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
“This is Mr. Clinton’s trunk,” he said. “We are going to carry it to him.”
“Do you dare to dispute my authority?” roared the captain, his red face becoming still redder.
“I don’t see what you have to do with the trunk,” answered Harry, boldly.
“This to me!” shrieked the captain, looking as if he were going to have a fit of apoplexy. “Do you know who I am?”
“You were the captain of the Nantucket,” said Harry, quietly.
The captain, notwithstanding his inebriated condition, did not fail to notice that Harry used the past tense.
“I am still the captain of the Nantucket, as I mean to show you,” he retorted.
“Then, sir, you are captain of a wreck that has gone to pieces.”
Captain Hill upon this looked at the fragments of the unfortunate ship, and for the first time took in what had happened.
“It doesn’t matter,” said he, after a brief pause, “I am in command here, and”—here he interpolated an oath—“I don’t allow any interference with my authority.”
“You are not captain of Mr. Clinton’s trunk,” said Harry, in a spirited tone. “Jack, let us carry it along.”
This was too much for the captain. With a look of fury on his face, he dashed toward Harry, and there is no doubt that our hero was in serious danger. He paled slightly, for he knew he was no match for the tall, sinewy captain, and was half regretting his independence when he felt himself drawn forcibly to one side, and in his place stood the mate, sternly eyeing the infuriated captain.
“What do you want to do, Captain Hill?” he asked.
“To crush that young viper!” shouted the captain, fiercely.
“You shall not harm a hair of his head!”
By this time the captain’s wrath had been diverted to the mate. He struck out with his right hand, intending to fell him to the ground, but, the mate swerving, he fell from the force of his abortive blow, and, being under the influence of his morning potations, could not immediately rise.
“Boys,” said Mr. Holdfast, “you may take hold of the trunk again and go on with it. Don’t be afraid. If the captain makes any attempt to assault you, he will have me to deal with.”
Harry and Jack did as directed. Jack, however, could not help feeling a little nervous, his old fear of the captain asserting itself. But Harry, confident in the protection of his good friend, the mate, was quite unconcerned.
Mr. Holdfast walked on beside them.
“The captain seems disposed to make trouble,” he said. “He fancies that he is captain of this island, as he was chief officer of the Nantucket. I shall convince him of his mistake.”
“I hope you won’t get into any trouble on my account, Mr. Holdfast,” said Harry, considerately.
“Thank you, my lad; but Tom Holdfast doesn’t propose to let any man walk over him, even if it is his old skipper. Now that the ship is gone, Captain Hill has no more authority here than I have.”
As the captain fell, his head came in contact with a timber with such violence that, combined with his condition, he was forced to lie where he fell for over an hour.
As the boys emerged upon the bluff with the trunk, Clinton, who had just got up, recognized it, and ran up to them, his face beaming with delight.
“Oh, Mr. Vane!” he said, “have you really brought my trunk? You are awfully kind.”
Then they had breakfast—a very plain meal, as might be supposed. Some of the sailors came over from the other camp, and one of them asked Mr. Holdfast if he had seen the captain.
“You will find him on the beach,” answered the mate. “He has been carrying too much sail, I think,” he added, dryly.
After a while the captain picked himself up, and gazed moodily at the wreck, of which so little remained. Then, the events of the morning recurring to him, he frowned savagely, and, turning toward the bluff, he shook his fist angrily in the direction of the mate’s encampment.
CHAPTER XVI
CONCLUSION
Among the sailors was an Italian named Francesco. Probably he had another name, but no one knew what it was. In fact, a sailor’s last name is very little used. He was a man of middle height, very swarthy, with bright, black eyes, not unpopular, for the most part, but with a violent temper. His chief fault was a love of strong drink. On board the Nantucket grog had been served to the crew; and with that he had been content. But at the time of the wreck no spirits had been saved but the captain’s stock of brandy. Francesco felt this to be a great hardship. More than any other sailor he felt the need of his usual stimulant. It was very tantalizing to him to see the captain partaking of his private stock of brandy while he was compelled to get along on water.
“The captain is too mucha selfish,” he said one day to a fellow-sailor. “He should share his brandy with the men.”
Ben Brady, the sailor to whom he was speaking, shrugged his shoulders.
“I think I will try some of the captain’s brandy when he is away,” said Francesco, slyly.
“If you do, you will get into trouble. The captain will half murder you if he finds it out.”
“He is not captain now—we are all equal—all comrades. We are not on ze sheep.”
“Take my advice, Francesco, and leave the brandy alone.”
Francesco did not reply, but he became more and more bent on his design.
He watched the captain, and ascertained where he kept his secret store. Then he watched his opportunity to help himself. It was some time before he had an opportunity to do so unobserved, but at length the chance came.
The first draught brought light to his eyes, and made him smack his lips with enjoyment. It was so long since he had tasted the forbidden nectar that he drank again and again. Finally he found himself overcome by his potations, and sank upon the ground in a drunken stupor.
He was getting
Comments (0)