Sappers and Miners: The Flood beneath the Sea (eBook)

George Manville Fenn (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2016 | 1. Auflage
420 Seiten
Krill Press (Verlag)
978-1-5312-0129-6 (ISBN)

Infos

George Manville Fenn was an English novelist and journalist who wrote across a variety of genres, both fiction and nonfiction. His works are still widely read today.

Textauszug

CHAPTER TWO.: A DEEP INVESTIGATION.

..................

BREAKFAST ENDED, GWYN WENT STRAIGHT off to the yard with half a fish and some bread; but before he came in sight, there was the rattle of a chain, a burst of barking, and a handsome collie dog, with long silky ears and a magnificent frill of thick hair about his neck, stood upon hind-legs at the full extent of the chain, and tried hard to strangle himself with his collar.

Then there was a burst of frantic yelps and whines, a kind of dance was performed as the boy approached with the dog’s breakfast, and then there was peace over the devouring of the bread, which was eaten in bits thrown at him from a couple of yards away, and caught without fail.

After this performance the fish was placed in a pan; and as the dog bent down to eat, Gwyn pulled his ears, thumped his back, sat astride it and talked to the animal.

“You’re going to be shot at if you go into the garden again, Grip; so look out, old chap. Do you hear?”

The dog was too busy over the fish, but wagged his tail.

“I’m to keep you chained up more, but we’ll have some games over the moor yet—rabbits!”

The fish was forgotten, and the dog threw up his head and barked.

“There, go on with your breakfast, stupid! I’m off.”

“How-ow!” whined the dog, dismally, and he kept it up, straining at his chain till the boy was out of sight, when the animal stood with an ear cocked up and his head on one side, listening intently till the steps died out, before resuming his breakfast of fish.

Gwyn was off back to the house, where he fetched his basket from the larder and carried it into the hall.

“Here, father—mother—come and have a look!” he cried; and upon their joining him, he began to spread out his catch, so as to have an exhibition of the silvery bass—the brilliant, salmon-shaped fish whose sharp back fins proved to a certainty that they were a kind of sea perch.

They were duly examined and praised: and when they had been divided into presents for their neighbours in the little Cornish fishing port, the Colonel, who had, after long and arduous service in the East, hung up his sword to take to spade and trowel, went off to see to his nectarines, peaches, pears, grapes and figs in his well-walled garden facing the south, and running down to the rocky shores of the safe inlet of Ydoll Brea, his son Gwyn following to help—so it was called.

The boy, a sturdy, frank-looking lad, helped his father a great deal in the garden, but not after the ordinary working fashion. That fell to the lot of Ebenezer Gelch, a one-eyed Cornishman, who was strangely imbued with the belief that he was the finest gardener in the West of England, and held up his head very high in consequence. Gwyn helped his father, as he did that morning, by following him out into the sunny slope, and keeping close behind.

The Colonel stopped before a carefully-trained tree, where the great pears hung down from a trellis erected against the hot granite rock, and stood admiring them.

“Nearly ripe, father?” asked Gwyn.

“No, my boy, not nearly,” said the Colonel, softly raising one in his hand. “They may hang more than a month yet. We shall beat the Jersey folk this year.”

“Yes, father,” said Gwyn, and he followed to where the Colonel stopped before a peach tree, and stooped to pick up a downy red-cheeked fellow which had fallen during the night.

“Not fully grown, Gwyn, but it’s a very fine one,” said the Colonel.

“Yes father—a beauty. Shall I take it in?”

“No, not good enough. Eat it, my boy.”

Gwyn did not need any further telling, and the peach disappeared, the stone being sent flying into the sea.

A little farther on, a golden tawny Jefferson plum was taken from a tree, for the wasps had carved a little hole in the side, and this was handed to the boy and eaten. A nectarine which had begun to shrink came next; and from the hottest corner of the garden a good-tempered looking fig, which seemed to have opened a laughing mouth as if full, and rejoicing in its ripeness. After this a rosy apple or two and several Bon Chrétien pears, richly yellow, were picked up and transferred to the boy’s pocket, and the garden was made tidy once more, evidently to the owner’s satisfaction. Certainly to that of his son, who was most diligent in disposing of the fruit in this way.

Then the Colonel sauntered into the little sloping vinery where the purple and amber grapes were hanging, and Gwyn thrust in his head; but as there were no berries to be eaten, and it was very hot, he drew back and went up the slope toward the wall at the top, carefully peeling one of the pears with a fishy pocket-knife.

He was in the act of throwing a long curl of peel over the wall when a sun-browned face appeared as if on purpose to receive it, and started back. Then there was a scrambling noise from the other side, as the face disappeared very suddenly, and Gwyn burst out laughing.

“Hurt yourself?” he cried.

There was the sound of scrambling, and the face re-appeared.

“What did you do that for?” cried the owner.

“To get rid of the peel, stupid.”

“Well, you might have chucked a pear instead.”

“All right—catch.”

A pear was thrown, dexterously caught, and the newcomer immediately took a magnificent bite out of it.

“Oh! beauty!” he cried; and then, as he began to munch, he glanced down at the pit he had excavated with his keen teeth right to the core. “Er! Yah!” he cried, spitting out the piece. “Why, it’s all maggoty!” and he threw the pear back with excellent aim; but it was deftly caught, and returned in a way that would have won praise at cricket. Joe’s aim was excellent, too; but when a boy is supporting himself by resting his elbows on the coping of a high stone-wall, he is in no position for fielding either a pear or a ball. So the pear struck him full on the front of the straw hat he wore, and down he went with a rush, while Gwyn ran to the front of the wall, climbed up quickly, and looked over into the lane, laughing boisterously.

“Got it that time, Joey,” he cried.

“All right, I’ll serve you out for it. Give us another pear.”

The request was attended to, the fruit being hurled down, but it was cleverly caught.

“Why this is maggoty, too.”

“Well, I didn’t put the maggots there; cut the bad out. The dropped ones are all like that.”

“Go and pick me a fresh one, then.”

“Not ripe, and father does not like me to pick them. That’s a beauty.”

“Humph—’tain’t bad. But I say, come on.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do?—why, didn’t you say we’d go and have a good look at the old mine?”

“Oh, ah; so I did. I forgot.”

“Come on, then. Old Hardock made my mouth water talking about it as he did this morning.”

“But we should want a rope, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes. Let’s get Jem Trevor to lend us one out of his boat.”

“All right. I’ll come round.”

“Why not jump down?”

Gwyn gave a sharp look up and down the lane, but no one was in sight, and he lightly threw his legs over, and dropped down beside his companion.

“Don’t want any of the boys to see that there’s a way over here,” he said, “or we shall be having thieves. I say, Joe, father’s been talking about the old mine at breakfast.”

“Then you told him what Captain Hardock said. I told my father, too.”

“What did he say?”

Joe Jollivet laughed.

“Well, what are you grinning at? Why don’t you speak?”

“Because you’re such a peppery chap, and I don’t want a row.”

“Who’s going to make a row? What did the Major say?”

“Sha’n’t tell you.”

“Who wants you to? It was something disrespectful of my father, and he has no business to. My father’s his superior officer.”

“That he isn’t. Your father was cavalry, and my father foot.”

“And that makes it worse,” said Gwyn, hotly. “Cavalry’s higher than infantry, and a major isn’t so high as a colonel.—What did he say?”

“Oh, never mind. Come on.”

“I know what he said; and it’s just like the Major. Just because his wounds come out bad sometimes, he thinks he has a right to say what he likes. I believe he said my father was a fool.”

“That he didn’t,” cried Joe, sharply; “he said he’d be a fool, if he put any money in a mine.”

“There, I knew it, and it’s regularly insulting,” cried Gwyn, with his face flushing and eyes sparkling. “I shall just go and tell Major Jollivet that...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 12.2.2016
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Kinder- / Jugendbuch ► Jugendbücher ab 12 Jahre
• ISBN-10: 1-5312-0129-6 / 1531201296
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5312-0129-6 / 9781531201296