HOW THEY GOT UP THE 'GRAND ARISTOCRATIC STEEPLE-CHASE'
There is no saying what advantages railway communication may confer upon a
country. But for the Granddiddle Junction, ----shire never would have had a
steeple-chase--an 'Aristocratic,' at least--for it is observable that the
more snobbish a thing is, the more certain they are to call it
aristocratic. When it is too bad for anything, they call it 'Grand.' Well,
as we said before, but for the Granddiddle Junction, ----shire would never
have had a 'Grand Aristocratic Steeple-Chase.' A few friends or farmers
might have got up a quiet thing among themselves, but it would never have
seen a regular trade transaction, with its swell mob, sham captains, and
all the paraphernalia of odd laying, 'secret tips,' and market rigging. Who
will deny the benefit that must accrue to any locality by the infusion of
all the loose fish of the kingdom?
Formerly the prize-fights were the perquisite of the publicans. They it was
who arranged for Shaggy Tom to pound Harry Billy's nob upon So-and-so's
land, the preference being given to the locality that subscribed the most
money to the fight. Since the decline of 'the ring,' steeple-chasing, and
that still smaller grade of gambling--coursing, have come to their aid.
Nine-tenths of the steeple-chasing and coursing-matches are got up by
inn-keepers, for the good of their houses. Some of the town publicans,
indeed, seem to think that the country was just made for their matches to
come off in, and scarcely condescend to ask the leave of the landowners.
We saw an advertisement the other day, where a low publican, in a
manufacturing town, assured the subscribers to his coursing-club that he
would take care to select open ground, with 'plenty of stout hares,' as if
all the estates in the neighbourhood were at his command. Another
advertised a steeple-chase in the centre of a good hunting
country--'amateur and gentleman riders'--with a half-crown ordinary at the
end! Fancy the respectability of a steeple-chase, with a half-crown
ordinary at the end!
Our 'Aristocratic' was got up on the good-of-the-house principle. Whatever
benefit the Granddiddle Junction conferred upon the country at large, it
had a very prejudicial effect upon the Old Duke of Cumberland Hotel and
Posting House, which it left, high and dry, at an angle sufficiently near
to be tantalized by the whirr and the whistle of the trains, and yet too
far off to be benefited by the parties they brought. This once
well-accustomed hostelry was kept by one Mr. Viney, a former butler in the
Scattercash family, and who still retained the usual 'old and faithful
servant' _entree_ of Nonsuch House, having his beefsteak and bottle of wine
in the steward's room whenever he chose to call. Viney had done good at the
Old Duke of Cumberland; and no one, seeing him 'full fig,' would recognize,
in the solemn grandeur of his stately person, the dirty knife-boy who had
filled the place now occupied by the still dirtier Slarkey. But the days of
road travelling departed, and Viney, who, beneath the Grecian-columned
portico of his country-house-looking hotel, modulated the ovations of his
cauliflower head to every description of traveller--from the lordly
occupant of the barouche-and-four, down to the humble sitter in a gig--was
cut off by one fell swoop from all further traffic. He was extinguished
like a gaslight, and the pipe was laid on a fresh line.
Fortunately Mr. Viney was pretty warm; he had done pretty well; and having
enjoyed the intimacy of the great 'Jeames' of railway times, had got a hint
not to engage the hotel beyond the opening of the line. Consequently, he
now had the great house for a mere nothing until such times as the owner
could convert it into that last refuge for deserted houses--an academy, or
a 'young ladies' seminary.' Mr. Viney now, having plenty of leisure,
frequently drove his 'missis' (once a lady's maid in a quality family) up
to Nonsuch House, as well for the sake of the airing--for the road was
pleasant and picturesque--as to see if he could get the 'little trifle' Sir
Harry owed him for post-horses, bottles of soda-water, and such trifles as
country gentlemen run up scores for at their posting-houses--scores that
seldom get smaller by standing. In these excursions Mr. Viney made the
acquaintance of Mr. Watchorn; and a huntsman being a character with whom
even the landlord of an inn--we beg pardon, hotel and posting-house--may
associate without degradation, Viney and Watchorn became intimate. Watchorn
sympathized with Viney, and never failed to take a glass in passing, either
at exercise or out hunting, to deplore that such a nice-looking house, so
'near the station, too,' should be ruined as an inn. It was after a more
than usual libation that Watchorn, trotting merrily along with the hounds,
having accomplished three blank days in succession, asked himself, as he
looked upon the surrounding vale from the rising ground of Hammercock Hill,
with the cream-coloured station and the rose-coloured hotel peeping through
the trees, whether something might not be done to give the latter a lift.
At first he thought of a pigeon match--a sweepstake open to all
England--fifty members say, at two pound ten each, seven pigeons, seven
sparrows, twenty-one yards rise, two ounces of shot, and so on. But then,
again, he thought there would be a difficulty in getting guns. A coursing
match--how would that do? Answer: 'No hares.' The farmers had made such an
outcry about the game, that the landowners had shot them all off, and now
the farmers were grumbling that they couldn't get a course.
'Dash my buttons!' exclaimed Watchorn; 'it would be the very thing for a
steeple-chase! There's old Puff's hounds, and old Scamp's hounds, and these
hounds,' looking down on the ill-sorted lot around him; 'and the deuce is
in it if we couldn't give the thing such a start as would bring down the
lads of the "village," and a vast amount of good business might be done.
I'm dashed if it isn't the very country for a steeple-chase!' continued
Watchorn, casting his eye over Cloverly Park, round the enclosure of
Langworth Grange, and up the rising ground of Lark Lodge.
The more Watchorn thought of it, the more he was satisfied of its
feasibility, and he trotted over, the next day, to the Old Duke of
Cumberland, to see his friend on the subject. Viney, like most victuallers,
was more given to games of skill--billiards, shuttlecock, skittles,
dominoes, and so on--than to the rude out-of-door chances of flood and
field, and at first he doubted his ability to grapple with the details; but
on Mr. Watchorn's assurance that he would keep him straight, he gave Mrs.
Viney a key, desiring her to go into the inner cellar, and bring out a
bottle of the green seal. This was ninety-shilling sherry--very good stuff
to take; and, by the time they got into the second bottle, they had got
into the middle of the scheme too. Viney was cautious and thoughtful. He
had a high opinion of Watchorn's sagacity, and so long as Watchorn confined
himself to weights, and stakes, and forfeits, and so on, he was content to
leave himself in the hands of the huntsman; but when Watchorn came to talk
of 'stewards,' putting this person and that together, Viney's experience
came in aid. Viney knew a good deal. He had not stood twisting a napkin
negligently before a plate-loaded sideboard without picking up a good many
waifs and strays in the shape of those ins and outs, those likings and
dislikings, those hatreds and jealousies, that foolish people let fall so
freely before servants, as if for all the world the servants were
sideboards themselves; and he had kept up his stock of service-gained
knowledge by a liberal, though not a dignity-compromising intercourse--for
there is no greater aristocrat than your out-of-livery servant--among the
upper servants of all the families in the neighbourhood, so that he knew to
a nicety who would pull together, and who wouldn't, whose name it would not
do to mention to this person, and who it would not do to apply to before
that.
Neither Watchorn nor Viney being sportsmen, they thought they had nothing
to do but apply to two friends who were; and after thinking over who hunted
in couples, they were unfortunate enough to select our Flat Hat friends,
Fyle and Fossick. Fyle was indignant beyond measure at being asked to be
steward to a steeple-chase, and thrust the application into the fire; while
Fossick just wrote below, 'I'll see you hanged first,' and sent it back
without putting even a fresh head on the envelope. Nothing daunted,
however, they returned to the charge, and without troubling the reader with
unnecessary detail, we think it will be generally admitted that they at
length made an excellent selection in Mr. Puffington, Guano, and Tom
Washball.
[Illustration: MR. VINEY AND MR. WATCHORN GETTING UP 'THE GRAND
ARISTOCRATIC']
Fortune favoured them also in getting a locality to run in, for Timothy
Scourgefield, of Broom Hill, whose farm commanded a good circular three
miles of country, with every variety of obstacle, having thrown up his
lease for a thirty-per-cent reduction--a giving up that had been most
unhandsomely accepted by his landlord--Timothy was most anxious to pay him
off by doing every conceivable injury to the farm, than which nothing can
be more promising than having a steeple-chase run over it. Scourgefield,
therefore, readily agreed to let Viney and Watchorn do whatever they liked,
on condition that he received entrance-money at the gate.
The name occupied their attention some time, for it did not begin as the
'Aristocratic.' The 'Great National,' the 'Grand Naval and Military,' the
'Sports-man,' the 'Talli-ho,' the 'Out-and-Outer,' the 'Swell,' were all
considered and canvassed, and its being called the 'Aristocratic' at length
turned upon whether they got Lord Scamperdale to subscribe or not. This was
accomplished by a deferential call by Mr. Viney upon Mr. Spraggon, with a
little bill for three pound odd, which he presented, with the most urgent
request that Jack wouldn't think of it then--any time that was most
convenient to Mr. Spraggon--and then the introduction of the neatly-headed
sheet-list. It was lucky that Viney was so easily satisfied, for poor Jack
had only thirty shillings, of which he owed his washerwoman eight, and he
was very glad to stuff Viney's bill into his stunner jacket-pocket, and
apply himself exclusively to the contemplated steeple-chase.
Like most of us, Jack had no objection to make a little money; and as he
squinted his frightful eyes inside out at the paper, he thought over what
horses they had in the stable that were like the thing; and then he sounded
Viney as to whether he would put him one up for nothing, if he could induce
his lordship to send. This, of course, Viney readily assented to, and again
requesting Jack not to _think_ of his little bill till it was _perfectly_
convenient to him--a favour that Jack was pretty sure to accord him--Mr.
Viney took his departure, Jack undertaking to write him the result. The
next day's post brought Viney the document--unpaid, of course--with a great
'Scamperdale' scrawled across the top; and forthwith it was decided that
the steeple-chase should be called the 'Grand Aristocratic.' Other names
quickly followed, and it soon assumed an importance. Advertisements
appeared in all the sporting and would-be sporting papers, headed with the
imposing names of the stewards, secretary, and clerk of the course, Mr.
Viney. The 'Grand Aristocratic Stakes,' of 20 sovs. each, half-forfeit, and
L5 only if declared, &c. The winner to give two dozen of champagne to the
ordinary, and the second horse to save his stake. Gentlemen riders (titled
ones to be allowed 3 lb.). Over about three miles of fine hunting country,
under the usual steeple-chase conditions.
Then the game of the 'Peeping Toms,' and 'Sly Sams,' and 'Infallible Joes,'
and 'Wideawake Jems,' with their tips and distribution of prints began; Tom
counselling his numerous and daily increasing clients to get well on to No.
9, Sardanapalus (the Bart., as Watchorn called him), while 'Infallible Joe'
recommended his friends and patrons to be sweet on No. 6 (Hercules), and
'Wide-awake Jem' was all for something else. A gentleman who took the
trouble of getting tips from half a dozen of them, found that no two of
them agreed in any particular. What information to make books upon!
'But what good,' as our excellent friend Thackeray eloquently asks, 'ever
came out of, or went into, a betting book? If I could be CALIPH
OMAR for a week,' says he, 'I would pitch every one of those
despicable manuscripts into the flames; from my-lord's, who is "in" with
Jack Snaffle's stable, and is overreaching worse-informed rogues, and
swindling greenhorns, down to Sam's, the butcher's boy, who books
eighteen-penny odds in the tap-room, and stands to win five-and-twenty
bob.' We say ditto to that, and are not sure that we wouldn't hang a 'leg'
or a 'list' man or two into the bargain.
Watchorn had a prophet of his own, one Enoch Wriggle, who, having tried his
hand unsuccessfully first at tailoring, next as an accountant, then in the
watercress, afterwards in the buy ''at-box, bonnet-box,' and lastly in the
stale lobster and periwinkle line, had set up as an oracle on turf matters,
forwarding the most accurate and infallible information to flats in
exchange for half-crowns, heading his advertisements, 'If it be a sin to
covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive!' Enoch did a considerable
stroke of business, and couched his advice in such dubious terms, as
generally to be able to claim a victory whichever way the thing went. So
the 'offending soul' prospered; and from scarcely having shoes to his feet,
he very soon set up a gig.