The Powder Monkey
Fenn George Manville
English
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Below is a summary of The Powder Monkey
The Powder Monkey, by George Manville Fenn.
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This is a very short book, probably intended for a younger market than
most of Fenn's books. An old seaman finds a ragged and hungry young
boy, to whom he talks, finding out that the boy was being brought up by
an aunt and her brother. The uncle used to beat the boy too severely to
bear, and he had run away from home. The seaman, Jack Jeens, decides to
take charge of the boy, but both of them are taken by the press-gang,
and end up serving on HMS Victory. The boy, Phil Leigh, gets on well
with the other seamen, but is especially fond of Jack. At first he
doesn't get on well with the other ship's boys, but one day they are
chasing each other round the rigging, and one of the boys, Tom Dodds,
falls. Phil is made, as a punishment for causing the fall, to be Tom's
nurse, for Tom has broken his leg badly.
In the next scene we find ourselves in the midst of the Battle of
Trafalgar, and Phil's protector, Jack, is very badly wounded, so now
Phil has a second person to nurse.
In the final scene we are back in Portsmouth, where the Aunt appears,
and tells Phil that the Uncle has gone away, and that he should come
home. Phil is unwilling to leave Jack, but the Aunt promises to have
him come with them, and be nursed at her house, so that is where the
story is complete.
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THE POWDER MONKEY, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
"Hi-lo!"
The little boy raised his head with a sudden start.
"Hilli--hi--ho! What cheer?"
The little fellow started to his feet from where he had been sitting
upon a sloping bank, and caught at the bars of the gate close by. He
said nothing, but stared through the gloom of the autumn evening at the
strange man, who now roared out:
"What cheer, I says! What cheer?"
The little fellow made an effort to speak, but only sighed at first,
before stammering out:
"Please, sir, I don't know what you mean."
"You don't?" growled the man, fiercely, as he clapped the palm of his
left hand upon the front of his waistband, and the back of his right
hand level with it behind; then kicking out his right leg behind, he
made a kind of hop on his left, as if to shake himself down into his
clothes, as he hoisted them up.
"You don't?" he said again, as he stared at the little fellow. "What
are you, then? A furrener?"
"No, sir," said the little boy, shrinking; for the man now took a step
forward and clapped a big, brown, tarry hand upon his shoulder.
"Then why can't yer understand yer own lingo?"
"I do, sir," said the boy, with a sound like a sob.
"Then why did you say you didn't, and make me think you was a Frenchy?"
"I didn't know what you meant, sir, by `hilli' something, and `what
cheer.'"
"Why, yer young savage!" cried the man. "Arn't yer never been to
school?"
"Yes, sir, and had a tutor."
"A tutor, eh? What may that be? But lookye here, my lad; I arn't a
_sir_--on'y a marrineer."
"A what, sir?" said the boy, staring.
"Marrineer--seaman. Fore the mast man, ship now lying off the port o'
Torquay. Whatcher doing there?"
"Cry-ying, sir," came for answer, with a piteous sob.
"Cry-hying, you young swab?" roared the man, as if he were speaking
through a storm. "Here, sop that up. Father been leathering yer?"
"No, sir."
"No, Jack Jeens!" yelled the man. "_Sir_, indeed! Jack Jeens--that's
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