The 290

By Scott O'Dell

Jim Lynne is idly enjoying darts in Liverpool while his brother, Ted, calls him over to a desk to invite a question in regards to the send that he's engaged on. it sort of feels the send, enigmatically named the 290, isn't the shipment send that individuals are announcing it's. no matter what its function, it really is definitely outfitted for velocity. yet Jim thinks he understands that goal: it really is being outfitted for the accomplice navy.

And so launches the tale of the intertwined fates of a boat and a boy. The send may pass down in historical past as some of the most well-known vessels of the Civil struggle. initially the 290, she could grow to be often called the Alabama. Jim, whose father is a slave dealer, should reconcile his personal hatred for slavery together with his love for the send he made and the captain who sails her. future will supply him an opportunity to just do that...

"Once back [Scott O'Dell] is ready to refract common subject matters of liberty and self-awareness via history's prism."
-School Library Journal

"The writer screens his particular presents for distilling importance from old topic and for facing the ocean. ... With energetic dialog and with expanding stress, from confrontations at sea and aboard Jim's send, the writer crisply tells the tale, skillfully integrating old parts. ... instantly captures the reader's interest." -Horn e-book

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The shell made one other dive towards me. I kept away from it by means of leaping within the air. It slid below me and banged opposed to a bulwark. I trigger in pursuit because the shell headed ahead alongside the deck. I overtook it in the meanwhile it struck a hatch disguise. The heavy shell used to be like a greased pig. I picked it up and dropped it. Then I picked it up back and staggered to the 102 THE 290 rail, the place with what power used to be left to me, I dropped it, nonetheless unexploded, into the ocean. Forthwith I fell to the deck and sat there in a heap accumulating my wits, whereas weapons belched fireplace round me. now not until eventually I obtained again on my toes did I see that my correct hand used to be bleeding and that one way or the other I had beaten 3 of my hands. A fourth shell struck the hull on the waterline. a fraction struck Captain Semmes’s correct arm and, beckoning to a quartermaster, he stood at the horse block directing the motion whereas the blood used to be staunched. The send was once now responding slowly to the helm, and Semmes despatched Lieutenant Kell under to call for extra steam. moment Assistant Engineer William Brooks informed Kell, “We have each inch of steam secure to hold with out being blown up! ” Lieutenant Kell shouted, “Let her have steam! We had larger blow her to hell than allow the Yankees whip us. ” We have been finishing the final of the seven circles. the 2 ships have been now under yards aside. within the wish of constructing the French coast prior to the send sank, Captain Semmes wear all sail. The 290 was once nonetheless gradual and Alex Colby was once ordered to loosen the jib. The command was once finished and Colby was once returning while a shell struck him, causing a determined wound. He clung to the jib growth and labored his manner alongside 103 SCOTT O’DELL a footrope to the deck. the following, beating his head together with his hands, he fell to the deck lifeless. Our send used to be quickly settling within the water. Her weapons, those who have been left, have been firing sporadically. Semmes despatched Kell under to estimate the time the send may perhaps remain afloat. the entire booths have been beaten into one. The surgeon’s working desk had obtained an instantaneous hit. Kell back to assert that the send couldn't final one other ten mins. “Then, sir, stop firing,” Semmes acknowledged. “Shorten sail and haul the colours. ” The flag got here down, however the Kearsarge stored up her fireplace. She fired 5 instances into the sinking 290. Lieutenant Kell, at an order from Semmes, shouted, “Every guy shop himself who can! ” so much of our boats have been smashed. because the send started to sink, I heaved a grating overboard and jumped in after it. The Deerhound and French luggers from Cherbourg have been making for us. The water was once freezing chilly. I stared blankly on the offended water, the spinning pool she left in the back of. It was once a terrible sight to me, this loss of life of an attractive send. i attempted to place the scene out of my brain as I swam away in the course of the wreckage-strewn waves, yet part of me had long past down with the send. i discovered myself no more than fifty toes from Lem Wilson. in a single hand he held a sack jam-packed with anything. With 104 THE 290 the opposite he grasped a half-length of the ship’s trees.

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