LEAVE LIVERPOOL
This tale is written for boys, and if the writer knows anything at
all about them they like sunshine as much as he does. That being so,
we will skip, if you please, a certain foggy morning in Liverpool,
when the heavy sky over the Mersey seemed as full of gloom and rain
as men's eyes of tears and sorrow. The great lump in the old
Admiral's throat kept getting up into his mouth in a most confusing
way, and required a good many glasses of something which he never
drank to keep it down. Poor Mrs. Winthrop, strong in a woman's
courage to bear suffering, seemed to be thinking for everyone. There
was no tear of her shedding on her son's check, and her pretty lips
were firm if they were white. 'Don't forget, boys, your father's
last written words--'Bring up my boys as Christians and gentlemen,'
he wrote. You're out of my keeping now, but, whatever your work,
remember you are Winthrops.'
And then the last signal to those aboard sounded, and those who had
only come to say 'good-bye' hurried off the ship. A party of
schoolboys who had come to see a chum leave for the great North-West
struck up 'For he's a jolly good fellow' as the steamer left her
moorings, and, carried off their balance by the heartiness of the
chorus, the Admiral himself and everyone not absolutely buried in
pocket-handkerchiefs took up the refrain. The last the boys could
remember of England was that busy, dirty pier, a crowd waving adieus,
and the dear faces of mother and uncle with a smile on them, in which
hope and love had for the moment got the better of sorrow.
And then they were out on the broad bosom of old Ocean, with
limitless stretches of green waves all round, and all life in front
of them. As the ship sped on, the air seemed to grow clearer and
more buoyant, the possibilities of the future greater, and success a
certainty. Everyone on board seemed full of feverish energy. If
they talked of speculations or business they talked in millions, not
in sober hundreds, and before they were half across the Atlantic the
boys were beginning to almost despise those who stayed behind in slow
and sober England--all except Snap, at least, who annoyed them all by
his oft-repeated argument, 'If it is so good over there, why do any
of these fellows come back?'
The voyage itself was an uneventful one; that is to say, no one fell
overboard, no shipwreck occurred, and, thanks to the daily cricket
match with a ball of twine attached to fifty yards of string, the
Atlantic was crossed almost before our friends had time to realise
that they had left England.
On landing, the two Winthrops had to make their way to the ranche of
a Mr. Jonathan Brown in Kansas County, to whom the Admiral had sent
something like 300_l._ as premium for the two boys. For this they
were promised 'all home comforts, and a thoroughly practical
education in cattle-ranching and mixed farming, together with the
benefit of Mr. Brown's experience in purchasing a small place for
themselves at the end of their educational period.' Snap, not having
money to waste, or faith in 'ranching and mixed farming,' was to
proceed further west and try to find employment along the new line
until he could obtain day labourer's work on a ranche. The Admiral
had insisted on paying the railway fare for the three of them, and,
contrary to his custom, had paid first-class fare, arguing that thus
they might possibly make a useful friend on the way, and at any rate
sleep soft and warm until the moment came for the final plunge.
So the boys entered upon their first overland stage together, gazing
with big eyes of wonder at the fairy land which seemed to slip so
noiselessly past their carriage windows. It was almost as if the dry
land had taken the characteristics of the ocean, all was so big, so
boundless, around them. First there seemed to come a belt of great
timber near the sea; then they passed through that and came into an
ocean of yellow corn, of which from the windows of the train they
could not see the shore. Most of the time the lads sat in the
smoking-car, not because they smoked, but because the smokers were
friendly and told such marvellous yarns and amused them.
On the third day there was an addition to the little party in the
smoking-saloon, a very 'high-toned' person in a chimney-pot hat and
gloves. This gentleman was a great talker, and, having tried in vain
to got up an argument on the merits of some politician, whom he
called a 'leather-head' and a 'log-roller,' with the big-bearded man
or his two hard-bitten companions, who until then had shared the room
with the boys, the new-comer expectorated politely on either side of
Snap's feet, evidently enjoying the boy's look of annoyance, and then
opened fire on him thus:
'Say! I guess you're a Britisher now, ain't you?'
'I am, sir,' answered Snap with a good-tempered smile.
'Getting pretty well starved out over there, I reckon, by this time?'
'Well, no! we haven't had to take to tobacco-chewing to stop our
hunger, yet,' replied Snap, with a wink at Winthrop.
'Wal,' retorted the Yankee, 'you look mighty lean, fix it how you
will. If it's all so bully in England, why do you come over here?'
This the Yankee seemed to think a clincher, but Snap was ready for
him.
'Well, you see, sir, we are only following the examples of our
forefathers, who came over and made America, and founded the race you
are so justly proud of.'
'Founded the race! fiddlesticks! The American race, sir, just grew
out of the illimitable prairie, started, maybe, by a few of the best
of every nation, but with a character of its own, and I guess the
whole universe knows now that our Republic can lick creation, as it
licked you Britishers in 1781. Perhaps you'll tell me we didn't do
that?'
By this time the other occupants of the carriage were all watching
Snap Hales and the top-hatted one, a curled and smooth-looking fellow
('oily,' perhaps, would describe him better than smooth) of thirty or
so. The Yankee cattle-men were looking on with a grin at seeing the
English boy's 'leg pulled' as they called it--the other two English
boys in blank amazement at the quiet good-temper of fiery Snap Hales,
under an ordeal of chaff from a perfect stranger. Could it be that
the sight of that ugly little revolver, which the stranger had
exhibited more than once, had cowed their chum already? Whatever the
reason, Snap's unexpected answer came in his sweetest tones.
'Oh no, I'll not deny that; it's historical, and, besides, it served
us right. We didn't recognise that a big son we ought to have been
proud of had grown up.'
'Oh, then, you'll allow we licked you at Sarytogy and Yorktown?'
'Yes, certainly.'
'And perhaps you'll allow that if you tried it on again we'd lick you
again?' persisted poor Snap's enemy, whilst the glance Snap gave
Frank could hardly keep that indignant Briton quiet on his seat.
'Yes, I'll allow that too, if we came to invade your big country at
home with a mere handful of men of the same breed from over the seas.'
Somehow, Snap's quiet way was rousing the American's temper, and he
retorted hotly: 'That's the way you talk, is it; and I tell you, and
you'll have to allow, that, man to man, an American citizen can
always whip a blooming Britisher.'
Snap gave an actual sigh of relief, or so it seemed to the boys, and
his eyes lit up with a glad light, that those who know the breed
don't always like to see. He had done his duty; had kept his temper
as long as he could be expected to; and now he might fairly follow
his natural instincts. Still quite cool, although his knees were
almost knocking together with eagerness, which others might have
mistaken for funk, the boy took up the challenge.
'Are you a good specimen, sir, of an American citizen?' The man
looked puzzled, but replied, unabashed:
'Wal, as citizens come, I guess I'm a pretty average sample.'
'I'm sorry for that, sir,' answered Snap, 'as I'm only a very poor
specimen of those Britishers of whom you speak so politely; but I'll
tell you what I'll do. I never fired a revolver in my life, but you
said just now that Heenan had whipped all England with his fists, and
America could lick the old country at that as she can at everything
else. Well! we stop at Bismarch for twenty minutes soon, I see. It
isn't time for lunch yet, so, if you'll give your revolver to that
gentleman to hold, I'll fight you five rounds, if I can last as long,
and these gentlemen shall see fair play. Only, if you lick me, mind
I am not a typical Britisher.'
The American looked from one to another in an uncomfortable,
hesitating way, and then at the long, slight, boyish figure before
him. He had gone too far to draw back--he was three stone heavier
than his young adversary--so with a blasphemous oath he handed the
derringer to his bearded fellow-countryman, adding:
'It don't seem hardly fair, but, if you will have the starch taken
out of you, you shall.'
As the pistol-holder left the smoking-room to put the property with
which he had been entrusted into his valise he gave Frank Winthrop a
sign to follow him. When he and the boy were alone he turned quietly
round and said:
'Can your pal fight?'
'Like a demon,' answered Frank; 'he was nearly cock of our school,
young as he was.'
'All right, then, I'll not interfere. He is a good plucked one, but
tell him to keep out of the man's reach for the first round or two.
I don't suppose he has much science, but one blow from a man so much
bigger would about finish your friend.'
'I don't believe it,' answered Frank hotly; but the kindly cattle-man
only smiled, and, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, led him
back into the smoking-car.
In another ten minutes the warning-bell on the engine began to toll,
and the train ran through a street of rough wooden shanties and
pulled up just outside the 'city' (a score of houses sometimes make a
city out west), by a little prairie lake. In such a city as
Bismarch, in the early days of which I am speaking, even half a dozen
pistol shots would not have attracted a policeman, principally
because no policemen existed. Sometimes a scoundrel became too
daring in his villainies even for such tolerant people as the
citizens of Bismarch. When this happened someone shot him, though
probably he shot several other people first. At the back of the
little group of shanties there used to be a long row of palings about
eight feet high. 'Hangman's palings' they called these, because upon
them, for want of trees, the first vigilance committee had nine
months previously (the 'city' was only fifteen months old) hanged its
first batch of victims to the necessities of civilised law and order.
In such a city as this a quiet spar would cause no sensation, and
certainly would not be interrupted, so Snap quickly stripped, as if
he was behind the old School chapel, and Mr. Rufus E. Hackett, his
opponent, did the same. Stripped of gloves and hat, Hackett looked
less at his ease than his young enemy, and would probably be still
waiting to begin if the boy had not stepped in and caught him on the
point of the nose with a really straight left-hander.
Now, the writer of this story has been hit very frequently upon the
nose. After years and years of practice the sensation is still
annoying in the extreme. Your eyes fill with water as if you had
inadvertently bolted the mustard-pot; the constellations of heaven
are seen with alarming clearness; and if you are one of the right
sort you come back after that blow like a racquet-ball from the walls
of the court. If this is the effect on a nose inured to the rough
usage of five-and-twenty years, what must you expect from the owner
of a delicately tip-tilted organ, which had been held all its life
high above the brutalities of a vulgar world?
Like a wounded buffalo, with his head down and blind with rage, the
Yankee went for Snap, and, in spite of a well-meant upper cut from
that youngster, managed to close with him, and by sheer weight bore
him to the ground. There Snap was helpless, and before the big
cattle-man could interfere the boy had a couple of lumps on his face,
which bore witness to the good-will with which Mr. Hackett had used
his beringed fists. But for Snap himself, Mr. Rufus E. H. would
there and then have received a sound hiding from the cattle-man, but,
though somewhat unsteady on his feet, Snap pleaded that he might have
his man left to himself.
Again Hackett tried the rushing game, this time only to meet the
boy's left and then blunder over his own legs on to his nose. As the
fight went on, Snap recovered from his heavy punishment. Quick as a
cat on his feet, he never again let the big man close with him.
Every time he stirred to strike, Snap's left hand went out like an
arrow from the bow, true to its mark, on one or other of Hackett's
eyes. Not once did the boy use his right--that quick-countering left
was all that seemed necessary; and, though the American was more game
than his appearance would have led his friends to believe, it was
evident before the end of the third round that he was at the boy's
mercy. From that moment Snap held his hand, simply taking care of
himself and getting out of his enemy's way, and carefully abstaining
from administering that brutal _coup de grâce_ which a less generous
nature would have inflicted.
'Say, mate,' quoth one of the cowboys who was Hackett's second, 'it's
not much use foolin' around here, is it? You can't see the
Britisher, and he don't seem to cotton to hitting a blind man. Let's
have a drink and be friends.'
Almost before he could answer, Snap had the fellow by the hand with a
hearty English grip.
'You'll allow we're the same breed now, Mr. Hackett, won't you?' he
said. 'It wasn't really a fair fight, you know, because I've learnt
boxing, and you haven't.'
In spite of a bumptiousness which acts on a Britisher like a gadfly
on a horse, your real American is a right good fellow at bottom; and
for the rest of the two days during which Hackett and Snap travelled
together nothing could exceed the kindness of the beaten man and his
fellow-countrymen to the three English lads.
'He isn't much account,' apologised one of the cattle-men, 'just a
school-teaching dude from the Eastern States, I reckon; but you
mustn't bear him any malice for hitting you when you were down; there
ain't any Queensberry rules out here in a row, and it's no good
appealing to the referee on a Western prairie.'
Snap had no intention of bearing malice, nor, indeed, of fighting any
more fights, either according to Queensberry rules or the
rough-and-tumble rules of the prairie, if he could avoid it, though
this one fight was for him an exceedingly lucky event.
Soon after leaving the scene of his encounter the train pulled up at
Wapiti, and was met by a man in the roughest of clothes, driving the
rudest of carts. He had come for the 'farm pups' from England, he
said, and if they weren't blamed quick with their luggage he was not
going to wait for them. An offhand sort of person, thought Snap,
but, no doubt, when his master, Mr. Jonathan Brown, is near, he will
be a good deal more civil. It was not until months later that Snap
learnt that this dirty rough, a common farm-labourer in all but his
ignorance of farming, was Mr. Jonathan Brown, 'professor of ranching
and mixed farming in all its branches.'
When Frank and Towzer had vanished out of sight Snap turned from the
window with a sigh, and found the good-natured eyes of the bearded
cattleman fixed inquiringly upon him.
'So you are not going to learn farming, my lad?' he inquired.
'Not with my friends, I can't afford it,' answered Snap.
'Don't think me rude, but what are you going to do?'
'Try to get work at Looloo, on the line, until I can find out how to
get paid work as a cowboy up country.'
'Have you any money to keep you from starving till you get work?'
asked the American.
'A little; but I mean to earn my food from the start if I can.'
'Well, you've the right sort of grit, my lad,' replied the
cattle-man, 'and you're 200_l._ richer than your friends now, poor as
you are, for they have thrown their premium clean away. Look here,
my name is Nares, and I own the Rosebud ranche in Idaho. I like the
look of you, lad, and I'll give you labourer's wages if you can earn
them, and grub anyway, if you like to try.'
'Like to try?' of course Snap liked to try. It was just a fortune to
him, and he said so.
'But,' added his friend, 'when you write home tell your friends not
to fool away premiums, but to give a lad enough to live on for the
first six months, whilst he is looking for work. You would, maybe,
have got nothing to do at Looloo for long enough.'