LETERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2721, 29 December 1882, Page 4

LETERATURE.

MYSTEEIOUS ST. W LEGEE. If you had searched all England through on the morning of September 16th, 1823, you would hardly have found a more miserable or dejected person than the little man who, about ton o’clock in the forenoon, was strolling moodily down the High street of Doncaster. And yet all the surroundings were calculated to produce feelings the reverse of melancholy. It was the morning of the St. Leger day; the sun was shining gloriously; Docaster was crammed with eager sportsmen, and never had there been such a brilliant gathering of rank; and fashion in the old Yorkshire racing town before ; for royalty itself had deigned to favor the meeting with its presence and its smiles. Nevertheless the little man had good cause for being depressed. He was John Jackson, the famous Yorkshire jockey and the veteran hero of no less than seven St. Legers, who, thirty years before, had won the great race for Mr Hutchinson on Young Traveller. No jockey at the time could show anything like such a score of Leger wins as John Jackson, and he had fondly hoped that he might added another to his laurels this year on one of Mr Gascoigne’s pair, either of which he thought was good enough to win with himself in the saddle. But Mr Petre had first v called upon his services, and had commis'aioned him to ride Theodore—Theodore, the butt of every betting man, the laugh-ing-stock of every stable-boy, for had not Jim Bland that very morning in the Salutation contemptuously bet 100 guineas to a shilling walking-stick against Theodore ? And the bet had been booked amid roars of laughter, while 500 to 5 was the current .prices, and the liberal offer went begging ! The thought of that 100 to a walkingstick was gall and wormwood to Jackson, and his bitter mortification was increased when he learn that Mr Petre himself had made over his betting-book, with a bonus, to Mr “Wyville, only too glad to rid himself -such a hopeless bargain. Unlike his Tamous contemporary and fellow “ Tyke,” Ben Smith, who was never known to lose his temper but once, John Jackson was, at the best of times, disposed to be quarrelsome ; and had any one run against him in his present unamiable frame of mind, he would probably have fared as Badly as a certain sweep at Catte-ri-iil:, who had the misfortune to meet jp/John in one of his tantrums, and received a severe milling for merely smiling at him. As the morning passed on, the veteran jockey becaime more and more sullen and ill-tempered, and when at last he walked to the ground with his saddle at his back and his whip in his hand he was in that state which is proverbially ascribed to a bear with a sore head. He scaled in gloomy silence, then asked if anyone had seen Mr Petre or his groom or his horse. The answer was in the negative. Then he went to the rubbing house and repeated his inquiries. No, no one had seen anything of owner or groom or horse ; but a bystander remarked, ‘ They say Theodore’s not coming; ’tis a hundred guineas to a walk-ing-stick against him.’ That unlucky bystander did not soon forget the look which Jackson gave him as he ground his teeth and swore. Surly and grim, the wretched Jackey betook himself to the town moor, where several of the St. Leger horses were already being walked about. Casting his keen eyes round, he spied a horse at the far side of the moor near the hedge, led by a little stable boy alone. Could that be Theodore ? He walked up and said— Is that Mr Petre’s horse, my lad ?’ ‘ Yes, sir.’ * Then bring him here, and strip him directly.’ Peeling his own overcoat, Jackson showed in the black and pink stripes, mounted, and re-crossed the moor. As he passed through the rubbing house gate he overheard the following dialogue between two swells:— ‘ “What horse is that ?’ ‘ Petre’s Theodore.’ ‘ “What will you lay against him ?’ * A hundred to one.’ * Done.’ * Done.’,1 Will you double it ?’ ‘ No, no, I think that’s plenty for once.’ Jackson’s feelings, as he heard this dialogue, may be better imagined than detuaribed. He vented his rage upon Thebdore, and woke the brown horse up application of the spur. needed little waking ®up' J he r wa§ti as fresh and as lively as a kitten, and s«52 ngly resented these pointed observations ol\Mr Jackson. Then came the parade before the race. The favorite. Swap ; Mr Watt’s Mandane filly, Marion ; and Mr Gascoigne’s Comus colt attracted most attention, while poor Theodore passed almost unnoticed in the crowd. But before describing the race it will be , as well just to notice the position of the vfavorities. Mr Powlett’s Swap was first ihvorito, and started at the short price of 6 tu-4. About a month previously Swap had Been the subject of some very mysterious operations. A gentleman whose reputation stoodquite high in the sporting world received, aletter by post purporting to come from Mr Powlett, informing him that Swap had fallen lame, and commissioned him to lay against the horse at once. This he did accordingly to a considerable amount, at Tattersall’s, on the 15th August. When, however, he shortly afterwards arrived at York, he found that he had been the victim of a “plant.” Mr Powlett indignantly pronounced the letter to be a forgery, and Swap was at once reinstated in his position as first favorite ; but the unhappy victim of the swindle was a loser to the tune of £ISOO. At York races rumors were circulated that Swap was not a thres-year-old, having been born on the 27th'of December; and it was hTnted that, should he he first past the post, this objection would he raised against him, and would prove fatal. Nevertheless he kept his position firmly in the market. Ajax was second favorite at 6 to 1, and Mr Watt’s Mandane filly third favorite at 7 to 1.

Theodore was at the bottom of the list ; indeed he was not mentioned in the quotations, though on the previous Saturday 500 to 5 had been taken once about him. He had run well as a two-year-old; but his career as a three-year-old since the York Spring St. Leger Stakes, which he won, had been a failure, and he had been so badly beaten a few weeks before that he wus considered to bo quite out of the race. Williaip Croft, in whose stable Theodore was trainecT,‘had tried the horse and found him wanting. It was decided that Theodore should not start, and that Jackson should ride the best of the stable, Mr Gascoigne’s Comus filly or colt, when a letter from a hacker of Theodore, remon-strating-with Mr Petre for his intention of scratching him, made that gentleman resolve to run the horse. Speculation raged fast and furious; hundreds of thousands of pounds depended on the race; Mr Powlett stood to win £40,000, and his groom and jockey £IO,OOO between them. Never had such sensational betting been known upon the turf before, and the race was consequently looked forward to with intense excitement. We left the competitors parading. They were twenty-three in number, and when the starfllWtf. ‘ Go !’ was heard they got off well tog»P®-* Jackson, who always made a good'start, got to the front at once. The pace was a cracker, but still Theodore kept the lead. Jackson’s surprise was great.. Bat we shall let him describe his feelings in his own words. ‘When we got to the first cross-roads,’ he said afterwards, in the account he gave of the race, * I lost all my ill-temper and mortification; I turned my head for a moment; a crowd of horses (twenty-two) ■were thundering close at my heels ; the gight was terrible ; the speed tremendous. Theodore pulled hard, but I held him Gobf- ‘now. my little fellow,’said I to myself, ‘ keep «P this pace to the top of - ’ T ’on’t care a straw for the ■; as strong as » giant; I ; were made of iron, and d merrily through my cart thumped at my ribs, .t a rattling pace ; I was , and was never headed in ice.’

When the top of the hill jwas reached, Jackson turned to look at Swap; he was in the middle of the ruck, and looked as if his bolt was shot already. ] You’re done,’; said Jackson to himself ;‘I shan’t bo, troubled with you.’ Coming down the hill,) he began to ease Theodore a-bit, but kept a : sharp look out for “ the harlequins and; magpies ” —Mr Watt’s harlequin jacket on the Mandane filly, Marion). mid, Mr Gasf coigne’s white and black sleeves' bn the Comus filly, Violet. It was the last-named that Jackson dreaded most, for he thought she had more strength and last in her than Theodore. And now came the tug of war. Just as the T.Y.C. was passed Marion challenged Theodore, and got as far as his girths. Then Mr Gascoigne’s pair challenged right and left, passing boots, and almost reaching Theodore s neck. Then Marion challenged again. Then Mr Gascoigne’s pair again. But Jackson’s skill, judgment, and nerve were equal to the occasion. Challenge after challenge was stalled off. Theodore got terribly excited, and wanted to rush ahead, but Jackson wisely reserved his powers, and never let him get too far in advance of his most formidable opponents. And here again we cannot do better than quote his own graphic description : —‘ I could see head after head advance as far as my boots on each side; and when I encouraged Theodore forward I could see head after head glide beautifully backwards out of my sight.’ There was one more bold and desperate attempt to wrest the lead from Theodore, but it was defeated ; and then Jackson said to him, ‘ Now, I think you re all done.’ He felt that the race was his own, and his heart beat merrily at the thought. They wore getting near the judge’s box now, and already there rose into the air the mighty roar of a myriad voices, and ‘ Theodore, Theodore, Theodore 1’ was the cry. ‘ Violet’s beat! Theodore wins ! Bravo, Jackson! Betre, Petre !’ But Violet was not beaten yet; she made a rushthatbroughther up to Jackson’s boots. Then he lifted his arm high—down came the whip. Theodore gave a bound like a deer, and passed the post three-quarters of a length in front of the chesnut filly. Barely, if ever, has such a scene of excitement as then followed been witnessed on that time-honored course. Jackson received a tremendous ovation as he returned to scale with Mr Petre by his side, who was more amazed than anyone else at the victory of his own horse, and bitterly chagrined he must have been at having actually paid Mr Wyville a bonus to take his betting-book off his hands. Not one of the favorites was even placed ; 50 to 1 had been wagered against Violet just before the start, and 90 to 1 against the Duke of Leeds gray colt by Comus, who came in third. Swap was the object of general execration. And yet within forty-eight hours Swap completely turned the tables upon his victor; for in the Gascoigne Stakes, Theodore, with 4 to 1 on him, was beaten as easily by Swap as he had beaten Swap for the St. Leger. Of course there was a good deal of shaking of heads at Tattersall’s on settling day; the men recalled the scandals of Escape and Eleanor, and whispered darkly that all was not straight. But Mr Powlett and Mr Petre were well known to be men of unimpeachable honor—no one dared to accuse them openly of anything that savoured of dishonesty, and so Theodore’s St. Leger to this day remains one of the unsolved mysteries of the turf.