’Twas in the Indian jungle
The tiger first he saw,
With fiery eye, and open mouth,
Sharp talons on his paw.
They met, and with a desperate spring
The tiger on his prey;
While Turner’s two companions—
Both cowards ran away.
But Turner fought a desperate fight,
His courage ne’er forsook,
He javelled at the tiger
Until his bayonet broke.
One part was in the savage breast,
And Turner understood
If he could grovel out the steel
’Twould draw the savage blood.
’Twas done—the blood gushed out amain,
The lion-hearted brave
Beheld his foe go to a stream,
To drink and meet his grave.
. . . . .
I see the house where Turner lived;
But Turner is not here.
In the Lang Kirkyard he now may rest
Without a tiger’s fear.
“SAMMY” MOORE, AND OTHERS
Since I began these Reminiscences I have received a letter from an old friend of mine, whom I said I thought was dead. I allude to “Sammy” Moore, and I am glad to hear that he is alive and doing well. I had not heard of him for a score of years. Many are the happy hours we have spent together on the stage. His letter says he is in California, where he is occupying a good situation as registrar of a town of about 10,000 inhabitants. He says he has left off acting and wishes to know if I have done the same; and he also inquires after many of his old Keighley friends. This sentence leads me to refer to a few more of my own friends in the days of yore. There is the Rev William Thawbrey, a Wesleyan Methodist minister at Keighley, who subsequently took up work in the mission field in South Africa. Then there are the late Mr Thomas Carrodus, the manager of the Yorkshire Penny Bank at Keighley, the Brothers Kay, Mr Joshua Robinson, and Mr James Lister,—all of whom were fellow stage amateurs of mine. The hand of death has passed heavily over my old friends—particularly those with whom I moved on the amateur theatrical stage—and I can number on my fingers those who have been left.