Right Royal Part 4

He pa.s.sed the stand where his lady stood, His nerves were tense to the mult.i.tude; 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 collier-barge, Trod sideways, bickering, taking charge.

Cross-Molin, from the Blowbury, followed, Lucky Shot skipped, Coranto wallowed, Then Counter Vair, the declared-to-win, Stable-fellow of Cross-Molin; Culverin last, with Cannonade, Formed rearguard to the grand parade.

And now, as they turned to go to post, The Skysail calfishly barged The Ghost, The Ghost lashed out with a bitter knock On the tender muscle of Skysail's hock, And Skysail's hope of that splendid hour Was cut off short like a summer flower.

From the cantering crowd he limped apart Back to the Paddock and did not start.

As they cantered down, Charles Cothill's mind Was filled with joy that his horse went kind; He showed no sulks, no sloth, no fear, But leant on his rein and p.r.i.c.ked his ear.

They lined themselves at the Post to start, Charles took his place with a thumping heart.

Excitement running in waves took hold, His teeth were chattered, his hands were cold, His joy to be there was mixed with dread To be left at post when they shot ahead.

The horses sparred as though drunk with wine, They bickered and s.n.a.t.c.hed at taking line.

Then a grey-haired man with a hawklike face Read from a list each rider's place.

Sitting astride his pommely hack, He ordered them up or sent them back; He bade them heed that they jump their nags Over every jump between the flags.

Here Kubbadar, who was pulling double, Went sideways, kicking and raising trouble, Monkery seconded, kicking and biting, Thunderbolt followed by starting fighting.

The starter eyed them and gave the order That the three wild horses keep the border, With men to hold them to keep them quiet.

Boys from the stables stopped their riot.

Out of the line to the edge of the field, The three wild biters and kickers wheeled; Then the rest edged up and pawed and bickered, Reached at their reins and s.n.a.t.c.hed and snickered, Flung white foam as they stamped their hate Of pa.s.sionate blood compelled to wait.

Then the starter shouted to Charles, "Good heaven, This isn't a circus, you on Seven."

For Royal squirmed like a box of tricks And Coranto's rider, the number Six, Cursed at Charles for a green young fool Who ought to be at a riding school.

After a minute of swerves and shoving, A line like a half-moon started moving, Then Rocket and Soyland leaped to stride, To be pulled up short and wheeled to side.

Then the trickier riders started thrusting, Judging the starter's mind too trusting; But the starter said, "You know quite clearly That isn't allowed; though you'd like it dearly."

Then Cannonade made a sideways bolt That gave Exception an ugly jolt.

Then the line, reformed, broke all to pieces.

Then the line reforms, and the tumult ceases.

Each man sits tense though his racer dances; In a slow, jerked walk the line advances.

And then in a flash, more felt than seen, The flag shot down and the course showed green, And the line surged forwards and all that glory Of speed was sweeping to make a story.

One second before, Charles Cothill's mind Had been filled with fear to be left behind, But now with a rush, as when hounds leave cover, The line broke up and his fear was over.

A glimmer of bay behind The Ghost Showed Dear Adonis still there at post.

Out to the left, a joy to his backer, Kubbadar led the field a cracker, The thunder of horses, all fit and foaming, Made the blood not care whether death were coming.

A glimmer of silks, blue, white, green, red, Flashed into his eye and went ahead; Then hoof-casts scattered, then rus.h.i.+ng horses Pa.s.sed at his side with all their forces.

His blood leapt up but his mind said "No, Steady, my darling, slow, go slow.

In the first time round this ride's a hunt."

The Turk's Grave Fence made a line in front.

Long years before, when the race began, That first of the jumps had maimed a man; His horse, the Turk, had been killed and buried There in the ditch by horse-hoofs herried; And over the poor Turk's bones at pace Now, every year, there goes the race, And many a man makes doctor's work At the thorn-bound ditch that hides the Turk, And every man as he rides that course Thinks, there, of the Turk, that good old horse.

The thick thorn-fence stands five feet high, With a ditch beyond unseen by eye, Which a horse must guess from his urgent rider Pressing him there to jump it wider.

And being so near both Stand and Post, Out of all the jumps men haunt it most, And there, with the crowd, and the undulled nerves, The old horse balks and the young horse swerves, And the good horse falls with the bad on top And beautiful boldness comes to stop.

Charles saw the rush of the leading black, And the forehands lift and the men sway back; He steadied his horse, then with crash and crying The top of the Turk's Grave Fence went flying.

Round in a flash, refusing danger, Came the Lucky Shot right into Ranger; Ranger swerving knocked Bitter d.i.c.k, Who blundered at it and leaped too quick; Then crash went blackthorn as Bitter d.i.c.k fell, Meringue jumped on him and rolled as well.

As Charles got over he splashed the dirt Of the poor Turk's grave on two men hurt.

Right Royal landed. With cheers and laughter Some horses pa.s.sed him and some came after; A fine brown horse strode up beside him, It was Thankful running with none to ride him; Thankful's rider, dizzy and sick, Lay in the mud by Bitter d.i.c.k.

In front, was the curving street of Course, Barred black by the leaps unsmashed by horse.

A cloud blew by and the sun shone bright, Showing the guard-rails gleaming white.

Little red flags, that gusts blew tense, Streamed to the wind at each black fence.

And smiting the turf to clods that scattered Was the rush of the race, the thing that mattered, A tide of horses in fury flowing, Beauty of speed in glory going, Kubbadar pulling, romping first, Like a big black fox that had made his burst.

And away and away and away they went, A visible song of what life meant.

Living in houses, sleeping in bed, Going to business, all seemed dead, Dead as death to that rush in strife Pulse for pulse with the heart of life.

"For to all," Charles thought, "when the blood beats high Comes the glimpse of that which may not die; When the world is stilled, when the wanting dwindles, When the mind takes light and the spirit kindles, One stands on a peak of this old earth."

Charles eyed his horses and sang with mirth.

What of this world that spins through s.p.a.ce?

With red blood running lie rode a race, The beast's red spirit was one with his, Emulous and in ecstasies; Joy that from heart to wild heart pa.s.ses In the wild things going through the gra.s.ses;

In the hares in the corn, in shy gazelles Running the sand where no man dwells; In horses scared at the prairie spring; In the dun deer noiseless, hurrying; In fish in the dimness scarcely seen, Save as shadows shooting in a shaking green; In birds in the air, neck-straining, swift, Wing touching wing while no wings s.h.i.+ft, Seen by none, but when stars appear A reaper wandering home may hear A sigh aloft where the stars are dim, Then a great rush going over him: This was his; it had linked him close To the force by which the comet goes, With the rein none sees, with the lash none feels, But with fire-mane tossing and flas.h.i.+ng heels.

The roar of the race-course died behind them, In front were their Fates, they rode to find them, With the wills of men, with the strengths of horses, They dared the minute with all their forces.

PART II

Still pulling double, black Kubbadar led, Pulling his rider half over his head; Soyland's cream jacket was spotted with red, Spotted with dirt from the rush of their tread.

Bright bay Sir Lopez, the loveliest there, Galloped at ease as though taking the air, Well in his compa.s.s with plenty to spare.