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. Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata by R. M. Ballantyne (suggested reading txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Blown to Bits; or, The Lonely Man of Rakata by R. M. Ballantyne (suggested reading txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
When this happy stage had been reached our voyagers lowered and stowed the canoe-sails, and continued to advance under paddles.
"We get along wonderfully fast, Van der Kemp," said Nigel, while resting after a pretty long spell; "but it seems to me, nevertheless, that we shall take a considerable time to reach Borneo at this rate, seeing that it must be over two hundred miles away, and if we have much bad weather or contrary wind, we shan't be able to reach it for weeks—if at all."
"I have been thrown somewhat out of my reckoning," returned the hermit, "by having to fly from the party on the islet, where I meant to remain till a steamer, owned by a friend of mine, should pass and pick us up, canoe and all. The steamer is a short-voyage craft, and usually so punctual that I can count on it to a day. But it may have passed us in the gale. If so, I shall take advantage of the first vessel that will agree to lend us a hand."
"How!—Do you get them to tow you?"
"Nay, that were impossible. A jerk from the tow-rope of a steamer at full speed would tear us asunder. Have you observed these two strong ropes running all round our gunwale, and the bridles across with ring-bolts in them?"
"I have, and did not ask their use, as I thought they were merely meant to strengthen the canoe."
"So they are," continued the hermit, "but they have other uses besides—"
"Massa," cried Moses, at this point. "You'll 'scuse me for 'truptin' you, but it's my opinion dat Spinkie's sufferin' jus' now from a empty stummik!"
The hermit smiled and Nigel laughed. Laying down his paddle the former said—
"I understand, Moses. That speech means that you are suffering from the same complaint. Well—get out the biscuit."
"Jus' de way oh de wurld," muttered the negro with a bland smile. "If a poor man obsarves an' feels for de sorrows ob anoder, he allers gits credit for t'inkin' ob hisself. Neber mind, I's used to it!"
Evidently the unjust insinuation did not weigh heavily on the negro's spirit, for he soon began to eat with the appetite of a healthy alligator.
While he was thus engaged, he chanced to raise his eyes towards the south-western horizon, and there saw something which caused him to splutter, for his mouth was too full to speak, but his speaking eyes and pointing finger caused his companions to turn their faces quickly to the quarter indicated.
"A steamer!" exclaimed the hermit and Nigel in the same breath.
The vessel in question was coming straight towards them, and a very short time enabled Van der Kemp to recognise with satisfaction the steamer owned by his friend.
"Look here, run that to the mast-head," said Van der Kemp, handing a red flag to Nigel. "We lie so low in the water that they might pass quite close without observing us if we showed no signal."
An immediate though slight change in the course of the steamer showed that the signal had been seen. Hereupon the hermit and Moses performed an operation on the canoe which still further aroused Nigel's surprise and curiosity. He resolved to ask no questions, however, but to await the issue of events.
From the marvellous hold of the canoe, which seemed to be a magazine for the supply of every human need, Moses drew a short but strong rope or cable, with a ring in the middle of it, and a hook at each end. He passed one end along to his master who hooked it to the bridle-rope at the bow before referred to. The other end was hooked to the bridle in the stern, so that the ring in the centre came close to Nigel's elbow.
This arrangement had barely been completed when the steamer was within hail, but no hail was given, for the captain knew what was expected of him. He reduced speed as the vessel approached the canoe, and finally came almost to a stop as he ranged alongside.
"What cheer, Van der Kemp? D'ye want a lift to-day?" shouted the skipper, looking over the side.
A nod and a wave of the hand was the hermit's reply.
"Heave a rope, boys—bow and stern—and lower away the tackle," was the skipper's order.
A coil was flung to Van der Kemp, who deftly caught it and held on tight. Another was flung to Moses, who also caught it and held on—slack. At the same moment, Nigel saw a large block with a hook attached descending towards his head.
"Catch it, Nigel, and hook it to the ring at your elbow," said the hermit.
Our hero obeyed, still in surprise, though a glimmer of what was to follow began to dawn.
"Haul away!" shouted the skipper, and next moment the canoe was swinging in the air, kept in position by the lines in the hands of Van der Kemp and Moses. At the same time another order was given, and the steamer went ahead full speed.
It was all so suddenly done, and seemed such a reckless proceeding, that Nigel found himself on the steamer's deck, with the canoe reposing beside him, before he had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to acknowledge in suitable terms the welcome greeting of the hospitable skipper.
"You see, Nigel," said Van der Kemp that night, as the two friends paced the deck together after supper, "I have other means, besides paddles and sails, of getting quickly about in the Java seas. Many of the traders and skippers here know me, and give me a lift in this way when I require it."
"Very kind of them, and very convenient," returned Nigel. He felt inclined to add: "But why all this moving about?" for it was quite evident that trade was not the hermit's object, but the question, as usual, died on his lips, and he somewhat suddenly changed the subject.
"D'ye know, Van der Kemp, that I feel as if I must have seen you somewhere or other before now, for your features seem strangely familiar to me. Have you ever been in England?"
"Never. As I have told you, I was born in Java, and was educated in Hongkong at an English School. But a fancy of this sort is not very uncommon. I myself once met a perfect stranger who bore so strong a resemblance to an old friend, that I spoke to him as such, and only found out from his voice that I was mistaken."
The captain of the steamer came on deck at that moment and cut short the conversation.
"Are you engaged, Van der Kemp?" he asked.
"No—I am at your service."
"Come below then, I want to have a talk with you."
Thus left alone, and overhearing a loud burst of laughter at the fore part of the steamer, Nigel went forward to see what was going on. He found a group of sailors round his comrade Moses, apparently engaged in good-natured "chaff."
"Come, now, blackey," said one; "be a good fellow for once in your life an' tell us what makes your master live on a desert island like Robinson Crusoe, an' go about the ocean in a canoe."
"Look 'ere now, whitey," returned Moses, "what you take me for?"
"A nigger, of course."
"Ob course, an' you're right for once, which is sitch an unusual t'ing dat I 'dvise you go an' ax de cappen to make a note ob it in de log. I's a nigger, an' a nigger's so much more 'cute dan a white man dat you shouldn't ought to expect him to blab his massa's secrets."
"Right you are, Moses. Come, then, if you won't reweal secrets, give us a song."
"Couldn't t'ink ob such a t'ing," said the negro, with a solemn, remonstrant shake of the head.
"Why not?"
"'Cause I neber sing a song widout a moral, an' I don't like to hurt your feelin's by singin' a moral dat would be sure to waken up some o' your consciences."
"Never mind that, darkey. Our consciences are pretty tough. Heave ahead."
"But dere's a chorus," said Moses, looking round doubtfully.
"What o' that? We'll do our best with it—if it ain't too difficult."
"Oh, it's not diffikilt, but if de lazy fellers among you sings de chorus dey'll be singin' lies, an' I don't 'zackly like to help men to tell lies. Howseber, here goes. It begins wid de chorus so's you may know it afore you has to sing it."
So saying, Moses struck two fingers on the capstan after the manner of a tuning-fork, and, holding them gravely to his ear as if to get the right pitch, began in a really fine manly voice to chant the following ditty:—
"GO TO WORK."
The sailors, who were evidently much pleased, took up the chorus moderately at the second verse, came out strong at the third, and sang with such genuine fervour at the last that it was quite evident, as Moses remarked, there was not a lazy man amongst them—at least, if they all sang conscientiously!
The weather improved every hour, and after a fine run of about twenty-four hours over that part of the Malay Sea, our three voyagers were lowered over the steamer's side in their canoe when within sight of the great island of Borneo.
"I'm sorry," said the captain at parting, "that our courses diverge here, for I would gladly have had your company a little longer. Good-bye. I hope we'll come across you some other time when I'm in these parts."
"Thanks—thanks, my friend,'" replied Van der Kemp, with a warm grip of the hand, and a touch of pathos in his tones. "I trust that we shall meet again. You have done me good service by shortening my voyage considerably.—Farewell."
"I say, Moses," shouted one of the seamen, as he looked down on the tiny canoe while they were pushing off.
"Hallo?"
"Keep your heart up, for—we'll try to 'do to oders all around de t'ing what's good an' true!'"
"Das de way, boy—'an' oders, 'turning tit for tat, will do de same to you!'"
He yelled rather than sang this at the top of his tuneful voice, and waved his hand as the sharp craft shot away over the sea.
Fortunately the sea was calm, for it was growing dark when they reached the shores of Borneo and entered the mouth of a small stream, up which they proceeded to paddle. The banks of the stream were clothed with mangrove trees. We have said the banks, but in truth the mouth of that river had no distinguishable banks at all, for it is the nature of the mangrove to grow in the water—using its roots as legs with which, as it were, to wade away from shore. When darkness fell suddenly on the landscape, as it is prone to do in tropical regions, the gnarled roots of those mangroves assumed the appearance of twining snakes in Nigel's eyes. Possessing a strongly imaginative mind he could with difficulty resist the belief that he saw them moving slimily about in the black water, and, in the dim mysterious light, tree stems and other objects assumed the appearance of hideous living forms, so that he was enabled to indulge the uncomfortable fancy that they were traversing some terrestrial Styx into one of Dante's regions of horror.
In some respects this was not altogether a fancy, for they were unwittingly drawing near to a band of human beings whose purposes, if fully carried out, would
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