University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
HOW THE WHOLE COLONY OF VIRGINIA WENT TO THE JAMESTOWN
RACES, AND WHAT ENSUED.

The races!

That word always produces a strong effect upon men
in the South; and when the day fixed upon for the Jamestown
races comes, the country is alive for miles around with
persons of all classes and descriptions.

As the hour of noon approaches, the ground swarms
with every species of the genus homo; Williamsburg and
the seafaring village of Jamestown turn out en masse, and
leave all occupations for the exciting turf.

As the day draws on the crowd becomes more dense.
The splendid chariots of the gentry roll up to the stand,
and group themselves around it, in a position to overlook

the race-course, and through the wide windows are seen the
sparkling eyes and powdered locks, and diamonds and gay
silk and velvet dresses of those fair dames who lent such
richness and picturesque beauty to the old days dead now so
long ago in the far past. The fine-looking old planters too
are decked in their holiday suits, their powdered hair is tied
into queues behind with neat black ribbon, and they descend
and mingle with their neighbors, and discuss the coming
festival.

Gay youths, in rich brilliant dresses, caracole up to the
carriages on fiery steeds, to display their horsemanship, and
exchange compliments with their friends, and make pretty
speeches, which are received by the bright-eyed damsels
with little ogles, and flirts of their variegated fans, and rapturous
delight.

Meanwhile the crowd grows each moment, as the flood
pours in from the north, the south, the east, the west—from
every point of the compass, and in every species of vehicle.
There are gay parties of the yeomen and their wives and
daughters, in carryalls and wagons filled with straw, upon
which chairs are placed: there are rollicking fast men—if
we may use the word becoming customary in our own day—
who whirl in, in their curricles: there are barouches and
chairs, spring wagons and carts, all full, approaching in
every way from a sober walk to a furious headlong dash, all
“going to the races.” There are horsemen who lean forward,
horsemen who lean back; furious, excited horsemen,
urging their steeds with whip and spur; cool, quiet horsemen,
who ride erect and slowly: there are, besides, pedestrians
of every class and appearance, old and young, male and female,
black and white—all going to the races.

These latter gather around the booths erected by the stand
and discuss the various mixtures of Jamaica there displayed
in tempting array; and near by, all varieties of edibles are
set out, and attacked. Ale foams; healths (and individuals)
are drunk; bets are made.

The vulgar blacklegs, if we may speak so disrespectfully
of that large and influential class, congregate temporarily
around the tables where a dozen games of chance are exhibited;
and here they amuse themselves while awaiting
the great supreme gambling of the race.

The crowd is all in a buzz, which at times rises to a
shout; it undulates like a stormy sea; it rolls and murmurs,
and rumbles and laughs—in a word, it has come to
see the races.

The hour at last arrives, and a horn sounding from the
judges' stand, the horses are led out in their blankets and
head coverings, and walked up and down before the crowd
by their trainers, who are for the most part old gray-headed
negroes, born and raised, to the best of their recollection,
on the turf. The riders are noble scions of the same ancient
stock, and average three feet and a half in height, and
twenty pounds in weight. They are clad in ornamental garments;
wear little close-fitting caps, and while they are
waiting, sit huddled up in the grass, sucking their thumbs,
and talking confidentially about “them there hosses.”

Let us look at the objects of their attention; they are
well worth it.

Mr. Howard enters the bay horse Sir Archy, out of
Flying Dick, by Roderick.

Mr. James enters Fair Anna, a white mare, dam Virginia,
sire Belgrave.

Captain Waters enters the Arabian horse Selim, descended
in a direct line, he is informed, from Al-borak, who
carried the prophet Mahomet up to heaven—though this pedigree
is not vouched for. The said pedigree is open to the
inspection of all comers. Note—That it is written in
Arabic.

There are other entries, but not much attention is paid
to them. The race will be between Sir Archy and Fair
Anna, and perhaps the outlandish horse will not be “distanced.”

The horses are stripped, and the excited spectators
gather round them and commence betting. Two to one is
offered on Sir Archy; he takes every eye; he is a noble
animal. His training has been excessive, and the sinews
web his limbs like cords of steel woven into network; he
strides like a giant, his eyes blaze, he bites at his groom.

Fair Anna is a beautiful little creature, as slender and
graceful as a deer, with a coat of milky whiteness; and she
steps daintily, like a kitten. She is known, however, and
those who have seen her run, know that she has extraordinary
speed and bottom.

The Arabian horse is unknown, and offers few indications
of either speed or strength. The ladies say he is
lovely, however, and the old jockeys scan the animal attentively,
and discover some unusual points.

But the ladies, for the most part, admire the white mare
above all; and the young damsels and gentlemen of youthful
years request their parents to furnish them with some
guineas to bet upon the lovely animal. The old planters,
having for the most part staked large sums on Sir Archy,
decline this request with petulance. Among these juveniles,
seized with the gambling mania, are Master Willie Effingham
and Mr. Tommy Alston, who espouse different sides. Tommy
admires fair Anna, Will, Sir Archy. Having no money beyond
a crown or so, they content themselves with staking
that, and Kate is called upon to hold the stakes, which she
does with great good nature.

“Ah! you are betting, I think, petite ma'mselle!” says
a sonorous and good-humoured voice.

Kate raises her eyes, and recognizes Captain Ralph, who
rides his roan. She smiles, for the kindly honest voice of
the soldier pleases her, and says:

“Oh no, sir! I was just holding stakes for Willie and
Mr. Alston.”

“Mr. Alston? Oh—pardonnez: I understand.”

And the Captain laughs, and asks how the betting goes.

“Two to one on Sir Archy,” says Kate quite easily.

“And on Selim?”

“I'm sure he's the prettiest, and I know he'll win, sir,”
says Kate, “but the bet is on Sir Archy and Fair Anna.”

The Captain laughs, and rides on: he draws up by Mr.
Lee's chariot.

“Ah good-day, my dear mesdames,” he says, “how is
the betting, pray?”

“I have bet largely against Selim, sir,” says Henrietta,
“I know he'll be beaten.”

“Beaten, say you, my dear madam?”

“Yes.”

“By what—rods?”

“No, sir, by Sir Archy.”

“Ah, you think so?” says the Captain, pleasantly.
“Well, I do not agree with you, morbleu!”

“He's found his match,” says Henrietta, with a mischievous
sparkle of her brilliant eye.

“So have I,” replies the Captain, with a look which
makes Miss Henrietta blush.

She endeavors to rally.

“What will you bet, sir?”

“I? I will bet you a thousand pounds to a penny, that
Selim wins the race. See how infatuated I am! What say
you, morbleu! madam?”

Henrietta smiles satirically.

“Suppose we wager something more valuable, sir” she
says, “something rare!”

“What shall it be?”

“This ringlet against one of your morbleus!”

The Captain relishes this pleasantry and laughs.

“Ah, madam!” he says, “the stakes are not even: suppose
I stake the contents of this box, against the said ringlet.”

And the soldier draws a morocco case from his bosom.

“What is it?” says Henrietta.

“I deny your right to ask,” laughs the soldier.

“Unjust!” says Henrietta.

“Why, 'faith?”

“Because, sir, you know what my stake is—while I do
not know yours.”

“How do I know what it is you offer to bet, madam?”

“Why it is this ringlet, sir.”

And Henrietta twines around her beautiful jewelled hand
a glossy curl which reposes on her cheek.

Captain Ralph laughs, and replies:

“Ma foi! I know it is: but I maintain that I am not
enlightened yet:—the said ringlet may be a wig, my dear
madam.”

Henrietta pouts: Clare smiles.

“I assure you, sir, that I never wear wigs,” says the
lady.

“Well, madam, then I will, for the sake of argument—
no, for the sake of betting, admit the reality of that exquisite
curl; and yet I must be permitted to make a request.”

“What is that, sir?”

“That you will let Miss Clare hold my stake, and promise
not to open it, or seek to find what it is.”

Henrietta takes the morocco case, and looks at it curiously,
hesitating.

“Well,” says the Captain, laughing, “I see our wager is
at an end, pardy! You refuse my conditions.”

“No, sir, I accept.”

And Henrietta hands the case to Clare.

“I suppose I may retain the curl until it is won—if that
ever happens, monsieur?” she says, satirically.

“Oui! oui!” responds the soldier, laughing, “assuredly,
and now what is our bet, pray? I see the judges about
to give the signal to prepare the horses.”

“I bet,” said Henrietta, “that Sir Archy or Fair Anna
will beat Selim.”

“The first heat?”

“As you choose, sir.”

“Well,” says Captain Ralph, “I close. Remember
Ma'mselle Clare,” he adds to her companion, “that Madam
Henriette and myself have laid a wager of that morocco case
and its contents, against a curl of her hair, that Sir Archy
beats my Arabian the first heat. Do not forget!”

“The first heat, sir?” asks Clare, in her mild voice.

“Yes,” replies the Captain, “there will be three I am
informed—three of two miles each. The horse which wins
two out of these three heats, of course beats the field.”

Clare nods.

“Prepare the horses!” comes from the judges' stand opposite.

Captain Ralph leaves the ladies with a gallant bow, and
pushes his way through the swaying and excited crowd, toward
the spot where the animals are being saddled.

A tremendous hurly-burly reigns there; men of all
classes, boys, negroes, gentlemen, indented servants—all are
betting with intense excitement. The dignified grooms endeavor
to keep back the crowd:—the owners of the horses
give their orders to the microscopic monkeys who are to ride.
Mr. Howard, a fine-looking, somewhat supercilious gentleman,
says to his rider:

“Jake, trail on a tight rein the first mile, press gradually
on the second, and win the heat by half a length: if you
are an inch before that, I'll murder you, you villain.”

“Yes, massa,” replies Jake, with a satisfied smile, and
great cheerfulness. “I gwine to do dat very ting, I is.”

Mr. James is a solemn-looking Napoleon of the turf, and
impresses upon his rider a whole volume of instructions,
with gravity, and a serious and affecting earnestness.

“Feel Sir Archy from the word proceed,” he says, “and
if it appears from a calm review of all the circumstances,
that the mare has got the heels of him, come in half a head
before him. If the mare fails to get her speed in the first
brush, refrain from pushing her:—it is a matter of no importance
to win this the first heat—but be sure to come to
me before the second.”

“Yes, my massa.”

Captain Ralph says to his rider:

“Give me your whip:—good! now take off those spurs.
Very well: now remember to keep silent—do not speak to
your horse, do not tug at his rein: simply keep him in the
track, and aim to keep the inside. Do not trouble yourself
to win the heat—the rest I think is safe. Remember to lean
far forward, and if there is danger of being distanced, I permit
you to whistle in the horse's ears. Again, do not push
to win this heat. Go!”

The riders are raised by one leg into the saddles: they
gather up the reins: the drum taps: they are off like lightning.

The course is a mile in circumference, and they go round
it before the excited crowd can look at them a dozen times.
They whirl past the stand, and push on again.

Sir Archy leads: Fair Anna trails on a hard rein: the
Arabian is two lengths behind: but he is not running.

They thunder up the quarter stretch: Sir Archy is
bounding, like some diabolical monster, far before his companions,
spite of his owner's cries: the Arabian has come up
and locks the mare: they run neck and neck. Sir Archy
whirls past the stand, and wins the heat by a hundred yards.
The immense crowd utters a shout which shakes the surrounding
forest.

The owner of Sir Archy looks with ominous meaning at
Jake:—that youth begins to tremble, and says that he
couldn't hold him. Mr. Howard turns to the horse. Sir
Archy's eyes glare—he does not sweat at all: his coat is

covered with a dry dusty oil, and he pants dreadfully: he is
over-trained.

Fair Anna is as wet as if she had just swam a river: the
moisture streams from her: she looks like an ivory statue
in a fountain. The grooms rake the sweat off in foamy
floods: she breathes regularly.

The Arabian's coat is merely glossier: an imperceptible
moisture bathes it, and he is quite still: he does not pant:
his breathing is calm.

The horses are again enveloped in their hoods and
blankets. Captain Ralph returns to the Riverhead carriage.

“Parbleu! you've won, my dear madam!” he says,
“behold, here I am very unhappy!”

Henrietta does not quarrel this time with his French,
but laughs triumphantly.

“A favor?” continues the unfortunate Captain, with a
melancholy air.

“Oh, certainly!” cries Henrietta.

“I ask that you will not open the morocco case which—
miserable!—I have lost, until you return home. Is it very
hard?”

“Oh no, sir; and I promise without hesitation. Give
it to me, Clare.”

And she takes the case, puts it in her muff, and smiles.

“Any more betting, sir?” she says, satirically.

“Who, I?'

“Yes, sir.”

“Assuredly!” says the Captain;” do not think, chere
ma'm'selle, that I am very much cast down. I am so far
from that, I assure you, that I am ready to take the field
again.”

“Well, sir.”

“Then you will bet again, madam?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Bien! I now stake all that is left me in the world—
though not quite. I stake my horse, Selim, against the curl
and the pair of gloves you wear, with the knot of ribbons at
your girdle thrown in—all upon the final issue.”

Henrietta blushes; for, however common such gallant
proposals were at that day, she cannot misunderstand the
meaning of the soldier's glance, and reddens beneath it.

“That would be unfair, sir,” she says.

“Not so, my dear madam; for are you not sure to
lose?”

“To lose?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“No, sir; I am sure to win.”

“Bah! you ladies have such a delicious little confidence
in the things you patronize, that it is really astonishing.
You think Sir Archy will beat Selim? Pshaw! you know
nothing about it.”

This piques madam Henrietta, and she smiles satirically
again as she says:

“Well, sir, I do not want your pretty horse—but if you
insist, why, I cannot retreat. I shall, at least, have the
pleasure of returning him to his master.”

The Captain shakes his head.

“A bet upon such terms, is no bet at all, my dearest
madam,” he says, “for, I assure you, if I win, you will return
home curl-less, glove-less, and ribbon-less. All is fair in war
—and love.”

With which words, Captain Ralph darts a martial ogle
at his companion. This piques her more than ever.

“Well, sir,” she replies, “if you are determined, have
your desire.”

“Good!” cries the captain, “we are just in time. There
is the horse. Remember now, Ma'm'selle Clare, that we
have lain a wager on the final issue. I bet Selim against a
curl, a pair of gloves, and a piece of ribbon, that the
Arabian beats the field. Miss Henrietta, that he will not.
Voici, I do not ask you to hold my stakes,” adds the Captain
with a laugh as he bows, “for I think that will be as
much as his rider will be able to do!”

And, with another gallant bow, the Captain rides away
toward the horses.

The boys are again instructed much after the same
fashion: the signal is given in the midst of breathless suspense,
and the horses dart from their places.

They dart around, Sir Archy again leading: but this
position he does not hold throughout the first mile: he gradually
falls behind and when they pass the winning-post he is

fifty yards in the rear. His owner tears his hair, but the
crowd do not see him—they flush and shout.

The second mile is between Fair Anna and the Arabian,
and they lock in the middle of it: but the Arabian gradually
takes the lead, and when they flash up to the stand he is ten
yards ahead. Sir Archy is distanced and withdrawn.

It would be impossible to describe the excitement of the
crowd:—the tremendous effect produced upon them by this
reversal of all their hopes and expectations. They roll
about like waves, they shout, they curse, they rumble and
groan like a stormy sea.

The horses are the objects of every one's attention.
Their condition will go far to indicate the final result—and
Sir Archy being led away and withdrawn, the race now will
be between Fair Anna and the Arabian.

Mr. James looks more solemn than ever, and all eyes are
turned upon him. Captain Waters is not visible—he is
yonder, conversing with the ladies.

But the horses! Fair Anna pants and breathes heavily
her coat is drenched more completely than before with perspiration;
her mouth foams: she tosses her head: when the
rake is applied to her back a shower falls.

The Arabian is wet all over too: but he breathes regularly:
his eye is bright and his head calm. He has commenced
running. The first intention of Mr. James is to give
up the race, but his pride will not let him. He utters an
oath, and gives renewed instructions to his rider. These
instructions are to whip and spur—to take the lead and keep
it, from the start.

The moment for the final struggle arrives, and Captain
Ralph merely says, “Rein free!”

The boys mount—the crowd opens; the drum taps and
the animals are off like lightning.

Fair Anna feels that all her previous reputation is at
stake, and flies like a deer. She passes around the first mile
like a flash of white light: but the Arabian is beside her.
For a quarter of a mile thereafter they run neck and neck—
the rider of Fair Anna lashes and spurs desperately.

They come up to the quarter-stretch in the last mile
at supernatural speed:—the spectators rise on their toes and
shout:—two shadows pass them like the shadows of darting

hawks:—the mare barely saves her distance and the Arabian
has triumphed.

If we could not describe the excitement after the second
heat, what possibility is there that we could convey an idea
of the raging and surging pandemonium which the crowd now
came to resemble? Furious cries—shouts—curses—applause—laughter—and
the rattle of coin leaving unwilling
hands are some of the sounds. But here we must give up:—
as no mere pen can describe the raging of a great mass of
water lashed by an angry wind into foam and whistling spray
and muttering waves, which rise and fall and crash incessantly,
so we cannot trace the outline of the wildly-excited
crowd.

The Captain wipes Selim's neck with his white handkerchief,
and the panting animal raises his head and whinnies.

“See, gentlemen!” says the soldier laughing, while Mr.
Howard scowls proudly at him, “Morbleu! my horse is
merely a little warm—just come to his speed! Why did I
not stake my whole fortune on him!”

And uttering this preposterous jest, the soldier caresses
Selim, who manifests much pleasure thereat; and sending
him back to the stable, mounts his horse and goes and claims
his wager from the mortified Henrietta. She takes off the
gloves and hands them to him, with the ribbon knot, which
she detached from her girdle with a jerk betraying no slight
ill-humor.

“There, sir! at least I am honest, and pay my just
debts!” she says: “but please leave my curl.”

The Captain folds up the gloves, wraps them in the
ribbon, and places the whole in the pocket of his surtout.

“Leave the curl?” he says, laughing, “Oh, of course!
But I assure you, my dear Ma'm'selle Henrietta, that my
liberality is only for the moment. I shall claim it some day
or other. All is fair in war—and love!”

With which words the Captain laughs louder than he was
ever known to laugh before.