The races had to be run between two tides while the sand was dry, so
there was not much time to be lost, and before we reached the strand
the horses had been brought together, ridden by young men in many
variations of jockey dress. For the first race there was one genuine
race-horse, very old and bony, and two or three young horses
belonging to farmers in the neighbourhood. The start was made from
the middle of the crowd at the near end of the strand, and the
course led out along the edge of the sea to a post some distance
away, back again to the starting-point, round a post, and out and
back once more.

When the word was given the horses set off in a wild helter-skelter
along the edge of the sea, with crowds cheering them on from the
sandhills. As they got small in the distance it was not easy to see
which horse was leading, but after a sort of check, as they turned
the post, they began nearing again a few yards from the waves, with
the old race-horse, heavily pressed, a good length ahead. The
stewards made a sort of effort to clear the post that was to be
circled, but without much success, as the people were wild with
excitement. A moment later the old race-horse galloped into the
crowd, twisted too suddenly, something cracked and jolted, and it
limped out on three legs, gasping with pain. The next horse could
not be stopped, and galloped out at the wrong end of the crowd for
some little way before it could be brought back, so the last horses
set off in front for the final lap.

The lame race-horse was now mobbed by onlookers and advisers,
talking incoherently.