Chapter XIII.. Other Great Horses.

Other Great Horses.

There have been numerous other great horses in our country, some of them standing on a high pedestal, but none of them on quite such a lofty one as that supporting Carbine or The Barb. Some may worship the memory of one, some that of another. It is a case of “laudabunt alii” (each man to his own choice). But we should like to recall a few of those celebrities, some of them dead and gone, a few still in the land of the living. Chester and First King were good, possibly even great horses. As two-year-olds they never met, but both were champions, First King winning all his three engagements, and Chester four out of five. The latter was beaten a head in his initiatory effort by Sir Hercules Robinson’s Viscount—an evident fluke. As three-year-olds there was a battle royal between the two. The Derby, Chester won easily by half a length. In the Mares’ Produce, a mile and a quarter Mr. White’s colt repeated the dose. But in the Championship, over three miles, First King won by four lengths, and he beat the New South Welshman, but only by a short head, in the Leger. Chester had no engagement in the Australian Cup, which First King won, and in the Town Plate, two miles, Chester had no difficulty in putting the King down by two lengths. It is possible that Mr. Wilson’s colt was a little stale after the Australian Cup. They never crossed swords again, and although Chester won seven out of his eleven engagements as a four-year-old, I question if he was ever so good again as he was at three. Horses like Warlock, Melita and Cap-a-pie beat him at weight-for-age, which, had he been at his best, could never have occurred. First King did not appear as a four-year-old, but at five years he was only beaten once, and that was by the Derby winner, the beautiful, shapely, grey, Snowden colt, Suwarrow, in the Canterbury Plate, two miles and a quarter. But in his winning efforts he had no really great horses to conquer, although one or two of his opponents were good, Richmond—past his zenith—Wellington and Swiveller being the best of them. On paper, the honours are pretty evenly divided between Chester and First King, and I daresay old-time racing men could argue with some gusto after dinner in favour of their particular fancy, and might finally have to rise from the table unconvinced, or, if convinced against their will—well, holding the same opinion still.

Grand Flaneur was the next public idol. He was never beaten, and how good he was it is difficult to say. This great colt only ran once in his first season, when he won the Normanby Stakes at the Flemington New Year Day Meeting. Palmyra and Cinnamon were in the field, the former being favourite at even money. At three years Grand Flaneur commenced with the A.J.C. Derby, and then went through an unbroken sequence of victories in the Mares’ Produce, the Victoria Derby, the Melbourne Cup, the V.R.C. Mares’ Produce, the Champion, the Leger and the Town Plate.

Grand Flaneur may have been lucky in racing during a rather lean year, but over and over again he cantered home from the Angler colt Progress, who, when the big fellow was not present, invariably smothered the opposition in the most convincing manner possible, and there is no doubt whatsoever that Mr. W. A. Long’s colt was really and truly “great.” He ran no more after his three-year-old career terminated.

Malua was better than simply a “good horse.” One that could win, in his four-year-old season, a Newmarket Handicap, six furlongs, the Oakleigh Plate, five and a half furlongs, and the Adelaide Cup, a mile and five, was something of a genius. And as a five-year-old he graduated in the weight-for-age class, taking the Spring Stakes, a mile and a half, the Melbourne Stakes, a mile and a quarter, and the Melbourne Cup, two miles, carrying nine stone nine, his rival, Commotion, being half a length off second, with his nine twelve up. As a six-year-old, with nine nine, the Australian Cup, two and a quarter miles, fell to Malua, and then, as an eight-year-old stallion, he won the Grand National Hurdle Race easily, carrying his owner, Mr. J. O. Inglis, who was a very fine horseman. It must be confessed that Malua was wonderfully favourably handicapped for a winner of his great class, as his weight was only eleven stone seven. Twelve seven would have been a more reasonable impost. Malua may not have been quite up to the pitch of a “great” horse, but he was terribly near it, and his brilliant and determined run over the last two furlongs may have been electrifying enough to have defeated even the best. And in estimating his merit, we must take into account his unusual versatility. Of course, Abercorn was a “great” horse. His was that great light which caused the greater light of Carbine to burn with such dazzling brilliancy. The great, slapping, lengthy chestnut won for Mr. White twenty races, all of them against the highest class of horse, out of a total of thirty-four starts. It was a case of Greek meeting Greek when Abercorn, Australian Peer, Carbine and Melos threw down their gauntlets.

Australian Peer scored many points, but undoubtedly Abercorn won the rubber. A great racehorse, he was promising at the stud, and gave us a stayer in Cobbity, another lovely mover and good winner in Coil, and a Derby horse in Cocos. All the three, by the way, were out of the one mare, Copra. Abercorn was bought to go to Ireland, and there he did very little good. Had he remained behind in Australia, and continued to produce horses of like merit with the three mentioned, there might have been a different tale to tell. As it was, with him the blood of Whisker seemed to peter out.

Wallace was in the “great” class, and was certainly a very great sire. His two-year-old career was not so promising in public as it was in private, for, although backed well upon many occasions, he only secured a single bracket out of eight attempts. As a three-year-old he commenced with a second in the Spring Stakes to Hova, and then went from strength to strength, taking the Guineas, the Derby, and the C. B. Fisher Plate. In the Leger something happened which fairly made me groan with anguish, as I sat there watching a good horse being beaten by a comparative commoner. Mr. H. Oxenham had two representatives, Cabin Boy and Waterfall, in the race. The latter was a pretty good horse, and Gough, on Wallace, galloped along beside him, the only competitor whom he thought was likely to offer any dangerous opposition whatever. Delaney, Cabin Boy’s rider, meanwhile, in the guise of making the running for his companion, shot away, secured a tremendous lead, and Wallace could never quite get up. Next day Idolator, a six-year-old, with seven three on his back, just got home from Wallace, in the Australian Cup, carrying eight ten. It seemed to me that Wallace winced in the last few strides as though he had been struck with the whip on a painful spot, but I never heard until lately whether this was the case or not. Mr. Phillip Russell, the owner of Idolater, says “No.” The verdict was half a head. Next day Mr. James Wilson, Junr.’s beautiful Trenton mare, Quiver, ran a dead heat with Wallace in the three-mile championship, and they completed the distance in the then record time of 5 min. 23¼ sec. It has only once been beaten since, by three-quarters of a second, when Radnor won, and it will never be equalled again, as the race has since been abolished. In the autumn, at Randwick, Wallace won the Leger, the Sydney Cup, with eight twelve, the Cumberland Stakes, but, probably stale, lost the three-mile A.J.C. Plate to a couple of moderates like The Harvester and Fort. This practically closed the son of Carbine’s racing career, as he only once more faced the barrier, in the following spring. At the stud he has earned imperishable renown. There is, unfortunately, just a shadow of doubt as to whether or not he is going to be a proven sire of sires. So far we have seen no son of his who appears to be destined to carry on the line in tail male. But with Wallace Isinglass, Patrobas, Wolowa and Trafalgar, there is certainly a distinct hope. As the sire of great brood mares there is not the slightest anxiety as to his future fame, for that is established already.

Newhaven followed fast on Wallace’s footsteps, for he won the V.R.C. Derby the very year after the Carbine colt. As a two-year-old he took, amongst other races, the Maribyrnong Plate and the Ascot Vale Stakes, carrying the full penalty. His three-year-old performances quite entitled him to take his place among the “greats,” and although, perhaps, a horse of moods, or more likely an animal easily affected by what might have been a trifle to some of his peers built in a coarser mould, he was really awfully good. One can never forget how, after having won the Derby in smashing style, he came out in the Cup, and with the substantial burden of seven thirteen on his three-year-old back, seven pounds over weight-for-age, he took the lead before passing the judge’s box the first time round, never relinquished his advantage, and finally strode home half a dozen lengths to the good. Some of us, whilst taking a walk round the course on the evening before the great race, were talking “Cup” all the time. Mr. W. E. Dakin, a keen judge of racing and of a horse, pulled up at the five furlong post from home, and with a wave of his stick, oracularly decided that “here Newhaven will begin to come back to them.” I had the privilege of sitting beside Mr. Dakin during the race, and, just at the point which he had indicated, the chestnut colt seemed to take a fresh lease of life and shot out with an even more substantial lead than before. I could not refrain from nudging my friend’s knee and saying: “How about Newhaven coming back to them now?”

After a very successful three-year-old career, his victories including the Championship, the Loch Plate, the A.J.C. St. Leger and the A.J.C. Plate, Mr.—afterwards Sir William—Cooper took him to England. He was a very free, loose galloper, with a curious amount of knee action, a style which caused one to be rather doubtful of his staying powers until he had unmistakably refuted all suspicions by his deeds. Newhaven was by Newminster from Oceana, by St. Albans (son of Blair Athol), her dam, Idalia, by Tim Whiffler (imp.) from Musidora, by The Premier—Dinah, by Gratis from an unknown mare. Hers is one of those pedigrees which one would give worlds to fathom to the very depths.

Maltster, great as his success afterwards was at the stud, can scarcely be catalogued amongst the great. He was good, and had he had the opportunity, might possibly have been promoted to this, the seventh heaven, but, as it was, his working days were over by the autumn of his three-year-old career, and he had the fortune to come in a rather lean year, when no giants as of old were stalking upon the earth.

Poseidon, a failure at the stud, was, on the racecourse, great. He commenced his career so modestly that no one would have suspected that a bright sun had arisen in the morning skies. He won a Nursery at the A.J.C. January Meeting, and was allotted six stone eight in the Melbourne Cup.

Early in the following spring he was still, apparently, without any ambition towards higher things. He commenced by winning a welter at the Sydney Tatt.’s Club gathering in September, and followed it up with a victory in the Spring Handicap at Hawkesbury. Then, with odds of seven to one against him, he was proclaimed the A.J.C. Derby winner, beating Collarit, Antonious, Iolaire and a couple more. With his penalty he was beaten next day by Solution in the Metropolitan. Then came triumphs in the Eclipse Stakes at Caulfield, the Caulfield Cup, with a fourteen-pound penalty, the Victoria Derby, the Melbourne Cup, the St. Helier Stakes at Caulfield in February, the St. Leger at Flemington, and the Loch Plate, two miles, beating Dividend. Then he was checked in this triumphal progress. Dividend took down his number in the Champion, and again in the Cumberland Stakes at Randwick. Meanwhile, however, Poseidon had won what was practically a bloodless victory in the A.J.C. St. Leger.

At four years Poseidon still retained his form, and was successful seven times, the Spring Stakes, the Eclipse, the Caulfield Cup, with nine stone three up, the Melbourne Stakes, the Rawson Stakes, the Cumberland Stakes, and the A.J.C. Plate falling to his lot. Mountain King, however, who might have been a great horse but for wind troubles, beat him in the Rawson Stakes in spring, the Craven and the C. B. Fisher Plate. Poseidon was unplaced (eighth) in the Melbourne Cup that year, carrying ten stone three, including a penalty, and he did but little more. Had Alawa depended upon his three-year-old record, he might have been included in the Roll of Honour, but his star had reached its zenith by his three-year-old autumn, and those greater suns, Comedy King and Trafalgar, obscured his lesser light until it finally sank beneath the horizon. There was a rich vintage just at this period of our history: Trafalgar, Alawa, Comedy King, Prince Foote. It was when Comedy King was a four-year-old and Trafalgar a five-year-old that the real fun began. The latter was a chestnut horse by Wallace from Grand Canary, by Splendor from a Lapidist mare, and to see him walking out for his afternoon exercise, or lagging along in the saddling paddock, you would never, as a casual spectator, have taken him for anything but a rather lazy, spiritless, washy old gelding. He was sleepy, indifferent to his surroundings, careless of the calls of love, or of what the next hour might bring in the shape of a tussle with some worthy foe.

Comedy King, a rich brown, with fire in his eye, and in his every movement, with a skin like satin, showing every vein as he paced along, was the very antithesis of his great rival. He had been imported by Mr. Sol. Green, at his mother’s side, and he was by King Edward’s horse Persimmon, out of Tragedy Queen, a Gallinule mare.

Prince Foote was a great three-year-old. But his nine victories at that age left their effects upon him, and he only started three times as a four-year-old, winning the Chelmsford and running second in the A.J.C. Spring Stakes to Comedy King, beating Trafalgar, Pendil, etc. The Chelmsford came early in the spring, and here, with the exception of Maltine, he had not much to beat. As a three-year-old, however, he won the Chelmsford again, against a large field, including that great miler, Malt King; the A.J.C. Derby, from Patronatus and Danilo; the V.R.C. Derby, the Melbourne Cup, carrying two pounds over weight-for-age; the V.R.C. Leger; the Champion Stakes from Pendil; the A.J.C. Leger; the A.J.C. Plate, from Pendil and Trafalgar; and the Cumberland Stakes, two miles, from the same couple. Yes, he was a “great” three-year-old.

Between Trafalgar and Comedy King it was a case of “pull devil, pull baker,” so long as they were running at a distance not beyond a mile and a half. After that Trafalgar was the master. For, although Comedy King beat the chestnut in the Cup, the latter was giving weight, and I do not think that many people, with the exception of Comedy King’s backers, were altogether satisfied that Trafalgar had had a clear run. The black horse, at three years, won the Futurity at Caulfield, with a twenty-one pound allowance; as a four-year-old he took the Cup, the St. George’s Stakes, the Essendon Stakes, the All-Aged Stakes, and the Autumn Stakes. And at five years the Eclipse again fell to him, after which he retired. But Trafalgar, his arch enemy, secured twenty-four high-class races, and raced on until he was seven years old. He won at distances varying between nine furlongs and three miles, but the farther he went the better he liked it, and, strangely enough, he appeared to be gaining in speed as he grew older. And he never left an oat in his manger, and would clean up everything that was offered him, even when undergoing a course of physic, while his legs were of iron. I would not have liked to go into his box by myself, nor without his boy at his head. He was a sour old dog, and did not like to be disturbed in his castle. I have seen him “round” on his trainer and eject him without much ceremony from his box when in an ill humour. But I have no doubt that after he went out of training, and had liberty, and not too much strapping, he became the mildest mannered horse that ever won a race or cut a rival’s throat. I fear, however, that he is not a success at the stud, although a sure foal-getter. Comedy King, on the other hand, sires innumerable gallopers, from hurdle jumpers up to the winners of the greatest prizes to be gained on the turf to-day. And I think you would have anticipated the destiny of the pair had you seen them often in their daily lives.

Of the horses of the last lustrum it is difficult to speak, and, indeed, before history has had time to give her verdict, it might be injudicious to open one’s mouth. But I can safely say this: I never saw a performance in my life which equalled that of Artilleryman in the Melbourne Cup of 1919. He had been a somewhat uncertain performer in his two-year-old days. As a three-year-old he had run Richmond Main, a very good colt, a dead heat in the A.J.C. Derby, and had been well beaten by the same horse in the V.R.C. classic event, a few weeks after. But there were extenuating circumstances, I admit, in the latter race. In the Cup, three days later, running next the rails, and in a fair, but not a too flattering position as the field streamed to the bend, Lewis, his rider, perceiving a clear space ahead of him, shot his colt through, and in a very few seconds the contest was all over. Artilleryman, with his weight-for-age on his back, simply squandered the field. The official verdict was six lengths. The photographers made it at least a dozen. The eyesight of the excited spectators pronounced the gap between the winner and Richmond Main, the second horse, at anything varying between a hundred yards and a quarter of a mile. From a coign of vantage, unhampered by the crowd, and in a semi-official capacity, I judged the brown horse to be over ten lengths to the good as he passed the winning post. This great colt won his autumn engagements at Flemington, although to the professional eye there was something not quite all right about his physical state at that time. Nevertheless, he travelled on to Sydney, where he was badly beaten in all his engagements. It then transpired that all was not well with him. A swelling had made its appearance both on the outside and on the inside of his near thigh, and his near hock was enlarged. Unfortunately, the trouble went on from bad to worse, and in a few months this great son of Comedy King succumbed, dying, strange to say, within a few hours of Mr. Alec Murphy, who was a partner in the horse with his friend Sir Samuel Hordern.

The verdict, as I write, has not yet been pronounced upon the risen sun of to-day, Eurythmic. That he is a very good horse indeed, there can be little doubt. That he is a really great one is not yet quite certain. The best of judges point out that Eurythmic has been tremendously lucky; that he has never met anything which can be called great, with the exception of Poitrel, who undoubtedly was a very excellent stayer indeed. At a mile, and, perhaps, at a mile and a half, Eurythmic was superior to game little Poitrel, but we only once saw them meet over a distance of ground, and that was in the Melbourne Cup. Here, giving ten pounds, Poitrel won cleverly, with Eurythmic a good fourth. At weight-for-age, Poitrel would have been giving his rival only six pounds. So that it certainly looks as though the Poitrels “had it on the voices.” But there is just a lingering feeling in the mind that Eurythmic had not yet quite come to his own on that fine spring day when the Cup was decided, and his subsequent form showed very distinct improvement. We shall see. But the name of Poitrel is assuredly one of those “that glow from yonder brass.”