THOUGH it soon became evident that the Commonwealth was determined to oppose, tooth and nail, any step that might in the least tend to keep alive the interest in horse racing and horse breeding that for many years had grown up so steadily throughout almost the length and breadth of England, not until the 3rd July 1654 did the Government finally decide to introduce “an ordinance to prohibit horse racing.” This ordinance was duly passed, and the result may well be imagined.

For without further parley almost every racecourse in England was closed, thousands of men of many different grades being thereby at once thrown out of employment. Owners of valuable thoroughbreds lost immense sums, for, practically without warning, they found the order thrust upon them and so were obliged to sell their racing stock for whatever sum it would fetch in the open market.

In this connection Cromwell, who himself had for many years owned race horses and been very fond of racing, suffered with the rest, though both he and his adherents are said to have declared that they willingly gave up their horses “for the good of the cause they had at heart.”

There can be no doubt that many valuable sires were imported into England about the time that Cromwell was practically in power, and one of them, “a south-eastern horse named White Turk,” apparently was brought over by Cromwell's own stud groom.

Several of the early records contain interesting descriptions of the sires that were imported at about this time. Mr William Cavendish, afterwards Duke of Newcastle, writing about the year 1658, tells us that the Turkish horse of the period was a tall animal, “but of unequal shape,” and that though “remarkably beautiful, very active, with plenty of bone and excellent wind,” it rarely had a good mouth.

“The Barb,” he writes elsewhere, “possesses a superb and high action, is an excellent trotter and galloper, and very active when in motion. Although generally not so strong as other breeds, when well chosen I do not know a more noble horse, and I have read strange tales of their courage.”

The Barbs came of course from Barbary, the best of them from Morocco, Fez, and the adjacent districts, and some from the interior of Tripoli. Even the first to be imported were said to be better shaped than any horses that had been seen before in this country, and to have, in addition, excellent action by nature.

From what can be ascertained at this date, the pure Arabian steed seldom, if ever, stood higher than fourteen and a half hands, and rarely or never became a roarer. In all probability many even of the finest Arabian horses stood but fourteen hands high, while plenty must have been smaller still—say thirteen two or even thirteen one.

This is worth remembering when we know that nearly every horse that has established a reputation on the English Turf has been of Eastern descent.

Probably the best of the Turkish horses were descended from the horses of Arabia and of Persia, though the former were for the most part taller, and generally “bigger built,” besides being world renowned for their remarkable docility.

At last the Commonwealth came to an end, and with the accession of Charles II. to the throne “the whole of England,” to quote the sentence of a contemporary chronicler, “seemed to open its lungs and breathe again.”

For during the ten years of the great Commonwealth the Turf had to all intents become extinct in England. The racecourses were “overgrown and choked,” some had been built upon, others had been converted into what purported to be pleasure grounds—“spaces for the recreation of the multitude.”

But apparently the multitude preferred the spaces as they had been in the time of Charles I., for no sooner did it become known that the more important of the race meetings that had been abandoned were about to be revived than “the people rejoiced greatly and gave vent to demonstration.”

In a surprisingly short time race horses seemed to spring up out of nowhere, some in such good fettle, comparatively—when it is borne in mind that the race horse was supposed to have become practically extinct during the Commonwealth's rÉgime—that, as one historian has it, the severity of the laws that had been passed for the suppression of horse racing, and indirectly of race horses, must clearly have been evaded in several parts of this country.

Thus it comes that soon after the Restoration we read of races being run for silver bells and other prizes at Croydon, at Theobald's, at Chester and many other places that had been important racing centres before the Commonwealth.

“Though race horses were few at the time of Charles II.'s accession,” observes one writer, “and none had eaten bread for years” (about the middle of the seventeenth century race horses were trained largely on bread), “and these had languished in neglect, at the Restoration they emerged from their obscurity when the penal disabilities collapsed to which the Turf was subjected by the Puritans.

“The revival of horse racing was almost magical in its effects. Thus we find the Turf rising like a Phoenix from its ashes on the accession of Charles II., to be thoroughly reinstated as our great national pastime during the Merry Monarch's reign.

“To this resuscitation the king extended his powerful patronage and support. His love of the equine race is typified in the soubriquet by which he was popularly known, namely 'Old Rowley,' the name of his favourite hack. It is possible that among all our sovereigns, with the exception, perhaps, of Richard II., King Charles II. alone rode his horses first past the winning post. He was, indeed, a thorough English sportsman who could hold his own against all comers in the chases, on the racecourse and so on.”

The above description approximately sums up the Merry Monarch so far as his fondness for horses and horse racing has to do with this history. Every inch a horseman, he appears to have been gifted with a singular aptitude for controlling almost any animal he mounted, and to have developed in a high degree the instinct, or whatever it may be, that to-day we speak of as the power of judging pace in race riding.

Endowed with nerve, also with physical courage in abundance, it is not surprising that the king should have been looked upon by many of his courtiers almost as a demigod when first he ascended the throne, and that the Duke of Newcastle, who had trained him to horsemanship, should openly have expressed himself as immensely proud of his pupil and his pupil's skill.

In the principal race at Chester the horses used to run five times round the Roody. It was upon a horse running in this race that Charles once staked and lost a small fortune. The meetings he most preferred, however, probably were those held periodically at Newmarket, where to this day the famous Rowley Mile recalls to memory the seventeenth-century's cheeriest monarch, a king to whom horse racing in this country still owes so much.

It was, indeed, King Charles II. who almost entirely rebuilt the stand at Newmarket after the original one had been damaged beyond repair during the progress of the Civil War. It is said that the old race stand was besieged on at least three separate occasions during that long and bloody conflict.

While a certain historic race meeting at Newmarket was in progress, Philip Rotier, the famous sculptor, availed himself of an unexpected opportunity—an opportunity for which he had long waited—to make a sketch of the beautiful Miss Stuart, who was destined to become in the year 1667 the third wife of the third Duke of Richmond.

Miss Stuart's name was at that time in everybody's mouth, the exquisite loveliness of her face being equalled, so it was said, only by the moulding of her figure and the irresistible fascination of her voice and manner. It was this unfinished portrait by Philip Rotier that was subsequently to develop into the figure that to-day we see upon every copper coin—the figure of Britannia with her trident.

“So exact was the likeness,” says Felton, in his notes on Waller, “that no one who had ever seen her Grace could mistake who had sat for Britannia.”

How rapidly the Turf must have sprung into life once more upon Charles II.'s accession to the throne of England may be gathered from the statement that within six years after the date of his coronation, “the glory of Newmarket had again eclipsed itself.” Yet apparently the country's prosperity did not directly benefit. The nobles and the wealthy classes seemed determined at any and every cost to warm both hands at the fire of life in the best and worst meaning of that hackneyed phrase. In Pope's “Imitation of Horace,” the statement is made quite bluntly:—

Wherever in the early histories and records mention is made of Charles's horsemanship, we find also some allusion to William Cavendish, afterwards to become Duke of Newcastle, and credit for Charles's skill is attributed in a great measure to him.

Further we learn that at the age of ten “His Majesty's capacity was such that he would ride leaping horses, and such as would overthrow others, and manage them with the greatest skill and dexterity, to the admiration of all who beheld him.”

Indeed in this one respect he must at about that period of his life have resembled the great Alexander, for his determination and self-confidence when he was mounted on horseback were alike amazing. Upon more than one occasion he expressed himself ready to ride for a wager any horse that might be brought to him, and, if need be, to ride it bareback.

In his after life, as we know, this strength of will of his grew gradually into senseless obstinacy, yet he never lost his nerve for riding over a country, a fact the more remarkable when we reflect upon the sort of life he came to lead as he grew older.

The descriptions we have of the race horses he bred are somewhat contradictory and must therefore be received with caution. That he imported many fine mares from Barbary is certain, also it is certain that at regular intervals he sent abroad competent judges with instructions that they should secure for him, regardless of cost, the best animals obtainable.

From among the best of these were selected the stud that came afterwards to be known as the Royal Mares, a designation they bear in the stud-book to this day. The dam of the famous Dodsworth—one of the earliest of all our thoroughbreds—was included in the royal stud, and its pedigree has been authenticated beyond dispute.

Emphatically Charles II. did more to encourage horse racing than any other monarch after Henry VIII. had done, and by comparison he did much more than Henry VIII. by any possibility could have done, the very best racing in Henry's reign being quite inferior to the sport shown in the reign of the Merry Monarch.

And by every means that lay in his power the Duke of Newcastle abetted Charles. The duke himself, soon after the Restoration, sank a considerable sum in the purchase of fresh racing stock to add to his stud, already a large one. And thus the foundation of the thoroughbred stud of modern times may be said to date practically from about the latter part of the seventeenth century.

Thomas Shadwell, the famous playwright, who, born in 1642, lived for half-a-century, alludes in several of his dramatic works to “the great wave of passionate devotion to vices of various kinds” that seemed to roll gradually over the whole of England during the reign of Charles II., while special reference is made to the all-absorbing interest taken in the Turf while the Merry Monarch was on the throne.

Speaking of Newmarket in particular, “there a man is never idle,” he makes one of his characters cynically observe, “for we make visits to horses, and talk with grooms, riders and cock-keepers, and saunter in the Heath all the fore-noon.

“Then we dine, and never talk a word but of dogs, cocks and horses.

“Then we saunter into the Heath again, then to a cock-match, then to a play in a barn, then to supper, and never speak a word but of dogs, cocks and horses again.

“Then to the Groom Porters, where you may play all night. Oh, 'tis a heavenly life! We are never, never tired!”

Seeing what keen and thorough sportsmen the Irish are, as a body, one is rather surprised to learn that until towards the close of the seventeenth century horse racing was almost unknown in Ireland. No sooner had it been introduced, however, than it began to develop with great rapidity, so that within a few years it spread into many parts of the island and we hear of race meeting after race meeting being organised.

For horse racing seemed to suit the temperament of the Irish people as no other form of sport had done. From the first the Irish must have devoted much time and attention to race horse breeding, and though their facilities for obtaining the services of the best stallions were fewer than the facilities afforded to the English breeders, they yet succeeded in rearing a number of useful animals, while plenty of their race meetings soon compared favourably with some of the best meetings that were held in England at about the same period.

But few particulars are extant of the races in which King Charles himself rode, though several of the earlier writers inform us that he “carried all before him.” In a despatch from Sir Robert Carr, dated the 24th day of March 1675, we read that “Yesterday his majestie rode himself three heats and a course and won the Plate, all fower were hard and nere run, and I doe assure you the King wonn by good Horseman Ship.”

Descriptions are to be found elsewhere of a fox hunt in which the king took part. It took place some twenty miles from Newmarket. That was in 1680, and apparently no fox hunt in King Charles's reign had before been described in writing.

Yet the king, though partial to hunting, was undoubtedly much fonder of racing. It was in this year—the year 1680—that he entertained at Newmarket the vice-chancellor and the dons of the University of Cambridge, and, as well, all the jockeys who had ridden at the meeting.

Whether vice-chancellor, dons and jockeys were all entertained by the king at the same time is not stated, though we are led to infer that they must have been. Charles, as students of history know, was cosmopolitan to the backbone, and not ashamed of the fact. Ever a practical joker, he is known to have taken delight that was almost boyish in bringing together an assemblage of persons whose sentiments, views and tastes he knew to be in every way dissimilar.

The companionship of jockeys appealed to him at all times, and the year after he had entertained those at Newmarket we find him at supper with the Duke of Albemarle, “and all the jockeys with them.” During the progress of this meal Sir Robert Carr and the king arranged several matches in which their respective horses were to be ridden by the jockey each should nominate. That Sir Robert came badly out of the affair may be gathered from the statement that in a single day he lost between £5000 and £6000 “and became greatly enraged”—a breach of etiquette that the king did not forget, and that he never forgave.

A despatch from Lord Conway, dated the 5th April 1682, contains a descriptive account of a false start that took place in one of the races at Newmarket owing apparently to a curious blunder on the part of the starter.

“Here hapned yesterday,” Lord Conway writes, “a dispute upon the greatest point of Criticall learning that was ever known at New-Market, A Match between a Horse of Sir Rob: Car's, and a Gelding of Sir Rob: Geeres, for a mile and a halfe only, had engaged all the Court in many thousand pounds, much depending in so short a course to haue them start fairly.

“Mr Griffin was appointed to start them. When he saw them equall he sayd Goe, and presently he cryed out Stay. One went off, and run through the Course and claims his money, the other never stird at all.

“Now possibly you may say that this was not a fayre starting, but the critics say after the word Goe was out of his mouth his commission was determined, and it was illegall for him to say Stay. I suppose there will be Volumes written upon this Subject; 'tis all refered to his Majesty's Judgment, who hath not yet determined it.”

Another staunch supporter of horse racing in Charles II.'s reign was the ill-starred Duke of Monmouth, whose career on the English Turf ended abruptly when in 1682 he was practically sent abroad as an exile.

Early in the following year, however, the idea occurred to Louis XIV. that as horse racing had become so popular in England he would like to make it the national pastime of France also. In order to foster public interest in the turf, therefore, he began by offering a plate valued at 1000 pistoles to be run for at Echere, near St Germain.

The event attracted, as he had expected it would, much attention, not only throughout France, but in several other European countries as well, so that in the end some of the finest horses to be found anywhere in Europe were entered for the race.

All went well until a short time before the date of the race, when a rumour spread mysteriously that a gelding owned by the Hon. Thomas Wharton had been privately backed very heavily by a number of wealthy Englishmen.

At first the report was generally disbelieved. Then suddenly it became known that the famous Duke of Monmouth was to ride the “dark” horse in the big race, and at once the owners of the foreign favourites became seriously alarmed.

That they had good ground for their alarm was soon proved by the duke's steering the English horse to victory, apparently with great ease.

Immediately, so we are told, Louis XIV. cried out in an access of enthusiasm that he must obtain possession of Wharton's horse at any cost. Upon Wharton's informing him that the horse was not for sale, Louis immediately offered to pay “the animal's weight in gold.” Thereupon Wharton relented—though not in the way that Louis had expected him to:

“I will not sell the horse,” he said, “no, not even for its weight in gold. If, however, your Majesty will do me the honour to accept it as a gift....”

But so generous a proposal Louis flatly declined to entertain, and eventually the horse did not change hands at all. For some weeks afterwards the principal topic of conversation throughout France and part of England was the great race. Indeed it is probable that this single race and the talk that followed it served to stimulate in France a zest for the sport that became far keener than even Louis XIV. had deemed would ever be possible.

Among the more prominent of the race horse's progenitors in the seventeenth century were the Small Bay Arabian, imported by James I.; Burton's Barb Mare; the Helmsley or Buckingham Turk, owned by the Duke of Buckingham; and of course Charles II.'s Dodsworth, a well-shaped, natural Barb, though foaled in England about the year 1670.

Mention has already been made of the Royal Mares, the majority of which were brought over from Tangiers about the year 1669. Towards the beginning of Charles II.'s reign the annual charge for the horses of the king and queen and those of the officers of the royal household was fixed at £16,640—a sum subsequently denounced by the king's enemies as “extravagant beyond belief.”

That it was a considerable charge to make all must admit, yet it was not necessarily extravagant beyond measure. For in an age when outward ostentation imparted to the court a sort of cachet, an enormous stud of horses, and those the best obtainable, and in addition innumerable costly trappings, were in a sense necessities—the guarantee and stock-in-trade, so to speak, of a court anxious to gain the world's applause and approval, and indirectly the support of other powerful European nations should war break out, as in King Charles's reign it might well have done at almost any time.

Indeed had Charles's court been indifferently horsed, and the king shown signs of reducing his personal expenditure—in other words, had the trumpets metaphorically been blown less blatantly—other European powers would probably have looked up to England with less respect.

Full well Charles must have known this, for in his way he was thoroughly versed in the art of what is sometimes called “international finessing.” His Government knew it better still, with the result that the Government “played up to the king” on the lines adopted by the king in playing up to the Government—both knew that extravagance and display formed the note of the age, and both struck the note firmly with a foot on the loud pedal.

And thus in the reign of the Merry Monarch did the practice that we now sometimes speak of as “bluffing” develop into a sort of art and come to be cultivated carefully.

In the autumn of the seventeenth century Newmarket must truly have been one of the gayest places in England, at anyrate when race meetings were being held there, for it was not unusual for the entire court and cabinet to travel down from London on such occasions, when “jewellers and milliners, players and fiddlers, venal wits and venal beauties would follow in crowds.”

Upon such occasions the streets, we are told, were made impassable by coaches and six. “In the places of public resort peers flirted with maids of honour, while officers of the Life Guards, all plumes and gold lace, jostled professors in teachers' caps and black gowns, for from the neighbouring University of Cambridge there always came high functionaries with loyal addresses, and the University would select her ablest theologians to preach before the sovereign and his splendid retinue.”

Whether those able theologians were valued at their true worth may be gathered from a further description in which we learn that during the wildest days of the Restoration “the most learned and eloquent divine might fail to draw a fashionable audience, particularly if Buckingham had announced his intention of holding forth, for sometimes his Grace would enliven the dullness of the Sunday morning by addressing to the bevy of fine gentlemen and fine ladies a ribald exhortation which he called a sermon.”

The court of King William, however, proved more decent, and then the Academic dignitaries were treated with marked respect. “Thus with lords and ladies from St James's and Soho, and with doctors from Trinity College and King's College, were mingled the provincial aristocracy, fox-hunting squires and their rosy-cheeked daughters, who had come in queer-looking family coaches drawn by cart horses from the remotest parishes of three or four counties to see their Sovereign.

“The Heath was fringed by a wild, gipsy-like camp of vast extent. For the hope of being able to feed on the leavings of many sumptuous tables, and to pick up some of the guineas and crowns which the spendthrifts of London were throwing about, attracted thousands of peasants from a circle of many miles.”