THE DERBY DAY OF 1863.

Southland Times, Volume 2, Issue 76, 28 July 1863, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE DERBY DAY OF 1863.

The following account of this iuterest- .. ingeventis from the Timesof 2lstMay:-> Yesterday was most emphatically a bad day for both races—the Derby and the human. It is not often thafc the Londoners' festival is spoilt by the weather. Since the Prince Consort with the Prince of Prussia saw the race run in driving rain, half-sleet; half-snow, in 1857, there has been no wet Derby. The very name of the race is associated in one's mind: with the heat and glare, blue veils, dust, gritty fowls, and tepid champagne, so that, on the whole, the dwellers in this most changeable climate of ours have, after all, but little reason to complain. As with other things, however, so it is with the weather, the present miseries of one wet day are sufficient to obliterate a hundred sunny memories of others ; and we venture to think that it will take many fine Derbys quite to efface the recollection ' ofthe superlatively miserable one yesterday. "We need hardly say how bad it was in its weather, and the weather , made the attendance thin and poor.and the false starts for the great event, j false starts which occupied nearly an hour in the cold biting rain, made every one impatient and angry, and the heavy poached state of the course made the pace of the race itself slow, and as much a trial of strength as speed, so that, altogether, the Derby of 1863 will only be looked back upon with pleasure by those who stood on ths winner. The morning, howevar, gave no token of such accumulated disappointments. It had been wet and was dull, with lowerin" clouds on the horizon, which the delicate attentions of a north-east wind threatened to bring more prominently forward as the day wore on ; still it was dry though cold, and by soon after ten o'clock the lines of vehicles of all kinds began to splash their way towards the south in their wonted numbers. There was, however, a far greater preponderance of gentlemen clad in waterproofs and carrying stout umbrellas than one like to see on these gala days; all the private carriages were closed, the public ones were much more full inside than out, there was an almost total absence of lady visitors, there were none of those amusing little parties crammiug open tax-cares and accommodating a couple of visitors on the shafts, there were none of the open vans that go so well till a very narrow part of the road is reached, when they break down hopelessly, and worse than all, after eleven o'clock, there was a most visible decrease in the number of vehicles altogether. Before twelve it had begun to rain, and in these few words are summed up the discomforts of the day. There is no outdoor festivity, however attractive, there is no party to enjoy it, however hilarious, which can long withstand the influence of English rain when it begins in a businesslike way on a public holiday. It rained yesterday not by fits and starts with fine but delusive intervals between, but with a steady monotonous downpour of fine cold wet, as if th: ■weather was determined to do its work slowly, but to do it well. At first there was a little playful badinage from - QIQ more ventursome of the pedestrians who lined the roads near Clapham, but even this soon ceased as the rain increased, and the jokers and the joked came to equal terms as regarded miseries, and the long dull train of vehicles went plashing silently on, churning the yellow gravel into a creamy slush, neither mud nor water, though possessing all the most unpleasant attributes of each. Thus through Cheam and Sutton wound the long line, its occupants either cowering under umbrellas from the remorseless drip and plash, or gazing with vindictive gloominess from carriage windows out upon the leaden sky and mists of driving rain. The roads were deep and dreadfully heavy, more than the usual proportion of horses succumbed from sheer fatigue, and now and then a vehicle itself would come to grief, founder, and go down with all hands in the mud. But in these latter cases the victims escapedthe relentless chaff which always follows these annoying accidents on fine days. There seemed to be a general and not unnatural impression that those who were thus compelled to turn .A back were rather fortunate than otherwise ; and, no matter what their muddy plight, everyone saw at a glance that it must be their own case if, when they reached the course, they ventured to alight and walk a dozen yards from their carriages. At Epsom itself the carriages were joined by an attenuated j stream of very damp pedestrians, which the Brighton and South Western trains kept filtering through the muddy town , and out upon the Downs, where both crowd and mud culminated. % The miserable st.te of affairs was more forcibly told here than at any portion of the journey. Where were the negro melodists, the conjurors, and tumblers ? Where the " kerrect kards,'' gipsies, " brushers down," performing I monkeys, and precocious children ? j I What had become of the weighing-ma-chines, the " three throws/ and sallow vagabonds who parody the "noble art" and batter at each other's faces with old mouldy gloves in hope of coppers ? Where, in short, were all the dingy ■Bedouins of England who travel through to this great gathering, and BPtaehow — sometimes honestly — contrive to pick up money enough to tide them over till the Cup Day at Ascot ? Scarcely any were visible yesterday. |The niggers, washed by the drizzle into flingy half-castes, had given up the popgs to which none would listen in the F*in, and, armed with wisps of straw, P.id something like a business by wiping lye boots of those who struggled over lhe Downs through the great sheets of plngled clay and chalk, which made Ihem look like pools of whitewash. At J

t one part a whole corps of acrobats, in | soaked fleshings and tarnished spangles was similarly engaged, though their dress bore muddy evidence that their professional pursuits had been tried, and tried in vain, before they were driven to this last resource. What could speak more forcibly of the utter wreck of all the Derby sports, when we find a family that should by rights be standing on their heads with wooden platters, ignobly competing with the boot boys, aud seeking coppers f.»r scraping the mud and slime from the boots of any who had walked a dozen yards ? As connected with the Derby, the whole picture was painful to see, though turning to the course itself does not mend rasters. The hill opposite the Stand is a swampy void, the course itself is thinly indicated by a dark line of umbrellas, looking like rows of monstrous fungi sprung from the damp. The open stands are empty rows of dripping benches, the covered ones are full, so very full, indeed, as to give forth quits a little steam In the keen \ air, as though their occupants were simmering gently ; even the top of the Grand Stand itself looks thin ani meagre, though every occupant holds up a spacious umbrella, large enough, in some cases, to cover half-a-dozen. Eut there is nothing doing — absolutely nothing. Even the stable boys and racing grooms who lounge about near the Grand Stand, some of whom are known to have seen the favorite that morning, and others who are distantly related to men who had friends in the paddock last year, are of no account just now. The first object of all arriving without shelter seems to be to find it, and of those who bring their shelter with tbem not to quit it if they can do otherwise. Comparatively speaking there are no ladies, though strange to say, in spite of the dulness, there are an unusual number of shirtless *"* Welchers,'* who trusting to fortune and a false address, are willing to give any odds against any horse that runs. Yet no one speculates. Even in the narrow, dark winding passages of the Grand Stand, every passage, room, seat, and arrangement in which is a positive disgrace to those who have charge of it, and an intolerable nuisance to those who have to use it, there is dulness — dulness even in the miserable sort of half-lighted cellar where the jockeys in their dresses —hard, eager-lookiag little men come with their saddles and bridles to be weighed. Even in the paddock, that repertory of equine beauty, there is not much animation. The rain has stopped, but is certain to cone on again soon, and what with what it has done to the to the course and what it may further do before the race there is perplexity and fear abroad. Yet there is more doing here than elsewhere, for to the paddock come only those who are really interested in the horses — their owners, trainers, and the members of the Jockey Club and chief bookmakers. Early Purl, as becomes his name, is among the first to enter — a tall and . very powerful flea-bitten gray — a color rarely seen on the Downs. Though heavy looking, he is a formidable horse, and one which the fast approaching showers of rain make more formidable every minute. Near him comes Hospodar, a splendid looking black colt — too good looking, in fact, a kind of horse more likely to deserve attention in the park than on Epsom Downs, No one has time to bestow much attention on him now, for all eyes turn towards the favorite, who comes gently over the grass with a long step, light springy tread, and head thrown proudly up, eyeing the antagonists he passes with a quick disdainful stare of his large eyes. With a coafc shining like satin, with limbs trained down to the finest symmetry of racing form, he looks at every point perfection — a Derby winner. There was a notion among his opponents that if there was a fault in him it was that he looked almost too light fbr such a heavy course as that he had to run over, but the objection was regarded as almost captious. Even now, writing after the event, we may fairly say that amid all the uncertainties of the turf there were few things more certain than that Lord Clifden would prove the winner. We question if hia defeat of yesterday will much affect his position in future races, for beyond a doubt few finer horses have ever been seen in the paddock, Saccharometer attracted a great deal of attention, and Tambour Major, who afterwards nearly spoilt the whole race, showed his villainous temper at every step. Of the winner, and second favorite, Maccaroni, there was but one opinion in the paddock — that the race, barring accidents, i lay between that horse and Lord Clifden. But, while the temper of the latI ter wis as gentle as a lady's hack, I there was a certain wild high bred fire visible in every mavement of Maccaroni, wiiich showed him a horse who would stay in the race till he died — possessedof a spirit at least which nothing could -[uell, and which, when a pinch came wouw stand his jockey in goodstead. Out fron the paddock all the horses came shorty before 3, followed by a larger retinae of owners, trainers, and friends, that we have often seen before. Tambour Maor again shows his temper, stops, jibs, aid evidently gathers himself up to thraw his rider, when some others come >ast at a canter, and the racer blood breaks out, and away he goes with a losg clear stride streaming over the turf lice a bird. The favourite goes down at a gentle canter, held in easily by Fordhim, but not so Maccaroni who, with heai turned rapidly from side to side, breaks into a gallop and draws Challonet on to his feet in the stirrups in his efferts to hold him in. It is a long tine before they return — long enough to jive time to the cold — wind to bring up the rain, which again

comes down steadily and heavily. At last they came back in twos and threes, some quietly — that is, for racehorses — some at a splitting space which nothing can hold in. Just at about 8 o'clock they muster at the starting-post, and another of the long disappointments of the day commences. In vain does Mr M'George try to make a start — in vain does Wells use all his coaxing and generalship on Tambour Major. The horse won't follow, won't lead, won't do anything but stop the race. Can Admiral Rous devise no such rule for such a horse as this ? Start after start is made, sometimes half way np the hill, sometimes only going 100 yards or so, but nothing avails. Some of the horses are sweating, all are fretting, and many of the impatient weedy ones are more than half tired. The tenth start comes, then the twentieth, then the thirtieth, yet still they are not off, : and each fresh failure is hailed with derisions and popular mockery by the crowd, who offer to send for Mr Rarey or to lead the horse home for nothiug if Count Batthyany will let him go. At last, on the 32nd, all the other horses get well together wihout the wicked one, which stays again behind, so that the flag is lowered, as it ought to have been half an hour before, the bell rings, and amid a great shout the race commences, the favorite leading. It seems as if, as with the Marquis of last year, the powers of Lord Clifden were too much relied on, for at once the desperate risk is attempted of trying to ride down the field. In all ! great races, as the public are aware, ] there are a certain number of horses which at the start can distance anything for a quarter of a mile or more, but which cannot •**■ stay," as it is termed, over along course, giving place, as they fall off, to better animals, which can, j with ease, keep with the main body, and still have speed enough to pass ahead at once when their riders call upon them near the post. It is these horses, and not those which lead up the hill for a spurt, or down to the corner, which make the "exciting races;' and it was against these thafc at the outset The Marquis wasted his strength and lost the race last year. So was i t on this occasion with Lord Ciifden. i Either Fordham could not hold him, or he was trying over so heavy a course to cut down the field. He kept his lead | round the corner and into the straight with the crowd of fiercely galloping antagonists nearly two lengths behind him. But near the stand the head of ; Maccaroni showed nearer and nearer and the powerful frame of Early Purl began to clear itself from the ruck, with Rapid Rhone close upon it. In twenty yards more Maccaroni is close on Lord Clifden, and Eordham calls upon his horse with whip and spur. Oh, for a moment of the dash and speed which kept him formost even with the fleet weeds which could notsay ! The favorite's game is played out. With an evident distress he makes an effort, he turns his head from side to side as his lead diminishes on his gathering followers, and the chestnut head and mane of Maccaroni shows clear above, but not j beyond the favorite's. For 50 or CO j yards he staggers to maintain his lead, then slackens for a seconds visibly, and ! loses by a head. There was a great shout as numbers 7, 15, and 3 went up at tie post, and Maccaroni, Lord Clifden and Rapid Rhone, are ranked respectively the first, second and third, in the Derby of 1863. The time of the race was taken, as on the last occasion, by Benson's chronograph, which registers the fractions of seconds. The return of this instrument gave the start at 3.56 and 20 seconds, the time of arrival at the post, 3.59 minutes 12 seconds and 2-lOtbs ; time of running the race, two minutes 52 seconds and 2-10 ths — a slow pace compared with other Derby races, though a fast one, if only the heavy state of the course is considered. An announcement thafc his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales would ; honor the course with his presence proved correct, although the intelligence was by some considered a mere rumor. Two o'clock was appointed for the first race, and about a quarter of an hour before the time fixed upon for the opening encounter the Prince arrived upon the Downs in an open carriage, having journeyed down by road the entire distance, and it is needless to say j his Royal Highness was received with | ! demonstrations of loyalty wherever he I was recognised along the route. The I Prince was accompanied by his Royal Highness Prince Louis of Hesse, Major | Teesdale, Captain Westerweller, and [ Lord Torrington, and left MarlboroughI house for the Downs shortlyafter eleven j o'clock. The Royal party entered the | course by Woodcote-park, the seat of I Mr Robert Brooks, M.P., and passed ! thence by a private entrance to the Grand Stand, where they were received by Mr Dorling, the clerk of the course. Shortly after their arrival the Prince, accompanied by Prince Louis of Hesse, went on to the Glasgow balcony towards the winning chair, and immediately shook hands with Admiral Rous, Lord Ailsbury, and General Peel, in the most affable and pleasant manner. The Prince, like the rest of the visitors, had evidently resolved to make himself comfortable under the circumstances, for having put on his mackintosh and lit his cigar, he appeared to take a lively interest in the panorama which was spread out before him. The news of the Prince's arrival having spread among the multitude, a dense crowd surrounded that pbrtion of the Stand where his Royal Highness was standing in easy conversation witb the Duke of Cambridge, Lord Ailesbury, and Admiral Rous, and at length the loyalty of the spectators burst out into a round of cheers, a recognition which appeared to gratify the Prince exceedingly.