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Words: 90916 in 45 pages
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THE BATTERY AND THE BOILER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
IN WHICH THE HERO MAKES HIS FIRST FLASH AND EXPLOSION.
Somewhere about the middle of this nineteenth century, a baby boy was born on the raging sea in the midst of a howling tempest. That boy was the hero of this tale.
He was cradled in squalls, and nourished in squalor--a week of dirty weather having converted the fore-cabin of the emigrant ship into something like a pig-sty. Appreciating the situation, no doubt, the baby boy began his career with a squall that harmonised with the weather, and, as the steward remarked to the ship's cook, "continued for to squall straight on end all that day and night without so much as ever takin' breath!" It is but right to add that the steward was prone to exaggeration.
"Stooard," said the ship's cook in reply, as he raised his eyes from the contemplation of his bubbling coppers, "take my word for it, that there babby what has just bin launched ain't agoin' to shovel off his mortal coil--as the play-actor said--without makin' his mark some'ow an' somew'eres."
"What makes you think so, Johnson?" asked the steward.
Having uttered this prophecy the cook resumed the contemplation of his bubbling coppers.
"Well, I suppose you're right, John Johnson," said the steward.
"Yes, I'm right, Tom Thomson," returned the cook, with the nod and air of a man who is never wrong.
The gale in which little Robin Wright was thus launched upon the sea of Time blew the sails of that emigrant ship--the Seahorse--to ribbons. It also blew the masts out of her, leaving her a helpless wreck on the breast of the palpitating sea. Then it blew a friendly sail in sight, by which passengers and crew were rescued and carried safe back to Old England. There they separated--some to re-embark in other emigrant ships; some to renew the battle of life at home--thenceforward and for ever after to vilify the sea in all its aspects, except when viewed at a safe distance from the solid land!
Little Robin's parents were among the latter. His father, a poor gentleman, procured a situation as accountant in a mercantile house. His mother busied herself--and she was a very busy little creature--with the economics of home. She clothed Robin's body and stored his mind. Among other things, she early taught him to read from the Bible.
As Robin grew he waxed strong and bold and lively, becoming a source of much anxiety, mingled with delight, to his mother, and of considerable alarm, mixed with admiration and surprise, to his father. He possessed an inquisitive mind. He inquired into everything--including the antique barometer and the household clock, both of which were heirlooms, and were not improved by his inquiries. Strange to say, Robin's chief delight in those early days was a thunderstorm. The rolling of heaven's artillery seemed to afford inexpressible satisfaction to his little heart, but it was the lightning that affected him most. It filled him with a species of awful joy. No matter how it came--whether in the forked flashes of the storm, or the lambent gleamings of the summer sky--he would sit and gaze at it in solemn wonder. Even in his earliest years he began to make inquiries into that remarkable and mysterious agent.
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