Great Scot, the Chaser and other sporting stories. By G. G

Front matter

BOOKS FOR SPORTSMEN PUBLISHED by BELLAIRS & CO., 9 HART STREET, BLOOMSBURY. IN SCARLET AND SILK. Recollections of Hunting and Steeplechase Riding. By Fox Russell. With two drawings in colour by Finch Mason. 5s. net. NEW SPORTING STORIES. By G. G. 3s. 6d. net. The Times says: — "New Sporting Stories are written by a man who evidently knows what he is writing about .... The sketches are short, racy and to the point." TRAVEL AND BIG GAME. By Percy Selous and H. A. Bryden. With Illustrations. [In the Press.] THE CHASE: a Poem. By William Somervile. Illustrated by Hugh Thomson. 5s. net. In this fine old poem now ably illustrated by Mr. Hugh Thomson are the original lines, quoted by the immortal Jerrocks — " My hoarse-sounding horn Invites thee to the chace, the sport of kings, Image of war, without its guilt."

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Preface

Some of the short stories at the end of this book have appeared in Sporting Sketches ; and I heartily thank Mr. T. H. Roberts, the proprietor of that journal, for conceding me the right of republication. Since their first appearance all the stories have been carefully revised, in parts re-written, and made suitable for book-form. Great Scot has never before appeared in print, and is my first long story. G. G. Epsom, 1897. A TALE OF SPORT AND LOVE.

Chapter I. The Purchase Of The Horse

The old farm-house, with its grey-tiled roof, its pretty garden full of flowers, and its quaint out-buildings, was radiant in the morning sunshine. The high-road lay white and gleam ing in the distance, parklike meadows inter vening ; there was no other house nearer than the blacksmith's at the end of the sandy lane, half a mile away. The scene pleased by its peacefulness and rural charm. It was not the busiest part of the day. There was a lull in the bucolic activities. The cows had been milked before breakfast. The children had been sent to school — after that meal, or there would, justly, have been howlingf; and they carried their dinner with them (not too heavy a burden) in satchels round their necks. They had to walk a few miles to the school-house ; they generally ran back. In the paddocks surrounding the homestead several colts were frisking about in a tireless way that seemed to be a source of constant wonder to their sedate mammas, who grazed on calmly and put their ears back, trying to look cross, when their offspring wished them to join in the play.

Obviously these animals were all thoroughbred; they bore the char acteristic stamp of pure and ancient lineage. The youngsters, too, were an exceptionally good-looking lot, and, if appearances were not deceptive, promised to distinguish them selves on the race-course when their owner speculated his money on the chance that they would do so. They might even do so before his capital was invested, but that would be an accident, not a coup. The farm-house, radiant in the sunshine, as described, and the blood-stock that adorned the paddocks, as also mentioned, belonged to Jack Megson, one of the best-known sport ing characters in Creamshire, and one of the most generally respected. In his day a good man to hounds and a fair performer " between the flags " at the local hunt meetings, Jack scorned the muzzle as he grew to man's estate and could eat as much as he liked ; the consequence was that he rapidly " put weight on " .

He seemed to put on most of it in one place, and the results were conspicuous. Further riding distinction (with such a stomach) became impossible. In order, therefore, not to be quite extinguished by that abnormal development, Mr. Megson gave his attention to the less active branches of sport where fat was not an objection ; and, on the whole, despite his appetite and encumbrances, his life passed pleasantly if without exciting vicissitude. As everybody knows, Creamshire is cele brated for its cheese and its hunting. Both are good. The cheese is cheap, the hunting is expensive. The large grass fields, the flying fences that want some "doing", the exquisite caseine flavour of the local special ity, the veins of blue-mould running through it to tempt even an anchorite to excess, the straight-necked foxes that know their point — however much we may mix these things up in our imagination and in our dreams, after a splendid run with hounds and toasted cheese for supper in honour of the genius loci, we cannot exaggerate their perennial delights.

Grand old sporting Creamshire! No one was more enthusiastic about hunt ing in its passive aspects than Jack Megson ; and when increasing weight prevented him from riding to hounds he bred hunters for sale, so as to contribute to the enjoyment of others and make a little money for himself. He would not breed from anything but blood horses. Many of his youngsters, with unim peachable pedigrees, turned out to be useful chasers when they got into the right hands. Standing at his front door, basking in the rays of the morning sun, and indulging in pleasant reminiscences of his recent Gargan tuan repast, Mr. Megson looked up and down the road, as if expecting someone. Such anticipation was, indeed, active in his mind. He had, as usual, a horse for sale ; someone was coming to see it, with a view to purchase.

Mr. Megson waited serenely. His patience was not long tried ; for almost immediately a high dog-cart, in which were seated two young men, was pulled up at the door. "Mornin', Jack," said the driver cheerily: "we've come to see the horse." "And see him you shall, Arthur, my boy," replied the fairly honest farmer, beaming with satisfaction : " sure he's a sight for sore eyes. Such a beauty! Let us go to his box." So, one after another, each affecting a non chalance he scarcely felt — for the occasion was fraught with mighty issues — and all talking on indifferent topics to indicate a natural levity of mind, they followed Megson to the horse's box. Arrived there, after an interesting debate on nothing in particular, they inspected the horse from many different points of view with various expressions of countenance assumed to mislead the unwary, though what was most admirable in all was a consistent solemnity of visage that a funeral attendant could not have excelled if paid by results.

" Now there's a picture for you, gentlemen," said Megson proudly, stripping the noble animal lor minute examination. " A fine upstanding, gradely 'oss in every way, four year old he is, by Red Rattle out of Gamecock's dam, sound as a bell of brass, and has never yet been trained. Such a lepper, too — he likes it! Moves all round with honest pride, and walks like a seraph in satin slippers tripping to the dance — not, as many blood 'uns do, like a ballet girl on the 'booze'." After that burst of unstudied eloquence, Jack Megson, who was nothing like "fit", struggled for what he termed his second wind, and, being lucky enough to get it with out much delay, looked as if staying were really his forte when the others were not in too great a hurry. Then was enacted, with few departures from immemorial custom, an old familiar scene — a horse deal.

One was anxious to sell, the others not to be sold. It was thrust and parry, cut and come again, the point of attack being tbe pocket; and, according to the best authorities, if we do not defend that fortress nobly, we shall not have much left to fight for. " The horse is not a bad looking one, Megson," said the younger of the two men on buying thoughts intent. " But his good looks are of no use to us unless he can go. We want him to win races, not to flash in a show. Put a saddle on him, please, and let's see how he rides." "Well, you will understand," replied the farmer cautiously, " that when fresh (and he's fresh now) this young 'un is a light-hearted, festive customer, and throws himself about without consideration for the feelings of others. He has a natural genius for bucking and kicking, and introduces here and there new movements of his own.

They're worse than the old ones. It is not everybody I should care to put on him — not for his sake, though for theirs — but we know you are a workman, Arthur, when on top, and whatever happens there will be refreshments after the show." " Bring forth the fiery untamed steed, " said Arthur Battup, striking a theatrical attitude. " And if he puts me down as put me down he may — for he has a rolling eye and a truly valiant snort — I shall get up again as soon as possible. But here, who wants to bet? I'll take a shade of odds and back myself. Nay, a level fiver he doesn't down me. " " It's not good enough to gamble on," Megson answered, rattling his loose silver as though he wished to keep it : " we have seen you perform. If this horse of mine wishes to get rid of you, he will probably have to stand on his head in different attitudes and kick at the horizon, and he can't do it.

Few horses can — for any length of time. But you will find that he will keep you employed, and it's not very long odds on you with the best of luck." "He couldn't shift me in a month, old chap, " replied Battup genially : " and please to notice how quickly he discovers after our interview that he hasn't a thousand to three chance. Horses are more sensible than men; they know when they've met their master." Those who have enjoyed the pleasure of riding a mad-fresh thoroughbred horse on his debut into the open air after a long period of repose are aware that for the first half hour or so this exercise is sufficiently engrossing. It leaves the jockey no leisure to study the scenery, or to observe the depressed condition of local agriculture. The great point, under such exciting cir cumstances, is to sit tight.

For, as a curious man might ask, why amuse the audience gratuitously by "biting the dust", which is certainly not intended to be "bitten". Yet people invariably laugh in a superior manner (although, perhaps, they can scarcely ride in a train) when they see a man thrown off* a horse; but there is nothing funny in the performance for the parachu tist who has not had time to select a soft place for his descent. He may not be fatally wounded, but he will not continue to enjoy the esteem of his neighbours — perchance not even the affection of his wife — to the same extent as before the horse dethroned him. It was clear, however, that Arthur Battup had no intention to be thrown. The young horse came out of his box with a rush, putting his ears back, and was very much "on his toes". When mounted he rucked his back ominously, and, being at once trotted off in order to "keep his back down", he soon performed a quick buck and kick, one — two in a flash, after the artistic thorough bred style, getting his head down to add to the complications of the position, and whip ping round sharply to conclude the enter tainment.

But he might have saved himself all the trouble. His rider was with him after he had executed his finest acrobatic feats; indeed, the horse was first beaten. Then there was a delightful manifestation of the triumph of mind over matter. Dropping his hands on to the animal's withers in effective jockey-fashion, Battup cantered him round a big field, the pace being gradually increased to a nice halt speed gallop ; and now that he had lost his gas the four year old moved beautifully, striding along with his head in his chest as much as to say, "this is nothing to what I can do, bless you, if you only touch me with the spurs." Evidently pleased by the horse's style of going, Battup rode him back to the gate where the farmer and his friend were watch ing his proceedings, and remarked : " not a bad mover, Megson, he has some idea how to get over the ground.

May I see how he jumps?" "Do what you like with him, Arthur," said the farmer, who was enjoying himself intensely : " you can't put him out of his place. There are no made fences here, as you sec; they are all on a natural scale, and the rails want a bit of doing, but if he makes a mistake I'll give him to you." Cantered quietly up to a plain hedge with the ditch on the take-off side, the young 'un popped over cleverly, not rushing as a chaser is apt to do after being raced, but jumping like a well-schooled, temperate hunter. At the next fence, which was larger, with a fair sized ditch on the landing side, Battup put a little more steam on, riding with his hands, when the horse jumped bigger and quicker than before, yet still in excellent style, never putting a foot wrong. He was obviously a fine natural fencer, and Battup appreciated that fact at once.

Still he was too good a judge of human nature, especially when en gaged in a horse-deal, to betray the workings of his mind. He became extremely delib erate in his movements ; he avoided the lan guage of hyperbole ; he might never in his life have bought a horse, or sold one for more than it was worth, so guileless was his manner. After the trial of the four year old as described, the three men, somewhat heated, adjourned to the farmer's best parlour, with a view to opening more serious negotiations and a bottle of sparkling wine. Some farmers still dispense bad liquor of that kind, but only when they are likely to sell a horse. The end justifies the meanness. " Now don't put a fancy price on this champion," said Battup, holding up a threat ening finger at the agriculturist, " and we may deal.

My friend here, Mr. Sterling, is getting some jumpers together for the N. H. races, but we don't expect to win the Grand National at the first time of asking, although we wish the horses to do something towards paying their way." "Quite so," replied Megson; "if they can keep themselves their owner has a better chance of keeping himself and those unhappily dependent upon him. Love of sport is a fine thing, but it won't pay the corn-bill or feed the infants if there are many." "No," remarked Sterling solemnly: "it leaves the cherubs much to hope for in the way of nutrition. Love of sport may help to keep us poor, but it should not be used to disappoint the natural cravings ofthe young." And the speaker looked round anxiously to see who intended to laugh first. No one even smiled. He was obliged to do so him self.

" I want no fancy price for this horse, only a fair profit," answered Megson, with a brilliant assumption of honesty. " This is a sound young horse, a beautiful jumper as you have seen ; he goes fast and, I am con fident, stays; he is sure to win plenty of good races for you and more money than you can spend. My price is £ 300 — not a penny less, and I can return you nothing for luck except my blessing." "Done with you," said Battup promptly, shaking the farmer's hand as a sign that the bargain was consummated. " We will have the horse, old chap, and the blessing, though candidly I think the young 'un will do us most good." " Well, I make no extra charge for the benediction," Megson replied, "and it is not intended to be official in any sense. But I'm selling you a good horse cheap." "I like him," said Arthur, enthusiastically now that the purchase was completed : " he gives one a grand 'feel' when he's striding out, just as though he could go fast, you know, and keep on doing it."

" He can do both," shouted the farmer with great fervour, as the excitement ofthe situation grew upon him : " and he can do more. He can jump anything, and catch pigeons. And he always does his best — no 'turning the corners up', you know, or 'welshing' when the whips begin to crack and he is wanted to go on and win his race. He'll win it if he can ; if he can't what beats him is a real good 'un and deserves the prize, for he's done something for it." After the sale was formally ratified, after the cheque was written out and secreted by Megson with a glowing countenance in his small clothes, the moment of exaltation began Refreshments were indulged in, and at about the third glass Battup proposed a toast. "I believe, my friends," he said, with an air of conviction, " that this day a good horse has been bought and sold.

He must have a name. The National Hunt Committee in sist upon nomenclature. I ask you then, upstanding, gentlemen, and with flowing bea kers — let no gentleman forget his flowing beaker — to drink the health of Great Scot the chaser. (Applause). I am sure he's a smart horse ; and if any of you — come now Megson — wish to lay me a hundred to six that I don't win the ' Liverpool ' on him within the next three years, you can book the bet as often as you like." This sentiment was also applauded as it deserved to be, and shortly afterwards the meeting ended. Flushed faces showed up vividly in the bright sunshine as the two young men climbed into their dog-cart, and (doing about "twelve an hour" comfortably) drove home. " Well, Arthur," said Charlie Sterling to his friend during the journey : " you seem to fancy this young horse tremendously.

What do you know?" " Nothing, but if he's not a good one I've never been on one, that's all. This is a nice horse. He's like sitting on a castle, such a back and shoulder has he ; when he moves he seems rocking you to sleep, so true and even is his action ; when he jumps you feel as safe and happy as if you were in your sweetheart's arms and she was saying how much she loved you. Isn't that good enough? Great Scot indeed — we'll give the ring a shaking when he's 'slipped'." Further conversation was not attempted in the dog-cart. The hearts of its occupants were full. And when the heart is young and charged with emotion the tongue does not necessarily wag as it may do at a later epoch. During the homeward drive Sterling and Arthur were lost in bright dreams of future steeplechase triumphs —with the money always well on at nothing less than a hundred to eight, culminating in the winning of the Grand National — with Great Scot — and a phenomenal stake in bets. Happy, happy visions ! Yet alas ! what matters if we dream of money or win vast sums ; we never have enough.

Chapter II. The Steeplechase Jockey

Arthur Battup was a farmer's son, and belonged to one of the oldest and most respected yeoman families in Creamshire. He was, so to speak, bred to sport. For genera tions his forefathers had been keen hunting men ; while even up to comparatively recent times many of them were equally enthusiastic in the cock-pit, and backed their fancy with the best. Amongst genuine all-round sports men of the olden time — men who were " tricky with their left " upon occasion, and were not averse to a bit of poaching when the light was suitable and the love of adventure stirred their blood — none excelled the typical Creamshire yeomen ; but, it is said, their sons have degenerated. Some, perhaps, have, through drink and the low price of cheese ; while others could no doubt give their ancestors a good start at most games and lose them.

Coming from such a stock, poor but with honourable traditions, Arthur Battup displayed at an early age his sporting inclinations. From the time when he was a very small boy on a very small pony to the age when he was prepared to ride anything for anybody and ask no questions, he had gone well with hounds, astonishing even the Creamshire " bruisers " (who want a lot of beating) by the way in which he got over a country when hounds were running. He began steeplechase riding afterwards from pure love of the sport, and not with mercenary motives. He enjoyed himself, and that was enough for him at first — as it is for most of us when we are young and think we can afford it. The knowledge that we cannot and never could afford it comes when we are older; then we make arrangements with our creditors, if we do not go abroad, and pay them ridiculous sums in the pound.

At first, so far as race-riding was concerned, Battup, when it came to "finishing", showed a lack of polish in competition with accomplished professionals. They were better than he on the flat after jumping the last fence. Truly his efforts at that important crisis, though vigorous and determined, were not artistic. With plenty of practice, however, and by shrewd observation of the most approved methods, he became efficient ; and the best professionals could not have given him an ounce over a big country. At the fences he was better than many of them, being alike skilful and fearless. He did not require "jumping powder " before starting on his adventu rous journey. His ability as a crosscountry jockey becoming recognised, he soon obtained a great deal of riding; it was then that the question of ways and means had to be considered.

Arthur was not rich. He had nothing but what he could get, and his efforts to improve his pecuniary position were not unmeritorious. Like many young men similarly situated — fond of sport and not able to afford it — Battup had always performed as a "qualified rider". While he rode for no specified fee he accepted with cheerfulness little presents (payable to order) after steering a winner. He was not in a position to pay his own expenses to the various race-meetings in order to ride other people's horses for nothing. He liked to stand at least a " pony " in the commission for a very "good thing", since it is not pleasant, even for a qualified rider of bound less ambition, to win a great deal of money for others and nothing for himself. Gradually, too — for young men in these days do try — Battup's ideas expanded.

He began to train chasers in a small way on his own account. Several owners were glad to send horses to him, knowing they would be well schooled and honestly ridden in their races. He had never been lucky enough to get a really high class animal in his stable, but at the various hunt meetings he won in his turn with moderate horses, and generally made them pay their way. If, moreover, some of his cracks were troubled with the slows — and many of them, as he admitted, could not move quickly enough to promote healthy perspiration — he made them fine jumpers, and thus sometimes beat speedier horses. One of his principal " owners" was Mr. Charles Sterling, a young man of considerable wealth and good social position, who was extremely fond of the cross-country sport. Lie was not particularly clever or cultured, and did not profess to be so.

He had sense enough to know what he wanted and money enough to get it; and that is better than great wisdom. "Charlie", as his friends called him, was a really good sort, very keen about hunting and chasing, and was a hard .man on a "made" hunter. He had about a dozen chasers of one sort and another under Battup's care, and as he left their entire management to his trainer (whom he treated as a friend), never betting unless inspired by that oracle, he found this pastime both pleasant and prof itable. He made a little money now and then, and in making it enjoyed himself — an unusual experience, since people engaged exclusively in the accumulation of wealth rarely appear to be moved by sensations of hilarity. It was an eventful morning when Great Scot, having been put in strong work at Battup's place, was first galloped with two stable companions over the private steeplechase course.

The object was to see if he were speedy enough to win a good race. There were two anxious hearts pulsating in the same field that morning; for Arthur had been building up his hopes on Great Scot, and Charlie had begun to share his enthusiasm. Indeed Sterling placed implicit confidence in his friend's judgment, and knew that he was not often deceived as to the capacities of a chaser. He was not a sanguine man, and — unlike some trainers — did not believe that a horse was necessarily a good one because he trained it. "I shall ride Great Scot myself," said Arthur, as the horses were being stripped for the gallop ("divested of their top sheets" is the Newmarket phrase, but one can't always be fashionable). " I am asking him to do something rather big as a of matter course. Old Buzzard, who is sure to go straight, will lead us two miles at his best pace.

I've no doubt about the young 'un jumping all right, but these regulation ditches are new to him, and I wish him to get thorough confidence at the start." "We cannot be too careful," remarked Sterling with the utmost gravity ; " so much depends upon the first lesson. For Heaven's sake give him time at the ditches, for if bus tled he may take off too early and land too late — in the ditch instead of over it." "I shan't bustle him, you may be sure," said the jockey emphatically, as his friend gave him a leg up; "for I don't like falling any more than other people. When a horse rolls on your chest it. is not with the object of doing you any good. About half a mile from home please to observe that I shall go up to the leader, and then I think poor old Buzzard will have bad luck. This is only a sort of rough gallop, but it will tell us what we want to know.

I shall fairly let the young 'un out in the last quarter of a mile and come along. " Great Scot performed his task in a brilliant manner. At the first few fences he was inclined to be hot, and, excited by the com pany, "took hold" resolutely. But he had an artist on his back, a man with perfect temper and the finest hands, who soon steadied him. Afterwards the horse jumped beautifully, striding along at a great pace, and going as though he could stay for ever. Llis rider let him out over the last few fences, according to promise, and he left his stable com panions without an apparent effort, having evidently a fine turn of speed where it was most needed — at the finish. " What price that, my boy ? " asked Battup in high glee, as he pulled up after the gallop and eased the horse's girths. "Is this a Blucher or am I an ass?