THE GREAT CARNIVAL.
In the morning my master was up early, but he did not go to market, and
it was quite nine o’clock when he harnessed me to the cart and drove
round to the front door. There was a small knot of neighbours interested
in our starting, and I found that a plumber and his wife were going with
us. Two chairs were put into the back of the cart for the use of the
ladies, and the men sat in front, with the two eldest Bunter children on
the floor, making the party six in number. In addition to this was a bag
of cut hay and corn for my consumption, and a large hamper of food and
drink for the party.
I gathered from the conversation of the men that they were both fond of
betting, and that Mr. King had received overnight a ‘tip,’ that is,
information concerning a certain horse, which would enable him to make a
large sum of money that day.
‘I am told that Melrose is sure to win,’ he whispered in a confidential
tone to my master while they were waiting for the ladies. ‘Wigen wrote
to me to put every penny I have upon it.’
‘I go with you,’ returned Benjamin Bunter. ‘I always thought there was
something meant with Melrose. Now then, here is the missis; give her a
hand, will you.’
Mr. King gallantly helped the ladies to their seats, then put the
children in, and we started. A few idle boys gave us a cheer, the
neighbours waved their hands, and then we went through the streets at a
smart pace.
The load behind me was rather heavy, but I did not mind that, as there
was, in addition to my curiosity being aroused, the prospect of a peep
at the green fields and a few hours’ fresh air. In half an hour we had
left the worst part of the bricks and mortar behind us, and were
travelling among the neat suburban villas of prosperous tradesmen.
It was a bright fresh morning, and everything looked nice—villas, trees,
flowers, everything, down to the butchers’ carts which we came upon now
and then waiting at the garden gates of the houses. My party enjoyed
everything; they were all in high spirits, and I have no doubt that Mrs.
Bunter made the most of her bonnet, which was a far superior thing to
the article worn by her friend Mrs. King. In spite of this, however, the
ladies were excellent friends.
About eight miles from town we pulled up at a roadside inn, and my
master fetched out a pot of beer. I felt this to be the first hitch in a
promising day; not that I personally object to beer, for I do not know
even the taste of it, but I have seen the effects of it upon man, and
they are anything but pleasant. Never by any chance does it elevate or
improve, and too often it ruins and degrades—and yet men will drink it.
Here is something which I am sure man himself fails to comprehend.
Our halt was brief, and we went on through quiet lanes and broad,
well-kept roads garnished with fragrant hedges and tall, graceful trees,
sometimes passing and at other times being passed by other parties
greater or smaller in number, and they all seemed to be in the highest
possible spirits, shouting and laughing as if the world had nothing in
it beyond going to the races, and they had left no sorrow or sin or
shame in the great city behind them.
By-and-by we came upon a stupendous hill, and here a boy sitting upon a
horse volunteered to help us up the hill for sixpence. Benjamin Bunter
was in an excellent humour, and the offer was accepted; the horse was
attached to the shafts of the cart, and we moved forward.
Now I do not wish to speak ill of any of my race, but I must out with
the truth at all times—that helping horse was a disgrace to his fellows.
He was as cunning as a fox, and made a deal of show, pretending to
strain his muscles and spluttering his feet about, but he did not pull a
bit. He was as bad as the boy upon his back, who shouted and pretended
to urge him on, while he really encouraged him to hold back. I ventured
to remonstrate in a whisper to my helper, but he only answered with a
short contemptuous laugh, which I have no doubt Benjamin Bunter
interpreted as a cough, and I had to do the work of the hill in reality
alone. At the top my master paid the boy the sixpence, and the precious
pair went back in search of other victims.
After a brief rest we proceeded, and presently came upon the downs where
the races were held, and my master guided me past a long line of white
booths, erected for refreshment and various purposes. In some I have
been told men gamble and fight, but I have never seen such things, and I
only pretend to give the results of my actual experience. There was one
large wooden erection which Benjamin Bunter pointed out to his wife as
the Grand Stand; it was empty then, but I saw it later filled with
ladies and gentlemen most magnificently dressed.
We were very early, and my master secured a good place near the ropes,
after paying ten shillings for the privilege. He and Mr. King then got
down and went away, and Mrs. Bunter brought out a bottle full of rum.
She had a sip, Mrs. King had a sip, and the children were induced to wet
their lips with it. All this seemed to me to be very shocking, but there
were many cartloads of people around doing much the same thing, and
nobody cried out against it.
Turning from Mrs. Bunter and her friend, I took a look at the scene
around me. Like the great city, it defies description. Early as it was
thousands had already assembled, and the air was full of shouts and
laughter, and cries that some might have thought the outburst of joy;
but _I_ could detect a wail beneath it which told me that the joy was
after all but a hollow thing. I was now old enough and had seen enough
to read man at a glance, and as the thousands walked by I scanned their
faces and read no real satisfaction there. They were hilarious it is
true, but they lacked the contented expression which true happiness
brings. But even the apparently happy were in the minority; the main
part of this throng were eager, restless creatures, who walked quickly
up and down, and talked in low whispers to their friends, or scanned
little pocket-books with a forlorn look, as if they read their doom
therein. ‘Knave and gamester’ were written in the looks of many—alas!
too many—of the young as well as old. Every amusement presented by the
itinerant took the gambling form—betting was the order of the day, from
pence to pounds. Some held up purses and talked of large sums to be sold
for a shilling, and the thoughtless, untutored novice in race-course
ways bought them, to find themselves deceived, and to hear the laughter
of those who find fun in a miserable lie. Wheels of fortune, spinning
jennies, cards, dice, all were there, and vice, forgetting her shame,
walked boldly in the sunlight.
Opposite, the big wooden stand and others on either side were filling,
and a babel of voices rose from the shifting mass. This, I was told
afterwards, was the noise of betting men, who risked their money—some
all their wealth, honour, good name—on the race to come. Some of the
noblest names in our land have been blackened in the betting ring. Some
of the richest among the people have left their all upon the
race-course, and gone home to shame and ruin. And yet men call racing
‘pleasure;’ but who can reason with them on the subject when they call
pigeon-slaughter by the name of ‘sport’?
It was a strange motley scene, interesting in many points, but painful
in most, for I could see that there was more folly than fun in
everything around me; and folly, every thinking creature, horse and man,
knows, is but the herald of ruin and shame.
I was musing on the scene when my thoughts were interrupted by a
carriage which drew up beside me; it was open, and contained two young
fellows barely arrived at the recognised age of manhood. Both were well
dressed and in the highest possible spirits. I was immediately
interested in them; but my attention was withdrawn by the horse in the
brougham, who was in front of me—we stood in fact face to face.
There was a form a little more developed than I had hitherto known it,
but quite familiar, from the tip of the well-shaped nose to the end of
the ample tail. No need for that amused expression of face to guide me
to a recognition; I knew him at once—it was my old friend Rip, and
involuntarily I uttered a loud neigh of joyful surprise.
‘Hush! pray do,’ remonstrated Rip. ‘Don’t be so vulgar. You really
astonish me with your want of breeding.’
‘I was overcome with joy,’ I apologised. ‘Oh, Rip! how often have I
longed for such an hour as this!’
‘Dear old Blossom,’ said Rip affectionately, ‘it is just like you to
think of your old friends. No one, looking at your quiet ways, would
imagine that you had half the emotion in you; but your sort of emotion
is like still water—it runs deep.’
‘But where have you been—and what sort of masters have you had?’ I
asked.
‘I have had only one master since I knew you,’ replied Rip. ‘Squire
Tracey bought me of Mr. Bayne, and I am with Squire Tracey still. I have
brought his two eldest sons here to-day.’
‘From Upton?’ I exclaimed.
‘Stupid old Blossom,’ said Rip, with a good-natured smile in his eyes.
‘No, Upton is a deal too far away; we came from town this morning. We
always spend the fashionable months in the great metropolis—West-end of
course. I have never cast eyes upon the east side of Temple Bar.’
‘And they treat you well, Rip?’
[Illustration: THE RACE-COURSE.]
‘Nobly—from the squire to the groom,’ replied Rip. ‘As for the groom, he
is so kind to me that I positively love the fellow. He carries a whip as
part of the furniture of a brougham, but I really cannot tell you if
there is a lash upon it or not.’
‘I congratulate you upon your good fortune,’ I said, repressing a sigh.
‘My lot has not been so pleasant as I could wish, but I won’t complain.’
‘There never was such a horse as you to endure,’ returned Rip; ‘and yet
it’s not from want of spirit; you have a tremendous deal of work in you,
and you always did your duty nobly.’
‘It is only right to do so, Rip,’ I said, feeling rather foolish over
this unmerited praise; and then at his request I gave him a brief
outline of my life, and just as I concluded, Benjamin Bunter and his
friend the plumber returned.
‘Melrose is first favourite,’ he said to his wife. ‘I have put the money
in, and we are safe to win. The men who ought to know say he can’t
lose;’ and the man’s face beamed as if the race was already over and he
a winner.
‘Poor fool,’ said Rip contemptuously; ‘one of the numberless thousands
who make the betting knaves of the turf rich. He is a sporting
greengrocer—earns his money with toil, gets a tip or hint from a trainer
or jockey, who perchance knows no more than he, and risks not only his
own money, but that which is due to others in the way of business. I
have seen many like him, Blossom, and I know full well the expression in
his face—he is elated because he is hopeful; but if his hopes in this
case are foiled, he is a ruined man.’
‘I hope not,’ I said.
‘It is a fact,’ replied Rip. ‘See how he licks his lips and nervously
presses his hands together; now he takes a sip from the bottle, as if
_that_ could help him. Poor fellow! there are thousands like him to-day
upon this course, and in an hour more than two-thirds of them will
realize their folly, and return home dejected, ruined, miserable—unless
they drink, which but wards off the pain for the time, and brings it
back tenfold on the morrow. But hush! here come the horses—the noblest
and most graceful of our race.’
Then there filed past upon the course, which the police had previously
cleared, a line of the most beautiful horses I had ever seen, each with
a rider in a coloured jacket and cap upon his back. The glossy coats of
the horses shone like rippling water in the sunlight, and their light
fawn-like limbs trod the turf as if they supported creatures of air.
Their appearance was greeted with a shout. The ladies uttered little
ecstatic cries of admiration; but the men were busy looking out for some
particular horse on which their fortunes that day depended.
‘There—there,’ I heard Benjamin Bunter cry, ‘that’s Melrose; isn’t he a
beauty? There is not another horse in the field like him. The red jacket
wins!’
Melrose’s rider wore a red jacket, and many a tongue shouted out to him
a word of encouragement as he went by; but other horses and riders had
their supporters, who were as sanguine as Benjamin Bunter as to their
success.
The horses passed on, and left the belt of turf called ‘the course’
perfectly clear. Half an hour’s restlessness ensued—the police moved up
and down, urging the crowd to keep quiet and not break in upon the open
space. Every face was turned to the starting point, and every eye was
full of eager hope. Then came a cry, ‘They’re off!’ and ere I had fully
realized the meaning of these words they came flashing by—a line of
panting horses, with frantic riders remorselessly using both whip and
spur. The colours of the men were mingled, and I failed to single out
the red jacket of Melrose as the body swept past me, and the next moment
the air was full of shouts and cries, and the race was over.
Then came a brief lull, and I saw some numbers hoisted on a board
opposite. Benjamin Bunter, with a borrowed field glass, scanned the
figures for a moment, and then fell back with a groan.
‘I thought so,’ said Rip quietly to me; ‘your master is ruined. Melrose
is not one of the first three. I saw him bringing up the tail of the
race, looking as if every bit of life had been beaten out of him.’
I made no reply, for my thoughts were laden with sorrow: on the whole my
master had been kind to me, and his misfortune was mine. Under any
circumstances I must have grieved for a ruined man, but the ruin in this
case was brought near home to me, and my heart was very heavy indeed.
I was made sad too by what I saw and heard around me. Thousands of
tongues were busy with the race, and disappointment was the general
tone. It was horrible to hear the cursing heaped upon the horses. Some
cursed the winner, some cursed the losers; but no one in my hearing
spoke one kind word for the horses who had shown such matchless
powers—not a word of their beauty, or the ease and grace of their
movements, or of the spirit they had shown in the efforts made.
After the first excitement of the race was over, hampers were unpacked
in all directions, and both men and women began to eat and drink—the
winners to celebrate their success, the losers to drown their grief, and
the ruined to stave off thought until the morrow. Wandering minstrels
began their songs—women and girls in tawdry finery danced upon the turf
to the music of cracked instruments—sunburnt gipsies with babies in
their arms stole from carriage to carriage and told fortunes as truthful
as the ‘tip’ my unhappy master had received; women laughed, men shouted,
children cried; the cornet, the drum, the flute, the tambourine—one and
all lent their sounds to the general tumult, and all was riot and
confusion.
My eyes ached, my ears tingled, and lifting my head above this
distracting scene, I fixed my gaze upon the clear blue heaven above. Oh!
how calm and peaceful—how glorious—how beautiful! and far away against a
patch of white cloud I saw a speck, and knew by its fluttering movement
that it was a skylark singing; but his song was drowned in the popping
of champagne corks, the beating of drums, and the thousand and one other
noises of the worshippers of Folly. The votaries of the race thought as
little of the grateful hymn of the bird as they did of the great Giver
to whom it was instinctively addressed. ‘Oh! man, man,’ I cried, ‘look
up and read your lesson there!’
I became so absorbed in my reflections that I had forgotten Rip, until
he gave utterance to a very indignant snort, and asked me if I had taken
up with sulky ways. This I laughingly denied, and Rip, after pretending
for a moment to be very angry with me, chatted on about old associations
and his present life, until his two young masters, who had been away for
awhile, came back again. They seemed to be indignant and vexed about
something, and the younger, as he put his foot upon the step, said
aloud—
‘John told me that Madcap was sure to win—and he was not one of the
first three.’
The same song my master sung, but the name was different. Melrose was
sure to win, Madcap was sure to win, and neither of them were near it.
Surely there must be roguery somewhere.
Rip’s young masters were so annoyed that they would stay no longer, and
I had barely time to say a few affectionate words to him ere they gave
their servant orders to drive away. Rip, in obedience to a jerk of the
reins, turned round, nodding to me carelessly as he did so; but I saw a
tear in his eye, and knew that a kind and tender heart lay under his
flippant air. I am very fond of Rip, and I am sure he was fond of me.
My party by this time were in a very bad way; all had drunk a deal more
than was good for them, and I heard Mr. Benjamin Bunter challenge Mr.
King to fight. The ladies, however, interposed, and nothing came of it.
After this they had more drink, and my master sang a song in a loud,
cracked voice, and cut a lot of antics which made him appear very
foolish. A few thoughtless people laughed and encouraged him, but I saw
more than one man look at him with bitter contempt.
I do not care to say any more about the race-course, the very memory of
it sickens me now—it was such a seething mass of folly, drunkenness, and
vice; but I know that I was very glad when we turned our backs upon it,
and started for home.
[Illustration: RETURNING FROM THE RACE-COURSE.]
The road was crowded with vehicles full of men and women, most of whom
were dressed up with paper feathers, false noses, as if the great object
of the day’s holiday was to make themselves as ridiculous as possible. A
great many in the garb of gentlemen were very much the worse for drink,
and amused themselves with pelting the other wayfarers with bags of
flour, cheap pincushions, and similar acts of folly—unworthy of men.
A mile from the course we got into a quiet road; but there were still
many carts and carriages before and behind, and every public-house we
came to was full. I can see now the number of horses waiting patiently
outside for the masters who were drinking themselves into a mad or
maudlin state within; I can hear their oaths and repetitions of their
curses upon the horses which failed to win; I can smell the smoke of the
cheap filthy tobacco which curled in great clouds from the open doors
and windows;—that hateful scene and hateful day has haunted me ever
since, and will haunt me till I die.
We stopped at many of these public-houses on our way home, and it was
late—almost dark—when we arrived at Clapham, and then it began to rain.
The clouds had been lowering for some time—but to men who are the worse
for drink clouds and sunshine are the same. The people who had assembled
to see the holiday-makers return were dispersed by it, and when we
reached home even the streets were clear.
The rain was now falling fast; the whole of the party were soaked with
rain; and when Benjamin Bunter pulled up at his door, his friends the
Kings got out without a word. They just nodded a good-night, and as they
passed on I heard Mr. King mutter to his wife that he hated going out in
a common cart—there was no comfort in it, and it was not fit for a
respectable tradesman.
Poor Mrs. Bunter! her bonnet was quite spoiled, and she was crying in a
weak maudlin manner as her husband helped her out. He was in a sulky
humour, and when the children came out to greet him he asked them what
they meant by sitting up so late, and bade them go to bed at once. Mrs.
Bunter supported this rebuff, and went even farther, threatening
personal chastisement if she saw them again that night.
My master put me into the stable, tossed a feed into the manger, raked
out my bed in a careless manner, and left me for the night. I was very
wet and uncomfortable; but a horse has no right to complain, so I
munched my food quietly, and made the best of a bad case.
Mr. Bunter’s back parlour window was near the stable: the night was
warm, and the window was open, which enabled me to hear a deal of what
was said. When my master went in his wife was crying still. He asked her
what was the matter in a coarse brutal tone, such as I had never heard
him use before. She replied in a querulous angry voice, bewailing the
loss of her bonnet and the bad behaviour of Mrs. King, who had said
something or other of a very personal nature on the way home.
Then there was a silence for awhile, interrupted only by the
half-stifled sobs of Mrs. Bunter. This silence was suddenly broken by my
master, who had apparently been brooding. I heard him rise up from his
seat, and kicking over the chair, tell his wife to hold her crying about
her bonnet and save her tears for something worse, for he had that day
betted with and lost money which was not his own, and he was a bankrupt
and a ruined man.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]