THE VOYAGE.
Browning and Sedgwick reached New York and took passage on the first
outgoing Cunarder. When the ship steamed out of the harbor, it entered at
once into a lively sea, and the great craft grew strangely unsteady.
Browning was a good sailor, but Sedgwick found it was all he could do to
maintain his equanimity. "Jack," he said at last, "this is worse exercise
then riding a Texas steer." "Did you ever ride a Texas steer?" asked
Browning. "Indeed I have," said Sedgwick. "The cowboys have a game
of that kind. When a lot of steers are corraled, they climb up on the
cross-bar over the gate; the gate is opened, the steers are turned out
with a rush, and the science is to drop from the cross-bar upon a steer
and ride him. If you miss, you are liable to be trodden to death. If you
strike fairly, then the trick is to see how long you can hold on. It is
rough exercise, but I believe it is preferable to this perpetual rising,
falling and rolling. The infernal thing seems to work like an Ingersoll
drill. It turns a quarter of a circle on one's stomach with every blow it
strikes."
They had sailed into an expiring storm that was fast losing its strength;
the waves were breaking down, and by the time night came on the ship was
running nearly on an even keel, only gently rolling as it swept
magnificently on its voyage.
The two miners walked the deck, or sat by the rail, until far into the
night, admiring the glorified structure on which they rode; watching the
stars and the sea, and saw with other things the beautiful spectacle of
another ship as grand as their own, that swept close by them on its way
to New York. Its whole 500 feet of length was a blaze of light, and as
the Titans whistled hoarsely to each other a greeting without abating
their speed, it seemed to the two landsmen as though two stars had met in
space, saluted and passed on, each in its own sublime orbit.
Sedgwick and Browning soon made the acquaintance of several passengers.
A day or two later an animated conversation sprang up in the smoking
room. An American was declaring that his country was the greatest on
earth because it could feed the world from its mighty food area.
An Englishman disputed the claim, because the profits of the
manufacturers of little England were more than all the profits from
all the lands of the United States.
A Frenchman claimed the palm for France, because in France the people
were artists; from a little basis, from material well-nigh worthless in
itself, the Frenchman could, by infusing French brain into it, create a
thing of beauty for which the world was glad to exchange gold and gems.
Then Browning said: "You are all right, looking from a present horizon;
all wrong, when the years are taken into account. The great country of
the world is to be the country that produces the metals in the greatest
quantity and variety, and whose people acquire the art of turning them to
the best account. This ship that we are on, a few months ago, was but
unsightly ore in the ground. Look at it now! Tried by fire and fused with
labor, it has grown into this marvelous structure. England's greatness
and wealth are due, primarily, all to her mining. Her civilization can be
measured by her progress in reducing metals. She will begin to fall
behind soon, for America has, in addition to such mines as England
possesses, endless mines of gold and silver, and, after all, the precious
metals rule the nations and measure their civilization. It has always
been so and always will be. Those mines in America will build up greater
manufactures than England possesses; they will create artists more
skilled than even beautiful France can boast of. A hundred years hence,
all other nations will be second-class by comparison."
The next day the conversation was resumed and carried on with much
spirit, until Sedgwick, who had been reading through it all, laid down
his book, and in a brief pause of the talk said:
"Neither fruitful fields, rich mines, nor skilled artisans, nor all
combined, are enough to make great nations. A hundred nations existed
when Rome was founded. They had as fair prospects as did Rome, but ninety
of the hundred are forgotten; the other ten are remembered but as
inferior nations. It was the stock of men and women that made Rome's
grandeur and terror. For five hundred years an unfaithful wife was never
known in Rome. The result was Rome had to be great and grand.
"I stood once on the crest of the Rocky Mountains in Montana. Near
together were two springs, out of each of which the water flowed away
in a creek. One follows the mountains down to the eastward, the other
to the west. One finds its final home in the Gulf of Mexico, the other
in the Pacific. The one takes on other streams, its volume steadily
swells; before it flows far its channel is hewed through fertile fields;
gaining in power, the argosies of commerce find a home upon its broad
bosom, and it is a recognized power in the world, a mighty factor in the
calculations of merchants and shippers.
"But in the meantime it becomes tainted, until at last when it finds its
grave in the Gulf, so foul are its waters that they discolor for miles
the deep blue of the sea.
"The other starts with a babble as joyous as the carols of childhood;
when it reaches the valley it begins its struggle through a lava-blasted
desert; when the desert is passed, it has to grind its channel through
rugged mountains that tear its waters into foam, and at last in mighty
throes, on the stormy bar it finds its grave in the roaring ocean. Its
existence is one long, mighty struggle; there are awful chasms in its
path into which it is hurled; the thirsty desert encroaches upon its
current; mountains block its way; at the very last furious seas seek to
beat it back, but to the end it holds itself pure as when it starts on
its way from the mountain spring.
"These rivers are typical of men and of nations. Some meet no
obstruction; they glide on, gaining in wealth and power; at last, they
become in one way a blessing, in another a terror; but in the meantime,
they grow corrupt because of the world's contact; and so pass, gross and
discolored, into eternity.
"Others have lives that are one long struggle unheard-of obstacles are
ever rising in their paths, but they fight on and on, and when at last
their course is run, those who trace them through their careers, with
uncovered heads are bound to say that they kept their integrity to the
last, and that all the world's discouragements could not disarm their
power, break their courage, or dim the clear mirror of their purity."
Sedgwick ceased speaking, but after a moment, looking up, he added: "Not
very far from the sources of these two streams, there is another fountain
in the hills, out of which flows another stream as large and fair as
either of the others. It, too, goes tumbling down the mountain gorge,
increasing in volume, until it strikes the valley, then grows less and
less in size, until a few miles below it disappears in the sands.
"This, too, is typical of men and nations. They begin life buoyant and
brave; they rush on exultingly at first, but the quicksands of vice or
crime or disease are before them, and they sink and leave no name.
"The man or nation that is to be great must be born great. Those who
succeed are those who are guided into channels which make success
possible.
"The strength of the modern world rests on the modern home. That did not
come of rich mines or fields, but of the sovereign genius of the men of
northern Europe; and the glory was worked out amid poverty, hardships and
sorrows."
But the voyage was over at last, and the two miners hastened to take the
train for the home of Browning in Devonshire. They arrived at the village
at midnight and went to a hotel, or, as Sedgwick said: "This, Jack, is
han Hinglish Hinn, is it?"
Next day was Sunday and Browning was up early. He said to Sedgwick: "Wait
until I go and prospect the croppings about here a little. It is a good
while since I was on this lead, and I want to see how it has been worked
since I went away."
He came back in half an hour a good deal worked up. "Do you know, Jim,"
he said, "by Jove, they are all gone! That old step-father has 'gone
pards with old Jenvie, and they have all moved to London, and are running
a banking and brokerage establishment. I have their address and we will
chase them up to-morrow, but I do not like the look of things at all.
Why, Rose Jenvie in one season in London would blossom out and shine like
a gold bar."
"Stuff," answered Sedgwick. "In Texas we always noticed that if we ever
turned out a blood mare she was sure to pick up the sorriest old mustang
on the range for a running mate. Your Rose would be more apt to pick up a
husband here than in London for the first two or three years she might be
there."
Said Browning: "I say, Jim, did you mean that mustang story to go for an
excuse for Miss Rose calling me 'Jack?'"
"O, no!" said Sedgwick, "when she called you Jack, she was just a silly
colt that could not discriminate."
"I see," said Browning, "but I say, Jim, you ought to have been here
then. By Jove, she might have even fancied you."
"Don't you dare to talk that way," said Sedgwick, "or I will try to cut
you out when we see her, unless, as is quite possible, she has already
been some happy man's wife for two or three years."
"Jim, I say, stop that!" said Browning. "It will be time to face that
infernal possibility when I cannot help it. Bless my soul, but the
thought of it makes me sea-sick."
They breakfasted together, and were smoking their after-breakfast
cigars--Nevada-like--when the church bells began to ring.
"When did you attend church last, Browning?" asked Sedgwick.
"I have been a good deal remiss in that," was the reply.
"Suppose we go. It will be a novelty, and you will see more friends there
than in any other place."
"A good thought, old boy," said Browning, "and we shall have time only to
dress."
A few minutes later they emerged from the hotel, and proceeded to the old
church that Browning had attended during all his childhood.
Queerly enough, the sermon was on the return of the Prodigal Son. The
good clergyman dilated on his theme. He told what a tough citizen the
Prodigal Son was in his youth, how he was given to boating and
steeple-chasing, and staying out nights and worrying the old father,
until finally he ran away. "Photographing you, Jack," whispered Sedgwick.
When he came to the part where the Prodigal ate the husks, Sedgwick
whispered again: "He means the hash in that restaurant on the Divide,
Jack."
Then the picture of the joy of the father on the return of this son, and
the moral which the parable teaches, were graphically given. At last the
service was over, and as the congregation filed out there was a general
rush for Browning, for the whole congregation recognized him, though the
almost beardless boy that went away had returned in the full flush of
manhood. He was overwhelmed with greetings and congratulations over his
safe return, and as Sedgwick was introduced as Browning's friend the
welcomes to him were most cordial, though there was many a glance at the
fashionably-cut clothing of the young men.
The people were all in Sunday attire, many of the ladies wearing gay
colors. The day was warm and sunny and they lingered on the green,
talking joyously, when suddenly a cry of terror arose, and looking, the
young men saw a two-year old Hereford bull coming at full speed at the
crowd, and with the evident intention of charging direct into it. Every
one was paralyzed; that is, all but one. That one was Sedgwick. Near him
was a woman who had a long red scarf doubled and flung carelessly over
her shoulder. In an instant Sedgwick had thrown off his coat, snatched
the scarf from the woman and dashed out of the crowd directly toward the
coming terror. He shouted and shook the scarf, and the bull, seeing it,
rushed directly for it. As he struck the scarf, like a flash Sedgwick
caught the ring in the bull's nose with his left hand, the left horn in
his right hand, and twisting the ring and giving a mighty wrench on the
horn, both man and bull went prone upon the turf. But the man was above
and the bull below, and clinging to ring and horn and with knee on the
bull's throat, Sedgwick bent all his might upon the brute's head and held
him down.
Browning was at his side in a moment, and at Sedgwick's muffled cry to
tie his forelegs, Browning seized the scarf, lashed the bull's legs
together, and then both men arose.
Securing his coat quickly, Sedgwick seized Browning's arm, and said, "Let
us get out of this, old man. You told me this was a bully place, but I
did not look for it quite in that form."
"Where did you learn that trick?" asked Browning.
"In Texas," said Sedgwick. "It is a game we play with yearlings there,
but we never try it on an old stager, because, you see, if one should
fall he would be in the sump, or in a drift where the air would be bad in
a minute. That was a big fellow, but he had a ring in his nose, which
made me the more sure of him, and then you see there was nothing else to
do. I will go to no more churches in England with you without carrying a
lariat and revolver."
"It was a good job, Jack," said Browning; "by Jove, it was. I am sorry it
happened, but I am glad you did it. I don't believe I could have managed
it any better myself."
The feat was the talk of the town, and it grew in size with every
repetition, and in the next day's paper it was magnified beyond all
proportions. Fortunately, the printers got both the names of Browning
and Sedgwick spelled wrong, which was all the comfort the young men had
out of it.
On Monday morning the friends went out in the country and looked over the
estate that Browning had been hoping to make money enough to purchase.
Browning explained his plans for improving it, and the address of the
owner in London was obtained.
In the evening they took the train for London. The landlord had had a
great night and day because of callers on Browning and his friend, and
would take nothing of his guests except a five-pound note to hand to the
woman from whose shoulder Sedgwick had caught the scarf.