Young Captain Jack

H >> Horatio Alger and Arthur M. Winfield >> Young Captain Jack

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It was hot work on the long ladder, and soon Jack was all but exhausted.
But he stuck to his post, knowing full well that, if he let up, the fire
would soon get the best of them. All of the boys worked like Trojans,
and the negro servants helped them as much as possible. Mrs. Ruthven
remained in the house, packing up her valuables, so as to be able to
leave, should it become necessary to do so.

[Illustration: IT WAS HOT WORK ON THE LONG LADDER AND SOON JACK WAS
ALL BUT EXHAUSTED.--_Page 173._]

"More water!" cried Jack. "The fire is eating to the center of the roof!
More water!"

"We are bringing it as fast as we can!" panted the boy below him.

"Make the servants form a line to the cistern."

"I will," answered the boy, and soon the water was coming up as rapidly
as Jack and the other lad on the roof could handle it.

At last the fire seemed to lose its force, and was extinguished at one
corner of the roof. Then all hands turned their attention to the spot
over the veranda. Here the flames had eaten under the gutter.

"We must have an ax!" exclaimed Jack, and one was quickly procured from
the woodpile.

"Hi! what are you going to do with that?" yelled St. John, as he caught
sight of the article.

"Going to chop a hole in the roof," answered our hero.

"How foolish! You'll make the fire worse."

"No, I won't--I know what I am doing, St. John."

"You shan't chop a hole in the roof," insisted the unreasonable young
man.

A cry of derision went up from half a dozen of the boys.

"Take a back seat, St. John," advised one. "You are too scared to know
what you are saying."

At this the spendthrift's face grew as red as a beet.

"Shut your tongue, Larry Wilson," he retorted. "I say you shan't chop a
hole in the roof. It will let the wind get to the flames."

"We want to get the water on the flames," replied Larry.

"And I say you shan't touch the roof with the ax!" screamed St. John. "I
command you to stop."

"All right then, we'll stop," said Larry, and Jack said the same. In a
moment more they were both on the ground, the other lads with them.

"Fo' de land sake, de house will burn up suah now!" groaned one of the
negroes.

"If it does, it will be St. John's fault," answered our hero. He was
thoroughly disgusted over the way St. John had acted.

"I'se gwine to tell de missus ob dis!" cried a second negro, and darted
away in search of Mrs. Mary Ruthven.

Soon the lady of the house came running out, with a bundle in one hand
and a box of jewelry in the other.

"What is this I hear, St. John?" she demanded.

"They want to chop in the roof, mother," he answered.

"We must make a hole, so that we can pour the water on the fire,"
explained Jack.

"Then go and make the hole," returned Mrs. Ruthven readily. "And please
be quick!"

"But, mother----" began St. John.

"St. John, they know more about putting out the fire than you do," was
the tart reply of the young man's parent. "Let them do as they wish."

"All right then," growled the unreasonable son. "But if the house burns
to the ground it will be their fault."

"It won't burn to the ground," answered Jack, and leaped up the ladder
again.

Soon our hero was chopping away at a lively rate. In the meantime the
others brought all the water possible to the scene.

When a hole was made in the roof the flames shot skyward for six or
eight feet. At this St. John uttered a loud cry, almost of exultation:

"There, what did I tell you? Now the house will be burnt to the ground
sure!"

"Lively with that water!" shouted Jack, ignoring him completely. And as
the pails and buckets came up in a stream, he dashed the contents where
they would do the most good.

It was perilous work, for the smoke rolled all around him, and more than
once he was in danger of suffocation. But the water now did much good,
and soon the flames began to go down.

"Hurrah! we have the fire under control!" shouted Larry.

It was true, and inside of quarter of an hour the last spark was put
out. Then Jack crawled to the ground, almost too weak to stand.

"Is it out?" asked Mrs. Ruthven anxiously.

"Yes," answered our hero.

"Oh, I am so glad!" and she caught Jack warmly by the hand. At heart she
was a true woman, and could appreciate what our hero had done for her.

St. John stood by in silence, hardly knowing what to say. At last he
shuffled into the house.

"The water has made an awful mess," he declared, later, to his mother.
"They needn't have drowned out the whole house like this."

"Don't say another word, St. John," answered his mother severely. "I am
thankful the fire is out, even if you are not." And then she turned away
to direct the servants in clearing away the muss that had been made.

The tide of battle had swept off in the direction of Jack's home, and
anxious to know how Marion and his foster mother were faring, our hero
soon after left Mrs. Mary Ruthven's plantation, and with him went Larry
Wilson and three others of the Guard.

From a distance came the constant cracking of rifles and the booming of
cannon.

"Let us take the short cut," suggested Jack, as he pushed across the
fields. "There can be no time to spare."

"It is hard to tell who is winning to-day," returned Larry. "At first I
thought the Yankees were in retreat."

"So did I, Larry. Well, we'll know how matters stand by night."

As they came in sight of our hero's home a Federal battery dashed into
sight, drawn by horses covered with foam. The battery was followed by a
regiment of infantry.

"Colonel Stanton's regiment!" cried Jack.

"They are in retreat!" answered Larry. "Look! our soldiers are coming
down the hill after them like mad!"

"There is Colonel Stanton on horseback," went on Jack, straining his
eyes. "What a fine figure he cuts!"

"Ba, Jack! how can you say that of a Yankee? I have half a mind to shoot
him."

As Larry spoke he raised his gun, but Jack pulled it down.

"Don't, Larry!"

"Why not? We are at war, and he is our enemy."

"I know, but----"

"But what? Are you too tender-hearted to be a real soldier?"

"It isn't that, Larry. Colonel Stanton is such a fine man----"

"Those Yankees killed Colonel Ruthven, don't forget that," went on Larry
earnestly. "We ought to bring down every one of them--if we can."

"Perhaps, but I would like to see Colonel Stanton spared--I cannot tell
why."

On swept the soldiers, and for the moment the Federals were hidden by
the smoke of gun fire. Then, as they reappeared, Jack set up a cry, half
of alarm.

"What is it?" queried Larry.

"Colonel Stanton is shot!"

"Shot? You are sure?"

"Yes. See, he has fallen over the neck of his horse and several soldiers
are running toward him. How sad! I wonder if he is dead?"

"If he is, it but serves him right, Jack."

"Perhaps; but I hope he isn't dead," answered Jack, with a peculiar look
in his anxious face. As the Federal colonel disappeared from view he
gave something of a groan, he could not tell why.

CHAPTER XXII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

The Federal battery had gained a hill behind the Ruthven plantation, and
from this point began to fire rapidly at the advancing Confederates.

Shot and shell sped over the homestead, and the inmates were,
consequently, much alarmed.

"We will do well if we escape this murderous fire," said Mrs. Alice
Ruthven to Marion.

"I wish Jack was here," answered the girl. "Where can he be keeping
himself?"

"He remained behind to protect the property in town."

The tide of battle grew fiercer, and presently, just as Marion had gone
to the kitchen to get something for the invalid soldiers, a heavy shot
passed through the sitting room of the house, tearing down the plaster
of two walls and damaging much of the furniture.

Of course all in the mansion were much alarmed. The negroes, especially,
were panic-stricken, and ran forth in all directions.

"We is gwine ter be murdered," shrieked one. "Da is gwine ter shoot us
all ter pieces!"

"Marion, are you hurt?" came from Mrs. Ruthven, who was in the front
hallway at the time.

"No, mother. Were you hit?"

"No, Marion."

"Where did the shot strike?"

"Through the sitting room, I believe."

Both ran to investigate, and in the sitting room a sight met their gaze
calculated to stun the stoutest heart.

Plaster and splinters lay in all directions, and the wounded soldiers
were crying for aid and for mercy, thinking the enemy close at hand.

Under a mass of wreckage on the floor lay George Walden, senseless, and
with the blood flowing from a wound in his temple.

"Oh, Mr. Walden is hurt, mamma!" shrieked Marion, and ran to raise him
up.

They carried the wounded soldier to another part of the house and laid
him on a fresh cot. Then, while Marion cared for him, Mrs. Ruthven went
back to aid the others. In the meantime Old Ben was instructed to hoist
the hospital flag to a higher point on the mansion.

The shot appeared to be about the last fired in that vicinity, and soon
the shooting came from a distance, as Federals and Confederates withdrew
in the direction of the mountains.

"Mother! Marion! are you safe?" It was the cry from Jack as he came up,
almost out of breath from running.

"Yes, thank Heaven, we are safe so far," answered Mrs. Ruthven. "Where
have you been--at the town?"

"No, I was over to St. John's place," answered our hero, and in a few
words told about the fire.

"We, too, have suffered," said Mrs. Ruthven. "A solid shot passed
through the sitting room."

"Did it hurt anybody?"

"One of the wounded soldiers was knocked senseless. The others were more
frightened than hurt."

"It has been a hot fight all around. And, oh, mother! what do you think?
I saw Colonel Stanton shot down!"

"Is that true, Jack?"

"Yes, I saw the whole thing as plain as day. It's too bad. He was such a
nice gentleman, even if he was a Yankee."

"You are right. Jack; he was indeed a gentleman. I felt perfectly safe
while he was in the vicinity."

It was not long before Jack went upstairs to see how Marion was faring.
He found his sister working over George Walden, trying to restore the
hurt soldier to his senses.

"He is pretty badly off," said Marion. "I wish we had a doctor."

"Where is that surgeon who was here?"

"Gone to the battlefield."

"I don't know of any doctor to get just now, Marion."

"Then we must do the best we can ourselves. And by the way, Jack, this
soldier knows Dr. Mackey."

"What?"

"Yes, and he said that Dr. Mackey is more or less of a fraud, and never
was married."

"Oh, Marion! if he could only prove that."

"He thinks he can. He told me that the doctor came from Philadelphia,
and Cousin Harry told me the same thing."

"We must follow up this man's record. I am now certain he is not my
father."

"The soldier thought that perhaps there was property coming to you, and
that Dr. Mackey wanted to get hold of it."

"I don't think he'd be above such a scheme, Marion. I never liked his
looks from the first time I met him, at the bridge."

"I know that, Jack."

There was no time to say more, for there was too much to do. Marion
continued her work around the sick rooms, and Jack went out to see how
matters were faring at the stable and the barns.

He had hardly gained the vicinity of the stable when he heard a
commotion going on within. Old Ben and two of the Home Guard boys were
having a fight with three guerrillas, who were bent upon stealing
several horses.

"Let go dem hosses!" Jack heard Old Ben cry. "Dem is private prop'ty;
don't yo' know dat?"

"Git out o' the way, nigger!" cried the leader of the guerrillas. "We
want these hosses, an' we are bound to have 'em!"

"If you touch the horses I'll fire at you!" came from one of the Home
Guard boys, but scarcely had he spoken when one of the guerrillas raised
his pistol and fired on the lad, wounding him in the shoulder.

This cowardly action made Jack's blood boil, and not stopping to think
twice, he raised the gun he carried and blazed away. His aim took the
guerrilla in the breast, and he sank down seriously, though not
mortally, wounded.

A yell went up from the other guerrillas, and they fired at random, but
did no damage to anybody but Old Ben, who was shot through the left
shoulder. Then the other boys fired, and the guerrillas who could do so
took to their heels.

"Ben, are you badly hurt?" asked Jack, when the encounter was over.

"Not wery, Massah Jack," answered the faithful old colored man, and went
to the house to bind up his wound.

In the meantime the guerrilla who had been shot lay on the floor, raving
and cursing in a frightful manner.

"Stop your swearing, or we'll do nothing for you," said Jack sharply,
and then the fellow became more reasonable. He begged to have a doctor
care for his wounds.

"We have no doctor here, but we'll care for you as best we can," said
our hero, and this was done, although the guerrilla was kept at the
stable, on a bed of straw.

At nightfall the fighting came to an end, and all became quiet around
the plantation. It had been more or less of a drawn battle, and it was
expected that the contest would be renewed at daybreak.

"Are you going to bed, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, a little after ten
o'clock.

"No, mother; I think it best that I remain on guard," he answered. "Some
of those guerrillas may come back, you know."

"But you must be tired out."

"I am; but I reckon I can stay up during the night without falling
asleep at my post," he said, smiling faintly.

"Do as you think best, Jack; you and Marion must be my mainstays now,"
and she kissed him affectionately.

Hour after hour of the night wore along and nothing of moment happened.
Jack spent the most of the time around the house, but toward daybreak
made the rounds of the stable and barns.

He found the guerrilla groaning dismally.

"Give me sum terbacker, will yer?" asked the man presently.

Not wishing to appear too unkind, Jack procured a twist of tobacco for
him, which he began to chew savagely.

"I'm in a putty bad fix, I reckon," said the guerrilla, after chewing in
silence for several minutes.

"If you are, you have only yourself to thank for it," returned Jack
coldly.

"Oh, I aint complainin', sonny. It's the fortunes o' war--as them poets
call it, I reckon."

"You might be in better business than stealing horses."

"So I might, sonny--an' then agin' I might do wuss--yes, a heap wuss. I
was gwine ter turn them hosses over to the Confed'rate government--they
need hoss-flesh."

"You were going to do nothing of the kind. You are not a soldier, you
are a common thief."

"Now, don't be hard on me, sonny. I fit on the right side, I did,"
drawled the guerrilla anxiously.

"You fought only for your own good."

"Taint so, sonny; I fit fer the glorious Stars an' Bars. Wot are ye
calkerlatin' ter do with me, sonny?"

"I don't know yet. I reckon you'll stay where you are for the present."

"That's so too--I can't move nohow. Hullo, who's thet?"

At this question Jack turned suddenly--to find himself confronted by Dr.
Mackey and two soldiers in Confederate uniform!

CHAPTER XXIII.

DR. MACKEY'S BOLD MOVE.

It must be confessed that Jack was startled, for he had not heard the
approach of the surgeon and his companions, who had come up noiselessly
and on foot.

"Hullo, you here?" asked Dr. Mackey, as he gazed at Jack in some
astonishment.

"What brings you here, Dr. Mackey?" demanded our hero.

"I am looking for the dead or wounded in this neighborhood," was the
answer. "Whom have you here?"

"A guerrilla we shot down."

"Ha! who shot him?"

"I did. He was trying to steal our horses."

"Dr. Mackey, don't you know me?" came from the guerrilla.

"Pete Gendron!" muttered the surgeon. "I never expected to see you
here."

"Nor did I calkerlate to see you, doc. But I'm mighty glad yer come. Ye
kin git me out o' this fix."

As he spoke, the guerrilla eyed Dr. Mackey sharply. On more than one
occasion he had been the doctor's tool, and now he thought it no more
than fair that the medical man should stand by him.

"Evidently you know this guerrilla," said Jack slowly.

"I do," answered the doctor slowly. He hardly knew how to proceed.

"I aint no guerrilla, an' Dr. Mackey kin prove it," cried Pete Gendron.
The coming of the medical man had raised his spirits wonderfully.

"You are a guerrilla."

"I aint. Dr. Mackey will prove my words. He's a friend o' mine. Aint ye,
doc?"

There was a peculiar emphasis to the guerrilla's words which made the
surgeon shift uneasily from one foot to the other.

"If I don't humor Gendron, he may expose me," thought the surgeon
dismally. "He knows too much to be made an enemy of."

"Is he your friend?" asked Jack.

"Not exactly my friend, Jack, but I know him pretty well," answered Dr.
Mackey slowly, as if trying to feel his way.

"I aint a guerrilla, am I?" put in Pete Gendron eagerly.

"N--no, he is not a--a guerrilla," stammered the surgeon. "There must be
some mistake."

"I want to be taken to the Confed'rate hospital," went on Pete Gendron.

"But he and his comrades were trying to steal our horses," said Jack
firmly.

"As I said before, my dear Jack, there must be some mistake," returned
the surgeon smoothly. Suddenly his face brightened. "Gendron, you made a
mistake by leaving the hospital so soon. Your fighting in to-day's
battle must have made you light-headed. You probably came here by
mistake."

The guerrilla was crafty enough to seize upon the cue thus given.

"Thet must be the size on it," he murmured. "My head has felt queer ever
since I got out in the sun. Reckon I aint accountable fer all my
actions, doc."

"He is a perfectly honest man," said Dr. Mackey to Jack. "I have seen
him fight most bravely in half a dozen battles."

Jack felt that the surgeon was falsifying, but how could he prove it?
Then he felt that there would be no use in keeping the guerrilla at the
plantation.

"Well, take him away, if you want to," he answered. "But I shall still
hold my opinion of the rascal."

"You are as insulting as ever, Jack," sneered the medical man. "I came
here, hoping to find you of a different turn of mind."

"I shall never change my mind regarding you, Dr. Mackey," was our hero's
ready reply.

"Come outside, I would like to talk to you in private."

The surgeon spoke in a whisper, and feeling there would be no harm in
listening to what he might have to say, Jack followed him into the open.

"I want to know what you intend to do about coming with me, Jack," said
the medical man, when they were out of hearing distance of the others.

"I don't intend to go with you, Dr. Mackey."

"You are hard on your father."

"Once and for the last time, let me say that I do not acknowledge you as
my father."

"Nevertheless, I am your parent, and will soon be in a position to prove
my claim."

"And when that time comes I may be in a position to prove you an
impostor, Dr. Mackey."

"What! This to me!" ejaculated the medical man, in a rage.

"Yes, that to you."

"Boy, you are--are mad--you do not know what you are saying."

"I know perfectly well what I am saying."

"Prove me an impostor?"

"Yes."

"But how can you, when I am exactly what I claim to be."

"Dr. Mackey, where were you located before the war broke out?"

"You heard my story, Jack. There is no use to repeat it."

"You came from Philadelphia."

"Ha! who told you that?"

"You were connected with a medical company there which was put out of
business by the post office authorities because of using the mails
fraudulently."

At this assertion Dr. Mackey fell back as if shot.

"Jack, I demand to know who has told you this?"

"You are a bachelor, and were never married to my mother or to any other
lady."

"I demand to know who told you this--this--string of falsehoods!" cried
the doctor, catching our hero by the arm.

"A part of the story came from Mrs. Ruthven's nephew."

"What, St. John Ruthven? I hardly know the fellow."

"No, another nephew, Dr. Harry Powell, who is now attached to the Yankee
army. He hails from Philadelphia."

"That viper!" ejaculated the medical man, then tried to check himself.
"I--er--that is, I know Powell distantly. But he is much mistaken."

"I don't think so--and neither does Mrs. Ruthven nor Marion."

"So you have been harboring a Yankee in this place, eh? A pretty
business to be in surely," sneered the surgeon.

"We could not help ourselves. But I have another witness against you."

"Another?"

"Yes, a Confederate soldier who knows you well. He can testify that you
never had either sweetheart or wife."

"Who is the man?"

"For the present I must decline to disclose his identity."

"You are trying to fool me!" stormed Dr. Mackey.

"No, I am telling you only the truth. Now I wish you to answer me a few
questions. Why are you so anxious to claim me as your son?"

"Because you are my son. Good or bad, I cannot go back upon my own flesh
and blood, as you are trying to do."

"I will never believe I am your son!" cried Jack impetuously. "Do you
know what I think? I think you are trying to get hold of me so that you
can obtain some money belonging to me."

"You--you little rascal!" cried Dr. Mackey. "How dare you talk to me in
this fashion?"

"Because I believe you are a fraud, that's why," answered our hero
defiantly.

A commingled look of rage and disappointment came into the medical man's
face, which suddenly gave place to a look of cunning.

"I will make you smart for this," he stormed, and caught Jack firmly by
both arms. "Garder! Mason! Come here!" he called loudly.

"What is wanted?" asked one of the Confederate soldiers, as both came
rushing from the stable.

"Conduct this young man to our camp, and see that he does not escape
from you."

"You shan't take me from home!" ejaculated Jack. "Let me go!"

He struggled to release himself, but the two soldiers were powerful
fellows, and soon made him their prisoner.

"You are making a mistake," puffed Jack. "Dr. Mackey is a first-class
fraud."

"Dr. Mackey is all right," put in Gendron, the guerrilla.

"He must be held," said the surgeon. "I will be responsible for this
arrest."

"At least let me see Mrs. Ruthven before I go."

"No, take him away at once," cried the surgeon quickly. "Then you can
return for Gendron."

"Where shall we take him, doctor?" asked one of the privates.

"To the old red house up the river. You know the place?"

"Yes, sir."

No more was said, and a minute later Jack found himself being conducted
across the plantation by a back way. He wanted to cry out, but one of
the soldiers leveled his gun and commanded him to keep silent.

As soon as the party of three was gone Dr. Mackey entered into earnest
conversation with Gendron, at the same time giving attention to the
guerrilla's wound.

"Very well, Pete," he said, at the conclusion. "Stick by me and I'll
stick by you."

"It's a whack," replied the wounded man.

"If anybody from the house comes here, tell them that Jack went off to
get some Confederate ambulance corps to take you away."

"I will."

A few words in addition passed between the pair, and then Dr. Mackey
left the stable.

He was anxious to have another talk with Mrs. Ruthven, but concluded
that he must postpone the interview until later.

"I reckon I have done enough for one night," he said to himself grimly.
"With that boy in my power, perhaps she and the others will sing a
different tune. Anyway, I'll not let the lad out of my grasp until he
promises to do exactly as I desire."

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE HUNT FOR JACK.

"Marion, where is Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, in the morning.

"I do not know, mamma."

"When did you see him last?"

"Just before he started for the stable last night."

Mrs. Ruthven was very much worried, and with good cause, as my readers
know. She sought out Old Ben, who had his shoulder bandaged.

"Ben, have you seen Jack?"

"No, missus, I aint."

"Is he around the stable or the barns?"

"Perhaps he is, missus. Ole Ben will go an' look, if yo' want it."

"Yes, Ben; I cannot imagine what has become of him."

Old Ben hurried off, and Mrs. Ruthven went upstairs to wait upon George
Walden, who had now developed a raging fever.

"It is very odd what has become of Jack," said the lady of the
plantation. "He never went off like this before."

It was fully half an hour before Old Ben came back. The colored man
looked much worried.

"Can't find him nowhar, missus," he said. "An' dat dar guerrilla is
gone, too."

"The man who was shot while trying to steal the horses?"

"Yes, missus."

"Then something must be wrong. Didn't you find any trace at all of
Jack?"

"Not de slightest, missus. Old Ben looked eberywhar, too--'deed I did,
missus."

"I do not doubt you, Ben. But this is terrible. Jack must be somewhere."

"Dat's so, too, missus."

"Were there any signs of violence about?" asked Marion. "Any--any blood,
for example?"

"Some blood at de stable. Miss Marion. But I rackon dat was from de
shootin' ob dat dar guerrilla."

Marion heaved a deep sigh, and Mrs. Ruthven shook her head slowly. Here
was fresh trouble, more painful than any that had gone before.

"The guerrilla couldn't go off alone, could he?" asked Marion.

"Jack said he was quite seriously wounded, Marion. Still, the rascal may
have been playing possum with Jack, and stolen off on the sly."

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