Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

BOY'S CINEMA Every Tuesday The epic drama of Sam Houston. %vho clutched a vast territory from the grip of a tyrannous regime and founded the Lone Star State. It is based on the British Lion picture which stars Richard Dix as Sam Houston FIGHTINQ BLOOD THE yoar was 1313, second year of a war that was racking the spnisely populated territories which then comprised the United States. The scene was the villnsre of Mary- ville, Tennessee—a settlement wliich in tliose early day» of American history was considered to bo on the outer fringe of civilisation. It was evening, and the able-bodied male in- habitants of Maryville had assembled in the village square at tap of drum. They were now gathered about a raised platform on which was atfi.xed that instrument of punishment known as "the stocks," wherein many a potty ofTendor liad sat with hands and feet im- prisoned—the hutt of the community, sufTorinR the jibea of liis follows as a penance for havinff broken the social code. Nr) such wronijdoer was seated there now, however. The slocks were not in use. The platform in the square was merely a favourable vantasfe point for a prizzled, whiskered recruiting-senjeant — Lannie Upchurch by name, of the 39th Regiment of the U.S. Army. Sergeant Lannie Upchurch had arrived at the village in company with a small detach- ment of his comrades. One of these was an- tici|iantly holding a quill pen and an enlistment book. Another was posted beside the drum which liad summonetl the men of Maryville from their homes. On the taut parchment of that diiim several stacks of coins had been arranged invitingly—and Lannie Upchurch was lifting his voice in a strident haiangue that was intended to add to the inducement provided by those coins. " Come on, you men," he was proclaiming nasally. "General Andy Jackson is callin' for volimteers. Now who'll be the first Maryville man to sign that recniitin' book? I've tola you the enemy has made a .shambles out o' the East. I've told you the Federal Government's fled to Philadelphia. An' I tell you now that our country's only hope lies in the West and Andy Jackson." He paused and scanned his civilian audience from under the peak of a plumed military cap and a pair of shaggy brows. "Listen," ho contiiuied. "For every man that volunteers there's a dollar on this here drum. A silver dollar, boys—a silver dollar. Yea, and a brand-new uniform an' a chance for everlastin' glory. Come on, you men o' Tennessee. Wlio'll fight for his flag—his flag, his farm, an' his family? Who'U fight for Andy Jackson an' freedom?" His words had a disappointing effect on his listeners. Many in the crowd gathered about the platform had assumed an ironical de- meanour. Others looked uneasy, and clearly had no stomach for soldiering. Patriotism in Maryville Beerued to be conspicuous by its absence. But there was one among Sergeant Lannie's audience who was ready to answer tJie call. Fur-capped, clad in the buckskin of a trapper and resting on the muzzle of a musket, he was a big, powerfully built youncr man with a strong, ruggedly-handsome face, an aquiline nose that betokened a commanding personality, a pair of eyes which held a fflin* *hflt sugffesteirl TT^TmHipr Arili. liWVt. the spirit of adventure was developed in him to a high degree. He was Samuel Houston—a rover by nature, a man of dominant character and possessed of traits which had earned him friends and foes in about equal proportion. A man whom many admired for his fearlessness, and whom many disliked for his bluntness and his readi- ness to drive home an opinion with a blow when any argument in which he was involved became heated. He was a young man who was regarded as eccentric, too. Whereas most whites were con- temptuous of the Indians whose lands lay beyond the frontier settlements, Sam Houston was their recognised friend—was known, in- deed, to be a blood brother to the Cherokee tribe, with whom he was wont to spend long periods, living amongst them in their forest domain away to the west of Maryville. For the rest, Sam Houston came of a fight- ing breed; could trace his descent back to a warrior line of Scottish borderers, one of whom had fought in fifteenth-century France under the banner of Joan of Arc. ' Alone among those who had listened to the address made by Lannie Upchurch, Sam Houston now spoke up in concurrent response. "•I'll fight for Andy Jackson and freedom," he stated briskly, and as he uttered the words he thrust his way towards the trooper who was holding the quill pen and the enlistment book. Taking the pen, Sam Houston wrote his name in the recruiting ledger, and up on the platform Sergeant Lannie Upchurch nodded his approval. "That's the lad," he declared. "Collect your silver dollar from the drum." Sam Houston obt«iined the dollar that was due to him and was pocketing it when a villajjrer close behind him gave vent to a derisive comment. "Sure, Houston'll fight," he jeered insult- ingly. "Heap Indian brother'll fight. Crazy Sam Houston." The speaker \va% a man by the name of Goodwin Davis. He was a man of formidable physique, as tall and as well-proportioned as the stalwart young frontiersman whom he had derided. But, rounding on him in a flash. Sam Houston let go at him with a smashing right- hander, and under the impact of that tremendous buffet Goodwin Davis went down like a pole-axe<l bullock. He fell in a heap at Sam's feet and lay there in a stupor—a stupor from which he had not fully recovered when his antagonist clutched him and wrenched hiin on to his two wavering "pins," dragging hiin up for all his bulk as effortlessly as if he had been a child. " Crazy, am I ?" Sam Houston ground out. " Well, ifust remember thtit when the ccnmkry needed men I was crazy enough to volunteer —crazy enough to fight for you and a lot of hang-tail sheep like you." He sent the dazed villager reeling towards the soldier who was in charge of the enlistment book. "Write down Goodwin Davis in that re- cruitijng ledger," he instructed the trooper. ." Goodwin Davis is going to fight for his flag and Andrew Jackson." With that he turned to front the remainder of Maryville's unzealous male inhabitants, and bent upon them a belligerent glare. "Now, come on, some of the rest of .you," he ordered imperatively, "or I'll drag you up by the heels." None of the men he had thus addressed showing any inclination to obey, he singled out an individual who was a particular crony of Goodwin Davis and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Come on, you!" he snapped. "Robert Watson, dedicating his life to his country!" "Not me, Sam Houston," was the high- pitched, querulous reply. "You can go an' get yourself killed—and good riddance. But not me. Jackson's gonna lose. He ain't got a chance " Watson broke off at that juncture, suddenly becoming aware of the approach of a party of horsemen. They were horsemen who were clad i'.i military uniform, and as they ad- vanced into the full glow of a couple of lan- terns that had been planted on the platform in the village square it was observed that they comprised a group of officers. At the head of the party was. a spare, wiry personage in the late forties—a man wearing a cocked hat that indicated he was of exalted rank—a man with the aesthetic fac« of a visionary, yet possessing the firm-lipped mouth and the determined jaw of one who could translate his dreams into reality—a man «ho was known and revered throughout Tennessee. "General Jackson!" Robert Watson ejacu- lated sheepishly. The newcomers drew rein in the gleam of the lanterns' light, and the man in the cocked hat surveyed Watson contemplatively for a moment. Then he spoke in quiet and level tones, his opening sentence proving that he had heard the sentiments e.xproflsod by the vil- lager in Sam Houston's grasp. "You're afraid to go to war, that's all," General Andrew Jaok.son remarked to Watson. The latter lidgeted in an uncomfortable manner, \vhereupon Jackson swept the whole assemblage of villagers with his gaze and addressed them collectivelv, adopting an un- grammatical style of speech that nad endeared him to mnnv a rough-and-ready battalion erf 1