'The Australian Thoroughbred i6j 



head of Mexican cattle (there were not two thousand head of American cattle in the 

 whole state at that time) a side, to be turned over to the stake-holders two days before 

 the race, which took place near El Monte about two miles from the present site of 

 Savanna. They ran to a stake three miles after turning which they headed for home. 

 Black Swan was trained by a Tennessee man named James Willett and ridden by an 

 Australian jockey named Alexander Marshall. Willett stationed his head lad, Dave 

 Tidwell, at the three-mile stake with a bucket of water and told him to sponge her 

 mouth out and wash her face. The Swan was about twenty lengths to the good on 

 reaching the post and by the time Tidwell got her face washed the Mexican horse was 

 over sixty lengths ahead of her, but Aleck soon made that up and won by over two 

 hundred yards. I very much regret that I have never been able to get authentic pedi- 

 grees of any of these early Australian importations into California. 



But that was the type of horses they needed in Australia, prior to the discovery 

 of gold horses that could carry weight and go a distance for the woods were full of 

 vile bushrangers to whom murder was amusement ; and treacherous negroes, who were 

 the nearest thing to wild beasts that a man ever saw and who, in spite of their spindle 

 legs, could run faster than nine white men out of every ten. Hence it is plainly to be 

 seen that the early Australian colonists bred solely for stoutness and ignored extreme 

 speed. Up to the present writing none of the Australian colonies has ever imported a 

 Derby winner. South Australia imported Gang Forward (by Stockwell Lady Mary 

 by Orlando) who won the Two Thousand Guineas in 1873; and New South Wales 

 imported Hawthornden, by Lord Clifden out of Bonny Blink by the Flying Dutchman, 

 who won the St. Leger of 1870. He was about as long-backed and badly put together 

 a brute as I ever laid my eyes on .and how he ever won anything above an over-night 

 selling race passes my comprehension. 



Such, then, were the earlier importations of stallions into the Australian colonies. 

 After the discovery of gold by Hargraves, in 1852, the people began to breed more 

 for speed and paid less attention to the stoutness and weight-carrying ability that 

 had been the chief objects of the pioneer days. Here we call a horse well-boned that 

 measures eight inches around the forward cannon-bones. There it is no harder to find 

 a horse that will measure nine inches under the knee than it is here to find one that 

 measures eight. And I can remember the venerable William Gosper, of Windsor on 

 the Hawkesbury, then over 93 years old, saying to me, "Yes, Muster Murry (he always 

 called me that) Abercorn is a very 'ansome 'orse, but lie's a trifle light under the 

 knees and 'ocks." 



"I don't call him so," I replied, "he measured 8^ inches under the knee and 8^4 

 under the hock, when I was over at Tom Payten's stable the other day." 



"Ah, that would be a very good measure for a little 'orse like Commotion or 

 Frying Pan, but you must remember that Abercorn is barely five years hold and stands 

 above sixteen and an 'arf 'ands already. So that he is really a light-boned 'orse for 

 his height." 



The great distinguishing horse of pioneer days was Emigrant, imported by Captain 

 Rons of the Royal Navy. He had designed to set up two of his younger relatives in 

 sheep-breeding business in New South Wales and had therefore brought them out this 

 stallion and two mares, while his brother, Lord Stradbroke, contributed two more fillies 

 to help the lads along. "I never saw," said old Mr. Gosper, "an 'orse that I liked better 

 than Rous's Emigrant. His 'oofs looked like they wor made of granite and, at eighteen 

 years old, there was not a blemish of any sort on his legs. They're not a-breedin' 

 that clahss of 'orses nowadays. Heverything for speed now, you know, Muster Murry. 

 I see where somebody, down to Hadelaide, got out an 'orse from 't'ould country, lahst 

 week. He's called Nautilus, by 'Ermit, a full brother to Marden and The Habbot, none 

 of them any real good. They're what you Americans call quitters, not a game 'orse 

 in the lot that could stand a bit of floggin' ! Why, I read where Marden ran a dead 



