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 Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (latest novels to read .txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (latest novels to read .txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
In this state of mind Bladud arrived one day at the abode of the hunter of the Hot Swamp. It was not, indeed, close to the springs which caused the swamp, but stood in a narrow sequestered gully quite five miles distant from it. The spot had been chosen as one which was not likely to be discovered by wanderers, and could be easily defended if it should be found. Moreover, its owner, as Bladud had been warned, was a fierce, morose man, who loved solitude and resented interference of any kind, and this was so well known in the thinly-peopled neighbourhood that every one kept carefully out of his way.
Sometimes this eccentric hunter appeared at the nearest village—twenty miles distant from his home—with some pigs to barter for the few commodities which he wanted from time to time; but he and his horse, cow, and dogs ate up all the remaining produce of his small farm—if such it might be called.
It was a beautiful evening when the prince walked up to the door of the little hut, in front of which its owner was standing, eyeing him with a forbidding scowl as he approached.
He was in truth a strange and formidable man, such as one would rather not meet with in a lonely place. There appear to have been giants in those days; for this hunter of the Hot Swamp was nearly, if not quite, as tall as Bladud himself, and to all appearance fully as strong of limb. A mass of black hair covered his head and chin; a skin hunting-shirt his body, and a hairy boar-skin was thrown across his broad shoulders. Altogether, he seemed to his visitor the very personification of ferocity. A huge bow, ready strung, leaned against his hut. As Bladud advanced with his own bow unstrung, the man apparently scorned to take it up, but he grasped and leaned upon a staff proportioned to his size.
Anxious to propitiate this mysterious being, the prince approached with steady, unaffected ease of manner, and a look of goodwill which might have conciliated almost any one; but it had no effect on the hunter.
“What want ye here?” he demanded, when his visitor was near enough.
“To enter your service.”
“My service!” exclaimed the man with a look of surprise that for a moment banished the scowl. “I want no servant. I can serve myself well enough. And, truly, it seems to me that a man like you should be ashamed to talk of service. You are more fitted for a master than a servant. I trow you must have some bad motive for seeking service with a man like me. Have you murdered any one, that you flee from the face of your fellows and seek to hide you here?”
“No, I am not a murderer.”
“What then? Are you desirous of becoming one, and making me your victim?” asked the hunter, with a look of contempt; “for you will find that no easy job, stout though you be. I have a good mind to crack your crown for coming here to disturb my solitude!”
“Two can play at that game,” replied Bladud, with a seraphic smile. “But I am truly a man of peace. I merely want to look after your cattle for occupation; I will gladly live in the woods, away from your dwelling, if you will let me serve you—my sole desire being, like your own, to live—and, if need be, to die—alone.”
For a few moments there was a softened expression on the hunter’s face as he asked, in a tone that had something almost of sympathy in it—
“Is there a woman at the bottom of this?”
“No. Woman has nothing to do with it—at least, not exactly—not directly,” returned Bladud.
“Hah!” exclaimed the man, paying no regard to the modification implied in the answer; and advancing a step, with eager look, “did she tempt you on and then deceive you; and scorn you, and forsake you for another man?”
“You mistake me. The poor woman I was thinking of was an old one, labouring under a deadly disease.”
On hearing this the hunter’s softened look vanished, and his former scowl returned.
“Go!” he said, sternly; “I can take care of the cattle myself, without help. But stay, a man of your peaceful nature and humility may, perchance, not be too proud to take charge of pigs.”
Bladud flushed—not so much because of the proposal as the tone of contempt in which it was uttered; but, remembering his condition and his object, he mastered his feelings.
“I am willing to take charge of your pigs,” he said, in a quiet tone; “where do they feed?”
“A goodish bit from here. Not far from the Hot Swamp, that lies on the other side of the hill.”
The man pointed to a high ridge, just visible beyond the gully in which his hut lay concealed, which was clothed from base to summit with dense forest.
“There are plenty of pigs there,” he continued in a milder tone. “How many I don’t know, and don’t care. I brought the old ones here, and they have multiplied. If you choose to keep them together, you are welcome. I want only a few of them now and then. When I do, I hunt them together and drive them with my dogs. You may kill and eat of them as you please; but don’t come nigh my hut, mind you, else will I put an arrow in your heart.”
“Good, I will take care,” returned the prince gravely. “And if you come nigh my dwelling, is it understood that I am to put an arrow in your heart? I could easily do it, for I am a fair marksman.”
Something approaching almost to a smile crossed the hunter’s swart visage at this reply. It did not last, however.
“Go!” he said. “Keep your jesting for the pigs, if they have a mind to listen.”
“I will try them. Mayhap they are more sociable than their owner. And now, master, might I ask for the loan of one of your dogs? It might be useful in herding.”
“None of them would follow you. Yet—yes, the pup might do so. It has not yet come to care for me much.”
So saying, the man went to the rear of his hut, and, from the kennel there, fetched a young but full-grown dog, somewhat resembling a retriever, which gambolled joyously at the prospect of being let out for a run.
“There, take him. He comes of a good breed. Keep the leash on his neck till you have given him his first feed; he’ll follow you after that.”
“What is his name?” asked the prince.
“No name. Like his master in that!”
Taking the leash in his hand, Bladud said farewell, and went away into the woods, while the hunter of the Swamp, turning round, stooped as he entered his hut, and shut the door behind him.
It may seem strange that the prince should thus voluntarily seek for menial occupation, but, in truth, he shrank from the idea of living absolutely to himself alone, and felt a strong desire to have some sort of responsibility in connection with a human being, however short his life on earth might be, or however uncouth the individual with whom he might have to do—for man is intensely social, as only those who have dwelt in absolute solitude can thoroughly understand.
Pondering over the circumstances of the strange being from whom he had just parted, Bladud proceeded to the summit of the hill, or ridge of high land, on the other side of which lay the region in which he had made up his mind to end his days.
It took him full two hours to make his way through the dense underwood to the top; but when this point was reached, the magnificent panorama of land and water which met his view was a feast to his eyes, which for a time caused him to forget his forlorn condition.
In all directions, wherever he gazed, ridges and knolls, covered with dense woods and richest vegetation, were seen extending from his elevated outlook to the distant horizon. Cliffs, precipices, dells, and bright green open spaces varied the landscape; and in the bottom of the great valley which lay immediately beneath his feet there meandered a broad river, in whose waters were reflected here and there the overhanging trees, or green patches of its flower-bespangled banks, or the rich browns and yellows of spots where these banks had been broken away by floods; while, elsewhere, were seen glittering patches of the blue sky.
Far away in the extreme distance a soft cloud of thin transparent vapour hung steadily over a partially open space, which he rightly conjectured to be the Hot Swamp, of which he had often heard wondrous stories in his boyhood, but which he had not been permitted to visit, owing to the tribes living near the springs having been at war with his father. During his absence in the East, King Hudibras had attacked and almost exterminated the tribes in question, so that the Hot Swamp region, just at the time when the prince arrived, was a land of desolation.
Though desolate, however, it was, as we have tried to show, exceeding lovely, so that our wanderer was ravished with the prospect, and seated himself on a bank near the top of the ridge to contemplate its beauties in detail.
His canine companion sat down beside him, and looked up inquiringly in his face.
During the first part of the journey the pup had strained a good deal at the leash, and had displayed a strong desire to return to its former master, as well as a powerful objection to follow its new one. It had also, with that perversity of spirit not uncommon in youth, exhibited a proneness to advance on the other side of bushes and trees from its companion, thus necessitating frequent halts and numerous disentanglements. On all of these occasions Bladud had remonstrated in tones so soft, and had rectified the error so gently, that the pup was evidently impressed. Possibly it was an observant pup, and appreciated the advantages of human kindness. Perhaps it was a sagacious pup, and already recognised the difference between the old master and the new.
Be this as it may, Bladud had not been long seated there in a state of dreamy abstraction, when he became conscious of the inquiring look. Returning it with interest, but without speaking, he gazed steadily into the soft brown eyes that were turned up to his. At last the prince opened his lips, and the dog, turning his head slightly to one side with a look of expectancy, cocked his ears.
“Browneyes,” he said, “you’ll grow to be a fine dog if you live.”
There was the slightest possible tremor in the pup’s tail. Of course there might have been more than a tremor if the caudal appendage had been at liberty instead of being sat upon. It was enough, however, to indicate a tendency to goodwill.
“Come here, Browneyes,” said Bladud, holding out his hand.
But the pup was hardly prepared for such a complete and sudden concession as the invitation implied. He repeated the tremor, however, and turned his head to the other side, by way of a change, but sat still.
A happy thought occurred to the prince—justifying the remark of Solomon that there is nothing new under the sun. He opened his
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