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
Those who have never stood at the mast-head of a ship at sea in a dead calm cannot comprehend the feeling of intense solitude that fills the mind in such a position. There is nothing analogous to it on land. To stand on the summit of a tower and look down on the busy multitude below is not the same, for there the sounds are quite different in tone, and signs of life are visible all over the distant country, while cries from afar reach the ear, as well as those from below. But from the mast-head you hear only the few subdued sounds under your feet—all beyond is silence; you behold only the small oval-shaped platform that is your world—beyond lies the calm, desolate ocean. On deck you cannot realise this feeling, for there sails and yards tower above you, and masts, and boats, and cordage intercept your view; but from above you take in the intense minuteness of your home at a single glance—you stand aside, as it were, and, in some measure, comprehend the insignificance of the thing to which you have committed your life.
The scene witnessed by our friends at the mast-head of the Dolphin on this occasion was surpassingly beautiful. Far as the eye could stretch, the sea was covered with islands and fields of ice of every conceivable shape. Some rose in little peaks and pinnacles, some floated in the form of arches and domes, some were broken and rugged like the ruins of old border strongholds, while others were flat and level like fields of white marble; and so calm was it that the ocean in which they floated seemed like a groundwork of polished steel, in which the sun shone with dazzling brilliancy. The tops of the icy islets were pure white, and the sides of the higher ones of a delicate blue colour, which gave to the scene a transparent lightness that rendered it pre-eminently fairy-like.
“It far surpasses anything I ever conceived,” ejaculated Singleton after a long silence. “No wonder that authors speak of scenes being indescribable. Does it not seem like a dream, Fred?”
“Tom,” said Fred earnestly, “I’ve been trying to fancy myself in another world, and I have almost succeeded. When I look long and intensely at the ice, I get almost to believe that these are streets, and palaces, and cathedrals. I never felt so strong a desire to have wings that I might fly from one island to another, and go floating in and out and round about those blue caves and sparkling pinnacles.”
“It’s a curious fancy, Fred, but not unnatural.”
“Tom,” said Fred, after another long silence, “has not the thought occurred to you that God made it all?”
“Some such thought did cross my mind, Fred, for a moment, but it soon passed away. Is it not very strange that the idea of the Creator is so seldom and so slightly connected with his works in our minds?”
Again there was a long silence. Both youths had a desire to continue the conversation, and yet each felt an unaccountable reluctance to renew it. Neither of them distinctly understood that the natural heart is enmity against God, and that, until he is converted by the Holy Spirit, man neither loves to think of his Maker nor to speak of him.
While they sat thus musing, a breeze dimmed the surface of the sea, and the Dolphin, which had hitherto lain motionless in one of the numerous canals, began slowly to advance between the islands of ice. The breeze freshened, and rendered it impossible to avoid an occasional collision with the floating masses; but the good ship was well armed for the fight, and, although she quivered under the blows, and once or twice recoiled, she pushed her way through the pack gallantly. In the course of an hour or two they were once more in comparatively clear water.
Suddenly there came a cry from the crow’s-nest: “There she blows!”
Instantly every man in the ship sprang to his feet as if he had received an electric shock.
“Where away?” shouted the captain.
“On the lee-bow, sir,” replied the look-out.
From a state of comparative quiet and repose the ship was now thrown into a condition of the utmost animation and, apparently, unmeaning confusion. The sight of a whale acted on the spirits of the men like wild-fire.
“There she blows!” sang out the man at the mast-head again.
“Are we keeping right for her!” asked the captain.
“Keep her away a bit; steady!” replied the look-out.
“Steady it is!” answered the man at the wheel.
“Call all hands and get the boats out, Mr Bolton,” said the captain.
“All hands ahoy!” shouted the mate in a tempestuous voice, while the men rushed to their respective stations. “Boat-steerers, get your boats ready.”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“There go flukes!” cried the look-out as the whale dived and tossed its flukes, that is its tail, in the air, not more than a mile on the lee-bow; “she’s heading right for the ship.”
“Down with the helm!” roared the captain. “Mr Bolton, brace up the mizzen top-sail! Hoist and swing the boats! Lower away!”
In another moment three boats struck the water, and their respective crews tumbled tumultuously into them. Fred and Singleton sprang into the stern-sheets of the captain’s boat, just as it pushed off, and in less than five minutes the three boats were bounding over the sea in the direction of the whale like race-horses. Every man did his best, and the tough oars bent like hoops as each boat’s crew strove to outstrip the others.
The chase was not a long one, for, while the boats were rowing swiftly towards the whale, the whale was, all unconsciously, swimming towards the boats.
“Give way now, lads, give way,” said the captain in a suppressed voice; “bend your backs, boys, and don’t let the mate beat us.”
The three boats flew over the sea, as the men strained their muscles to the utmost, and for some time they kept almost in line, being pretty equally matched; but gradually the captain shot ahead, and it became evident that his harpooner, Amos Parr, was to have the honour of harpooning the first whale. Amos pulled the bow oar, and behind him was the tub with the line coiled away and the harpoon bent on to it. Being an experienced whaleman, he evinced no sign of excitement, save in the brilliancy of his dark eye and a very slight flush on his bronzed face. They had now neared the whale, and ceased rowing for a moment lest they should miss it when down.
“There she goes!” cried Fred in a tone of intense excitement, as he caught sight of the whale not more than fifty yards ahead of the boat.
“Now, boys,” said the captain in a hoarse whisper, “spring hard, lay back hard, I say—stand up!”
At the last word Amos Parr sprang to his feet and seized the harpoon; the boat ran right on to the whale’s back, and in an instant Parr sent two irons to the hitches into the fish.
“Stern all!” The men backed their oars with all their might, in order to avoid the flukes of the wounded monster of the deep, as it plunged down headlong into the sea, taking the line out perpendicularly like lightning. This was a moment of great danger. The friction of the line as it passed the loggerhead was so great that Parr had to keep constantly pouring water on it to prevent its catching fire. A hitch in the line at that time, as it flew out of the tub, or any accidental entanglement, would have dragged the boat and crew right down. Many such fatal accidents occur to whalers, and many a poor fellow has had a foot or an arm torn off, or been dragged overboard and drowned, in consequence of getting entangled. One of the men stood ready with a small hatchet to cut the line in a moment, if necessary, for whales sometimes run out all that is in a boat at the first plunge, and should none of the other boats be at hand to lend a second line to attach to the one nearly expended, there is nothing for it but to cut. On the present occasion, however, none of these accidents befel the men of the captain’s boat. The line ran all clear, and long before it was exhausted the whale ceased to descend, and the slack was hauled rapidly in.
Meanwhile the other boats pulled up to the scene of action, and prepared to strike the instant the fish should rise to the surface. It appeared suddenly, not twenty yards from the mate’s boat, where Buzzby, who was harpooner, stood in the bow ready to give it the iron.
“Spring, lads, spring!” shouted the mate, as the whale spouted into the air a thick stream of water. The boat dashed up, and Buzzby planted his harpoon vigorously. Instantly the broad flukes of the tail were tossed into the air, and, for a single second, spread like a canopy over Buzzby’s head. There was no escape. The quick eye of the whaleman saw at a glance that the effort to back out was hopeless. He bent his head, and the next moment was deep down in the waves. Just as he disappeared the flukes descended on the spot which he had left and cut the bow of the boat completely away, sending the stern high into the air with a violence that tossed men, and oars, and shattered planks, and cordage, flying over the monster’s back into the seething caldron of foam around him. It was apparently a scene of the most complete and instantaneous destruction, yet, strange to say, not a man was lost. A few seconds after, the white foam of the sea was dotted with black heads, as the men rose one by one to the surface, and struck out for floating oars and pieces of the wrecked boat.
“They’re lost!” cried Fred Ellice in a voice of horror.
“Not a bit of it, youngster; they’re safe enough, I’ll warrant,” replied the captain, as his own boat flew past the spot, towed by the whale. “Pay out, Amos Parr; give him line, or he’ll tear the bows out of us.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” sang out Amos, as he sat coolly pouring water on the loggerhead, round which a coil of the rope was whizzing like lightning; “all right! The mate’s men are all safe, sir; I counted them as we shot past, and I seed Buzzby come up last of all, blowin’ like a grampus; and small wonder, considerin’ the dive he took.”
“Take another turn of the coil, Amos, and hold on,” said the captain.
The harpooneer obeyed, and away they went after the whale like a rocket, with a tremendous strain on the line and a bank of white foam gurgling up to the edge of the gunwale that every moment threatened to fill the boat and sink her. Such a catastrophe is not of unfrequent occurrence, when whalemen, thus towed by a whale, are tempted to hold on too long; and many instances have happened of boats and their crews being in this way dragged under water and lost. Fortunately the whale dashed horizontally through the water, so that the boat was able to hold on and follow, and in a short time the creature paused and rose for air. Again the men bent to their oars, and the rope was hauled in until they came quite close to the fish. This time a harpoon was thrown and a deep lance-thrust given which penetrated to the vital parts of its huge carcass, as was evidenced by the blood which it
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