Young Captain Jack
H >>
Horatio Alger and Arthur M. Winfield >> Young Captain Jack
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11
But the Federal regiment had seen them, and as the guerrillas ran they
received a volley which lay several of them low. They were virtually
outlaws, and knew it, and lost no time in getting out of sight.
"Halt!" shouted the Federal colonel as he rode up across the lawn, and
one after another the companies behind him stopped in their march. Then
the Northerner came closer to Jack and the others of the Home Guard.
"What's the matter here? What does this mean?"
Jack gazed up into the face of the Federal colonel and saw that it was
an unusually kindly one. "We are defending this home, sir; that's all. I
reckon those fellows who just ran off wanted to ransack it."
"The scoundrels! I've been after them twice before. Was anybody hurt?"
"No, sir."
"You are a young Confederate, I presume?"
"I am the captain of these boys. We call ourselves the Home Guard. We
wish to protect our homes, that's all."
At this the face of the colonel broke out into a warm smile.
"You do yourself credit, my lad. You could not do better than protect
your homes and your mothers and sisters. Whose place is this?"
"Mrs. Alice Ruthven's."
"Did the Confederate battery just retreat past here?"
"I cannot answer that question, sir."
"Well, it doesn't matter much. We have got them on the run, and that was
all we wanted for the present."
"I hope you don't intend to do anything to this place," went on Jack
anxiously. "It is private property, and, besides, we have six wounded
men here, in charge of a surgeon."
"An officer who is a gentleman always respects private property," was
the grave answer. "As long as you do nothing treacherous, you have
nothing to fear from me or my men." And so speaking, the colonel rode
back to the road.
"A fine-looking man, and a gentleman, if ever there was one," thought
Jack. "What a difference between him and that fellow who threatened me
with his sword!"
"Will they come back, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, as she came outside.
"I don't know, mother. But the officer said we had nothing to fear."
"He looked like an honest gentleman."
"So I thought. How are those wounded men making out?"
"One is already dead, poor fellow. But the surgeon has hopes of the
others."
"Is Marion helping the doctor?"
"Yes. I want her to come away from the awful sights, but she will not.
Jack, she is almost as brave as you are!"
"Pooh! I'm not so brave, mother."
"Yes, you are. Why, that rascal was going to run you through with his
sword!"
"Dat he was," put in Old Ben. "But let me tell yo' sumt'ing, missus. I
had dat feller covered wid dis hoss-pistol ob mine. If he had tried to
slew Jack dat would hab been de end of the rascal, suah pop!"
"Good for you, Ben! Continue to look out for Jack, and I will reward you
handsomely," concluded Mrs. Ruthven, and returned to the house.
CHAPTER XVI.
COLONEL STANTON'S VISIT.
The Federal regiment went into camp up the road, but a short distance
from the Ruthven home. The coming of the soldiers filled the whole
neighborhood with alarm, but it was soon evident that Colonel Stanton
was a strict disciplinarian and did not countenance any pilfering, and
then the inhabitants became more quiet. In the meanwhile the Confederate
troops had departed for parts unknown. But another battle was not far
off.
Attached to Colonel Stanton's regiment was a young man named Harry
Powell, a surgeon, who was a nephew to Mrs. Ruthven, although the two
had not seen each other for years. Powell was a fine fellow, and well
liked by all who knew him, the single exception to the case being St.
John Ruthven, who was too much of a sneak to admire anybody so
free-hearted and manly.
Harry Powell had drifted to the North several years before, and
established a practice in Philadelphia. He was thoroughly opposed to
slavery, and when the war broke out lost no time in joining the Federal
troops, much to the horror of his two aunts and his cousin Marion. As
for St. John, that spendthrift said it was "just like Harry, who had no
head on his shoulders, anyway."
On the day following the arrival of the Federal troops Old Ben was
making his way to his cabin for some things, when he ran across Colonel
Stanton on his way to the Ruthven mansion. The colonel was accompanied
by Harry Powell, but the young surgeon now wore a heavy mustache, and
for the moment the old colored man did not recognize him.
"See here, my man. I want to talk to you," began Colonel Stanton, as he
held up his hand for Ben to halt.
"Yes, sah," and Old Ben touched his hat respectfully.
"Did I understand that this is the plantation of Mrs. Alice Ruthven?"
"Yes, sah."
"Why, it's Old Ben!" cried Harry Powell, striding forward. "Don't you
remember me, you old rascal?" and he slapped the colored man on the
back.
Old Ben stared in astonishment for a moment, and then his ebony face
broke out into a broad smile.
"Bless my soul, if it aint Massah Harry Powell!"
"Of course it is, Ben."
"Yo' is so changed I didn't know yo', sah."
"I suppose I am changed, Ben. Is my aunt at home?"
"Yes, sah."
"Good. I want very much to see her."
Old Ben shook his head dubiously.
"Massah Harry, yo' aint gwine an' joined de Yanks, hab yo'?" he
questioned.
"Yes, Ben; I am fighting for the old flag."
"Yo' aunt an' Miss Marion will be wery sorry to heah dat, sah."
"I presume so. But that cannot be helped. I did as my heart dictated,
Ben. I want to see all colored folks free, as you are."
"Dat would be wery nice certainly, sah, but--but----"
"It was too bad we had to fight, you mean." Harry Powell looked up. "Who
is that coming?"
"Dat am Massah Jack, sah?"
"Oh! Why, when I was here before he was nothing but a little shaver."
The young surgeon raised his voice. "Hullo, Jack! come here."
Wondering who it was who was calling him so familiarly, Jack came
forward. He started back upon seeing Harry Powell, and in a Federal
uniform.
"You!" he cried.
"Yes, Jack. Come, won't you shake hands with me?" and the young surgeon
smiled good-naturedly.
"Well--that is--I don't like to shake hands with a--a Yankee," stammered
Jack.
"Oh, so you object to my uniform?"
"I do, Harry. Why did you join the Yankees?"
"Because I thought it best. If you won't shake hands with me as a
Yankee, won't you shake hands as a cousin?"
At this our hero's face relaxed, for he had always liked Harry Powell
immensely.
"Yes, I'll do that," he said, and they shook hands warmly.
"And how is your mother these days, Jack?"
"Quite well, but a good deal alarmed."
"She need not be alarmed because of us, Jack. Is that not so, Colonel
Stanton?"
The colonel bowed. His manner was so pleasant that Jack felt more drawn
to him than ever.
"You are kind," he said. "I thought all Yankees were brutes."
"They are far from that, Jack. But I was going to ask, can I see my
aunt?"
"I suppose so. But she'll be hurt to see you in that uniform."
"Never mind, I'll risk that," rejoined Harry Powell.
Old Ben continued on his way, and Jack and the others walked toward the
Ruthven plantation. Then our hero ran ahead, to tell Mrs. Ruthven of the
visitors.
"A fine, manly young fellow, Powell," remarked Colonel Stanton, when he
and the young surgeon were left alone.
"Yes, he has turned out a first-rate lad, colonel."
"I presume, were he older, he would be at the head of a regular
Confederate command, instead of being at the head of this boyish Home
Guard."
"Undoubtedly, sir. But I am glad he is not in the regular ranks."
"Why?"
"I should hate to fight against him, sir."
"I see. Well, this war has brought brother against brother, and worse.
To tell the truth, I heartily wish it was over, myself."
In a few minutes more Mrs. Ruthven appeared, her face full of sorrow. As
she approached Harry Powell, the tears stood in her eyes.
"My dear aunt, how glad I am to see you, after this long separation!"
cried the young man impulsively.
"Oh, Harry! Harry! How can you come here in that uniform?" she returned.
"Let us speak of that later, Aunt Alice. Allow me to introduce you to my
superior, Colonel Stanton."
Mrs. Ruthven looked at the colonel steadily, and he bowed gravely. Each
saw that the other was of good blood and breeding. The lady of the
plantation dropped her eyes.
"Colonel Stanton, courtesy bids me say you are welcome, but--I beg you
to consider that I am a Southern woman," she faltered.
"I hope, Mrs. Ruthven, you will not look upon me as an enemy."
"Are you not in arms against my country?"
"Against your section, yes, but not against your country, madam. I fight
under the flag which belongs alike to the South and the North."
At this Mrs. Ruthven shook her head sadly.
"I cannot agree with you, sir. But let that drop. May I ask the news?
Have our troops been hopelessly defeated?"
"I cannot answer you, Mrs. Ruthven. Our side has won a battle and the
Confederate troops have taken to the mountain side. They may engage us
again before long."
"Your troops are encamped but a short distance from here, I believe?"
"It is true."
"Are we to consider ourselves as prisoners of war?"
"By no means, Mrs. Ruthven. I am informed that your house is something
of a hospital. Let it remain so."
"Thank you."
"You certainly did not expect ill treatment, did you?" went on the
colonel curiously.
"You seem to be a gentleman, I must admit, but I have heard such stories
of violence and rapine that I have some reasons to be apprehensive."
"The stories are in most cases baseless and without truth. I hope you
are not prejudiced enough to think that Federal officers are destitute
of honor and humanity. Every true soldier, no matter under what banner
he draws his sword, respects a lady, and would be the last to injure or
annoy her."
"I can believe that of you, sir, but you are an exception."
"I cannot accept the compliment. I know many of my brother officers, and
I am glad to say that what is true of me is true also of them."
"But your President, Mr. Lincoln, I am told is a cruel monster, intent
upon the destruction of the South."
"You are sadly misinformed, Mrs. Ruthven. There never beat a warmer,
kinder heart than that of Abraham Lincoln, I know, for I have seen him
and spoken with him, and I know that no one sorrows more over the
stricken homes and bloodshed of this unhappy strife. He is misjudged
now, but posterity will do him justice."
"I cannot believe it. If he deplores the evils of war, why does he not
end it at once, and order his hordes of Yankee invaders to throw down
their arms?"
"Because the life of the nation is at stake. I do not wish to speak
severely of your leaders. They are actuated by a mistaken sense of
right. Amid the clash of arms, Reason is silent. We are fighting, not
against the South, but for its best good."
"You plead well, Colonel Stanton, but I am not convinced," answered the
lady of the house.
At that moment Jack came up again, bringing Marion.
"Marion!" cried Harry Powell, and ran up to her.
"Harry!" she returned, and put out her hand to him.
"Will you shake hands with a Yankee?" he asked. "Jack was rather
backward about doing it."
"I am always ready to shake hands with my cousin," she returned, and
blushed.
Colonel Stanton was then introduced, and a minute later Harry Powell
asked about St. John Ruthven.
"Is he in the ranks, aunt?" he questioned.
"He is not," answered Mrs. Ruthven, and drew down her mouth.
"He cannot leave his mother," put in Marion contemptuously.
"Evidently you think he ought to go?"
"He is a strong, able-bodied man. I would go, were I in his place."
"So would I," put in Jack.
"Then he isn't very patriotic."
"Oh, yes he is--in words," returned Marion. "But in deeds----" She
shrugged her pretty shoulders, and that meant a good deal.
Colonel Stanton and Mrs. Ruthven entered the house, followed by Jack,
and presently Marion and the young surgeon found themselves alone in the
garden.
CHAPTER XVII.
A SCENE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE.
In years gone by Marion and Harry Powell, as little girl and boy, had
thought a good deal of each other.
Now, as the pair faced once more, much of the old feelings came back,
and pretty Marion found herself blushing deeply, she could not tell
exactly why.
She despised Harry's uniform, yet she felt that he looked remarkably
handsome in it, and not such an awful bear of a Yankee, after all. The
manliness of the young surgeon's superior had likewise made a deep
impression upon her.
Before going into the house Mrs. Ruthven had invited the young man to
remain to dinner, and he had readily accepted the invitation. But he was
by no means anxious to go into the house with the others.
"It is so nice and cool in the garden, Marion," he said. "Let us remain
out here for a while, if you have no objections."
"As you will, Harry. But we need not stand. Let us go down to the old
summerhouse. Of course you remember that place."
"To be sure, Marion--I remember it only too well. How you used to bring
in the flowers and make bouquets and wreaths, and open a flower store
and bid me buy----"
"And you wouldn't buy, more than half the time," she laughed. "You
always were somewhat contrary, Harry. Is that what made you turn
Yankee?"
"I hardly think so. I want to see all the slaves set free."
"Is that all?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"Most Yankees want to see the South broken up and ruined."
"No! no! That is a mistake."
The summerhouse was soon gained, and she sat down, and without ceremony
he took a seat on the bench at her side.
"This takes me back ten or fifteen years," he declared, as he looked
around at the familiar surroundings. "There are the same old magnolias,
with the swing, and the same old rose bush, or new ones just like the
old. Marion, you ought to be happy here."
"I was--until the war broke out, and poor papa was killed."
"Yes, that was a shock, and I felt it too, when the news reached me. He
was a noble man, Marion."
"So they all say, Harry, but that does not give him back to us. And now
another danger threatens us."
"Another danger? You mean the presence of our troops here? Marion, no
harm shall come to you, if I can prevent it."
"But I do not mean that. It is concerning Jack."
"What of your brother?"
"Oh, Harry, he is just like a brother to me, and mamma thinks of him as
her son! Now a stranger has appeared on the scene, and he wants to take
Jack away from us."
"A stranger. Who?"
"A Confederate surgeon named Dr. Mackey. He claims that he is Jack's
father."
"But is he?"
"We do not believe that he is. But he says he can prove it."
"This is news certainly, Marion. Will you give me the particulars?"
"I will," and she did so, to which Harry Powell listened with keen
interest.
"Humph! And Jack does not like the man?"
"No, he despises him."
"That will make it awkward, if this doctor's story is true."
"He will have to bring strong proofs to make me believe the story, I can
tell you that."
"I do not blame you, Marion." The young surgeon mused for a moment. "It
runs in my mind that I have heard of this Dr. Mackey before."
"Where?"
"I cannot remember now. But I believe it was while I was practicing in
Philadelphia."
"Was he a doctor there?"
"It runs in my mind that he was connected with some bogus medical
institute which defrauded people through the mails. But I am not
certain."
"If there is truth in this, I wish you would look the matter up, Harry.
Mamma will want to know all she can of Dr. Mackey before she gives up
Jack to him."
"I will do my best for you, Marion. I love Jack, too--although he was
very young when I went away, if you will remember."
"You have been away a long time, Harry," she replied, and drew a long
breath.
"That is true, and I realize it now, although I did not before." He
gazed steadily into her face and suddenly caught her hand. "Dear cousin,
cannot you forgive me for going over to the enemy?" he pleaded.
She flushed up. "I ought not to, Harry, but--but----"
"You will, nevertheless?"
"I--I will think of it," she faltered.
"We were very intimate when I went away. I would not wish that intimacy
broken off."
"Were we intimate?" she murmured shyly.
"Yes, indeed. Don't you remember it? You used to sit in my lap."
"How shocking!" she cried. "Are you sure?"
"As if I could forget it."
"You seem to have an awfully good memory for some things," she said
slowly.
"I remember something more, Marion. We were like brother and sister in
those days, and you used to put your arms around my neck and kiss me."
"I don't believe I ever did anything so dreadful, Harry!"
"I remember it perfectly well."
"Don't you think we had better go into the house now?"
"Don't get angry, Marion. But--but--I always did think a lot of you, and
always shall--even if I have turned Yankee."
"Yankee or not, Harry, you will always be very dear to me as my cousin,"
she returned hastily.
"Speaking of cousins, does St. John come here often?"
"Yes, quite often."
"I suppose he comes to see you?"
"He comes to see mamma and me. He and Jack are not very good friends."
"What, doesn't Jack like him?"
"He considers St. John overbearing, and St. John thinks Jack an
intruder, and possibly of low parentage."
"Is St. John married yet?"
"No."
"And he comes here quite often, you say?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps he is going--that is, he would like to marry you, Marion,"
blurted out Harry Powell.
At this the girl flushed crimson.
"Well--he has spoken something of it," she replied, in a low voice.
"The dickens he has!"
"Cousin Harry!"
"I beg your pardon, Marion, but--but--this is not pleasant news."
"You mustn't get rough, Harry. St. John says there are no true gentlemen
among the Yankees. But I think differently--now I have met Colonel
Stanton."
"Oh, confound St. John! There are truer gentlemen among my fellow
officers than he will ever be." Harry Powell took a turn around the
summerhouse. "But I forgot. I ought not to have spoken so of your future
husband."
"Who said he was my intended husband?"
"Why, you intimated as much."
"I am sure I did not."
"It is the same thing. You said he had spoken of marriage to you."
"That is a very different matter."
Harry Powell took another turn around the summerhouse. "I suppose you
love him, though I don't understand how any girl could love such an
insufferable bore."
"Harry, aren't you prejudiced against St. John?"
"Perhaps I am. But seriously, Marion, what can you find to admire in St.
John?"
"He is a Ruthven."
"That is true."
"If I married him I would still remain a Ruthven."
"Then why not remain an old maid and likewise a Ruthven? It would be far
better, take my word on it."
"Then you don't advise me to marry?"
"I don't advise you to marry St. John."
"Oh!"
"Are you engaged to him?" he asked, coming closer.
"I am not."
"I am glad to hear it."
"Are you married, Cousin Harry?" she asked suddenly.
"Me? No, Marion--not yet."
"I suppose you'll marry some Yankee girl one of these days."
"I don't think so, unless----"
"Unless what?"
"Unless the girl I always did love goes back on me, Marion. Do you think
she will go back on me?" and he caught both of her hands in his own.
"Harry, you are a--a--Yankee."
"But that doesn't affect my feelings for you."
"A true Yankee ought not to care for a Southern girl."
"And why not?"
"Well, I don't know exactly. But it doesn't seem right."
"Do you mean to say that a Southern girl ought not to care for the man
who is fighting as his conscience dictates?" he demanded, turning a
trifle pale.
"No, no, Harry! I honor you for sticking to your principles. But we had
better say no more at present on this subject." She glanced down the
garden path. "See, St. John is coming. Let go my hands."
He dropped her hands and took a seat on the other side of the
summerhouse, and a moment later St. John Ruthven presented himself at
the doorway.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MEETING OF THE COUSINS.
St. John had come up the garden path quickly, and had failed to notice
Harry Powell, although he had caught sight of a well-known dress which
Marion wore.
Now, when he saw the young surgeon, his face fell, for he had calculated
upon seeing Marion alone.
"Excuse me, Marion," he said, "I did not know you had company."
"Come in, St. John," replied the girl. "Do you not recognize my visitor?
It is Dr. Harry Powell."
"Oh!" St. John was much surprised, and showed it. "How do you do?" he
continued stiffly.
"Shake hands. You are cousins," went on Marion, not liking the dark look
which had come to St. John's face.
"Excuse me, but I cannot shake hands with one who wears that uniform,"
returned the spendthrift, drawing back. "I am surprised, Marion, to see
you upon such intimate terms with your country's foe."
Marion's face flushed, and she bit her lip. Harry Powell set his teeth
and then smiled coldly.
"I perceive you wear no uniform at all, St. John," he remarked
pointedly.
"No. My duty to my mother keeps me at home," stammered St. John.
"If all who have mothers were to remain at home we would have few
soldiers."
"It is a very great trial to me to have to remain at home," went on the
hypocrite smoothly. "Yet, to my notion, a man is far better off at home
than to be wearing a Yankee uniform."
"That is for each man to decide for himself."
St. John turned to Marion.
"Does your mother know that Dr. Powell is here?"
"Yes; she has invited him to dine with us."
"To dine with you!" exclaimed the spendthrift.
"Yes, what is wrong about that?" questioned Harry Powell.
"I thought she was a true and loyal Southern woman."
"I do not follow you," answered Harry Powell hotly. "The ties of blood
count for something, even in war times."
"They do not count for as much as that--to me," said St. John sourly.
"Then I presume you will not care to stop and dine with us, St. John,"
put in Marion.
"Thank you, no. I will remain another time--when it is more agreeable,
Marion."
So speaking, St. John bowed low to the girl, nodded slightly to the
young surgeon, and hurried from the place.
Marion looked at Harry Powell with a face that was crimson.
"Forget the insult, Harry!" she cried.
"It is not your fault, Marion. But what a cad St. John is! I never liked
him much. I can easily understand how Jack cannot get along with him."
"I wish he would join the army. It might make a man of him."
"I believe he is too cowardly to don a uniform. But come, let us go into
the house, or your mother will wonder what is keeping us."
When they entered the homestead they found Colonel Stanton taking his
leave. The colonel was perfectly willing to allow the young surgeon to
remain.
"Have a good time, Powell," he said. "And try to convince your worthy
relatives that all Yankees are not the monsters they are painted."
"He's a downright good fellow!" cried Jack, when the Federal officer had
departed. "I don't wonder that you like him, Harry."
"He is a very nice man," said Marion, and to this Mrs. Ruthven nodded
affirmatively.
Dinner was almost ready to be served, and while they were waiting Marion
noticed that the young surgeon was studying Jack's face closely.
"What makes you look at Jack so?" she questioned, in a low voice, so
that our hero might not hear.
"I was studying his face," was the slow reply.
"Studying his face?"
"Yes. Marion, did you notice how Colonel Stanton looks?"
"I did, although not very closely."
"It seems to me that Jack bears a wonderful resemblance to the colonel."
"Now you speak of it, I must say you are right," answered Marion
thoughtfully. And then, after another pause, she continued: "Is the
colonel a married man?"
"I hardly think so. I have never heard him speak of a wife or children."
"Then it is likely that he is a bachelor." And there, for the time
being, the subject was dropped.
Despite the fact that the house was surrounded by Federal troops and
that a portion of the homestead was being used as a hospital, the dinner
passed off in a far from unpleasant manner. Mrs. Ruthven was glad to
meet her nephew once more, and made him tell the story of his service in
detail. Not only the lady of the house, but also Marion and Jack, hung
upon the young surgeon's words, and Jack's eyes glistened when he heard
about the hard fighting which had been witnessed.
"Oh, how I wish I had been there! I would have helped to beat the Yankee
troops back!" he cried.
"You're a born soldier, Jack!" answered Harry Powell. "And I must say I
like you the better for it. I can't stand such stay-at-homes as St.
John."
"Oh, St. John is a regular--a regular----"
"Hush, Jack!" interrupted Mrs. Ruthven reprovingly. "He says his mother
needs him at home."
"And our country needs him at the front," said Marion.
"We don't need cowards," finished Jack. "Harry, you don't have cowards
in your ranks, do you?"
"I am afraid all armies have more or less cowards in the ranks," laughed
the young surgeon. "Some fellows would never make soldiers if they
remained in the service a hundred years. Human nature is human nature
the world over, you know."
"I wonder if Dr. Mackey is a brave man," muttered Jack, but nobody paid
attention to this question.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11