Right Royal | Page 7

need re-charting.
Now think it a hunt, the first time round;
Don't think too much about
losing ground,
Lie out of your ground, for sure as trumps
There'll
be people killed in the first three jumps.
The second time round, pipe
hands for boarding,
You can see what's doing and act according.
Now your horse is a slug and a sulker too,
Your way with the horse I
leave to you;
But, sir, you watch for these joker's tricks
And watch
that devil on number six;
There's nothing he likes like playing it low,

What a horse mayn't like or a man mayn't know,
And what they
love when they race a toff
Is to flurry his horse at taking off.
The
ways of the crook are hard to learn.
Now watch that fence at the outer turn;
It looks so slight but it's
highly like
That it's killed more men than the Dyers' Dyke.
It's
down in a dip and you turn to take it,
And men in a bunch, just there,
mistake it.
But well to the right, it's firmer ground,
And the quick
way there is the long way round.
In Cannibal's year, in just this

weather,
There were five came down at that fence together.
I called
it murder, not riding races.
You've nothing to fear from the other places,
Your horse can jump.
Now I'll say no more.
They say you're on, as I said before.
It's none
of my business, sir, but still
I would like to say that I hope you will.

Sir, I wish you luck. When we two next meet
I hope to hear how
you had them beat."
Charles Cothill nodded with, "Thank you, John.
We'll try; and, oh,
you're a thousand on."
He heard John's thanks, but knew at a glance
That John was sure that
he stood no chance.
He turned Right Royal, he drew deep breath
With the thought "Now
for it; a ride to death."
"Now come, my beauty, for dear Em's sake,

And if come you can't, may our necks both break."
And there to his front, with their riders stooping
For the final word,
were the racers trooping.
Out at the gate to cheers and banter
They paced in pride to begin their
canter.
Muscatel with the big white star,
The roan Red Ember, and
Kubbadar,
Kubbadar with his teeth bared yellow
At the Dakkanese, his
stable-fellow.
Then Forward-Ho, then a chestnut weed,
Skysail,
slight, with a turn of speed.
The neat Gavotte under black and coral,

Then the Mutineer, Lord Leybourne's sorrel,
Natuna mincing,
Syringa sidling,
Stormalong fighting to break his bridling,

Thunderbolt dancing with raw nerves quick,
Trying a savage at Bitter
Dick.
The Ranger (winner three years before),
Now old, but ready

for one try more;
Hadrian; Thankful; the stable-cronies,

Peterkinooks and Dear Adonis;
The flashing Rocket, with taking
action;
Exception, backed by the Tencombe faction;
Old Sir Francis
and young King Tony,
Culverin striding from great hips bony.
At this, he rode through the open gate
Into the course to try his fate.
He heard a roar from a moving crowd;
Right Royal kindled and cried
aloud.
There was the course, stand, rail and pen,
Peopled with
seventy thousand men;
Seventy thousand faces staring,
Carriages
parked, a brass band blaring:
Over the stand the flags in billows

Bent their poles like the wands of willows.
All men there seemed
trying to bawl,
Yet a few great voices topped them all:
"I back the
field! I back the field!"
Right Royal trembled with pride and squealed.
Charles Cothill smiled with relief to find
This roaring crowd to his
horse's mind.
He passed the stand where his lady stood,
His nerves were tense to
the multitude;
His blood beat hard and his eyes grew dim
As he
knew that some were cheering him.
Then, as he turned, at his pace's
end
There came a roar as when floods descend.
All down the
straight from the crowded stands
Came the yells of voices and clap of
hands,
For with bright bay beauty that shone like flame
The
favourite horse Sir Lopez came.
His beautiful hips and splendid shoulders
And power of stride moved
all beholders,
Moved non-bettors to try to bet
On that favourite
horse not beaten yet.
With glory of power and speed he strode
To a
sea of cheering that moved and flowed
And followed and heaped and
burst like storm
From the joy of men in the perfect form;
Cheers
followed his path both sides the course.

Charles Cothill sighed when he saw that horse.
The cheering died, then a burst of clapping
Met Soyland's coming all
bright from strapping,
A big dark brown who was booted thick
Lest
one of the jumps should make him click.
He moved very big, he'd a
head like a fiddle,
He seemed all ends without any middle,
But ill
as he looked, that outcast racer
Was a rare good horse and a perfect
chaser.
Then The Ghost came on, then Meringue, the bay,
Then
proud Grey Glory, the dapple-grey;
The splendid grey brought a burst
of cheers.
Then Cimmeroon, who had tried for years
And had thrice
been placed and had once been fourth,
Came trying again the
proverb's worth.
Then again, like a wave as it runs a pier,
On and on, unbroken, there
came a cheer
As Monkery, black as a