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
For some time Ben Trench continued talking, and then fell into a quiet slumber, in which his friend left him, while Polly watched by his side.
The warm latitudes did no good to the invalid. On the contrary, he suffered much from the heat, and became visibly weaker.
At last the shores of Old England drew nigh. A few days more and they should sight land. They sought to cheer him with this, but there was no answering sparkle in Ben’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said, faintly, “I shall see them all again, but not here.”
Ben was dying when the Rainbow approached the British Channel. The whole of the previous day a stiff gale had blown, and this had not much abated when night drew on. Liverpool was their port, and the captain carried on full sail—more than the good ship could well bear. It is not known whether he felt so sure of his course that he did not think it necessary to shorten sail on nearing the Land’s End, or that he was anxious, at all hazards, to reach port before Ben Trench should die, but he held on recklessly, and, in the dead of night, ran the Rainbow straight against the high cliffs not far from the Cornish town of Saint Just.
The wreck of the ship was complete in a few seconds. All her masts went over the side, and the waves overwhelmed her. She would have gone down in deep water if she had not been dashed between two rocks and held there. Time was thus given for one of the boats to be got out, but utter confusion reigned, for the captain had disappeared. No wonder that several of the men leaped into her, crying, “Every man for himself,” and endeavoured to cast off.
“Have you got Polly?” cried Jack, as he dimly saw a figure staggering through the turmoil of wind and whirling spray.
“All safe!” gasped Captain Samson.
Jack instantly jumped into the boat and found O’Rook struggling to prevent one of the men from cutting the hawser. Jack knocked the man down, and, hauling the boat close alongside, shouted, “Jump, Captain, jump!” The captain did so at the right moment, and alighted safely, though with great violence. Just then Watty Wilkins was seen striving to lift Ben Trench over the bulwark of the ship. It was impossible to render him assistance, though Jack tried to do so, for at the moment a towering billow fell on the deck and tore the invalid from his grasp. With a shriek of despair Watty fell back into the sea, but was caught by one of the men and hauled into the boat which was then cut adrift. It was not a moment too soon, for the next wave dashed their ship to pieces.
As it was impossible to effect a landing among perpendicular cliffs which were lashed by roaring breakers, they were obliged to push out to sea, where they rowed till daylight, and succeeded in reaching Penzance harbour.
Leaving the others to report the news, Jack and Wilkins started off along the coast to the scene of the wreck. They found the spot, but not a vestige was to be seen of what had so long been their home, save a few broken spars, here and there far down in the clefts of inaccessible rocks. A fisherman, however, told them that several bodies had been thrown into a little bay, and were then lying in a shed near the spot. Hastening thither, they found five lying side by side. Among them were those of poor Ben Trench and the captain of the ship—the one strong, stalwart and still ruddy in the face, the other attenuated and ghastly, as might have been expected of one who had, as it were, died a double death.
We will not dwell on the terrible scene. While Jack and Captain Samson remained to attend to the dead, Wilkins set off, without delay, to be first, if possible, in breaking the sad news to his friend’s family, according to promise.
In regard to the wreck, it is sufficient to say that she, with all her precious freight was scattered on the rugged coasts of Cornwall, and our adventurers stood once more on their native shores without even the means of paying their travelling expenses home. They did not like to speak of their invested wealth, fearing that their statements might be disbelieved. They therefore stood literally in the position of beggars.
In this extremity they found the hospitable men of Cornwall to be friends indeed and full of sympathy.
Great was the anxiety of Edwin Jack as he walked, with light foot and fluttering heart, over the Border hills and drew near to the old home. He had not heard from his father for nearly a year. Were they all well? had they struggled out of their difficulties with the funds he had sent them. Was there no empty chair? Such and similar thoughts hurried through his mind as he went along, until he was forced to run for relief. There was a rocky ridge of land in front of him. From the top of this he knew the cottage could be seen. Panting with exertion when he gained the top, he sat down on a mass of rock and gazed at the old place till tears disturbed his vision. There it stood as of yore—no change in the general aspect of things, though there did seem one or two improvements about the cottage. But he did not gaze long. Starting up again he hurried on.
At last he stood in the midst of the old home-circle—all well, and, thank God, not one absent!
Philosopher though he was, he could not reason down the tears of joy that blinded, and the lump in his throat that well-nigh choked him. After the first wild miscellaneous embrace all round was over, Jack (or Teddie, as the home-circle called him) found relief by catching up Dobbin and burying his face in his neck and curls, regardless of the treacle with which that gentleman was plentifully besmeared.
“I’ve got bad news for you, Teddie, my boy,” said his father, after they had moderated a little.
“Nobody ill or—dead?” asked Jack, with a look of anxiety.
“No, nobody.”
“Then I’m prepared for any other kind of bad news,” said our philosopher with a quiet smile.
“The Blankow Bank,” said his father, laying a hand impressively on his shoulder, “has failed, and every penny of your gold is gone!”
The family had become very grave. Jack looked from one to the other with a bewildered air.
“You are jesting, father.”
“No, my boy; I would that it were not true. The distress that is abroad in the land because of this calamity is very great. Not only is all your fortune gone, Ted, but anything that you may have brought home with you will be taken to pay the creditors of the bank; and they require so much money that it would ruin you, though you had thousands upon thousands of pounds.”
A strange smile flitted across the youth’s face as he replied—
“What I brought home with me won’t benefit them much, for it lies with the wreck of the Rainbow at the bottom of the sea.”
This was indeed a surprise to the old couple, who now learned, for the first time, that the wrecked ship, about which a rumour had just reached them, was that in which their son had come home.
“But, father,” continued Jack, with a look of deepening anxiety, “if this be as you say, then my comrades must also be ruined, for their gold was all invested by Mr Wilkins in the same bank.”
“All ruined,” replied the old man in a sad tone. “Mr Wilkins himself is bankrupt—the first call brought him and many others down.”
“And yourself father; I hope you had no shares in it.”
“None, my boy, thank God. Prosperity has attended me ever since I got the first money you sent home. That saved me, Teddie.”
A gleam of joy overspread Philosopher Jack’s countenance as he started to his feet.
“Then am I well and undeservedly rewarded, daddy,” he exclaimed; “but all this news is pretty tough. I must go out to tackle it. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He sprang through the cottage door and sped away over the moor like a greyhound. Reaching the top of a rising ground—from which he could see a boundless stretch of border-land, with the sea in the far distance and the sun setting in a flood of golden light—he drew himself up, and pushing back the hair from his temples with both hands, stood gazing wistfully into the radiant glory.
“So like a dream—so like a dream!” he murmured. “It was God who gave; surely it is He who has taken away. Can there be anything but good in all this?”
His hands dropped to his side as he spoke, and he sauntered slowly down the slope on which he stood. Entering a small plantation of fir-trees at the foot of it, he disappeared.
When he returned to the cottage all trace of strong feeling was gone. “We won’t talk of the bank to-night,” he said, “let’s be jolly,” and jolly he was accordingly. Not only so, but he made Dobbin jolly too, by supplying him with such a number of treacle-pieces that the child could hardly gasp his refusal of the last slice offered, and was made sticky from the ends of his filthy fingers to the crown of his curly head.
It is not necessary, nor would it be pleasant to describe minutely the effect of the “bad news” on the other members of our gold-digging party. Captain Samson and Watty Wilkins took it well, but Polly and Simon O’Rook could not easily reconcile themselves to their fate. The former, it is true, sorrowed not for herself, but for her father. O’Rook, however, was more selfish, and came down very heavily on what he called his “luck.”
“Sure it’s a misfortunate pig I’ve been iver since I left Owld Ireland,” he remarked to his pipe one day after dinner, being alone with that implement at the time; “an no sooner does the first stroke of good luck befall me, an me fortune’s made intirely, than whoop! down goes the whole consarn to the bottom of the say. It’s well, hows’ever, that ye didn’t go down yerself along with it, Simon. Ye’ve raison to be thankful for that, anyhow.”
If O’Rook’s pipe did not offer him a comforting reply it appeared to console him with its fumes, for after a pause, during which the smoke played voluminously about his nose, he wrinkled his visage into a smile of good humour.
“Now, Simon,” he said, rising and putting the black little implement in his pocket, “you’re in a fit state to go an’ comfort the widdy.”
Saying which he went out of the cheap refreshment room in which he had dined, and betook himself to the principal street of the city, whose name we have already declined to mention.
To explain his remark, we may state here that after the most diligent inquiry without success, the Irishman had, by the merest chance, discovered the widow of David Ban— in this very city, to which he had accompanied Philosopher Jack and Captain Samson, after clearly ascertaining that every vestige of the wreck of the Rainbow had disappeared, and that all his gold was irrevocably gone. Walking along the principal street one day, he had been attracted by a temperance eating-house named the “Holly Tree.” Entering it for the purpose of, as he said, “revictualling the ship,” he was rooted to the spot by hearing a customer call out, “Another cup of coffee, please, Mrs Bancroft,” while at the same moment an assistant at the counter addressed the comely woman, who replied, “Yes, sir,” by the name of “Lucy.” Could proof be more conclusive? Upon inquiry “Lucy” turned out in
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