Tales of the Turf, Part 3

Seven pounds a month was my remuneration when I commenced as foreman, but three months later I was drawing £25 a month as assistant engineer. I soon realized, however, that I should not make my fortune at this work, and Mr. Boggs, General Manager of the Entre Rios line, told me there was not the least chance of promotion, unless one had a big backer. Even then things were not all honey, for contractors were heavily penalized if they failed to complete their sections within the specified time.

Young H., for example, with whom I worked as assistant, invested £5000 of the money his father left him with a Brazilian firm of contractors. These people took on a stretch of line, and had to stake £20,000 that it would be constructed by a certain date. Indian labour was all they had to depend upon, and the dusky gentlemen served them as their fellow-countrymen served me at Sicasica and elsewhere. They worked only as long as they cared to work, and then they went off. So the contractors were unable to complete their contract to time, and consequently lost their £20,000.

This kind of thing didn’t appeal to me, so I decided to apprentice myself to a trainer of race-horses at Buenos Ayres, and see if I could make money on the Turf. Brett was considered a pastmaster of his craft. He had had a more than passing acquaintance with some of the most famous racing establishments in England, and was exceptionally clever at treating foundered horses. He taught me all he knew of this important subject, during the time I officiated as his secretary and assistant trainer. Subsequently I picked up many useful wrinkles from the Medicine Men of various tribes of Indians with whom I came in contact on my exploring trips.

A few months after I started with Brett, the black galloway before mentioned became mine, to dispose of as I thought fit. About this time I received news of my sister’s impending marriage to H. G. Ley (who has since succeeded to the baronetcy), so I decided I couldn’t give her a better wedding present. I had broken the galloway to harness, and he was a really smart trapper.

I shipped him aboard the Nile, and everything went well until the boat arrived two days off the English coast. Then, as Captain Spooner subsequently told me, she ran into a bad storm. The sea raged mountains high, and the horse-box broke loose from one of its moorings, and was washed about hither and thither. When the storm abated, and the sailors were able to restore the box to its original position, they found the galloway still standing up, but showing signs of the terrible experience he had been through. At Southampton he was carefully examined, and found to have sustained very serious injury across his loins. My father had him conveyed by easy stages to his place, and called in the best vet. in Wiltshire. Much to everybody’s regret that gentleman decided the horse must be shot.

Before this order was put into execution, the late Duke of Beaufort drove over and had a look at the poor animal. There was no better judge of horseflesh in the whole wide world. As his Grace turned away, he said to my father, “Prodgers, next time you write to your son, tell him this is the finest galloway I have ever seen.”

When I began training on my own, my stables were located not far from the racecourse near Belgrano. One day there arrived a gaucho, or native cattle-man, bringing with him a half-bred percheron, about six years old. He wanted £2 for it, and produced the official papers which have to be procured when one wishes to pass a horse on to some one else. He said he had bought it al corte, with twenty-nine others out of a herd, or troupillo, which consisted of 500 animals, tamed and untamed. The lot cost him £60. I was curious to learn why he was willing to part with the percheron at the same price he gave for it. It seemed a great strong horse, if somewhat clumsy. The gaucho explained that it was because “the rotten swine,” as he called it in his picturesque lingo, wouldn’t stand for anybody. Several times when he had been riding around, and had had occasion to dismount for a minute or two, the animal had cleared off and left his luckless master stranded many miles from camp! Well, I agreed to take the percheron at the price named. Six months later I sold him to the Belgrano Tramway Company for £20.

Tales of the Turf, Part 2

Previous to being engaged on construction work on the railway, where I was boss over 200 men and responsible for 56 kilos of permanent way, I served as a broker on the Stock Exchange. One has to remain in the Outer Ring a couple of years, to qualify for admittance to the Inner Ring. If, at the end of that period, there is no black mark against you, a place in the Inner Ring is yours, providing you can produce two sureties in £2000, or one in £4000.

I served the best part of twelve months in the Outer Ring. My first two weeks were extraordinarily lucky ones, for I made 1500 dollars (gold, not paper), in commission; but during the next six months I only made sixty! Then a very big job came my way. A Mr. M. H. commissioned me to report on a large farm, six leagues in extent, which he owned in Paraguay, on the banks of the Itapicuru River (called Tippicure by the natives). He wished to sell it, and required a sketch and plan to show to prospective buyers. “Do this,” he said, “and I will give you anything that it realizes over 2500 dollars a league.” As luck would have it, a friend of mine named E. had lived on a farm belonging to his father and the Consul, which ran alongside M.’s; he was therefore able to describe its various features so accurately to me, that I didn’t need to leave my office!

E., by the way, was a bit of a “lad.” How he came to leave Paraguay, is worth relating, if only to throw light on one of the native customs. The women of this interesting country are famed for their great beauty—up to the age of thirty years, anyhow. In 1862, through the covetousness of Francisco Lopez, who wanted to filch from the Argentine 500 miles of Brazilian territory—nearly as far as La Plata—Paraguay became involved in a most terrible war. During its progress she lost so many men, that when, at last, peace was proclaimed, the women outnumbered the males by eleven to one. (The population was reduced from 340,000 to 200,000.) To remedy this preponderance, it was enacted that a man should be free to marry as many women as he liked, so long as he could afford to keep them. He was not, however, allowed to take them out of the country on any pretext whatever. Now E. married a very pretty Paraguayan, about ten years younger than himself. After a while he thought he would like to visit his parents, and take his wife with him. Accordingly they put their traps on a steamer, and in due course arrived at Villarica, situate on the Parana River. Here E. went ashore to watch some women loading up oranges. When he returned to the boat, after an absence of two hours, he couldn’t find his wife anywhere. She had left a note for him, in which she stated that her parents had sent her two brothers, and three friends, to compel her to return to Paraguay. They had arrived at Villarica before the steamer, had watched E. go ashore, and then abducted the girl. “It would not be wise,” she wrote, “for you to seek me out, for a year or so; after then, if you come back and apologize to my people, and to the Chief, promising not to offend again, all will be well.”

This communication put E. in a blue funk. He feared all sorts of things would happen to him; so he took good care to give the girl and her home a very wide berth. Ultimately, I believe, he married another woman at Buenos Ayres.

Banking on E.’s information, I didn’t trouble to visit M.’s farm, but stayed in my office, waiting for clients who never came, busying myself meantime in making a sketch-plan of the Itapicuru estate from the material E. had supplied. It was about four feet square, and didn’t look so bad when I had finished it. M. was very pleased. Two months later, a Mr. T. came along, saw the sketch and was so taken with it that he decided to view the farm it was supposed to represent. His wealthy father had given him £10,000 with which to buy an estate in the Argentine.

T. visited M.’s place, and found it very much to his liking. On his return, he praised my sketch, and said he would like to buy the place. “What was the figure?” Taking my courage in both hands, I quoted 4500 dollars a league. T. thought this was dirt cheap, and wrote a letter to M. to that effect.

So soon as M. received T.’s communication, he came to me and said,

“What! 4500 dollars a league, and you to get a cool 2000 a league out of it! No, no, my young sir, I have under-estimated its worth. My price is now 5500 dollars a league. When I get that, I’ll see you receive your rightful commission.”

T. wouldn’t go to that figure, so the deal fell through. But he bought another farm at 4500 dollars a league, and was instrumental in obtaining 500 dollars for me from the owner. He told him that but for me, he would have bought a place in the Bragado district of the Argentine Republic. Subsequently, M. sold his estate, and sold it well, too, for he received 7000 dollars a league for it. That was fifteen or so years ago, but from that day to this I have never fingered even one of the 12,000 dollars that I was entitled to. I quote this incident, just to show the great pull an Inner Ring broker has over his Outer brother. The Committee of the Stock Exchange protect the Inner Ring man, and see that he gets his rights. The poor Outer Ringer, they leave to his own devices. After such an experience can it be wondered at, that I chucked the Stock Exchange, and turned my attention to another sphere of enterprises, viz. railway construction work?

Tales of the Turf, Part 1

I have pleasant recollections of Buenos Ayres, because when engaged in training race-horses there, I cured an Edward the Confessor horse, named Egbert, whose tendons had been badly sprung. I got him all right for his owner, who won a big classic race with him subsequently. This gentleman was ever so delighted, and to mark his appreciation, gave me over and above my fee (the odds to 50 dollars) a pup by Shropshire Joe out of Lancashire Witch. He had paid £100 for the sire, a second prize winner at the Crystal Palace, and £60 for the dam, also a successful competitor.

The Witch had a litter of beautiful puppies, all of which were easily disposed of—the dogs at £20 apiece and the bitches at £15—all, that is to say, except the one I received, and another which was given to Brett. I named the dog Sloper after the immortal Ally. Those readers who may feel curious as to what became of him, will find mention of him in my Racing reminiscences in connection with Never Mind, one of the gamest bits of horseflesh that ever looked through a bridle.

Talking of dogs recalls to mind a curious incident. Several Peruvian families claim to be lineal descendants of the Incas. A member of one of these, Señora Hernandez, lived in an old quinta about three miles outside Lima, on the road leading to Pisco. We became acquainted as follows. My horses had been doing fast work, and were being rubbed down, preparatory to having their white sheets put on them, when a half-breed came up to me. He had a beautiful dog with him, the size of a poodle. It was “cobby” made, and covered with lovely long, curly, cream-coloured hair, fine as silk. It had large black eyes. Its muzzle, and the edges of its ears, were also of dusky hue.

The Indian addressed me.

“You are a lover of horses, sir?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“You love dogs, too?”

Again I answered in the affirmative.

“I have a dog to sell. Will you buy it? I want 40 sols for him.”

I recognized the animal, at once, as being an Inca poodle, a breed that was almost extinct. A specimen figures in the painting of Atahualpa and his wives on their way to Caxamarca, which hung in Zervallo’s picture gallery. The dog the Indian offered me I knew must be worth £40 at least, so I came to the conclusion that he had stolen it. I told him as much, and added, “I will give you 15 sols—no more, no less. You can take that and walk off; or I’ll blow my whistle to summon the police, and have you detained until the ownership of the dog is cleared up.” The man asked me to make it £2, but I said, “Not me, not a cent more than 15 sols.” Finding me obdurate, he gave in, handed over the dog, and scuttled off.

I took my purchase home, and later on that day consulted my friend the Chief of Police. He told me that by the laws of Peru I was entitled to keep the dog until it was claimed. If, at the end of six months, no one had lodged a valid claim, then the animal belonged to me absolutely. In the event of the rightful owner’s turning up, he would have to pay me such out-of-pocket expenses as the Chief of Police considered reasonable, plus the sum I had given the Indian. This law also holds good in regard to stolen horses and cattle, practically all over South America.

Once when engaged on construction work on the Bassavilvaso and Gualeguaychu line, I was offered a black four-year-old galloway, standing about fifteen hands, for the sum of £4. As there was a lot of Arab blood about the animal, I jumped at the chance. To protect myself, in case it had been stolen, I rode into Gualeguaychu, a distance of eighteen miles, and notified the Chief of Police. Subsequently, when I took up my residence in Buenos Ayres, I followed the same course. The galloway came in very useful as a hack.