Jack Archer: A Tale of the CrimeaHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
General
Jack Archer: A Tale of the Crimea
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Crimean War, 1853-1856 -- Juvenile fiction
Charles Hethcote differed widely from the typical first lieutenant of
fiction, a being as stiff as a ramrod, and as dangerous to approach as
a polar bear. He was, indeed, a bright, cheery fellow, and although he
was obliged to surround himself with a certain amount of official
stiffness, he was a great favorite among officers and crew.
It was not till the third day of his stay that Jack, his seniors
having all been ashore, asked for leave, which was at once granted.
Young Coveney, too, had landed on the previous day, and Hawtry, whom
Jack was inclined to like most of his shipmates, now accompanied him.
They had leave for the whole day, and, as soon as breakfast was over,
they went ashore.
"What a rum old place!" Hawtry said, as they wandered along the
principal street. "It looks as Spanish as ever. Who would have thought
that it had been an English town for goodness knows how long?"
"I wish I had paid a little more attention to history," Jack said. "It
makes one feel like a fool not to know such things as that when one
comes to a famous place like this. Look at that tall fellow with the
two little donkeys. Poor little brutes, they can scarcely stagger
under their loads. There is a pretty girl with that black thing over
her head, a mantilla don't they call it? There is a woman with
oranges, let's get some. Now, I suppose, the first thing is to climb
up to the top of the Rock."
With their pockets full of oranges, the boys started on their climb,
which was accomplished in capital time. From the flagstaff they
enjoyed the magnificent view of the African coast across the straits,
of Spain stretching away to their right, of the broad expanse of the
blue Mediterranean, and of the bay with its ships, and the "Falcon"
dwarfed to the dimensions of a toy vessel, at their feet. Then they
came down, paid a flying visit to the various fortifications and to
the galleries, whence the guns peer out threateningly across the low,
sandy spit, known as the neutral ground.
When all this was finished, it was only natural that they should go to
the principal hotel and eat a prodigious luncheon, and then Hawtry
proposed that they should sally out for a ramble into Spain.
They had been disappointed in the oranges, which they found in no way
better than those which they had bought in England. But they thought
that if they could pick them off the trees, they must somehow have a
superior flavor. Accordingly they sallied out by the land gate, passed
unquestioned through the line of British sentries, and were soon in
the little village inside the Spanish lines.
"It's awfully hot," Hawtry said, mopping his forehead. "Who would have
thought that it would have been so hot as this in any place in Europe
in the middle of February? Just fancy what it must be here in July!
Look, there is a fellow with two mules. I expect he would let them. I
vote we go for a ride. It's too hot for walking altogether.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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