DOI Artikel:
Egerton, George: The captain's book
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0107
The Captain’s Book
By George Egerton
et it be understood at the outset that this book was even more
L, fateful to its author than the forgotten pamphlet of one John
Stubbs, Puritan, whose right hand, with that of his publisher, was
chopped off in the reign of the great Queen, yclept virgin, “ wich
is writ sarkastic.”
The Captain, by courtesy, for he had never really attained to
more than lieutenant’s rank, and that, too, was due to a page in
the book blurred by a woman’s tears and a comrade’s handgrip. It
is not within my ken to say how the book was begotten, but I
can vouch for the fact that it proved ever a barrier to the success
of its author as a worth-while member of a tax-paying community.
It was with him as a laddie when he fished for troutlings in the
mill-stream, or went birds’-nesting in the hedgerows. It floated
as a nebulous magnetic spirit to lure him from set tasks in the
dame school of his tender years, to play truant in pleasant
meadows, with a stolen volume of forbidden lore in his satchel.
It transformed every itinerant ballad-monger into a troubadour.
It made the wooden-legged corporal who mended brogues between
his drunken bouts, and told tales of the Peninsular and Waterloo,
more wonderful than Prester John, and his feats greater than those of
any hero of Northern Saga. It gave him, to the despair of tutor and
parents,
By George Egerton
et it be understood at the outset that this book was even more
L, fateful to its author than the forgotten pamphlet of one John
Stubbs, Puritan, whose right hand, with that of his publisher, was
chopped off in the reign of the great Queen, yclept virgin, “ wich
is writ sarkastic.”
The Captain, by courtesy, for he had never really attained to
more than lieutenant’s rank, and that, too, was due to a page in
the book blurred by a woman’s tears and a comrade’s handgrip. It
is not within my ken to say how the book was begotten, but I
can vouch for the fact that it proved ever a barrier to the success
of its author as a worth-while member of a tax-paying community.
It was with him as a laddie when he fished for troutlings in the
mill-stream, or went birds’-nesting in the hedgerows. It floated
as a nebulous magnetic spirit to lure him from set tasks in the
dame school of his tender years, to play truant in pleasant
meadows, with a stolen volume of forbidden lore in his satchel.
It transformed every itinerant ballad-monger into a troubadour.
It made the wooden-legged corporal who mended brogues between
his drunken bouts, and told tales of the Peninsular and Waterloo,
more wonderful than Prester John, and his feats greater than those of
any hero of Northern Saga. It gave him, to the despair of tutor and
parents,