Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 18 (3/3) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3.

'Bloody think so, too.' The older sailor looked relieved. Later that day the funeral took place. Everybody was on deck dressed in sombre finery to show their final respects to a good friend. My people were hardly recognisable under the special dark paint reserved for such occasions. The cowboy band played sad music, which reminded me of the dirges we were forced to sing during orphanage morning assemblies and in church on Sundays. Old Charlie's body had been moved to the edge of the deck and weights added to him. He was ready to be despatched into the deep through a temporary space created by removing some of the ship's side rails.

Bill appeared looking drained. Miss Arta was holding his arm. Her eyes and cheeks were red. She too had lost a special member of her family. Nate Salsbury looked even more sober than usual, no longer recognisable as the man who clowned around on this same deck little more than forty-eight hours earlier. When they reached Old Charlie's body the band stopped playing and a hush fell over the crowd. The only sound was the lapping of the ocean and the rattle of the rigging in the breeze.

After a few moments of reflection Bill cleared his throat. At first, his words were formed with difficulty. 'Old fellow, your journeys are over. Here in the ocean you must rest. Would that I could take you back and lay you down beneath the billows of that prairie you and I have loved so well and roamed so freely, but it cannot be …' There was a catch in his throat when he said those last words. Perhaps he was remembering the time when, for a wager of $500, Old Charlie carried him for more than one hundred miles across the prairie in nine hours and forty-five minutes. The bet was won with fifteen minutes to spare. How meaningless such a contest must have felt at this moment.

Bill continued his eulogy.

'How often at break of day, the glorious sun on the horizon has found us far from human habitation! Yet, obedient to my call, gladly you bore your burden on, little heeding what the day might bring, so that you and I but shared its sorrows. You have never failed me. Ah, Charlie, old fellow, I have had many friends, but few of whom I could say that.' He paused again for a moment, clearly reflecting on his prepared words. Miss Arta's hand gripped his elbow to steady him. It looked as though he couldn't continue, but a few deep breaths of Atlantic air gave him the strength to go on.

'Rest entombed in the deep bosom of the ocean. I'll never forget you. I loved you as you loved me, my dear old Charlie.' A note of anger appeared in his voice. 'Men tell me that you have no soul, but if there be a heaven and scouts can enter there, I'll wait at the gate for you, old friend.'

There may have been further prepared words but there were no more Bill could bring himself to utter. He looked down on the large mound hidden beneath Old Glory. Was it really his best friend lying there? For a moment there was a look of incomprehension in his eyes, until reality intervened and he nodded towards the two pairs of cowboys standing on each side of the corpse. The cowboy band struck up the chords of Auld Lang Syne and the burial party lifted up the board placed beneath the body. It slid almost without a sound into the waves below.

Bill returned in the direction of his saloon. He was leaning heavily on his daughter's arm. I felt a tear rolling down my cheek, but who was it for?

Copyright © Frank Beill 2006

Continued.. Part 1, Chapter 19

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