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The Run-Down
February 1909

The rain had finally let up and the darkness began loosening its grip in the eastern sky as Captain Westfall made his way towards the Downie & Pacific rail line from Grand Bend. The journey thus far had been uneventful and with the cavalry’s withdrawal he was now on his own.

Having grown up in nearby Delamere along Braeland’s north shore, Captain Westfall was familiar with the countryside, with its expansive forests and rolling plains that gently sloped their way to the coast. It was still largely undeveloped, especially compared to the more populous south – ideal for growing kids with boundless energy and limitless imaginations. For a moment he was lost in thought, back to a more peaceful time. Riding on horseback, his first love and playing the popular games of the day such as football and rounders with his friends. He didn’t see kids doing that as much as he grew older; a sign of more a rigid society denying its children their childhood and more consumed with its own continued existence over everything else. ‘We definitely lost something’, he thought to himself.

The blaring of a train whistle in the distance roused Westfall from his reverie.

“Well, she’s right on time. Let’s go Sprite!”

Westfall rode along the edge of the forest so as to remain concealed for as long as possible but with the freight train now in view, he had no choice but to make the mad dash across the open plain. Riding up alongside the boxcars, he could tell that the train was not travelling at full speed – a good sign that he was expected. Easing up on the reigns, he prepared himself for grabbing onto the front platform of the guard’s van. But the whizzing of a bullet by his head and the shattering of wood alerted Westfall that his presence was known. Moving quickly so as to get out of harm’s way, he reached out for the iron railing.

“C’mon Sprite, just a bit – there we go!”

With his left hand clasping the railing, he stood up in his stirrups so as to make the jump. But without warning, Sprite went out from under him. With his horse now tumbling head over end behind him, Westfall hung on for his life, but not before losing his grip and smashing his chin on the bottom step. With his feet now dragging on the ground and only inches away from the wheels, Westfall struggled to pull himself up the steps and onto the platform.

Collapsing from sheer exhaustion and terror, he began rubbing his aching jaw. “At least it’s not broken” he consoled himself. But he could tell that his face had been splattered with blood. Panicking, he frantically checked himself over to see where he had been hit. Looking down onto his uniform, he could see still more fresh blood but no wounds were evident. It was then he realized that the blood was not his, but Sprite’s.

“Those sons...”

Reaching for his pistol, he peered out from the van but was unable to spot anyone in the adjacent clearing. Turning towards the engine, he was startled to find someone looking back at him. For a moment, the two regarded each other, until the engineer began waving his hand. Waving back, Westfall could see the engineer cupping his hands around his mouth as if to say something.

“Hold on”, he thought the engineer shouted. His assumption was correct, as the train lurched violently, sending Westfall back against the guard’s van and off his feet.

“I think I’ll stay down this time”, Westfall drolly noted to himself.

With the door locked and apparently no one inside, Westfall was forced to remain on the platform. But with the train now embarking on a steady steep decline as it hurtled towards the coast, he realized he would need to secure himself to the car if he was to avoid being thrown off. Taking a couple of tourniquets from his side pocket, he tied his left leg and arm to the railing. Having secured himself, he paused to look up into the early morning sky. He could see the stars starting to recede as the orange and yellow rays of the morning sunrise began to take center stage. He wondered if he would be able to see them ever again in his homeland. But now was not the time to dwell on such matters. Having gone the past 36 hours without sleep, he was overwhelmed with fatigue. With Queensland still a couple of hours away, Captain Westfall allowed the rhythm of the train to lull him into some much-needed sleep.

Departure

Reluctantly, Westfall awoke to voices and two dark figures looking over him.

“Wake up, Captain Westfall. Captain Westfall? We’ve made it. But you’ve got to hurry. There’s not a second to lose.”

Westfall wearily raised his free hand over his eyes to block out the intense sunlight that was drenching his face. The smell of salt air and the sound of seagulls alerted him that he had indeed made it to Queensland. Getting a better look at the men who were hovering over him, he now recognized one of them as the engineer of the train.

“Ah, thank God you’re all right, Captain. I apologize for forcing you to remain out here on the platform. The war has displaced a great many people, and we’ve had to take steps to prevent unwanted guests from moving in. However, I see that you improvised quite well.”

“Yes, I was fortunate to have a couple of these on me”, laughed Westfall as he cut himself loose from the tourniquets with his pocketknife. “What time is it? I have to be on the S.S. Waverley by 0800 hours.”

“Its 0730 hours, sir, but we need to leave immediately”, replied the other gentleman. “The Armed Forces are aware of your presence and are sending a unit here to capture you as we speak.”

“I noticed they were on my tail when I was boarding the train”, responded Westfall nonchalantly. Getting on his feet, Westfall could tell that the gentleman served on a ship. He was younger than the train engineer with a handsome, clean-cut appearance. A little too young to be captain of a ship, Westfall thought.

“Captain Toulson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am Chief Officer Crang actually”, replied the gentleman, accepting Westfall’s outreached hand. “But I’m here to escort you onto the Waverley.”

Turning his attention towards the vessel in the distance, Chief Officer Crang whistled and waved his hands at the deck crew, signalling them to start her engines.

The S.S. Waverley, belonging to the newly formed Bank Line, was a typical freighter of its size. Almost immediately, the engines began to turn as Crang rushed Westfall onto the ship.

“Thank God you’re in one piece,” a voice bellowed as Westfall reached the deck. “By the looks of it, you’ve had an adventure. Captain Toulson at your service. It’s an honour to meet you.”

"Thank you, Captain,” replied Westfall as he shook his hand. “I guess I am little worse for wear. But at least I made it safe and sound.”

“Indeed, you must be exhausted and famished. Crang will show you to your quarters where you can clean up and get some nourishment in you.” Then Captain Toulson approached him. “I want you to know that all of England supports the fine fight and think it’s a travesty that we as a country haven’t done more to help. If there’s anything we can do for you, please let us know.”

By now, it seemed the entire crew had gathered behind their Captain as he said these words, showing their support.

Westfall’s heart swelled. “Thank you, Captain Toulson. That means a lot to me. I know my fellow Loyalists will be strengthened by those words as well. I should wire General Fisher immediately to let him know I successfully made it on board.”

An awkward silence settled among the crew. Captain Toulson placed his hand on Westfall’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry Captain Westfall, but General Fisher and his men were ambushed shortly after your departure. He and his fellow officers did not survive.”

Westfall groaned and turned away from the men. As he looked out towards the harbour that was now steadily receding from view, he could sense the burden he felt overwhelming him. “The enemy is unstoppable. How can anyone fight against this oppression? Is there no one left in Braeland not kneeling to this regime?”

Despite being out of the Republicans’ grasp, it would be a long voyage to a foreign land for Captain Westfall, with a seemingly insurmountable challenge ahead of him.

However, a ‘rendezvous with democracy’ would not be forgotten. As the Republicans became more and more entrenched in power, the initial euphoria surrounding the Republican Revolution of 1908 quickly began to dissipate. The seeds of discontent that had undone the Monarchy were now steadily being replaced with ones for the Republic, and the independent streak that characterized Braelanders would soon emerge once again. In time, a new king would arrive and receive a much different reception.

Excerpt taken from the forthcoming book At The Wall: How Baseball Saved A Nation, by Paul Shirley, senior sports editor of the Brunswick Courier. Reprinted with permission.