Of course it was then and there arranged who were to drive whom—what traps, carriages, hacks, and so on were to be requisitioned. The organisation even went so far—if my memory serves me—as that every knight should be presented with the colours of some ladye fayre—after humble petition on bended knee—by my halidome!—which he doubtless swore to carry to the front, or nobly fall.
I don't retain a clear account of the preliminaries on the morning of the "Grand National"; but I think we must have made as much fuss and given as much trouble. When, about mid-day, we turned out on the plain below Woodlands House, where the carriages were drawn up and the spectators assembled in expectation of our appearance, the excitement had passed from the stage of tireless energy to that of fervent concentration. Each man wore an aspect of settled, unflinching resolution, such as might have befitted, in an after-time,
Those who ran the tilt that day
With Death, and bore their lives away
From the Balaclava Charge!
Out we came at last, a fairish field to look at, men and horses, though I say it. I should premise that the leaps were composed of two-railed fences, brushed underneath, about fifteen in all, from four feet to four feet six in height, and sufficiently stiff, as the event proved.
On the upper or eastern side of the course, where shade was procurable, were entrenched the carriages and non-combatants, among whom Mr. Redmond Barry, Mr. Leslie Foster, William Anderson, "Count" Ogilby, and other disengaged cavaliers, who did their devoir in entertaining the ladies and judiciously criticising the field. Jimmy Ellis, friend and pastoral partner of one William Stawell, a brisk, black-bearded, hard-riding little Milesian, was starter and clerk of the course. Here we came up for the last time, more or less soberly or skittishly, to the post, with cords and tops, silk jackets and caps, "accoutred proper," full jockey costume being de rigueur. A correct card of the race would probably have read as follows. The colours of the riders may have partially faded out of memory's ken, inasmuch as "it was many and many a year ago."
1. Mr. Molesworth Greene's grey horse "Trifle," four years, pink and white—ridden by owner.
2. Mr. Stawell's "Master of the Rolls," aged chestnut, scarlet and black—owner.
3. Mr. E. M'Neill's bay horse "Thur'mpogue," blue and silver—owner.
4. Mr. Acland Anderson's bay horse "Spider," ridden by Mr. Rawdon Greene—crimson and gold.
5. Mr. William Anderson's chestnut horse "Murgah," ridden by Mr. Acland Anderson—maroon jacket, black cap.
6. Mr. Leslie Foster's grey horse "Achmet," ridden by Mr. Rolf Boldrewood—white and magenta.
We are marshalled in line by Jimmy Ellis, and a good start not being so vitally important as in a flat race, we get comfortably away.
Pretty close together we charge the first fence, which is negotiated with "ease to the riders and satisfaction to the lookers-on." The turf is green and firm, and the distance to the next fence rather greater, so we make the pace better, and, as we near it, blood begins to tell.