This version attempts to mimic Datas' book. The paging and text follows
the book's layout as far as possible.
CHAPTER IV
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND CAPT. SCOTT
It was at Maitland, Australia, that I renewed
my acquaintance with old Frank Slavin, one of
the cheeriest scrappers it was ever my lot to
meet. The last time I met him was at Consi-
dines, New York, when "Leftie Louie", and
"Gyp the Blood" and a few other of the "boys"
were out to get the œ2,000 I had obtained by
selling my head, and I had to slip quietly away.
So that when I heard that Frank was in
Maitland on holiday from the Klondike, where
he lived, I sought him out, and we had a little
re-union celebration. We sat and talked, and I
got Frank to tell me still more about his fights,
for I knew that as I travelled Australia I should
be asked countless questions about this old ring
warrior.
"One of the most amusing fights I ever had
was the bare-knuckle scrap fight with Jim
Smith," he said, and I interrupted him.
43
44 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
"Ah----" I said, "Jim was born at Cripplegate
in 1861, the same year as yourself, and you
fought him on the 23rd December, 1889"
Frank blinked his eyes. "I suppose you're
right," he said, "but I don't remember the date
except that it was just before Christmas, and we
were taken out to Bruges because a match
could not be arranged over here. Jim was a good
boy, and it was no end of a good fight. It would
have been quite all right, only there was a gang
of thugs there who kept on breaking through the
ropes when one or other of us landed one, and
the fight would be held up until order was
restored. Round after round it went, but
eventually the crowd became so excited that the
ring was bust up entirely, and they had a nice
little fight amongst themselves, using the iron
stakes of the ring for the purpose. Jim and I
were smuggled into safety, and managed to get
away all right; but it was a close shave."
"And what did you get out of it, Frank ?" I
asked him.
"A damn' good hiding and no money " he
replied with a grin.
A giant of a man was Frank, magnificent of
build, standing six feet one inch in height, and
perfectly proportioned. He could hit like a
steam-hammer, and was essentially a fighter
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 45
rather than a boxer. That was where he came
up against it when he met Peter Jackson, who
will always be acknowledged as "Gentleman
Jackson", even as Corbett was known as
"Gentleman Jim". Frank told me in detail
about this fight, and I recall his eyes glistening as
he remarked: "I was told afterwards that you
could hear the blows in Covent Garden."
The fight took place at the National Sporting
Club on the 30th May, 1892, and it was the first
really big important fight after the opening of
the new Club. And this much is generally
agreed, that no finer fight ever took place there
than the memorable battle between Slavin and
Peter Jackson, the negro gentleman. Slavin had
done some wonderful things before this. So
had Jackson, but----the betting was two to one
on Slavin when the pair entered the ring.
Slavin, graceful, lithe, and a grim fighter;
Jackson, almost panther-like on his feet, and
beautiful as a boxer.
"I reckoned on beating him," Frank told me,
"and it was one of the biggest disappointments
of my life when it went against me. We sparred
around very carefully at first, for I never be-
lieved in taking any liberties----or chances. Sud-
denly Peter leapt in and landed a real beauty on
my chest. I realised then that I was up against
46 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
the biggest proposition I had ever been up
against. I tempted him by opening up a bit,
and sure enough he came at me, but this time he
did not land. Instead, I got home on the body
with a real shaker.
"There was a hell of a lot of in-fighting after
this, and I scored time after time, and then at
the break, I got in a nice one to the side of
Peter's nut. But bless you----he didn't blink,
and then when I followed up with one of my
best rights he took it, and came back with a left
to the stomach which shook me from head to
foot, and made me gasp. When the bell went,
I decided that I would try and make a short
finish by one of my wild rushes, and sure enough
I simply leapt in, only to find the black man side-
step, and land with his terrible left straight
between the eyes. I slammed and slammed at
him, I chased him round the ring, and I'm
saying this----that if one blow had landed, I
reckon Peter would have taken the count. But
he was too clever for me----I'm not grudging
him his dues. He was far too clever with his
head, and he could think quicker than lightning.
He sidestepped, and dodged, just waiting a
chance to pop a nice one into me every now and
again.
"What a fight. What a real honest to God
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 47
fight that was." The boxer's eyes gleamed with
joy at the recollection, although it was his
Waterloo. "In the next round he raised a lump
on my eye as big as an egg, and as the fight
went on he landed there every time he got the
chance, till I felt my head literally swelling. I
tried to settle down to the careful game, but
even then Peter got his blows home. Savage
blows on mouth and nose, until the blood was
simply gushing out. I tried to rush him, but he
was too wary and dodged; then, waiting his
time, he landed another blinding punch with
that terrible left of his.
"If ever it was demonstrated that the left is
the best to cultivate, it was in that fight between
Peter and me. I had knocked out the best with
my right, but it was Peter's left that beat me all
the time. I swung a terrific blow at his jaw
which would have felled him for an hour, but
again he got away before the full force landed
and the next moment there was a quick left and
a right to my damaged eye.
I was still strong, mark you, and I did all
the forcing, I knew that if I could get home it
was all up with Jackson; for Peter was beginning
to feel the pace by this time. At last I got my
chance, and I let go with all my might with a
right hander just above the heart. And----just
48 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
at that moment my foot slipped on some of my
own blood which had fallen onto the boards.
It robbed my blow of its sting. If that blow had
landed with its full force, the fight would have
been mine, for I am not boasting when I say
that no man living could have stood up against
it. As it was, I heard my black opponent give a
painful gasp, and he was reeling blindly when
the gong went. That bell saved Jackson, and
lost me the fight.
"Jackson even told his seconds, just as he
told me afterwards, that if I had hit him again
like that he would have been finished, and I'm
telling you now that that blow had been robbed
of more than half its weight. Then came the
ninth round, and God what a round. The floor
fairly shook with the interchange of blows. It
was Jackson's round. I would not rob him of
the honour, for he was one of the greatest
sportsmen who ever lived. He worked for an
opening, and when it came he landed four
successive blows on body and face which had me
all out. It was the bell which saved me this
time. And when I came up for the tenth round,
I knew that I must go careful. I had always
thought that Jackson could not stand the pace.
I was wrong. I underrated him. I knew he
could take punishment. Most blacks can, and
ALBERT CHEVALIER (Photograph)
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 49
he took his share that night. That last round
we sparred for a few moments, and Peter leapt
around that ring like a pea on a griddle. I
covered up a bit, and then made a rush. It was
a mistake. Peter swung a sudden right which
landed on the jaw. I was groggy, and before I
could shake my head even, he let go with a
straight left which jolted the senses out of me.
I can remember reeling blindly backwards to
the ropes with Jackson's fists beating a tattoo
on my face and body, and my now closed
eye.
"I was helpless on the ropes, unable to see a
thing, yet trying to fight my way back to
sensibility. Then I heard Peter's voice speaking
to Bernard Angle, the referee. I heard after-
wards that he stood aside, unwilling to strike
any more. 'What shall I do?' I heard his
voice from far away it seemed. `Fight on,' came
the terse reply, and Jackson came on at me again,
but this time his blows lacked force, and he
finished up with some half-arm jabs which
would not have hurt a fly. It was one of the
finest things in the history of the ring, and I take
off my hat to Peter. I sunk to my knees from the
ropes, and even then tried to struggle to my
feet, and in doing so clutched at the legs of
Jackson, and was counted out. It was a great
50 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
fight, boy, and----I wish it had been mine.
I'd have been proud to beat a great feller like
Peter."
It is not always that one meets such ungrudg-
ing admiration of one boxer for another, but
Slavin was always a sport.
It was Frank Slavin who introduced me to
another old-timer of a different sort----Paddy
Hannan, the hero of the '95 and '96 gold-rush.
When I met him he was living on a pension
which had been granted him for his discovery
of gold in the Calgoorlie district. A rugged old
fellow he was, who told me how for years he
had been prospecting in the Australian wilds
trying to "strike it rich" without any luck.
Then he and a party made their way up into the
Calgoorlie district, which was then a barren
waste, waterless, and unbroken.
One day he set out on his own with a pick to
try a break in a certain part where he had a
hunch he would find gold. On reaching the
spot, he struck with his pick, and----lo, there was
gold. He had made his strike, and it will be
within the memory of many how the rush
followed which made several millionaires, and
cost countless lives. For the going was hard,
and the hardships were terrible. But to-day
Calgoorlie is one of the most civilised spots in
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 5I
Australia, whilst it possesses one of the finest
water schemes in the Continent.
At Bangato I had a rather amusing experience,
for it was there that I met a ferocious-looking
savage, the last of the aborigines of the King
Ja Ja tribe. A fearsome-looking old scoundrel
he was, with a mass of unkempt hair, a beard,
and whiskers that seemed to grow out of eyes,
nose and ears as well. Across his chest he wore
a brass plate announcing the fact that he was
the only survivor of the tribe, and he rather
fascinated me.
Knowing that savages of all kinds are fond of
bright things, I handed him a threepenny piece.
He looked at it, and then offered it back. "Give
me a tanner," he said in broadest Cockney, and
I gave him a half-crown in my stupefaction. I
learned that the aborigines are allowed two
blankets a year apiece by the Government, and
are permitted free rides on any trains or trams
whilst the people are supposed to give them
reasonable food and drink when they are on the
way. The majority of them, however, live in
compounds.
At Hobart, Tasmania, I came across another
interesting character in the person of a brawny
Irishman named O'Hanlon----the last of the
flagellants. A giant of a fellow he was, and
52 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
although well over ninety when I saw him, the
muscles of his arms fairly rippled when he bared
them. In the 'thirties and 'forties, he was the
star man in lashing the poor devils of convicts
who had been transported. He told me some
gruesome stories of the floggings of those days.
Criminals of the worst type, bushrangers and
bandits, all of the toughest and most desperate
nature, came under his ministrations; and he
told me how they would be cut almost to rib-
bons. He had gone out there with the Army, but
had taken on the job of flagellant.
"I was pretty slick at the game because I
could use either hand equally well," he informed
me proudly, and it was then he showed me his
fine muscles. He told me of one fellow whom he
was quite certain did not deserve the flogging
which had been ordered, "so I let him off ,
lightly," he explained. "If you hold the `cat'
right at the end of the handle, and then as you
bring it down across the body, just lift your
little finger, you will find that it takes all the
sting out of the blow," he said, and went on to
say how this particular man stood up to his
thirty-six lashes without blinking.
"Very often after a dozen or so of the best a
prisoner would either faint or become hysterical
with the pain," he went on, "and this fellow
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 53
knew all about it. So he pretended to be
hysterical, and after bashing started to laugh
and laugh. The doctor looked on in amazement,
for until it was all over, the man had stuck it
without a murmur, and given no signs of col-
lapse. The man kept on laughing and laughing,
and at last in a tone of impatience the doctor
said: `What the devil are you laughing at,' to
which the fellow replied: `They've been bashing
the wrong bloke.' And sure enough this was
true. They had made a mistake in giving this
man punishment, and he was afterwards com-
pensated." O'Hanlon also told me that
prisoners who had a second dose of the "cat"
always went under quicker than on the first
occasion, and explained it by saying that the
anticipation of it "got them down before they
got to the triangle". A jolly fellow altogether,
but I got some very interesting material with
which to harrow the Aussies whenever they
asked me questions about those times.
From Australia I went to New Zealand, land-
ing in Auckland at five o'clock one evening,
and having to know all about New Zealand
history by nine o'clock that night when I was
giving my first show. The first question asked
was: "When was the wreck of the Elingamite?"
"The Elingamite was wrecked off Auckland on
54 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
the 9th November, 1907," I replied, and with
this I got the house. The next question came
from a gentleman occupying one of the boxes,
and was: "What was the date of the Sayers-
Heenan fight ?"
And so I told him, "The 17th April, 1860,"
and went on to give particulars of the fight. I
mention this because after the show this man
came round to see me, and said that he was very
interested in my answer, because he had been
present at that memorable battle, which was
still fresh in his memory, he being at that time
one of the young "bloods" who used to follow
the game all over the country.
He was now interested in the theatrical
business in Wellington, and in the particular
theatre at which I was to appear there, and he
suggested that we might work a little "stunt"
together.
"After Sayers died," he explained, "I attended
the sale of his effects, and purchased the belt
which he won on that occasion. There were two
belts, you will remember. One given to each
man; belts with buckles of gold inset with a
diamond. Poor Tom----I knew him well, and
to-day that relic of the most memorable fight of
all is my most cherished possession. Now, what
I want is this. I shall arrange for a question to
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 55
be asked about the fight, and then, before you
reply, you can come to the side of the stage, and
put on the belt, wearing it whilst you tell the
audience the story of the fight."
Of course, I readily fell in with the plan, and
of course I knew pretty well all the details of
the fight, having read all that I could about it.
But my friend was to tell me much more than I
knew, for the simple reason that all the details
of that fight were engraven on his memory, and
he had a point of view which I have not heard
expressed elsewhere.
"I have never been certain in my own mind
whether or not the fight would have gone to
Sayers, if it had gone on," this man told me,
"although I am inclined to think that another
five minutes would have made all the difference,
as Heenan was nearly blind when the police cut
the ropes, and Tom would probably have got
him completely blind in that time. But they
were both weak and staggering, and Tom was
nearly strangled on the ropes by Heenan, who in
a last desperate rally had backed into a corner of
the ring with Sayers' head in `Chancery'.
"This was in the thirty-ninth round, and
Heenan was so weak by this time that he had to
lean upon a stake at the side of the ring, simply
hanging on to Tom, whose neck was forced
56 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
down against the upper rope. Sayers was going
black in the face, and he looked to me then to be
about all in. But you never could tell with Tom.
He was one of the gamest men that ever fought,
and you never knew how much he had up his
sleeve.
"But just at that moment the police stepped
in. There was the usual scramble. Heenan was
led away totally blind by this time, whilst Tom
had sufficiently recovered to make his own way
out of the crowd."
The fight had lasted two hours and six
minutes, and was fought at Farnborough, on the
borders of three counties. This was to avoid the
police interruption which was anticipated, as
some days before the fight, the Chief Constable
of Hertfordshire had applied to the magistrates
of the Hertford Bench to issue a warrant to
"apprehend Thomas Sayers, Champion of
England, and John Heenan, the American
pugilist, in order that they might be bound over
to keep the peace". An item to this effect
appeared in the Times.
"The fight was arranged with the greatest
secrecy," said my New Zealand friend in
describing it to me, "and although Heenan had
brought across with him about three hundred
followers, there were somewhere about six
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 57
thousand present to watch this epic battle. A
special train steamed from a London station,
packed to its limits with enthusiastic gentlemen
of the ring. In those days they did not fight at
night. There would not have been time for
them. They fought in the early morning, and I
remember as though it were but yesterday the
sensation when Heenan, robed in a long dressing
gown, stepped into the ring. He was unknown
to us save by repute, and we were anxious
to see him stripped. And with all the cunning
which is practised to-day, he kept us waiting,
and kept Tom waiting, too. Of course we all
knew Tom, his short squat figure with its
ludicrous bald bullet head----gone bald in the
ring, one might say, for he was the hero of many
a great fight long ere this.
"Heenan lounged about the ring, 10th to
uncover, and keeping both Tom and ourselves
on the very edge of expectancy. `Going to wear
it all the morning?' some of the more impatient
cried to Heenan, but he only grinned, and kept
Tom in suspense until the last moment. Then,
suddenly, he stepped into the middle of the ring,
and flung his robe aside, and there was a gasp.
Sayers looked puny beside him. A mere five
feet eight inches against the six feet two inches
of Heenan, weighing three stone eight pounds
58 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
less than his opponent, and a much older man
at that. Only his shoulders revealed his massive
strength, and even these were o'er-shadowed by
those of the American giant.
"It was at 8.10 a.m. that, after the usual
preliminaries, Heenan dashed from his corner,
a human battering ram, to hammer away at the
ducking, side-stepping, dodging champion, who
feinted and danced about like a ballet girl.
Once Heenan caught him in an embrace which
nearly cracked his ribs. Then he flung him
from him across the ring. A mighty left crashed
against Tom's forehead, felling him to the
ground.
"But Tom was up again in a moment, and
there ensued another battle between brawn on
the one hand and brawn and brains on the other,
Sayers eventually going down after, a clinch, but
coming freshly back again for the next round.
It was not until round five that Tom's chance
really came, and then having tired Heenan by
letting him do the forcing, he began to return
blow for blow.
"He landed a terrific blow to the eye which
almost split Heenan's cheek, and caused him to
go staggering back with hands hanging listlessly
at his sides. There was a roar from the crowd.
It was followed by a beautiful punch to the chin
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 59
which dropped Heenan where he stood, but he
rose to his knees, shaking his head from side to
aide as his seconds dragged him to the corner.
The next round was also Tom's. He waited for
Heenan, and then just at the right moment
swung a mighty right to the jaw which just
missed, and then his left shot in, crashing home
just beneath the ribs, shutting Heenan up like
a jack-knife. He wobbled back to the ropes,
but then stood there gamely, held up by the
ropes, knees bent, and trying to stem the rain
of blows which caused the blood to gush from
his nose and mouth and eyes.
"Tom did not come out unscathed, for during
this round he had taken a terrible whack on the
right arm which almost broke it, and certainly
paralysed it beyond use. Yet he took the fight
from that time onwards, and round after round
went his way. Once he had Heenan an open
target, flashing in blow after blow on the
American's aching stomach, which was now an
angry red----almost purple. One punch which
he landed was afterwards described as `sound-
ing over the meadow as though a wooden box
had been smashed in'. Tom closed and literally
flung the other man across the ring, and gave
such punishment as proved the Yank as game a
fellow as ever breathed. He was going rapidly
60 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
blind. One eye was completely closed, and the
other well on the way, when that epic thirty-
ninth round opened, and Heenan got Tom's
head in `Chancery'."
Such was the account which this old sport
gave me of perhaps one of the greatest fights
ever fought, and you can imagine the sort of
reception I got when, in reply to the arranged
question, I rattled off this description of the
great fight, with the very belt which Sayers had
won there before them. They were not satisfied,
and on subsequent nights I had to give them the
story of Sayers' great fight with the Tipton
Slasher, one of the most feared fighters of all
time, and looked upon as invulnerable until he
met the tiny Tom over whom he towered. Be-
fore this Tom had knocked the famous bare-
knuckle fighter, Aaron Jones, off his pins after
a fight lasting eighty-five rounds. It was this
fight which brought Tom to fame, and earned
him the right to challenge the Slasher, as Bill
Perry was called.
It was from my Wellington friend that I
obtained a full description of this fight.
"David and Goliath they were in the ring
after we had scooted about in a steam boat
trying to find a spot where they could fight
undisturbed. Sayers was on board the train to
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 61
Southend, disguised with whiskers and beard
complete. The fight took place on the Kent
coast, and folks laughed when they saw the two
men stripped for the fray. Tom looked such a
midget in comparison, and Perry with his
gnarled fists, his rugged face scarred with count-
less battles, and his toothless gums, presented a
terrifying apparition. He could not understand
the dancing figure of the little man.
" ` Coom an' fight,' he urged but Tom danced
on, and was soon hammering away at the big
man with those terrific punches of his. Perry
became like a maniac. He snorted with pain
and rage, especially when Sayers landed one on
the bridge of the nose that jerked his head back
till his neck creaked.
"One mistake Tom made, and that was when,
after receiving one blow, he tried to retaliate
when another was on its way. The Slasher
landed a beauty on the forehead which sent
Sayers to the ground with a shock which could
be felt. The spectators gasped, and the Slasher's
backers prepared to draw their money when----
suddenly Tom was up again, grinning and
dancing around as before, only this time with
a huge, egg----like bruise decorating his forehead.
"By this time it was all Tom's fight, and he
was going in with tearing half-arm jabs and
62 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
uppercuts which shook the other man to the
knees. He fought him off his feet, and the end
came in the tenth round when the Slasher,
almost blind, and reeling from the punishment
he had received, came flailing around the ring,
choked with blood, and pretty well helpless.
Owen Swift, his backer, stepped into the ring
to stop the fight. The Slasher tried to brush
him aside, but had not the strength to do this
even, and in the end Sayers was accorded the
championship, the fight having lasted one hour
and forty-two minutes. The Slasher wept when
Tom came across to his corner to shake hands,
for he had staked his all on this fight, and it had
left him practically broke. There was the usual
benefit, however, and he retired to the little
public-house where he ended his days."
Sayers never fought again after his scrap with
Heenan, but prior to that his fame was such
that they would adjourn the House of Com-
mons so that sporting M.P's could go down and
see this little wonder fight. Dukes, lords,
judges, and all sorts would go down to watch
him, and when he died thousands followed him
to his grave. He died on the 8th November,
1865, and is buried in Highgate Cemetery, and
on his tomb one can see a model of his insepar-
able pal----the dog he loved so much.
SLAVIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 63
It was after this fight that the Act of Parlia-
ment was passed prohibiting the railway
companies from conveying either principals or
enthusiasts to the scenes of prize fights, but
it did not make that much difference, I'm afraid.
Whilst on my trip to New Zealand I made the
acquaintance of Pelorous Jack, probably the
best known fish that ever lived with the excep-
tion of Jonah's whale. Jack is always to be seen
whenever a ship enters Cook Strait, that narrow
passage of water between the north and south
islands of New Zealand. He is a cross between a
dolphin and a porpoise, and pilots ships
through the dangerous reefs and passages with
unerring judgement. When a boat appears at
the mouth of the strait, Pelorous Jack comes on
the scene, and the vessel simply follows him
along. On one occasion somebody threw a
banana at him, and when it came to the ears of
Sir Richard Seddon, the Premier of New
Zealand, he was very wrath, and an Act was
passed forbidding anyone to do anything likely
to injure this natural pilot, whilst a reward of
œ100 was offered to anyone giving information of
any such attempt to injure or destroy. I suppose
Jack is the only fish in the world with an Act of
Parliament all to himself. But he deserves it.
In Christchurch I had an interesting experi-
64 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
ence. On the day of my arrival there, I went
straight to the theatre. Of course, I needed no
rehearsal for my act, and I only went along to
see what sort of a place it was. When I got
there, the stage-door keeper said: "Oh, Mr.
Datas----there's an old gentleman on a tricycle
waiting outside; he says he wants to see you very
important." I returned to the street, and there
sure enough I saw a very old gentleman with a
long white beard, mounted upon a very old and
rickety tricycle. He drove the thing at me at a
speed which would have rendered him liable to
a fine, and then dismounting with the agility
of a two-year-old, he said: "Well, my boy----
welcome to Christchurch----guess you will have
to let me trot you round while you're here."
I thanked him, and he smiled. "Reckon
you're wondering who the devil I am. Well,
I'll tell you. I'm your great uncle, but you
weren't born by a long way when I left the old
country.
He was one of the old pioneers who had gone
out in the late 'forties, and settled down out
there, it appeared. He was then ninety-two
years of age, but scorched along on his tricycle
like a stripling. When the advance Press notices
appeared about me, telling something of my
history and name, he immediately recognised me
TOM SAYERS (Photograph)
SLAYIN-SAYERS-AND SCOTT 65
as being a grandson of his sister, and so deter-
mined that he should do the honours during my
stay. He was one of the jolliest old men I have
ever met, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself whilst
there. He had not seen any of our family for
over sixty years, and consequently he poured
it all out on me, bless him.
It was at Dunedin that I witnessed the fitting
out of the ship of that "gallant gentleman"
Captain Scott, on what was destined to be his
last voyage of discovery. They were about to
set out on the ill-fated attempt to reach the
South Pole, and the whole company, when they
heard that Datas was in the town, did me the
honour of turning up at one of my performances:
Captain Scott put several questions to me
regarding the dates and particulars of his own
voyages, and of previous great Arctic adven-
tures. I rattled off the dates of the Franklin
expedition in 1845, and the Ross and
McClintock expedition in 1857. I described
how McClintock discovered some of the
Franklin relics, and gave other interesting
details of the greatest explorers in the Arctic
and Antarctic regions. We all met after the
show, and I spent a happy hour with this
glorious band of heroes, who went out in such a
blaze of glory. And always I shall remember the
66 DATAS: THE MEMORY MAN
last words of Captain Scott, as I gripped him by
the hand and wished him God speed.
"Cheerio, Datas old man," he said, "and
when I get back, don't forget to look me up, and
I promise to give you the dates and particulars
of our little trip, especially the date I reach that
damn' pole."
And so we parted. I little thought that that
would be the last time I would see them all,
and when the sudden silence came which gave
the first intimation that all was not well, I felt
sick at heart, for I could still conjure up his
smiling face as I had last seen it. The date of
their presumed death is March, 1912, but that
is one of the dates that Datas will never know
for certain, although it has left a sad little scar
on his brain.
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