Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Boy Patriot by Edward Sylvester Ellis (romantic books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «The Boy Patriot by Edward Sylvester Ellis (romantic books to read TXT) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
Sunday on board the Molly was precisely like other days, as far as the movements and occupations of the men were concerned. To Blair there was ever a more solemn stillness over the sea, and a more imposing grandeur in the wide canopy of the overhanging sky. One great temple it seemed to him, the sunlit waves its shining floor, the firmament its arching roof, and the unseen angels the countless worshippers, singing, "Praise and glory and honor be unto the name of God most high." In this adoring song Blair heartily joined, and he longed and prayed for the time to come when on every white-winged ship there should be gathered the servants of the Lord of sabaoth, rejoicing to call upon his holy137 name and give him glory for all his wondrous works.
Absorbed in such thoughts as these, Blair was leaning over the side of the ship one Sunday morning. Suddenly a strong voice close at his side spoke with deep earnestness the words, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name."
Blair turned in astonishment, and saw Derry Duck close at his side. Tears were coursing down those rough cheeks, and the almost blinded eyes were lifted reverently upward, and silently spoke the same language as the song of praise.
Blair's heart bounded. He could not be deceived. One of God's great miracles of grace had been wrought. The devil had been cast out, and the ransomed was giving God the glory. It must be so.
Blair seized the hand of his companion, and looking into his face, said quick138ly, "Oh, Derry, are you really in earnest?"
"Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies,'" continued Derry with deep feeling. "He found me dead in trespasses and sins; he has given me new life in Christ Jesus. Praise and honor unto his holy name."
Tears rushed to the eyes of Blair Robertson. A fervent "Thank God!" was all he could utter. Blair's whole being did indeed "magnify the Lord" at this wonderful evidence of his power. Curses had been changed to praises. The blaspheming lips had been touched by the Saviour's hand, and taught the language of the children of God. His young servant could not but "stand in awe," and139 own the might and the wonderful mercy of the King of kings.
Derry was the first to break the solemn silence. "Those words never left me: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,'" he said. "They stuck to me, and rang in my ears and searched every nook and cranny of my wicked heart. Often I had longed to be a Christian man for the little dear's sake, if not for my own; but I said to myself, 'No, Derry Duck, you are all pitch, you can't be made white;' and Satan helped me to hold on to that way of thinking. Your scripture gave the lie again and again to that. It seemed to say to me, You choose blackness and damnation, when God asks you to wash and be clean. What I've suffered these weeks, no soul out of perdition can tell. The devil clung to me.140 He would not let me go. He claimed me for his own. He told over to me my dark, hidden sins, and taunted me that I had gone too far to go back now. He hissed in my ear that no power could cleanse and save such as me. Then came up the words, 'With God all things are possible,' 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.' 'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.' And he has saved me. I am His. He has given me a mouth to praise him. O Blair, think of his wonderful mercy, to take poor wicked Derry Duck into the kingdom of heaven."
The boy's heart throbbed and swelled with joy and praise. What was the changing of water to wine, or the calming of the stormy sea, compared to this marvellous miracle wrought in a living human soul? "He to whom much is forgiven, loveth much," said our blessed141 Saviour; and in Derry this truth was abundantly verified. The Christ whose blood could wash such as he, was a Lord for whom he was willing to suffer even unto death. The mercy that could stoop to ransom such a transgressor, claimed an affection before which poor Derry's deep love for his earthly darling paled, as the things of time fade into insignificance before the things of eternity.
Blair had longed to see his rude shipmates forsaking their sins; he had prayed and wrestled in prayer for them. Yet now, when he saw the work begun before his eyes, he felt the faithlessness of those very prayers, and knew that they could have won no fulfilment, but for the merits of the great Intercessor in whose name they had ever been offered.
"Why should it be thought a thing incredible to you that God should raise the dead?" This question of the apostle142 comes with power to the Christians of our own day. Do you really believe it possible for God to raise to newness of life the dead in trespasses and sins? There is no soul so hardened that it cannot be melted to penitence by the touch of the mighty Spirit of God. Let this thought make us fervent, importunate, instant in prayer for the souls that are at death's door and hasting to destruction.
Can any thing but the power of God make the moral man, once proud of his own uprightness, humble as the little child, leaning only on the cross of Christ for salvation? He who works this wonder can do yet more. What are the sins and self-will of the human heart, in comparison with the might of the majesty of Jehovah? He who laid the strong foundations of the earth, and led forth the marshalled millions of the stars in their wonderful order, can mould and143 fashion the soul of man at his will. Let us not stand doubting, timid, and faint-hearted, discouraged by the foul sins which blot and efface in man the fair image of his Maker. Let us rather "come boldly to the throne of grace," and plead through the great Intercessor for every wanderer from the right path, and specially and perseveringly for those dear ones of our own households, who, like the prodigal, have left the Father's house, to be in misery and want in sin's far foreign land.
Each kind affection nature gives
Religion makes more bright,
As sunshine on the landscape falls,
And beautifies with light.
The patriot had hitherto been sleeping in the heart of Derry Duck; but now he was to awake like a "strong man armed." There is not one kindly, pleasant, honorable feeling, but is strengthened and ennobled by the touch of divine grace. Nor only so: he who finds himself suddenly alive to his allegiance to God, has at the same time his vision cleared to see around him a thousand hitherto unknown or neglected ties, which bind him to his fellow-men. In a whisper of conscience, he is taught that145
He is the faithful patriot,
Who keeps his Maker's laws;
Nor will the servant of his Lord
Forsake his country's cause.
Among the sins of which Derry Duck was called deeply to repent, was the dishonor which he had brought on his own Christian land, in many a port where his wild deeds had left their guilty trace. What had he done for the glory of Christian America? Bravely he had fought under her flag; but it had been through reckless daring, or a thirst for gold. Not for a noble principle, not for the defence of home and kindred, altar and hearth-stone, had he raised his strong right arm.
Blair Robertson rejoiced to see the spirit of true patriotism awaking in the bosom of the hardy sailor. The high-souled boy had now a sharer in his enthusiastic love of his country, and devotion to her cause. They joined their146 labors at once to improve the defenders of the flag, who were their shipmates, and yet a disgrace to their native land. Blair went on in his own peculiar way; while Derry at once announced his position as a Christian mate, who would suffer no profanity in his hearing, and would see the crew of the Molly engage in no deeds on the high seas, not sanctioned by the letters of marque which were their warrant for their blows struck against the common foe.
Some outward change had been produced in the men of the privateer, when all thoughts were suddenly turned into a new channel. A fast sailing American merchant ship informed Captain Knox that the expected East Indiaman was not more than half a day behind her.
All was at once stir and bustle from stem to stern of the Molly. The sturdy little craft was like the bristling porcu147pine, ready and impatient for action, when the masts of the East Indiaman slowly rose above the horizon. The privateer gave chase at once, and rapidly neared its prey. The guns of the Molly gave the signal for surrender. The British flag went down, and Derry Duck, with a strong party of boarders was sent at once to seize the valuable prize.
Ready to pounce on their defenceless victims, the eager sailors climbed the sides of the huge vessel and stood upon its deck, cutlass and pistol in hand. Suddenly the hatchways were thrown open, and a band of British soldiers sprang forth with a fierce battle-cry. Derry Duck rushed among them with desperate valor, and was heartily seconded by his fearless followers.
From the deck of the Molly, Captain Knox could see the trap into which he had fallen. He could not use his well-148loaded guns without destruction to his own men. He could only send reinforcements to their small band, and quietly see the battle fought hand to hand, which a few cannon balls would have settled in a moment.
Several skilful British marksmen were firing at the few who remained on the approaching privateer, when Captain Knox ordered Blair aloft.
Blair obeyed without a moment's hesitation, and sped upward as if in the glee of boyhood's play. Yet in the heart of the young patriot there was prayer for his soul, should it be set free in that hour of danger; there was burning love for his country's cause. The eye of Derry Duck fell on the isolated group who had been firing at the privateer. He saw a well-known form climbing to the dizzy masthead, while the shot were flying around him. Derry rushed in among149 them with his axe in his hand, and waving it around his head scattered them like leaves before the wind. He stayed long enough to see that Blair had not dropped like a wounded bird among the rigging of the Molly.
Slowly, very slowly, the boy made his way to the deck, then sank down faint and bleeding. A bullet had entered his side; yet he had been so ready for the stroke that it had not thrown him off his guard. Although weak and giddy, he had made his way down his narrow pathway, and reported his duty done. Even the hardy captain gave a pitying glance at the brave boy as he was borne below by the sailors. Yet this was no time for such thoughts in the mind of Captain Knox. The reinforcement from the Molly were on the deck of the East Indiaman. He could hear the hearty cheer of Derry Duck as he placed himself at their150 head, and rushed upon the brave Britons.
Derry's impetuous charge was too much for the soldiers, many of them enfeebled by the climate of India, and going home to recruit in their native breezes. Over the deck swept Derry and his band like a fierce hurricane, which naught can stay or withstand. A shout of victory went up from the Molly, a shout which Derry's excited men sent back over the water in a deafening reply. The East Indiaman was
Comments (0)