And certainly this horse proved to be one of the greatest of all the sires that were brought over in the seventeenth century. The king, a good judge of a horse, was much attracted by “Byerley's Treasure,” as some soon came to call it, and it is known that the king himself owned at this time some of the finest thoroughbreds, probably, that had ever been foaled. That he ran horses of his own at Newmarket is beyond dispute, and the general impression amongst historical writers appears to be that he ran horses also at several other meetings.
It was while attending a race meeting at Newmarket that the king commanded the unjust Act to be put into force which rendered it penal for a Roman Catholic to own a horse worth more than five pounds. Trustworthy historians tell us that most likely the king would not have acted so, but for the influence brought to bear upon him by his queen, who apparently was anxious to vent her spite upon at least one high-born Catholic by whom she had been affronted.
The ultra-bigoted among the king's subjects rejoiced openly at the enforcement of the statute, but, whatever reason there may have been for so severe a measure, the storm of indignation aroused throughout the country caused the king considerable uneasiness.
As a natural result of the enforcement of the Act many Catholics presently substituted teams of oxen, and with these clumsy animals they would drive many miles to attend their church services on Sundays.
How rapidly the Turf must have continued to acquire popularity during this reign is proved by the fact that ten years after the king and queen had ascended the throne—namely, in 1699—more race meetings were held throughout the country than in any previous year in England's history. In this year, too, the King's Master of the Stud, Robert Marshall, brought over from Arabia fourteen valuable stallions at a cost of some £1100, and these were sent direct to Newmarket, where the king was staying at the time.
That the reports of the evil that is said necessarily to follow in the train of racing were in William's reign greatly exaggerated, as they are to-day, may be gathered from a description of the manners of the age to be found in the diary and state letters of Henry Hyde, Earl of Clarendon.
Hyde, who died at Cornbury, in Oxfordshire, in 1709, at the ripe age of seventy-one, tells us that towards the close of the seventeenth century “a man of the first quality made it his constant practice to go to church,” and that he could spend the day in society with his family and friends “without shaking his arm at the gaming-table, associating with jockeys at Newmarket, or murdering time by a constant round of giddy dissipation, if not criminal indulgence.”
Other writers make statements practically to the same effect, so it is safe to infer that the foregoing description forms a true account of the style of living in the age when the Turf reached probably its zenith. There are, however, historians who would have us believe that at no period did horse racing flourish in this country without bringing with it, as though by natural process, dissipation, debauchery and general degeneration.