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.

‘Was it the fault of the jock?’ said one man.

‘It was not,’ said another, ’for Michael (the owner) didn’t strike him, and if it had been his fault, wouldn’t he have broken his bones?’

‘He was striving to spare a young girl had run out in his way,’ said another.  ‘It was for that he twisted him.’

‘Little slut!’ said a woman; ‘what did she want beyond on the sand?’

Many remedies were suggested that did not sound reassuring, and in the end the horse was led off in a hopeless condition.  A little later the race ended with an easy win for the wildest of the young horses.  Afterwards I wandered up among the people, and looked at the sports.  At one place a man, with his face heavily blackened, except one cheek and eye—­an extraordinary effect—­was standing shots of a wooden ball behind a board with a large hole in the middle, at three shots a penny.  When I came past half an hour afterwards he had been hit in the mouth—­by a girl some one told me—­but seemed as cheerful as ever.

On the road, some little distance away, a party of girls and young men were dancing polkas to the music of a melodeon, in a cloud of dust.  When I had looked on for a little while I met some girls I knew, and asked them how they were getting on.

‘We’re not getting on at all,’ said one of them, ’for we’ve been at the races for two hours, and we’ve found no beaux to go along with us.’