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. Facing the World by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook reader below 3000 .txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
Book online «Facing the World by Jr. Horatio Alger (ebook reader below 3000 .txt) 📖». Author Jr. Horatio Alger
“You looked a little nervous, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry, smiling.
“You were awfully brave, to knock the pistol out of his hand. I don’t see how you dared to do it.”
“I didn’t stop to think of danger. I saw that Jack’s life was in danger, and I did the only thing I could to save him.”
“I’m glad you’re not put in irons. It must be awful to be in irons.”
“I don’t think I should like it, though I never had any experience. You’d have stood by me, wouldn’t you, Mr. Clinton?”
Clinton was evidently alarmed at the suggestion.
“Yes, of course,” he said, nervously; “that is, I would have gone down to see you on the sly. You wouldn’t expect me to fight the captain, don’t you know.”
Harry could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of the spindle-shaped dude resisting the captain; but he kept a straight face as he answered:
“I look upon you as a brave man, Mr. Clinton. When I get into trouble, I shall be sure to call upon you.”
“Oh, certainly,” stammered Clinton. “But I say, Mr. Vane, I hope you’ll be prudent; I do, really. Captain Hill might shoot you, you know, as he tried to shoot the sailor boy just now.”
“If he does, Mr. Clinton, I shall expect you to interfere, You are not as strong as the captain, but a bold front will go a great way. If you threaten to—to horsewhip him, I think it might produce an effect upon him.”
“Really, my dear Mr. Vane,” said Clinton, turning pale, “I don’t think I could go as far as that.”
“I thought you were my friend, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry, reproachfully.
“So I am, but I think you are, too—too bloodthirsty, Mr. Vane. It is best to be prudent, don’t you know. There’s that Yankee, Mr. Stubbs; he would do a great deal better than I. He’s stronger, and older, and—you’d better speak to him, don’t you know.”
“A very good suggestion, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry.
“I am afraid I should fare badly,” thought our hero, “if I depended upon Clinton to stand by me. He isn’t of the stuff they make heroes of.”
Twenty-four hours passed before Captain Hill reappeared on deck. Meanwhile Harry had received congratulations from all the passengers on his display of pluck, and from some of the sailors besides. In fact, if he had not been a sensible boy, he might have been in danger of being spoiled by praise. But he answered, very modestly, that he had only acted from impulse, actuated by a desire to save Jack, and had not had time to count the consequences.
“I’ll stand by you, my lad,” said Hirman Stubbs. “The captain may try to do you wrong, but he will have somebody else to reckon with—I won’t see you hurt.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stubbs,” said Harry, heartily. “I know the value of your help already. Mr. Clinton also is willing to stand by me, though he says he don’t want to get into a fight with the captain.”
“Clinton! That spindle-legged dude!” said Stubbs, exploding with laughter. “My! he couldn’t scare a fly.”
Harry laughed, too. He could not help doing so.
“He seems a good fellow, though not exactly a hero,” he said. “I am glad to have his good will.”
“He is more of a tailor’s dummy than a man,” said Stubbs. “I always want to laugh when I look at him. Hist! there’s the captain.”
Harry turned quickly toward the companionway, and saw Captain Hill set foot on the deck. A glance satisfied him that the captain was sober.
CHAPTER XII A STORM
Captain Hill must have observed Harry and Mr. Stubbs, but walked by them without notice, and attended to his duties, giving his orders in a sharp quick tone. He was an experienced seaman, and thoroughly fitted for the post of chief, when not under the influence of liquor.
“I am glad to see that the captain is sober,” said Stubbs, in a low voice.
“So am I,” answered Harry.
One change, all noticed in Captain Hill. He became silent, reserved, morose. His orders were given in a quick, peremptory tone, and he seemed to cherish a grudge against all on board. Some captains add much to the pleasure of the passengers by their social and cheery manners, but whenever Captain Hill appeared, a wet blanket seemed to fall on the spirits of passengers and crew, and they conversed in an undertone, as if under restraint.
Between the captain and the mate there was a great difference. Mr. Holdfast had a bluff, hearty way with him, which made him popular with all on board. As an officer, he was strict, and expected his orders to be executed promptly, but in private he was affable and agreeable. The sailors felt instinctively that he was their friend, and regarded him with attachment, while they respected his seamanship. If a vote had been taken, there was not one but would have preferred him as captain to Captain Hill.
Thus far—I am speaking of a time when the Nantucket was three months out—there had been no serious storm. Rough weather there had been, and wet, disagreeable weather, but the staunch ship had easily overcome all the perils of the sea, and, with the exception of Montgomery Clinton, no one had been seriously alarmed. But one afternoon a cloud appeared in the hitherto clear sky, which would have attracted no attention from a landsman. Mr. Holdfast observed it, however, and, quietly calling the captain, directed his attention to it.
“I think we are going to have a bad storm, Captain Hill,” he said. “That’s a weather breeder.”
The captain watched the cloud for a moment, and then answered, quietly: “I think you are right, Mr. Holdfast. You may give your orders accordingly.”
The sails were reefed, and the vessel was prepared for the warfare with the elements which awaited it.
The little cloud increased portentiously in size. All at once a strong wind sprang up, the sea roughened, and the billows grew white with fury, while the good ship, stanch as she was, creaked and groaned and was tossed as if it were a toy boat on the wrathful ocean.
The passengers were all seriously alarmed. They had never before realized what a storm at sea was. Even a man of courage may well be daunted by the terrific power of the sea when it is roused to such an exhibition.
“Harry,” said the professor, “this is terrible.”
“Yes,
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