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
The repast over, Harry Powell took his leave, but promised to come
again, if possible, before leaving the vicinity. Marion saw him go with
genuine regret, and blushed painfully when, on watching him hurry down
the road, he suddenly turned and waved his hand toward her.
"Dear, good cousin Harry," she murmured. "How different from St. John!"
Two days passed and nothing of importance occurred to disturb the
Ruthven homestead. On the second day St. John called to see Marion, but
she excused herself by saying she had a headache, which was true,
although the ache was not as severe as it might have been.
As he was leaving the place St. John ran up against Jack, who had been
down to the outskirts of the Federal encampment, watching the soldiers
drill.
"Hullo, where have you been?" said the spendthrift carelessly.
"Been down watching the Yankees drill," answered Jack.
"It seems to me you take an awful interest in those dirty Yankees,"
retorted St. John, with a sneer.
"I take an interest in all soldiers."
"Then why don't you join them, and evince your interest in some
practical way?"
"I'd join our troops quick enough, if I was older. I'd be ashamed to
stay at home and suck my thumb."
Jack looked at St. John steadily as he spoke, and this threw the
spendthrift into a rage.
"Do you mean to insult me by that?" he roared.
"If the shoe fits you can wear it."
"I'll knock you down for the insult."
"I don't think you will."
"Why not?"
"Perhaps you are not able, that's why."
"Pooh! Do you think you can stand up against me?"
"Perhaps I can. Don't forget our encounter on the road."
"You took a mean advantage of me. I've a good mind to thrash you right
here."
"You may try it on if you wish, St. John," and so speaking Jack began to
throw off his coat.
"Will you take back what you said?"
"What did I say?"
"Said I was a coward for not becoming a soldier--or about the same
thing."
"I won't take back what I think is true."
"So you dare to say I am a coward?" howled the spendthrift.
"If you want it in plain words, I do dare to say it, and furthermore, it
is true, and you know it. Your plea that you must remain at home is all
a sham. When the Yankees came this way you were all ready to run for
your life at the first sign of real danger. You never thought of your
mother at all."
"Ha! who told you that?"
"Never mind; I found it out, and that's enough."
"I--I was suffering from an extremely severe toothache, and hardly knew
what I was doing that day."
"I don't believe it."
"You young rascal! you are growing more impudent every day."
"I am not a rascal."
"You are, and an upstart in the bargain. I heard at the village that
some Confederate surgeon claims you as his son. Is that true?"
"If it is, it is his business and mine."
"Well, if you are his son, why don't you get out of here?"
"I shall not go as long as Mrs. Ruthven wishes me to remain."
"Does she want you to stay?"
"Yes."
"And Marion wants you to?"
"Yes."
"It is strange. But if I were you I wouldn't stay where I had no right
to stay," went on St. John insinuatingly.
"But I have a right here."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. The late Colonel Ruthven adopted me, and I am his son by law."
"Bah! That will count for nothing if this Confederate surgeon can prove
you belong to him."
"Well, he'll have to prove it first."
"Of course you won't get out of this nest until you are pushed out,"
blustered St. John. "It's too much of a soft thing for you. You ought to
be made to earn your own living."
This remark made Jack's face grow crimson, and, striding up to St. John,
he clenched his fists, at which the young man promptly retreated.
"I am perfectly willing to work whenever called upon to do so," said our
hero. "But it is not for you to say what I shall do, remember that. I
know why you wish to get me out of here."
"Do you, indeed!"
"I do, indeed, St. John Ruthven. You want to get hold of some of Mrs.
Ruthven's property. If I was out of the way, you think she might leave
it all to Marion and to you."
"Well, I have more of a right to it than you, if it comes to that."
"But Marion has the best right, and I hope every dollar of it goes to
her."
"Well, that aint here or there. Are you going with your father or not?"
"He must prove that he is my father first."
"You won't take his word?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I do not like the man," and our hero's face filled with sudden
bitterness. What if Dr. Mackey should prove to be his parent, after all?
How St. John would rejoice in his discomfiture!
"I suppose this Dr. Mackey is a very common sort of man," continued the
spendthrift, in an endeavor to add to our hero's misery.
"What do you know about him?"
"Nothing but what I heard at the village."
"Is he down there now?"
"Of course not. He went with our troops."
Jack drew a sigh of relief. It was likely that the doctor would not show
himself in the neighborhood for some time to come, probably not until
the Federal troops had departed.
"I am going to talk to my aunt of this," said St. John suddenly, and,
without another word to Jack, turned his steps toward the plantation
home.
CHAPTER XIX.
A SUMMONS FROM THE FRONT.
St. John found his aunt too busy to spend much time talking about Jack's
past and Dr. Mackey's claim, and it was not long before he took his
departure, feeling that he had gained nothing by this new attack upon
our hero's welfare.
"I wish I could get him out of the way," he muttered, as he walked
homeward, by a side road, so as to steer clear of the Federal troops.
"If only he would join the army, and get shot down."
He entered his home filled with thoughts of Jack and Marion, but all
these thoughts were driven to the winds after he had read a
communication which had been left for him during his absence.
The communication was one from a well-known Southern leader of the
neighborhood, and ran, in part, as follows:
"Many of us think it time to call upon you to take up arms as we
have done. With our noble country suffering from the invasion of the
enemy, every loyal Southerner is needed at the front. Join our ranks
ere it be too late. The muster roll can be signed at Wingate's
Hotel, any time to-day or to-night. Do not delay."
As St. John read this communication his face grew ashen. "Called upon to
join at last!" he muttered. "What shall I do now? What excuse can I
offer for hanging back?"
"What is in your letter, St. John?" asked his mother.
"They want me to join the army--they say every man is needed," he
answered, with half a groan.
"To join? When?"
"At once."
"What shall you do?"
"I--I don't know." His legs began to tremble, and he sank heavily on a
chair. "I--I am too sick to join the army, mother," he went on, half
pleadingly.
Now Mrs. Ruthven did not care to have him leave her, yet she was but
human, and it filled her with disgust to have her only offspring such a
coward.
"You weren't very sick this morning."
"I know that. But the sun has affected my head. I feel very faint."
"If you don't join the ranks, all of our neighbors will put you down as
a coward, St. John."
"They can't want a sick man along," he whined.
"They will say you are shamming."
"But I am not shamming. I feel bad enough to take to my bed this
minute."
"Then you had better do it," answered Mrs. Ruthven, with, however, but
little sympathy in her voice.
"I will go to bed at once."
"You must not forget that your cousin, Harry Powell, is in the army."
"Yes, on the Yankee side."
"Still he is brave enough to go. Marion may think a good deal of him on
that account."
"Well, I would go, for Marion's sake, if I felt at all well," groaned
St. John. "But I am in for a regular spell of sickness, I feel certain
of it."
"Then go to bed."
"Write Colonel Raymond a note stating that I am in bed, and tell him I
would join the ranks if I possibly could," groaned St. John, and then
dragged himself upstairs and retired. Here he called for a negro servant
and had a man go for a doctor.
Much disgusted, Mrs. Mary Ruthven penned the note, and sent it to town,
shielding her son's true character as much as possible.
For the remainder of the day St. John stayed in bed, and whenever a
servant came into his room he would groan dismally.
When the doctor arrived he was alarmed, until he made an examination.
"He is shamming," thought the family physician. But as the Ruthvens were
among his best customers, he said nothing on this point. He left St.
John some soothing medicine and a tonic, and said he would call again
the next day.
Instead of using the medicine, the young spendthrift threw it out of the
window.
"Don't catch me swallowing that stuff," he chuckled to himself. "I am
not altogether such a fool."
Several days passed, and nothing of importance happened to disturb those
at either of the Ruthven plantations.
But a surprise was in store for Jack and those with whom he lived.
One of the wounded soldiers stopping at Mrs. Alice Ruthven's home was
named George Walden. The poor fellow had been shot in the shoulder, a
painful as well as a dangerous wound.
For several days he lay speechless, and during that time the Confederate
surgeon and Mrs. Ruthven, as well as Marion, did all they could to ease
his suffering.
One day George Walden began to speak to Marion.
"You are very good to me," he said. "You are in reality an angel of
mercy."
"I am glad to be able to help you, and thus help the Southern cause,"
replied Marion. "But you must not speak too much. It may retard your
recovery."
"I will not talk much. But you are so kind I must thank you. What is
your name?"
"Marion Ruthven."
Then he told her his own, and said he had a sister at home, in Savannah,
Ga., and asked Marion to write a letter for him, which she did
willingly.
After that Marion and George Walden became quite intimate, and the
soldier told much about himself and the battles through which he had
passed.
"Some of them are nothing but nightmares," he said. "I never wish to see
the like of them again."
"And yet you saw only the fighting, I presume," said Marion. "Think of
what those in the hospital corps must behold."
"I was attached to the hospital corps," returned George Walden. "I have
helped to carry in hundreds who were wounded."
"If you were in the hospital service, did you ever meet a doctor named
Mackey?" questioned Marion, with increased interest.
At this question the brow of the wounded soldier darkened, and he
shifted uneasily upon his couch.
"Yes, I know Dr. Mackey well," he said, at last.
"You do!" cried the girl. "And what do you know of him? I would like to
know very much."
"Is he your friend?" asked George Walden cautiously.
"No, I cannot say that he is."
"Because, if he is your friend, I would rather not say anything further,
Miss Ruthven. I do not wish to hurt your feelings."
"Which means that what you have to say would be of no credit to Dr.
Mackey?"
"Exactly."
"I would like to know all about him. I will tell you why. You have
noticed Jack, my brother?"
"The lad who helped move me yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Of course--a fine young fellow."
"He is not my real brother. My parents adopted him about ten years ago."
"Indeed."
"Some time ago Dr. Mackey turned up here and claimed Jack as his son."
"Impossible! Why, Dr. Mackey is a bachelor!"
"You are sure of this? He says he was married to Jack's mother, who was
shipwrecked on our shore, and who died at this house a few days later."
"I have heard Dr. Mackey declare several times that he was heart-free,
that he had never cared for any woman, and consequently had never
married."
At this declaration Marion's face lit up.
"I knew it! I knew it!" she cried. "I must tell mamma and Jack at once!"
"Dr. Mackey is a fraud," went on the wounded soldier. "To the best of my
knowledge, he comes from Philadelphia, where he used to run a mail-order
medical bureau of some sort--something which the Post-office Department
stopped as a swindle."
"My cousin thought he came from Philadelphia," said Marion. "But wait
until I call my mother and Jack."
Marion ran off without delay, but failed to find either Mrs. Ruthven or
our hero, both having gone to town to purchase something at Mr.
Blackwood's store.
"Da will be back afore supper time, Miss Marion," said one of the
servants, and with this she had to be content.
"My folks have gone away," she said to George Walden. "As soon as they
come back I will bring them to you. I hope you can prove your words."
"I am sure I can prove them," answered the wounded soldier.
"Jack does not like this Dr. Mackey in the least, and the idea of being
compelled to recognize the man as his father is very repulsive to him."
"I don't blame the boy. For myself, I hate the doctor--he is so rough to
the wounded placed in his care. He treated one of my chums worse than a
dog, and I came pretty close to having it out with him in consequence."
"He doesn't look like a very tender-hearted man."
"He doesn't know what tenderness is, Miss Ruthven. I would pity your
brother if he had to place himself under Dr. Mackey's care."
"We won't give Jack up unless the courts make us. My mother is firm on
that point."
"But why does he want the boy?"
"That is the mystery--if Jack is not really his son."
"Perhaps there is a fortune coming to your brother, and the doctor wants
to secure it. A man like Dr. Mackey wouldn't do a thing of this sort
without an object. I can tell you one thing--the fellow worships money."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because I know that a wounded soldier once told him to be careful and
he would give him all the money he had--twelve dollars. The doctor was
careful, and took every dollar that was offered."
"But had he a right to take the soldier's money?" asked Marion
indignantly.
"Not exactly, but in war times many queer things happen that are never
told of at headquarters," answered George Walden.
Here the conversation ceased, for the soldier was quite exhausted. Soon
Marion gave him a quieting draught, and then George Walden slept.
CHAPTER XX.
THE STORM OF BATTLE AGAIN.
As related in the last chapter, Mrs. Ruthven and Jack had gone to
Oldville to do some necessary trading.
Arriving at the town, they found all in high excitement. The stores were
closed, and only the tavern was open, and here were congregated a number
of men who had but lately joined the Confederate ranks.
"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Ruthven of one of the men.
"Another battle is on," was the answer. "We are going to drive the Yanks
out of this neighborhood."
"Another battle!" cried Jack. "Where?"
"They are fighting over near Larson's Corners. Can't you hear the
shooting?"
"I can hear it now--I didn't hear it before."
"Do you think they will come this way?" questioned Mrs. Ruthven
anxiously.
"Aint no telling how matters will turn," answered the man addressed, and
then hurried off to join the other newly enlisted soldiers. Soon the
soldiers were leaving the town on the double-quick.
Jack watched the departure of the men with interest, and then espied
Darcy Gilbert running toward him.
"Hi, Darcy!" he called out. "Where bound?"
"Jack! Just the one I wanted to meet. There's a fight on."
"So I hear. I reckon we had better call out the Home Guard again."
"By all means. The stores want protection, and so do the homesteads,"
went on Darcy. "Shall I go down the shore road and call up the boys?"
"Yes, and I'll take the Batsford road. If you see Doc Nivers tell him to
call up the boys on the mountain road, will you?"
"Yes. What of those at Brackett's plantation?"
"I'll send Hackett or Purroy after them," answered Jack.
The two lads separated, and Jack turned to his foster mother.
"Mother, you heard what was said," he began. "You don't object, do you?"
"No, Jack; do your duty, as a brave boy should. But be careful--I cannot
afford to lose you!" and she wiped away the tears which gathered in her
eyes.
"You will return home?"
"At once."
"If I were you I'd place Old Ben on guard at the plantation. I don't
believe anybody will harm the place, now it is flying a hospital flag.
Certainly the troops under Colonel Stanton won't trouble us."
"No; he is a gentleman, and I know I can trust him. Dear Harry! I wish
he was not with the Yankee army."
"Well, he is fighting according to the dictates of his conscience, so
there is no use in finding fault."
Mrs. Ruthven kissed Jack tenderly and hurried off, and then with all
speed our hero set to work to summon together the lads composing the
Home Guard.
The task was not difficult, for the firing in the distance--which was
gradually coming closer--had aroused everybody. In less than an hour the
Home Guard was out in force on the town green, with Jack in command.
"Boys, we may have some hot work to do," said the young captain. "I
expect everybody to do his best. I trust there is no coward among us."
"Not a bit of it!" came back in a shout.
"We aint no St. John Ruthvens," whispered one of the young soldiers, but
loud enough for a dozen or more to hear.
"That's so," answered another. And then he continued, "What a difference
between our Jack and his cowardly cousin!"
"We are here to defend property more than to take part in any battle,"
said Jack. "Do not let the guerrillas steal, no matter what side they
pretend to be on. A thief is a thief, whether he says he is a
Confederate or a Yankee."
"That's right!" shouted the old storekeeper, who stood by.
A little while later the firing came closer, and presently up the road a
cloud of dust was seen.
"The Yanks are coming!" was the cry, as a horseman dashed up.
"Coming?" repeated several.
"Yes, they are in retreat!"
A wild shout went up--cut short by the sudden belching forth of cannon
on the mountain side above the town. A little later some Federal troops
swept into view.
"They are coming! Get out of the way!"
Soon the soldiers filled the road and the whole of the green. They had
been fighting hard and were almost exhausted. Others followed until the
streets of the old town were crowded. Then began a systematic retreat
northward.
"We've got the Yanks on the run!" was the cry. "Give it to 'em, boys!"
The rattle of musketry was incessant, and ever and anon came the dull
booming of cannon. Soon more Federal troops appeared, and those who had
come first moved toward the mountain road.
It was a thrilling scene, and Jack longed to take part. But he realized
that just now there was nothing for the Home Guard to do. Had they
opened fire, the Federal troops would have annihilated them. Nobody
molested the stores or town buildings, although the church was hit by
several cannon balls. Gradually the fighting shifted to the mountain
side, and then in the direction of the Ruthven plantations.
"They are moving toward St. John's place," remarked Jack, some time
later, to Darcy. "We ought to go over to see that no damage is done
there."
"St. John ought to take care of the place himself," grumbled Darcy. "He
won't join the army or the Home Guard. What does he expect?"
Several sided with Darcy, but Jack shook his head. "I am going over. I
would like eight or ten to go with me. The others had better remain
around town." And so it was arranged.
The coming of the Federalists to the plantation owned by Mrs. Mary
Ruthven filled St. John with supreme terror. Hearing the firing, the
young man got up and dressed himself. He was just finishing when his
mother appeared.
"St. John, Pompey says the Yankees are coming!" said the mother. "You
must arm yourself and try to defend our home."
"The Yan--Yankees!" he said, with chattering teeth. "How--how near are
they?"
"They have passed through the town and are all over the mountain side.
Come, do not delay. I have given Pompey a gun and old Louis a pistol.
Arm yourself and take charge of them. If we do not protect ourselves, we
may all be killed."
Shaking so that he could scarcely walk, St. John went below and into the
library, where hung a rifle over the chimney piece and also a brace of
swords. He got down the rifle and loaded it. Then he strapped the larger
of the swords around his waist.
"Now you look quite like a soldier," said his mother encouragingly. "I
hope you can shoot straight."
"I--I don't want to kill--kill anybody," he answered. "If I do, the
Yankees will be very--very vindictive."
"But you must protect our home!" insisted Mrs. Mary Ruthven. "Come,
brace up!"
Still trembling, and with a face as white as chalk, St. John walked to
the veranda of the homestead. He gazed down the road and saw a body of
soldiers approaching, in a cloud of dust and smoke. Then a cannon boomed
out, and a ball hit the corner of the house, sending a shower of
splinters in all directions.
"They have struck the house!" shrieked Mrs. Ruthven. "We shall all be
murdered!"
"Spare us! spare us!" gasped St. John, as a company of soldiers came up
to the mansion on the double-quick. "We have harmed nobody! Spare us!"
"You big calf!" cried one of the soldiers. "We aint going to hurt you.
Git up from yer knees!" For St. John had indeed fallen upon his knees in
his abject terror.
"Who--who are you?"
"We are Confederates--if you'll only open yer eyes to see. Git up!" And
in disgust the Southern soldier pricked St. John's shoulder with his
bayonet. The spendthrift let out a yell of fear, rolled over, and dashed
into the house, leaving his gun behind him.
"St. John, where are you going?" cried his mother, coming after him.
"Oh, mother, we are lost!" he wailed.
"No, we are not. Go out again, and pick up your gun."
"I--I cannot! They will--will shoot me!" he shivered.
"But they are our own men, St. John. You are perfectly safe with them."
But he would not go, and she left him in the hallway, where he had sunk
down on a bench. In one way he was to be pitied, for his fear was beyond
his control.
Soon the Confederates left the plantation and the Federalists burst into
view. The cannon continued to boom forth, and presently came a cry from
the rear of the mansion:
"Fire! fire! The house is on fire!"
The report was true, and as the soldiers left the place up went a large
cloud of smoke, followed by the bursting out of flames in several
directions. Such was the state of affairs when Jack and his followers
reached the roadway in front of the plantation.
"The house is on fire!" ejaculated the young captain. "Come, we must put
out the flames."
"But the enemy----" began one of the other boys.
"The Yankees are making for the mountain road and our troops are to the
westward. I don't believe either will come this way again. Hurry up, or
it will be too late!"
Jack ran up to the house with all speed, to meet Mrs. Mary Ruthven on
the veranda.
"The house--it is doomed!" wailed the lady of the plantation.
"Get us all the pails and buckets you have," answered Jack. "And have
you a ladder handy?"
"There is a ladder in the stable, Jack. Oh, will you help put it out?"
"We'll do our best. Is St. John at home?"
"Yes," and so speaking, Mrs. Mary Ruthven ran off to arouse her son.
"You must help," she said. "Quick, or we will be homeless."
"But the--the Yankees?" he asked.
"Are gone." She clasped her hands entreatingly. "Oh, St. John, do be a
man for once!"
"A man? What do you mean, mother?" he cried, leaping up as soon as he
heard that the enemy was gone. "I am not afraid. I--I had a sudden
attack of pain around my--my heart, that's all."
"Then, if it is over, save the house," she answered coldly, and ran off
to tell the servants about the pails and buckets.
CHAPTER XXI.
A LIVELY FIRE.
In the meantime Jack and several others of the Home Guard had made their
way to the barn and brought forth two ladders, a short affair and one
which was both long and heavy.
"The short one can be placed on the veranda roof," said the young
captain. "The other we can place against the corner, where the fire is
burning the strongest."
"Somebody must have gone into the garret to set that fire," said another
of the boys. "Where are the water buckets?"
"Here da am, sah," replied one of the negro servants, and handed them
over.
"Somebody must keep at the well," said Jack. "Pompey, you know how to
use the buckets best. You draw for us."
"Yes, Massah Jack."
"We'll form a line to the cistern, too," went on our hero. "Now then,
work lively!"
The boys ran to the places assigned to them, and aided by the colored
servants placed the ladders as desired. Soon water was being passed up
and dashed upon the burning roof with all possible speed. But the fire
was a lively one, and the breeze which was blowing helped it to spread.
"What can I do?" asked St. John, as he stood by, rubbing his hands
nervously.
"Go down to the stable and the barns and put out the sparks blowing that
way," said Jack.
"Don't you want me here?"
"Yes, if you'll go up to the top of the ladder," answered our hero,
knowing full well St. John would do nothing of the sort.
"I--I never could climb a ladder," faltered the young man, and turned
toward the stable, where he spent his time in putting out the flying
sparks, as Jack had suggested.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11