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 Pirate City: An Algerine Tale by R. M. Ballantyne (digital book reader .txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Pirate City: An Algerine Tale by R. M. Ballantyne (digital book reader .txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“I should like to be commander-in-chief when the war of conquest begins,” said Mariano.
“A poor job you’d make of it, my son,” said Francisco.
“Why so, father?”
“Why? because hot blood and a giddy head with a revengeful spirit are not the best elements wherewith to construct a commander-in-chief.”
“Ah! father, with every wish to be respectful I cannot refrain from reminding you of a certain pot which was reported once to have called a kettle black. Ha!” continued Mariano, turning towards the little old lady, “you should have seen him, granny, in the Bagnio of Algiers, when the guards were inclined to be rather hard on some of the sick—”
“No, no!” interrupted the old lady, shaking her head; “don’t talk of that.”
“Well, I won’t, except to say that I’m thankful we are well out of it.”
“It seems all like a strange dream,” returned the old lady thoughtfully.
“So it does, mother,” murmured Francisco, “so it does,—an almost incredible dream.”
And so it seems to us, reader, now that we have closed the record of it; nevertheless it was no dream, but a sad and stern reality to those who played their part in it—to those who sorrowed and suffered, sixty years ago, in the Pirate City.
The End.
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