1830=1886.

John Esten Cooke was born at Winchester, Virginia, a younger brother of Philip Pendleton Cooke and son of the eminent jurist, John Rogers Cooke, under whom he made his law studies. He seemed, however, to prefer literature to law, and when he was twenty-four he had already published several works. Among them was “Virginia Comedians,” a novel of great interest and greater promise.

In 1861 he entered the Confederate service as one of General T.J. Jackson’s staff, was transferred to that of General J.E.B. Stuart at the death of Jackson in 1863; and after Stuart’s death, he was Inspector-General of the horse artillery of the Army of Northern Virginia till the close of the war.

His novels deal with the life and history of Virginia, the best known of them being “Surry of Eagle’s Nest,” which is said to be partly autobiographical. They hold well the popular favor. His “Stories of the Old Dominion” are specially interesting to Virginians.

WORKS.

Leather Stocking and Silk.
Virginia Comedians.
Last of the Foresters.
Life of Stonewall Jackson.
Surry of Eagle’s Nest.
Mohun, or the Last Days of Lee and his Paladins.
Out of the Foam.
Heir of Gaymount.
Dr. Vandyke.
Pretty Mrs. Gaston, and other Stories.
Professor Pressensee.
Virginia Bohemians.
Virginia: a History of the People.
Maurice Mystery.
Youth of Jefferson.
Ellie.
Henry St. John, Gentleman, sequel to Virginia Comedians.
Wearing of the Gray.
Fairfax, or Greenway Court.
Hilt to Hilt.
Hammer and Rapier [Grant and Lee].
Life of R.E. Lee.
Her Majesty the Queen.
Canolles.
Mr. Grantley’s Idea.
Stories of the Old Dominion.
My Lady Pokahontas.

THE RACES IN VIRGINIA, 1765.

(From Virginia Comedians.[29])

The races!

That word always produces a strong effect upon men in the South; and when the day fixed upon for the Jamestown races comes, the country is alive for miles around with persons of all classes and descriptions. As the hour of noon approaches, the ground swarms with every species of the genus homo; Williamsburg and the sea-faring village of Jamestown turn out en masse, and leave all occupations for the exciting turf.

As the day draws on the crowd becomes more dense. The splendid chariots of the gentry roll up to the stand, and group themselves around it, in a position to overlook the race-course, and through the wide windows are seen the sparkling eyes and powdered locks, and diamonds and gay silk and velvet dresses of those fair dames who lent such richness and picturesque beauty to the old days dead now so long ago in the far past. The fine-looking old planters too are decked in their holiday suits, their powdered hair is tied into queues behind with neat black ribbon, and they descend and mingle with their neighbors, and discuss the coming festival.

Gay youths, in rich brilliant dresses, caracole up to the carriages on fiery steeds, to display their horsemanship, and exchange compliments with their friends, and make pretty speeches, which are received by the bright-eyed damsels with little ogles, and flirts of their variegated fans, and rapturous delight.

Meanwhile the crowd grows each moment, as the flood pours in from the north, the south, the east, the west—from every point of the compass, and in every species of vehicle. There are gay parties of the yeomen and their wives and daughters, in carryalls and wagons filled with straw, upon which chairs are placed: there are rollicking fast men—if we may use a word becoming customary in our own day—who whirl in, in their curricles: there are barouches and chairs, spring wagons and carts, all full, approaching in every way from a sober walk to a furious headlong dash, all “going to the races.” There are horsemen who lean forward, horsemen who lean back; furious, excited horsemen urging their steeds with whip and spur; cool, quiet horsemen, who ride erect and slowly; there are, besides, pedestrians of every class and appearance, old and young, male and female, black and white—all going to the races.

The hour at last arrives, and a horn sounding from the judges’ stand, the horses are led out in their blankets and head-coverings, and walked up and down before the crowd by their trainers, who are for the most part old gray-headed negroes, born and raised, to the best of their recollection, on the turf. The riders are noble scions of the same ancient stock, and average three feet and a half in height, and twenty pounds in weight. They are clad in ornamental garments; wear little close-fitting caps; and while they are waiting, sit huddled up in the grass, sucking their thumbs, and talking confidentially about “them there hosses.”

Let us look at the objects of their attention; they are well worth it.

Mr. Howard enters the bay horse Sir Archy, out of Flying Dick, by Roderick.

Mr. James enters Fair Anna, a white mare, dam Virginia, sire Belgrave.

Captain Waters enters the Arabian horse Selim, descended in a direct line, he is informed, from Al-borak, who carried the prophet Mahomet up to heaven—though this pedigree is not vouched for. The said pedigree is open to the inspection of all comers. Note—That it is written in Arabic.

There are other entries, but not much attention is paid to them. The race will be between Sir Archy and Fair Anna, and perhaps the outlandish horse will not be “distanced.”

“Prepare the horses!” comes from the judges’ stand opposite. Captain Ralph Waters leaves the ladies with a gallant bow, and pushes his way through the swaying and excited crowd, toward the spot where the animals are being saddled.

A tremendous hurly-burly reigns there; men of all classes, boys, negroes, gentlemen, indented servants,—all are betting with intense interest. The dignified grooms endeavor to keep back the crowd:—the owners of the horses give their orders to the microscopic monkeys who are to ride...... The riders are raised by one leg into the saddles; they gather up the reins; the drum taps; they are off like lightning.

The course is a mile in circumference, and they go round it before the excited crowd can look at them a dozen times. They whirl past the stand, and push on again.

Sir Archy leads; Fair Anna trails on a hard rein; the Arabian is two lengths behind; but he is not running.

They thunder up the quarter stretch: Sir Archy is bounding, like some diabolical monster, far before his companions, spite of his owner’s cries; the Arabian has come up and locks the mare; they run neck and neck. Sir Archy whirls past the stand, and wins by a hundred yards. The immense crowd utters a shout that shakes the surrounding forest........

The horses are again enveloped in their hoods and blankets. Captain Ralph returns to the Riverhead carriage, [that of the Lees, in which were Miss Henrietta Lee and her sister Clare.]

“Any more betting, sir?” says Miss Henrietta, satirically.

“Who, I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Assuredly!” says the Captain; “do not think, chere ma’m’selle, that I am very much cast down. I am so far from that, I assure you, that I am ready to take the field again.”

“Well, sir.”

“Then you will bet again, madam?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Bien! I now stake all that is left me in the world—though not quite. I stake my horse, Selim, against the curl and the pair of gloves you wear, with the knot of ribbons at your girdle thrown in—all upon the final issue.”

Henrietta blushes; for, however common such gallant proposals were at that day, she cannot misunderstand the meaning of the soldier’s glance, and reddens beneath it.

“That would be unfair, sir.”

“Not so, my dear madam, for are you not sure to lose?”

“To lose?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“No, sir; I am sure to win.”

“Bah! you ladies have such a delicious little confidence in the things you patronize, that it is really astonishing. You think Sir Archy will beat Selim? Pshaw! you know nothing about it.”

This piques madam Henrietta, and she smiles satirically again as she says:

“Well, sir, I do not want your pretty horse—but if you insist, why, I cannot retreat. I shall, at least, have the pleasure of returning him to his master.”

The Captain shakes his head.

“A bet upon such terms is no bet at all, my dearest madam,” he says, “for, I assure you, if I win, you will return home curl-less, glove-less, and ribbon-less. All is fair in war—and love.”

With which words, Captain Ralph darts a martial ogle at his companion. This piques her more than ever. “Well, sir,” she replies, “if you are determined, have your desire.”

“Good!” cries the Captain, “we are just in time. There is the horse.”...... And, with another gallant bow, the Captain rides away towards the horses....

The boys are again instructed much after the same fashion: the signal is given in the midst of breathless suspense, and the horses dart from their places.

They dart around, Sir Archy again leading: but this position he does not hold throughout the first mile: he gradually falls behind, and when they pass the winning-post he is fifty yards in the rear. His owner tears his hair, but the crowd do not see him—they flush and shout.

The second mile is between Fair Anna and the Arabian, and they lock in the middle of it; but the Arabian gradually takes the lead, and when they flash up to the stand he is ten yards ahead. Sir Archy is distanced and withdrawn.

It would be impossible to describe the excitement of the crowd:—the tremendous effect produced upon them by this reversal of all their hopes and expectations. They roll about like waves, they shout, they curse, they rumble and groan like a stormy sea.

The horses are the objects of every one’s attention. Their condition will go far to indicate the final result—and Sir Archy being led away and withdrawn, the race now will be between Fair Anna and the Arabian.

Mr. James looks more solemn than ever, and all eyes are turned upon him. Captain Waters is not visible—he is yonder, conversing with the ladies.

But the horses! Fair Anna pants and breathes heavily: her coat is drenched more completely than before with perspiration; her mouth foams; she tosses her head; when the rake is applied to her back a shower falls.

The Arabian is wet all over too; but he breathes regularly; his eye is bright and his head calm. He has commenced running. The first intention of Mr. James is to give up the race, but his pride will not let him. He utters an oath, and gives renewed instructions to his rider. These instructions are to whip and spur—to take the lead and keep it, from the start.

The moment for the final struggle arrives, and Captain Ralph merely says, “Rein free!”

The boys mount—the crowd opens; the drum taps and the animals are off like lightning.

Fair Anna feels that all her previous reputation is at stake, and flies like a deer. She passes around the first mile like a flash of white light; but the Arabian is beside her. For a quarter of a mile thereafter they run neck and neck—the rider of fair Anna lashes and spurs desperately.

They come up to the quarter-stretch in the last mile at supernatural speed:—the spectators rise on their toes and shout:—two shadows pass them like the shadows of darting hawks:—the mare barely saves her distance and the Arabian has triumphed.

If we could not describe the excitement after the second heat, what possibility is there that we could convey an idea of the raging and surging pandemonium which the crowd now came to resemble? Furious cries—shouts—curses—applause—laughter—and the rattle of coin leaving unwilling hands are some of the sounds. But here we must give up:—as no mere pen can describe the raging of a great mass of water lashed by an angry wind into foam and whistling spray and muttering waves, which rise and fall and crash incessantly, so we cannot trace the outline of the wildly excited crowd.

[Afterwards come contests with the quarter-staff, a wrestling match, running matches, a contest of singing among “a dozen blushing maidens,” and of fiddling among twenty bold musicians: and the day is wound up with a great banquet.]