THIS IS FINDON VILLAGE created by Valerie Martin, contains scenes from her home village of Findon, West Sussex, U.K.

Text copyright Valerie Martin 2002

First published in Along the Furlong 2002.

Henry Chaplin and the Marquis of Hastings were arch-enemies and the betting amounts involved over Chaplin's entry, Hermit, in the 1867 Derby, were immense. I think that alarm bells were ringing well in advance of the big day and the two men should have been warned but they were obsessed with outdoing each other. While Hermit's owner staked large sums on the horse winning, the Marquis bet all he could raise for the chestnut to lose. He did so with such brash abandon that he stood to lose more than £120,000 if Hermit did in fact win; an enormous amount in those days. His wife, Florence tried her utmost to prevent him but all to no avail. The Marquis derided Chaplin's entry on all possible occasions and scorned him publicly. It was now common knowledge that he had put his shirt on Hermit losing the race.

A week before the Derby, I have found that Hermit ran in a trial at Newmarket. During the outing he suddenly faltered in his stride and began to choke. Blood streamed out of his nose and red splashes streaked across his chest. The rider quickly brought him to a halt and dismounted. Hermit was somewhat alarmed at what was happening. With a lot of blood still flowing from him, he was gently led back to the stands where his manager, Captain Machell, and Old Bloss the trainer, hurried anxiously over. Hermit was still bleeding as they carefully sponged his nostrils and wiped his mouth clean.

He had broken a blood vessel and it seemed he was destined to be scratched from the Derby race card and might never run again. The big day was a week away. Old Bloss had been sleeping in Hermit's box for some weeks past, having manoeuvred an iron bedstead in to the corner of the stable. Now the old fellow administered even more devotion to the horse. His charge was allowed only a measured amount of hay and was covered with a lightweight blanket. All Chaplin could do was wait and hope.

Hermit was now only in with an outsider's chance of winning the coveted Derby. The Marquis was ecstatic thinking not only of the money he must surely win with his large bets, but how Chaplin would be beaten and humiliated. Hermit was now only a long shot. Chaplin, on the other hand, was forever optimistic with his own wager for Hermit to win.

Derby Day dawned on Wednesday, 22nd May 1867. Chaplin looked from his bedroom window with a heavy heart. When he arrived at the racecourse it was still grey and bitterly cold and unbelievably there was snow lying on the Epsom Downs. As the day wore on, biting winds, sleet and flurries of snow swept across the famous downland. The vast crowds that normally frequented Derby Day were reduced to a handful. There was a brave show of brightly coloured umbrellas on the course and stands. Even the usual unsavoury vagabonds and pickpockets kept a low profile due to the weather.

Hermit was still without a jockey, and at this late stage it seemed rather unlikely that one of experience would be found. At the suggestion of Lord Coventry, a young Newmarket lad, John Daley, was eventually engaged. He was only twenty, and the son of a trainer, but was far from being a fashionable jockey.  Machell instructed him on the tactics he should employ, emphasising that the horse had abundant stamina and a good finishing speed, but should be handled delicately, and if he showed any signs of breaking a blood vessel, he should be pulled-up.  All being well, Machell assured him that Hermit would give of his best. The terms under which Machell engaged Daley were £100 for the ride, £100 if he was placed and £3000 should he win. Daley could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had arrived at Epsom engaged for only one ride, on Baron Rothchild’s filly, Hippia, in the Oaks. But suddenly he found himself in a position that could assure him of financial security for life.

Hermit looked disinterested, listless and lifeless, and it appeared that Epsom was the last place on earth he wished to be.  Old Bloss led him out and he was a wretched sight.  He was the most dejected of the thirty starters for the race as snow and sleet blew across the course.  He started at the ridiculous odds of 1,000-15.  One observer remarked that if Hermit had been for sale at a fairground, he would not have fetched £15.  To compound the anxiety there were ten false starts causing an interminable delays.

Henry Chaplin, tense and strained, watched in the company of his friend from Oxford days, the Prince of Wales. The Marquis surveyed them gleefully from his own private box. He thought that he had beaten Chaplin, and Hermit could not possibly win. His Marchioness shivered and pulled her furs around her ears and prayed the race would soon be over.

At the start Hermit grew more low-spirited when there were ten false starts before the big race was eventually off. The thirty runners streamed out and galloped up the hill towards Tattenham Corner. Hermit suddenly realised that this was a race. He accelerated. It was as if he said, "They won't pass me today". Enthused by the thrill of the event, he had shaken off his lethargy and regained all his strength in an endeavour to beat the rest of the field.

He won by a neck. Chaplin, at the age of twenty-five, was cock-a-hoop to be the owner of a Derby winner before the Marquis. The win brought him well over £100,000. Old Bloss came forward and was obviously gladdened with the race result. He was seen to wipe the tears of emotion from his eyes. Captain Machell smiled with inner satisfaction, as he now knew he would be forever known as the man who had managed Hermit the Derby winner.

The reckless Marquis went deathly pale; he had lost more than he could afford — £120,000 on Hermit owned by his rival, Henry Chaplin. He needed a drink. 

Continue to read about the Winners and Losers in the Hermit saga.