Young Captain Jack
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Horatio Alger and Arthur M. Winfield >> Young Captain Jack
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"What have you found?" called Marion.
"Nothing much."
"Any mice down there, or spiders?"
"None, so far as I can see."
"Then I'll come down."
Soon Marion was beside Jack, and the pair made a tour of the wreck from
bow to stern. Their investigations proved to be highly interesting, and
they spent more time below than they had anticipated doing.
"We must get back, Jack," said the girl at last.
"Oh, there is no hurry! Mother is not at home," answered Jack. It seemed
a bit odd to call Mrs. Ruthven mother now that he knew she was not his
relative.
So fully another hour was spent below, moving from one part of the big
wreck to another. Presently Jack came to a sudden stop and listened.
"What a queer noise, Marion!"
"It is the wind rising. We had better be getting back, before the bay
grows too rough for rowing."
"You are right."
Jack ran up the companion way and Marion after him. To their surprise
the sky was overcast, and the wind was whipping the surface of the bay
into numerous whitecaps.
"We must lose no time in getting back!" cried Jack. "As it is, the wind
will be dead against us!"
As quickly as possible he assisted Marion over the side, and then both
set off on a run for the little cove where the rowboat had been left
tied up.
As they gained the boat Jack gave an exclamation of dismay.
"The oars--they are gone!"
He was right. Marion had shifted their position before leaving the
craft, and bumping against the rocks had sent them adrift.
CHAPTER IV.
ON BOARD THE WRECK.
"Jack, what shall we do now?" asked Marion, as with a blanched face she
gazed into the empty boat.
"Wait--the oars may be close at hand," he replied. "I will make a
search."
"And so will I. Oh, we must find them!"
They ran up and down the rocky shore, looking far and near for the oars,
but without success. Presently they came to a halt, out of breath with
running.
"Gone, sure enough!" groaned the boy. "What a pickle we are in now!"
"We can't stay here, Jack."
"We'll have to stay here, Marion, unless I can find the oars or make
substitutes."
"How are you going to make substitutes?"
"I might take some planks from the wreck."
"But you have no tools."
"I have a stout jack-knife."
"It will take a long time, and see, it is already beginning to rain."
Marion was right, the rain had started, and as it grew heavier they
withdrew to the shelter of the wreck.
"I wouldn't mind staying here until the shower was over, only I wouldn't
want mother to worry about us," went on Marion, when they were safe
under cover.
"That's just it. But we do not know if she is home yet."
The rain soon increased, while the thunder rolled in the distance. But
they felt fairly safe in the cabin of the wreck, and sat down on a bench
running along one of the walls.
"This looks as if it was going to keep up all night," observed Jack, an
hour later, after another look at the sky from the top of the companion
way.
"Oh, you don't mean we'll have to remain here all night!" exclaimed
Marion.
"Perhaps, Marion."
"But I do not wish to remain in such a place all night."
"Are you afraid of ghosts?" and Jack gave a short laugh.
"No, Jack; but you'll admit it isn't a very nice place."
"I know that. But that isn't the worst of it."
"Not the worst of it?"
"No. You must remember that we have nothing to eat or to drink here."
"That is true, but I do not feel much like eating or drinking just now."
"Yes, but you'll be hungry and thirsty before morning, Marion."
"Perhaps. We can drink rain water, if we wish."
Another hour passed and the storm grew more violent. The lightning
flashed across the sky and lit up the wreck from end to end. Then a
blackness as of night followed.
"We could not row ashore now, even if we had oars," observed Marion, as
she listened to the howling of the wind.
"You are right, Marion. My, how it does blow!"
Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps on the deck of the wreck reached their
ears.
"Somebody is coming!" said Jack, and looked up the companion way. "Why,
it's Old Ben!"
He was right; it was Ben the fisherman who had put in an appearance,
market basket in hand.
"Marion! Jack! Am dat yo'?" came in an anxious voice.
"Yes, Ben!" cried both.
"What brought you?" continued the boy.
"I dun thought yo' was a-wantin' ob Ole Ben," grinned the colored man.
"I seed yo' rowin' off an' I didn't see yo' cum back, so I says to
myself, 'Da is stuck fast on de wreck.' An' den I says, 'Da aint got
nuffin to eat.' So ober I comes, an' wid a basketful of good t'ings from
de plantation." And he held up the market basket. He was soaked from the
rain, and the water ran from his clothing in a stream.
"Ben, you are a jewel!" burst out Marion and patted his wet coat-sleeve
affectionately.
At this the old negro grinned broadly. He had always been a privileged
character on the Ruthven plantation, and being set free had not ended
his affection for his former mistress and her children.
"It was very kind to come over," said Jack. "Does mother know we are
here?"
"I dun left word dat I was comin' ober an' dat I thought yo' was yeah,
sah," answered Ben.
He had brought all the good things necessary, along with plates, cups,
knives and forks, and soon had the spread ready for them. Then he went
off to another part of the wreck to wring out his wet garments.
"It was very nice of Old Ben to come to us," said Marion, while eating.
"It must have been no easy matter to row from the shore to the rocks."
"Ben is as good a boatman as there is in these parts, Marion. It was
kind, and he ought to be rewarded for it."
"Mamma will reward him, beyond a doubt."
The storm kept increasing in violence, and before the strange meal was
disposed of the thunder and lightning were almost incessant. Ben had
brought a candle along--knowing the darkness inside of the wreck--and
this was all the light they possessed, outside of what Nature afforded.
Ben was just putting the dishes back into the basket when there came an
extra heavy flash of lightning, followed immediately by a rending clap
of thunder which almost paralyzed Marion and Jack. There was a strange
smell in the air, and both found their blood tingling in a manner that
was new to them.
"The wreck--it's been struck by lightning!" gasped Jack, when he could
speak.
"Dat's a fac'!" came from Old Ben. "It was jess like de crack ob doom,
wasn't it?"
He ran on deck, and Jack followed him, with Marion on the bottom of the
companion way, not knowing whether to go up or remain below.
The bolt had struck the wreck near the stern, ripping off a large part
of the woodwork, and had passed along to one side. Just below the deck
line a lively fire was starting up.
"De wrack am gwine to be burnt up at las'!" ejaculated Old Ben. "We has
got to git out, Massah Jack!"
"Come, Marion!" called back the boy. "It's too bad we've got to go out
in the rain, but I reckon we can be thankful that our lives have been
spared."
"Yes, we can be thankful," answered the girl. "Oh, what a dreadful crack
that was! I do not believe I shall ever forget it."
She came on deck all in a tremble, and with the others hurried to the
bow of the wreck. It was much easier to climb down than to climb up, and
soon all three stood upon the rocks below, where the driving rain pelted
them mercilessly.
"I t'ink I can find yo' a bettah place dan dis to stay," said Old Ben.
"Come down to de shoah," and he led the way to where he had left his
boat. With Jack's assistance the craft was hauled out of the water and
turned upside down between two large rocks, and then the three crawled
under the temporary shelter.
Thus the night passed, and by morning the storm cleared away. Looking
toward the wreck they saw that only a small portion of the upper deck
had been burned away, the rain having put the fire out before it gained
great headway.
It did not take Old Ben and Jack long to launch the former's craft
again, and this done, they all entered and the fisherman started to row
them to the mainland. Jack's boat was taken in tow.
"That was certainly quite an adventure," observed Jack, as they landed.
"Marion, I reckon you don't want another such."
"No, indeed!" replied the girl, with a shiver. "I don't believe I'll
ever go over to the old wreck again."
"It's a wondah dat wreck aint busted up long ago," put in Old Ben.
"It's a wonder the poor people around here haven't carried off the
wreckage for firewood, Ben," said Jack.
"Da is afraid to do dat, Massah Jack--afraid some ob de sailors wot was
drowned might haunt 'em."
"I see. Well, I don't think the wreck will last much longer," and with
these words Jack turned away to follow Marion to the plantation mansion,
to interview his foster mother concerning the particulars of the past.
Little did the lad dream of what an important part that old wreck was to
play in his future life.
CHAPTER V.
OLD BEN HAS A VISITOR.
St. John Ruthven was a young man of twenty-five, tall, thin, and with a
face that was a mixture of craftiness and cowardice. He was the son of a
half-brother to the late Colonel Ruthven and could boast of but few of
the good traits of Marion's family. He lived on a plantation half a mile
from the bay and spent most of his time in attention to his personal
appearance and in horseback riding, of which, like many other
Southerners, he was passionately fond.
It was commonly supposed that St. John Ruthven was rich, but this was
not true. His father had left him a good plantation and some money in
the bank, but the young planter was a spendthrift and his mother, who
doted on her son, was little better, and soon nearly every dollar which
had been left by the husband and father had slipped through their
fingers. More than this, St. John took but little interest in the
plantation, which gradually ran down until it became almost worthless.
"St. John, my dear, we must do something," the mother would say, in her
helpless way. "We cannot live like this forever."
"What shall I do?" would be the son's reply. "The plantation isn't worth
working and I have no money with which to buy another place. The niggers
are getting so they are not worth their keep."
"But you told me yesterday that we had less than a thousand dollars left
in the bank."
"It's true, too."
"What do you propose doing when that is gone?"
"Oh! our credit is still good," was the lofty answer.
"But that won't last forever, St. John."
"Something may turn up."
"Everything seems to prosper at Alice's place," went on Mrs. Mary
Ruthven, referring to the home of Marion and Jack.
"I know that."
"And we are continually running behind. St. John, you ought to get after
the niggers and other help."
"I wasn't cut out for work, mother," was the sour answer.
"But we really must do something," was the half-desperate response.
"I've got an idea in my head, mother. If it works, we'll be all right."
"What is the idea?"
"I think a good deal of Marion. Why shouldn't we marry and join the two
plantations? That would give us both a good living."
"I have thought of such a plan myself, St. John. But there may be an
objection."
"Do you think Marion would refuse me?"
"She might. In some respects Alice's daughter is rather peculiar."
"But I don't see why she should refuse me. Am I not her equal in social
position?"
"What a question! Of course you are. Still she may have her eyes set
upon somebody else."
"I know of nobody. Marion is still young."
"Have you sounded her on the subject?"
"Not yet, but I will soon. She has Jack around so much I never get half
a chance to talk to her."
"Always that boy! When I visited Alice last I declare she talked of that
nobody the whole time,--what a wonderful man she hoped he would
make,--and all that. Just as if he was her own flesh and blood!" and
Mrs. Mary Ruthven tossed her head disdainfully.
"She was foolish to allow that nobody to think himself a Ruthven. But I
have put a spoke into his wheel, I reckon."
"What do you mean? Did you tell Jack the truth?"
"Not exactly. But I gave a pretty broad hint to his intimate friend
Darcy Gilbert, and Darcy, of course, will carry the news straight to
Jack."
"Oh, St. John! that may cause trouble. Your aunt wished to keep the
truth from the boy as long as possible. She told me she did not wish to
hurt his feelings."
"He had to learn the truth sooner or later. Besides, I didn't want him
to think himself a Ruthven and the equal of Marion and myself," went on
St. John loftily.
There was a moment of silence and Mrs. Mary Ruthven gave a long sigh.
"Well, I would not delay speaking to Marion too long," she observed.
"Something must be done, that's sure, and if you wait, Marion and her
mother may find out how hard up we really are, and then Marion may
refuse you on that account."
"I shall see her before long," answered the son.
He had his mind bent on a horseback ride, and was soon in the saddle and
off on a road leading along the shore of the bay. He hoped to find
Marion in the vicinity of the old boathouse, but when he arrived there
nobody was in sight but Old Ben, who was mending one of his fishing
nets.
"Ha, Ben! are you alone?" he said, as he dismounted and came into the
boathouse.
"Yes, Massah St. John, I'm alone unless there's some ghostes hidin'
around yeah!" and the old negro smiled broadly. He understood St. John's
character pretty thoroughly and despised him accordingly.
"I thought Marion might be around here."
"She aint been yeah to-day, sah. She an' Jack was out on de bay in dat
awful storm yesterday and I reckon it was most too much fo' dem."
"Out in that awful storm! It's a wonder the boat didn't upset."
"Da was ober to de wrack when de big blow came."
"Did they stay there?"
"I went ober after 'em an' da come in dis mornin', Massah St. John."
"Humph! I am surprised that my aunt should trust Marion with that boy."
"Why not, Massah St. John? Jack can manage a boat as well as I can."
St. John tossed his head and flung himself down upon a seat. "I think my
aunt makes a fool of herself about that boy. Who is he, anyway? He's
only an ocean waif; of low birth, very probably."
"Dat he isn't!" said Old Ben indignantly. "He's a young gen'man, Jack
is, an' so was his father."
"Bah! what do you know about his father?"
"He couldn't be Jack's father without bein' a gen'man--dat's wot I
know," went on Ben stoutly. "Why, look at de deah chile! How noble
an'--an'--handsome he is!"
"Oh, pshaw, Ben! you had better stick to your nets. What do you know
about a gentleman?"
"I knows one when I sees one, Massah St. John," was the somewhat
suggestive response.
"Oh, do you? And I know an impudent nigger when I see one!" cried St.
John angrily.
"No offense, Massah St. John."
"Then be a little more careful of what you say." St. John tugged at the
ends of his stubby mustache. "I wish I had that boy under my care," he
went on.
"S'posin' you had, sah?"
"I'd teach him his place. Why should he be reared as a gentleman--he, a
poor waif of the sea? Probably he is the son of some low mechanic,
perhaps of a Northern mudsill, and my aunt--think of it, my aunt--must
bring him up as a Southern gentleman!" The young man leaped up and began
to pace the boathouse floor nervously. "I suppose she'll leave him a
large legacy in her will."
"I 'spect you is right, Massah St. John; dat boy will be pervided for,
suah as my name's Ben."
"You talk as if you already knew something of this?" said St. John
quickly.
"I does know somet'ing, sah."
"Has my aunt ever spoken to you on the subject, Ben?"
"I don't know as I ought to answer dat dar question, Massah St. John."
"Then she has spoken. What did she say?"
The colored man hesitated.
"As I said befo', sah, I don't rackon I ought to answer dat dar
question."
"But you must answer me, Ben--to keep silent is foolish. Rest assured I
have the best interests of my aunt and Marion at heart. Now what did she
say?"
"Well, sah, if yo' must know, she said as how she was gwine to leave
Massah Jack half de prop'ty."
St. John leaped back in amazement.
"You don't mean that, Ben!" he gasped.
"Yes, sah, I does mean it."
"Half the property?"
"Yes, sah."
"He doesn't deserve it!"
At this the old negro shrugged his huge shoulders.
"Rackon de missus knows what she wants to do."
"But it is not right--to give the boy half the estate. I suppose the
other half will go to Marion."
"Yes, sah."
The young man's face grew pale, and he began to pace the floor again.
"She never mentioned me in connection with this, did she?"
"No, sah."
"And yet I am her nephew."
"Rackon she dun thought yo' was rich enough, Massah St. John."
"Perhaps I am, Ben. But it is strange that my own flesh and blood should
forget me, to take up with a nobody. Did my aunt ever speak of the
particulars of what she intended to do?"
"No, sah."
"Humph! It's strange. I must look into this." And a few minutes later
St. John Ruthven was off on horseback, in a frame of mind far from
pleasant.
CHAPTER VI.
MRS. RUTHVEN'S STORY.
"I am so glad to see you both back, safe and sound!"
It was Mrs. Alice Ruthven who spoke, as she embraced first her daughter
and then Jack.
"And we are glad enough to get back, mother," answered Marion.
"I was so frightened, even after Old Ben went after you. We watched the
lightning, and when it struck the wreck----" Mrs. Ruthven stopped
speaking and gave a shiver.
"We weren't in such very great danger," answered Jack. Then he looked at
the lady curiously.
"What is it, Jack? You have something on your mind," she said quickly.
The youth looked at Marian, who turned red.
"I--I--that is, mother, Jack knows the truth," faltered the girl.
"The truth?" repeated Mrs. Ruthven slowly.
"Yes, Marion has told me the truth," said Jack, in as steady a voice as
he could command. "And so I--I--am not your son." He could scarcely
speak the words.
"Oh, Jack!" The lady caught him in her arms. "So you know the truth at
last?" She kissed him. "But you are my son, just as if you were my own
flesh and blood. You are not angry at me for keeping this a secret so
long? I did it because I did not wish to hurt your feelings."
"No, I am not angry at you, Mrs. Ruth----"
"Call me mother, Jack."
"I am not angry, mother. You have been very kind to me. But it is so
strange! I can't understand it all," and he heaved a deep sigh.
"You have been a son to me in the past, Jack; I wish you to continue to
be one."
"But I have no real claim upon you."
"Yes, you have, for my late husband and myself adopted you."
"Marion told me that you never heard one word regarding my past."
"She told the truth. We tried our best, but every effort ended in
failure. Your mother called you Jack ere she died, and that was all."
"What of our clothing? Was none of it marked, or had she nothing in her
pocket?"
"No, the clothing was not marked, and she had nothing in her pocket but
a lace handkerchief, also unmarked. That handkerchief I have kept, with
the clothing. And I have also kept a ring she wore upon one of her
fingers."
"Was that marked?"
"It had been, but it was so worn that we could not make out the marking,
nor could the two jewelers by whom we had the ring inspected."
"I would like to see the ring."
"I will get it," returned Mrs. Ruthven, and left the room. Soon she came
back with a small jewel casket, from which she took a ring and a very
dainty lace handkerchief.
"Here is the ring," she said, as she passed it over to Jack.
"It looks like a wedding ring," said the youth, as he gazed at the
circlet of gold.
"I believe it is a wedding ring."
Jack looked inside and saw some markings, but all were so faint that it
was impossible to make out more than the figures 1 and 8.
"Those figures stand for eighteen hundred and something, I imagine,"
said Mrs. Ruthven. "They must give the year when your mother was
married."
"I suppose you are right."
"The ring belongs to you, Jack. I would advise you to be careful of it."
"If you please, I would like to have you keep it for the present."
"I will do that willingly."
The handkerchief was next examined. But it seemed to be without markings
of any kind, and was soon returned to the jewel case along with the
ring.
"Now tell me how Marion came to tell you of the past," said Mrs.
Ruthven, after putting the jewel case away.
"I made her tell me the truth," said Jack.
"But how did you suspect this at first?"
"Because of something St. John said to Darcy Gilbert."
"What did he say?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter much--now, mother. He told Darcy I wasn't your
son."
"What else did he say?"
"Oh, I think I had better not say."
"But you must tell me, Jack; I insist upon knowing."
"He told Darcy that I was a nobody, and that I would have to go away
some day."
At these words Mrs. Ruthven's face flushed angrily.
"St. John is taking too much upon his shoulders," she cried. "This is no
business of his."
"I may be a nobody, but, but"--Jack stammered--"if he says anything to
me, I am afraid there will be a row."
"He shall not say anything to you. I will speak to him about this. Leave
it all to me."
"But he shall not insult me," said Jack sturdily.
Marion had left the apartment, to change her clothing, so she did not
hear what was said about St. John. A few words more on the subject
passed between the lady of the plantation and the youth, and then the
talk shifted back to Jack's past.
"Some day I am going to find out who I am." said the boy. "There must be
some way to do this."
"Are you then so anxious to leave me, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, and the
tears sprang into her eyes.
"No, no, mother; I will not leave you so long as you wish me to stay!"
he exclaimed. "It isn't that. But this mystery of the past must be
solved."
"Well, I will help you all I can. But do not hope for too much, my boy,
or you may be disappointed," and then she embraced him again.
Running up to his bedroom, Jack quickly changed the suit which had been
soaked the night before for a better one, and then came below again. He
hardly knew what to do with himself. The news had set his head in a
whirl. At last he decided to go out riding on a pony Mrs. Ruthven had
given him a few weeks before.
The pony was soon saddled by one of the stable hands, and Jack set off
on a level road running between the two Ruthven plantations. At first he
thought to ask Marion to accompany him, but then decided that he was in
no humor to have anybody along.
"I must think this out by myself," was the way he reasoned, and set off
at a brisk pace under the wide-spreading trees.
He was less than quarter of a mile away from home when he came face to
face with St. John, who was returning from his visit to Old Ben's
boathouse.
As the two riders approached each other, the young man glared darkly at
our hero.
"Hullo, where are you bound?" he demanded sharply.
"I don't think that is any of your business, St. John," replied Jack,
who was just then in no humor to be polite.
"Humph! you needn't get on your high horse about it!"
"I am not on a high horse, only on a small pony."
"Don't joke me, Jack--I don't like it."
"As you please, St. John."
"What's got into you this morning?" demanded the young man curiously.
"Well, if you want to know, I don't like the way you have been talking
about me."
"Oho! so that is how the wind blows."
"You have taken the pains to call me a nobody," went on Jack hotly.
"I told the truth, didn't I?"
"I consider myself just as good as you, St. John Ruthven."
"Do you indeed!" sneered the spendthrift.
"I do indeed, and in the future I will thank you to be more careful of
what you say about me."
"I have a right to tell the truth to anybody I please."
"I don't deny that. But I consider my blood just as good as yours."
"Do you? I don't."
"Your opinion isn't worth anything to me."
"Humph! still riding a high horse, I see. Let me tell you, you are not
half as good as a Ruthven, and never will be. How my aunt could take you
in is a mystery to me."
"She is not as hard-hearted as you are."
"She is very foolish."
"She is my foster mother, and I'll thank you to speak respectfully of
her," cried Jack, his eyes flashing.
"Of course you'll stick by her--as long as she'll let you. You have a
nice ax to grind."
"I don't understand your last words."
"She owns considerable property, and you will try to get a big share of
it for yourself, when she dies."
"I have never given her property a thought. I want only what is
rightfully coming to me."
"There is nothing coming to you by right. The property ought to go to
Marion and the other Ruthvens."
"By other Ruthvens I suppose you mean yourself."
"I am one of them."
"Are you so anxious to get hold of my aunt's plantation?"
"I don't want to see my aunt waste it on such a low upstart as you!"
Jack's eyes flashed fire, and riding close to St. John he held up his
little riding whip.
"You shan't call me an upstart!" he ejaculated. "Take it back, or I'll
hit you with this!"
"You won't dare to touch me!" howled St. John in a rage. "You are an
upstart, and worse, to my way of thinking."
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