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 Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue by Ballantyne (best free e reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: Ballantyne
Book online «The Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue by Ballantyne (best free e reader .TXT) 📖». Author Ballantyne
Mitford did not hear, but a touch of Slag’s toe caused him to feel and to rise.
O’Connor was already astir, preparing breakfast. Cold boiled mussels and a bit of pork may be good food, but it is not appetising. Consequently they did not linger long over the meal, but were soon striding up the mountain-side rejoicing in the fresh air and sunshine.
There was a certain phase in John Mitford’s character which had not yet been discovered by his friends, and was known only to his wife. He was romantic—powerfully so. To wander through unknown lands and be a discoverer had been the dream of his youth. He was naturally reticent, and had never said so to any one but Peggy, who, being the reverse of romantic, was somewhat awe-stricken by the discovery, and, in an imbecile way, encouraged him to hope that, “one of these days he’d ’ave ’is desires gratified, as there was nothink to prevent ’im from goin’ to Novazealand—if that was the right way to pronounce it—or to Van Demons land—not in a sinful way of course, for they had given up transportin’ people there now—though wherever they transported ’em to she couldn’t imagine—anyhow, there was nothink to prevent his tryin’.” And John did try, which was the primary cause of his being a member of the exploring party now under consideration.
Influenced by his romantic spirit, Mitford betrayed a troublesome tendency to wander from his comrades in pursuit of the Unknown. O’Connor, with the straightforward simplicity of his nation, set it down to pig-headedness. Slag, being a man of feeling, opined that it was absence of mind.
“The spalpeen! he’s off again,” said O’Connor, turning round as they halted to rest a minute, after breasting the hill for half-an-hour. “Hallo, John! Where are ye, boy?”
“Here—all right,” shouted a voice in the distance, “I’m exploring behind the knoll here. Go ahead; I’ll meet ye at the top o’ the hill.”
By that time they were within about an hour’s walk of the highest ridge of the island, so they pushed on without delay, expecting to find their lugubrious friend there before them, or not far behind them. It turned out as had been supposed. The mountain ridge formed the summit of the great precipice along the foot of which they had sailed after quitting the cavern, or, as they had come to call it, the wreck-cave. For some time the two stood on the giddy edge, looking in silence on the tremendous depths below, and the sublime spectacle of illimitable sea beyond, with its myriad facets gleaming in the sunshine.
Then they bethought them of their comrade, and turned back to look for him; hallooing now and then as they went, and expecting every moment to see him emerge from one of the gorges that led to the ridge. But there was no answering shout or any sign of his having been there. Soon, becoming anxious and then alarmed, the two men set to work in earnest to search for their lost comrade, but they sought in vain. Returning to the spot where they had last heard his voice, they continued the search in that direction, and made the rocks echo with their shouting. Still no John Mitford was to be found, and the curious thing was that there seemed to be no very rugged or precipitous formation of land where he could easily have met with an accident. At last, evening approached.
“We must go back at wance,” said O’Connor, with anxious looks, “an’ rouse all the men out to seek for him wi’ torches.”
Without another word they turned and made for the camp as fast as they could go.
Meanwhile, Dr Hayward and his party had been successful in their exploration, for they not only discovered a rabbit-warren, but had observed seals basking on the rocks, and found the tracks of goats, or some animal of that kind with divided hoofs. They had even succeeded in getting between a young seal and the water and speared it, so that there was something like jubilation in the camp on their return at the prospect of a fresh meal and better fare in future.
But this was abruptly put an end to by the arrival of Slag and his comrade with the news of Mitford’s disappearance. Poor Mrs Mitford was thrown into a state of terrible alarm, and at first insisted on accompanying the search party, but under the united entreaties of Eva and Nelly she was prevailed on to remain behind.
With torches made of resinous wood which burnt admirably they searched all that night, and, taking only a few hours’ rest, continued the search all the following day, but without success. Day after day the search was continued, even after all hope of ever again seeing their comrade alive had died out, but at last they were compelled to give it up and devote themselves to the urgent duty of procuring better shelter and food.
As for poor Mrs Mitford, she sank into a state of helpless and hopeless despair.
Men in straits cannot afford to sit down to grieve and mope over their sorrows. Although a deep gloom had been cast over the shipwrecked party by the loss of one whom they had learned to respect, the urgent need of obtaining better food and shelter compelled them, as we have said, to give their whole mind and attention to this work.
They pitied poor Peggy sincerely, however, and endeavoured to comfort her a little by raising the hope that her husband might have merely lost himself in the woods of the island, and would yet, perhaps, be found alive and well. But, although their intentions were kindly, they could comfort neither Peggy nor themselves with such a hope; for their experience convinced them that the woods, although thick and tangled, were not extensive enough for any one to be permanently lost in them, and it seemed quite certain that if the lost man had not met with some fatal accident, he would certainly have made his way to the coast, by following which he could have easily found the camp.
“It is very sad to give over our search for poor Mitford,” said Dr Hayward one morning, while seated on a ledge of rock near the beach, taking counsel with his male companions as to the order of procedure for the day, “but we cannot afford to delay our operations longer. This poor fare of mussel soup, with such a small allowance of pork, is beginning to injure the health of our women, not to mention ourselves; besides, the pork won’t last long, even though we put ourselves on the shortest possible allowance; so I think that to-day we must go on an expedition after the seals we saw the last time we went to the southern end of the island. What say you, comrades?”
“All right, cap’n,” answered Massey. “You’ve only got to say the word. But who’s to stop at home to mind the camp-fire and the women?”
“I’m afraid,” returned Hayward, with a deprecatory smile, “that it’s your own turn, Bob. I would say that I’m sorry for you, were it not ungallant to pity a man for being condemned for a day to female society.”
The way in which the coxswain received this showed that he did not repine at his fate. He did not even object to O’Connor’s remark that, “Faix, he might consider himself the luckiest man o’ the lot!”
Accordingly, Massey remained at the camp while the doctor, Slag, O’Connor, Tomlin, and Jarring set out on a hunting expedition with two days’ cooked provisions in their wallets. The doctor and Tomlin armed themselves with spears, but Jarring and Slag preferred clubs.
“You see,” said the latter, “I’ve heard—though I can’t rightly say I’ve seed it done myself—that the seal-hunters o’ the north do their work wi’ clubs; so, if one man can kill a seal wi’ such a thing, I don’t see why another shouldn’t.”
And, truly, there was some reason for this covert boast; for Joe, besides possessing arms of prodigious power, had cut and shaped for himself a knotted club which might have suited the hand of Hercules himself.
It turned out that Bob Massey’s satisfaction at being left behind that day was not altogether the result of regard for female society. While he was sauntering back to the camp, after his comrades had left, he congratulated himself aloud on having at last a chance of making his experiment without being laughed at during the trial. “That is—if Nellie has got enough of line made.”
At that moment Nell was busy with the line in question, and at the same time doing her best to comfort Mrs Mitford—Mrs Hayward being engaged in preparing dinner; by no means a difficult duty, which the women undertook day about.
“Keep up your spirits, dear Peggy,” said Nell, in that sweet, cosy tone—if we may say so—which played such havoc in Bob’s bosom at the time when she was known as the coxswain’s bride. “I feel sure that your dear husband will return to us. No doubt, some sort o’ misfortune has come to him; but he’s such a sensible, handy man, is John, that I can’t help feelin’ he’ll come back to us; an’ when I feel anything very strongly, d’ee know, I’ve almost always found it come true. Do you believe in strong feelin’, Peggy?”
Poor Mrs Mitford, who had been sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, and an utterly woebegone expression on her pale face, raised her head with a troubled look on being thus directly appealed to.
“Believe in strong feelin’s, Nellie? I should just think I do. Not to mention my own feelin’s—which are so strong that I never felt nothink like ’em before—any one who has been married to my John must know well what st–strong—oh! no, I shall never see ’im again; dear Nellie, don’t tell me,” she said, beginning to cry. “I know—I know—”
“There, now—there’s a good soul. Don’t go off again. Look! D’ee know what this is for?”
As she spoke, Nellie held up a ball of what appeared to be twine, and her companion—whose mind resembled that of a child, in that it could be easily diverted—said no, she didn’t know what it was for, and that she, (Peggy), had seen her making it when the men were off excursioning, and had asked about it; and why didn’t she, (Nellie), relieve her curiosity before, upon the point, instead of waitin’ till now?
“Well, you see, Peggy,” replied her friend, with the confidential air of one who has a secret to tell, “my Bob has took it into his head to give his mates a surprise by fishin’ for albatrosses.”
“Lawks! Nellie, an’ that will give ’em a surprise!” interrupted Mrs Mitford, drying her eyes. “How ever can any man fish for a bird—unless, indeed, it goes under water an’ changes its nature, which no creetur can do; though, now I come to think of it, I have seen flyin’ fish, an’ so, perhaps, there may be albytresses, or other birds, that—”
“Hallo! Nellie, hard at the twine, lass? You’ve made about enough of it now,” cried our coxswain, entering the camp at that moment, sitting down beside his wife, and examining the ball of cord which she had been so busily spinning.
“I’m glad you think there’s enough, Bob, for I’ve come to the end o’ the stuff you gathered for me.”
“Plenty more where that came from, Nell; but there’s no need to gather more than enough; for enough, you know, is as good as a feast. Well, Peggy,” he added, turning to the poor woman, and patting her gently on the shoulder, “has Nell been tellin’ you what I’m goin’ to try?”
“She was beginnin’ to tell me, Mr Massey, when you came in, something about fishin’ for albytresses, an’ I always thought albytresses was birds, and—”
“Quite right, Peggy. See, this is how it is: you bait a hook—but come,”
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