A Mirror of the Turf; Or, The Machinery of Horse-Racing Revealed, Showing the Sport of Kings as It Is To-Day

by James Glass Bertram

So wrote a racing commentator sixty years since, and the same sentence might be written to-day, with a still greater chance of hitting the nail on its head. When, half a century ago, some isolated case of turf fraud of a high degree of enormity became public, a prodigious outcry was raised regarding the circumstance—as would doubtless be done to-day—by a section of turfites, much indignation being usually expressed, especially by those not "in the swim"; but to-day racing rogueries are too numerous, too varied, too much a matter of course to attract much attention, and for this among other reasons, namely, that "they all do it." It may well be said as regards the turf and its surroundings, "Let him who is among you without sin cast the first stone."

Happily, there almost never falls nowadays to be chronicled any vulgar or pronounced frauds—these seldom become public. He would prove himself but a poor hand in turf chicanery who would so act as to be "found out," who would venture, for instance, to instruct a jockey to "pull" his horse, when the animal could be so "doctored" before leaving the stable as to render its chance hopeless. As a general rule, a pailful of water will "do the trick," although, as a once popular trainer, now deceased, was heard to say at Newcastle-on-Tyne, "sometimes even two pails won't stop the beggars from winning." At all events, when it has been determined by interested parties that a horse shall run to lose a race it has been entered for—and such arrangements are common enough—nothing is easier than to make sure that it shall do so, and that the horse selected, in the event of the public fancying him, shall be made a market horse, and be "milked" for the benefit of those interested: the losing of a race may at any time be ensured, and there are scores of "turf dairymen" who are reputed adepts in the use of the milking pail.

There is no other business, perhaps, which offers so many opportunities for successful fraud as horse-racing, and that for the best of all reasons: the chicanery that is prevalent does not render those who practise it amenable to the criminal law, turf crimes being without the pale of legal action. When, therefore, the owner of a horse, looking ahead, conspires with a bookmaker or other confederate to deceive the public by entering an animal for a race which it is not intended the horse shall win, it is not the interest of either to say a word to outsiders about the arrangement, while those whose bad fortune it is to be deceived are without legal remedy. Persons foolish enough to make bets in the hope that a given horse may win a given event must suffer the consequences if the animal has been all along a market horse: bettors in such a case have only themselves to blame for getting on a "wrong one." Happily, no one can be compelled to bet, and if those who do so miss the mark, one person has cause to rejoice—he is the bookmaker.

These gentlemen (the bookmakers), especially those of them engaged in extensive ways of business, are, it has been often affirmed, but such statements must be accepted with reserve, able to manage any kind of turf chicanery—money on the turf, as everywhere else, being pretty well omnipotent; and therefore, it has been said, should one of the fraternity find he is likely to lose £10,000 by the victory of a particular animal in a given race, he thinks it well worth his while (and no sin) to part with a few hundred pounds to have the animal made safe, an operation that, as has been hinted, can be achieved in various ways. Such turf rogueries are more frequent than is supposed by the general public. Many a race that, before being run, was deemed a certainty for a particular animal, has resulted in a surprise that would not have proved so had the truth been made manifest by a recital of its private history. At one time it was no unusual circumstance for an animal which had become favourite for a particular race to be prevented from winning by violent means. It was what is called "nobbled" or "got at" by some person hired for the purpose, or it might be lamed by the farrier, or perhaps poisoned by a stable attendant, or in other ways rendered hors de combat, to the deep chagrin in many instances of owner and trainer.

Such modes of dealing with race-horses are now seldom resorted to, but frauds of a more subtle kind are common enough. "Nobbling" of a rude description is a very dangerous game, which requires confederates to ensure a successful issue; and a first-rate training stable is usually subjected to such careful watching, especially when it contains a horse of celebrity, that strangers as a rule cannot obtain access to it, and for a stableman to betray his trust is dangerous—ruin would assuredly follow the discovery of such a breach of confidence. But, as an old-time hanger-on of one of the Newmarket hotels was wont to say, "it's all along o' the money; them tenners and fivers is at the bottom of all them there swindles; there's men about here as would kill a hoss right out for a couple o' ponies."

The magnitude of the sums betted against particular horses gives rise to temptation. Certain bookmakers will lay from ten to twenty-five, or even forty thousand pounds upon occasion, against each of half-a-dozen horses entered to run in an important handicap, and if the one or two of these animals which appear most likely to win the race can—if they have been well backed—in some way be rendered unfit to run, so much the better for those who have laid the odds. Under such circumstances, a horse has sometimes been bought on behalf of a bookmaker and his confederates, so that its losing the race may be made certain. Backers, unaware of the sale, continue to "fancy" it, till the transaction becomes profitable to the purchaser, who keeps the animal well to the front in the market, and continues personally, and by the aid of confederates, to bet heavily against its chance. Such transactions often prove excellent bargains. For a bookmaker, or clique of bookmakers, to purchase for a thousand or even sixteen hundred pounds a horse, against the chance of which to win they may have betted as many thousands, is good business; true, that particular animal might not have proved the winner, but, being dangerous, his removal out of the way if possible was deemed prudent. Some may say that the bookmaker having laid against all or most of the other horses in the race, he will have plenty of money to clear his liabilities, no matter which animal may win; but bookmakers, being prudent men, like to make matters as certain as possible. Men are known who have had a finger in such pies; names cannot, however, be mentioned here, and there are persons engaged in laying the odds who would not individually do a very dirty action, but even the most respectable bookmakers make no bones about laying a "stiff one."

II.

In such transactions as have been indicated, the biters are sometimes bit. A few years since a clever school of these men agreed to purchase, for £2,000, a horse which had become a prodigious favourite for one of the chief handicaps. It was reputed to have won a good trial, in which it had beaten its stable companions "to blazes," and was being backed every day at lessening odds. About eight days before the race it was quoted at 100 to 12, and seemed as if it would be a dangerous horse. Negotiations for its purchase were entered into by an agent of the syndicate—and terms being agreed upon, the horse was quietly transferred to another stable—the dealers having forgotten, in their anxiety to conclude the business, that the vendor of the animal had another and, as it proved, a better horse entered for the same race, quite capable of winning it! As it came out in the sequel, the gentleman had backed his "lot" to win a considerable sum, whilst a confederate had taken some "long shots" about the other one, so that the seller had all the best of the deal, the horse purchased by the bookmakers proving in the end worthless. In reality the owner was delighted to sell number one, because he had planned to win the race if he could with number two, and that being so, he began business by backing his "lot."

Instances of another kind of deal might be cited. On one occasion a man who had been so clever as to back a horse to win him £12,000 before its owner had backed it for a single sovereign, had the alternatives placed before him of seeing the animal "scratched," or of buying it, or of allowing his owner to share his bet. He preferred to purchase, but before the day of the race the horse had gone off its feed, and when called upon to make an effort was easily beaten.