George Manville Fenn

George Manville Fenn

Summary

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Middy and Ensign

For the sea seemed to be one blaze of soft lambent light, that flashed angrily wherever it was disturbed by the steamer, or the startled fish, that dashed away on every side as they swiftly ran on towards the land of swamp and jungle, of nipah and betel palm, where the rivers were bordered by mangroves, the home of the crocodile; a land where the night’s conversation had roused up thoughts of its being perhaps the burial-place of many a one of the brave hearts throbbing within the timbers of that stout ship—hearts that were to play active parts in the adventurous scenes to come.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Middy and Ensign

It’s all right, Miss Linton; and it’s better to be a brick of a boy than a weak, puling noodle of a man, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” cried Miss Linton, laughing merrily.
“There, I’m your man—I mean I’m your boy,” cried Bob; “and I’ll let you see that I’m a very different fellow to what you think. Now I want to go and see poor old Tom Long. I am sorry he’s hurt.”
“You are now more like the Bob Roberts, midshipman,” said Miss Linton, “whom I saw first some months ago, than I have seen for a long time.”
“All right,” said Bob; “now let’s go and see the other poor boy.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Middy and Ensign

At the residency, Rachel Linton and her cousin had watched the starting of the boats in the dim starlight, and they had sat ever since at their window, listening for tidings. The noise of the distant firing had reached them, making their breath come short as they started at each volley. Even by the very faintly-heard pattering of the small arms, broken occasionally by the loud report of boat-gun or lelah, they knew that quite a sharp fight must be raging.
Source: Gutenberg

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