# The Dilemma/Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI.
Next morning was the first of the race-meeting, and Yorke, who had never seen any races in India, or indeed anywhere else, would fain have been present, but duty forbade. Devotion must have a final canter, and moreover Spragge had discovered hard by a neighbouring village a wall almost a facsimile of that put up on the course, stiffer if anything, but with a good take-off. "The very thing to practise the little horse at; he'll do everything else all right enough, the game little beggar! but there is no saying how he might behave if he came across a new kind of jump for the first time. Nothing like practice." And accordingly, while all the rest of the station were driving down to the race-course, which was at the extreme end of the station, on the flank of the native-cavalry parade, Yorke and Spragge (for the good-natured fellow had given up the races to accompany his friend) cantered across the plain in the other direction in quest of the exemplar which the latter had discovered, a rare form of enclosure in those parts. In truth, in the early morning, with no hounds to follow or excitement of any sort, it looked a formidable thing to face. Yorke, however, did not stop to think, but cantered straight at it; and the little horse, feeling the rider's purpose in his firm hand and steady grip, swerved not to right or left, but cleared the wall without touching.
"Bravo!" called out Jerry to his friend on the other side; "four feet six, if it's an inch, and looks five, and that one on the course is barely as much. Well done, again!" he cried, as Yorke, cantering back, took the wall a second time. "What a good-plucked little horse it is, to be sure, and he not fourteen three! If the pace does not get forced too much, but he has time to take his fences quietly, I don't believe there's one of them can come near him. Now then, Arty, pop him over just once more and back again, so that he may know what a mud wall is like when he sees it, and then that will be enough for the old boy." Which feat accomplished, and the grey having had his gallop in a circuit over the neighbouring fields of young corn, while Spragge looked on approvingly, the two young officers returned slowly home. "Oh, by Jove!" said Spragge, "I wish I weighed a stone less than you, Arty, then you'd have to let me ride, instead of you; but these long legs of mine will never be of any use for racing," he continued, looking down ruefully at the members referred to, which indeed the diminutive pony he bestrode barely kept from touching the ground.
Yorke had the satisfaction of hearing casually at mess that evening that the commissioner and his daughter were not at the morning's races, but were expected to be present the next day.
At last came the eventful morning, with a sky cloudless as usual at that season of the year, and a pleasant fresh air, although it was the middle of February, so that overcoats and shawls came not amiss at first to the occupants of the grand stand. A few of the spectators were on horseback, being thus able to see the start for the short races, and by cutting across to come in at the finish; but the majority took up their places in the grand stand, sheltered by the roof and by a clump of trees on one side from the rays of the rising sun. That spacious edifice, which could accommodate a hundred persons with ease, yet was pretty full on this occasion, was raised on pillars a few feet above the ground, with space underneath for the scales and for the servants engaged in making tea for the ladies. A small space on the left enclosed by hurdles was reserved as a paddock for the stewards and jockeys and for the saddling. Besides the greater part of the gentry, a considerable number of the European soldiers at the station were present, the men on foot, the sergeants ​on troopers; there was also a sprinkling of sepoys in their white mufti, and some two or three hundred of the lower orders from the bazaar, camp-followers for the most part, attracted for the nonce by the news that the sahibs were going to have a new kind of race — all grave and stolid, and for the most part silent; but it is not easy to be jovial at six in the morning. Yorke, his riding-dress concealed by a long overcoat belonging to his chum, rode down on the pony of the latter, who himself trudged on foot, the horse "Devotion," led by the native groom, following, his tail cut square, his mane plaited, and covered by a regular suit of clothing on which a job-tailor had been at work for the past week seated on the floor of their veranda, the stuff having been bought from a local pedlar — the horse altogether, as Mr. Spragge observed, "looking a regular bang-up racer, and as good as he looks."
Yorke, leaving the groom to lead the horse up and down among the trees in the rear (Jerry rushing out every minute from the front to see that the operation was properly conducted), takes up his place at first in the enclosure, and leaning over the hurdle, looks up sideways at the front row of spectators in the stand. They are chiefly ladies, the gentlemen for the most part standing on the seats behind; but the one face he is in search of is not there, and he thinks with a sinking heart that the object for which he has made this venture has eluded him, when the sound of carriage-wheels is heard at the back of the stand, and Yorke sees from his vantage-ground the heads of the commissioner's mounted orderlies. The view is otherwise interrupted by people and pillars intervening; but presently there is a slight stir among the occupants of the stand, and room is made for Miss Cunningham, who takes her place in the front row beside Mrs. Polwheedle; and while greetings are exchanged with the other ladies, Yorke thinks how the latter seem to sink into utter insignificance beside this peerless creature. He notes, too, that while the appearance of the other ladies is generally suggestive of hurried rising, and further attention to the hair and person on their return home. Miss Cunningham's toilet, though perfectly simple, seems as complete and finished in its way as it might be if she were dressed for Ascot. And see, her pretty little hat, it is trimmed with blue, and there is a blue ribbon round her slender neck. Can this be mere coincidence? But while he stands wondering how his colours can have become known, the young lady looking down, recognizes and greets him with a gracious bow and smile, in which the young man thinks he can read sympathy and encouragement — encouragement for the impending event and also for the future. He feels his colour come and go, and his heart beats high as he lifts his hat and bows in reply, feeling, too, that the eyes of all the ladies in the front row are on him, and his first impulse is to make his way to the stand and express his gratitude; but how to push, his way through its occupants to the front row? and how find fitting words before so many people? Abandoning this idea, therefore, as soon as conceived, he retires to the back of the enclosure to have a final look at the grey before the saddling-time comes.
"There's young Yorke of the native infantry," observed Mrs. Polwheedle, as she noticed Miss Cunningham's bow; "he's got a horse in for the steeplechase, of all people. I shouldn't have thought he was one of the sort for that kind of thing; but these subs are a harum-scarum lot."
"Colonel Falkland says that Mr. Yorke is a very good rider, and I am sure there is nothing harum-scarum about him," replied the young lady.
"Oh no, that's just it; young Yorke always looks as if he couldn't say bo to a goose; and that's what surprised me so, his going in for this steeplechase."
"If he fails in that accomplishment it is not for want of opportunity ——"
Then the young lady stopped; for as Mrs. Polwheedle's voice was not of the lowest, she became conscious of acting as Yorke's champion before all the occupants of the stand.
The sport provided on this morning was unusually good, there being as many as four events on the card, besides the steeplechase, which was last on the list, and by general consent the most interesting of all; for, besides the exciting nature of the contest in itself, it possessed the additional attraction of there being no less than six entries, whereas for no other race had there been more than three competitors.
The particulars of the competition may be best described by copying the following extract from the card of the day: — ​
No. 5. The Grand Mustaphabad Steeplechase, A cup value Rs. 500 presented by Colonel Tartar, —— Hussars, with a sweepstakes of Rs. 50, half forfeit. Open to all horses bonâ fide the property of residents at Mustaphabad. Catch-weights, New steeplechase- course, about two miles and a half. :
| 1. | Mr. Lunge's, —— Hussars, | B. Cape H. Veteran, | Mr. Gowett. |
| 2. | Mr. Surrys, —— Hussars, | Ch. A. H. Roostum, | Owner. |
| 3. | Mr. Chupkin's, 19th Irreg. Cav., | Br. C. B. Mare Laura, | Owner. |
| 4. | Mr. Stride's, H. A., | B. S. B. H. Sentry, | Owner. |
| 5. | The Confederates', | Br. Austr. Mare, Maid Marian, | Mr. Egan. |
| 6. | Mr. Yorke's, 76th N. I., | G. C. B. H. Devotion, | Owner. |
Mr. Gowett was the light weight of the hussars, and had already won two flat races at the meeting with horses belonging to officers of the regiment. Egan, also, in whose selection of the Indian army for his profession Newmarket and the home-ring had sustained an irreparable loss, had carried off more than one event for a sporting indigo-planter, who it was rumoured paid him a handsome commission thereon, and now appeared for the first time on the mysterious mare entered as Maid Marian, a ragged-hipped animal of undeniable blood and power, but with bent knees, and back sinews concealed from view by elastic stockings. Maid Marian, who seemed to walk lame, took her preliminary canter in very stiff fashion, suggestive of age and hard work, but went over the first fence in very business-like style. Mr. Egan himself, a slight sallow little fellow, with smooth face and a small scrubby moustache, who always made appearance a secondary consideration to business, was attired in a brown garment resembling a decayed stable-jacket, with serviceable brown cords and ancient top-boots, but looked, as to style of riding, every inch a jockey. "It's legs and arms that do the business," he observed to Mr. Sniffers of his regiment, when that gentleman had attempted to banter him on his personal appearance; "not what's outside of 'em. I'll tell you what, Sniff, I'll give you two stone over a mile for anything you like to name, and you shall wear silk tights and pumps, if you like," — an offer which his brother officer declined to close with. All the rest were got up in regular racing-trim, except Chupkin, who had a wife to dress as well as himself, and therefore with virtuous self-denial rode in his regimental jack-boots. Mr. Scurry was especially splendid in scarlet with a white cap, and polished tops just arrived from England. Yorke's colours were blue. The young man, in view of a certain promissory note rapidly maturing, had prudently refrained from investing in a new saddle for the occasion, but had supplied himself with new girths, stirrup-leathers, and bridle, all strong and serviceable.
Mr. Scurry's Roostum, as has been mentioned, was a hot favourite at the race-ordinary two days before; but the circumstance that this sporting young gentleman had lost both the races ridden by him on two different horses on the first day, compared with the obvious skill and address displayed by Messrs. Gowett and Egan, had depreciated Roostum in public estimation, and Veteran, a winner of the previous day, was now first favourite, with Maid Marian in close attendance; for although nothing was known about the antecedents of the latter animal, it was generally understood that Mr. Egan and his confederate knew what they were about. Nevertheless, when Mr. Scurry rode Roostum out of the paddock, the beauty of the horse and its unusual size for an Arab, contrasted with the gummy appearance of the mare and Mr. Lunge's ancient charger, led to a reaction of feeling, more especially as Roostum, although very fresh and impetuous, and almost unseating his rider in his efforts to get his head loose, nevertheless cleared the first fence in his preliminary canter like a deer; and before it returned to the starting-post the chestnut Arab was almost restored to its position in public estimation. The ladies, at any rate, were entirely in favour of the pretty creature with the smart jockey, as it bounded along with the springy action peculiar to Arabs, tossing its shapely neck, and ready to jump out of its skin.
The steeplechase-course extended beyond the circumference of the ordinary race-course, which it left at the quarter-mile post out and rejoined again at the distance-post, the run in being parallel to and inside the flat course, so that the fences could be set up beforehand without interfering with the previous flat races, while the same winning-post served for both. Thus the flat course intervened between the stand and the straight part of the steeplechase-course; but as the former was only wide enough for ​about half-a-dozen horses to run abreast, the spectators would have as close a view of the scene as could be desired. The direction of the running was from right to left, or in the opposite order to the movement of the hands of a clock, and there were altogether nine jumps; first, a couple of hedges, which were in fact hurdles covered with bushes; then the mud wall, with a little grip on the further side from which the material to build it had been taken; then another hedge; then a hedge with a small ditch on either side; then a ditch with a bank beyond; then two more hedges or hurdles; lastly the water-jump, the only really stiff thing in the course — a low bank topped with a hedge, and a wet and broad ditch beyond. This was about fifty yards short of the grand stand and winning-post, so that the horse first over would probably win. The ditch was in fact only a shallow trench about eighteen inches deep, but which might have been eighteen feet from the look of the thing, although to retain it even at that depth in the sandy soil involved a constant supply of water, and the station water-carts were at work up to the last moment before the race. The course, sparsely covered with grass, was perfectly level throughout, and the fences standing up naked on the plain seemed calculated to invite the horses on the outside to swerve to the right or left.
And now the six horses having taken their preliminary canter, including the conventional leap over the first fence and back again, have come back to the starting-post opposite the stand, with their backs to the wet ditch; and all except Roostum being perfectly steady, the start is soon effected, and away they go at the signal, a little cloud of dust rising from their hoofs. Chestnut horses, and especially chestnut Arabs, are proverbially impetuous, and the noble Roostum was no exception to the rule. He was hard to hold when going alone; but the clatter of five other horses galloping alongside is altogether too much, and in a few seconds he breaks away at full speed, nose high in air, his rider lying back in the saddle and in vain trying to hold him in. This attitude is not favourable for steeple-chasing; Roostum crashes through the first fence without attempting to rise to it, tearing a gap about thirty feet wide, through which the others follow at a more leisurely pace, and he gets through the second in the same way; but this mode of dealing with the wall is not equally successful. Charging that in the same blind way, the gallant chestnut rolls over heavily on the other side, shooting his rider still further forward. Fortunately the race committee, with considerate forethought, had ploughed up the light soil beyond the wall, so that Mr. Scurry sustains no serious injury, although unable to proceed with the race; and he has left the others so much behind that they have time to avoid riding over him as they clear the wall, which they all do except Sentry, whose rider taking the outside, goes so temptingly close to the end of the obstacle that the horse swerving evades it altogether, and Mr. Stride, after two or three ineffectual efforts to made him face it again, is forced to give up.
The competitors are now reduced to four. Veteran takes up the running, and although not going the pace with which Scurry led off, Mr. Gowett is evidently trying to cut the others down. Next comes Chupkin on Laura, which had blundered at the wall, although getting over safely; next our friend Yorke; Egan bringing up the rear some way behind. So far Yorke feels that he has got along well; the pace is faster than he expected, but the little grey took the wall beautifully. The next fence, another covered hurdle, is a mere joke for all the horses. The double ditch and hedge is more formidable, but again they all get over. Next comes the ditch and bank, and Mr. Gowett pulling up Veteran to an easy canter, the old horse jumps cleverly on to the bank and down the other side. Chupkin, who goes at it full gallop, is less fortunate; his horse blunders at the top and falls: again the friendly plough averts further disaster.
Yorke cannot afford to pull up for the ditch and bank, lest Gowett should be left with too long a lead, so drives the grey at it, who clears the jump in his stride, thereby gaining considerably on Veteran. The mare also gets over all right, and the three are then left in the race. There now remain only two hedges and the water-jump; but the old horse still leads by some lengths, and Yorke knows that as far as galloping goes his own has no chance against it. Egan also seems to have played a waiting game too long; he has been creeping up latterly, but is still some distance behind; there is only a quarter of a mile left, and if Veteran gets over his jumps he must win. But here fortune comes to the rescue; the last hedge had been put up ​just at the point where the steeplechase-course joined the other, and Veteran, which had been running in a flat race the day before, suddenly swerves, and despite all Mr. Gowett's efforts, turns into the flat-race course, and gallops past the stand on the wrong side of the rails.
Yorke is now left in front with only one competitor against him, and for the first time there rises up within him the distinct hope of victory. But the old mare is drawing close; her stiffness is wearing off as she warms up with work; Yorke must keep ahead as far as the water-jump if he is to win. So feeling he presses his horse on.
Now it is not galloping but really racing pace, and, novice though he is at the work, he feels that his horse is not going well within himself; his stride has lost its spring, there is no longer any pull on the reins. He failed to clear the last hedge properly, but brushed through the top, and every yard since he has been going worse. The little horse is done. Now the last and biggest jump of all is close in front, and Yorke would fain have taken a pull on his horse and brought him up to it quietly. But there is no time to do this; glancing round he sees Egan riding coolly a bare two lengths behind. There is nothing for it but to cram on, and spurring Devotion, he drives him as hard as he can at the obstacle. The game little horse rises at it, clears the fence, but fails to clear the ditch, and coming down with his forefeet against the further side, rolls over heavily, discharging his rider beyond, where he lies stunned and motionless, while the mare, coming over safely a second afterwards, canters in a winner.
There was a rush of spectators to the scene of the accident, but almost before they could reach him Yorke had recovered his senses, though puzzled at first to know why he should be looking up at the sky with the fence behind him. He had in fact alighted on his head, turning a somersault as well as his horse. Spragge and Colonel Falkland were kneeling over him, and others ready to help, including all the medical officers on the ground; but in a minute or two he was able to stand up, and very soon, refreshed by the brandy-and-water of a thoughtful contributor, to walk toward the stand, while the sympathetic Spragge, as soon as he saw his friend recovered, turned his attention to Devotion, which had picked itself up and was standing quietly by, recovering its breath. "Little nag's all right too, I do believe," said Jerry, patting the horse affectionately, and loosening the saddle-girths; "it was a cropper too, and no mistake: there's a good bit of hair wanting from the off knee, though," he added, rubbing the part affected tenderly, "but it ain't deep; daresay we shall be able to get on your skin again, old man;" and so saying, led the gallant grey back to the saddling-enclosure.
"Your horse only wanted a little more blood to make a finish of it," said Colonel Falkland, in his pleasant low voice as he led Yorke back leaning on his arm; "the course was just half a mile too long for you; but at any rate you are the first man who ever rode a Cabulee in a steeple-chase, so you have done something to be proud of."
"Here is a lady who wants to see you," said the commissioner, meeting them, "to make sure you are really not hurt," and led him to the back of the stand, where stood Miss Cunningham at the top of the steps, waiting to meet him, pale and anxious.
As he advanced she ran down to meet him, holding out her hand, and led him up the stairs. At the top was a sort of landing-place with two or three chairs. The young lady, still holding his hand, almost pushed him into one.
"But I assure you I am quite able to stand," said Yorke, looking up with a smile at the anxious face above his; "I really feel ashamed to be sitting like this while you are standing,"
"Oh, but please do," said the young lady, earnestly, "to oblige me, at any rate;" and her voice, always rich and tremulous, reflected now the emotion she felt, and thrilled through the young man's heart. "Papa," she continued, "we must drive Mr. Yorke home — won't you call the carriage?"
"No, no; keep your seat," said the commissioner to Yorke, descending the steps, and stopping him as he rose to execute the order; "I'll bring up the carriage in a moment; you stay here and let my daughter take care of you."
Take care of him! As the young man sat in his chair, looking up at the beautiful face before him, he felt as if the fracture of every bone in his body would have been a cheap price to give for so much happiness. Another moment and he thought he must have fallen at her feet to express in some form the outpouring of ​his heart, but at that instant Mrs. Polwheedle and some other ladies emerged from the back of the stand.
"Oh, here is our gallant rider, safe and sound!" she exclaimed. "Colonel Tartar says you rode really very well, so you ought to feel proud; but upon my word you gave us ladies a regular fright. I declare I thought I should have fainted. You might have heard me scream right across the course. Really you young men ought to be more careful and not ride in this harum-scarum way."
"Here is the carriage, Olivia," called out the commissioner from the bottom of the steps; and almost before he knew how it happened, Yorke found himself driving away by the side of Mr. Cunningham, with his daughter, who insisted on taking the back seat, sitting opposite him.
"Knew the old girl would do the trick, if she didn't founder in the middle of the race," observed M'Intyre to Egan, as the two were engaged in bandaging Maid Marian's legs under a tree behind the stand.
"It's about the last job she's good for though, I expect," replied Egan, who now, his work accomplished, was refreshing himself with a No. 1 cheroot. "I felt uncommon nervous at starting, for she was as lame as a tree, but she got all right when she warmed up."
"I was in a funk too, I can tell you," replied the other, "when I saw Yorke going so well at the finish. It would have been uncommon awkward if he hadn't come to grief."
"Awkward! bless you, I could have passed him at any time; it was Gowett who had the race if the old horse hadn't bolted. I didn't think he could have gone such a bat. But Yorke would have done well if he had had something better under him. I didn't think he could ride like that; "I always thought him a muff."
"There, old lady," continued Mr. Egan, the bandaging completed, apostrophizing the winner, "now you'll do for the present. It don't much matter, though, if you have to be shot to-morrow; you have done our job for us this time at any rate." And, indeed, each of these gentlemen had won what is called a hatful on the transactions of the meeting — enough to enable them to take up all their promissory notes, and to keep them clear of the court of requests for some time to come. Nor was the result wonderful when the rumour now floating about the course was confirmed, due to the observation of a chance visitor from Bengal who happened to be present, that Maid Marian was no other than the celebrated Miranda, changed only by time and in name, winner of everything she had run for at Calcutta and Sonepore about eight years before, and which, after retiring from the turf, and thence running a downward career of hunter and hack, culminating in the inglorious office of drawing the deputy-collector of Hajeepore daily to and from cutchery in his buggy, and the deputy-collector's family for their evening airing in a palanquin carriage, had emerged from her retirement to earn one more victory — an event brought about by the circumstance of Mr. M'Intyre having chanced to pay a visit to his uncle, the judge of Hajeepore, during the previous cold season, and discovering there the old animal's retreat.