The Congress of Rough Riders

  I continued to hold her fingers and – perhaps it was the candlelight – but I thought I could see a glaze of a tear forming in her eyes. She smiled and looked away and then, stretching forward kissed me gently on the lips and pressed her hand against my cheek. I barely responded, surprised by the suddenness of her actions, and simply allowed her lips to rest on mine, pressed firmly against them for a few seconds, until a moment later when she sat back in her chair and shook her head sadly.

  ‘I want to go to America,’ she said eventually. ‘You went from England to Japan, so you understand it. I want to go to America.’

  I sighed and nodded; I could think of no response. I saw the waiter and indicated that we would like the bill.

  Russell Rose met Bess Pearse at the circus in 1866. He was a performer and she was visiting with her parents. Russell, who was nineteen years old when they met, had been in the circus for four years by then. An orphan since the age of six, he had been brought up by a maiden aunt who beat him regularly and appeared to derive great satisfaction from the blows. At the age of fifteen, when he reached almost six feet in height and considered himself far too old for such ritualistic thrashings from a tiny, elderly lady, he packed a bag and disappeared in the middle of the night, never to return. He walked for nineteen miles eastwards until he was in the heart of England. He had no great idea where he was headed or what he would do when he got there; he just knew that adulthood was about to begin and was looking for adventure and employment, combined together.

  Four days after leaving his aunt’s home, he came across the Regis-Roc Company, a travelling circus in the traditional style, complete with animals, stuntmen, clowns and freak shows. He paid two pennies to watch a show – an investment in his future, he told himself – and made a mental note of the running order and the acts he believed he could be a part of. Unlike the rest of the audience, he found the clowns ridiculous and unfunny; he wanted no part of their entertainments. The animals scared him. A thin young woman with a startled, manic look in her eyes placed her head inside a lion’s mouth and Russell gripped the sides of his seat in panic, expecting the jaws to close at any moment and sever her head from the rest of her body. Another climbed aboard an alligator in a huge pool which was brought into the centre of the ring and escaped unharmed from her potentially fatal swim. The audience applauded ecstatically as she emerged unscathed. The freaks were suitably freakish: traditional bearded women, a man with what appeared to be a third arm growing from his left shoulder, another with eyes in the back of his head, a claim Russell’s aunt had often made about herself but for which he had no evidence.

  The only act which seemed appropriate for him was the stuntmen and the position he coveted the most was that of trapeze artist. A troupe of four performers, three men and a women, kept the audience gasping with their feats high above the Big Top and as they performed without a safety net, the act was even more exciting. Russell applauded enthusiastically as they took their final bows and realised that he had found a career for himself.

  The manager of the Regis-Roc, Albert Kincaid, refused him a job with the trapeze act but did offer him a position as a rigger with the circus, helping to put it together and disband it again after each show, for which he would be paid a small but reasonable amount each week, and fed into the bargain, an offer that Russell accepted with enthusiasm. If he worked out well and studied with the performers, Kincaid told him, there was no reason in time why he would not be able to face death on a daily basis also.

  Bess Pearce was a servant girl, working in a house in west London, where she worked almost ninety hours a week for a pittance of a salary. Like Russell, she had no parents and had been in service since her twelfth year. Her life consisted of little but scrubbing and cleaning, bowing and scraping, but having never known anything different neither her aspirations nor her dreams allowed her any ambition for the future. With a friend, she saved a small amount of money every week for a monthly entertainment and on an autumn evening in 1866, she attended the circus and watched in fascination the various sights laid on for her entertainment. She was particularly drawn to the lithe young man, nineteen years of age now like her, in the black leotard who climbed slowly to the top of a ladder high above the arena before breathing in deeply and swelling his chest out again as he held on to the one barred swing which soon took him flying through the air from one side to the other. He swooped and dived as the crowd gasped and seemed to float forever in the air before one of his colleagues caught him by the ankles, a moment before he would have plunged to certain death, and all applauded enthusiastically, especially Bess who had never seen such a handsome fellow as this and whose bravery and skill only served to enhance her attraction. A few moments later, when he performed some complicated manoeuvre with a pretty girl wearing an identical leotard, she felt a twinge of envy and waited until the group were back on the sandy floor of the Big Top, taking their bows, before staring forcefully into the eyes of the young man, willing him to look at her. After a moment, sensing something out of the ordinary, he did look in her direction and for the first time all evening felt himself lose his sense of balance.

  They married at the end of the year and Bess left her position to join the circus as a cook. They had a small section of one of the wagons to call their own and spent every night there wrapped in each other’s arms, trying to keep their sounds muffled through embarrassment for their fellow wagon-mates. Bess became pregnant quickly and in late 1867, just over a year after she had first laid eyes on her young husband, gave birth in her wagon home – while Russell performed a triple-axel manoeuvre above the heads of three hundred natives of Cardiff – to a baby girl, who they christened Ellen Rose.

  My great-grandfather and David Yountam bought the land upon which they planned to build their town and hired a group of men at a small cost to create all the buildings they needed. Within six weeks they had constructed two hundred houses, all solid with log, and the necessary businesses in the centre to keep the residents of the houses fed, watered and entertained. They ploughed all their money into their endeavours, reaching the point where they had spent almost all their savings and were forced to sell some of their few belongings in order to complete their ambitious plans. In near record time, however, they were back on the land and staring not at a wide open prairie but at a town, a real town that they had built themselves and that they owned. Their risk, their money, their dreams. Along with Clara Yountam, they walked through the buildings, thrilled to see the stock which had been bought in for the hotel and the saloon and speaking to the employees they had hired to run them.

  ‘All we need now,’ said Bill as they settled down on the porch of what was to be his own house with a steaming flask of coffee to share between the three of them, ‘is a name. We never thought up a name for this town. Any suggestions?’ All three were silent for a moment; they each had their ideas but none wanted to be the first to say it. ‘How about Cody?’ said Bill after a time, figuring that someone had to go first.

  ‘How about Yountam?’ said Yountam.

  ‘I like Claraville,’ said Clara with a distant look. ‘I think it sounds homely.’

  ‘How about we discount all three ideas and come up with something that refers to none of us,’ said Bill, laughing at all their delusions of grandeur. The others agreed and they set to thinking again.

  ‘We could try Harker,’ said Yountam. ‘We’re not that far from Fort Harker after all.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘We want something of our own,’ he said. ‘Not something linked to one of the forts. How about Railtown? Once the trains come through, that’ll be—’

  ‘Railtown’s not a place I’d want to live,’ said Clara quickly. ‘Sounds like it would always be noisy and filled with strangers. You need something that’s going to want to make people stay there. When they hear the name of the town, they need to say, why I’ve always wanted to visit such and such a place. Something exotic.’

  ‘Bangkok,’ said Yountam cheerily. ‘Australia. Paris. T
okyo.’

  ‘Rome,’ said Bill. ‘I always wanted to see Rome. I’ve never been to Europe but if I went there, that’s where I’d like to go. And anyway, that was built by two men at the start, wasn’t it?’

  They thought about it and no one had any objections. ‘I guess it’s historical,’ said Yountam, nodding his head.

  ‘And exotic,’ admitted Clara.

  ‘Then Rome it is,’ said Bill as they clinked their mugs together. ‘And here we are, the new Roman emperors, Bill Cody and David Yountam. All we need to do now is get the Christians in.’

  ‘And watch out for the lions,’ added Clara, whose sense of history was better than either her husband’s or my great-grandfather’s. It was to prove an unhappy prediction though, for while the Christians did soon approach, they did not look out for the lions and soon they were snapping at their heels, ready to bite, ready to eat them alive.

  For the first few months, all was well at Rome. The settlers made their way towards the town and soon most of the houses and businesses were let. Of course, they were nearly all offered free of charge and on the percentage basis which Yountam had suggested, but the numbers of people living there were making the saloons and stores profitable, and the two partners had made sure to keep the grocery stores for themselves, a business which Clara oversaw. Everyone waited patiently for the arrival of the railroads which would bring the fresh business and travellers which each of them needed and every time they were asked, Bill and Yountam replied that they would be there soon. Any day now, any day.

  It was on a chilly autumn evening, almost six months after they had christened their town that Bill was sitting once again on his porch, alone, watching as the sun went down. He was drinking a beer and wondering whether he should head down to the saloon for a night of card playing when a tall man dressed from head to foot in black strolled towards his house, looking a little lost. Bill had never seen this man before and was taken by his appearance.

  ‘Ho there friend,’ he called as the stranger came closer to him. ‘What business brings you here?’

  ‘Well now,’ came the reply, as the stranger took off his hat and looked up at his inquisitor. ‘This is Rome, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then I’m here looking for either a Yountam or a Cody. Two fellows who lay claim to this place.’

  ‘Lay claim because they bought it fair and square,’ said Bill cordially. ‘Aye, and built everything you see here too. I’m Bill Cody,’ he added after a moment, sensing no danger or hostility from this man, but genuine business.

  ‘Then you’re the man I’m here to see,’ he said. ‘May I come up to speak to you?’

  Bill nodded and indicated the empty chair on the porch and the man came up and sat down on it, accepting the beer which my great-grandfather handed him with a nod. Neither of them spoke for a few moments and looked not at each other but out towards the town. Bill had chosen this house not because it was the largest one – although it was, fit for a family of six and not a man on his own – but because it was at the edge of the town, at a point from where he could see those approaching it, or entering it, or leaving it. He had a clear view of the central point between the hotel and the saloon and could just about make out the families as they made their way up the hill towards the church on a Sunday morning. He enjoyed being able to watch over his townsfolk and always had a word for them as they came to and from. For the first time in his life, he was enjoying domesticity, to the point where he was considering writing to Louisa again and inviting her and their daughter to join him there. He hadn’t fully decided on that yet, though, for there was a young woman in town, the daughter of the local blacksmith, who was keeping him occupied most evenings and he didn’t want to sacrifice that particular occupation just yet.

  ‘You deserve some congratulations,’ said the man. ‘You’ve got a fine, thriving town here. I’m Jack Webb, by the way. Pleased to meet you,’ he added, extending his hand.

  ‘Bill Cody,’ said my great-grandfather. ‘And I thank you for what you say but we’re still in early days here. Most of these people are still just settling in. But we’re doing well. Good times will be ahead too though. Once the railroad comes.’

  ‘Ah, the railroads,’ said Jack Webb, nodding his head sagely. ‘Everyone is waiting for the railroads, are they not?’

  ‘Makes sense, I guess,’ said Bill. ‘We all want more people coming through our towns. Good for business. Good for Kansas. And what’s good for Kansas is good for Bill Cody.’

  ‘True,’ said Jack Webb. ‘But you know I been all through this state and I’ve seen a few towns like this in my time. And some of them, well they survive, they thrive, they make rich men out of folk like you. Others, they go under just as quickly as they went up. And you know what the difference between them is, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s like I said,’ said Bill. ‘The railroads.’

  ‘The railroads,’ said Jack Webb. ‘You’re absolutely right. They mean the difference between life –’ he held a hand out flat in the air – ‘and death.’ He clicked his fingers and took his hand down again.

  There was a silence for a moment until Bill turned in his chair to look at the man. He stared at him for a moment before asking his question. ‘And you, friend,’ he said. ‘What business are you in anyway?’ Jack Webb smiled across at him and said the words again, this time just making the slightest sounds with his lips, knowing that Bill knew already. The railroads. ‘I thought as much,’ said Bill. ‘I been waiting for this moment. Well, me and my partner have anyway. We knew you’d come sooner or later. We’ve been waiting for you. Yountam said we should go searching for you but I said hold tight. He’ll come. He’ll come when he’s ready.’

  Webb laughed. ‘You were right to wait,’ he said. ‘But I’m here now. And I’m in a position to make you an offer.’

  Bill frowned. What kind of an offer?’ he asked.

  ‘An offer which a wise man would be a fool to turn down. I’m authorised, on behalf of the Kansas–Pacific railroads, to make you an offer for a four-fifths share in this here Rome. If this offer is accepted, then you and your partner will be entitled to hold on to the remaining one-fifth share, splitting it any way you like, and take whatever profits that might entail. This offer will be good for the next seven days only. After that, if we have not heard from you, we will assume you are rejecting it. We won’t ask again either. It’s a one-time-only offer.’

  Bill stared at him incredulously and suppressed an urge to laugh. ‘One-fifth?’ he said. ‘That’s a one-tenth share each? You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  ‘If you’re splitting things fifty-fifty, then yes, Mr Cody, you’d have a tenth each. As for your other question, no I’m not kidding you at all. I’m perfectly serious.’ He spoke very affably; he had been trained to be non-confrontational.

  ‘And this offer you’re making,’ said Bill after a moment. ‘Assuming we were interested in selling, which I can tell you now we won’t be, but assuming we were, well how much money would we be talking about?’

  ‘The fact that you’re asking implies that you’re not disinterested, Mr Cody,’ said Jack Webb. ‘The Kansas– Pacific railroad can make you an offer of three hundred dollars for a four-fifths share in the town of Rome. If you accept, why, I can get the money for you first thing tomorrow morning, once we sign the contracts of course, which I have in my briefcase.’

  Now Bill did laugh. ‘Three hundred dollars?’ he said, shaking his head as if the very idea was beyond insane. ‘You’ve got to be playing with me. Have you any idea how much money we’ve put into this place?’

  Jack Webb shrugged. ‘Going on past experience,’ he said, ‘I’d say somewhere around two thousand, maybe two and a half.’

  ‘Closer to three thousand, Mr Webb. Ten times what you’re offering.’

  ‘For a four-fifths share.’

  ‘Ten times, Mr Webb.’ Neither man spoke for a minute and Bill could feel himself beginning to grow angry. He could sense that su
ch a ridiculous offer would not be made unless they either assumed he was a fool or they had an alternate plan in hand.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to consult with your partner, Mr Cody,’ said Webb after a reasonable amount of time had passed. ‘A one-fifth share in a town like this, in a railroad town could still net you a reasonable income. You’d have your investment back in a few years, five years tops.’

  ‘I don’t need to consult with him, thank you very much,’ said my great-grandfather. ‘I can say no on behalf of the both of us. We don’t need your three hundred dollars. So if there’s something else you’ve got to say now, I suggest you cut right to it and end this business here and now.’

  Webb nodded. ‘All right, Mr Cody, I respect what you’ve done here so I’ll be honest with you. You do understand, don’t you,’ he added with an apprehensive tone of caution slipping into his voice, ‘that I am just an employee of the Kansas–Pacific railroad company? That I myself am not making this offer and do not stand to make any money out of it myself.’