It was a sad parting between the old shipmates.
Broncho's last words to Jack as they wrung each other's hands at the gangway, the San Francisco packet already heeling to the breeze, with the old original whaleboat splashing and bobbing at the foot of the ladder, were:
"So long, old bunkie. We've camped around together quite a spell. I jest loathes leavin' the outfit, but pull my freight I must. This old longhorn is jest itchin' to paw the earth again, an' lock horns in the old game. I hungers for the feel of a pony 'tween my legs, an' the smell o' the cattle. It's natur', pard, an' that's all thar is to it, though it shore twangs my heartstrings in toomultuous discord. Adios!"
Postscript 1.—Of the Yankee hell-ship Silas K. Higgins no more was heard, and as time went by she was at last posted on the black list of missing ships. Who can say what her real end was? Did she fall a victim to the terrible Cape Horn surges, or was it that word which the bosun spelt with a big M which caused her disappearance from the great ocean highway? The deep sea hid her and the deep sea does not blab.
Postscript 2.—Notwithstanding Bill Benson's statement as to the sailing qualities of his little gunboat, she proved to be no match for the Black Adder, and years of desperate doings intervened before Dago Charlie was at last brought to book for his many misdeeds.
Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
Trancribers Note:
Original spelling has been retained.
Blame the author.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
ROUND THE HORN BEFORE THE MAST.