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. Steve and the Steam Engine by Sara Ware Bassett (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📖
- Author: Sara Ware Bassett
Book online «Steve and the Steam Engine by Sara Ware Bassett (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📖». Author Sara Ware Bassett
He paused thoughtfully a moment.
"Even the ships of later date had their birth in the same motive—that of necessity. The early colonists were forced to procure supplies from England and they had no choice but to build ships for that purpose. At first these sailing packets were very small, and as one thinks of them to-day it is to marvel that they ever made so many trips without foundering. As for our coastwise ships, up to 1812 they were nothing more than schooner-rigged hulls."
"I wonder where the word schooner came from," commented Steve.
"The legend goes that the term scoon was a colloquialism used when skipping stones. When a pebble glanced along the top of the water it was said to scoon," answered his father, with a smile. "After the War of 1812 was over and our American vessels were safe from possible attack, and after the country itself had recovered somewhat from the stress of this financial burden so that men had more money to invest in commerce, we began to branch out and build finer vessels; and when it came to rigging them there seemed to be no name to apply to the arrangement of the sails. The story goes that one day as one of these new ships sailed out of Gloucester harbor a fisherman watching her exclaimed with admiration, 'See her scoon!' The phrase not only caught the public fancy but that of the shipbuilders as well, and the word schooner was quickly adopted."
"I never knew that before!" announced Steve, when the narrative was concluded.
"Slowly the models of ships improved," went on his father, without heeding the interruption. "Vessels became larger, faster, more graceful. Even the whalers and fishing smacks took on more delicate lines. Merchants from Salem, Gloucester, New Bedford invested their hard-earned savings in whalers and trading ships, and many of them made their fortunes by so doing. The sailing packets that went to Liverpool began to make excellent time records. Although the English were now using steamers for trans-Atlantic travel they had not perfected them to a sufficient extent to make their trips faster than those of sailing ships."
"About how long did it take them to cross?" inquired Stephen.
"The average time to Liverpool was from nineteen to twenty-one days," was the answer. "And for the return voyage from thirty to thirty-five."
"Whew, Dad! Why, one could walk it in that time!" exclaimed the lad.
"It was a long time," his father agreed. "But it is not fair to measure it by present-day standards. Think how novel a thing it was to cross the ocean at all!"
"I suppose so," came reflectively from Stephen.
"It was not long," continued his father, "before the English improved their engines so that their steamers made better time, and then our American sailing packets were left far behind. This, as you can imagine, did not please our proud and ambitious colonists who were anxious to increase their commerce and build up their young and growing country. Something must be done! As yet they had not mastered the enigma of steam but they could make their sailing ships swifter and finer and this they set to work to do. Out of this impetus for prosperity came the remarkable clipper-ship era.
"We shall probably never see such beautiful ships again," continued Mr. Tolman, a trifle sadly. "Youth and romance go hand in hand, and our country was very young, and proud and eager in those days. Our commerce was only beginning and the far corners of the world were strange, unexplored and alluring. It is like an Arabian Night's Tale to read of those wonderful ships built to carry merchandise to China, India and other foreign ports. Speed was their aim—speed, speed, speed! They must hold their own against the English steamers if they would keep their place on the seas. For in those days the methods of packing produce were very primitive, and it was imperative that such perishable things as tea, dried fruits, spices and coffee should be rushed to the markets before the dampness spoiled them. If they mildewed they would be a dead loss to the merchants handling them. Moreover as cable and telegraph were unknown there was no way to keep in touch with the demands of the public, or be sure of prices. Therefore every merchant hurried his goods home in the hope of being the first in the field and reaping the largest profits."
"More racing!" exclaimed Stephen.
"It was racing, indeed!" returned his father. "Ships raced one another back from China, each trying desperately to discharge her cargo before her rival did. Like great sea-birds these beautiful boats skimmed the waves, stretching every inch of canvas to be the winner at the goal. As a result the slow merchant packets with their stale cargoes could find no patrons, the clippers commanding not only all the trade but the highest prices for produce as well. Silks, chinaware, ivory, bamboo—all the wealth of the Orient began to arrive in America where it was hungrily bought up, many a man making his fortune in the East India trade. Of this fascinating epoch Hawthorne gives us a vivid picture."
"It must have been great to travel on one of those ships!" said Stephen.
"It was not all pleasure, by any means, son," Mr. Tolman replied. "Often the vessels encountered hurricanes and typhoons in the treacherous Eastern waters. Sometimes ships were blown out of their course and wrecked, or cast ashore on islands where their crews became the prey of cannibals."
"Jove!"
"It had its outs—this cruising to distant ports," announced his father. "Moreover, the charts in use were still imperfect and lighthouse protection was either very scanty or was lacking entirely."
"What became of the clipper ships?"
"Well, we Americans never do anything by halves, you know. When we go in we go in all over," laughed his father. "That is what we did with our clipper ships. We were so pleased with them that we built more and more, sending them everywhere we could think of. Many went around to California to carry merchandise to the gold searchers. At last there were so many of these swift vessels that they cut into one another and freight rates dropped. Besides, steamboats were coming into general use and were now running on all the more important ocean routes. The day of the sailing ship was over and the marvelous vessels were compelled to yield their place to the heralds of progress and become things of the past. Nevertheless, their part in our American commerce will never be forgotten and we have them to thank not only for the fame they brought our country but also for much of its wealth."
With a quick gesture of surprise he rose hurriedly.
"See!" he exclaimed. "We are almost home. We have talked 'ships and sealing-wax' for hours."
"It hasn't seemed for hours," retorted Stephen, springing to collect his luggage.
"Nor to me, either."
"Some time I'd like to hear about the ocean liners," ventured the boy.
"You must get Mr. Ackerman to tell you that story when he comes to visit us Thanksgiving," was the reply, "if he does come. That part of it seems to be up to you and Dick."
"I mean to do my part to get him here," Steve announced. "I hope Dick will plug, too."
"I rather think you can trust him for that," was the quiet answer.
A change of trains and a brief hour's journey brought the travelers safely to Coventry where Havens met them with the automobile.
"This will be our last ride this fall," observed Mr. Tolman, as he loitered on the platform while the luggage was being lifted into the car. "We shall have to put the motor up in a day or two. It will not need much of an overhauling in the way of repairs this season, I guess, for it is comparatively new and should be in pretty good condition. There may be a few slight things necessary but nothing much. Isn't that so, Havens?"
"It is badly scratched, sir."
"Scratched!"
"Yes, sir—both inside and out. I wonder you haven't noticed it. Still you wouldn't unless you got it in just the right light. I did not myself at first. There are terrible scratches everywhere. You would think ten men had climbed all over it. Look!"
"Oh, it can't be so bad as all that," laughed Mr. Tolman good-humoredly, evidently not taking the chauffeur's comment seriously. "The car was new in the spring and we have not given it very hard wear. What little luggage we have carried has been carefully put in; I have seen to that myself. Only a short time ago I thought how splendidly fresh the varnish looked. In fact, I examined it just before you were ill. It can't have become very much defaced since then for we have not had the car out of the garage except for one short excursion."
Havens' brow darkened into a puzzled frown.
"I don't understand it at all, sir," he replied. "I could swear the scratches were not there when I went away. If you didn't tell me yourself the car hadn't been used much I'd stake my oath it had had a great deal of knocking about while I was gone. Look here, Mr. Tolman! Look at that, and that, and that—great digs in the paint as if people with boots on had climbed over the sides."
Mr. Tolman looked and so, with a sinking heart, did Stephen.
"Mercy on us! I never noticed all this before!" cried Mr. Tolman, in consternation. "What in the world—" he stopped as if he could find no words to voice his amazement. "Look at this!" He placed a finger on a broad, clearly defined line that extended from the top of the tonneau to the bottom. "You would think somebody had dug his heels in here and then slid down until he reached the ground! And this! What on earth has happened to the thing, Havens? It looks as if it had been used for a gymnasium."
Hot and cold by turns, Steve listened. The marks to which his father pointed told a truthful story. Somebody had braced his heels against the side and then slid to the ground; it was Bud Taylor. And that other jagged line indicated where Tim Barclay had scrambled over the edge and made his hurried exit. The history of the whole miserable adventure was etched in the varnish as vividly as if it had been traced there in words. Stephen gasped with horror when he saw how plainly the entire story stood out in the sunlight of the November day. Why, the most stupid person alive could read it! Every moment he expected that his father or Havens would wheel on him and ask accusingly:
"When was it you carried all those boys to Torrington?"
He could hear his heart thumping inside him and feel the beat of the blood that scorched his cheek. He had not pictured a dilemma like this. The affair had gone off so smoothly that he had flattered himself every possibility of discovery was past, and in this comforting knowledge he had basked with serenity. And now, behold, here he was at the brink of peril, and just when he had had such a glorious holiday, too!
"How do you solve the riddle, Havens?" he heard his father asking.
"I ain't solvin' it, sir," was the drawling answer. "Maybe Steve could give you a hint, though," he added slyly.
The lad stiffened. He and Havens had never been friends. They had been through too many battles for that. The chauffeur did not like boys and took no trouble to conceal the fact, and as a result he had been the prey of many a mischievous prank. It was through his vigilance that Stephen had more than once been brought to justice and in the punishment that followed Havens had exulted without restraint. As a retaliation the boy tormented him whenever opportunity presented, the two carrying on a half-bitter, half-humorous feud which was a source of mutual gratification.
Had not this been the case the confession that trembled on Stephen's tongue would doubtless have been uttered then and there. But to speak before Havens and afford him the chance to crow and rejoice,—that was not to be thought of. Therefore, drawing in his chin and holding his head a
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