Harry Collingwood: 93 books

WHAT HAPPENED ON THE PERICLES. “You, Thompson, go down and send the second mate up to me. Tell him to leave whatever he is doing and to come up here at once. I want to speak to him,” growled Captain Fisher of the steamer Pericles, turning, with a menacing expression, to the grizzled old quartermaster...

WILLIAM'S SILENT FLUTE. The Maidens small Pipkin, THE HAIRY RING, The Thing that's in his Breeches, Queen of the Wrigglewell-Islands, Sal, beneath thy Smock, Nothing but regular out and outers! FANNY HILL'S RECITER The Silent Flute air — The Coronation As William late with Polly sat, They talk'd of amorous blisses

Excerpt: ...a lesson in good manners. What do you want? Why do you stand there staring at me like an idiot? If you have anything to say, please say it at once, and get about your duty.

THE “MERCURY” APPEARS. This is a yarn of the days when the clipper sailing-ship was at the zenith of her glory and renown; when she was the recognised medium for the transport of passengers—ay, and, very frequently, of mails between Great Britain and the Colonies; and when steamers were, comparatively...

A young shipwrecked man and a young woman learn to cope with hardships and bad luck.  Romantic adventure at its finest.

ON BOARD THE “SCOURGE.” On the 9th of March, 1793, his Britannic Majesty’s gun-brig “Scourge” weighed, and stood out to sea from the anchorage at Spithead, under single-reefed topsails, her commander having received orders to cruise for a month in the chops of the Channel. The “Scourge”...

How Phil Stukely and Dick Chichester narrowly escaped drowning. It was a little after seven o’clock on June 19 in the year of Our Lord 1577, and business was practically over for the day. The taverns and alehouses were, of course, still open, and would so remain for three or four hours to come, for...

THE WRECK. It was the last week in the month of November, 18—. The weather, for some days previous, had been unusually boisterous for the time of year, and had culminated, on the morning on which my story opens, in a “November gale” from the south-west, exceeding in violence any previous gale...