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. Fighting the Whales by R. M. Ballantyne (best novels for students txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Fighting the Whales by R. M. Ballantyne (best novels for students txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
The Yankee boats were the first to come up with this fish, so the prize belonged to them. We were well pleased at this, as we could afford to let them have it, seeing that we could scarcely have found room to stow away the oil in our hold. It was the Yankees’ first fish, too, so they were in great spirits about it, and towed it to their ship, singing “Yankee-doodle” with all their might.
As they passed our boat the captain hailed them.
“I wish you joy of your first fish, sir,” said he to the Yankee captain.
“Thank you, stranger. I guess we’re in luck, though it ain’t a big one. I say, what sort o’ brute was that that had hold of him? Never seed sich a crittur in all my life.”
“He’s a killer,” said our captain.
“A killer! Guess he just is, and no mistake: if we hadn’t helped him, he’d have done the job for himself! What does he kill him for?”
“To eat him, but I’m told he only eats the tongue. You’ll not forget that you’ve promised to gam with us to-night,” cried our captain, as they were about to commence pulling again.
“All right, stranger, one half will come to-night, before sundown; t’other half to-morrow, if the calm holds. Good-day. Give way, lads.”
The men dipped their oars, and resumed their song, while we pulled back to our ship. We did not offer to help them, because the fish was a small one, and the distance they had to go not great.
It was near sunset when, according to promise, the Yankees came on board, and spent a long evening with us. They were a free, open-hearted, boastful, conceited, good-humoured set of fellows, and a jolly night we had of it in the forecastle, while the mates and captains were enjoying themselves and spinning their yarns in the cabin.
Of course, we began with demands for home news, and, when we had pumped out of them every drop they had, we began to sing songs and to spin yarns. And it was now that my friend Tom Lokins came out strong, and went on at such a rate, that he quite won the hearts of our guests. Tom was not noisy, and he was slow in his talk, but he had the knack of telling a good story; he never used a wrong word, or a word too many, and, having a great deal of humour, men could not help listening when he began to talk.
After this we had a dance, and here I became useful, being able to play Scotch reels and Irish jigs on the fiddle. Then we had songs and yarns again. Some could tell of furious fights with whales that made our blood boil; others could talk of the green fields at home, until we almost fancied we were boys again; and some could not tell stories at all. They had little to say, and that little they said ill; and I noticed that many of those who were perfect bores would cry loudest to be heard, though none of us wanted to hear them. We used to quench such fellows by calling loudly for a song with a rousing chorus.
It was not till the night was far spent, and the silver moon was sailing through the starry sky, that the Yankees left us, and rowed away with a parting cheer.
Six months after our “gam” with the Yankees Tom Lokins and I found ourselves seated once more in the little garret beside my dear old mother.
“Deary me, Robert, how changed ye are!”
“Changed, mother! I should think so! If you’d gone through all that I’ve done and seen since we last sat together in this room you’d be changed too.”
“And have ye really seen the whales, my boy?” continued my mother, stroking my face with her old hand.
“Seen them? ay, and killed them too—many of them.”
“You’ve been in danger, my son,” said my mother earnestly, “but God has preserved you safe through it all.”
“Ay, mother, He has preserved my life in the midst of many dangers,” said I, “for which I am most thankful.”
There was a short silence after this, during which my mother and I gazed earnestly at each other, and Tom Lokins smoked his pipe and stared at the fire.
“Robert, how big is a whale?” inquired my mother suddenly.
“How big? why, it’s as big as a small ship, only it’s longer, and not quite so fat.”
“Robert,” replied my mother gravely, “ye didn’t used to tell untruths; ye must be jokin’.”
“Joking, mother, I was never more in earnest in my life. Why, I tell you that I’ve seen, ay, and helped to cut up, whales that were more than sixty feet long, with heads so big that their mouths could have taken in a boat. Why, mother, I declare to you that you could put this room into a whale’s mouth, and you and Tom and I could sit round this table and take our tea upon his tongue quite comfortable. Isn’t that true, Tom?”
My mother looked at Tom, who removed his pipe, puffed a cloud of smoke, and nodded his head twice very decidedly.
“Moreover,” said I, “a whale is so big and strong, that it can knock a boat right up into the air, and break in the sides of a ship. One day a whale fell right on top of one of our boats and smashed it all to bits. Now that’s a real truth!”
Again my mother looked at Tom Lokins, and again that worthy man puffed an immense cloud of smoke, and nodded his head more decidedly than before. Being anxious to put to flight all her doubts at once, he said solemnly, “Old ooman, that’s a fact!”
“Robert,” said my mother, “tell me something about the whales.”
Just as she said this the door opened, and in came the good old gentleman with the nose like his cane-knob, and with as kind a heart as ever beat in a human breast. My mother had already told me that he came to see her regularly once a week, ever since I went to sea, except in summer, when he was away in the country, and that he had never allowed her to want for anything.
I need scarcely say that there was a hearty meeting between us three, and that we had much to say to each other. But in the midst of it all my mother turned to the old gentleman and said—
“Robert was just going to tell me something about his adventures with the whales.”
“That’s capital!” cried the old gentleman, rubbing his hands. “Come, Bob, my boy, let’s hear about ’em.”
Being thus invited, I consented to spin them a yarn. The old gentleman settled himself in his chair, my mother smoothed her apron, folded her hands, and looked meekly into my face. Tom Lokins filled his pipe, stretched out his foot to poke the fire with the toe of his shoe, and began to smoke like a steam-engine; then I cleared my throat and began my tale, and before I had done talking that night, I had told them all that I have told in this little book almost word for word.
Thus ended my first voyage to the South Seas. Many and many a trip have I made since then, and many a wonderful sight have I seen, both in the south and in the north. But if I were to write an account of all my adventures, my little book would grow into a big one; I must therefore come to a close.
The profits of this voyage were so great, that I was enabled to place my mother in a position of comfort for the rest of her life, which, alas! was very short. She died about six months after my return. I nursed her to the end, and when I laid her dear head in the grave my heart seemed to die within me, for I felt that I had lost one of God’s most precious gifts—an honest, gentle, pious mother.
I’m getting to be a old man now, but I am comfortable and happy, and as I have more than enough of this world’s goods, and no family to care for, my chief occupation is to look after the poor, and particularly the old women who live in my neighbourhood. After the work of the day is done, I generally go and spend the evening with Tom Lokins, who lives near by, and is stout and hearty still; or he comes and spends it with me, and, while we smoke our pipes together, we often fall to talking about those stirring days when, in the strength and hope of youth, we sailed together to the South Seas, and took to—Fighting the Whales.
The End.
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