SPORT THE WORLD OVER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2719, 25 April 1906, Page 73

SPORT THE WORLD OVER.

Bx F. DA. G. De L'lslb.

Author o£ "Tales of Sahib Land," "Tales o! .the 28th 8.3J./' "Tales of a Turf Detective," "Sport the World Over," etc. (All Rights Reserved.)

THE BABE. „ (For the Witness.) We called him the Babe, because he looked like one. Nobody could study . Dick Marchmount without coming to the that he was young for his years. He was round and "rosy, with a complexion like a 16-year-old girl. His fair, curly hair and clear blue'eyee were those of a doll. His - hands _.vere white, small, and shapely, and .he was plump aIL over. He told ns, when -; Be first, came ,on to the run, that he -was ~- 20 -years bide He was fearfully new-cham - at 'everything in the bitsh, hut,' with his bright,. ■ disposition-, and. cheery good .:humGtrr,v he. ,-made friends " all the „ hands, >an<l established/ himself ' a prime >faV*?nrit&;"-"* Even f Rogers, the hairy bully "of ' oufi camp,- .who 'was always practising 'practical jokes -on the visitors and new- „ comers to the ..Scotia rurf, felt himself compelled to let the Babe down lightly. Rogers ■ tried the common buck- jumping trick with Marchmount, but the Babe, after being slung as high as a balloon, picked himself up, dusted his clothss, sucked the gravel rash on his hands, and laughed long and heartily"* over his discomfiture. .He went through the trials of a.-rsew chum with such good temper and good humour over his mistakes and discomfitures that we all sympathised with -him, and" helped him a great deal more than was usual with new chums to conquer Jiis. difficulties and become an expert and handy bushman. He was quick at learning, and we were all glad to note " that "the Babe never required to be told -twice about anything. In about six months be knew as much about sheep cs most of us, and with the Hereford stock cattle he soon .grew familiar. The Scotia was. a big run, 'way, back in the west qf^New South Wales, and it wag* hea-vily stocked .with merino and crossbred sheep, and a, fine breed of Heret iord. cattle. The • Biabe was- an, orphan, .city -bred/ born in " Sydney, educated j»t college there^and beyond a 'short trip .to ' Melbourne, had never been away ' from - his i native" town,, until he got a, billet on - the' Scotia: run, "and-" joined, us as a boundary .rider. The overseer of Scotia was ' a friend of the Babe's pe.ople in Sydney, - .or jjqme -sort of. distant rela'tion-r-we didn't 1 -~quite j knpw,T-and to oblige them he had given the" Babe a billet, so as to afford him a. chance to learn something of squatting and farming. His^relativcs in Sydney were a widowed aunt, her spinster "sister, and a 17-year-old daughter. These three- members of the weaker sex had had the moulding of the Babe's character and life for some 12 years, the Babe being left fatherless and motherless when "barely eight years old. They in,ade a man of him, anyway, for he had a largo heart and a clean soul, and we quickly discovered tht he was true, straight, and honourable, and the most chivalrous of gentlemen. His manners were delightful, and afforded us in our rough bush ways the very greatest gratification. It was, to the majority of us, a reminiscence of our own childhood days in the • dear old home, when we sat at our mother's feet, and gathered words of courage and manners of manliness from the stern, though loving parent whom we called father. We had all grown rough and ready in the bush, and our manners would not have passed with credit, in a Potts Point drawing room. Therefore it was all the more refreshing' to hear the Babe say "Please" at meals and in the barracks j and his apologies, when in error, were delightful, and welcome to our roughened senses. He was willing and hard-working, and ' rapidly becama a favpurite with our overseer, who was a -just man, and ever ready to reward a .good, worker- There was one inestimable < charm about the Babe that attracted us "all. One could so thoroughly depend . uppn his, word. A lie - and the Babe's soul could nevor have been acquainted. "His word was his bond, and that bond was as" true" as' the sun shining in tho heavens. - He was very modest too, and it was a long time indeed before we found out his accomplishments. It was some six months after he had been at Scotia that the big flood occurred. Weeks of incessant rain caused the Bogan River to rise and flood the district. We were camped on the Twenty-mile Creek ; it wag* the mustering and branding season. The wet weather had kept us idle for many days, and our tent on the creek bank became so • wet and cold that Hfe was a misery to^us. One night the flood came down the creek, a banker, roaring and rushing .along like a cataract. We ihad no time to gather up anything. Carrying our saddles and bridles, we rushed out of the tent and made for the high ground. But Maclellan, our assistant overseer, an old man of nearly 60, got caught by the flood, and was swept off •his feet and down stream in no time. Before we had time to think the Babe flnng his gear down, and took A -flying -3»eader into «th e flood. Nxt mornfng we found him and Maclellan safe, three miles down the creek, camped at the foot of th& ridge, cold and' nungry. What Maclellan told vs proved to us that in the "Babe we had a determined, powerful, and finished swimmer, who was like a fish _in r ihe" roughest of waters. He wouldn't allow us to make a fuss over his saving of Maclellan's life, and no one at headjguarters would have known anything About' " it if Maclellan himself had not -jpoken of it : when we returned to the jtAtioru." ,

Some six* weeks after that the Babe paralysed us by coming out in the role of strong man We never dreamt for a moment that he was a lad of enormous strength, though we had often seen him stripped whea he was fiddling about iriih Indian clubs, dumb-bells, and a Sandow machine in his own quarters in the men's barracks. But he opened our eyes that particular day. We had mustered some two hundred head of bullocks into the stockyard on the Twenty-mile Creek, and ws were drafting out the young ones for branding. They were pretty wild, for they came from the very outskirts of the run, and were not much accustomed to being handled. There were some fifty jumbucks amongst them, a cross breed of th« station Hereford pedigree stock, and some old halfbred Holstein -cattle that had roamed' the ranges for years. These beggars were nasty in their tempers, and thought nothing of rushing men in the yards. They were long-horned- and dangerous, and after some of us had been nearly gored one huge beast caught Bill I Davis, and fairly lifted him over the stock- j 3-ard fence. This made the men shy, and thej- continued drafting from outside. By mounting the stockyard' fence they could draft out the, unbranded cattle through a crush to v the branding yards *by the aid of long sticks and stock whips. We got them j all drafted, except one stubborn young bull j that would not' face the crush. No matter ! how he got banged, and bashed, and cut I about, he- would not go through the crush, j So somebody had; to go into the yard. As soon as that was agreed three of us jumped into the yard and started on the jumbuck. Joe Green caught him a stinging crack on th^ muzzle with his stock whip, and in two seconds the bull had charged him over and was turning to gore him. Like a flash, the Ba.be dropped from the top of the fence, right in front of the beasl, and grabbing him by his two horn's, twist-ed his head round, and turned, him clean over on bis back. We got Joe Green up and out of the. yard before the Bobe let go ; then he hopped to the fence and vaulted over without a scratch on him. It was a splendid thing to do ; and seasoned old cattlemen as we were, we could not help being surprised at the Babe's strength and courage. That was No. 2 accomplishment of his that we discovered. But his crowning glory was to come later on. The Babe had first* joined iis immediately after the shearing on Scotia was over, and he had been working a full year on the run when the .next shearing came on. There were sixty- ; eight stands in the Scotia shed, and we had shearers from all over Australia, Tasmania, and New 'Zealand, working at the shearing. There were some old ringers who had shorn at Scotia for ten year? and upwards, -regularly every year, and when they gfit their cheques they would bespeak the same stand for the following year, and turn up without fail to their contract. The head man of the shearers at Scotia shed was a half-caste Maori, who had held the tally for seven years on end without defeat. He was a ring-tailed "snorter," and the overseer thought v the world of him. He was ] th^ recognised" ruler of the shed, and few men disputed him. As a rule, fights for the leadership of the shed are frequent during shearing, but the Maori half-caste was a big man. and a champion shearer, and very few cared to give him a go for the j place of boss of the shed. But in the Babe's first shearing season a flash Sydneysider got a stand at Scotia, and he started to make things hum from the very first day of shearing. He was of medium height and middle weight, but a downright flash rort. His language was disgusting and his temper beastly. Everybody in the shed 1 got some j of his tongue. On* the first day he fired a pie of dry hash at the cook's head, and to!d him not to put any more muck like J that on the shearers' table. One of the regular shearers asked him if he wanted asparagus and venison out of season, and got promptly bashed in the mouth with a pannikin of tea. On the second day, Healy, an Irishman, hot-headed and fiery, had a go at the flash man in the dinner hour. The i Sydney shearer crawled all over him, and after three rounds Healy was glad to "peek." Our boss was over 'the board, but he said nothing so long as Sullivan, the Sydney -aider, did his work all right. A long experience had taught him not to interfere until it was absolutely necessary. But nothing seemed to suit the flash man, and as scon as he found out that the Maori half-caste held the position of boss of the shed he made a dead set at 1 im. First he tried to shear him sheep for sheep, but at that he had no chance: the Maori could give him one sheep start in sic and lose him. Then Sullivan commenced with his tongue, and every now anJ then we would hear him sing out : "Boy ! Take the tarpot to the Dago !"' or "Tarpot ! The Dago's cutf'n* the old yo-we's throat !" and so on. ! He kept girding at the half-caste all day j long. The next day the Maori, who had j stood it all quietly enough, told Sullivan to shut hie mouth* and attend to his own shearing. "You can't shut my mouth, you .'" i answered Sullivan. j At dinner time he poked his finger in thj Maori's face ar>d invited him to have a try at shutting his (Sullivan's) mouth. There was a fight. The Maori fought ganielv and doggedly, but without science. Sullivan ba&hed 1 and banged him all over the place. He could use his hands well, and he gave the Maori a tremendous hiding. In the afternoon he informed the shed that he was going to be boss there, and anyone who didn't like it could have a j fry for* it. We all felt sorry for this The shed had always been erderly and decent under ths command, of the halfcaste, and we guessed that under the flash Sydney shearer alt the worst points of the men would come to the surface. No other shearer appeared anxious to tackle Sullivan, who informed us. for our benefit, that he had appeared in the prize ring in SydB«y A and that his name as a fighter was

well known at Larrv Foley's and the : Golden Gate Athletic *Club. ! All the stockmen were kept >busy mustering and drafting sheep into the" shearing pens, and it was the Babe who incurred the wrath of Mr Sullivan one day, owing to his being a minute or two late in filling the shearer's empty pen. The man greeted the astonished Babe with such a torrent of filthy abuse that the lad stood almost paralysed. When he recovered he just gave the shearer one clear, searching look all over, as if to say "I'll know you a-^ain," then turned and walked away. The overseer on Scotia- had invited the Babe's aunts and the cousin to spend a month on the run for a change, and in order to give them a chance to see how the Babe was getting on with his work. They came up at the very busiest time, right bang in the middle--^)f shearing — just like women. But they were made very welcome, and the overseer's wife did all in her power to make their Visit enjoyable. * The two aunts were quiet, simple ladies, v;ho were wild with joy over the freedom and change of bush life. They were so ladylike and inoffensive that everybody was charmed with their gociety. They simply worshipped the Babe. He was a king," a hero, and an angel in Sesh to them. We could easily see where theBabe had' got his clean soul and good manners from. The girl, his cousin, was a most beautiful young woman. Tall and graceful, with lovely brown hair and hazel eyes. She %vas really what Joe Green, in our bush slang, described as "a fair peach." That she also idolised the Babe was apparent to us all ; likewise that the Babe worshipped his beautiful cousin was an open secret to us. When they came to Scotia a wonderful change occurred in the Babe. Ht became, once again, the quiet, gentle, inoffensive new chum, with the charming good humour and angelic temper that he had brought to Scotia 12 months ago. He was ~ertainly tanned and bronzed and much strengthened by his 12 months' graft in the bush, and with us he had grown freer and more cosmopolitan. But with his women folk he was tender and loving, and full of solicitude for their personal comfort and enjoyment. It. was an interesting study to us hands on the run, and we watched the Babe with his beautiful cousin, riding about the run, with a great and open pleasure. We looked upon him as one of us, and his love affair became a matter of personal interest to us. One evening, about half-past 5, we were all busy at the shearing shed, drafting out the shorn sheep from the pens — the Babe being with its. The shearers' hut was right opposite the shed, some 20 yards away. The shearers -were loafing about, some smoking, some washing, and some reading old papers. Sullivan, now boss of the- shearers, loafed about with his hands in his pockets, a gaudy silk handkerchief round his neck, and a meerschaum pipe in his mouth. He kept slinging off at everybody, not forgetting us. He seemed to take a special dislike to the Babe, because he always looked so neat and clean. The Babe's white tennis -h;-t was light and silky, his moleskin pants were tight and spotless, and his Panama looked as if it h.id just come out of the box. li was a mystery to us how the Babe always looked so neat and clean, for he grafted just as hard as any of us in the yards. But there he was, neat as a new pin. Sullivan slung off many insults at theBabe. He jeered at his Panama, at his tight pants, and at his toff shirt. And each time the Babe gave him that peculiar look, like ''I'll know you again !'' but he never answered back. This annoyed the shearer. That scornful look roused his dander, and he became more and more personal in his remarks. Just then two ladies came cantering up to the shed cm horseback, followed by a pony carriage containing three other ladies. Those liding were the rJabe's cousin and the overseer's daughter ; and in the pony chaise were the two aunts and the overseer" « wife. As soon as Sullivan saw the gills he exclaimed gleefully : "Sheilas! Oh, blimey, I'm in this!" and, removing his slouch hat, he walked up to the Babe's cousin with -outstretched hand, saying, " 'Ow d'ye do, my dear " The Babe was over the rails of his pen like a flash. And in that quick, masterly walk up to the shearer I recognised the hidden power and determination of a mighty man. Sullivan, grinning wickedly up at "the handsome girl, was hurled staggering backwards by a simple sweep of the Babe's arm, andl" tb& lad reached his lover's side, saying : "Don't take any notice of the insulting beast, Nora. He doesn't hrow any better." To say that Sullivan screamed with rage would but poorly describe tb? passion of the flash bully. He yelled out a stream of lilthv oaths, and rushed at the Babe like an infuriated bull, intent on smashing the lad. But the Babe's left fist crashed on to the shearer's jaw with the force of a sledge hammer, and the flash Sydney -sider turned a complete somersault and lay, dead to the world, in the dust. The blow had knocked him clean out. I never saw anything more perfectly done in my life. That stopping lo f t punch was worthy of Peter Jackson! The two gentle aunts screamed with teiror, and the Babe's cousin turned white and clasped her handy with fear. But the Babe turned coolly to me and whispered, with a jerk of his' head towards the fallenshearer: "If he want? any more, tell him I'll meet him when and wbere he likes. Empty my p<m for me. old man, will you? I want to cet the ladies away." He jumped on his hack, rounded up the ladies, md cantered off towards the home station with them. Simultaneously all the men Tound the shed let go one yelling "Hurrah !" after him. Sullivan was no favourite with any of us, and we were all glad to see him laid out. The Babe's prompt action and his splendid bgiing came as a perfect- surprise to

us. We had never dreamt by any chance that our gentle, kindly Babe could be a pugilist, and a champion at that, too. But we soon learned' that it was one of his chiefest and best accomplishments. When Sullivan came to after about ten minutes' oblivion z he was murdeiyjus with rage. To be clean knocked out by the toff new chum, as he designated the Babe, was paralysing to him. He cursed, and swore, and fumed, until he was worked up to a point of murderous ferocity. He blamed himself for his rashness in rushing blindly at the toff. He said it was all a fluke, and that it was only by chance that the Babe had caught him on the point of the jaw. He swore by all the foul oaths he knew to be terribly revenged, and sent me up to the home station with a challenge to the Babe to fight during the dinner hour next day. When -I delivered the message to the Babe he simply answered : "All right. Don't say anything to them h-ere about it. I don't want the ladies to hear of it." That was all. On the following day the shed was in a ferment of excitement, and all hands waited with feverish eagerness for the hell touring " Knock off* for the dinner hour. Sullivan was known to be a clever and determined fighter, he had proved it at the shed : and the shearers knew nothing of the Babe's capabilities. It is p. comparatively easy thing to knock a man down when he's not expecting a blow, and some of the shearers evidently thought that the Babe had accidentally lauded on the point of Sullivan's jaw when he hit him. There were several willing to lay two to one about Sullivan's chance, and all of us stockmen on the Tun eagerly accepted the.cdds. We knew the Babe was plucky, that swim in the flood and the bullock episode had proved him, and after mature deliberation we agreed that if Sullivan got another of those lovely, smashing, straight left- punches on the point he'd be blown out for good and all. When the bell rang the shearers st learned out behind Sullivan, who quickly proceeded to strip to the buff. The Babe was waiting, and he calmly rolled up the sleeves of his tennis shirt, and exposed his powerful forearms. ' Our overseer evidently did not like the idea of the Babe's fighting, for he came np and asked him if he knew anything about it. I was standing alongside of him, and I heard the reply. "Oh, yes!" answered the Babe. 'Tin a pupil of Peter Jackson's !" "Have you ever had a bare knuckle fight?" asked the overseer. "Scores !" replied the Babe. "My aunts don't know it, but I've licked some of the biggest larrikins in the Rocks push!" and he smiled angelically. A referee was appointed, each man had two seconds, and the fight, began. Sullivan, in true prize-ring style, sparred round the Babe for an. opening. - He scowled savagely, and if looks went • for anything, he meant mischief. The Babe smiled scornfully, and played up to Sullivan with the greatest confidence. '1 be shearer suddenly rushed in and swung a vicious right at the jaw. It was cleve. I ?*' parried with the Babe's left, and his ri^ht was driven into the shearer's lib?, ju*-t over the heart, with a punch that n;c?e him gasp. He stepped back out of rang'ard set to sparring again. Then he feinted, and stepped in, leading with the left. But the Babe's straight left .sboi out in half the time, and caught Sullivan flush on the mouth a. sickening bir.w. Hehad a beautifully stopping left, the exact counterpart of Jackson's left stop, a..d ths shearer soon realised tb&t at cutfighting the Babe could smofher him. The first round ended with tin vshoar-^r ble-r-d-ing profusely at the i..i<uih ; tbe F.ar.o hadn't turned a hair. In the second round the sh^aivr ti mmenced to mix it, and, geiung to close quarters, banged in right and left wickedly. But the Babe was belter at in-fighting, apparently, than the ehoarer. He smashed in the left flush >n the shearer's nose, and drove the right on to his heart with tremendous force; then, cleverly side-stepping, he planted the left on the shearer's left eye, and hit him a smack on his side, just over the kidneys, that sent him staggering to his . knees. The man turned white with pain, and remained down for the "full 10 seconds. Wien he stood up again he kept well out of range, and we saw that he was beaten. "Turn it up !" the onlookers yci'cu, tat Sullivan only replied with cuises. He was putting ' his ring ta.cx <~s ,iiU.' f«>ice and playing for time. The Babe tumbled to it at once. "Will you give in?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the ring. Sullivan didn't reply, but rushed in and swung right and left as hard as he could. The Babe drew back, parried the right, ducked the left, and, stepping in almost on top of the shearer, half- hooked him on the point of the jaw with a fearful right punch. The man was lifted 3ft into the air, he fell backwards in a limp heap, struggled to rise, acd then relapsed into unconsciousness. The fight was over. The Babe calmly unrolled his sleeves, put on his coat, mounted his hack, and, with our cheers ringing after him, cantered home to dinner. Sullivan never troubled anyone in the shed after that. The Babe married his handsome cousin, and became a run own-:r years ago. He was always the same quiet, kindly, and chivalrous man. The be-jt men are always like that. And when I think of my ideal of all that is good, ard great, and grand in manhood-, my memory wanders back \o my young a.nd happy days on Scotia run and the simple, unassuming, kindly-hearted, and chivalrous lad that we always called the Babe.

Shall hacking cough my rest destroy, And all my pleasure here alloy? Are pains that out me like a knife To make- a misery of life? •Shall bronchial tioubks wear me out? No — never, all are put to -rout By best of medicines, simple, pure, iVV. E. Woods' Great PEPPEfiiUHT COBS.