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. Fort Desolation: Red Indians and Fur Traders of Rupert's Land by R. M. Ballantyne (highly illogical behavior .TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Fort Desolation: Red Indians and Fur Traders of Rupert's Land by R. M. Ballantyne (highly illogical behavior .TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
At breakfast there was naturally a good deal of talk among the men, and special mention was of course made of the energy of their master.
Breakfast over, Jack assembled the men and apportioned to each his day’s work.
“I myself,” said he, “mean to walk down to the fishery to-day, and I leave O’Donel in charge; I shall be back to-morrow. Rollo, you will prepare to accompany me.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the man, not knowing very well how to take this. The others glanced at each other intelligently as they departed to their work.
A few minutes sufficed for preparation, and soon Jack stood with his rifle on his shoulder in front of the house. Rollo quickly made his appearance with an old trading gun.
“You can leave that, we won’t require it,” said Jack; “besides I want to walk fast, so it is well that you should be as light as possible.”
“No fear but I’ll keep up with you, sir,” said the man, somewhat piqued.
“I do not doubt it,” replied Jack, “but one gun is enough for us, so put yours by and come along.”
Rollo obeyed, and resolved in his heart that he would give his new master a taste of his powers.
Jack started off at a good rattling pace, somewhat over four miles an hour. For the first mile Rollo allowed him to lead, keeping about a foot behind. Then he thought to himself, “Now, my friend, I’ll try you,” and ranged up beside him, keeping a few yards to one side, however, in order to avoid the appearance of racing. After a few minutes he pushed the pace considerably, and even went ahead of his companion; but, ere long, Jack was alongside and the pace increased to nearly five miles an hour.
Only those who have tried it know, or can fully appreciate, what is meant by adding a mile an hour to one’s pace. Most active men go at four miles an hour when walking at a good smart pace. Men never walk at five miles an hour except when in the utmost haste, and then only for a short distance. Anything beyond that requires a run in order to be sustained.
It was curious to watch the progress of these two men. The aim of each was to walk at his greatest possible speed, without allowing the slightest evidence of unwonted exertion to appear on his countenance or in his manner.
They walked on the sands of the shore—there being no roads there—and at first the walking was good, as the tide was out and the sand hard. But before they had got half way to the fishery the sea came in and drove them to the soft sand, which, as nearly every one knows, is terribly fatiguing and difficult to walk in.
Up to this point the two men had kept abreast, going at a tremendous pace, yet conversing quietly and keeping down every appearance of distress; affecting, in fact, to be going at their usual and natural pace! Many a sidelong glance did Rollo cast, however, at his companion, to see if he were likely to give in soon. But Jack was as cool as a cucumber, and wore a remarkably amiable expression of countenance. He even hummed snatches of one or two songs, as though he were only sauntering on the beach. At last he took out his pipe, filled it, and began to smoke, without slackening speed. This filled Rollo with surprise, and for the first time he began to entertain doubts as to the result of the struggle.
As for Jack, he never doubted it for a moment. When they were compelled to take to the heavy sand and sank above the ankles at every step, he changed his tactics. Putting out his pipe, he fell behind a few paces.
“Ha!” thought Rollo, “done up at last; now I’ll give it you.”
The thought that he was sure of victory infused such spirit into the man that he braced himself to renewed exertion. This was just what Jack wanted. He kept exactly a foot behind Rollo, yet when the other ventured to slacken his pace, (which was now too great to be kept up), he pushed forward just enough to keep him at it, without disheartening him as to result. In the midst of this they both came to a full stop on discovering a box made of birch bark, which seemed to have been dropped by some passing Indians.
“Hallo! what have we here?” cried Jack, stooping down to examine it.
“My blessin’ on’t whatever it is,” thought Rollo, to whom the momentary relief from walking was of the greatest consequence. Jack knew this, and hastened his inspection. It was a box of bear’s fat.
“Come, not a bad thing in times like these,” observed Jack; “will you carry this or the rifle, my man? See, the rifle is lighter, take that.”
Again they stepped out, and the sand seemed to grow softer and deeper as they advanced. They were now five miles from the end of their journey, so Jack began to exert himself. He pushed on at a pace that caused Rollo to pant and blow audibly. For some time Jack pretended not to notice this, but at last he turned round and said—
“You seem to be fatigued, my man, let me carry the rifle.”
Rollo did not object, and Jack went forward with the box and rifle more rapidly than before. He was perspiring, indeed, at every pore profusely, but wind and limb were as sound as when he started.
He finally left Rollo out of sight, and arrived at the fishery without him!
Half an hour afterwards Rollo arrived. He was a stout fellow, and by taking a short rest, had recovered sufficiently to come in with some degree of spirit; nevertheless, it was evident to all that he was “used up,” for, “it is not the distance but the pace that kills!” He found the fishermen at dinner, buttering their cakes with the bear’s grease that had been discovered on the way down. Jack Robinson was sitting in the midst of them, chatting quietly and smoking his pipe beside the fire-place of the hut.
Jack introduced him as one of the new men, but made no reference to the walk from Fort Desolation. He felt, however, that he had conquered the man, at least for that time, and hoped that further and more violent methods would not be necessary. In this he was disappointed, as the sequel will show.
That night Jack slept on a bed made of old salmon-nets, with a new salmon-net above him for a blanket. It was a peculiar and not a particularly comfortable bed; but in his circumstances he could have slept on a bed of thorns. He gazed up at the stars through the hole in the roof that served for a chimney, and listened to the chirping of the frogs in a neighbouring swamp, to which the snoring of the men around him formed a rough-and-ready bass. Thus he lay gazing and listening, till stars and strains alike melted away and left him in the sweet regions of oblivion.
Next morning, Jack Robinson went out at daybreak to inspect the salmon fishery.
The river, up which the fish went in thousands, was broad, deep, and rapid. Its banks were clothed with spruce-fir and dense underwood. There was little of the picturesque or the beautiful in the scenery. It was a bleak spot and unattractive.
Two of the four men who conducted the fishery were stationed at the mouth of the river. The other two attended to the nets about six miles farther up, at a place where there was a considerable fall terminating in a long, turbulent rapid.
With his wonted promptitude and energy, Jack began to make himself master of his position long before the men were stirring. Before Ladoc, who was superintendent, had lighted his first pipe and strolled down to the boat to commence the operations of the day, Jack had examined the nets, the salt boxes, the curing-vats, the fish in pickle, the casks, and all the other matériel of the fishery, with a critical eye. From what he saw, he was convinced that Ladoc was not the best manager that could be desired, and, remembering that Ladoc was a bully, he was strengthened in an opinion which he had long entertained, namely, that a bully is never a trustworthy man.
He was in the act of forming this opinion, when Ladoc approached.
“Good morning, Ladoc,” said he; “you rise early.”
“Oui, sair; mais, you gits up more earlier.”
“Yes, I am fond of morning air. The fishery prospers, I see.”
“It doos, monsieur,” said Ladoc, accepting the remark as a compliment to himself; “ve have catch fifteen casks already, and they is in most splendid condition.”
“Hum!” ejaculated Jack, with a doubtful look at a cask which was evidently leaking, “hum! yes, you are getting on pretty well, but—”
Here Jack “hummed” again, and looked pointedly at one of the large vats, which was also leaking, and around which there was a great deal of salt that had been scattered carelessly on the ground. Raising big eyes to the roof of the low shed in which the salt-boxes stood, he touched with his stick a torn piece of its tarpaulin covering, through which rain had found its way in bad weather. He “hummed” again, but said nothing, for he saw that Ladoc was a little disconcerted.
After some minutes Jack turned to his companion with a bland smile, and said—
“The next station is—how many miles did you say?”
“Six, monsieur.”
“Ah, six! well, let us go up and see it. You can show me the way.”
“Breakfast be ready ver’ soon,” said Ladoc, “monsieur vill eat first, p’r’aps?”
“No, we will breakfast at the upper station. Ho, Rollo! here, I want you.”
Rollo, who issued from the hut at the moment, with a view to examine the weather and light his pipe, came forward.
“I am going with Ladoc to the upper station,” said Jack; “you will take his place here until we return.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Rollo, fixing his eyes upon Ladoc. At the same moment Ladoc fixed his eyes on Rollo. The two men seemed to read each other’s character in a single glance, and then and there hurled silent defiance in each other’s teeth through their eyes! Ladoc was annoyed at having been silently found fault with and superseded; Rollo was aggrieved at being left behind; both men were therefore enraged—for it is wonderful how small a matter is sufficient to enrage a bully—but Jack ordered Ladoc to lead the way, so the rivals, or enemies, parted company with another glance of defiance.
That day, Jack Robinson had a somewhat rough and remarkable experience of life.
He began by overhauling the nets at the mouth of the river, and these were so prolific that the small flat-bottomed boat used by the fishermen was soon half filled with glittering salmon, varying from ten to fifteen pounds in weight. In order to avoid having his mocassins and nether garments soiled, Jack, who pulled the sculls, sat with bare feet and tucked-up trousers. In less than an hour he rowed back to the landing-place, literally up to the knees in salmon! Among these were a few young seals that had got entangled in the nets, while in pursuit of the fish, and been drowned. These last were filled with water to such an extent, that they resembled inflated bladders!
“Breakfast is ready, sir,” said one of the men, as
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