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 Red Eric by R. M. Ballantyne (world of reading txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Red Eric by R. M. Ballantyne (world of reading txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Oh! then ye married the widder, did ye?” said Jim Scroggles.
“I did; an’ she’s alive and hearty this day av she’s not—”
Briant was interrupted by a sudden roar of laughter from the men, who at that moment caught sight of Jacko, the small monkey, in a condition of mind and body that, to say the least of it, did him no credit. We are sorry to be compelled to state that Jacko was evidently and undoubtedly tipsy. Gurney said he was “as drunk as a fiddler.”
We cannot take upon ourself to say whether he was or was not as drunk as that. We are rather inclined to think that fiddlers, as a class, are maligned, and that they are no worse than their neighbours in this respect, perhaps not so bad. Certainly, if any fiddler really deserves the imputation, it must be a violoncello player, because he is, properly speaking, a base-fiddler.
Be this, however, as it may, Jacko was unmistakably drunk—in a maudlin state of intoxication—drunker, probably, than ever a monkey was before or since. He appeared, as he came slowly staggering forward to the place where the men were at work on the boat, to have just wakened out of his first drunken sleep, for his eyes were blinking like the orbs of an owl in the sunshine, and in his walk he placed his right foot where his left should have gone, and his left foot where his right should have gone, occasionally making a little run forward to save himself from tumbling on his nose, and then pulling suddenly up, and throwing up his arms in order to avoid falling on his back. Sometimes he halted altogether,—and swayed to and fro, gazing, meanwhile, pensively at the ground, as if he were wondering why it had taken to rolling and earthquaking in that preposterous manner; or were thinking on the bald-headed mother he had left behind him in the African wilderness. When the loud laugh of the men saluted his ears, Jacko looked up as quickly and steadily as he could, and grinned a ghastly smile—or something like it—as if to say, “What are you laughing at, villains?”
It is commonly observed that, among men, the ruling passion comes out strongly when they are under the influence of strong drink. So it is with monkeys. Jacko’s ruling passion was thieving; but having, at that time, no particular inducement to steal, he indulged his next ruling passion—that of affection—by holding out both arms, and staggering towards Phil Briant to be taken up.
A renewed burst of laughter greeted this movement. “It knows ye, Phil,” cried Jim Scroggles.
“Ah! then, so it should, for it’s meself as is good to it. Come to its uncle, then. O good luck to yer purty little yaller face. So it wos you stole the brandy, wos it? Musha! but ye might have know’d ye belonged to a timp’rance ship, so ye might.”
Jacko spread his arms on Briant’s broad chest—they were too short to go round his neck—laid his head thereon, and sighed. Perhaps he felt penitent on account of his wickedness; but it is more probable that he felt uneasy in body rather than in mind.
“I say, Briant,” cried Gurney.
“That’s me,” answered the other.
“If you are Jacko’s self-appointed uncle, and Miss Ailie is his adopted mother, wot relation is Miss Ailie to you?”
“You never does nothin’ right, Gurney,” interposed Nikel Sling; “you can’t even preepound a pruposition. Here’s how you oughter to ha’ put it. If Phil Briant be Jacko’s uncle, and Miss Ailie his adopted mother—all three bein’ related in a sorter way by bein’ shipmates, an’ all on us together bein’ closely connected in vartue of our bein’ messmates—wot relation is Gurney to a donkey?”
“That’s a puzzler,” said Gurney, affecting to consider the question deeply.
“Here’s a puzzler wot’ll beat it, though,” observed Tim Rokens; “suppose we all go on talkin’ stuff till doomsday, w’en’ll the boat be finished?”
“That’s true,” cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy; “take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope’s-end him. I’m right glad to find, though, that he is the thief arter all, and not one o’ us.”
On examination being made, it was found that the broken and empty brandy-bottle lay on the floor of the monkey’s nest, and it was conjectured, from the position in which it was discovered, that that dissipated little creature, having broken off the neck in order to get at the brandy, had used the body of the bottle as a pillow whereon to lay its drunken little head. Luckily for its own sake, it had spilt the greater part of the liquid, with which everything in its private residence was saturated and perfumed.
On having ocular demonstration of the depravity of her pet, Ailie at first wept, then, on beholding its eccentric movements, she laughed in spite of herself.
After that, she wept again, and spoke to it reproachfully, but failed to make the slightest impression on its hardened little heart. Then she put it to bed, and wrapped it up carefully in its sailcloth blanket.
With this piece of unmerited kindness Jacko seemed touched, for he said, “Oo-oo—oo-oo—ooee-ee!” once or twice in a peculiarly soft and penitential tone, after which he dropped into a calm, untroubled slumber.
At last the boat was finished. It had two masts and two lug-sails, and pulled eight oars. There was just sufficient room in it to enable the men to move about freely, but it required a little management to enable them to stow themselves away when they went to sleep, and had they possessed the proper quantity of provisions for their contemplated voyage, there is no doubt that they would have found themselves considerably cramped. The boat was named the Maid of the Isle, in memory of the sandbank on which she had been built, and although in her general outline and details she was rather a clumsy craft, she was serviceable and strongly put together.
Had she been decked, or even half-decked, the voyage which now began would not have been so desperate an undertaking; but having been only covered in part with a frail tarpaulin, she was not at all fitted to face the terrible storms that sometimes sweep the southern seas. Each man, as he gazed at her, felt that his chance of ultimate escape was very small indeed. Still, the men had now been so long contemplating the voyage and preparing for it, and they had become so accustomed to risk their lives upon the sea, that they set out upon this voyage at last in cheerful spirits, and even jested about the anticipated dangers and trials which they knew full well awaited them.
It was a lovely morning, that on which the wrecked crew of the whaler bade adieu to “Fairyland,” as the islet had been named by Ailie—a name that was highly, though laughingly, approved of by the men. The ocean and sky presented that mysterious co-mingling of their gorgeous elements that irresistibly call forth the wonder and admiration of even the most unromantic and matter-of-fact men. It was one of Ailie’s peculiarly beloved skies. You could not, without much consideration, have decided as to where was the exact line at which the glassy ocean met the clear sky, and it was almost impossible to tell, when gazing at the horizon, which were the real clouds and which the reflections.
The bright blue vault above was laden with clouds of the most gorgeous description, in which all the shades of pearly-grey and yellow were mingled and contrasted. They rose up, pile upon pile, in stupendous majesty, like the very battlements of heaven, while their images, clear and distinct almost as themselves, rolled down and down into the watery depths, until the islet—the only well-defined and solid object in the scene—appeared to float in their midst. The rising sun shot throughout the vast immensity of space, and its warm rays were interrupted, and broken, and caught, and absorbed, and reflected in so many magical ways, that it was impossible to trace any of the outlines for more than a few seconds, ere the eye was lost in the confusion of bright lights and deep shadows that were mingled and mellowed together by the softer lights and shades of every degree of depth and tint into splendid harmony.
In the midst of this scene Captain Dunning stood, with Ailie by his side, and surrounded by his men, on the shores of the little island. Everything was now in readiness to set sail. The boat was laden, and in the water, and the men stood ready to leap in and push off.
“My lads,” said the captain, earnestly, “we’re about to quit this morsel of sandbank on which it pleased the Almighty to cast our ship, and on which, thanks be to Him, we have found a pretty safe shelter for so long. I feel a sort o’ regret almost at leavin’ it now. But the time has come for us to begin our voyage towards the Cape, and I need scarcely repeat what you all know well enough—that our undertakin’ is no child’s play. We shall need all our bodily and our mental powers to carry us through. Our labour must be constant, and our food is not sufficient, so that we must go on shorter allowance from this day. I gave you half rations while ye were buildin’ the boat, because we had to get her finished and launched as fast as we could, but now we can’t afford to eat so much. I made a careful inspection of our provisions last night, and I find that by allowing every man four ounces a day, we can spin it out. We may fall in with islands, perhaps, but I know of none in these seas—there are none put down on the charts—and we may get hold of a fish now and then, but we must not count on these chances. Now it must be plain to all of you that our only chance of getting on well together in circumstances that will try our tempers, no doubt, and rouse our selfishness, is to resolve firmly before starting—each man for himself—that we will lay restraint on ourselves and try to help each other as much as we can.”
There was a ready murmur of assent to this proposal; then the captain continued:—
“Now, lads, one word more. Our best efforts, let us exert ourselves ever so much, cannot be crowned with success unless before setting out, we ask the special favour and blessing of Him who, we are told in the Bible, holds the waters of the ocean in the hollow of His hand. If He helps us, we shall be saved; if He does not help us, we shall perish. We will therefore offer up a prayer now, in the name of our blessed Redeemer, that we may be delivered from every danger, and be brought at last in peace and comfort to our homes.”
Captain Dunning then clasped his hands together, and while the men around him reverently bowed their heads, he offered up a short and simple, but earnest prayer to God.
From that day forward they continued the habit of offering up prayer together once a day, and soon afterwards the captain began the practice of reading a chapter aloud daily out of Ailie’s Bible. The result of this was that not only were the more violent spirits among them restrained, under frequent and sore privations and temptations, but all the party were often much comforted and filled with hope at times when they were by their sufferings well-nigh driven to despair.
“I’m sorry to leave Fairyland, papa,” said Ailie sadly, as the men shoved the Maid of the Isle into deep water and pulled out to sea.
“So am I, dear,” replied the captain sitting down beside his daughter
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