"Yes, sir." The look on McCauley’s face would have been humorous if the situation had been any less grave.
Sheridan’s voice was silken as he went on. "And McCauley?" His adjutant looked up. "I will hold you personally responsible should any more shipments to the 13th or any other regiment under my command contain any substandard products." McCauley looked rather like a startled deer. Perhaps his lucrative case of selective blindness was now a thing of the past.
There was a long silence in the office, and then Sheridan slapped his hands on his thighs. "Gentlemen, I believe there is a contest about to start. Shall we go cheer the men on?"
--*--
As the officers arrived at the main paddock, Major Swallow was posting the official rules and scoring standards for the gymkhana. Each event would have individual winners; the judges for the event, drawn from the officers’ ranks, were also tallying the overall placement of each company. As Charlie had announced, the company with the most total points at the end of the two-day event would take the vanguard; the individual with the most points would be the color bearer. Within the regiment, these positions were the highest honor to which any trooper could aspire. There were also personal rewards for the winners of each event, all designed to help make the life of the winning trooper and his friends a little more pleasant. Hams, small kegs of brandy, fine coffee, tobacco, and a handful of passes to visit home for a week were assembled, ready to reward the winners.
The men had already assembled their teams in the big pasture. They had set the fences and brush jumps for a variety of cross-country races. These first events of the gymkhana were traditional races, each covering between two and three and a half miles, over rolling terrain. There were water hazards for some of the races, created by crossing shallow sections of the stream that ran through the pasture, wood jumps and brush jumps designed to look like the hedges that were common separators between fields.
The men had built some small stands, somewhat protected from the weather and the chill breeze from the north. Each had a few chairs, tables, and a small brazier to provide some warmth. These stands were for the officers and guests. Most of the residents of Culpeper had turned out in their best finery, such as it was, to watch the events. In addition, Sergeant Jamison and his mess crew had put together a small feast, with hot soup, ham and biscuits, coffee, tea, and a small mountain of apples for the men and guests to sample.
The races started with the shorter, easier stretches. The first was two miles, over wooden fences, with no water hazards or blind jumps. The best of the younger horses were being tested, with a fairly large number being fielded. Each company was represented by at least one rider, and in a couple of cases, two. The race went without incident, and the rider from Company A just nosed out one of Company D’s men for first place. A brief hiatus allowed the judges to clear the field and reset the course flags.
The next race was also short –– again only two miles, but over brush jumps designed to look like hedges. This race was also well represented. When jumping over wooden fences, the horses had to clear the fence completely; but when jumping over hedges, the smart horse and rider actually went through the top of the hedge, keeping as low to the ground as possible while still clearing the obstacle. It was always an exciting race, and one with more than a little risk from misjudging the jump. Too high, and you lost ground. Too low and you ran the risk of the horse stumbling and throwing the rider. The young horses being used for this shorter distance were just learning that fine line.
The race was running cleanly until one of the riders from Company C misjudged the second jump. The horse’s back foot dragged through the brush, and he stumbled as he landed, sending his rider directly over the horse’s head. The trooper tucked and rolled, as he had been taught. His mount gathered himself and managed to jump over the fallen rider, then continued to run the race. Several of the race judges ran to check on the fallen rider, who rose, bruised but otherwise unharmed, having only had the breath knocked out of him. Others raced to catch the riderless horse.
The mount was having none of that. He was running with his herd, a young, dominant stallion. Winning the race was as important for the horse as it had been for his rider. He took each jump with ease, gaining on the lead horse steadily. By the time the race was over, the young stallion had outrun every mounted animal in the race and eluded the judges’ attempts to remove him. Riderless, he crossed the finish line first then pranced and kicked his heals in pleasure at his accomplishment. The crowd laughed and cheered at his antics. Unfortunately, without a rider, he was not qualified to win. However, all of the young gallants within the troopers ranks made a mental note to try and claim this fine young fellow as their own regular mount.
The next four races proceeded with minimal incidents and no disastrous injuries. One horse pulled a hock, another bruised her knee from a bad landing, but there were no broken bones. The riders were not quite so lucky, as one rider managed to dislocate his shoulder and another broke a collarbone. Dr. Walker and Samuelson tended to the human casualties, while Tarent and McFarlane managed the equine patients.
A late lunch was enjoyed by all, with a bit of strained socializing between the Culpeper citizens and the officers from both Charlie’s and Sheridan’s commands. Mayor Frazier and General Sheridan retired to a quiet corner where they were seen having a very intense discussion on the condition of the county. Words like "seed stock" and "winter supplies" were heard drifting from their impromptu conference.
Finally, Mayor Frazier stood, the veins in his forehead standing out. "General, how do you expect us to recover? We were a thriving town with over fifteen hundred citizens. Now we are less than one hundred and fifty old men, women, and children with no resources and no hope for the future. Where do you think we will find the means to do anything other than starve, freeze, or rot away this winter?"
Sheridan looked startled. Frazier rejoined Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, who were chatting with Elizabeth and Rebecca. Charlie, dressed in britches, boots, and short tunic because he had been serving as a mounted race judge and was also to ride soon, was quietly tending to the ladies, bringing cups of hot tea for them. Sheridan had started towards what he hoped would be a more accepting group when the next race was announced. He sighed, and made a mental note to discuss the situation with Charlie later.
The seventh race of the day was exciting. Only one entrant from each company was allowed. Each team had put forward their best rider and horse for this demanding course. It had both brush and wood jumps, a water jump, several combination jumps and a blind drop in the three and a half mile span. Because of the difficulty of the course, the company that won would receive double points in the cumulative total and the individual winner would receive a two week pass –– long enough to catch the supply train for a visit back home.
Every rider was keyed up for this critical race. The first start was called back, as one horse had broken early. After some milling around to calm the horses, the flag dropped again.
Nine horses and riders broke cleanly this time. For the first mile, they ran in a tight cluster, with two and three horses running side by side, almost in formation, over the first jumps. As the horses moved through the water jump, one rider’s stirrup leather snapped, startling the horse and nearly dropping the rider. But he hung on manfully, righting himself in the saddle and continuing on.