OCR Text |
Show l ! ' i ' M IRISH CHARACTER SKETCHES. i 1 I -J ; The Horse Trainer. ! l 1 lie is standing at his yard pate tap- ' i ', ping vith a switch his leggings and 1 ; watching a stable boy trot a horse up ) I i ' and down. The word horsey man is ? i ? ? written all over him from the white felt i ' '- hat tucked on one side of his head to ; : the spurs at his heels. Clean-shaven, t j with massive jaws and square chin, I and eyes that take in the most trifling , ; detail, Tom Nolan was a thorough type ( : r ? of the Irish horse trainer. Brought up ; as a boy in a prominent racing stable ! at the Curragh, Tom had few equals in the saddle, and his honesty and straight ' dealings with his employers, together with that grit and dash which make a jockey, gained for him a name in the ; racing world. He steered horses to vic tory over all the great Irish steeple- chase courses and many of the English ' ones, and wherever he rode his mount ' ; was the people's favorite, because Tom was in the saddle, and Tom was the I i 'people's jockey." A great judge of : pace, with fine hands and an eye to seize at once a favorable opportunity when it offered, it was no small wonder that Tom stood at the top of his pro- , fession for years. He could tell to a pound a horse's capabilities, and he knew to a perch when to come away and win. "We Irish dearly love the horse; it is one of our national traits, and that love exists in the rich and poor alike. I well remember the many - enjoyable evenings we spent listening . . to Tom as, seated on a big stone out- ' side his yard gate, lie held forth on the ; j famous horses and riders of his day. : : ; "Yes, I had the pleasure of riding i against Garry Moore. 'Twas at Punch- ! cstown, the day he won the length of ' a st reet on Liberator. A great horse ; ' was Liberator, and Garry, well, he 1 ; ,' could give us all a stone and a beating. Yes, 'twas hard to shake off the Beas-leys, Beas-leys, they stuck to you like a leech. Harry stole a march on me at Fairy-house Fairy-house and beat me on the post by a head. Did I know the Cullens and Terry Kavanagh? Why, I should think ; I did. "When riding against them you ' ' never were sure of winning until you t' had passed the post. Ah! St. James, he I I was the most fearless and determined rider I ever met. When he collared you, he glared at you: when he passed you, he laughed at you. I tell you, men," Tom would go on, "we shall never have the equal of those riders again, and the horses, well, they had the pace and staying power which the horses of our day have not. Liberator. Roman Oak, . ' Frigate, Cloister. Manifesto. Come- away, where is the soil that could pro-j pro-j ' duce such horses as these?" and Tom ; j looked sternly around for a denial, and i then he would continue to tell us of the peculiarities of courses, and the many stiff obstacles you encountered on them , and the numerous spills and hair- i breadth escapes he himself had. ' Tom was about 50. but for the past ten years he had retired from t he saddle, sad-dle, owing to overweight. With the money which he earned during his j jockey career he formed a training es- , ! tablishment, and a commodious and up-to-date one y- was. The stalls and yard were tiv acme of cleanness and , neatness, as the stable boys each had i Iheir own special duties, and though! J Tom was a kind master, still any j J breach in his boy's duties would not be passed over by him easily, and the boys, ; I ' knowing this, took care to do what they I , i had got to do and do it well. Tom was 1 the essence of charity, and to the poor j ? he would say, after giving them a six- pence of a shilling: I "Now, go to Mrs. Nolan and she will give you your dinner. I was in a bad : way myself onee. and I know what it is to be hungry." ' . Father Tom and Tom Nolan were the best of friends, and it afforded the lat- j: ter the greatest pleasure to have Fa- ? ther Tom come into the yard to see the various horses. i ' "He taught me my religion, you know I that is, the little I have," Tom would say, with a twinkle in his eye. "I was i a barefooted gossoon when he first i came to the parish, and 1 would run I into an augur hole from him thn. but now. God bless him. the day I don't ' see him I don't feel all right." I Every morning when Tom was at I . home he was at mass, and two beauti ful stained glass windows in the pretty I village church bore his name under- , , neath as the donor. There was one I thing Tom detested, and that was in- ' ? i temperance, and any of his boys who ; showed the loast-sign r,f drink was in- i stantly dismissed. When I say Tom hated intemperance most in any boy, I believe I make a mistake. He hated cursing or swearing most of all, and whatever chance t getting off the 4 drunkard had with him. the swearer - had none. Beside training for three or four patrons. Tom always had about six horses of his own, and with these he managed to pull off many a good stake. Great was the rejoicing in the village when any of Tom's horses won, for the village looked upon the "blue. ' green sleeves and cap" (Tom's colors) l . as their own. What a fever of excite- ' nient used to reign in the village the day Tom's horses were running any-; any-; x where, and how anxiously the result I would be awaited. Jim Scully was gen- ? crally the first to glean the news,, for i he haunted the post office until the'tel- egram came, and then if the message i was good. Jim would throw his old hat f i up into the air with a shout of "We I won again." and if it was bad. he would sl'nk out of th postofhee with his head i down and a funeral face with those I I , words on his lips: If- "Irn sure we're near another fall ov rain," though it might be the finest of i fine summer das. it was interesting -? j to watch Tom on the ra e course when one of his horses was about to engage ; m in a race. You would be sure to find Tom, his horse and jockey, in the quiet- ; i est corner of the paddock. I "I like to keep my horse cool." he i would say, if you asked him why he : acted thus. He never allowed anyone i' to saddle the horse but himself, and he ran his hand many times under the girths, bur-klcs and straps before he satisfied himself that all was right. Though a talkative man at home, his mouth was shut on a race course, and if -ne of liis patrons approached him and put this question. "Will your horse win i today. Tom?" he would quietly say, placing a hand on the horse's shoulder: "Racing is an uncertainty, sir. I'll win if I can and the horse is fit." Or. j "Such a horse I greatly fear, and thev s mean business, for they are putting up Terry Kavanagh." Tom. when the starting bell rang, would give the leg up to his jockev and. loading the horse to the gate that led ; nut on the race course, would give his instruc tiops thus: "Whatever you do, don't ride the head of the horse off. and for goodness sake, keep out of the ruck. Lie handy and come right away at the third last Jump t 5f J ou can. Watch Cullcn and Bcasley, a"d don't let them steal a march on you at the post. Now. off you go, and remember, no fine finishes for Tom No-s No-s lan. his weak heart can't stand them." "I can tell, boys, when Tom Nolan is ? ; f soing to win, an' all from me own per- " - sonal observashun." says Jim Scully, on one occasion to ,the group around him. "Iv I am at the races I""watch him whin he lades the horse out on the course. Whin he lets the horse go, he'll surely win lv yeh see him walk away an' talk to this wan an' that wan, bud lv he holds his head down an' says not a word to his gratest frind. Vthen his mind is parplexed an' doubtln', an' nine times out ov tin he'll lose." Jim Scully's "own personal observashun" observa-shun" of Tom Nolan was right. It was just precisely how Tom acted on such occasions. I have, as a boy, seen Tom ride many races and squeeze home by a head or neck, but the most brilliant race I have ever seen hiin ride was at F . He was riding in the chief event of the day for a local farmer, or rather a grazier, and the horse was an outsider. out-sider. Being but a boy then, and not being dowered with much of the world's goods (by the same token, I believe, I'm as rich now) I had to join the commonality, com-monality, and the commonality can't afford a ticket for the stand, so I and many more from my native village assembled as-sembled at the biggest jump on the course, the third last. Jim Scully, Bartholomew Bar-tholomew Finnegan, Phil Maguire, Bryan Bry-an Casey and many more dear faces were around me, and everyone of our eyes were foeussed in the black and white cross belts (the colors which Tom rode in on that day). The horses In a cluster approach where we are standing, stand-ing, and Tom Nolan is fifth of the bunch and on the outside. "He'll win yit," and Phil Maguire seizes Scully by the arm and looks up Into his face, as if the fate of the race depended on Scully. "Tom Nolan, come on, come on; remember re-member the village of W , and come on wud yeh," and poor Scully works his two arms frantically. St, James on Little Annie leads, and the grim smile on his face tells he will die hard., Harry Beasley. Bob Egg-shaw, Egg-shaw, Willie Cullen on Purdesburn, Zulu and Charity, come next, and then comes Tom Nolan on Sweet Briar. Shouts arise from the stand. ' "Little Annie wins," "Sweet Briar is beaten," "Charity in a canter." That cry, ! "Sweet Briar is beaten," pierces poor Phil Maguire's heart. He seizes Scully by the arm, at the same time giving vent to those piteous words, "Oh, Tom Nolan, why don't yeh come on for the honor ov the village of W- ?" The horses thunder over the next jump to where we are standing, knocking knock-ing our furs and brambles from the top of the fence, and a loud hurrah from Scully tells us something has happened. .Yes, something had happened. Tom olan had given his mount the whip, just two sharp reminders, and he now rides side by side with St. James. On they come to our fence, and a winning sheet would cover them. Sweet Briar leads, with the others abreast. Scully sounds his war cry, we take it up and the war cry is "Nolan, we depend upon you." I suppose you have heard strange curses in your time, and. dear reader, you don't like cursing; well, you won't object to this one uttered by Scully: i "Be the morthial gob!" If it is in any way objectionable, the occasion excused it, for Sweet Briar pecks badly and came down on her knees. Tom Nolan, a master of his profession, recovers her. but he has lost a good ten lengths. Two fences more and the winning post is reached, but Tom will never recover lost ground. Sick at heart, Phil Maguire heaves a sigh and, taking off his tall hat, looks into the bottom of it for consolation, while Jim Scully beats his legs frantically franti-cally with an ash plant, punishing Sweet Briar as it were, for disappointing disappoint-ing the hopes of our dear village. A quiet voice near me rouses me up from my despond by saying: "Nolan, whoever who-ever he is, is a finished horseman: he'll win yet." I look, and the horses are i approaching the last jump. Little Annie An-nie lands first, with Charity, Pundes-burn. Pundes-burn. Zulu II. abreast, and Swoet Briar ! but two lengths behind. Half way up the straight Charity collars Little Annie, An-nie, and both are instantly collared by Sweet Briar. St. James' and Beasley's whip go up. but Tom Nolan sits still. Ten yards from the winning post the three horses are locked together, the winning post is passed, and the judges' verdict is: "Sweet Briar first, Charity and Little Annie a dead heat for second place. We hear the glad news, the glad shout of victory, the dear old village of W has won, and Jim Scully, the phlegmatic Jim Scully, sits down on the green sward and. mopping his brow with his hand, says: "Another race like that wud kill me. Phil Maguire, an' to judge be yer complexshun, yeh want a drop ov Jamison." Many an evening afterward have each of us rode that race. Tom Nolan listened list-ened to us with a glad, warm smile on his Irish face, and when we had said our say as to how we should have ridden rid-den it. his reply always was: "That race was won owing to a cool head." I see him this August a'fternoon. He is leading his favorite old horse Dashing Dash-ing Jim by the bridle, and on Dashing Jim's back is a young Tom Nolan. As I gaze upon them this wish rises up in my heart, and gives expression to these words: "May the son be as good a man as the father." ..By Cabin. Next week: "Innocent Matty." |