Philosopher Jack by R. M. Ballantyne (book series for 10 year olds .txt) đ
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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If the entire circuit of a friendâs conversation were comprised in the words âDonâtâ and âDo,ââit might perhaps be taken for granted that his advice was not of much value; nevertheless, it is a fact that Philosopher Jackâs most intimate and valuableâif not valuedâfriend never said anything to him beyond these two words. Nor did he ever condescend to reason. He listened, however, with unwearied patience to reasoning, but when Jack had finished reasoning and had stated his proposed course of action, he merely said to him, âDonât,â or âDo.â
âFor what end was I created?â said the philosopher, gloomily.
Wise and momentous question when seriously put, but foolish remark, if not worse, when flung out in bitterness of soul!
Jack, whose other name was Edwin, and his age nineteen, was a student. Being of an argumentative turn of mind, his college companions had dubbed him Philosopher. Tall, strong, active, kindly, hilarious, earnest, reckless, and impulsive, he was a strange compound, with a handsome face, a brown fluff on either cheek, and a moustache like a ladyâs eyebrow. Moreover, he was a general favourite, yet this favoured youth, sitting at his table in his own room, sternly repeated the questionâin varied form and with increased bitternessââWhy was I born at all?â
Deep wrinkles of perplexity sat on his youthful brow. Evidently he could not answer his own question, though in early life his father had carefully taught him the âShorter Catechism with proofs,â while his good old mother had enforced and exemplified the same. His taciturn friend was equally unable, or unwilling, to give a reply.
After prolonged meditation, Jack relieved his breast of a deep sigh and re-read a letter which lay open on his desk. Having read it a third time with knitted brows, he rose, went to the window, and gazed pathetically on the catâs parade, as he styled his prospect of slates and chimney cans.
âSo,â said he at last, âmy dreams are over; prospects gone; hopes collapsedâall vanished like the baseless fabric of a vision.â
He turned from the catâs parade, on which the shades of evening were descending, to the less romantic contemplation of his empty fire-grate.
âNow,â said he, re-seating himself at his table and stretching his long legs under it, âthe question is, What am I to do? shall I kick at fate, throw care, like physic, to the dogs, cut the whole concern, and go to sea?â
âDonât,â said his taciturn friend, speaking distinctly for the first time.
âOr,â continued Jack, âshall I meekly bow to circumstances, and struggle with my difficulties as best I may?â
âDo,â replied his friend, whose name, by the way, was Conscience.
For a long time the student sat gazing at the open letter in silence. It was from his father, and ran thus:â
âDear Teddie,âItâs a long time now that Iâve been thinkinâ to write you, and couldnât a-bear to give you such a heavy disappointment but canât putt it off no longer, and, as your mother, poor soul, says, itâs the Lordâs will and canât be helpedâwhich, of course, it shouldnât be helped if thatâs trueâbutâwell, howsomever, itâs of no use beatinâ about the bush no longer. The seasons have been bad for some years past, and itâs all Iâve been able to do to make the two ends meet, with your mother slavinâ like a nigger patchinâ up the childânâs old rags till theyâre like Josephâs coat after the wild beast had done its worst on itâthough we are given to understand that the only wild beasts as had to do with that coat was Josephâs own brothers. Almost since ever I left the North of Englandâa small boyâand began to herd cattle on the Border hills, Iâve had a strange wish to be a learned man, and ever since I took to small farminâ, and perceived that such was not to be my lot in life, Iâve had a powerful desire to see my eldest sonâthatâs you, dear boyâtrained in scientific pursoots, all the more that you seemed to have a natural thirst that way yourself. Your mother, good soul, in her own broad tongueâwhich Iâve picked up somethinâ of myself through livinâ twenty year with herâwas used to say she âwad raither see her laddie trained in ways oâ wisdom than oâ book-learninâ,â which Iâm agreed to myself, though it seems to me the two are more or less mixed up. Howsomever, itâs all up now, my boy; youâll have to fight your own battle and pay your own way, for Iâve not got one shillinâ to rub on another, except whatâll pay the rent; and, what with the grey mare breakinâ her leg anâ the turnips failinâ, the look-out ahead is darkish at the best.â
The letter finished with some good advice and a blessing.
To be left thus without resources, just when the golden gates of knowledge were opening, and a few dazzling gleams of the glory had pierced his soul, was a crushing blow to the poor student. If he had been a true philosopher, he would have sought counsel on his knees, but his philosophy was limited; he only took counsel with himself and the immediate results were disastrous.
âYes,â said he, with an impulsive gush, âIâll go to sea.â
âDonât,â said his quiet friend.
But, regardless of this advice, Edwin Jack smote the table with his clenched fist so violently that his pen leapt out of its ink-bottle and wrote its own signature on one of his books. He rose in haste and rang the bell.
âMrs Niven,â he said to his landlady, âlet me know how much I owe you. Iâm about to leave townâandâand wonât return.â
âEch! Maister Jack; what for?â exclaimed the astonished landlady.
âBecause Iâm a beggar,â replied the youth, with a bitter smile, âand I mean to go to sea.â
âHoots! Maister Jack, yeâre jokinâ.â
âIndeed I am very far from joking, Mrs Niven; I have no money, and no source of income. As I donât suppose you would give me board and lodging for nothing, I mean to leave.â
âToots! yeâre haverinâ,â persisted Mrs Niven, who was wont to treat her âyoung menâ with motherly familiarity. âTakâ time to think oât, anâ yeâll be in anither mind the mornâs morninâ. Nae doot yeâreââ
âNow, my good woman,â interrupted Jack, firmly but kindly, âdonât bother me with objections or advice, but do what I bid youâthereâs a good soul; be off.â
Mrs Niven saw that she had no chance of impressing her lodger in his present mood; she therefore retired, while Jack put on a rough pilot-cloth coat and round straw hat in which he was wont at times to go boating. Thus clad, he went off to the docks of the city in which he dwelt; the name of which city it is not important that the reader should know.
In a humble abode near the said docks a bulky sea-captain lay stretched in his hammock, growling. The prevailing odours of the neighbourhood were tar, oil, fish, and marine-stores. The sea-captainâs room partook largely of the same odours, and was crowded with more than an average share of the stores. It was a particularly small room, with charts, telescopes, speaking-trumpets, log-lines, sextants, portraits of ships, souâ-westers, oil-cloth coats and leggings on the walls; model ships suspended from the beams overhead; sea-boots, coils of rope, kegs, and handspikes on the floor; and great shells, earthenware ornaments, pagodas, and Chinese idols on the mantel-piece. In one corner stood a childâs crib. The hammock swung across the room like a heavy cloud about to descend and overwhelm the whole. This simile was further borne out by the dense volumes of tobacco smoke in which the captain enveloped himself, and through which his red visage loomed over the edge of the hammock like a lurid setting sun.
For a few minutes the clouds continued to multiply and thicken. No sound broke the calm that prevailed, save a stertorous breathing, with an occasional hitch in it. Suddenly there was a convulsion in the clouds, and one of the hitches developed into a tremendous cough. There was something almost awe-inspiring in the cough. The captain was a huge and rugged man. His cough was a terrible compound of a choke, a gasp, a rend, and a roar. Only lungs of sole-leather could have weathered it. Each paroxysm suggested the idea that the manâs vitals were being torn asunder; but not content with that, the exasperated mariner made matters worse by keeping up a continual growl of indignant remonstrance in a thunderous undertone.
âHah! that was a splitter. A few more hugâsh! ha! like that will burst the biler entirety. Pollyâhallo!â
The lurid sun appeared to listen for a moment, then opening its mouth it shouted, âPollyâahoy!â as if it were hailing the maintop of a seventy-four.
Immediately there was a slight movement in one corner of the room, and straightway from out a mass of marine-stores there emerged a fairy! At least, the little girl, of twelve or thereabouts, who suddenly appeared, with rich brown tumbling hair, pretty blue eyes, faultless figure, and ineffable sweetness in every lineament of her little face, might easily have passed for a fairy or an angel.
âWhat! caught you napping?â growled the captain in the midst of a paroxysm.
âOnly a minute, father; I couldnât help it,â replied Polly, with a little laugh, as she ran to the fireplace and took up a saucepan that simmered there.
âHere, look alive! shove along! hand it up! Iâm chokinâ!â
The child held the saucepan as high as she could towards the hammock. The captain, reaching down one of his great arms, caught it and took a steaming draught. It seemed to relieve him greatly.
âYouâre a trump for gruel, Polly,â he growled, returning the saucepan. âNow then, up with the pyramid, and give us a norâ-wester.â
The child returned the saucepan to the fireplace, and then actively placed a chair nearly underneath the hammock. Upon the chair she set a stool, and on the top she perched herself. Thus she was enabled to grasp the lurid sun by two enormous whiskers, and, putting her lips out, gave it a charming ânorâ-wester,â which was returned with hyperborean violence. Immediately after, Polly ducked her head, and thus escaped being blown away, like a Hindoo mutineer from a cannonâs mouth, as the captain went off in another fit.
âOh! father,â said Polly, quite solemnly, as she descended and looked up from a comparatively safe distance, âisnât it awful?â
âYes, Poll, itâs about the wust âun Iâve had since I came from Barbadoes; but the last panful has mollified it, I think, and your norâ-wester has Pollyfied it, so, turn into your bunk, old girl, anâ take a nap. Youâve much need of it, poor thing.â
âNo, father, if I get into my crib Iâll sleep so heavy that you wonât be able to wake me. Iâll just lie down where I was before.â
âWell, wellâamong the rubbish if ye prefer it; no matter sâlong as you have a snooze,â growled the captain as he turned over, while the fairy disappeared into the dark recess from which she had risen.
Just then a tap was heard at the door. âCome in,â roared the captain. A tall, broad-shouldered, nautical-looking man entered, took off his hat, and stood before the hammock, whence the captain gave him a stern, searching glance, and opened fire on him with his pipe.
âForgive me if I intrude, Captain Samson,â said the stranger; âI know you, although you donât know me. You start to-morrow or next day, I understand, for Melbourne?â
âWind and weather permittinâ,â growled the captain. âWell, what then?â
âHave you completed your crew?â asked the stranger.
âNearly. What then?â replied the captain with a touch of ferocity, for he felt sensations of an approaching paroxysm.
âWill you engage me?â asked Philosopher Jack, for it was he.
âIn what capacity?â demanded the captain somewhat sarcastically.
âAs an ordinary seamanâor a boy if you will,â replied Edwin, with a smile.
âNo,â growled Samson, decisively, âI
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