Arab sire was not less than £500, and in papers and books

almost innumerable, in which the Markham Arabian is mentioned, this

false statement is repeated.

That it is false beyond dispute is proved by the actual entry of the

purchase that may be seen to this day in the Exchequer or Receipt

Order Books in the Public Record Office. The entry runs as follows:—

“Item the 20th of December, 1616, paid to Master Markham for the

Arabian Horse for His Majesty's own use, £154, 0. 0.”

It is almost inconceivable that anyone can seriously have believed

that £500, or any sum approaching it, could have been paid for this

sire, for at that period no sum approaching £500 ever was paid for any

horse, the purchasing value of money being until after the reign of

James I. so much in excess of its purchasing value some two centuries

later.

That several thoroughbred Eastern sires were bought by James is well

known, among the last to which reference is made by the historians

being the famous Villiers Arabs, which the king does not appear to

have acquired until towards the end of his reign.

Yet in spite of all that has been said and written about John

Markham's stallion, the horse was not, according to that excellent

judge of horses, the Duke of Newcastle, the class of animal that any

man would have chosen to breed from for looks, for, in the duke's own

words, “He [the Markham Arabian] was a bay, but a little horse, and no

rarity for shape; for I have seen many English horses far finer....

Mr Markham sold him to the King for five hundred pounds (_sic_), and

being trained up for a course, when he came to run, every horse beat

him.”

I believe I am right in saying that the identity of John Markham has

never been positively traced, also that the consensus of opinion

inclines to the belief that he was the father of the famous author,

Gervase Markham, who for many years held the post of keeper of

Clipston Shraggs Walk, in Sherwood Forest.

Among the works of Gervase Markham is a volume entitled “Cavalarice,

or the English Horseman,” in which many grotesque and unintentionally

humorous passages are to be found.

Each of the eight books which together go to make up this work is

dedicated to some distinguished personage, of whom James I. is one,

and Henry, Prince of Wales, another.

To James I. we are probably indebted for the existence of the town

of Newmarket, for it is certain that he not only inaugurated the

construction of the village, but in addition brought his influence to

bear upon its development, and that he greatly helped to stimulate the

interest which the people of Newmarket and the neighbourhood already

took in the breeding and training of running horses. It may be partly

for this reason that Newmarket is still so often spoken of as “the

royal village.”

Notwithstanding the disappointment the Markham Arabian must have

afforded James I., we read that the king offered a silver bell of

considerable value to be run for at Newmarket, that the entries

for the race were numerous, and that “the event gave rise to much

speculation, wagering and public interest.”

It was, indeed, in this connection that Ben Jonson wrote so

caustically, or rather satirically, in his famous “Alchemist,” and

alluded incidentally to “the rules to cheat at horse races.”

Elsewhere Jonson describes, and mentions by name, some of the race

horses that probably were well known on the Turf at about that period.

Seeing how keen the interest was that James I. took almost from

boyhood in all that related to the Turf, and to the breeding of race

horses, we can hardly be surprised to hear that during his reign the

general interest in the breeding of “great horses,” which had been so

marked a feature of Henry VIII.'s reign, also of Elizabeth's reign, at

one time threatened to die out.

Robert Reyce speaks of this in his “Breviary of Suffolk,” a book which

he dedicated to Sir Robert Crane, of Chiltern, and elsewhere allusions

are to be found to the decay of interest in the breeding of “great

horses.”

Indeed James appears to have admitted quite openly that the bare

sight of the animals bored him “owing to the clumsy appearance they

presented,” a view that is shared to-day by several of the more

prominent of our owners of race horses.

Under the circumstances it is amusing to find the king himself

inditing a ponderous treatise “for the instruction and edification of

his son,” Henry, Prince of Wales, a treatise suitably enough entitled

“Religio Regis: or the Faith and Duty of a Prince.”

Apparently he wrote the greater part of this work at Newmarket, for in

it he alludes more than once to the races which were being held there

at the time, races at which he had been present on the day he wrote.

That he deemed horsemanship to be a form of exercise of inestimable

value becomes obvious as we read “Religio Regis”; but then in the

reign of almost every monarch from about the beginning of the Stuart

period down to the time of the four Georges great stress is laid by

the various sovereigns upon the advisability that the sons of the

nobles and of the aristocracy should become proficient horsemen.

The author of “The Court of King James” also is emphatic in his advice

to courtiers “to be very forwardly inclined to bring up horses,”

adding that such horses should be bred from the best strains only,

and that no matter how great the sum expended in order to secure good

strains, the money could not be looked upon as wasted.

Of the royal studs in the reign of James I., the most important

probably were those at Newmarket, at Eltham, at Tutbury, Malmesbury

and Cole Park, and among the manuscripts in the British Museum there

may be seen to-day an interesting list of the “necessaries” which

appertained to the royal stables, all classified under separate

headings—geldings, cart horses, coursers, hunters, battle horses, and

so on.

Remarks upon the part played by the horse in history at about this

time are to be found also in Lodge's “Illustrations of British

History,” where, in the third volume, we read that on 6th April 1605

there arrived at Greenwich Palace “a dozen gallant mares, all with

foal, four horses, and eleven stallions, all coursers of Naples.”

These the archduke begged King James to accept as a small mark of the

esteem in which the king was held by himself and his country-men.

In the historical records of almost the whole of James I.'s reign we

find reference made repeatedly to race horses, also to the sport of

hunting. An important fixture, as we should call it to-day, apparently

was the Chester Meeting. It took place on St George's Day, and the

chief race was known as “The St George's Cup.” The riders carried ten

stone, and the entrance stake was half-a-crown.

A quaint rule in connection with this race was that the winning owner

had to contribute to a fund for the benefit of the prisoners confined

in the North Gate jail “the sum of six shillings and eightpence or

three shillings and fourpence, on certain conditions.”

In addition to the cup, silver bells were run for at this meeting,

and it is interesting to learn that before removing their prizes the

cup winner and the bell winners were compelled to deposit “adequate

security”—presumably with the race committee—for these trophies. For

all the principal trophies had to be run for again at the following

meeting, and we are told quite seriously that it was feared that if

the temporary owners were allowed to remove these prizes without

leaving any security they might have been disposed to make away with

them before the date of the next meeting!

At the Chester Meeting, and therefore presumably elsewhere, the

sheriff acted as starter, “and if any rider committed foul play during

the race he was disqualified in case he won.”

About the year 1624, however, certain changes were made in the rules

of racing, and from that time onward some of the races were run five

times round the course instead of only three times, also the winner

of a cup became entitled to retain it as his property “upon the first

occasion of gaining it.”

Professional jockeys in the reign of James I. held, in a sense, quite

a good position. The king associated with them frequently, especially

at Newmarket. Indeed, he openly admitted that he preferred the company

of sportsmen to that of politicians, and that the surroundings of the

racecourse and the pleasures of the chase attracted him far more than

did the business of the state.

His enemies, as we know, took advantage of these carelessly uttered

assertions when later they set to work to encompass his downfall, and

during the closing years of his reign he was made to suffer unjustly

for many of the minor follies of his youth.

It was wholly characteristic of James that he should upon one

occasion—he was staying at Croydon at the time in order to attend

the race meeting that was held there in Easter week—have in a sudden

access of emotional enthusiasm created his friend, Philip Herbert, a

knight, a baron and a viscount in the course of a few minutes.

This he is said to have done in order to mark his appreciation of

Herbert's self-control when, after being struck in the face by a

Scotsman named Ramsey, Herbert refrained from hitting back.

Though the king and all his courtiers and many strangers were present

upon the occasion, Herbert did not betray the least sign of annoyance,

though the blow was a severe one.

It should be borne in mind that during James's reign the Scots had, as

a nation, come to be almost execrated, so that the affront was all the

greater.

The king is said to have expressed it as his opinion that under the

circumstances Philip Herbert's self-restraint came near to being

heroic!

As James's fondness for racing increased, so did the great majority of

his nobles, his barons and his courtiers profess to grow fonder of the

sport, while many soon took to gambling with great recklessness.

This the king apparently encouraged them to do, for we learn that he

was “wont to laugh heartily when told that some of his sycophants

had lost exceptionally large sums of money,” or, as was frequently

the case, that one or other of them had been compelled to part with

a portion of his estates in order to meet debts of honour. The women

of the court also aped the king at this time, as indeed they appear

to have done in almost every age. Yet their losses were small by

comparison with the sums lost on the Turf by their daughters and

granddaughters in the reign of Charles II., half-a-century or so later.

Two years after James I. had ascended the throne there set in one of

the coldest winters this country has ever known, with the result that

a long stretch of the River Ouse became frozen over and so afforded

the king an opportunity, of which he was quick to avail himself, of

organising a race-meeting on the ice.

Drake tells us that the course extended “from the tower at the end

of Marygate, under the great arch of the bridge, to the crane at

Skeldergate Postern.”

But even so early as this in the reign of King James the opponents of

horse racing began to raise indignant protests against “the folly and

wickedness of betting on running horses,” protests to which but scant

attention was paid.

Not until some years later did the extremely zealous clergyman named

Hinde set seriously to work to denounce the practice of gambling in

any and every form, and he appears then to have spoken and written so

forcibly that many persons of intelligence and education—I quote from

a trustworthy source—gathered round and strove to encourage him to the

best of their ability.

Racing in particular he waged war against, declaring it to be “an

exercise of profaneness diligently followed by many of our gentlemen

and by many of inferior rank also.” Great injury, he maintained, was

done by men of rank and others “who of their weekly and almost daily

meetings, and matches on their bowling greens, or their lavish betting

of great wagers in such sorry trifles, and of their stout and strong

abbeting of so sillie vanaties amongst hundreds, sometimes thousands,

of rude and vile persons to whom they should give better, and not

so bad example and encouragement, as to be idle in neglecting their

callings; wasteful in gaming, and spending their means; wicked in

cursing and swearing, and dangerously profane in their brawling and

quarrelling.”

These observations, and many more to the same effect, are to be found

in the “Biography of Bruen”; yet in the long run the diatribes made

but little difference, for the passion for gambling had taken a firm

hold of the people of almost all classes, and while it lasted it

flourished exceedingly.

We do not hear of many famous horses during the reign of James I.,

save the sires which the king himself imported; yet it is certain that

the popularity of the horse increased during the first two decades of

the seventeenth century, quite apart from the popularity that betting

upon horse races continued to acquire.

As a natural result, perhaps, greater attention soon came to be paid

to the management and care of horses, to feeding and exercising them,

so that probably the owners of the thoroughbreds of those days had

begun to realise, as they do not appear to have done before, that

a horse's working years may be considerably prolonged if he be fed

carefully and exercised regularly.

Indeed the crass ignorance that until about this time had prevailed

with regard to the treatment of sick horses comes near to being

ludicrous. Superstition, as we know, was rampant in connection with

the curing of suffering humanity, and various forms of superstition

extended in a great measure to the treatment of animals that were out

of health.

Thus we read of horses supposed to be possessed by evil spirits,

when what they probably were suffering from was an attack of simple

staggers; of witches being consulted when a horse went lame, and paid

liberally for their grotesque advice, and so on to the end.

That horses so often went lame at about this period was due probably

to the ignorance of many of the farriers of the very rudiments of

practical farriery.

In Ireland, possibly also in parts of England, a horse with what is

called to-day a “wall” eye was looked upon as a harbinger of evil,

and deemed likely to bring bad luck, especially upon the family and

relatives of the man who owned it; while any man so “ill-advised” as

to breed a fearsome creature of this kind often was afterwards glanced

at askance by persons who before he had numbered amongst his friends.

Then there existed also a superstitious belief in connection with a

horse with a white hoof, but what this particular superstition was I

have not been able to discover. Apparently the owner of a horse so

marked was glad enough to get rid of it for a sum much below its true

worth, and generally he deemed himself fortunate if able to sell such

a horse at all.

An instance is on record of a weakly foal being left out all night

in a snowstorm as a superstitious test. We are told that it died

of exposure, and that its owner at once thanked God for His mercy

in having taken from him a creature born with an evil spirit, the

inference being that but for the alleged evil spirit the little foal

would have been able to withstand the rigour of the blizzard and the

intense cold.

Stolen horses in particular were believed to possess a supernatural

power that would enable them to find their way home to their rightful

masters if they succeeded in escaping from the thief. But plenty of

horses, as we know, are to-day able to find their way home from a long

way off, horses that have not necessarily been stolen.

In justice let it be said that James laughed to scorn the majority of

these superstitious beliefs. This is strange, for in some respects he

must have been almost as superstitious as many of his courtiers—and

for that matter as the great bulk of his subjects.

Partial to tall horses, he expressed a wish that his nobles should not

ride cobs, deeming such animals to be out of keeping with the majesty

of the court.

It was probably for this reason that he strove to encourage his

subjects to ride tall horses.

Then, though several historians appear to take it for granted that

the Turkish horse was unknown in England until the arrival of the

famous Byerley Turk in 1689, we may rest assured that Turkish horses

were here in James's time, and probable before his time. Blunderville

is only one of the early writers who say so in so many words.

Incidentally he mentions that fully a century before the Byerley Turk

was brought over he himself had seen “horses come from Turkey, as

well into Italie as thither into England, indifferentlie faire to the

eie, tho' not verie great nor stronglie made, yet very light and swift

in their running, and of great courage.”

Also we read that about the year 1617 “half-a-dozen Barbry horses”

were brought to England by Sir Thomas Edmonds and stabled at Newmarket

in the royal paddocks.

A quaint description is to be found in the works of several of the

writers in James I.'s reign of an accident that befell the king in

December of the year 1621 as he was riding after dinner, an accident

that in spite of its undeniable grotesqueness might well have proved

disastrous.

The king, it seems, had “gone abroad early in the day, and to

Theobald's to dinner.” He appears to have enjoyed his dinner at

Theobald's greatly, and to have decided quite suddenly, as soon as the

meal was over, that he would like “to ride on horseback abroad.”

The accident that presently was to occur is attributed by different

writers to different causes, the most charitable of the reports

being to the effect that the king's horse stumbled and threw his

royal master on to the frozen surface of the New River “with so much

violence that the ice brake and he fell in so that nothing but his

boots were seen.”

Sir Richard Young, who chanced to be riding just behind him, instantly

sprang off his horse and succeeded with the help of a friend, though

only with great difficulty, in dragging the dripping monarch “out of

the hole and his undignified predicament.”

According to another chronicler, “there came much water out of his

mouth and body,” yet “His Majesty rid back to Theobald's, went into a

warme bed, and, as we heere, is well, which God continue.”

That the king had a sense of humour is made manifest by the statement

that upon his recovery he laughed heartily at the recollection of the

incident, while we are further told that his gratitude to Sir Richard

Young, his rescuer, “did not stop short at the hearty grasp of the

hand he gave him.”

Mention has already been made of James's strange literary work,

“Religio Regis: or the Faith and Duty of a Prince.” This is said to

have been written during the King's temporary residence at Newmarket

“for the betterment of his health” (_sic_).

It was produced primarily for “the instruction and edification” of

his son, Henry, at that time Prince of Wales, but it came to be read

widely by his nobles and all about the court.

In this remarkable treatise we are told that “the honourablest and

most commendable Games that a king can use are on Horseback, for it

becomes a Prince above all Men to be a good Horseman. And use such

Games on Horseback as may teach you to handle your Arms thereon, such

as Tilt, Ring, and low-riding for handling your sword....

“As for hunting, the most honourable and noblest Sport thereof is with

running Hounds; for it is a thievish sport of hunting to shoot with

Guns and Bows....

“However, in using either of these Sports observe such Moderation

that you slip not therewith Hours appointed for your Affairs, which

you ought ever precisely to keep; remembering that these Pastimes are

but ordain'd for you to enable you for your Office, to which you are

call'd by your Birth.”

Before the close of James's reign the Turf bore every sign of having

been granted a fresh lease of life. Private riding matches among men

of rank and wealth had become popular again, and though some of these

were “'cross-country matches,” plenty were ridden on the flat, upon

which occasions vast sums of money were run for almost always.

Of these races one that seems to have attracted much attention was run

in the year 1622, for a cup valued at twelve pounds, when the crowd

that assembled was one of the biggest at that time on record.

The wagers that were made were mostly in large sums, and we are told

that, to the surprise of the majority of the betting men “and their

subsequent discomfiture,” the race, in which there were six “tryers,”

was won by an outsider, the property of a popular sportsman, Sir

George Bowes.

The judge in this race was a Mr Humphrey Wyvell, and so greatly

annoyed did the crowd become at the defeat of the favourite that they

made a desperate attempt to attack the judge, with the intention of

injuring him seriously, an attempt that fortunately was frustrated.

We are not told if the king was present upon this occasion, but the

principal racing men of the period undoubtedly were there. The king

himself attended a meeting at Lincoln in the spring of 1617, where he

lost very heavily.

Towards the end of this reign strong opposition to the increasing

popularity of racing began to manifest itself among what we should

to-day call the middle class, owing, so it was said, to the sport

being vigorously denounced from pulpit and platform as a growing

national evil, “one likely to imperil the whole country's prosperity.”

For some time the king strove to smother these denunciations, and he

even partially succeeded in the attempt.

Yet in the end the people must have triumphed, for we read that

James was still on the throne when some of the more popular of the

flat-race meetings were tacitly allowed to be abandoned, while in

1620 the meeting which usually had been held at Thetford was directly

suppressed by an order of the Privy Council.

Among the most important of the private riding matches, as they were

then called, that took place in James's reign was the one arranged at

Newmarket between Lord Haddington and Lord Sheffield.

Run at Huntingdon towards the end of the year 1607, the race was

extremely exciting from start to finish. Both men appear to have been

good riders, and the stake run for is said to have amounted to a

considerable sum.

Yet the various accounts of the match give versions which differ

widely as to what happened, and while one writer declares that Lord

Haddington won with difficulty, another contradicts him by maintaining

that the stake was awarded to Lord Sheffield.

With regard to the pictures that are said to have been drawn from life

in those days, if they are true to life it becomes obvious that some

three centuries ago it was not customary for race riders, or “tryers,”

to stand in their stirrups while riding races, as they do to-day and

most certainly did in the last century and the century before it.

This is strange, for some of the earliest of our writers who touch

incidentally upon the subject of race riding are rather emphatic in

declaring that the jockey should get rid of all “dead” weight, and of

course it is chiefly by standing in the stirrups that “dead” weight

can be neutralised.

James I. would seem to have paid more attention to the theory of

training horses he intended to run than any of his predecessors

did, though this is not great praise, so ignorant of the fundamental

principles of scientific training were the horse owners of about that

period.

Upon slight provocation horses were freely bled, just as human beings

were bled or “leeched” less than a hundred years ago. Indeed we read

of one horse that was bled while in the hunting field, owing to its

having proved too restive for its owner to ride with comfort (!);

while another was driven into a leech pond in order that the leeches

might suck off “the goodlie warts” with which its belly and thighs

were studded.

So far as I have been able to ascertain, about a century and a half

ago the leech cure was deemed quite the best for warts. Yet perhaps we

are wrong to think or to speak contemptuously of the ignorance of our

forefathers. Who can say that in years to come our descendants may not

speak as contemptuously of us—their ancestors—because we fired horses,

and because we drenched them with physic for various ailments?

Indeed there are already veterinary surgeons who aver that to fire a

horse under any circumstances is to commit a grave blunder, and that

firing as a general practice ought emphatically to be abandoned.

CHAPTER II

First races of importance run at Newmarket—Races in Hyde Park—The

Helmsley Turk and the Morocco Barb—Racing introduced into

Holland—Importation of Spanish stallions into England—Prince

Charles's riding master, the Duke of Newcastle—Increasing cost

of horses—Marshal de Bassompierre; his loss through gambling,

£500,000 in a year; Sir John Fenwick—Sir Edward Harwood's

pessimism—Cromwell's Ironsides—Armour discarded—The opposition to

stage coaches; Mr Cressett's theory; Charles II. favours their

adoption

The early history of Newmarket is more or less wrapped in mystery, or

rather in confusion; in other words, the writers who have dealt with

“the inauguration of Newmarket racing,” as one of them terms it, in

many instances contradict one another so flatly that the truth can be

arrived at only by conjecture or by inference.

Apparently the destruction of the Spanish Armada in 1588 was the ill

wind that indirectly benefited Newmarket so far as its horses were

concerned, for there is no doubt that many of the horses rescued from

drowning when the great vessels of the Armada were wrecked were sent

direct to Newmarket, “where great surprise was expressed by all who

beheld them at their exceeding swiftness.”

From this one would naturally conclude that interesting races were

run on Newmarket Heath towards the close of the sixteenth century; yet

elsewhere we read that the first races of importance run at Newmarket

took place in 1640, and that the round course was not made until about

the year 1666, while a third historian goes so far as to declare that

a gold cup run for at the Newmarket Spring Meeting of 1634 affords

_per se_ the earliest irrefutable record of such an occurrence, based

on contemporary data.

Yet from statements set down in an earlier chapter we have already

seen that horse racing of a sort must have taken place at Newmarket

quite a long time before this. In point of fact, in almost every

historical record of Newmarket that I have come upon I have found

either direct or indirect allusion to the renown of the neighbourhood

of Newmarket for the horses that were bred or trained there.

The horses brought ashore from the Spanish vessels probably were among

the best that Spain at that time possessed, and several attempts were

made by the Spanish to recover some of them. It is known that towards

the close of the sixteenth century the Spanish were making determined

efforts to breed faster horses than they had previously bred, yet it

is surprising that the horses they had brought with them upon their

famous expedition should have been so swift, for they must have been

animals of far heavier type than the animals they would in a general

way breed for racing.

The Spaniards of three centuries ago, we must of course remember, were

renowned for their horsemanship far more highly than their descendants

of to-day are.

In the reign of Charles I. horse races were run in Hyde Park, a

track having been laid down there with great care. This meeting was

immensely popular, and “the inhabitants of London and those parts near

London assembled in their thousands to watch the running horses,” and

in most instances to squander large sums.

“The Park first became under Charles I. the fashionable society

rendezvous,” Mrs Alec Tweedie tells us in her interesting volume,

“Hyde Park: Its History and Romance.” “Its greatest attraction, maybe,

was the racing in the Ring. The occasions when organised meetings

took place were special scenes of gaiety, and were evidently thought

important events, as even among the State Papers there is preserved

the agreement for a race that took place there.”

In later years an attempt was made to revive the Hyde Park race

meeting, but the attempt was vigorously opposed by the mass of the

residents in the neighbourhood, and by many others as well.

A report of a race in Hyde Park appears in a copy of _The London

Post_, but is undated. As _The London Post_ ceased to exist after the

year 1640, this race was run probably a year or two before that

date. The report is said to be the first detailed account of a horse

race ever published in a newspaper.

“I made a present to the King,” Sully writes, “of six beautiful horses

richly caparisoned, and the Sieur of St Antoine as their keeper.” The

Sieur of St Antoine, who after being equerry to Prince Henry became

equerry to Charles I., is represented in the famous Vandyck picture of

King Charles in armour, in the picture now in the National Gallery.

[Illustration: VAN DYCK'S FAMOUS PICTURE, NOW IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY,

OF CHARLES I ON HORSEBACK]

* * * * *

It was about the year 1641 that the Duke of Buckingham greatly helped

to improve the breed of horses by importing the famous Helmsley Turk

and the almost equally famous Morocco Barb. It is curious to read that

the importation of these horses was at first looked upon with grave

suspicion by a great body of the principal horse breeders in this

country, and by others interested in the horse and its development.

To what the antagonism was owing one can hardly say for certain. One

report has it that some among the duke's personal enemies—he had many

enemies—were determined to do all in their power to injure him by

wrecking any scheme in which he presumably was interested. The sums

he paid for these horses were considerable, but the excellent effect

the good blood had upon the breed fully repaid him for the incidental

outlay, also for the great trouble to which he had been put to secure

such excellent stallions.

Shortly before this some English officers serving in the Dutch army

had introduced horse racing into Holland, and the popularity of

the new sport began to spread there quickly. Soon a number of race

meetings came to be organised, and in a short time Dutch emissaries

were sent over to England for the express purpose of purchasing blood

stock here.

Being comparatively ignorant of horses—ignorant, that is to say, of

the requirements essential in a racing stallion—these emissaries were

at first cheated in the most barefaced manner by some of the very men

who only a short time before had been their guests in Holland!

Later, however, they succeeded in importing some very valuable blood

stock, and in several respects the race meetings they presently

organised were better arranged than many of the English meetings of

that period.

In 1637 we find the Duke of Newcastle appointed Governor to Prince

Charles—later to become King Charles II.—with special injunctions to

teach him to ride well.

The duke's volume on equitation, published at Antwerp in 1658,

contains particulars of the prince's progress in the art of

horsemanship, from which we may gather that Prince Charlie was an

exceptionally apt pupil—“a horseman by nature,” he has been termed.

So emphatically was this the case that in comparatively a few years he

professed himself able to ride any horse that anyone might choose to

bring to him, an assertion in which the duke supported him.

It was not long after this that the duke persuaded his royal pupil to

import from Spain a number of exceptionally fine sires, for, as he

said, Spanish stallions were quite unsurpassed, and in his opinion no

other sort of stallion ought to be admitted into this country.

The duke himself has been described as “an iron horseman,” but the

exact meaning of the phrase is not quite clear. He had, according to

some writers, an “iron” seat on a horse, while according to others he

had “iron” hands—the latter a questionable compliment.

Probably an “iron” nerve is what they really meant, for we know that

the Duke of Newcastle was both a finished and a fearless horseman, two

important qualifications that do not necessarily go together. We are

further told that in teaching the prince to ride he never spared him,

a statement easily believed when the duke's hard and resolute nature,

added to his known determination to succeed at any cost in every task

he undertook to accomplish, are borne in mind. Ordered to train the

prince into a skilful horseman, he had at once set to work to do it to

the best of his ability.

Some say that as a boy Prince Charlie looked, when in the saddle, as

if he had been born there, and through life this natural seat upon a

horse stood him in good stead.

In addition to being a graceful rider, he had a very strong seat, so

that presumably he possessed the precious gift that to-day we call

“hands.”

An eighteenth-century writer, who appears to have had access to

private manuscripts or documents to do with King Charles II.'s private

life, avers that the king never, as we should express it, pulled

a horse about. Even tempered with his horses, he seldom or never

ill-treated them. They appeared to respond instinctively to his every

touch, to understand what he meant by the varying inflection in his

voice, and to divine, as if by magic, what their master wished them to

do. Also he never outrode a horse under any circumstances—never, as we

should say, rode a horse off its legs.

He preferred long stirrup leathers to short, but then in his day most

men did.

Also it is said of him that he never would look twice at a horse that

had bad quarters or indifferent withers.

Altogether it seems clear that, though he had a natural aptitude for

horsemanship, he must have been carefully and very thoroughly coached

in all the points of a horse, as well as in all that appertained to

the management, training and stabling of horses of every kind.

* * * * *

Horses had risen in price during Charles I.'s reign. In the reign of

Charles II. they rose higher still.

Thus about the year 1635—that is to say towards the middle of Charles

I.'s reign—300 and 400 pistoles was considered a moderate sum to pay

for a well-broken young horse.

“And the Marquis of Seralvo told me,” writes the Duke of Newcastle,

“that a Spanish horse called Il Bravo, and sent to the Arch-Duke

Leopold, his master, was held as much as a Mannor of a Thousand Crowns

a year, and that he hath known horses at 700, 800, and 1000 pistoles.”

Elsewhere we find indisputable evidence that between the beginning of

Charles I.'s and the end of Charles II.'s reign sums varying from 400

to 700 pistoles must often have been paid for saddle horses, while for

race horses the prices were considerably in excess of these sums.

It is amusing to read that the duke spoke in terms almost of contempt

of the Barb, for it shows that in one respect at least he must have

been prejudiced in much the same way that some of our modern owners

and trainers of thoroughbreds are prejudiced.

Yet he was firmly convinced that many of the horses imported from such

countries as Germany, Denmark and Holland were well suited for harness

work and for the plough.

In face of this, and in face also of his strong bias in favour of

Spanish stallions, it is surprising to hear that he deemed the English

horse to be “the best horse in the whole world for all uses whatever,

from the cart to the manage,” and that he even considered some of them

to be “as beautiful horses as can be anywhere, for they are bred out

of all the horses of all nations.”

Equally enthusiastic upon the subject of the English horse and its

merits, and upon its superiority over the horses of other nations, was

Marshal de Bassompierre, who has something to say about them in the

interesting memoirs of his embassy in England in 1626.

Thus after telling us that during his residence in this country he

received from some of the high officers of state, also from the king

himself, a present of fine horses, he goes on to mention incidentally

that it was at about this period that English thoroughbreds were

introduced into France for the first time.

This is interesting, inasmuch as certain writers of an earlier epoch

state definitely that English thoroughbreds were to be seen in parts

of France in their day.

Bassompierre, who had been in England in Elizabeth's reign, is likely

to have known the true facts. In addition to being “addicted to

horses,” he was passionately fond of gambling, and the latter hobby is

said to have cost him in a single year some £500,000.

A family notorious early in the Stuart era for its devotion to the

Turf was the Fenwick family, so much so that several of its members

are described as having run “quite out of their fortunes” in their

futile attempts to transform two or three small fortunes into one

large one. The sensational story of Sir John Fenwick's trial, followed

by his execution on Tower Hill in 1697, establishes a sort of landmark

in the history of the public executions of the seventeenth century.

During the first half of the same century horse fairs were organised

throughout England, and year by year they became events of greater

importance, many hundreds of men and women of all ranks travelling

from far-distant parts of the country in order to attend them. The

scenes of ribaldry by which many of these fairs were followed would

not be tolerated now. Among the more important of the fairs were those

held at Ripon, Melton, Pankridge and Northampton, but many of the

others were almost equally fashionable.

It was in the reign of Charles I. that Sir Edward Harwood presented

the famous petition, or memorial, in which he explained in forcible

language that “good and stout horses for the defence of the kingdom”

would soon be to all intents at a premium owing to the scant attention

that was then being paid to the breeding of such animals, adding that

he doubted whether, if some 2000 great horses should be wanted at

short notice, it would be possible to find so many in a fit condition

to do battle.

The French horses of the same stamp, he went on to say, were in

almost every way superior to ours, and so emphatic was he upon this

last point that he openly declared that if some 2000 of the best of

our great horses were to be set face to face in battle with an equal

number of the Frenchmen's horses, our troops would to a certainty be

routed with heavy loss.

Seeing how earnestly Harwood spoke, the king, as we are told,

expressed sorrow and great amazement at what he heard, and at once

inquired the reason of the English horses' alleged inferiority.

Then it was that Sir Edward made his point. With considerable

bluntness he told the king that the decline of the great horse was

due chiefly to the spread of racing and hunting, and to the growth,

consequent thereon, in the number of race meetings that were being

organised, and in the assemblage of persons who attended them.

For, as he justly pointed out, so long as the attention of the

principal body of the nobility and of the wealthy landed proprietors

was centred upon the breeding almost wholly of light and swift horses,

it was not possible to suppose that time would be found to attend also

to the breeding and rearing of the powerful animals that alone were

fit to carry men-at-arms.

Upon hearing this, Charles declared, no doubt in all good faith, that

he would take steps to revive the flagging interest in the production

of good war horses, but in the end nothing practical was done.

That the king himself took interest in the great horse we are led to

infer from the fact that upon the big seal he is shown riding astride

one. In Vandyck's portrait of Oliver Cromwell we see Cromwell riding

rather a light-coloured great horse, a point worthy of note inasmuch

as we know that from about that time onward the term “great” horse was

almost always taken to mean a _black_ horse of this particular stamp.

[Illustration: OLIVER CROMWELL ON HORSEBACK

_After Van Dyck_]

Oliver Cromwell's world-renowned Ironsides were not, of course,

mounted on great horses. On the contrary, though the Ironsides proved

themselves to be by far the most powerful cavalry seen in England down

to that time, their strength was due not to their weight, but to their

remarkable mobility.

The dismay the Ironsides spread amongst the foe is said to have

astonished the cavaliers themselves as much as it surprised the enemy.

For it must be borne in mind that the Ironsides did not wear armour.

Instead they were protected merely by light buff coats, so that

naturally they were able to ride far lighter and consequently more

active, horses.

Probably it was the good work done by Cromwell's cavalry that marked

the turning-point in the life of the old _régime_ by driving out of

the field not only the great horses that until then had been deemed

wholly indispensable, but also by sounding the death-knell of armour

that for two centuries had been growing steadily heavier and more

ponderous.

For many years, however, a body of the English military authorities

metaphorically clung doggedly to the clumsy horses to which they

had so long been accustomed, and to the clumsy armour as well,

declaring—as some of their successors do to-day—that the innovation

of a mobile force must soon prove unsatisfactory and ultimately be

disbanded.

Instead, exactly the reverse happened.

By slow degrees the armour was discarded, while the great horses, as

we are told, were relegated to the coach, the waggon and the plough.

Among those who adhered longest to the theory that England must

inevitably lose her prestige if the great horse were ousted from

her army for good and all was the Duke of Newcastle of that period.

Laughed at for his pains, and spoken of by the younger generation as

a man not able to see ahead of the times, he yet stood firmly by his

opinion almost to the last. As the years went on, and the younger

generation in their turn grew retrospective and pessimistic, no doubt

they too were laughed at by their sons, and thus history continues to

repeat itself even to the present day.

* * * * *

At about this period many of the “good” roads in England were in

reality little better than broad cart tracks, so that heavy horses

were largely in demand. In consequence of this the prices paid for a

good team of horses were in many instances out of all proportion to

the animals' true worth. By this time, too, public stages were already

being started on the highroads, and the competition this gave rise to

soon sent up by leaps and bounds the value of great horses well broken

to harness.

Of these stages the first was started probably about the year 1670,

and its weight when empty must have been enormous, every part being

made of solid timber bound with strips of iron. The “speed” at which

it travelled—so far as one can gather from the early descriptive

records of the progress of the pioneer stage—must have been

approximately three or four miles an hour, upon an average, or even

less.

An excellent reproduction of the early type of the English great

horse is to be seen in Dublin in the famous statue of William III. on

horseback. The type of horse shown is probably the exact type that was

popular not merely in William III.'s reign, but during the greater

part of the century before he ascended the throne.

True, in that statue the king is garbed like an ancient Roman, the

reason being—I take the following statement from several Irish

jarveys, and disclaim all responsibility for its alleged accuracy—that

King William adored a foreigner and tried always to look like one!

It was, indeed, a jarvey who remarked as we drove past: “Sure, and

it is in hunting kit he should be, and on one of Pat Mecreedy's

hundred-guinea leppers.” He appeared to be convulsed with mirth at

the bare thought that the hero of the Boyne should have been depicted

mounted upon a cart horse.

Some even among our historians, however, have averred that this horse

is wrongly proportioned. Personally I incline to the belief that the

animal is in every detail true to life, and not many years ago the

late Viscount Powerscourt declared that he himself had seen used in

parts of Holland horses that in every respect resembled this animal of

King William's statue.

Is it not likely, therefore, that William III. may have been in the

habit of riding a Dutch horse, and that the sculptor copied this horse

quite faithfully?

Certainly if the pictures of the period are to be trusted for

accuracy, soon after the overthrow of James II. by William of Orange

there were horses in plenty of almost exactly this type to be seen

in England. Also the harness that was worn by many of the Dutch

horses shown in the pictures resembled the harness that was in use

among followers of William III., more especially the parts we mean to

indicate when we speak of a horse's trappings.

Even the bridles greatly resembled one another in some instances.

* * * * *

Bearing directly upon the story of the horse in history are the

descriptions that have been handed down to us of the almost frantic

opposition that met the introduction of the stage coach soon after

the middle of the seventeenth century.

In some respects these descriptions recall vividly to mind the rabid

antagonism some two centuries later to the introduction of the steam

engine, not to speak of the objections that are still raised by a

proportion of the community to the general adoption of automobilism.

Prior to the introduction of the stage coach into England a

four-wheeled carriage with a long, low body had been employed to

convey the general public from one part of the country to another, and

when the stage coach first arrived many of our wiseacres were quick

to prophesy that the death-knell of the nation's greatness had in

consequence been sounded!

Perhaps one of the stoutest of the opponents of reform in this

respect was a certain Mr Cressett, of Charterhouse, who in the year

1662 openly and in very straightforward language affirmed that the

adoption of the stage coach must “entirely ruin the country,” and who

in that year wrote a vigorous tract, in which he explained entirely

to his satisfaction—also, apparently, to the satisfaction of his

partisans—that the amount of harm the introduction of road coaching

must inevitably cause to the community at large would be enormous.

His remarks, too voluminous to reprint _in extenso_, contain in one

place the observation that “by this rapid mode of travelling”—at the

period in which he wrote it took approximately three days to get from

London to Dover, even in fine weather—“gentlemen will come to London

upon the slightest pretext, which but for these abominable coaches

they would not do but upon urgent necessity.”

Nor would the impending evil, in his opinion, end there, for, lashing

himself gradually into a fury, he went on to maintain that “the

gentlemen's wives” would come too, and that no sooner would they find

themselves in London than they would “get fine clothes, go to plays

and treats, and by these means get such a habit of idleness and love

for pleasure that they would be uneasy ever after.”

Poor Mr Cressett!

Surely he must have been an ancestor, or at the least some early

relative, of the notorious Mr Wightman who, just before the first

London and Brighton railway was laid down, wrote a book in which he

“proved” beyond refutation that no locomotive steam engine could by

any possibility be propelled at a speed greater than about half the

speed of the fastest of the coaches then on the road!

We smile indulgently at all this now, yet, when all is said, have we

changed so very greatly since those dark and peculiar ages—since the

epoch that we now refer to so complacently as “the good old times”?

(_sic_).

The narratives of the remarkable experiences of many of the travellers

in those early coaches would make up almost enough letterpress to

fill a volume. For from the very outset the public stages became the

unlawful prey of half the rascals with which a vast tract of the whole

of England at that time teemed. Coaches were plundered almost daily,

and while sometimes blood was spilt intentionally, often this happened

rather by accident.

Charles II., who used his influence to help on the development of

the stage coach, appears at times to have become frankly impatient

with the ultra-conservatism of the bulk of his nobility and of the

aristocracy who strove hard to check the progress of the new form of

locomotion.

Whatever Charles's shortcomings may have been—and we know that he

had many—he had enough of _nous_ to be able to foresee the enormous

advantages that would be derived from the general adoption of the

public stage.

Consequently he encouraged the importation of stallions and the

breeding of animals of the stamp best adapted for coach work.

Himself a finished whip, most likely, he desired that all his nobles

should emulate his example by learning to drive well, though driving

in those days was a form of amusement comparatively seldom indulged

in by the well-to-do, who, as we are told, preferred being driven by

postillions.

Before Prince Charles's proclamation, however, the ten years of the

Commonwealth's sway had to intervene, during which time the horse's

progress in this country suffered a set-back from the effects of which

it did not immediately recover.

The beginning of the horse's decline in public favour may be said to

have dated from 4th January 1651, on which day a report was drawn

up—to be soon afterwards presented to Parliament—demanding that

horse races, hunting, hawking matches and football playing be at

once suppressed, the plea in favour of this radical reform being

that frequently political meetings were convened by enemies of the

Commonwealth under the veil of race meetings and similar social

gatherings.

CHAPTER III

The Commonwealth's “ordinance to prohibit horse racing”—Revival

of racing under Charles II.—The King a finished horseman—The

figure of Britannia—The Royal Mares—Formation of the

thoroughbred stud—Thomas Shadwell's cynical description of

life at Newmarket—Spread of horse racing in Ireland—Jockeys at

Newmarket entertained by Charles II.—Sir Robert Carr; the Duke of

Monmouth's connection with the Turf—Annual charge for horses of

the royal household, £16,640—Newmarket under the _régime_ of the

Merry Monarch; the Duke of Buckingham

Though it soon became evident that the Commonwealth was determined

to oppose, tooth and nail, any step that might in the least tend to

keep alive the interest in horse racing and horse breeding that for

many years had grown up so steadily throughout almost the length and

breadth of England, not until the 3rd July 1654 did the Government

finally decide to introduce “an ordinance to prohibit horse racing.”

This ordinance was duly passed, and the result may well be imagined.

For without further parley almost every racecourse in England was

closed, thousands of men of many different grades being thereby at

once thrown out of employment. Owners of valuable thoroughbreds

lost immense sums, for, practically without warning, they found the

order thrust upon them and so were obliged to sell their racing

stock for whatever sum it would fetch in the open market.

[Illustration: HORSES OF THE CAVALIERS. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY]

In this connection Cromwell, who himself had for many years owned

race horses and been very fond of racing, suffered with the rest,

though both he and his adherents are said to have declared that they

willingly gave up their horses “for the good of the cause they had at

heart.”

There can be no doubt that many valuable sires were imported into

England about the time that Cromwell was practically in power, and

one of them, “a south-eastern horse named White Turk,” apparently was

brought over by Cromwell's own stud groom.

Several of the early records contain interesting descriptions of the

sires that were imported at about this time. Mr William Cavendish,

afterwards Duke of Newcastle, writing about the year 1658, tells

us that the Turkish horse of the period was a tall animal, “but of

unequal shape,” and that though “remarkably beautiful, very active,

with plenty of bone and excellent wind,” it rarely had a good mouth.

“The Barb,” he writes elsewhere, “possesses a superb and high action,

is an excellent trotter and galloper, and very active when in motion.

Although generally not so strong as other breeds, when well chosen I

do not know a more noble horse, and I have read strange tales of their

courage.”

The Barbs came of course from Barbary, the best of them from Morocco,

Fez, and the adjacent districts, and some from the interior of

Tripoli. Even the first to be imported were said to be better shaped

than any horses that had been seen before in this country, and to

have, in addition, excellent action by nature.

From what can be ascertained at this date, the pure Arabian steed

seldom, if ever, stood higher than fourteen and a half hands, and

rarely or never became a roarer. In all probability many even of the

finest Arabian horses stood but fourteen hands high, while plenty must

have been smaller still—say thirteen two or even thirteen one.

This is worth remembering when we know that nearly every horse that

has established a reputation on the English Turf has been of Eastern

descent.

Probably the best of the Turkish horses were descended from the horses

of Arabia and of Persia, though the former were for the most part

taller, and generally “bigger built,” besides being world renowned for

their remarkable docility.

* * * * *

At last the Commonwealth came to an end, and with the accession of

Charles II. to the throne “the whole of England,” to quote the

sentence of a contemporary chronicler, “seemed to open its lungs and

breathe again.”

For during the ten years of the great Commonwealth the Turf had to all

intents become extinct in England. The racecourses were “overgrown and

choked,” some had been built upon, others had been converted into what

purported to be pleasure grounds—“spaces for the recreation of the

multitude.”

But apparently the multitude preferred the spaces as they had been

in the time of Charles I., for no sooner did it become known that

the more important of the race meetings that had been abandoned were

about to be revived than “the people rejoiced greatly and gave vent to

demonstration.”

In a surprisingly short time race horses seemed to spring up out of

nowhere, some in such good fettle, comparatively—when it is borne

in mind that the race horse was supposed to have become practically

extinct during the Commonwealth's _régime_—that, as one historian has

it, the severity of the laws that had been passed for the suppression

of horse racing, and indirectly of race horses, must clearly have been

evaded in several parts of this country.

Thus it comes that soon after the Restoration we read of races being

run for silver bells and other prizes at Croydon, at Theobald's, at

Chester and many other places that had been important racing centres

before the Commonwealth.

“Though race horses were few at the time of Charles II.'s accession,”

observes one writer, “and none had eaten bread for years” (about the

middle of the seventeenth century race horses were trained largely on

bread), “and these had languished in neglect, at the Restoration they

emerged from their obscurity when the penal disabilities collapsed to

which the Turf was subjected by the Puritans.

“The revival of horse racing was almost magical in its effects. Thus

we find the Turf rising like a Phœnix from its ashes on the accession

of Charles II., to be thoroughly reinstated as our great national

pastime during the Merry Monarch's reign.

“To this resuscitation the king extended his powerful patronage and

support. His love of the equine race is typified in the soubriquet by

which he was popularly known, namely 'Old Rowley,' the name of his

favourite hack. It is possible that among all our sovereigns, with the

exception, perhaps, of Richard II., King Charles II. alone rode his

horses first past the winning post. He was, indeed, a thorough English

sportsman who could hold his own against all comers in the chases, on

the racecourse and so on.”

The above description approximately sums up the Merry Monarch so

far as his fondness for horses and horse racing has to do with this

history. Every inch a horseman, he appears to have been gifted with a

singular aptitude for controlling almost any animal he mounted, and to

have developed in a high degree the instinct, or whatever it may be,

that to-day we speak of as the power of judging pace in race riding.

Endowed with nerve, also with physical courage in abundance, it is

not surprising that the king should have been looked upon by many of

his courtiers almost as a demigod when first he ascended the throne,

and that the Duke of Newcastle, who had trained him to horsemanship,

should openly have expressed himself as immensely proud of his pupil

and his pupil's skill.

In the principal race at Chester the horses used to run five times

round the Roody. It was upon a horse running in this race that Charles

once staked and lost a small fortune. The meetings he most preferred,

however, probably were those held periodically at Newmarket,

where to this day the famous Rowley Mile recalls to memory the

seventeenth-century's cheeriest monarch, a king to whom horse racing

in this country still owes so much.

It was, indeed, King Charles II. who almost entirely rebuilt the stand

at Newmarket after the original one had been damaged beyond repair

during the progress of the Civil War. It is said that the old race

stand was besieged on at least three separate occasions during that

long and bloody conflict.

While a certain historic race meeting at Newmarket was in progress,

Philip Rotier, the famous sculptor, availed himself of an unexpected

opportunity—an opportunity for which he had long waited—to make a

sketch of the beautiful Miss Stuart, who was destined to become in the

year 1667 the third wife of the third Duke of Richmond.

Miss Stuart's name was at that time in everybody's mouth, the

exquisite loveliness of her face being equalled, so it was said, only

by the moulding of her figure and the irresistible fascination of her

voice and manner. It was this unfinished portrait by Philip Rotier

that was subsequently to develop into the figure that to-day we see

upon every copper coin—the figure of Britannia with her trident.

“So exact was the likeness,” says Felton, in his notes on Waller,

“that no one who had ever seen her Grace could mistake who had sat for

Britannia.”

How rapidly the Turf must have sprung into life once more upon Charles

II.'s accession to the throne of England may be gathered from the

statement that within six years after the date of his coronation,

“the glory of Newmarket had again eclipsed itself.” Yet apparently

the country's prosperity did not directly benefit. The nobles and

the wealthy classes seemed determined at any and every cost to warm

both hands at the fire of life in the best and worst meaning of that

hackneyed phrase. In Pope's “Imitation of Horace,” the statement is

made quite bluntly:—

“In days of ease, when now the weary sword

Was sheathed, and luxury with Charles restored,

In every taste of foreign courts improved,

All, by the King's example, lived and loved.

Then peers grew proud in horsemanship t'excell—

Newmarket's glory rose, as Britain's fell.”

Wherever in the early histories and records mention is made of

Charles's horsemanship, we find also some allusion to William

Cavendish, afterwards to become Duke of Newcastle, and credit for

Charles's skill is attributed in a great measure to him.

Further we learn that at the age of ten “His Majesty's capacity was

such that he would ride leaping horses, and such as would overthrow

others, and manage them with the greatest skill and dexterity, to the

admiration of all who beheld him.”

Indeed in this one respect he must at about that period of his

life have resembled the great Alexander, for his determination and

self-confidence when he was mounted on horseback were alike amazing.

Upon more than one occasion he expressed himself ready to ride for a

wager any horse that might be brought to him, and, if need be, to ride

it bareback.

In his after life, as we know, this strength of will of his grew

gradually into senseless obstinacy, yet he never lost his nerve for

riding over a country, a fact the more remarkable when we reflect upon

the sort of life he came to lead as he grew older.

The descriptions we have of the race horses he bred are somewhat

contradictory and must therefore be received with caution. That he

imported many fine mares from Barbary is certain, also it is certain

that at regular intervals he sent abroad competent judges with

instructions that they should secure for him, regardless of cost, the

best animals obtainable.

From among the best of these were selected the stud that came

afterwards to be known as the Royal Mares, a designation they bear in

the stud-book to this day. The dam of the famous Dodsworth—one of the

earliest of all our thoroughbreds—was included in the royal stud, and

its pedigree has been authenticated beyond dispute.

Emphatically Charles II. did more to encourage horse racing than any

other monarch after Henry VIII. had done, and by comparison he did

much more than Henry VIII. by any possibility could have done, the

very best racing in Henry's reign being quite inferior to the sport

shown in the reign of the Merry Monarch.

And by every means that lay in his power the Duke of Newcastle

abetted Charles. The duke himself, soon after the Restoration, sank a

considerable sum in the purchase of fresh racing stock to add to his

stud, already a large one. And thus the foundation of the thoroughbred

stud of modern times may be said to date practically from about the

latter part of the seventeenth century.

Thomas Shadwell, the famous playwright, who, born in 1642, lived for

half-a-century, alludes in several of his dramatic works to “the great

wave of passionate devotion to vices of various kinds” that seemed to

roll gradually over the whole of England during the reign of Charles

II., while special reference is made to the all-absorbing interest

taken in the Turf while the Merry Monarch was on the throne.

Speaking of Newmarket in particular, “there a man is never idle,” he

makes one of his characters cynically observe, “for we make visits to

horses, and talk with grooms, riders and cock-keepers, and saunter in

the Heath all the fore-noon.

“Then we dine, and never talk a word but of dogs, cocks and horses.

“Then we saunter into the Heath again, then to a cock-match, then to a

play in a barn, then to supper, and never speak a word but of dogs,

cocks and horses again.

“Then to the Groom Porters, where you may play all night. Oh, 'tis a

heavenly life! We are never, never tired!”

Seeing what keen and thorough sportsmen the Irish are, as a body,

one is rather surprised to learn that until towards the close of the

seventeenth century horse racing was almost unknown in Ireland. No

sooner had it been introduced, however, than it began to develop with

great rapidity, so that within a few years it spread into many parts

of the island and we hear of race meeting after race meeting being

organised.

For horse racing seemed to suit the temperament of the Irish people as

no other form of sport had done. From the first the Irish must have

devoted much time and attention to race horse breeding, and though

their facilities for obtaining the services of the best stallions were

fewer than the facilities afforded to the English breeders, they yet

succeeded in rearing a number of useful animals, while plenty of their

race meetings soon compared favourably with some of the best meetings

that were held in England at about the same period.

But few particulars are extant of the races in which King Charles

himself rode, though several of the earlier writers inform us that he

“carried all before him.” In a despatch from Sir Robert Carr, dated

the 24th day of March 1675, we read that “Yesterday his majestie rode

himself three heats and a course and won the Plate, all fower were

hard and nere run, and I doe assure you the King wonn by good Horseman

Ship.”

Descriptions are to be found elsewhere of a fox hunt in which the king

took part. It took place some twenty miles from Newmarket. That was in

1680, and apparently no fox hunt in King Charles's reign had before

been described in writing.

Yet the king, though partial to hunting, was undoubtedly much fonder

of racing. It was in this year—the year 1680—that he entertained

at Newmarket the vice-chancellor and the dons of the University of

Cambridge, and, as well, all the jockeys who had ridden at the meeting.

Whether vice-chancellor, dons and jockeys were all entertained by

the king at the same time is not stated, though we are led to infer

that they must have been. Charles, as students of history know, was

cosmopolitan to the backbone, and not ashamed of the fact. Ever a

practical joker, he is known to have taken delight that was almost

boyish in bringing together an assemblage of persons whose sentiments,

views and tastes he knew to be in every way dissimilar.

The companionship of jockeys appealed to him at all times, and the

year after he had entertained those at Newmarket we find him at

supper with the Duke of Albemarle, “and all the jockeys with them.”

During the progress of this meal Sir Robert Carr and the king arranged

several matches in which their respective horses were to be ridden by

the jockey each should nominate. That Sir Robert came badly out of

the affair may be gathered from the statement that in a single day he

lost between £5000 and £6000 “and became greatly enraged”—a breach of

etiquette that the king did not forget, and that he never forgave.

A despatch from Lord Conway, dated the 5th April 1682, contains a

descriptive account of a false start that took place in one of the

races at Newmarket owing apparently to a curious blunder on the part

of the starter.

“Here hapned yesterday,” Lord Conway writes, “a dispute upon

the greatest point of Criticall learning that was ever known at

New-Market, A Match between a Horse of Sir Rob: Car's, and a Gelding

of Sir Rob: Geeres, for a mile and a halfe only, had engaged all the

Court in many thousand pounds, much depending in so short a course to

haue them start fairly.

“Mr Griffin was appointed to start them. When he saw them equall he

sayd Goe, and presently he cryed out Stay. One went off, and run

through the Course and claims his money, the other never stird at all.

“Now possibly you may say that this was not a fayre starting, but the

critics say after the word Goe was out of his mouth his commission was

determined, and it was illegall for him to say Stay. I suppose there

will be Volumes written upon this Subject; 'tis all refered to his

Majesty's Judgment, who hath not yet determined it.”

Another staunch supporter of horse racing in Charles II.'s reign was

the ill-starred Duke of Monmouth, whose career on the English Turf

ended abruptly when in 1682 he was practically sent abroad as an exile.

Early in the following year, however, the idea occurred to Louis XIV.

that as horse racing had become so popular in England he would like to

make it the national pastime of France also. In order to foster public

interest in the turf, therefore, he began by offering a plate valued

at 1000 pistoles to be run for at Echere, near St Germain.

The event attracted, as he had expected it would, much attention,

not only throughout France, but in several other European countries

as well, so that in the end some of the finest horses to be found

anywhere in Europe were entered for the race.

All went well until a short time before the date of the race, when a

rumour spread mysteriously that a gelding owned by the Hon. Thomas

Wharton had been privately backed very heavily by a number of wealthy

Englishmen.

At first the report was generally disbelieved. Then suddenly it became

known that the famous Duke of Monmouth was to ride the “dark” horse in

the big race, and at once the owners of the foreign favourites became

seriously alarmed.

That they had good ground for their alarm was soon proved by the

duke's steering the English horse to victory, apparently with great

ease.

Immediately, so we are told, Louis XIV. cried out in an access of

enthusiasm that he must obtain possession of Wharton's horse at any

cost. Upon Wharton's informing him that the horse was not for sale,

Louis immediately offered to pay “the animal's weight in gold.”

Thereupon Wharton relented—though not in the way that Louis had

expected him to:

“I will not sell the horse,” he said, “no, not even for its weight in

gold. If, however, your Majesty will do me the honour to accept it as

a gift....”

But so generous a proposal Louis flatly declined to entertain, and

eventually the horse did not change hands at all. For some weeks

afterwards the principal topic of conversation throughout France and

part of England was the great race. Indeed it is probable that this

single race and the talk that followed it served to stimulate in

France a zest for the sport that became far keener than even Louis

XIV. had deemed would ever be possible.

[Illustration: THE DUKE OF SCHONBERG ON A TYPICAL CHARGER OF THE

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

_After a painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller_]

Among the more prominent of the race horse's progenitors in the

seventeenth century were the Small Bay Arabian, imported by James I.;

Burton's Barb Mare; the Helmsley or Buckingham Turk, owned by the Duke

of Buckingham; and of course Charles II.'s Dodsworth, a well-shaped,

natural Barb, though foaled in England about the year 1670.

Mention has already been made of the Royal Mares, the majority of

which were brought over from Tangiers about the year 1669. Towards the

beginning of Charles II.'s reign the annual charge for the horses of

the king and queen and those of the officers of the royal household

was fixed at £16,640—a sum subsequently denounced by the king's

enemies as “extravagant beyond belief.”

That it was a considerable charge to make all must admit, yet it was

not necessarily extravagant beyond measure. For in an age when outward

ostentation imparted to the court a sort of cachet, an enormous stud

of horses, and those the best obtainable, and in addition innumerable

costly trappings, were in a sense necessities—the guarantee and

stock-in-trade, so to speak, of a court anxious to gain the world's

applause and approval, and indirectly the support of other powerful

European nations should war break out, as in King Charles's reign it

might well have done at almost any time.

Indeed had Charles's court been indifferently horsed, and the king

shown signs of reducing his personal expenditure—in other words, had

the trumpets metaphorically been blown less blatantly—other European

powers would probably have looked up to England with less respect.

Full well Charles must have known this, for in his way he

was thoroughly versed in the art of what is sometimes called

“international finessing.” His Government knew it better still, with

the result that the Government “played up to the king” on the lines

adopted by the king in playing up to the Government—both knew that

extravagance and display formed the note of the age, and both struck

the note firmly with a foot on the loud pedal.

And thus in the reign of the Merry Monarch did the practice that we

now sometimes speak of as “bluffing” develop into a sort of art and

come to be cultivated carefully.

In the autumn of the seventeenth century Newmarket must truly have

been one of the gayest places in England, at anyrate when race

meetings were being held there, for it was not unusual for the entire

court and cabinet to travel down from London on such occasions, when

“jewellers and milliners, players and fiddlers, venal wits and venal

beauties would follow in crowds.”

Upon such occasions the streets, we are told, were made impassable by

coaches and six. “In the places of public resort peers flirted with

maids of honour, while officers of the Life Guards, all plumes and

gold lace, jostled professors in teachers' caps and black gowns, for

from the neighbouring University of Cambridge there always came high

functionaries with loyal addresses, and the University would select

her ablest theologians to preach before the sovereign and his splendid

retinue.”

Whether those able theologians were valued at their true worth may be

gathered from a further description in which we learn that during the

wildest days of the Restoration “the most learned and eloquent divine

might fail to draw a fashionable audience, particularly if Buckingham

had announced his intention of holding forth, for sometimes his Grace

would enliven the dullness of the Sunday morning by addressing to the

bevy of fine gentlemen and fine ladies a ribald exhortation which he

called a sermon.”

The court of King William, however, proved more decent, and then

the Academic dignitaries were treated with marked respect. “Thus

with lords and ladies from St James's and Soho, and with doctors

from Trinity College and King's College, were mingled the provincial

aristocracy, fox-hunting squires and their rosy-cheeked daughters,

who had come in queer-looking family coaches drawn by cart horses

from the remotest parishes of three or four counties to see their

Sovereign.

“The Heath was fringed by a wild, gipsy-like camp of vast extent.

For the hope of being able to feed on the leavings of many sumptuous

tables, and to pick up some of the guineas and crowns which the

spendthrifts of London were throwing about, attracted thousands of

peasants from a circle of many miles.”

CHAPTER IV