TROTTING RACES. 105 
burst of speed which will always be famous in the 
chronicles of the American turf. His ears were laid 
flat on his head, his neck was stretched out low and 
long, so as to bring his head scarcely above the level 
of his withers, and fire flashed in his eye. 
“He trotted,” writes Mr. Helm, who was among 
the spectators, “with a grim desperation, that can- 
not readily be forgotten by the thousands who were 
present. His fleet-footed and never faltering oppo- 
nent, the victor in a hundred trials, the Queen of 
2.14, was already thirty-five feet ahead of him. 
With a gathering of resources never perhaps held 
by any other, and a rate of speed never equalled on 
the trotting turf, he made for the front. There can 
be no doubt, I think, that he moved for six or eight 
hundred feet at the rate of a two-minute gait. He 
trotted then as if he knew he could and would win 
the heat; and in his very eye there was the look of 
win it, or perish in the attempt. Woe to the animal 
or vehicle that should come between him and the 
end of that race! His speed was terrific, his mo- 
mentum was fearful, and his stroke as steady and 
true as any ever beheld. His very appearance was 
a sort of magnetism that electrified the thousands 
that were present.” 
“Tt was more like flying than trotting,” says the 
report from which I first quoted. “Doble hurries 
his mare into a break, but he cannot stop the dark 
shadow which flits by him. His smile of triumph 
is turned into an expression of despair. Smuggler 
goes over the score a winner of the heat by a neck, 
and the roar which comes from the grand stand and 
the quarter stretch is deafening. The time was 
