GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND
Coach driving Exploit--The Badger Bet and How It was Won--The
Raleigh Club and the Garçon Glacé Episode--Some Merry Frequenters
of the Club--Regimental Racing--The Tenth Hussars’ Steeplechases,
Exciting Race Between H.R.H.’s Horse and Lord Valentia’s--Aldershot
Coaching Accident--Polo at Woolwich--Sale of 10th Hussars’
ponies--Friendly Altercations at York--The Three Brothers’ Race--Au
Revoir to Merry England
In addition to being a consummate horseman, Lord William was an
accomplished whip. When in Cork some foolish person made him a bet
that he could not, at any rate, drive his coach down the steep and
precipitous steps leading from the barracks, thinking they had at
last found something he could not possibly do. He, however, closed
with the bet at once, saying that he would bet them even money he
would. What sum was offered and taken I do not remember hearing, but
have been given to understand it was fairly heavy, as the feat was
considered impossible and really offered mostly in jest. Imagine
everybody’s feelings when next day the coach, with the wheels inside,
Lord William strapped to the box, and the four horses well in hand,
were seen tobogganing down the steps, and what is more, accomplished
it in safety, winning the bet.
Making bets was always a weakness of Lord William’s. He acknowledged
it was a fool’s argument, but loved the excitement, moreover
generally won, which was an assistance to the exchequer--a matter of
some consideration.
It would fill volumes to give accounts of all the mad exploits
of those times. Captain Candy was a constant companion of Lord
William’s, and many of the thrilling adventures of those early years
were shared between them. They appealed to one another, being equally
generous and open-handed. Many still living can remember the lavish
hospitality dispensed by Captain Candy, though it is the fashion with
some to forget the hand that helped them. No one wanting a mount went
without, so long as Lord William or Captain Candy had one standing
in their stables. Both were riding for a fall, but wished all within
reach to share their joys while they lasted.
Hunting from Cork one day these two were riding close together when
Captain Candy, in taking a fence, found to his dismay that he was
jumping down a quarry, where he landed through the roof of an old
woman’s cabin, causing some splutter and consternation among the
inhabitants, who thought it must be the Fenians! One side of the
cabin had to be pulled down by Lord William before horse and rider
could be extricated. Strange to relate, no one was much the worse.
I think it would be a toss up which broke most bones during their
sporting careers. I myself saw Lord William break his collar-bone
twice and dislocate his shoulder three times on separate occasions.
Indeed, such small affairs became scarcely matters worthy of comment
with him.
From Ireland the 9th Lancers went, in 1868, to Newbridge, then
on in ’69--Hounslow; ’70--Aldershot; ’72--Woolwich; ’72--York;
’74--Colchester; ’75--out to India, and stationed at Sialkôte, after
which a new leaf was turned over in Lord William’s life, and the
writing on the page took another form.
He had a very uneventful time while the regiment was at Newbridge,
but while at Hounslow he was a good deal in Town, where his clubs
saw him fairly often. At Pratt’s one night he was talking to some
friends about a pet badger he had that could hold its own against
any dog. Someone, I think it was Captain “Chicken” Hartopp of the
10th Hussars, said they would like to see the animal, to which the
owner replied, “So you shall. What do you bet I will not walk down
to Hounslow and bring it back here by ----?” naming some incredibly
short time in which to accomplish the mission. Considering it almost
out of the question that this could be done in the time, a very
respectable sum was bet, and off started the badger owner to fetch
him, the bargain being that he must walk both ways. It was therefore
necessary to do some smart heel and toe work, which he carried out
faithfully, keeping a watch on the time as he went along. The badger,
as far as history relates, does not seem to have shown the least
surprise at his master turning up in the middle of the night in once
immaculate, but now very dusty, evening dress, and hurrying off with
him in his arms through the lamp-lit West End, to the amazement of
policemen and a few belated wayfarers. They both arrived within the
stated time, the bet being won, though the badger lost a beauty sleep.
The old Raleigh Club was a great institution in those days, much
frequented by the frisky men of the time, and all young officers
quartered within possible reach. It was quite _the_ thing in night
clubs. Its doors opened at dusk; when they closed, I do not know,
probably shortly before business people in the suburbs were eating
their early breakfasts. At any rate, nobody was anybody, who did not
belong to this club, which was approached by a tunnel, adding mystery
and charm. Within these portals huge sums of money changed hands,
highly flavoured stories circulated, and cards figured largely;
so did swearing, if I may believe what I am told. In fact it was
considered a sign of military efficiency.
One of the great surprises of my life was finding out, after I
married, that some of the most sedate-looking and highly proper
people I had been brought up amongst, who looked as if they would
faint if anyone said “Damn!” in their presence, were, in reality,
constant visitors at this club, and other popular rendezvous of fame
at that time, while their wives imagined they were seeing the boys
off to school, or some other highly domestic duty. As it was put to
me, some of these elderly friends of my early youth were among those
who “kicked up the most row.”
There was that great fine Irishman, the late Colonel King-Harman,
most majestic of men and model parent, who came to children’s parties
and danced with poor awestricken me, my feet seldom touching the
ground, but my heart full of admiration for so king-like a being. The
Raleigh knew him as one of the merriest, always ready for a rag.
Lord Alfred Paget, equerry to Queen Victoria, whom I used to admire
so much when I was a child, sat in front of us in church one winter
in the Isle of Wight. His commanding carriage, handsome dark eyes,
and beetroot complexion fascinated me; and he was so decorous
and good in church, with a pew full of daughters all apparently
reverencing him as I did, for he spent such a long time bending
over the pew and gazing into his hat when he came into church. And
the gallant way in which, without a smile, smallest hesitation, or
fluster, he disentangled the bonnets of two ladies who got mixed
up in front of him one Sunday. It came about through the lady in
the front pew getting up from her knees before the lady in the seat
behind her had completed her devotions. Consequently, when she did
get up the spangled aigrette in her bonnet mixed itself up hopelessly
in the veil and sweeping plume of the head-dress in front of her.
Both tugged and pulled, growing redder in the face and angrier each
moment. My eyes were riveted on the couple, appalled, wondering whose
headgear would be pulled off first, when the gallant equerry, without
moving a muscle of his face, reached over with his long arm and gave
one healthy tweak which separated the two bonnets, while a shower of
tinkling bugles fell from the aigrette to the floor, but still no
sign of mirth on the deliverer’s face. While walking home after the
service my father congratulated him on the speedy way he had freed
the ladies, but Lord Alfred was not unduly mirthful even then, when
out of church and all was over. Yet he too was no stranger at the
Raleigh.
Oh, yes, and there were many more who took part in those festive
evenings of long ago. Lord Hastings, a friend of Lord William’s,
and like him most generous, in his case too generous to last,
unfortunately; Colonel Valentine Baker, afterwards Baker Pasha, with
his gentle voice and tragic history; Colonel Shaw of the London Fire
Brigade and patron of the Gaiety Theatre: all of whom I had regarded
with youthful awe and reverence.
It was in the Raleigh that Lord William and one of his brothers, Lord
Marcus, I believe, or both of them, for some reason, or perhaps for
no reason, put the hall porter into the refrigerator. The heat of
the man’s body, or his language, caused the ice to melt, so one of
them drew from the tap some water into a tumbler and sent it with
his compliments to a friend in the smoking-room, describing it as
“Garçon Glacé.” The porter was left in a little too long, and there
was some trouble afterwards. This became known as the “Garçon Glacé”
incident. Everyone thought it funny except the waiter, and he had to
be pacified. Derby week was the time when the Raleigh excelled itself.
Cards never really fascinated Lord William as racing did, and in
later years he seldom touched them, but in the ’sixties and early
’seventies there was an epidemic of high play which nothing seemed
able to restrain. If cards were forbidden for high stakes at clubs
the members used to hire houses and play, or go to hotels, even play
in their bedrooms if nowhere else was available. Sharp practice,
however, was not in vogue at that time; it followed later, many
stately homes being broken up in consequence.
Poor old Raleigh! I wonder if to-day any of the ghosts of the past
re-visit it and look on in wonderment at the changed conditions. Now,
it is a club for overseas soldiers, who seem to have caught a little
of the infection, for during the heavy snow-storms of the early part
of this winter (1916) the present club men gathered on the roof and
hurled snowballs at the passing taxi and ’bus men, while a crowd
gathered to watch the fun. The cabmen and other recipients of the
missiles seemed to enjoy the joke, glad to see the soldiers amusing
themselves after their strenuous time at the front. Truly change is
the order of the universe, one of its most unalterable laws, and we
must march with the times, in step to its music. Much as we may look
back on the golden “have been” days, we must not allow ourselves to
become old derelicts, towed along in the wake of progress, but adapt
ourselves to the many changes, though never ceasing to regret the
loss of friends and playfellows of the olden days.
Early in ’69 Lord William began taking an active part in regimental
races, also in any others where he saw a chance for any of his
stud. On April 1st that year he ran a horse in the Queen’s County
Steeplechases, the Scurry Stakes, 1 sovereign each with 20 added.
Distance 2½ miles.
Four horses ran:--
Lord Wm. Beresford’s Fenian Captain Candy.
Mr. Crosby’s Joe Miller Mr. Onion.
Mr. Mole’s Bashful Captain Morgan.
Mr. Corcoranthe’s The Isle Mr. Burnett.
The Fenian won in a canter, Joe Miller second, and The Isle fell.
I have an idea that the Captain Morgan riding Bashful was none other
than the well-known Captain Freddy Morgan, brother of the Lord
Tredegar of Balaclava fame, who, in the great charge, rode a horse
called Mr. Briggs, on which he won a steeplechase before going out
and another on his return, both being among the lucky ones.
I think this was the first year Lord William appeared as a winning
owner. This success was followed very quickly by another on April
27th in the Subalterns’ Cup, presented by Mr. Palairet of the 9th
Lancers, added to a sweepstake of two sovereigns each. Distance two
miles.
Lord Wm. Beresford’s Fenian Captain Candy.
Mr. Herbert’s Mephistopheles Owner.
Mr. Mackenzie’s Black Bess Captain McCalmont.
Mr. Green’s Tommy Nodd Captain Clayton.
Mr. Wheeler’s The Nigger Owner.
The Fenian won by a length, Mr. Herbert’s Mephistopheles second.
An Irish account of this race was very Irish. I give it verbatim:
“Betting 6 to 4 on Mephistopheles, 5 to 4 against Fenian, was a most
curious affair throughout. Mr. Herbert on Mephistopheles was winning
in a canter, but on the end of the enclosure (paddock presumably)
showed a great disposition to bolt, and a great desire to follow the
Nigger, who had been pulled up and was returning home by a short cut
to the enclosure gate. Mephistopheles suddenly stood still next
the palings to follow the Nigger in, and the Fenian came up in time
before Mr. Herbert could get his horse going again, and gained the
verdict, amid much excitement, by a length.”
Judging by the rather curious account Mephistopheles ought to have
won, but refused to play the game, giving the Fenian an opportunity
his rider was not slow to take advantage of. But then it is just
those off-chances that constitute the excitement and uncertainty of
racing.
Lord William did not have a mount at this meeting, and only won the
above race, although several of his horses were entered.
Maid of the Mist carried his colours ridden by Captain Clayton, but
was nowhere in it. Captain Candy won riding his own mare Rosebud.
In another race Captain Clayton rode Lord William’s Cyclops, which
fell. This again was won by Captain Candy on his Park Mount. Maid
of the Mist had another try in the Four-Mile Handicap Steeplechase,
ridden this time by Captain Grissell, but the race was won by
Captain McCalmont on Bicycle. In the Flying Plate, Mr. Herbert rode
Mumbo for Lord William, but Captain Candy won on Strasburg. To put
the finishing touch to a most successful day’s racing for Captain
Candy, he secured under the circumstances the inappropriately named
Consolation Plate with Cracker. That was a “Sugar Candy” day with a
vengeance. Riding in six races he won five, and was second in the
sixth. A record for professional or amateur.
No one was more pleased with his friend’s successes than Lord
William, for they were fast friends, and when Captain Candy married
the sister of his likewise friend and brother officer, Lord Rossmore,
he acted as best man.
It was generally known about this time that the then Prince of Wales
was interested in racing, and had been for some time, but owing
to Queen Victoria’s objection to the Royal colours appearing on a
racecourse, His Royal Highness had been running his horses under
other people’s names. In fact, in 1876 Royal won him the Grand
National in Captain Machell’s name, long before Ambush II was thought
of. His Royal Highness also had a share in Lord “Joe” Aylesford’s
horses. Therefore, when the Prince’s racing colours appeared at the
10th Hussars’ Steeplechases, while they were stationed at Hounslow in
1871, I think, it was a day of great excitement, the Prince being in
the regiment at the time.
There was no public announcement of the meeting, it being a
semi-secret affair held at Down Barn near Southall, within easy reach
of their quarters at Hounslow. Consequently there was no big crowd.
Nevertheless, it was quite an historic meeting; the rows of drags
that lined the course reminded those present of Ascot. The judges
were Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar, Lord William Beresford, and Lord
Rosebery. The card of the day’s racing contained only five events.
Everyone was anxious to see the Royal colours win the Challenge Cup
for bona-fide hunters; distance about three miles.
The entries for this race were:--
H.R.H. the Prince of Wales’s Champion, b.g. Captain Rivers
Bulkeley.
Lord Valentia’s Wellington, ch.g. Captain Wood.
Hon. P. W. FitzWilliam’s Punkah, b.g. Owner.
Lord Valentia’s Vent Piece, bn.m. Mr. Woods.
Mr. Smith-Dorrien’s Marquis, ro.g. Owner.
Major St. Quinten’s Crusader, b.g. Owner.
The Prince drove down from town with Colonel Kingscote in attendance.
Captain Rivers Bulkeley and that popular old sportsman, Major Chaine,
were the stewards, while Mr. Smith-Dorrien, whose name as a general
is so intimately connected with the War, was the most courteous of
secretaries. The idol of the hour after the Prince was Captain Rivers
Bulkeley, as being the first to wear the famous Royal purple and gold
braided jacket with gold and black cap. He must have felt a very
proud man, but unfortunately like Humpty Dumpty he had a great fall.
At the brook Champion, the Prince’s horse, came to grief, he and the
favourite Vent Piece fell together, the riders remounting, and in at
the finish. Champion managed to regain so much ground that hopes were
raised once more of a Royal victory, but in the last half-mile he
showed distinct signs of having taken too much out of himself at the
brook, so was overtaken by Wellington, who won for Lord Valentia by
ten lengths. Champion second, Punkah third.
It was a great day. I wonder how many good men and true who were
there would be able to answer the roll-call to-day?
There were a number of well-known people there besides the Prince of
Wales: Lord Westmorland (the handsome Frank) and Lady Westmorland,
the Earl of Cork, the Earl of Rosebery, Lord Fitzgerald, Lord
Carrington, Lord Clonmell, Lord Charles Ker, Sir George Wombwell,
Colonel and Mrs. Owen Williams, and many others.
When the 9th Lancers were at Aldershot, a good deal of mild racing
was the order of the day. On one occasion, when Lord William was
tooling his coach on to the course, in his endeavours to avoid
a runaway carriage and pair, behind which sat a screaming and
frightened lady, he managed to upset the coach without seriously
damaging any of the occupants. The late Lord Kinnoull, who was on the
coach, described it to me. He said he never saw anything so splendid
as the way Lord William handled the ribbons. The road was narrow,
on the left was a bank with roughly put up rails on top, while
speeding towards them on the right-hand side of the road was the
runaway carriage. The coachman had lost all control, yet my informant
declared if the clatter of the galloping hoofs and the screaming
lady had not frightened the horses in the coach, all might have been
well. As it was, there was an alarming cracking noise from the wooden
railings on the left, a great lurch, and the coach turned over. After
this it was difficult to say exactly what did happen, except that
there was a general mix up, and the poor lady in her runaway carriage
continued her career down the road. It was characteristic of Lord
William that he was more concerned about the fate of the screaming
lady than with his own predicament.
So far Lord William had only been a winning owner. His first
appearance as a winning rider was across the Long Valley at
Aldershot. I give the race card.
9th LANCERS’ STEEPLECHASE
ALDERSHOT, _April 27th, 1872_
The Subalterns’ Cup, added to a sweepstake of 2 sovereigns
each with 10 added. _Three miles._
Lord Wm. Beresford’s Star-gazer, b.g., 10st. Owner.
Mr. Wheeler’s Frolic, ch.m., 11st. Captain Williams.
Mr. Moore (St. Leger) Portfire, 11st. Owner.
Mr. Butson’s The Finnigan, 11st. Captain Grissell.
Hon. E. P. Willoughby’s Lowthorpe, br.g., 12st. Owner.
Hon. E. P. Willoughby’s Irish Kate, 11st. 7lb. Captain Palairet.
Star-gazer won, which was a creditable performance, being his second
race that day, and taking into consideration that he fell in the
first. The earlier race he had taken part in was the Regimental
Cup, which was won by Captain Willoughby on his good horse Langar.
He won many races for his owner, who always rode him, including a
great point-to-point at York, when the Duke of Clarence was present.
Captain Willoughby was of great repute in the 9th on account of his
performances in the pig-skin as a steeplechase rider and polo player;
also Major McCalmont, a great judge of a horse. He once bought what
he thought a likely looking animal out of a thrashing-machine for
£45, which turned out a brilliant and valuable steeplechaser. The
present-day General, D. M. G. Campbell, was also in the regiment at
that time; he has been wounded twice in the present war, and is still
out there at the time of writing, with what remains of those who were
present at Mons.
It may interest present-day race-goers to know that in ’72 the
“chases” were run at Aldershot the reverse way of the course, though
on the same land as at the present time, finishing at the bottom,
instead of the top of the hill. There was then no Terraced Mount for
the officers and their wives.
Lord William worked hard at this meeting, having seven mounts,
winning one race, and being second in another. Star-gazer does not
sound like a very comfortable mount for “chasing.”
From Aldershot the regiment went to Woolwich, but I know very little
of that time. Polo was in vogue, and some good games were played,
it being then in its youth as far as England was concerned, though
it had been played for centuries in Persia. The Manipuries first
introduced it to the British in 1862, on the Calcutta racecourse.
After this it was taken up by the 11th Bengal Lancers, but it was not
played seriously in England until 1874, when the 5th Lancers became
enthusiastic, after which it became fashionable.
The Manipuries, who love the game, play it in the streets of Upper
Bengal, on scraps of ponies about twelve hands high, playing just
as they feel inclined, with both hands and short mallets. At first
when the game was played by the English, the rules were somewhat
slack; everybody played on what size pony they pleased, crossed and
recrossed each other, besides other curious things.
Now the rules bid for greater safety and greater enjoyment, though I
remember as late as 1883, or thereabouts, at Lucknow, where the 10th
Hussars were then playing, they habitually sent down to the ground a
doolie or two for the removal of the sick and wounded after a game. A
doolie is a sort of hand ambulance, carried by natives. In India the
ground is so hard that if anyone gets a fall it is like coming down
on pavement. It is a mystery to me how the ponies’ legs stand it, and
the 10th played a fast game.
They made a great name for themselves at polo, and when they left
the country their ponies were all put up for sale. People came to
the sale from far and wide, for the ponies naturally carried a
reflected glory from the prowess of their riders. I well remember
the sale. Of course there were some valuable ponies sold which had
made names for themselves, but there were not a few that had done
nothing very great, and their owners were staggered at the big prices
they fetched, simply because they belonged to the 10th, and people
therefore thought they must be good polo ponies.
When one of the officers came to say good-bye to us, he gave a most
amusing account of the bidding and some of the bidders. Speaking of
one of his ponies that I knew very well and used to ride sometimes
in paper-chases, he said: “You know the poor old pony cannot gallop
faster than I can kick my hat.” This was embroidering a little. It
was a handy little beast and had played in many a game of polo,
helping out the stable on occasions though by no means one of the
owner’s best; nevertheless it realized a price that trebled what had
originally been paid for him, and after a couple of years’ work.
[Illustration: 9TH LANCERS’ POLO GROUPS AT WOOLWICH
_Left to right. Standing_: Capt. Clayton, Mr. Palairet, Capt. de la
Garde Grissell, Capt. Fife
_On ground_: Lord William Beresford, Mr. Moore]
During the early days of polo there used to be sad accidents, and
sad rows too sometimes; the amenities were not so refined as they
are to-day, though even at polo I have observed occasionally a soft
answer may turn away wrath.
From Woolwich, Lord William went with his regiment to York, and
to this day the period the 9th Lancers were quartered there is
remembered as a red-letter time, for they were a great social
success. At that time the neighbouring country houses were more often
in the occupation of their owners than they are now, and Yorkshire
could boast of its old-fashioned hospitality and love of sport. I
have heard the north country accused of being boorish and stiff,
but this is a matter of opinion with which I, personally, do not
altogether agree.
An amusing incident happened outside the solemn old club which stands
close to the Lendal Bridge at York. Lord Rossmore went into the club
one evening just in time to see one of the servant girls from the
kitchen regions make her escape from a young man who was evidently
annoying her. She fled down the area steps; Lord Rossmore collared
the youth, and began giving him a lecture of an improving nature.
At this moment, who should come out of the club but Lord William.
He at once scented battle; without having the slightest idea what
it was about, but longing to be in it, he cried, “Let me have him,
Derry. Oh, do let me have him.” “No,” replied the other, jealous of
his capture. “_I found him_; he is my man.” They became so absorbed
in the argument as to who should make the prisoner’s teeth chatter
that the man took the opportunity to make his escape. Looking round
and discovering his loss, Lord Rossmore indignantly reproached his
friend. “Now look what you have done!” he cried; “this is what comes
of trying to steal my man.” Then as the absurdity of the whole thing
struck them, they laughed until their sides ached. After which Lord
William apologised profusely for having spoilt “Derry’s” sport, and
losing his man.
It was on that same Lendal Bridge, on another occasion, that Lord
William and the late Mr. Joseph Leeman, M.P., as a matter of detached
interest spent an hour one night, or rather early one morning,
struggling desperately to see which could put the other over the high
balustrade of the bridge into the river below. Each in turn would
get the other up to within an inch or two of the top preparatory to
a bath in the Ouse, which always looks particularly uninviting just
there. Lord William made one splendid effort regardless of popping
buttons and bursting braces to get Mr. Leeman up, and thought at last
he had accomplished it, but down he came with a rush. A wrestle then
ensued all across the road, each trying to get hold of the other in
just the right position; the game then began again, this time Lord
William being perilously near the top. At last, quite exhausted, they
adjourned to Mr. Leeman’s rooms at the Station Hotel, and finished
the night (?) there--of course, the best of friends the whole time.
There is another York story, though I cannot vouch for its accuracy;
I only tell it as it was told to me. A certain youth joined the
regiment who, it was considered, wanted teaching a thing or two,
and who at that time they did not like. His clothes did not please
them, his face did not please them, in fact nothing about him pleased
them. So, while he was out of his room one evening, they, with much
difficulty and the help of many people, persuaded a lover of thistles
to walk upstairs into his bedroom, where it was put to bed. A large
cock with a strong voice was also thrust, protesting, into the
dirty-clothes-basket, where it presently fell into a brooding silence
of despair. When the unfortunate owner of the room returned he had
many exhausting moments with the donkey before he successfully turned
it out of the room and could go to bed. At dawn he was awakened from
a refreshing sleep by the clarion notes of the cock issuing from the
clothes-basket, and he began to wonder if the claret of the night
before had disagreed with him, or if it was all a horrid nightmare.
This story may, or may not be true, but I knew the youth in question,
and that he was not popular then. It is pleasant to be able to
remember that, some years later, when he died of consumption, his
sterling good qualities and unfeigned good nature had made him so
much liked that his loss aroused universal sorrow in the regiment.
In ’74 the regiment moved from York to Colchester, where Lord William
seemed to get a great deal of leave, part of which he spent helping
his brother, Lord Charles, who was standing for Waterford in the
Conservative interest at the request of his eldest brother. They
had great fun together, but this has been described in Lord Charles
Beresford’s own book.
It was in this same year that the memorable brothers’ race was run
at Curraghmore on the Williamstown course. The race is a matter of
history now, but I have seen quite lately a controversy about it in
the sporting Press, some declaring that Lord Waterford took part in
it, others that he did not. Only three took part in the race: Lord
Charles, Lord William, and Lord Marcus. Again, there are folk who
think it was all arranged beforehand who was to win. Wrong again.
Nothing was further from the minds of any of the trio; each meant to
win, and each thought he would. The race was run at the Curraghmore
Hunt meeting. Three miles. The brothers had a private sweep of 100
sovereigns each.
Anyone not knowing the sport-loving proclivities of the Irish cannot
picture the excitement there was in the country over this event. Even
the peasant women who knew nothing about racing but something about
men, bet on their fancy, some for the one with the curly hair, others
for the brave blue eyes, and so on.
Each of the brothers had to ride 12 stone and be on his own horse.
The Beresford Blue was worn by them all. Lord Charles, being the
eldest, donned the black cap, which sounds rather as if he were
condemning someone to death; the others wore white and blue caps
respectively to distinguish between them.
[Illustration: THE FAMOUS BERESFORD BROTHERS’ RACE
(1) LORD WILLIAM; (2) LORD MARCUS; (3) LORD CHARLES]
Lord Charles thought he had a winner in the black thoroughbred he
brought over from England for the race, named Night Walker, which had
been bred by a man named Power, the sporting tenant of the course.
Lord William rode his grey mare Woodlark, and Lord Marcus a bay
gelding, The Weasel. I like to picture these affectionate, sporting
brothers jogging off to the starting-post, all eager and happy.
They got away well without delay, and at a cracking pace. Riding
boot to boot, charging each fence side by side until near the
winning-post, all riding straight and square like the sportsmen
they were. Soon the buzz of voices ceased, and a tense silence
made itself felt, for the last fence was being neared, and still
all were abreast, but now it became apparent that Night Walker had
done enough. The struggle then remained between the Weasel and the
Woodlark, the latter winning by a short head, so the crowd had some
excitement in return for their long journeys and, in many cases, the
night spent on the course to secure a good place.
Lord Charles thought his horse got a chill coming over on the boat,
and was therefore not up to his best form. Lord Marcus remarked that
while each fancied himself enormously he enthusiastically eulogised
the other. The photograph of the race here reproduced is taken from
the picture hanging at Curraghmore, Lady Waterford kindly having had
it taken for me to use in this book. Other races were ridden in that
day by the brothers, but not as winners. The tall hat and pink coat
worn by Lord William in one of these races inaugurated, I believe,
the now common custom of riding in pink at hunt meetings.
The Beresfords all seem to have the whisper understood by horses and
dogs, for they have been able to make them do some wonderful things.
Lord William’s uncle once jumped a hunter over a dining-room table
at Melton one night for a bet. Lord Charles, in his book, tells the
characteristic story of his having led a queer-tempered thoroughbred
from the road in Eaton Square into the house, along a passage, round
the dining-room table, and out again, without disaster. The only sign
of rebellion or annoyance on the part of the horse was to kick at the
fire in passing just by way of salutation, and to show there was no
ill feeling. This enterprise, of course, Beresford like, was for a
bet.
At many gymkhanas I have seen Lord William do extraordinary tricks
and feats of horsemanship, but of that later.
To return to Colchester, “the brothers’” race being over. On July
25th of that year, the 9th sent a polo team to Hurlingham, where they
played against the Blues. In the second contest, Lord William made
the first goal for the regiment, and again in the third. The Lancers
won. The Prince and Princess of Wales were present, and were much
interested in the game.
On September 10th a “Horse Fête and Polo Match” took place between
the 9th Lancers and 7th Hussars. The 9th won, eight goals in
succession, the handsome cup presented by the Borough consequently
falling to them. One of the goals was won by Lord William.
Monday, October 10th, saw the ponies at Tattersall’s, the regiment
being under orders for India. Among those of Lord William’s, Madge
fetched 62 guineas, Toothpick 36 guineas, The Wren 42 guineas, The
Gem 60 guineas, Little Wonder 50 guineas, Madame Angot 20 guineas.
Very different to the prices such ponies would command to-day. Before
leaving the old country a dinner was given to the regiment by its
former officers to wish them luck and au revoir.