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. Freaks on the Fells: Three Months' Rustication by R. M. Ballantyne (short story to read TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Freaks on the Fells: Three Months' Rustication by R. M. Ballantyne (short story to read TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
The men were evidently overawed by the vehemence of my manner and the mysterious nature of my remarks. Without uttering a word they withdrew, and locked the door behind them. Happily they left the torches.
As soon as they were gone I threw my arms round my comrade’s neck, and, resting my head on his shoulder, bemoaned our sad lot.
“Dear, dear Jack, have they hurt you?”
“Oh! nothing to speak of. But I say, Bob, my boy, what on earth can this monstrous secret be? It must be something very tremendous?”
“My poor Jack,” said I, regardless of his question, “your thumbs are bruised and bleeding. Oh that I should have lived to bring you to this!”
“Come, come, Bob, enough of that. They are a little soreish, but nothing to what they would have been had you not stopped them. But, I say, what is this secret? I’m dying to know. My dear boy, you’ve no idea how you looked when you were spouting like that. You made my flesh creep, I assure you. Come, out with it; what’s the secret?”
I felt, and no doubt looked, somewhat confused.
“Do you know, Jack,” said I, solemnly, “I have no secret whatever!”
Jack gasped and stared—
“No secret, Bob!”
“Not the most distant shadow of one.”
Jack pulled out his watch, and said in a low voice—
“Bob, my boy, we have just got about three-quarters of an hour to live. When these villains come back, and find that you’ve been humbugging them, they’ll brain us on the spot, as sure as my name is John Brown and yours is Robert Smith—romantic names, both of ’em; especially when associated with the little romance in which we are now involved. Ha! ha! ha!”
I shrank back from my friend with the terrible dread, which had more than once crossed my mind, that he was going mad.
“Oh, Jack, don’t laugh, pray. Could we not invent some secret to tell them?”
“Not a bad idea,” returned my friend, gravely.
“Well, let us think; what could we say?”
“Ay, that’s the rub! Suppose we tell them seriously that my wooden leg is a ghost, and that it haunts those who ill-treat its master, giving them perpetual bangs on the nose, and otherwise rendering their lives miserable?”
I shook my head.
“Well, then, suppose we say we’ve been sent by the Queen of England to treat with them about the liberation of the niggers at a thousand pounds a head; one hundred paid down in gold, the rest in American shin-plasters?”
“That would be a lie, you know, Jack.”
“Come, that’s good! You’re wonderfully particular about truth, for a man that has just told such tremendous falsehoods about a secret that doesn’t exist.”
“True, Jack,” I replied, seriously, “I confess that I have lied; but I did not mean to. I assure you I had no notion of what I was saying. I think I was bewitched. All your nonsense rolled out, as it were, without my will. Indeed, I did not mean to tell lies. Yet I confess, to my shame, that I did. There is some mystery here, which I can by no means fathom.”
“Fathom or not fathom,” rejoined my friend, looking at his watch again, “you got me into this scrape, so I request you to get me out of it. We have exactly twenty-five minutes and a half before us now.”
Jack and I now set to work in real earnest to devise some plan of escape, or to invent some plausible secret. But we utterly failed. Minute after minute passed; and, as the end of our time drew near, we felt less and less able to think of any scheme, until our brains became confused with the terror of approaching and inevitable death, aggravated by previous torture. I trembled violently, and Jack became again uproarious and sarcastic. Suddenly he grew quiet, and I observed that he began to collect a quantity of straw that was scattered about the place. Making a large pile of it, he placed it before us, and then loosened one of the torches in its stand.
“There,” said he, with a sigh of satisfaction, when all was arranged, “we shall give our amiable friends a warm reception when they come.”
“But they will escape by the door,” said I, in much anxiety, “and we only shall perish.”
“Never mind that, Bob; we can only die once. Besides, they sha’n’t escape; trust me for that.”
As he spoke we heard approaching footsteps. Presently the key turned in the lock, and the door opened.
Punctually, to a minute, our jailors returned, and once again drew up in a row before us.
“Now, lads, wot have ye got to say?”
“My friends,” began Jack, standing up and balancing himself on his one leg as well as he could, at the same time speaking with the utmost gravity and candour of expression, “my companion here in temporary distress—for I feel that it will be but temporary—has devolved upon me the interesting duty of making known to you the secret which has burthened his own mind for some time, and which has had so impressive and appropriate an effect upon yours. But first I must request you to lock the door, and hang the key on this nail at my elbow. You hesitate. Why? I am in chains; so is my comrade. We are two; you are four. It is merely a precaution to prevent the possibility of any one entering by stealth, and overhearing what I say.”
The man with the battered face locked the door, and hung up the key as directed, merely remarking, with a laugh, that we were safe enough anyhow, and that if we were humbugging him it would be worse for us in the long-run.
“Come, now, out with yer secret,” he added, impatiently.
“Certainly,” answered Jack, with increased urbanity, at the same time taking down the key, (which caused the four men to start), and gazing at it in a pensive manner. “The secret! Ah! yes. Well, it’s a wonderful one. D’you know, my lads, there would not be the most distant chance of your guessing it, if you were to try ever so much?”
“Well, but what is it?” cried one of the men, whose curiosity was now excited beyond endurance.
“It is this,” rejoined Jack, with slow deliberation, “that you four men are—”
“Well,” they whispered, leaning forward eagerly.
“The most outrageous and unmitigated asses we ever saw! Ha! I thought it would surprise you. Bob and I are quite agreed upon it. Pray don’t open your eyes too wide, in case you should find it difficult to shut them again. Now, in proof of this 
great, and to you important truth, let me show you a thing. Do you see this torch,” (taking it down), “and that straw?” (lifting up a handful), “Well, you have no idea what an astonishing result will follow the application of the former to the latter—see!”
To my horror, and evidently to the dismay of the men, who did not seem to believe that he was in earnest, Jack Brown thrust the blazing torch into the centre of the heap of straw.
The men uttered a yell, and rushing forward, threw themselves on the smoking heap in the hope of smothering it at once. But Jack applied the torch quickly to various parts. The flames leaped up! The men rolled off in agony. Jack, who somehow had managed to break his chain, hopped after them, showering the blazing straw on their heads, and yelling as never mortal yelled before. In two seconds the whole place was in a blaze, and I beheld Jack actually throwing somersets with his one leg over the fire and through the smoke; punching the heads of the four men most unmercifully; catching up blazing handfuls of straw, and thrusting them into their eyes and mouths in a way that quite overpowered me. I could restrain myself no longer. I began to roar in abject terror! In the midst of this dreadful scene the roof fell in with a hideous crash, and Jack, bounding through the smoking débris, cleared the walls and vanished!
At the same moment I received a dreadful blow on the side, and awoke—to find myself lying on the floor of my bedroom, and our man-servant Edwards furiously beating the bed-curtains, which I had set on fire by upsetting the candle in my fall.
“Why, Master Robert,” gasped Edwards, sitting down and panting vehemently, after having extinguished the flames, “wot have you been a-doin’ of?” I was standing speechless in the midst of my upset chair, table, and books, glaring wildly, when the man said this.
“Edwards,” I replied, with deep solemnity, “the mystery’s cleared up at last. It has been all a dream!”
“Wot’s been all a dream? You hain’t bin a bed all night, for the clo’se is never touched, an’ its broad daylight. Wot has bin up?”
I might have replied, that, according to his own statement, I had been “up,” but I did not. I began gradually to believe that the dreadful scenes I had witnessed were not reality; and an overpowering sense of joy kept filling my heart as I continued to glare at the man until I thought my chest would rend asunder. Suddenly, and without moving hand, foot, or eye, I gave vent to a loud, sharp, “Hurrah!”
Edwards started—“Eh?”
“Hurrah! hurrah! it’s a Dream!”
“Hallo! I say, you know, come, this won’t—”
“Hurrah!”
“Bless my ’art, Master Ro—”
Again I interrupted him by seizing my cap, swinging it round my head in an ecstasy of delight, and uttering cheer upon cheer with such outrageous vehemence, that Edwards, who thought me raving mad, crept towards the door, intending to bolt.
He was prevented from carrying out his intention, and violently overturned by the entrance of my father in dishabille. I sprang forward, plucked the spectacles off his nose, threw my arms round his neck, and kissed him on both eyes.
“I won’t run away now, father, no, no, no! it’s all a dream—a horrid dream! ha! ha! ha!”
“Bob, my dear boy!”
At this moment Jack, also in dishabille, rushed in. “Hallo! Bob, what’s all the row?”
I experienced a different, but equally powerful gush of feeling on seeing my friend. Leaving my father, I rushed towards him, and, falling on his neck, burst into tears. Yes, I confess it without shame. Reader, if you had felt as I did, you would have done the same.
Jack led me gently to my bed, and, seating me on the edge of it, sat down beside me. I at once perceived from their looks that they all thought me mad, and felt the necessity of calming me before taking more forcible measures. This tickled me so much that I laughed again heartily, insomuch that Jack could not help joining me. Suddenly a thought flashed into my mind. My heart leaped to my throat, and I glanced downwards. It was there! I seized Jack’s right leg, tumbled him back into
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