Bloodlines - October 96

For some time past the news columns of this magazine have been containing reports of new-born foals; and for the next two or three months - indeed, until the racing season gets started - they will be among the most interesting items that will be printed. That is, to all but the comparative few to whom breeding "don't mean nothing", they being interested solely in those horses that can "get the money", here and now.

In the town where I grew up there was an intense and general interest in trotters. Among its citizens was a man belonging to a famous family, whose father and elder brother did a great deal toward the making of history in their time. He himself had served in the Civil War with distinction, later had fought Indians upon the plains, and had retired with the rank of Major. Upon retiring from the army he decided to embark in the breeding of trotters, bought a beautiful farm not far out in the country, and, at his town residence, built large stables which were used principally for his horse in training.

When he was laying the foundations of his breeding enteprise, which was in the early 1870's, the sine qua non of every ambitious breeder was a son of Hambletonian 10. The "Hero of Chester", then still living, enjoyed a renown almost impossible to exaggerate. It was already evident that his blood was destined to submerge all other strains and become permanently dominant.

The great base of supply was, of course, Orange County, New York . . . so the Mayor decided to go there and buy himself a son of Hambletonian; likewise several brood mares to supplement the little band he had collected at home. The Major's given name was Henry. He had two close friends and cronies with the same name; and they were known locally as "the three Henries" because they associated with each other so constantly and had such a community of interest. One of the three happened to be my father. And - very naturally - when that trip to Orange County was made, not just the Major but all three Henries went along. They spent about two weeks there, which they devoted to looking over practically all the breeding stock not only in Orange County but in the adjoining counties. Can you imagine what a grand time they must have had? Don't it make your mouth water? And the tears come to your eyes when you pause to remember that nothing of that kind has been possible for many, many years and its like is, to you, and always will be, something never to be experienced.

It would be the spring of 1874 that the three Henries invaded Orange County. As a result there went back a son of Hambletonian out of a mare by Henry Clay and several brood mares representing what was then the height of fashion: a daughter of American Star that was a tried producer; a filly from her and sired by Hambletonian; a mare by a son of Hambletonian; another by a son of Volunteer; and others bred along similar lines - the nucleus of a stud that proved the wisdom of the selectors by the success won by its products in after years.

The first brood mares and foals I can remember were the ones in question. They became "neighbours and friends" in the very real sense because the Major owned a vacant lot located but a short distance from the house in which I was born, and, by the way, which I still own. Every day, from spring until fall, I used to pass by that lot containing those mares and foals, often many times a day. And frequently I would crawl through, or over, or under the rail fence that bounded it and mingle with them. As I close my eyes and think myself back into those distant days, in so many ways so far behind me, while in others they seem more bright and true than these in which I am living, the present seems to dissolve and fade away and once more I, a small boy, am back there in that old pasture lot among those mares and foals - all unconsiously laying the foundations of my own character and tastes through all the years to come...

Of all times of day, there is no other so beautiful as just when evening is coming on and the brood mares begin coming up out of the far corners of the pasture to gather at the bars with their little ones in the peace of the afterglow. The west is smouldering with gold and crimson, the evening star is beginning to shine out, there is a deep celestial silence - so deep, and the air so clear that one can hear sounds coming from a mile or more away - the bark of a dog at a neighbouring farm, a boy calling the cattle home, the eerie hoot of an owl, ready to sail forth upon his nocturnal depredations, the lowing of cattle, or, down the road that leads to town, the rattle of wagon wheels as some belated tiller of the soil drives his tired team homeward from their day's work. As the evening darkens into twilight the heat evaporates from the atmosphere and a delicious moist coolness takes its place. Quietly, calmly the mares gather at the bars with their little ones. There are soft maternal calls, now and then with a note of anxiety if some little one has strayed too far away, and anxious, plaintive answers, so musical and yet so tremulous that they tug at one's heartstrings. The dew is falling and the grass grows wet. Through the deepening shadows the ripple of the creek, not far distant, blends its gentle voice with the whisper of the light wind that threads through the apple boughs . . . Then darkness comes. Only dim shapes, some of them recumbent, some still slowly moving, can be discerned in the starlit gloom. The only sound is the nip-nip of the mothers' teeth as they crop the short tender herbage . . . Come! It is time we were going in . . . How sweet the balm of Gilead smells with the dew upon it! . . . Good night . . .Good night!

Often when I have difficulty finding my way to sleep, I will pick out an old volume of Harness Horse, and leaf through to one of Hervey's columns. Many of them are marked with similar memories from his youth (and ours ??), like "Thanksgiving (Memories of Father)" ... "The Off Season and the Turf Scribe" ... "A Boy and a Filly" .. and a personal favorite of mine "Two Types of Turf Writers". Occasionally, I may reprint all or some of these (or other "historical" writings), if this is of interest to you, the readers.

Please e-mail your thoughts or comments regarding this possibility, and help me to shape BLOODlines in a way that is most enjoyable and meaningful to you.

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