American Old Time Song Lyrics: 51 How Ace Won The Steeplechase

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 51

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How Ace Won the Steeplechase.

I had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice,
By the tide of Snowy River, with a horse they called the Ace,
And we brought him down to Sydney, and our rider, Jimmy Rice,
Got a fall and broke his shoulder, so they nabbed me in a trice-
Me that never wore the colors, for the Open Steeplechase!

"Make the running," said the trainer, "it's your only chance whatever.
Make it hot from start to finish, for the old black home can stay;
And Just think of how they'll take it when they hear on Snowy River
That the country boy was plucky, and the country horse was clever:
You must ride for old Monaco and the mountain boys to-day."

"Are you ready?" said the starter, as we held the horses back,
All a-blazing with impatience, with excitement all aglow:
And before us like a ribbon stretched the steeple chasing track,
And the sun rays glinted brightly on the chestnut and the black,
As the starters words came slowly: "Are-you-ready-Go!"

Well I scarcely knew we'd started, I was stupid like with wonder,
Till the field closed up beside me and a jump appeared ahead,
And we charged it all together and it fairly whistled under,
For we flew it like a birdie, not a balk and not a blunder,
And then some were pulled behind me and the rest shout out and led.

So we ran for half the distance, and I'm making no pretences
When I tell you I was feeling very nervous like and queer,
For those jockeys rode like demons, you would think they'd lost their senses
If you saw them rush their horses at those rasping five-foot fences;
And in place of making running I was falling to the rear.

Till a chap came racing past me on a horse they called the Quiver.
And, said he, "My Country joker, are you going to give it best?
Are you frightened of the fences, does their stoutness make you shiver?
Have they took to breeding cowards by the side of Snowy River?
Are there riders on Monaro? "but I never heard the rest.

For I drove the Ace And sent him just as fast as he could pace it
At the big black line of timber stretching fair across the track,
And he shot beside the Quiver. "Now," says I, ' my boy, we'll race it,
You can come with Snowy River if you're only game to face It;
Let us mend the pace a little And we'll see who cries a crack."

Then we raced away together, and we left the others standing,
And the people howled and shouted as we settled down to ride;
For I clung beside the Quiver: at his taking-off and landing
I could watch his scarlet nostrils And his mighty ribs expanding,
And the Ace stretched out in earnest, And we held him stride for stride.

But the pace was so terrific that they soon ran out their tether,
They were rolling in their gallop, they were fairly blown and beat,
But they both were game as pebbles, neither one would show the feather,
And we rushed them at their fences and they cleared them both together:
Nearly every time they clouted, but they somehow kept their feet.

Then the last jump rose before as, and they faced it game as ever,
We were both at spur and whip-cord, fetching blood at every bound.
And above the people's cheering and the cries of "Ace! "and "Quiver!"
I could hear the trainer shouting, "One more ran for Snowy River!"
Then we struck the jump together and came smashing to the ground.

Well, the Quiver ran to blazes, but the Ace stood still and waited,
Stood And waited like a statue while I scrambled on his back;
There was no one next or near me, for the field were fairly slated,
And I cantered home a winner with my shoulder dislocated,
While the man that rode the Quiver followed limping down the track.

And he shook my hand and told me that in all his days he never
Met a man who rode more gamely and our last set-to was prime.
And we wired them at Monaro how we chanced to beat the Quiver,
And they sent as back an answer, "Good old sort from Snowy River,
Send us word each race you start in, And we'll back you every time!"
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