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 World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (e novels to read online TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (e novels to read online TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
It was a lovely morning when this happy event was accomplished. Before the tide was quite full, and while they were waiting until the command to heave on the warps should be given, Captain Guy assembled the crew for morning prayers in the cabin. Having concluded, he said:
“My lads, through the great mercy of Heaven we have been all, except one, spared through the trials and anxieties of a long and dreary winter, and are now, I trust, about to make our escape from the ice that has held us fast so long. It becomes me at such a time to tell you that, if I am spared to return home, I shall be able to report that every man in this ship has done his duty. You have never flinched in the hour of danger, and never grumbled in the hour of trial. Only one man—our late brave and warm-hearted comrade, Joseph West—has fallen in the struggle. For the mercies that have never failed us, and for our success in rescuing my gallant friend, Captain Ellice, we ought to feel the deepest gratitude. We have need, however, to pray for a blessing on the labours that are yet before us, for you are well aware that we shall probably have many a struggle with the ice before we are once more afloat on blue water. And now, lads, away with you on deck, and man the capstan, for the tide is about full.”
The capstan was manned, and the hawsers were hove taut. Inch by inch the tide rose, and the Dolphin floated. Then a lusty cheer was given, and Amos Parr struck up one of those hearty songs intermingled with “Ho!” and “Yo heave ho!” that seem to be the life and marrow of all nautical exertion. At last the good ship forged ahead, and, boring through the loose ice, passed slowly out of the Bay of Mercy.
“Do you know I feel quite sad at quitting this dreary spot?” said Fred to his father, as they stood gazing backward over the taffrail. “I could not have believed that I should have become so much attached to it.”
“We become attached to any spot, Fred, in which incidents have occurred to call forth, frequently, our deeper feelings. These rocks and stones are intimately associated with many events that have caused you joy and sorrow, hope and fear, pain and happiness. Men cherish the memory of such feelings, and love the spots of earth with which they are associated.”
“Ah, Father, yonder stands one stone, at least, that calls forth feelings of sorrow.”
Fred pointed, as he spoke, to Store Island, which was just passing out of view. On this lonely spot the men had raised a large stone over the grave of Joseph West. O’Riley, whose enthusiastic temperament had caused him to mourn over his comrade more, perhaps, than any other man in the ship, had carved the name and date of his death in rude characters on the stone. It was a conspicuous object on the low island, and every eye in the Dolphin was fixed on it as they passed. Soon the point of rock, that had sheltered them so long from many a westerly gale, intervened and shut it out from view for ever.
A week of uninterrupted fair wind and weather had carried the Dolphin far to the south of their dreary wintering-ground, and all was going well, when the worst of all disasters befell the ship—she caught fire! How it happened no one could tell. The smoke was first seen rising suddenly from the hold. Instantly the alarm was spread.
“Firemen to your posts!” shouted the captain. “Man the water-buckets; steady, men, no hurry. Keep order.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” was the short, prompt response, and the most perfect order was kept. Every command was obeyed instantly, with a degree of vigour that is seldom exhibited save in cases of life and death.
Buzzby was at the starboard, and Peter Grim at the larboard gangway, while the men stood in two rows, extending from each to the main hatch, up which ever-thickening clouds of dark smoke were rolling. Bucket after bucket of water was passed along and dashed into the hold, and everything that could be done was done, but without effect. The fire increased. Suddenly a long tongue of flame issued from the smoking cavern, and lapped round the mast and rigging with greedy eagerness.
“There’s no hope,” said Captain Ellice in a low voice, laying his hand gently on Captain Guy’s shoulder.
The captain did not reply, but gazed with an expression of the deepest regret, for one moment, at the work of destruction.
Next instant he sprang to the falls of the larboard quarterboat.
“Now, lads,” he cried energetically, “get out the boats. Bring up provisions, Mr Bolton, and a couple of spare sails. Mr Saunders, see to the ammunition and muskets. Quick, men. The cabin will soon be too hot to hold you.”
Setting the example, the captain sprang below, followed by Fred and Tom Singleton, who secured the charts, a compass, chronometer, and quadrant; also the log-book and the various journals and records of the voyage. Captain Ellice also did active service, and, being cool and self-possessed, he recollected and secured several articles which were afterwards of the greatest use, and which, but for him, would in such a trying moment have probably been forgotten.
Meanwhile the two largest boats in the ship were lowered. Provisions, masts, sails, and oars, etcetera, were thrown in. The few remaining dogs, among whom were Dumps and Poker, were also embarked, and the crew, hastily leaping in, pushed off. They were not a moment too soon. The fire had reached the place where the gunpowder was kept and, although there was not a great quantity of it, there was enough, when it exploded, to burst open the deck. The wind, having free ingress, fanned the fire into a furious blaze, and in a few moments the Dolphin was wrapped in flames from stem to stern. It was a little after sunset when the fire was discovered; in two hours later the good ship was burned to the water’s edge; then the waves swept in, and, while they extinguished the fire, they sank the blackened hull, leaving the two crowded boats floating in darkness on the bosom of the ice-laden sea.
For three long weeks the shipwrecked mariners were buffeted by winds and waves in open boats, but at last they were guided in safety through all their dangers and vicissitudes to the colony of Uppernavik. Here they found several vessels on the point of setting out for Europe, one of which was bound for England; and in this vessel the crew of the Dolphin resolved to ship.
Nothing of particular interest occurred at this solitary settlement except one thing, but that one thing was a great event, and deserves very special notice. It was nothing less than the receipt of a letter by Fred from his cousin Isobel! Fred and Isobel, having been brought up for several years together, felt towards each other like brother and sister.
Fred received the letter from the pastor of the settlement shortly after landing, while his father and the captain were on board the English brig making arrangements for their passage home. He could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld the well-known hand, but, having at last come to realise the fact that he actually held a real letter in his hand, he darted behind one of the curious, primitive cottages to read it. Here he was met by a squad of inquisitive natives; so, with a gesture of impatience, he rushed to another spot; but he was observed and followed by half a dozen Esquimaux boys, and in despair he sought refuge in the small church near which he chanced to be. He had not been there a second, however, when two old women came in, and, approaching him, began to scan him with critical eyes. This was too much, so Fred thrust the letter into his bosom, darted out, and was instantly surrounded by a band of natives, who began to question him in an unknown tongue. Seeing that there was no other resource, Fred turned him round and fled towards the mountains at a pace that defied pursuit, and, coming to a halt in the midst of a rocky gorge that might have served as an illustration of what chaos was, he sat him down behind a big rock to peruse Isobel’s letter.
Having read it, he re-read it; having re-read it, he read it over again. Having read it over again, he meditated a little, exclaiming several times emphatically: “My darling Isobel,” and then he read bits of it here and there; having done which, he read the other bits, and so got through it again. As the letter was a pretty long one it took him a considerable time to do all this; then it suddenly occurred to him that he had been thus selfishly keeping it all to himself instead of sharing it with his father, so he started up and hastened back to the village, where he found old Mr Ellice in earnest confabulation with the pastor of the place. Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in the pastor’s house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty, he sought to bolt the door, but the door was a primitive one and had no bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and, sitting down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the letter, and, yet once again, read it through.
The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:—
“Grayton, 25th July.
“My Darling Fred,
“It is now two months since you left us, and it seems to me two years. Oh, how I do wish that you were back! When I think of the terrible dangers that you may be exposed to amongst the ice my heart sinks, and I sometimes fear that we shall never see you or your dear father again. But you are in the hands of our Father in heaven, dear Fred, and I never cease to pray that you may be successful and return to us in safety. Dear, good old Mr Singleton told me yesterday that he had an opportunity of sending to the Danish settlements in Greenland, so I resolved to write, though I very much doubt whether this will ever find you in such a wild far-off land.
“Oh, when I think of where you are, all the romantic stories I have ever read of Polar regions spring up before me, and you seem to be the hero of them all. But I must not waste my paper thus. I know you will be anxious for news. I have very little to give you, however. Good old Mr Singleton has been very kind to us since you went away. He comes constantly to see us, and comforts dear Mamma very much. Your friend, Dr Singleton, will be glad to hear that he is well and strong. Tell my friend Buzzby that his wife sends her ‘compliments’. I laugh while I write the word! Yes, she actually sends er ‘compliments’ to her husband. She is a very stern but a really excellent woman. Mamma and I visit her frequently when we chance to be in the village. Her two boys are the finest little fellows I ever saw. They are both so like each other that we cannot tell which is which when they are apart, and both are so like their father that we can almost fancy we see him, when looking at either of them.
“The last day we were there, however, they were in disgrace, for Johnny had pushed Freddy into the washing-tub, and Freddy, in revenge, had poured a jug of treacle over Johnny’s head! I
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