The former was evidently born for a career of social success. Chivalrous and energetic, with a bright smile, a pleasant manner, his popularity was easy of explanation.
In a ball room, where his modesty was in the inverse ratio to his iron-nerved performances across country, he was a rival not to be despised. Among men he was voted ‘an out-and-out good fellow,’ or a gentlemanlike, manly lad, from whatever side emanated the criticism.
The Cid was a grand horse, if not quite worthy of the exaggerated commendation which his admirers bestowed. A handsome, upstanding animal, bright bay, with black points, he had a commanding-looking forehand, ‘that you could hardly see over,’ as a Tasmanian turfite observed, besides a powerful quarter, with hips, the same critic was pleased to observe, ‘as wide as a fire-place.’ In his trials he was known to have taken leaps equal in height to anything ever crossed by a horse. But a stain in his blood occasionally showed out, in a habit of baulking. Of this peculiarity he gave no notice whatever, sometimes indulging it at the commencement, sometimes at the end of a race, to the anguish of well-wishers and the dismay of backers. A determined rider was therefore indispensable. As on this occasion the only man in the country-side ‘who could ride him as he ought to be ridden,’ according to popular belief, was up, who had also trained him for this particular race, little apprehension was felt as to the result.
Not less confident were the friends of St. Andrew, a different animal in appearance, but of great merit in the eyes of judges. Not so large as his celebrated antagonist, he had the condensed symmetry of the racehorse. Boasting the blue blood of Peter Fin (imported) on his mother’s side, his Camerton pedigree on the other, entitled him to be ticketed ‘thorough-bred as Eclipse.’ A compact and level horse, with the iron legs of the tribe, every muscle stood out, beautifully developed by a careful preparation. His dark chestnut satin coat, his quiet, determined air, the unvarying cleverness with which he performed in private, together with the acknowledged excellence of his rider, rendered the Benmohr division confident of victory.
The others which made up the race were fine animals, but were not entrusted to any great extent with the cash or the confidence of the public. Of these the most formidable was a scarred veteran named Bargo, who had gone through or over many a fence in many a steeplechase. His rider being, like himself, chiefly professional, they were both undoubted performers. But though the old chaser would refuse nothing, his pace had declined through age. It was understood that he was entered on the chance of the two cracks destroying each other, in which case Bargo would be a ‘moral.’
The remaining ones, with the exception of King of the Valley, were chiefly indebted for their entry to the commendable gallantry of aspiring youth. It was something to turn out in ‘the colours’ and other requisites of costume before an admiring crowd; something, doubtless, to see a cherry cheek deepen or pale at the thought of the chances of the day; something to try a local favourite in good company. All honour to the manly and honest-hearted feeling!
Of these, briefly, it may be stated that Currency Lass was a handsome chestnut mare with three white legs, and much of the same colour distributed over her countenance. She was fast, and jumped brilliantly, if she could be prevailed upon not to take off too near to her fences, or ridiculously far off, or to pump all the breath out of her body by unnecessary pulling. The regulation of these tendencies provided a task of difficulty for the rider.
Wallaby and Cornstalk were two useful, hunter-looking bays, which would have brought a considerably higher price in the old land than they were ever likely to do here.
The course had been arranged so that the horses should start near the stand, and going across country take a circuitous course, but eventually finishing at the stand after negotiating a sensational last fence. This was not thought to be good management, but the enclosures admitted of no other arrangement.
The morning’s racing having been got through, everybody adjourned to lunch, it being decided that the important event should take place at three o’clock, after which the excitement of the day might be considered to be over. In spite of the approaching contest, which doubtless contained an element of danger, as it was known that the riders of the two cracks would ‘go at each other for their lives,’ not less than the usual amount of mirth and merriment was observable. The two chief actors were altogether impervious to considerations involving life and limb, although they had seen and suffered what might have made some men cautious.