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Mr. a. E. Pease, M.p., on “Nora Creina.”

Winner of House of Commons Point-to-Point Race, 1891.

I

I AM asked to begin with some reminiscences of the Cambridge University Drag and of the House of Commons Steeplechases. The former is not quite an easy task, for, after a lapse of sixteen or seventeen years, memory has to be plied with whip and spur before she will come up to the starting-post.

It is many years since I first started from my rooms in 19, Trinity Street, and mounted Election, starting at the door to ride my first drag on that beautiful, roaring, arch-kneed, and queer-tempered bloody son of Ballot. And yet, after all the excellent sport I have seen since, I very much doubt if any hours were ever more enjoyed than those spent in tearing over the picked patches of Cambridgeshire after aniseed, behind or in front of the wild brutes we dignified with the name of hounds. I remember that first day better than many a more glorious gallop after. Four of us jogged to the meet at Lords Bridge in the rain: the present Vicar of Bethnal Green (Hon. A. G. Lawley) carried the horn on old Gingertail; Lord Binning (Colonel in the Blues), on that king of drag-horses, Mosquito; Mr. Percy Aylmer of Walworth; and Mr. Mitchell of Forcett. As far as I can remember, when the hounds were laid on, we composed the whole field. I knew that a new-comer was, if kindly welcomed, critically watched, and I confess that I was nervous; I had no confidence in my horse, who would at times refuse to face anything. How I hoped it would be one of his jumping days! As for his galloping, it was worth all the two hundred guineas that my father had given for him two years previously, when he was sound in wind and fresh on his legs.

Away we went! I can see now Lawley’s black and white trousers, with a strap under the knee, on each side of old Gingertail, popping over the fences three lengths ahead of me as we covered the first two miles. Soon after Lawley, Aylmer, Binning, and I got level—a fence, a rail, another fence, then two gates in and out of the road, all abreast. Lawley is elbowed off the gates, and Gingertail jumps the gate-posts; the other three of us rattle the top bars with our horses’ knees. The pace is terrific; three silent hounds racing over the grass and flying the fences ahead, the rest no one cares where;—Leete, the dragsman, in view, sitting on his horse two fields ahead under a high fence. Two fields of grass, two more great fences,—over the last of which we land like shot rubbish,—a touch with the spur to Election, and he draws out, finishing first, just as old Norman, the leading hound, reaches Leete.

No more trailing about the ploughs after the Cambridgeshire Fox-hounds for me! This is settled between Election and myself as we all trot back to Cambridge, and lark, while our blood is still warm, over the hand-gates and stiles along the footpath to the town. The authorities, I have understood, never smiled on the Drag. In my heart I believe that most of them had not an idea of what it was. It only meant to them something to do with horses and “dogs,” or, perhaps, a coach on wheels; something associated with a rather troublesome class of undergraduates who paid little respect to them, except when invited to do so by a slip, suggesting that a call should be made on the senior Proctor or “the Dean.” Then, when a quiet young man appeared in his gown, with his cap in his hand, they, no doubt, were more puzzled than ever at the various kinds of relaxation that we indulged in. The notions we had of their pursuits were probably as stupid as theirs of ours; but if any of the old scowlers ever watch the subsequent careers of some of those they looked on as “impossible,” they must find among those they regarded as harum-scarum, devil-may-care followers of the Drag, the names of men who have led devoted lives as clergymen in East-end slums, who have filled high office under the Queen, who have made brave soldiers and good citizens.

Not long ago I went to shake hands with two old friends of Cambridge days before they were removed to Holloway Gaol, with the rest of Dr. Jameson’s raiders. Whatever their faults, and however lamentable the results of the raid, there can be no doubt of the good stuff they are made of. How well I remember “Sir J.”, as we called Sir John Willoughby, riding against Mr. George Lambton in the Barton Drag, and both coming down, and Sir J.’s horse getting up and putting his foot on his master’s face, much to the detriment of his features. Many a good rider in the silk has learned his first lesson with the Drag, and George Lambton was one. He used to ride a young bay thoroughbred, Julian, which had been scratched for the Derby, and, with all the glorious pride and confidence of youth, used to send him along at five furlongs pace over, or rather through, the Cambridgeshire gates, not one of which I ever saw him clear! Not one whit discouraged, Julian used to start, but never, to my knowledge, “finished.” It is curious how much pleasure undergraduates seem to find in lying on their backs and standing on their heads in Cambridgeshire ploughs. Talking of the raiders reminds me that I once rode from Cambridge with one of them (the Hon. R. White) to Stowe Fox. I was riding a three-year-old mare, and rode her the whole way to the meet without touching the bridle. Coming home, my companion bettered my performance by riding his horse over every gate we met on a bridle-road, which, considering that he, like the rest of us, had taken a toss at the Stowe Fox brook, shows that he then had nerve that ought to stand a life’s wear and tear. My brother (Mr. J. A. Pease, now M.P.), and Capt. B. H. Philips (of the 23rd R. W. F.), with myself, together occupied a house in Trinity Street. Some days we used to sally out together to inspect the Fitzwilliam, at Gidding Windmill, or some other favourite spot, and take the Drag three afternoons a week to fill up the time between hunting days.

Of all animals under the sun an undergraduate’s horse is the most wonderful. I have known Philips ride with the Drag on Friday, hunt with the Fitzwilliam on Saturday, again on Monday, and go to the Pytchley (Woodland) on Tuesday, Lucifer (appropriate name) his mount each day, but truth compels me to add, not for another three weeks afterwards.

The days with the Fitzwilliam were often very hard days for horses. It meant leaving before seven in the morning, boxing to Huntingdon, and after a good breakfast at the “George,” hacking any distance from six to twelve miles to cover—and the same way home again. One such day is fixed in my mind, for it was the one on which I first donned a pink coat, and I have found the following account in a letter I wrote: “Yesterday nine of us went by the 7.0 train to Huntingdon, where we had breakfast. We then hacked on eleven miles to the meet. We had a wonderful fast hunting-run, hounds going all the time, from five minutes to one till ten minutes past three. Bertie Philips’ and Devas’ (Mr. E. Devas) horses were ridden to a standstill half an hour before we finished, and all our horses were pretty well cooked. We had then thirteen miles to Huntingdon on “done” horses. Philips dragged his about four miles to a village, then put up. We struggled on to the next, sat in the inn an hour, and started again, eventually reaching Huntingdon, where we left the horses and caught a train to Cambridge. The country was very deep, and it was a tremendous run.”

Among the men whose names I remember, who distinguished themselves with the Drag in my time were the following:—Mr. Hoole (killed whilst riding for the ’Varsity Whip, at St. Ives, 1876); Mr. Herbert Magniac (master of the Drag, 1877-78); Earl of Yarborough, Lord Binning, Sir John Willoughby, Sir H. Meux, Hon. A. G. Lawley, Hon. A. Lawley, Hon. R. White, Hons. R. and H. Fitzwilliam, Messrs. J. M. Paulton, J. A. Pease, Graham, Barnard, P. Aylmer, E. Aylmer, H. Russell, F. R. Meuricoffre, B. H. Philips, H. C. Bentley, W. C. Ellis, R. L. Pike, C. Antrobus, C. A. Fellowes, and E. Devas. There are, doubtless, many other names which should occur to me.

I had several good horses during my time at Cambridge,—I mean good for the purpose to which an undergraduate devotes a horse. There was Election, fast, but a queer screw, and very musical. Saucebox, a most accomplished timber jumper and whistler, never gave me falls, except over water and doubles; he jumped twenty-one gates in the White Horse Barton Drag on one occasion. This day a man fell, at a gate I had jumped, into the road, and his hat flew past me, but I caught it in the air as my horse rose at the gate out; my brother, who was my whip then, took it from me and carried it to the finish. Shamrock was a clever horse, and only gave me one fall in one term; he came from the Hon. Mark Rolles. Osman was my brother’s horse. He was a wonderful stayer and fencer, but gave us both many a roll. I have seen him fall down three times going to the meet with my brother, who counted this as a little failing of no account whatever. Osman carried me through perhaps the best run the Pytchley (Woodland) had during Lord Spencer’s Mastership—fifty minutes from Finedon Poplars to Thrapstone. Philips and I had boxed through to Kettering, and it is not every M.F.H. that would give a party of undergraduates such a warm reception as Lord Spencer gave us. The survivors of this run were Lord Spencer, Captain B. Beecher, Lord Yarborough, Hon. C. R. Spencer, B. H. Philips, and myself. I have seen few finer runs than this in my life, and old Osman never made a mistake. The last hunter I had at Cambridge was a four-year-old mare, Queen Mab, a charming and precocious young thing, of whom more anon.

To return to the Drag for a moment.

The Over Drag and the Downing Arms were considered the severest in my day. The former was a course of some three miles, but a fence for every hundred yards, and a big fence too. I rode this Drag six times, and only once got to the end of it on one of my own horses. Thrice I never finished, and of the other times I won it once on a thoroughbred belonging to that excellent sportsman, Mr. W. H. Garforth, of Gilling, and once on a black hireling, appropriately named Satan.

The first time I got through this Drag it was won by Lord Binning. It was a ludicrous finish. Lawley broke his girth over a stile into the last field but one; the next fence was a bullfinch with a great black fen ditch beyond, a regular death-trap. Lawley and Binning were neck and neck across the field, and I was just behind. Girths or no girths, Gingertail had to do it, but the peck on landing left him a clean back. Binning’s horse fell on landing, and the two raced in on foot; my horse fell, and I only made a moderate third behind the men on foot. Binning had a thorn in his eye, and had to get off to Cambridge, and then to London, to get it cut out. We all expected to see him back minus the eye, but it was sound again within a week or two. In this Drag, Mosquito jumped the biggest place I have ever seen leaped. I often wish I had gone to measure it, and I fear to state my impressions of what its dimensions are. It consisted of a high four-rail timber fence on the top of a high bank, with about twelve or fourteen feet of water on the takeoff side. As Binning was going to have it, I pulled back a length, hoping he would bring the rail down when he fell, as fall he must. To my astonishment, up flew Mosquito over the water; I saw for a second the whole four feet of bank under the horse, and in another moment he was over the rails, just carrying the top-rail away with his hind-legs. I got over with a smash through the next rail. It is my honest opinion that Mosquito jumped seven feet in the air and covered some twenty-five feet in this marvellous jump.

Once during my Mastership I organised a Drag that was to be on the pattern of a long hunting-run, by making the course some fourteen miles, instead of the usual five or six. I arranged with old Leete that we could run two Drags into one, leaving half a mile twice without scent being laid, to give us “checks” and time to breathe our horses and get hounds together. But the hounds were too cunning. They carried such a head that when we reached the first check at the end of the Two Pot House Drag, they flashed straight on up wind and made for the place where they were usually started for the other drag. It was too severe for the numerous field, and I never tried it again. There were some nine that finished, and it was won by Mr. F. R. Meuricoffre, of Naples, who has since proved himself a good rider over many a steeplechase course in his native Italy. Here are the last entries I made, at the close of my undergraduate career, in 1879.

Nov. 22. Fulbourn Drag—Queen Mab went beautifully.

" 25. Barton White Horses. 23 started. 9 at finish. 18 falls.

" 28. Five Bells, Oakington. 23 at the meet. 3 in with hounds.

" 30. Moyes Farm. Capital day. 27 out. 4 finished.

House of Commons Point-to-point Race.

From a drawing by Cuthbert Bradley

Dec. 1. Fox’s Bridge. 6½ miles. 23 minutes.

" 4. Stowe Fox. Finished my Mastership, getting my last fall

at the brook, and the only one Saucebox gave me with the

Drag. I handed over the horn to my brother.

Since then the Drag has flourished, and I understand things are done in a style we never dreamed of. Amongst the Masters that carried the horn after my time were my brother, Mr. J. A. Pease, the present Duke of Leeds, Mr. Le Fleming, Mr. Ivor Guest, the Duke of Marlborough, Mr. Beddington, Mr. Wiloughby, Mr. Macreary, Mr. F. M. Freake, Lord Ronaldshay, and several others whose names do not occur to me at the moment.

I heard of the followers of the red herring having two Drags in one day in 1895, Stowe Fox in the morning, and Downing Arms after lunch. The usual field was augmented by several jockeys from Newmarket (including T. Loates, Woodburn, Barker and Rickaby). I heard that several fine tosses were scored by Mr. T. Loates, and that Barker finally won the drag after a punishing finish, in which he beat Rickaby by a neck.

The first year in which a House of Commons Steeplechase took place was in 1889, and this pleasant and sporting meeting, which then promised to become an annual one, was abandoned about 1893 in consequence of the sad end of Captain “Bay” Middleton the year before. In 1889, I entered an Irish mare, Peggy Dillon, but scratched her, and took no part in the race. This took place in the Bicester country, from the village of Hillesden to that of Chetwade, over a stiff course, but chiefly grass. I remember that the ground was soft and going heavy. The distance was three and three-quarter miles, and the conditions briefly—catchweight over 13 stone, all horses to be the property of, and ridden by, an M.P., and no horse to have previously won a steeplechase. Lord Chesham started a field of ten senators, and the result of the race was as follows:—

Mr. Cyril Flower’s Home Rule, 13 st. 8½ lb.	1
(afterwards disqualified).
Mr. Elliot Lees’ Damon, 13 st.	2
Mr. J. Fitzwilliam’s Marcellus, 13 st. 11 lb.	3
Mr. F. B. Mildmay’s horse, 13 st.	0
Mr. W. Long’s horse, 13 st. 8¼ lb.	0
Mr. Bromley-Davenport’s Berkshire, 13 st.	0
Mr. P. A. Muntz’s Dauntless, 15 st. 4¼ lb.	0
Lord Henry Bentinck’s Border Chief, 13 st. 10½ lb.	0
Mr. J. B. White’s horse, 13 st. 6¾ lb.	0
Mr. W. Jarvis’s Conjuror, 13 st.	0
Lord Newark’s horse, 13 st.	0
Colonel Heath’s horse, 13 st.	0

Mr. Muntz, in spite of his great weight, cut out the work to begin with in company with Mr. Bromley-Davenport. The latter fell early on, and Mr. Muntz was put back by the heavy going. Any chance of Mr. Jarvis’s winning was extinguished by his horse breaking a leg. Near home, Mr. Lees and Mr. Mildmay were leading, with Home Rule close behind. Lord Henry Bentinck, Colonel Heath, and others fell, as did Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Lees at the last brook, where Mr. Flower, passing them, pulled off the race; but his horse was afterwards disqualified, as it was discovered that many years previously he had won a race in Lincolnshire, before he had been purchased by Mr. Flower. It can be imagined that this success in disqualifying Home Rule was the subject of much chaff among the politicians interested in the race, and I hear party feeling rather got the better of the judgment of some two or three M.P.’s, as some nasty things were said about Mr. Flower, who is the last man living to do a “sharp” thing. He had acted in good faith, and made no secret that he had re-christened his old hunter, Sultan, Home Rule for the occasion. For a man of his weight and years, on an old hunter, to cut down a lot of young bloods over the Bicester country was a performance that is not often equalled.

The following year, 1890, we went down from Euston to Rugby, where I remember many of us changed, and were most hospitably entertained by Captain David Beatty before weighing out. The course was a beautiful one, on a horseshoe of grass, unbroken, save by the fences, which were a goodly size, but not more than a fair sample of the Warwickshire and Leicestershire countries. We were divided into two classes, a twelve-stone and a fourteen-stone class, and we who rode in the former were rather amused and surprised to find that Mr. Muntz’s great, yet beautiful mare, with about sixteen stone on her back, was entered in our lot. We all were to start together, and Mr. Ashton, M.F.H., sent on the way a field of thirteen. From this point I will attempt to describe what I was able to see of the race. Except that my grey mare was a good hunter, and had beaten another in a trial, I had no idea of what she could do in a race. She was, I believe, originally bought in Ireland for £17, and I purchased her for £85, with the simple character that she required riding, would face fire, wire, or water, and would not pass a Vet., as her eye was marked by a thorn-prick. I never dreamed of being in the running at all, but thought I would make it hot for the first mile or two, trusting that, at the pace I knew she could fence, I might cut out some of the competitors. I started off with a lead, closely followed by Mr. Mildmay, on the favourite, Discretion, who seemed determined to frustrate my intention to distance my field. By the time we reached the first brook, Sir Savile Crossley, as well as Mr. Mildmay, were close on my quarters. Discretion fell, and I kept an easy lead till about five fences from home. Here we were confronted by a very stiff bullfinch, with what appeared to be a gate in the middle of it. There is not much time for inspection on these occasions, and, seeing no daylight through the black fence, I kept on my course for the gate. As I approached it, I realised it was not a gate, but a high barrier beyond a drinking-place. It was too late to change my mind, and I held on, Nora Creina, my mare, carrying the rails into the next field and letting several others through the gap we made. I saw several falling at the bullfinch, and among them Mr. Jarvis, who got a nasty kick in the face, and displayed a thing like a concertina afterwards, which he alleged he had worn on his head. Two fences from home Mr. Elliott Lees caught me, and ere we got into the straight had me settled, as Nora could not get up the hill. This was the first and last time I ever resorted to the spur with her, and when I found she could not answer to it, we accepted our fate. The result of the race was—

Twelve-stone Class.

Mr. Elliott Lees’ b g Damon by Wild Charlie, owner	1
Mr. A. E. Pease’s gr m Nora Creina by Lord Gough, owner	2
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ b m Lady Evelyn, Lord E. Hamilton	3
Sir Savile Crossley’s ch g Chaff, owner	0
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ Hartlebury, owner	0
Mr. Muntz’s Duchess, owner	0
Mr. Mildmay’s Discretion, owner	0
Mr. Yerburgh’s Schoolboy, owner	0

Fourteen-stone Class.

Mr. W. H. Long’s b g Crusader, owner	1
Hon. G. Wyndham’s ch m Daffodil, owner	2
Mr. Hermon Hodges’ ch g The Don, Mr. Jarvis	3
Mr. Cyril Flower’s b g No Name, owner	0
Mr. H. L. Lawson’s b g Hedgehog, owner	0

Mr. Long, Mr. Mildmay, Mr. Jarvis, Mr. Lawson, and

Mr. Cyril Flower, fell.

I rode a very bad race, due to want of knowledge of my mare’s powers and the distance of the course, but these disadvantages I shared in common with my colleagues. I felt the justice of Captain “Bay” Middleton’s opinion, which I overheard, and these were the last words I ever heard him speak. Some one remarked that my mare went magnificently. “Yes,” said Bay; “but she was damned badly ridden,” and he knew something of what he was talking about. The following year, however, we did something to retrieve our character, as, with a turn of luck, we won over a bigger country, and defeated the winner of 1889 and 1890—coming in first with great ease.

I have found the following lines, written after the race, by Mr. W. Philpotts Williams:—

THE SENATORS’ RACE, 1891.

The Mace and the Speaker are left for to-day,

Both Tories and Rads. come to witness the play.

The laws of debate, and the questions and bills

Are cast to the winds on the Staverton Hills,

And Commons and Lords, with the men of the Chase,

All join in the fun of the Senators’ Race.

In the place of the Speaker the man with the flag

Gives the office to go with his piece of red rag;

The gallery of ladies, no longer in trouble,

Have freedom to talk, which they do at the double;

And everyone comes with a smile on his face,

To see senators ride in the Senators’ Race.

The “Heavies” in numbers are not very strong,

But good in the choice of Muntz, Bentinck, and Long;

The “Lights” have a favourite in Lees, who can show

His Dorsetshire horse is a nailer to go.

Two years in succession they fought for a place,

And pulled off the Stakes in the Senators’ Race.

They’re off! is the cry; the shouting is loud;

And Pease’s good grey leads the galloping crowd,

A head like a lady’s, an eye like a deer—

A sweet combination of courage and fear,

From the start to the finish it looks like “a case”

For the man on the grey in the Senators’ Race.

Away for the brook, and away for the hill,

The Lights and the Heavies are galloping still,

And still we can see in the acres of grass,

Each trying his best his companions to pass.

The hill in the distance, the flag at the base,

Is the course they have marked for the Senators’ Race.

Back over the valley comes Pease and his mare,

And wins a good race with plenty to spare;

And Long and Lord Henry fight for the lead,

The former comes up at the best of his speed,

But the latter pulls off at a galloping pace

The Heavyweight Prize in the Senators’ Race.

A man who can follow the horn and the hounds,

And ride to the chase with its musical sounds,

Is made of the stuff that the country requires,

And always has points that the country admires.

With other great nations we’ll ride for a place,

Still led by the men of the Senators’ Race.

The result of the race was—

1.	Mr. A. E. Pease’s gr m Nora Creina by Lord Gough (light weight), owner	1
2.	Lord Henry Bentinck’s br g Bugler by Berserker (heavy weight), owner	1
3.	M. W. H. Long’s Crusader (heavy weight), owner	2
4.	Mr. Hermon Hodge’s Lady Evelyn by Vengeance (heavy weight), owner	3

Others unplaced: Mr. Elliot Lees’ Damon (owner), fell; Mr. Bromley-Davenport’s Dawtrey (owner); Mr. Bromley-Davenport’s Delilah (Lord Carmarthen); Lord E. Hamilton’s Bridget (owner), refused first fence; Sir S. Crossley’s Borderer (owner), fell; Mr. Yerburgh’s Dawson; Mr. Yerburgh’s Haphazard; Mr. G. Wyndham’s Daffodil (owner).

Distance, 3½ miles. Time, 10 minutes, 18 seconds.

Fortune favoured me, as two of the horses I thought most dangerous, Damon and Borderer, fell, the former at the last brook; whilst Lord Henry Bentinck with one or two others made a bad turn, and practically lost a field at the half-way flag. This was an awkward moment for all of us, as it was impossible to see the home flag from the field in which we were, which was walled round with an enormous high black bullfinch, so dense that though several of us had it, Sir Savile Crossley’s horse came down with a heavy fall into the next field, and Nora Creina literally hung in the top before she dropped out on to the grass ten feet below. Among the congratulations I received on my victory were those telegraphed to me by my political chief, Mr. Gladstone; but the ones I think I prized most were from my Cleveland hunting companions, with whom my good grey mare and I had spent many a happy day in our wild rough country.