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 Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean by R. M. Ballantyne (the lemonade war series txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean by R. M. Ballantyne (the lemonade war series txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
The teacher shook his head. “Nay, my young friend, I had better not tell him that. It will only incense him.”
“Fear not,” replied Jack. “If you don’t tell him that, you’ll tell him nothing, for I won’t say anything softer.”
On hearing Jack’s speech, Tararo frowned and his eye flashed with anger.
“Go,” he said, “presumptuous boy. My debt to you is cancelled. You and your companions shall die.”
As he spoke he rose and signed to several of his attendants, who seized Jack, and Peterkin, and me, violently by the collars, and, dragging us from the hut of the chief, led us through the wood to the outskirts of the village. Here they thrust us into a species of natural cave in a cliff, and, having barricaded the entrance, left us in total darkness.
After feeling about for some time—for our legs were unshackled, although our wrists were still bound with thongs—we found a low ledge of rock running along one side of the cavern. On this we seated ourselves, and for a long time maintained unbroken silence.
At last I could restrain my feelings no longer. “Alas! dear Jack and Peterkin,” said I, “what is to become of us? I fear that we are doomed to die.”
“I know not,” replied Jack, in a tremulous voice, “I know not; Ralph, I regret deeply the hastiness of my violent temper, which, I must confess, has been the chief cause of our being brought to this sad condition. Perhaps the teacher may do something for us. But I have little hope.”
“Ah! no,” said Peterkin, with a heavy sigh; “I am sure he can’t help us. Tararo doesn’t care more for him than for one of his dogs.”
“Truly,” said I, “there seems no chance of deliverance, unless the Almighty puts forth his arm to save us. Yet I must say that I have great hope, my comrades, for we have come to this dark place by no fault of ours—unless it be a fault to try to succour a woman in distress.”
I was interrupted in my remarks by a noise at the entrance to the cavern, which was caused by the removal of the barricade. Immediately after, three men entered, and, taking us by the collars of our coats, led us away through the forest. As we advanced, we heard much shouting and beating of native drums in the village, and at first we thought that our guards were conducting us to the hut of Tararo again. But in this we were mistaken. The beating of drums gradually increased, and soon after we observed a procession of the natives coming towards us. At the head of this procession we were placed, and then we all advanced together towards the temple where human victims were wont to be sacrificed!
A thrill of horror ran through my heart as I recalled to mind the awful scenes that I had before witnessed at that dreadful spot. But deliverance came suddenly from a quarter whence we little expected it. During the whole of that day there had been an unusual degree of heat in the atmosphere, and the sky assumed that lurid aspect which portends a thunder-storm. Just as we were approaching the horrid temple, a growl of thunder burst overhead and heavy drops of rain began to fall.
Those who have not witnessed gales and storms in tropical regions can form but a faint conception of the fearful hurricane that burst upon the island of Mango at this time. Before we reached the temple, the storm burst upon us with a deafening roar, and the natives, who knew too well the devastation that was to follow, fled right and left through the woods in order to save their property, leaving us alone in the midst of the howling storm. The trees around us bent before the blast like willows, and we were about to flee in order to seek shelter, when the teacher ran toward us with a knife in his hand.
“Thank the Lord,” he said, cutting our bonds, “I am in time! Now, seek the shelter of the nearest rock.”
This we did without a moment’s hesitation, for the whistling wind burst, ever and anon, like thunder-claps among the trees, and, tearing them from their roots, hurled them with violence to the ground. Rain cut across the land in sheets, and lightning played like forked serpents in the air; while, high above the roar of the hissing tempest, the thunder crashed, and burst, and rolled in awful majesty.
In the village the scene was absolutely appalling. Roofs were blown completely off the houses in many cases; and in others, the houses themselves were levelled with the ground. In the midst of this, the natives were darting to and fro, in some instances saving their goods, but in many others seeking to save themselves from the storm of destruction that whirled around them. But, terrific although the tempest was on land, it was still more tremendous on the mighty ocean. Billows sprang, as it were, from the great deep, and while their crests were absolutely scattered into white mist, they fell upon the beach with a crash that seemed to shake the solid land. But they did not end there. Each successive wave swept higher and higher on the beach, until the ocean lashed its angry waters among the trees and bushes, and at length, in a sheet of white curdled foam, swept into the village and upset and carried off, or dashed into wreck, whole rows of the native dwellings! It was a sublime, an awful scene, calculated, in some degree at least, to impress the mind of beholders with the might and the majesty of God.
We found shelter in a cave that night and all the next day, during which time the storm raged in fury; but on the night following it abated somewhat, and in the morning we went to the village to seek for food, being so famished with hunger that we lost all feeling of danger and all wish to escape in our desire to satisfy the cravings of nature. But no sooner had we obtained food than we began to wish that we had rather endeavoured to make our escape into the mountains. This we attempted to do soon afterwards, but the natives were now able to look after us, and on our showing a disposition to avoid observation and make towards the mountains, we were seized by three warriors, who once more bound our wrists and thrust us into our former prison.
It is true Jack made a vigorous resistance, and knocked down the first savage who seized him, with a well-directed blow of his fist, but he was speedily overpowered by others. Thus we were again prisoners, with the prospect of torture and a violent death before us.
Imprisonment—Sinking hopes—Unexpected freedom to more than one, and in more senses than one.
For a long long month we remained in our dark and dreary prison, during which dismal time we did not see the face of a human being, except that of the silent savage who brought us our daily food.
There have been one or two seasons in my life during which I have felt as if the darkness of sorrow and desolation that crushed my inmost heart could never pass away, until death should make me cease to feel the present was such a season.
During the first part of our confinement we felt a cold chill at our hearts every time we heard a foot-fall near the cave—dreading lest it should prove to be that of our executioner. But as time dragged heavily on, we ceased to feel this alarm, and began to experience such a deep, irrepressible longing for freedom, that we chafed and fretted in our confinement like tigers. Then a feeling of despair came over us, and we actually longed for the time when the savages would take us forth to die! But these changes took place very gradually, and were mingled sometimes with brighter thoughts; for there were times when we sat in that dark cavern on our ledge of rock and conversed almost pleasantly about the past, until we well-nigh forgot the dreary present. But we seldom ventured to touch upon the future.
A few decayed leaves and boughs formed our bed; and a scanty supply of yams and taro, brought to us once a-day, constituted our food.
“Well, Ralph, how have you slept?” said Jack, in a listless tone, on rising one morning from his humble couch. “Were you much disturbed by the wind last night?”
“No,” said I; “I dreamed of home all night, and I thought that my mother smiled upon me, and beckoned me to go to her; but I could not, for I was chained.”
“And I dreamed, too,” said Peterkin; “but it was of our happy home on the Coral Island. I thought we were swimming in the Water Garden; then the savages gave a yell, and we were immediately in the cave at Spouting Cliff, which, somehow or other, changed into this gloomy cavern; and I awoke to find it true.”
Peterkin’s tone was so much altered by the depressing influence of his long imprisonment, that, had I not known it was he who spoke, I should scarcely have recognised it, so sad was it, and so unlike to the merry, cheerful voice we had been accustomed to hear. I pondered this much, and thought of the terrible decline of happiness that may come on human beings in so short a time; how bright the sunshine in the sky at one time, and, in a short space, how dark the overshadowing cloud! I had no doubt that the Bible would have given me much light and comfort on this subject, if I had possessed one, and I once more had occasion to regret deeply having neglected to store my memory with its consoling truths.
While I meditated thus, Peterkin again broke the silence of the cave, by saying, in a melancholy tone, “Oh, I wonder if we shall ever see our dear island more.”
His voice trembled, and, covering his face with both hands, he bent down his head and wept. It was an unusual sight for me to see our once joyous companion in tears, and I felt a burning desire to comfort him; but, alas! what could I say? I could hold out no hope; and although I essayed twice to speak, the words refused to pass my lips. While I hesitated, Jack sat down beside him, and whispered a few words in his ear, while Peterkin threw himself on his friend’s breast, and rested his head on his shoulder.
Thus we sat for some time in deep silence. Soon after, we heard footsteps at the entrance of the cave, and immediately our jailer entered. We were so much accustomed to his regular visits, however, that we paid little attention to him, expecting that he would set down our meagre fare, as usual, and depart. But, to our surprise, instead of doing so, he advanced towards us with a knife in his hand, and, going up to Jack, he cut the thongs that bound his wrists, then he did the same to Peterkin and me! For fully five minutes we stood in speechless amazement, with our freed hands hanging idly by our sides. The first thought that rushed into my mind was, that the time had come to put us to death; and although, as I have said before, we actually wished for death in the strength of our despair, now that we thought it drew really near I felt all the natural love of life revive in my heart, mingled with a chill of horror at the suddenness of our call.
But I was mistaken. After cutting our bonds, the savage pointed to the cave’s mouth, and we marched, almost mechanically, into the open air. Here, to our surprise, we found the teacher standing under a tree, with his hands clasped before him, and the tears trickling down his dark cheeks. On seeing Jack, who came out first, he sprang towards him, and clasping him in his arms, exclaimed,—
“Oh! my dear young friend, through the great goodness of God you are free!”
“Free!” cried Jack.
“Ay, free,” repeated the teacher, shaking us warmly by the hands again and again; “free to go and come as you will. The Lord has unloosed the bands of the captive and set the prisoners free. A missionary has been sent to us, and Tararo has embraced the Christian religion! The people are even now burning their gods of wood! Come, my dear friends, and see the glorious sight.”
We could scarcely credit our senses. So long had we been accustomed in our cavern to dream of deliverance, that we imagined for a moment this must surely be nothing more than another vivid dream. Our eyes and minds were dazzled, too, by the brilliant sunshine, which almost blinded us after our long confinement to the gloom of our prison, so that we felt giddy with the variety of conflicting emotions that filled our throbbing bosoms; but as we followed the footsteps
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