The Dark Frigate - Softcover

Hawes, Charles

Softcover

ISBN 10: 048682392X ISBN 13: 9780486823928

Verlag: Dover Publications Inc., 2018

Inhaltsangabe

Young readers who love a swashbuckling yarn will be captivated by The Dark Frigate, winner of the 1924 Newbery Medal as the year's most distinguished contribution to American literature for children. Abounding in intrigue, battles, and acts of derring-do, the story takes place in the 17th century and charts a course from England to the Caribbean. The hero, Philip Marsham, lost his mother at an early age and was raised aboard various ships by his sea captain father. Alas, a premature death also claims 19-year-old Philip's father, and now he's truly alone in the world. When an accident forces him to flee from London, Philip looks to the sea for his livelihood.
Upon meeting some sailors bound for the port of Bideford, Philip joins them in signing on with the Rose of Devon, a frigate bound for Newfoundland. Their transatlantic passage is disrupted by an encounter with a floating wreck, and their rescue of the survivors is repaid with foul treachery by these "gentlemen of fortune" — a band of bloodthirsty pirates who coerce Philip and the rest of the crew into joining in their murderous deeds. Will Philip hang alongside them when the buccaneers are brought to justice?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Charles Boardman Hawes (1889–1923) wrote both fiction and nonfiction stories of the sea. Only two of his five books had been published at the time of his sudden death at the age of 34. He had just completed his third, The Dark Frigate, which became an instant bestseller and was awarded the Newbery Medal for best children's book of 1924.

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The Dark Frigate

By Charles Boardman Hawes, Warren Chappell

Dover Publications, Inc.

Copyright © 2018 Charles Boardman Hawes
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-486-82392-8

Contents

I. Flight, 1, 
II. A Leal Man and a Fool, 9, 
III. Two Sailors on Foot, 23, 
IV. The Girl at the Inn, 31, 
V. Sir John Bristol, 41, 
VI. The Rose of Devon, 52, 
VII. The Ship's Liar, 68, 
VIII. Storm, 75, 
IX. The Master's Guest, 86, 
X. Between Midnight and Morning, 93, 
XI. Head Winds and a Rough Sea, 99, 
XII. The Porcupine Ketch, 110, 
XIII. A Bird to be Limed, 126, 
XIV. A Wonderful Excellent Cook, 132, 
XV. A Lonesome Little Town, 145, 
XVI. The Harbour of Refuge, 157, 
XVII. Will Canty, 167, 
XVIII. Tom Jordan's Mercy, 176, 
XIX. A Man Seen Before, 182, 
XX. A Prize for the Taking, 192, 
XXI. Words Come True, 199, 
XXII. Back to the Inn, 213, 
XXIII. And Old Sir John, 219, 
XXIV. And Again the Rose of Devon, 224, 

CHAPTER 1

Flight

Philip Marsham was bred to the sea as far back as the days when he was cutting his milk teeth, and he never thought he should leave it; but leave it he did, once and again, as I shall tell you.

His father was master of a London ketch, and they say that before the boy could stand unaided on his two feet he would lean himself, as a child does, against the waist in a seaway, and never pipe a whimper when she thrust her bows down and shipped enough water to douse him from head to heels. He lost his mother before he went into breeches and he was climbing the rigging before he could walk alone. He spent two years at school to the good Dr. Josiah Arber at Roehampton, for his father, being a clergyman's son who had run wild in his youth, hoped to do better by the lad than he had done by himself, and was of a mind to send Philip home a scholar to make peace with the grandparents, in the vicarage at Little Grimsby, whom Tom Marsham had not seen in twenty years. But the boy was his father over again, and taking to books with an ill grace, he endured them only until he had learned to read and write and had laid such foundation of mathematics as he hoped would serve his purpose when he came to study navigation. Then, running away by night from his master's house, he joined his father on board the Sarah ketch, who laughed mightily to see how his son took after him, do what he would to make a scholar of the lad. And but for the mercy of God, which laid Philip Marsham on his back with a fever in the spring of his nineteenth year, he had gone down with his father in the ketch Sarah, the night she foundered off the North Foreland.

Moll Stevens kept him, while he lay ill with the fever, in her alehouse in High Street, in the borough of Southwark, and she was good to him after her fashion, for her heart was set on marrying his father. But though she had brought Tom Marsham to heel and had named the day, nothing is sure till the words are said.

When they had news which there was no doubting that Tom Marsham was lost at sea, she was of a mind to send the boy out of her house the hour he was able to walk thence; and so she would have done, if God's providence had not found means to renew his strength before the time and send him packing in wonderful haste, with Moll Stevens and certain others after him in full cry.

For the third day he had come down from his chamber and had taken the great chair by the fire, when there entered a huge-bellied countryman who carried a gun of a kind not familiar to those in the house.

"Ah," Phil heard them whispering, as he sat in the great chair, "here's Jamie Barwick come back again." Then they called out, "Welcome, Jamie, and good morrow!"

Philip Marsham would have liked well to see the gun himself, since a taste for such gear was born in him; but he had been long bedridden, and though he could easily have walked over to look at it, he let well enough alone and stayed where he was.

They passed it from one to another and marvelled at the craftsmanship, and when they let the butt fall on the floor, the pots rang and the cans tinkled. And now one cried, "Have care which way you point the muzzle." But the countryman who brought it laughed and declared there was no danger, for though it was charged he had spent all his powder and had not primed it.

At last he took it from them all and, spying Moll Stevens, who had heard the bustle and had come to learn the cause, he called for a can of ale. There was no place at hand to set down his gun so he turned to the lad in the chair and cried, "Here, whiteface with the great eyes, take my piece and keep it for me. I am dry — Oh, so dry! Keep it till I have drunk, and gramercy. A can of ale, I say! Hostess! Moll! Moll! Where art thou? A can of ale!"

He flung himself down on a bench and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He was a huge great man with a vast belly and a deep voice and a fat red face that was smiling one minute and frowning the next.

"Ho! Hostess!" he roared again. "Ale, ale! A can of ale! Moll, I say! A can of ale!"

A hush had fallen upon the room at his first summons, for he had been quiet so long after entering that his clamour amazed all who were present, unless they had known him before, and they now stole glances at him and at one another and at Moll Stevens, who came bustling in again, her face as red as his own, for she was his match in girth and temper.

"Here then!" she snapped, and thumped the can down before him on the great oaken table.

He blew off the topmost foam and thrust his hot face into the ale, but not so deep that he could not send Phil Marsham a wink over the rim.

This Moll perceived and in turn shot at the lad a glance so ill-tempered that any one who saw it must know she rued the day she had taken him under her roof in his illness. He had got many such a glance since word came that his father was lost, and more than glances, too, for as soon as Moll knew there was nothing to gain by keeping his good will she had berated him like the vixen she was at heart, although he was then too ill to raise his head from the sheet.

It was a sad plight for a lad whose grandfather was a gentleman (although he had never seen the old man), and there had been times when he would almost have gone back to school and have swallowed without a whimper the Latin and Greek. But he was stronger now and nearer able to fend for himself and it was in his mind, as he sat in the great chair with the gun, that after a few days at longest he would pay the score in silver from his chest upstairs, and take leave forever of Moll Stevens and her alehouse. So now, giving her no heed, he began fondling the fat countryman's piece.

The stock was of walnut, polished until a man could see his face in it, and the barrel was of steel chased from breech to muzzle and inlaid with gold and silver. Small wonder that all had been eager to handle it, the lad thought. He saw others in the room furtively observing the gun, and he knew there were men not a hundred leagues away who would have killed the owner to take it. He even bethought himself, having no lack of conceit in such matters, that the man had done well to pick Phil Marsham to keep it while he drank his ale.

The fellow had gone to the opposite corner of the room and had taken a deep seat just beneath the three long shelves on which stood the three rows of fine platters that were the pride of Moll Stevens's heart.

The platters caught the lad's eye and, raising the gun, he presented it at the uppermost row. Supposing it were...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Dover Publications Inc.
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 048682392X
• ISBN 13: 9780486823928
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 240
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Soc. Agr. La Raia Ss; http://www.la-raia.it; ; Strada Monterotondo, 79; Novi Ligure; 15067; Italien