Right Royal came up as the Dakkanese rose
All trembling and cowed as though beaten with blows;
The Culverin stumbled with the reins in his toes;
On the far side the leap stood the Mutineer grazing,
His man was a heap which some fellows were raising.
Right Royal strode on, through a second wet plough,
With the field far ahead (Kubbadar in the bow).
Charles thought, "Kubbadar's got away from him now.
Well, it's little to me, for they're so far ahead
That they'll never come back, though I ride myself dead."
Right Royal bored forward and leaned on his hand,
"Good boy," said his master. "He must understand.
You're the one friend I'll have when I've sold all my land.
God pity my Em as we come past the Stand,
Last of all, and all muddy; but now for Jim's Pitch."
Four feet of gorse fence, then a fifteen foot ditch.
And the fifteen foot ditch glittered bright to the brim
With the brook that ran through it where the grayling did swim;
In the shallows it sparkled, in the deeps it was dim,
When the race was first run it had nearly drowned Jim,
And now the bright irons of twenty-four horses
Were to flicker its ripples with knockings of gorses.
From far in the rear Charles could watch them take hold
Of their horses and push them across the light mould;
How their ears all cocked forward, how the drumming hoofs rolled!
Kubbadar, far ahead, flew across like a bird,
Then Soyland, bad second, with Muscatel third.
Then Sir Lopez, and Path Finder, striding alone,
Then the good horse, Red Ember, the flea-bitten roan.
Then the little Gavotte bearing less than ten stone.
Then a crowd of all colours with Peterkinooks
Going strong as a whale goes, head up and out flukes.
And then as Charles watched, as the shoulders went back,
The riderless Thankful swerved left off the track,
Crossing just to the front of the Cimmeroon black.
Ere the rider could see what his horse was about,
Cimmeroon swerved, like Thankful, and followed him out.
Across the great grass in the midst of the course
Cimmeroon ran a match race with the riderless horse,
Then the rider took charge, part by skill part by force;
He turned Cimmeroon to re-enter the race
Seven lengths behind Charles in the post of disgrace.
Beyond the next fence, at the top of a slope,
Charles saw his field fading and gave up all hope.
Yet he said, "Any error will knot me my rope.
I wish that some power would help me to see
What would give the best chance for Right Royal and me.
Shall I hurry downhill, to catch up when I can?
Being last is the devil for horse and for man,
For it makes the horse slack and it makes the man sick.
Well, I've got to decide and I've got to be quick.