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 Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne (the read aloud family TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne (the read aloud family TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“What a power of suction he has got” said Olly, referring not to the Indian, but to the family baby which he had got on his knee, and was feeding with a dangerously large lump of bear’s fat.
“What does he say?” asked Paul, referring to their visitor, who, having come to a temporary pause, with a sigh of contentment had said something in his native tongue to Hendrick.
“He asked me if the singing-birds will gladden his ears and cause his heart to thrill.”
“What means he by that?”
“He only refers to a fact well known among the Indians,” replied the hunter, with a quiet smile, “that Trueheart and Goodred have such sweet voices that they are known everywhere by the name of the singing-birds. Happening to have some knowledge of music, I have trained them to sing in parts one or two hymns taught to me by my mother, and composed, I believe, by a good monk of the olden time. Some things in the hymns puzzled me, I confess, until I had the good fortune to meet with you. I understand them better now. You shall hear one of them.”
So saying, he turned and nodded to Trueheart who of course understood the conversation. With a slight inclination of the head denoting acquiescence she began to sing. At the same moment Goodred parted her pretty lips and joined her. The result was to fill the air with harmony so sweet that the captain and his comrade were struck dumb with delight and surprise, the Indian’s jaw was arrested with an unchewed morsel in the mouth, and the family baby gazing upward in wonder, ceased the effort to choke itself on bear’s fat.
It need scarcely be said that the grunt of the Indian was very emphatic when the sounds died away like fairy-music, and that the hunter’s white guests entreated for more. Trueheart and her daughter were quite willing, and, for a considerable time, kept their audience enthralled.
At last, having washed down his meal with a final basketful of soup, the Indian began to unbosom himself of his news—a few words at a time. It was soon found, however, that he had no news of importance to tell. He was a hunter; he had been out with a party of his tribe, but having differed with them as to the best district to be visited, he had left them and continued the hunt alone. Being not far distant from the home of the white hunter who had mated with the Bethuck singing-bird, he had turned aside for no other purpose than to have his ears gladdened and his heart thrilled!
“We are happy,” said Hendrick, “that our Bethuck brother should have his ears gladdened and his heart thrilled, and we trust that the spirit of the wolf within him is subdued, now that his stomach is also filled.”
A polite grunt was the reply.
“Will our Bethuck brother tell us more news?”
“There is no more,” he answered, “Strongbow is now an empty vessel.”
“Considering that Strongbow has just filled himself with venison, he can hardly call himself an empty vessel,” responded the hunter, with intense gravity.
Strongbow turned his head quickly and gazed at the speaker. His solemnity deepened. Could his white brother be jesting? The white brother’s gravity forbade the idea. In order to convey more strongly the fact that he had no news to give the Indian touched his forehead—“Strongbow is empty here.”
“That may well be,” remarked Hendrick quietly.
Again the Indian glared. Solemnity is but a feeble word after all! He said nothing, but was evidently puzzled.
“Has our Bethuck brother seen no enemies from the setting sun? Is all quiet and peaceful among his friends?” asked the hunter.
“All is peaceful—all is quiet. But we have news of a war party that left us many days past. They had gone, about the time that the deer begin to move, to punish some white men who were cast on shore by the sea where the sun rises.”
“What say you?” cried Hendrick, starting. “Have the Red warriors been successful?”
“They have. Some of the white men have been killed, others caught and taken to our wigwams to be made slaves or to die.”
The consternation of Paul and his friends, on this being translated to them, may be imagined. Past injuries were forgotten, and instant preparations were made to set off to the rescue at the earliest dawn of the following day.
Hot haste now marked the proceedings of the rescue party, for Paul and his friends felt that they had no time to lose. Fortunately the weather favoured them. That very night a sharp frost set in, hardening the moist and swampy grounds over which they had to pass. Strongbow, on being made acquainted with the state of matters, willingly agreed to lead the party to the place to which he thought it likely the captives had been taken, or where, at least, information about them might be obtained from members of his own tribe.
Little Oscar, at his own urgent request, was allowed to accompany them, and Trueheart, Goodred, and the family baby and nurse were left in charge of an old Indian whose life had once been saved by Hendrick, and who, although too old to go on the war-path, was still well able to keep the family in provisions.
Although the party was small—numbering only six, two of whom were boys—it was nevertheless formidable, each man being more than usually powerful, as well as valiant, whilst the boys, although comparatively small, possessed so much of the unconquerable spirit of their sires as to render them quite equal to average men.
The frost, which seemed to have fairly set in, kept them cool during the day while walking, and rendered their bivouac-fires agreeable at nights. Little time, however, was allowed for rest or food. They pressed on each day with unflagging energy, and felt little disposition to waste time in conversation during the brief halts for needed rest and food.
Occasionally, however, some of the party felt less disposed than usual for sleep, and sought to drive away anxiety regarding their old shipmates by talking of things and scenes around them.
“Does Strongbow think that the frost will hold?” asked Hendrick, one evening after supper, as he reclined in front of the fire on a pile of brushwood.
“Strongbow cannot tell,” returned the Indian. “It looks like thaw, but the Great Spirit sometimes changes his mind and sends what we do not expect.”
Having uttered this cautious reply with sententious gravity he continued his supper in silence.
“The Great Spirit never changes his mind,” said Paul. “Perfection cannot change, because it need not.”
“Waugh!” replied the Indian. It was evident that he did not agree with Paul, but was too polite to say so.
“I like this sort o’ thing,” remarked Captain Trench, looking up from the rib on which he was engaged, and gazing round at the magnificent sweep of hill and dale of which they had a bird’s-eye view from their camp.
“So do I, daddy; with lots to eat an’ a roarin’ fire a fellow feels as happy as a king,” said Oliver.
“Happier than most kings, I doubt not,” returned Hendrick.
“But, Olly, you have mentioned only two of the things that go to produce felicity,” said Paul. “Food and fire are certainly important elements, but these would be of little avail if we had not health, strength, and appetite.”
“To say nothin’ of the fresh air o’ the mountains, and the excitement o’ the wilderness, and the enthusiasm of youth,” added the captain.
“Are you not as happy as me, daddy?” asked the boy, with a sudden glance of intelligence.
“Happier a great deal, I should say,” replied the father, “for I’m not so much of a goose.”
“Why then, daddy, if you are happier than we, what you call the enthusiasm of youth can have nothing to do with it, you know!”
“You young rascal, the enthusiasm of middle age is much more powerful than that of youth! You let your tongue wag too freely.”
“D’ye hear that, Osky?” said Oliver to his little companion in an audible whisper. “There’s comfort for you an’ me. We’ll be more enthusiastic and far happier when we come to middle age! What d’ye think o’ that?”
Oscar—who, although much inclined to fun and humour, did not always understand the curious phases of them presented to him by his civilised friend—looked innocently in his face and said, “Me no tink about it at all!” Whereupon Olly burst into a short laugh, and expressed his belief that, on the whole, that state of mind was about the happiest he could come to.
“How long, think you, will it take us to reach the wigwams of your kindred from this point?” asked Hendrick of their guide, as he prepared to lie down for the night.
“Two days,” answered the Indian.
“God grant that we may be in time,” murmured Paul, “I fear a thaw, for it would delay us greatly.”
That which was feared came upon them the next day. They were yet asleep when those balmy influences, which alone have power to disrupt and destroy the ice-king’s reign, began to work, and when the travellers awoke, the surface of the land was moist. It was not soft, however, for time is required to draw frost out of the earth, so that progress was not much impeded. Still, the effect of the thaw depressed their spirits a good deal, for they were well aware that a continuance of it would render the low grounds, into which they had frequently to descend, almost impassable.
It was, therefore, with anxious forebodings that they lay down to rest that night, and Paul’s prayer for strength and guidance was more fervent than usual.
About this period of the year changes of temperature are sometimes very abrupt, and their consequences curious. During the night frost had again set in with great intensity. Fatigue had compelled the party to sleep longer than usual, despite their anxiety to press forward, and when they awoke the rays of the rising sun were sweeping over the whole landscape, and revealing, as well as helping to create, a scene of beauty which is seldom, if ever, witnessed elsewhere.
When rain falls with a low thermometer near the earth it becomes frozen the moment it reaches the ground, and thus a regular deposit of pure glassy ice takes place on every branch and twig of the leafless shrubs and trees. The layer of ice goes on increasing, sometimes, till it attains the thickness of half an inch or more. Thus, in a few hours, a magical transformation is brought about. The trees seem to be hung with glittering jewels; the larger limbs are edged with dazzling ice-ropes; the minutest twigs with threads of gleaming crystal, and all this, with the sun shooting on and through it, presents a scene of splendour before which even our most vivid conceptions of fairy-land must sink into comparative insignificance.
Such, then, was the vision presented to the gaze of the rescue party on awaking that morning. To some of them it was a new revelation of the wonderful works of God. To Hendrick and the Indian it was familiar enough. The Newfoundlanders of modern times know it well by the name of a “silver thaw.”
After the first gaze of surprise and admiration, our travellers made hasty preparation to resume the journey, and the frost told beneficially on them in more ways than one, for while it hardened the ground it rendered the atmosphere clear and exhilarating, thus raising their spirits and their hopes, which tended greatly to increase their power of action and endurance.
That night they encamped again on a commanding height, and prepared supper with the hopeful feelings of men who expect to gain the end of their journey on the morrow.
As if to cheer them still more, the aurora borealis played in the heavens that night with unwonted magnificence. It is said that the northern lights are grander in Newfoundland even than in the Arctic regions. At all events
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