Introductions have useful purposes. (I use the term somewhat interchangeably with "foreword," because they have many of the same characteristics.) They often provide commentary, helpful insights, and context for the book. I have no problem with this when used for nonfiction works; in fact, I like introductions to nonfiction. However, I view fiction very differently.
Too often have I begun an introduction only to see the plot revealed before my very eyes, along with the climactic ending covered by one or two dry sentences. Sorry, folks, but that doesn't make me happy. If the the author has written a preface or introduction, I'll generally read it, because he understands the reader's mind, and has no desire to spoil the plot. However, if it's written by a third party - I will probably read it last.
On that note, I am wholeheartedly in favor of afterwords. By all means, comment, criticize, expound, do whatever you want - but please let me read the book first!
Tueri a vulnere,
John
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What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world.
]]>Of Authors Great and Gone
By John Horn
'Twas as a boy I loved to read,
And to the classics gave I heed,
To knights of yore, and tables round,
My youthful mind would lightly bound.
To tales of boys who thought like men,
As steady with the sword, as pen,
Whose noble deeds shone evermore,
Regardless, whether rich or poor.
I ask your patience for a time,
Peruse, for me, this little rhyme,
In which, unworthily, 'tis true,
I paint the authors, grand, and few.
The wordy prose of Verne is full,
With concepts grand, alluring pull,
Where scientific thought prevails,
And future's present he unveils.
His men are hearty, bold, and fierce,
Whose open minds knowledge has pierced,
They conquer lands unseen before,
Descending to earth's molten core.
Across the frozen wastes they glide,
Circling the globe with noble stride,
Beneath the waves a path they find,
Though dangers lurk, they are not blind.
Into his men Verne inculcates,
Grand, thoughtful, careful, noble, traits,
And power which could almost be,
Possessed by super-humanry.
And yet, his books contain a charm,
Adventure's strong, uncovered arm,
And boy doth read with bated breath,
'Till right hath caused the villain's death.
Now leave we Verne's prophetic works,
To tread ground where the savage lurks,
And gallant sailors, ships do save,
With "Cooper of the wind and wave."
The sun-bronzed woodsman tracks his prey,
Through gloomy night and shining day,
While painted warriors watch his path,
Prepared on him to wreak their wrath.
With hawkish eye the hunter fires,
Contributing to savage pyres,
His hand is firm, it doth not shake,
His eye as bright as crystal lake,
His limbs like iron bars suspend,
His cause the weaker to defend,
His tongue, unguided, without lie,
His heart prepared, if needs, to die.
The woodland forests stretch to meet,
The mighty ocean's watery street,
Upon the tides sail ships of fame,
Sailored by men of noble frame.
Romanticized the seas have been,
By rivers of J. Cooper's pen,
And pirates lift their bloody flag,
A Spanish galleon soon to bag.
With great precaution journeyed they,
A spy might find their pirate bay,
And 'pon the gallows stark they'd be,
A gruesome picture of the sea.
The gloomy woods and sparkling sea,
Depart we now for G. Henty,
The prince of story-tellers, long,
Holds fast the heart of boy-hood strong.
With armies, brave, the pages flow,
And England's banners proudly show.
His horseman's sword he never stays,
For stallions charge, not dappled drays.
The jockeys are not dressed for show,
Accoutered stern, spears row on row,
The art of war they have long known
Professors grim, with hearts of stone.
The history of each tribe he tells,
Their wars, their peace, and what propels
Their quest for ne'er diminished pow'r,
For which are killed, of youth, their flow'r.
Meanwhile, the hero, brave and young,
A boy of which songs will be sung,
Doth battle life with courtesy.
And thus the pen of George Henty.
The historyed wars and long campaigns,
Dissolve into antiquos rains,
As "Ballantyne the Brave" comes forth,
To prove the world his noble worth.
With gravity and joyous mien,
The earth's remotest parts they've seen,
From desert plains to Arctic wastes,
And sparkling coral seas he hastes,
Into Brazilian jungles thick,
Their paths, his boyish heroes pick,
As well the streets of London town,
They tread 'neath skies of foggy brown.
Himself a man of count'nance firm,
His men unlike the sinnish worm,
Instead their thoughts to ethereal skies,
Soar nobly as the eagle flies.
A boyish laugh, a humored strain,
A conscience clear, left without stain,
A purpose firm, a Christian love,
A deep belief in Him above,
Thus carefully they thread life's toils,
Acquainted with earth's humble soils,
Bereft of pride's eroding hate,
With good sense placed inside their pate.
Aye, Ballantyne a master is,
The art of painting greatness his,
And with respect we turn the page,
Upon this grand, enduring sage.
'Twas Robert Louis Stevenson,
With fingers deft his stories spun,
For Ballantyne he read while young,
And on each word breathless he hung,
Then as a man he soon became,
Himself an author, gained great fame.
"Pieces of eight," the parrot cried,
Treasures of hate, and many died,
As on that classic, dreaded isle,
Lurked pirates fierce, besmeared and vile,
By years debauched, senseless of right,
Dark shadows cast by flick'ring light.
'Twas also on the Scottish moors,
That Balfour met with kingly lures,
Caught 'twixt the Stuart hierarchy,
And England's German monarchy.
Yes, blood was spilt upon the sands,
Some innocent, by wicked hands,
Some shed in hope of better days,
When bright would shine enduring rays.
And so a heritage he twined,
With murderous scenes, and love combined,
With deft hands, weaving mortal threads,
To enter Britain's youthful heads.
If Stevenson ambitiously,
Wrote tales of kings and piracy,
Then Dickens of humanity,
Recorded sorrows dutifully.
The bleakness of the times he wrote,
The flowing tears of men, did note,
Oppressed by knaves, reincarnate,
Of ancient warlords, spreading hate,
Whose riches gained, by tyranny,
O'er feeble wretches gave them glee,
Soci'ties poor, England's outcasts,
Necessedly in constant fasts,
For food is dear, and wages low,
Thus writes Dickens, and he should know,
Himself rescued from vile slums,
By dint of small and hard-earned sums.
And yet upon life's softer side,
He doth occasion'lly abide,
Where crimson bloom the cheeks of maids,
When into sight their love parades.
And so dear reader, you have come,
Through years of scratching pencils' hum,
Unto the last of my chosen,
I thank your patience once again,
For journ'ying with the authors great,
Who long are gone, and yet whose slate,
Is covered with the joyous thanks,
Of those like me in boyhood's ranks.
Copyright, John Horn, 2010
For those interested in poetry, "Of Authors Great and Gone" is written in iambic tetrameter, with a rhyme scheme of AABB. Huzzah for the authors of the past!
Tueri a vulnere,
John
Anne Randall Scott Grant, described in Eric Quayle's Ballantyne The Brave as a 'lass wi' a lang pedigree,' first met her husband while he was playing the violin at one of her family's "musical evenings." Although a full decade younger than her husband, Randall and Sandy Ballantyne had a happy and affectionate marriage. Throughout her life, she went by her second name, Randall, instead of her first, Anne. In a humorous twist, one of her grandsons was named after her, with one of the l's subtracted, making him Randal Ballantyne.
As the second youngest child, Robert, or "Bob" Ballantyne received much pampering both from his sisters and his mother. Although he left home for the wilds of North America at the early age of sixteen, RMB continued a long-distance correspondence with Randall, and kept a copious journal to share with her upon his return to England. His proud mother treasured these letters from her distant son, and would share their contents with her close friends. It was from this habit that an elderly lady and long time friend of the family became impressed both by Robert's writing style and adventures, and recommended that they be published in book form. These, along with the journal, formed the basis for his first book, Hudson's Bay.
After the death of Robert's father, RMB became the main supporter for his mother and sisters. He became their backstay and counselor, developing a close relationship with them. Because of his financial support, they were enabled to live in sufficient comfort, although not luxury.
Randall Ballantyne's sudden death after many years of excellent health came as a great grief to the young man. As RMB was still a bachelor at the time, Mrs. Ballantyne had no rival in the affections of her son. The shock sobered him for a time, but he accepted it as God's will, and continued on with his life. It was with great fondness, however, that he remembered her, as the womanly encourager of his early years.
I give thanks to all mothers, and mine in particular, for their love, support, and training in this world of constant turmoil. You do make a difference in your sons' lives!
Tueri a vulnere,
John
Wanted from Conquest Productions on Vimeo.
WantedWestern.com
Tueri a vulnere,
John
"The very familiarity of blessings sometimes makes us insensible to their value."
~ J. C. Ryle
While this was originally said in relation to God's Word, it is also applicable to the blessings of God-honoring literature passed down by the likes of R. M. Ballantyne.
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'Twas on April 24, 1825, that R. M. Ballantyne came into this world. That's 185 years ago, today! Hurrah!
To see some interesting events that occurred in 1825, take a look at this article from last December.
Tueri a vulnere,
John
For those who know Ballantyne's books well, this should come as no surprise, because The Coral Island has been the most popularly recognized and regarded of his books for a very long time. It was this book that partially inspired Robert Louis Stevenson's famous Treasure Island, as well as a literary response from William Golding in his Lord of the Flies. This last book, by the way, is from a totally opposite point of view to Ballantyne's masterpiece, and basically proposes that boys, abandoned to themselves, will naturally devolve into pagan activities.
So, why has The Coral Island been such a favorite for so long? Well, the three main reasons are the romantic setting, masterful character development, and adventurous plot.
When a British merchant ship is wrecked on a deserted South Sea island, only three boys survive. Ralph Rover, the narrator, along with Jack Martin and Peterkin Gay must struggle to survive on the island's beautiful but dangerous landscape. Although the desert-island setting has been used by many famous authors, it still, in my opinion, holds a fascination to most readers. You get to see the characters struggle against the environment, develop together as a team, and use their unique knowledge to take dominion over the earth. These necessary elements are all present in R. M. Ballantyne's The Coral Island.
The three main characters placed into this story complement and complete the novel. Ralph Rover, the narrator, is a sturdy lad of a philosophical and studious nature. Jack Martin, his senior, is strong, capable, and extremely knowledgeable. The youngest, Peterkin Gay, is a dashing, whimsical fellow who makes up for his almost impudent nature by a generous disposition, and a readiness to do anything to help out his friends.
Although I don't want to give anything away, in case you haven't read the book, Ballantyne created additional flavor by the inclusion of bloodthirsty pirates, cannibalistic natives, and natural challenges. The adventure is lively, the humor quite hilarious, and the presentation of the gospel entirely earnest, and that, I think, is why The Coral Island has been a universal favorite.
Second place was taken by Hunted and Harried, which is an exciting tale of the Scottish Covenanters during The Killing Time. To see the rest of the results, I have included the finished poll below. Thanks for voting!
Tueri a vulnere,
John
If you've been reading the information on Ballantyne The Brave about the boys' fiction author, but haven't actually purchased his books, this is a great time to do so! For three day only, Vision Forum is offering 50% off the entire set of 20 R. M. Ballantyne titles. That's $11 for each beautifully bound, hardback book!
Whether you're interested in reading them yourself, or you think a friend would appreciate the gift, I recommend acting quickly before this sale is over. I don't think you'll regret it.
Tueri a vulnere,
John
My oldest son is only 2 years old, but I so appreciate what you're doing in bringing awareness to such great books. As a former teacher, parents of boys often asked me for book recommendations. I only wish I'd known about authors like Henty and Ballantyne. I'm looking forward to introducing them to my boys in a few years! Blessings on all of you involved with this site!
Mrs. J.
All I can say is that it's an honor and a privilege to write about the lives of men such as Ballantyne and Henty, and I only wish I could have known them when they were alive. It's great to know that a new generation of boys are being raised with the godly books and principles of these two great authors! And, speaking of Ballantyne books, don't forget to vote on the below poll before 5:00 PM, April 12!
Tueri a vulnere
John
Voting ends April 12th!
Tueri a vulnere,
John
One of the great things about this blog is it's very diverse readership. I found this to be the case just recently when a BTB reader emailed me advice concerning the makeup of my Latin motto. It seems that the translation service I used to formulate "Tutela ex Vulnero," as "Guard from Harm," was somewhat faulty. Although the words are correct in Latin, the various cases do not fit in as a phrase. Therefore, due to the suggestion of said BTB reader, I have changed my motto to "tueri a vulnere." As a Latin phrase, this is a more complete and better translation.
And so,
Tueri a vulnere,
John
Andrew Jackson is known for his Indian campaigns, the victorious battle of New Orleans, and two terms of presidency. His rugged exterior, noble heart, and fiery temper have all become legendary. What is not so well known is the sorrow-stricken childhood he experienced.
A month before Andrew Jackson, the famous soldier and politician was born, his father, also named Andrew Jackson, strained himself while at work on their farm and died. His wife was left with two boys, which quickly became three as Andy saw the light of his first day.
Jackson was born in the tumultuous year of 1767. The passions of American colonists mounted as the years rolled towards that glorious day in 1776 when our rights would be declared inviolable as a separate country from Great Britain. When fighting broke out, Andy's elder brother, Hugh, quickly entered the contest and was killed in battle against the redcoats. Passionate young Andrew, fully engaged in the feelings of his countrymen and devoted to American independence, joined the army as a courier in 1780 at the tender age of thirteen, along with his sixteen-year-old brother.
Andrew made himself useful carrying dispatches and orders along the southern roads from commander to commander. During one of the frequent British raids, he and his brother were captured and taken prisoners of war. When commanded to black the commanding officer's boots, Jackson refused, receiving a deep saber cut for his response. His brother was also wounded by the same soldier, after which both were placed in the rotting, fever-infested prison quarters at Camden, South Carolina.
Both lads became ill during their interment, and their brave mother, determining not to let her boys suffer alone, convinced the commanding British officer to let her nurse her sons. Eventually they were released, but Robert, Andrew's only remaining brother, died in quick succession as a result of is incarceration. As a final blow, Elizabeth Jackson also succumbed to the disease, leaving Andrew Jackson as the sole member of his family by the age of fourteen.
These times must have been very black indeed to a young boy just starting in life. However, he buckled to his tasks, and, endowed with a decent amount of capital from his father's estate, provided for himself. He could have wallowed in his misery, bemoaning his losses and feeling sorry for himself. Instead, he "girded up his loins" like a man, and set out on the rough road of life.
Although I don't agree with everything Andrew Jackson did, or believed in, he is an example of a young man who lived through tremendous hardship and grief without giving in. His will was inflexible, his sense of honor impeccable, his temper a glowing ember. However, he had an enormous love for children, and, although not blessed with any progeny, he played a father's role in many children's lives, including that of the famous Sam Houston. Remembering the pain as a child of lacking a father, Jackson filled this role to many of the children who grew up around his home.
Andrew Jackson is another example of an imperfect but noble man, who rose above the conditions in which he found himself, showing indomitable courage, unquenchable energy, and untarnished honor. It is my hope that we all will bear in mind his example!
Tutela ex Vulnero,
John