This is a "horsey" sketch, possibly therefore unacceptable to the general reader. But any chronicle of my early days, connected as they were with the birth of a great city, would be incomplete without mention of the noble animal so dear to every youthful Australian.
Reared in an atmosphere redolent of the swift courser's triumphs, often compelled to entrust life and limb to the good horse's speed, care indeed requires to be taken that the southern Briton does not somewhat overvalue his fascinating dumb companion—overvalue him to the exclusion from his thoughts of art and science, literature and dogma—to the banishment of rational conversation, and a preference for unprofitable society. So thought an old family friend, Mr. Felton Mathew (he upon his blood bay "Glaucus," and I upon my Timor pony), as we rode towards Enmore from Sydney in old, old days. He testily exclaimed, "For Heaven's sake, Rolf, don't go on talking about horses everlastingly, or you'll grow up like those colonial lads that never[Pg 213] have another idea in their heads." I winced under the rebuke, but accepted it, as became our relative ages. None the less did I bear in my secret breast that Arab-like love for horses and their belongings which marks the predestined son of the Waste here as duly as in Yemen or the Nejd.
How I longed for the day when I should have a station of my own, when I should have blood mares, colts and fillies, perhaps a horse in training, with all the gorgeous adjuncts of stud-proprietorship! The time came—the horses too—many a deeply joyous hour, many a thrill of hope and fear, many a wild ride and daring deed was mine
Ere nerve and sinew began to fail
In the consulship of Plancus.
And now the time has passed. The good horses have trotted, and cantered, and galloped away from out my life; most of them from this fair earth altogether. Yet still, memory clings with curious fidelity to the equine friends of the good old time, indissolubly connected as they were with more important personages and events.
Among the earliest blood sires that the district around Melbourne boasted were "Clifton" and "Traveller"—both New South Wales bred horses, and destined to spend their last years in the same stud. Of this pair of thoroughbreds, Clifton, a son of Skeleton and Spaewife, both imported, was bred by the late Mr. Charles Smith, and named Clifton after his stud farm near Sydney. "Skeleton," a grey horse of high lineage, own brother to "Drone," and the property of the Marquis of Sligo, was imported by[Pg 214] the late Mr. William Edward Riley, of Raby, New South Wales. To him many of the best strains of the present day trace their ancestry. "Clifton," a lengthy bay horse, possessing size, speed, and substance, was purchased by Mr. Lyon Campbell, one of the earlier Melbourne magnates, formerly in the army, and by him kept at Campbellfield, on the Yarra, near the Upper Falls. His stock, of which we possessed several, were speedy and upstanding, great jumpers, and as a family the best tempered horses I ever saw. This descended to the second generation. You could "rope," as was the unfair custom of the day, any "Clifton" colt or filly, back them in three days, and within a week ride a journey or do ordinary station work with them. They were free and handy almost at once, and remained so, no matter how long a spell they were treated to afterwards. "Red Deer," with which Mr. Sam Waldock won the Jockeys' Handicap and the All-aged Stakes at Sandhurst, was a Clifton, bred by me. "Jupiter," the winner of the All-aged Stakes in Melbourne in very good company, in 1854 or thereabouts, was another, bred by Mr. James Irvine. His first purchaser put the tackle on him at Dunmore and rode him away the same day. He was never a whit the worse hack or racehorse for the abrupt handling. My old Clifton mare, "Cynthia," was ridden barebacked with a halter once, after nearly a year's spell. She was only five years old at the time. Observation of these and other traits confirmed me in the opinion, which I have long held, that the method of breaking has little to do with a horse's paces, and less with his temper or general character. [Pg 215]Bonus equus "nascitur, non fit," as is the poet. You can no more imbue the former with desirable dispositions by force of education, even the most careful, than the schools can turn out Tennysons and Brownings by completest tuition.
"Traveller" was another "Sydney-side" celebrity, bred by the late Mr. Charles Roberts—if I mistake not, a turf antagonist of Mr. C. Smith. He was a very grand horse. "The sort we don't see now, sir," as the veteran turfite is so fond of saying. A son of "Bay Camerton," his ancestry ran back, through colonial thoroughbreds, to the Sheik Arab. Not more than fifteen hands in height, a beautiful dark chestnut in colour, he was a model of strength, speed, and symmetry. His shapes inclined more to the Arab type than to the long-striding, galloping machine into which the modern thoroughbred horse has been developed. Standing firmly on shortish, clean, iron-like legs, which years upon years of racing (in the days of heats too) had never deteriorated, he was a weight-carrier with the speed of a deer—a big-jawed Arab head, a well-shaped, high-crested neck, oblique shoulders, just room enough between them and a strong loin for a saddle, a back rib like a cask, high croup, muscular thighs, and broad, well-bent hocks. Everything that could be wished for as a progenitor of hacks, racers, and harness horses. His one defect was moral rather than physical. I shall allude to it in its place. His legs were simply wonderful. At twenty years old—about which time he died suddenly, never having suffered an hour's illness or shown the slightest sign of natural decay—they were as beautifully clean and sound as those of an unbroken [Pg 216]three-year-old. He had run and won many a race, beginning as early as 1835, when he competed with Mr. C. Smith's Chester—a half-brother, by the way—on the old Botany Road racecourse, near Sydney. I, with other schoolboys, attended this meeting, and have a clear remembrance of the depth of the sand through which the cracks of the day—Whisker, Lady Godiva, Lady Emily, and others—had to struggle for the deciding heat.
He was the property of Mr. Hugh Jamieson, of Tallarook, Goulburn River, as far back as 1841 or 1842. That gentleman, one of the originators of the Port Phillip Turf Club, temporarily relinquished breeding, and Traveller passed into the hands of a discriminating and enthusiastic proprietor, Mr. Charles Macknight, late of Dunmore, and by him was employed in the foundation of the celebrated Dunmore stud.
When I referred to the moral defect of "Traveller"—a horse that deserves to be bracketed with "Jorrocks" in the equine chronicles of Australia—my meaning had reference to the temper which he communicated to his immediate, and, doubtless, by the unvarying laws of heredity, to his remoter descendants.
This was as bad as bad could be, chiefly expressed in one particular direction—the crowning characteristic vice of Australian horses—that of buck-jumpin............