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. Philosopher Jack by R. M. Ballantyne (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Philosopher Jack by R. M. Ballantyne (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“I’m grieved to see Daniel so ill,” said Jack in a low voice, which, however, roused the attention of the invalid.
“Dying,” said Jacob sternly, though in a voice that was scarcely audible. “What have you got there?” he added, almost fiercely, as he observed, and at once recognised, the bag in his visitor’s hand.
“Your property,” answered Jack. “Have you not missed it? I conclude, of course, that it has been stolen from you, because it was gambled away by a big rough fellow at Higgins’ store this evening.”
A peculiar smile flitted for a moment across the rugged face of Jacob Buckley as he said, “No, he didn’t steal it. Not being able to leave my brother myself, I sent him with it to the store, to try his luck. It was my last throw, contained all I had, includin’ the dust and nuggets you and your comrades sent me last night.”
He said this in a hard, reckless, defiant manner, then looked suddenly in Jack’s eyes, and inquired with an expression of curiosity how he came by the bag.
“I won it, God forgive me,” said Jack, a deep flush of shame overspreading his face, “and I now come to return what I had no right to win.”
A sound from the dying man attracted their attention at that moment.
“He wants to speak to you,” said Jacob, who had stooped down to listen.
Jack bent over the sick man, who said in a low whisper, with occasional pauses for breath, for his strength was almost gone.
“God bless you! You’ve saved his life. He said if he lost that gold that he’d blow out his brains—and he’d have done it—he would; I know Jacob—he’d have done it. Read to me—the Word—the only true gold.”
Jack looked round. Jacob had sat down, and again covered his face with his hands.
“I have not my Bible with me,” said Jack, “but I can repeat passages from memory.”
He began with the words, “They that trust in Him shall never be put to confusion,” when the dying man roused himself, and with a strong effort whispered, “O, sir, I do trust in Him! Will you try to save my brother from gambling and drink. Speak!—promise!”
“I will!” whispered Jack in his ear.
The man’s energy left him at once, and he fell back on the pillow, from which he had partially risen, with a deep, prolonged sigh. Jacob heard it. Springing up, he fell on his knees by the bedside and seized his brother’s hand.
“O Dan! dear Dan,” he exclaimed, passionately, “don’t give way like that. You’ll get well soon, an we’ll cut this infernal place altogether; we’ll go home and work with the old folk. Dan, dear Dan! speak to me—”
He stopped abruptly, and rose with a stony stare of hopelessness, for Dan’s spirit had returned to God who gave it.
Without a word Jacob set to work to lay out the body, and Jack quietly assisted him. Having finished, the former put the recovered bag of gold in his pocket, stuck a revolver in his belt, and took up the door key of the hut.
“Come, Jacob,” said Jack, purposely taking no notice of these actions, “you’ll go home and spend the night with me. Dear Dan wants no tending now. We will return together, and see to his remains to-morrow. Come.”
Buckley looked undecided.
“You haven’t your flask, have you?” he asked eagerly.
Jack felt in his pockets, and with something like joy found that his flask was not there. “No,” said he, “I haven’t got it. But come, Jacob, you want rest. I’ll give you something better than spirits to drink when we reach the tent. Come.”
The man submitted. They went out and, locking the door, walked quickly and silently away.
Many and anxious were the thoughts that chased each other through the busy brain of our hero during that dreary midnight walk. Before it was ended, he had almost resolved upon a plan of action, which was further matured while he prepared a can of strong hot coffee for poor Jacob Buckley.
“This is how the matter stands,” he said to Captain Samson next morning, during a private conversation, while Buckley and the others were at breakfast in the tent. “I, who am not a teetotaller, and who last night became a gambler, have pledged myself to do what I can to save Jacob Buckley from drink and gaming. To attempt that here would be useless. Well, we are at our lowest ebb just now. To continue working here is equally useless. I will therefore leave you for a time, take Buckley and Wilkins with me, and go on a prospecting tour into the mountains. There it will be impossible to drink or gamble; time may cure Buckley, and perhaps we may find gold! Of course,” he added, with a sad smile, “if we do, we’ll return and let you know.”
The captain approved of this plan. Jacob Buckley and Watty Wilkins at once agreed to go, and immediately after Daniel’s burial, the prospecters set out. The entire party, including Polly, convoyed them as far as Redman’s Gap, where, wishing them good-speed, they parted company. Then the three adventurers passed through the Gap, and were soon lost in the wild recesses of the mountain range.
For more than a month did the prospecting party wander among the Californian mountains in quest of gold, but found none—at least not in paying quantities.
At first the trip was to each of them full of romance, interest and hope. Even Buckley began to cheer up after a few days had passed. The craving for drink began to wear off, and grief for his lost brother—whom he had truly loved—began to abate. The wild scenery through which they passed was in itself sufficient to rouse to a high pitch the enthusiasm of such youths as Philosopher Jack and Watty Wilkins, while their comrade, though not so impressionable in regard to the sublime and beautiful, was roused to sympathy by their irresistible ardour. The necessity of hunting, too, in order to obtain food, added excitement of a more stirring kind, and an occasional encounter with a grizzly bear introduced a spice of danger to which none of them objected. Their various washings of the soil and examination of river beds afforded a sufficient quantity of gold to foster hope, though not to pay expenses. Thus they progressed through many a scene of loveliness, where the hand of God had sown broadcast all the forms and hues of grace and beauty which render this world attractive; they also passed through many a savage defile and mountain gorge—dark, gloomy, almost repulsive—which served to enhance their enjoyment of the beautiful by contrast.
But as the time passed by they became accustomed to the life, and therefore less appreciative. They failed, also, to find gold in larger quantities, and as the finding of gold was their highest aim, they were proportionally disappointed and downcast. Watty, indeed, kept up his spirits pretty well. He experienced the benefit of the change that had taken place in his soul that time when he was alone with God in the little boat upon the sea. He prayed in secret for light, and tried to believe that “all things work together for good to them that love God;” but his faith was weak, and the old heart of unbelief was still very strong.
As for Philosopher Jack, his spirit was still engaged in rebellious warfare. He growled a good deal at his “luck,” and was heartily seconded by Buckley. In addition to this, Jack’s spirit was much troubled by his promise to Daniel Buckley on his deathbed. He shrank, with a strength of feeling that surprised himself, from speaking to Jacob about his infirmity, yet he felt the duty lying strong upon him, for he knew well that, if nothing was said, the man would certainly go back to his old habits on returning to the neighbourhood of the store where drink could be obtained.
“Shall I break the ice at once?” thought Jack. “Perhaps it would be well to wait till we know each other better.”
“Don’t,” said the voice of his old laconic friend.
But Jack did wait, and the longer he waited the more disinclined to speak did he become. He held strongly, however, that a right promise once given should never be broken, and, under a feeling of desperation, said to himself one day, “Would it not be much better to end this matter by speaking without further delay?”
“Do,” said conscience, approvingly.
And Jack did, then and there, the result being that Jacob Buckley did not take it well, but told him flatly to mind his own business. Jack flushed crimson and clenched his fist; then the absurdity of attempting to knock sobriety into a man struck him, and he laughed as he said—
“Well, Buckley, that is just what I am doing, for it is my business to remonstrate with a comrade when I see him give way to a habit which will result in his destruction if not abandoned.”
After this Buckley allowed him to talk a little on the subject, but Jack felt the work to be very distasteful. Eventually he gave it up, consoling himself with the reflection that at all events he had brought the man away on an expedition where nothing stronger than cold water and hot tea was to be had for love or money.
At last the tide turned. On the same day a piece of great good and bad fortune befell our explorers. It happened thus:—
Watty Wilkins roused himself from a golden dream one morning, threw off his blanket looked up at the bush which served him and his comrades as a canopy, and yawned. It was grey dawn. There was that clear sweet light in the sky which gives sure promise of a fine day. Seeing that his companions still slept, he drew from his breast a small Testament, read a few verses, and prayed. This had been his custom ever since his deliverance by the American ship.
Soon after, Jack moved his bulky frame, rolled round, threw out his arms, and yawned. The yawn awakened Buckley, who immediately followed suit—such is the force of example!
“I’ll tell you what it is, mates,” said the latter, sitting up, “that twist I gave my leg yesterday troubles me a little. I shall remain in camp to-day and smoke.”
“Very good,” said Jack, rising and putting the kettle on the fire with a view to breakfast. “Watty and I will go up that valley and prospect. We will expect that you’ll eat no more than your share of the provisions during our absence, and that you’ll have supper ready for us when we return.”
The simple breakfast being disposed of and washed down with cans of hot tea, the two friends shouldered their guns and set off up the gorge or narrow mountain valley, near the mouth of which they had bivouacked. There was a belt of wood close to their camp; beyond that a small plain, after crossing which they entered a dense thicket, and began a toilsome march up the bed of a little mountain stream. The channel was nearly dry at the time, but the boulders, which were strewn about everywhere, showed that it was sometimes a formidable torrent.
“A likely place for gold,” said Watty, with a hopeful look and tune.
“We’ve tried many such likely places,” replied Jack, with a look and tone not quite so hopeful.
For several miles they advanced, washing out a panful of dirt here and there, and finding a little gold-dust as usual. Mid-day arrived, and they sat down to a cold dinner, consisting of a few scraps
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