Down The River - Buck Bradford and His Tyrants

Oliver Optic

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• Publié par: nachir
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 23
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Down The River, by Oliver Optic
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Title: Down The River
Buck Bradford and His Tyrants
Author: Oliver Optic
Release Date: January 14, 2008 [EBook #24283]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOWN THE RIVER ***
Produced by David Edwards, Barbara Kosker, Irma Spehar and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from scans of
public domain material produced by Microsoft for their
Live Search Books site.)DOWN THE RIVER;
OR,
BUCK BRADFORD AND HIS TYRANTS.
BY
O L I V E R O P T I C ,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES," "THE WOODVILLE STORIES,"
"THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," "THE RIVERDALE STORIES," ETC.
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
W I L L I A M T . A D A M S .
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
Copyright, 1896, by William T. Adams.
All rights reserved.
DOWN THE RIVER.THE SETTLEMENT.—Page 52.
TO
My Young Friend
W I L L I A M H . L O W
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
[5]PREFACE.
"Down the River" is the sixth of the continued stories published in "Our Boys
and Girls," and the last of "The Starry Flag Series." It is the personal narrative of
Buck Bradford, who, with his deformed sister, made an eventful voyage down
the Wisconsin and Mississippi Rivers, to New Orleans. The writer's first book—
not a juvenile, and long since out of print—was planned during a long and
tedious passage up the Father of Waters; and it seems like going back to an old
friend to voyage again, even in imagination, upon its turbid tide.
Buck Bradford tells his story to suit himself; and the author hopes it will also
suit the young reader. Whatever moral it may contain will be found in the
reading; and the writer trusts it will impart a lesson of self-reliance, honesty, and
truth, and do something towards convincing the young reader that it is best
always to do right, whatever the consequences may be, leaving results, in the
[6]choice between good and evil, to take care of themselves.
However often the author may be called upon to thank the juvenile public forthe generous favor bestowed upon his books, he feels that the agreeable duty
cannot be so frequently repeated as ever to become a mere formality; for with
each additional volume he finds his sense of obligation to them for their
kindness renewed and deepened.
William T. Adams.
Harrison Square, Mass.,
October 28, 1868.
[7]CONTENTS.
PAGE
C H A P T E R I .
Two of the Tyrants 11
C H A P T E R I I .
Flora Bradford 21
C H A P T E R I I I .
On the Defensive 32
C H A P T E R I V .
Who is Master 44
C H A P T E R V .
A Battle at Long Range 55
C H A P T E R V I .
Squire Fishley 66
C H A P T E R V I I .
[8]After Midnight 77
C H A P T E R V I I I .
Miss Larrabee's Letter 88
C H A P T E R I X .
The Hungry Runaway 99
C H A P T E R X .What Sim Gwynn Wanted to see me for 110
C H A P T E R X I .
Building the Raft 121
C H A P T E R X I I .
Squire Fishley makes it right 132
C H A P T E R X I I I .
Near unto Death 143
C H A P T E R X I V .
Who Robbed the Mail 154
C H A P T E R X V .
The Departure 166
C H A P T E R X V I .
Down the River 178
C H A P T E R X V I I .
[9]Night on the River 189
C H A P T E R X V I I I .
At the Mouth of the Ohio 201
C H A P T E R X I X .
After the Explosion 212
C H A P T E R X X .
Emily Goodridge 223
C H A P T E R X X I .
Flora and her Patient 234
C H A P T E R X X I I .
The End of the Voyage 245
C H A P T E R X X I I I .
Clarence Bradford 256
C H A P T E R X X I V .
Up the River 268C H A P T E R X X V .
Two Hours in Jail 279
C H A P T E R X X V I .
[10]Conclusion 290
D O W N T H E R I V E R :
OR,
BUCK BRADFORD AND HIS TYRANTS.
[11]CHAPTER I.
TWO OF THE TYRANTS.
ERE, Buck Bradford, black my boots, and be quick about it.""H
That was what Ham Fishley said to me.
"Black them yourself!"
That was what I said to Ham Fishley.
Neither of us was gentlemanly, nor even civil. I shall not apologize for myself,
and certainly not for Ham, though he inherited his mean, tyrannical disposition
from both his father and his mother. If he had civilly asked me to black his
[12]boots, I would have done it. If he had just told me that he was going to a party,
that he was a little late, and asked me if I would assist him, I would have
jumped over his head to oblige him, though he was three inches taller than I
was. I am willing to go a step farther. If this had been the first, or even the
twentieth, time that Ham had treated me in this shabby manner, I would have
submitted. For three years he had been going on from bad to worse, till he
seemed to regard me not only as a dog, but as the meanest sort of a dog, whom
he could kick and cuff at pleasure.
I had stood this sort of thing till I could not stand it any longer. I had lain
awake nights thinking of the treatment bestowed upon me by Captain Fishley
and his wife, and especially by their son Ham; and I had come deliberately to
the conclusion that something must be done. I was not a hired servant, in the
ordinary sense of the term; but, whether I was or was not a servant, I was
entitled to some consideration.
"What's that you say?" demanded Ham, leaping over the counter of the store.I walked leisurely out of the shop, and directed my steps towards the barn;
[13]but I had not accomplished half the distance before my tyrant overtook me. Not
being willing to take the fire in the rear, I halted, wheeled about, and drew up in
order of battle. I had made up my mind to keep perfectly cool, whatever came;
and when one makes up his mind to be cool, it is not half so hard to succeed as
some people seem to think.
"I told you to black my boots," said Ham, angrily.
"I know you did."
"Well, Buck Bradford, you'll do it!"
"Well, Ham Fishley, I won't do it!"
"Won't you?"
"No!"
"Then I'll make you."
"Go on."
He stepped up to me; but I didn't budge an inch. I braced up every fibre of my
frame in readiness for the shock of battle; but there was no shock of battle about
it.
"I guess I'll let the old man settle this," said Ham, after a glance at me, which
seemed very unsatisfactory.
"All right," I replied.
[14]My tyrant turned on his heel, and hastened back to the store. Ham Fishley's
father was "the old man," and I knew that it would not be for the want of any
good will on his part, if the case was not settled by him. I had rebelled, and I
must take my chances. I went to the barn, harnessed the black horse to the
wagon, and hitched him at a post in the yard, in readiness to go down to
Riverport for the mail, which I used to do every evening after supper.
Of course my thoughts were mainly fixed upon the settlement with the old
man; and I expected every moment to see him rushing upon me, like an
untamed tiger, to wreak his vengeance upon my head. I was rather surprised at
his non-appearance, and rather disappointed, too; for I preferred to fight the
battle at the barn, or in the yard, instead of in the house or the store. Though my
thoughts were not on my work, I busied myself in sweeping out the horse's stall,
and making his bed for the night.
"Buck! Buck! Buck!" called Mrs. Fishley, from the back door of the house.
She always called three times; for she was a little, snappy, snarling woman,
[15]who never spoke pleasantly to any one, except when she had company, or
went to the sewing circle.
"Here, marm!" I replied.
"Come here; I want you!" she added, clear up in the highest tones of her
voice, which sounded very much like the savage notes of an angry wasp.
It was some consolation to know, under the peculiar circumstances, that she
wanted me, instead of "the old man," her lord and master, and that I was not
called to the expected settlement, which, in spite of my fixed determination, I
could not help dreading. Mrs. Fishley wanted me—not her husband. She wasalways wanting me; and somehow I never happened to be in the right place, or
to do anything in the right way.
Mrs. Fishley believed she was one of the most amiable, self-denying, self-
sacrificing, benevolent women in the world. Nobody else believed it. She had
to endure more trials, bear more crosses, undergo more hardships, than any
other housekeeper in town. She had to work harder, to think of more things,
stagger under more burdens, than all her female neighbors put together. If she
[16]ever confessed that she was sometimes just a little cross, she wanted to know
who could wonder at it, when she had so much to do, and