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YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK
Or
The Son of a Soldier
by
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Author of "Out for Business," "Falling in with Fortune," "Adrift in New
York," "Tattered Tom," "Ragged Dick," Etc.
Completed by
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
Author of "The Rover Boys Series," Etc.
[Illustration: "OUT OF MY WAY, BOY!" AND NOW THE GUERRILLA RAISED
HIS OWN SWORD.--_Frontispiece._]
New York
The Mershon Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1901,
by
The Mershon Company.
All rights reserved.
PREFACE.
"YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK" relates the adventures of a boy waif, who is cast
upon the Atlantic shore of one of our Southern States and taken into one
of the leading families of the locality. The youth grows up as a member
of the family, knowing little or nothing of his past. This is at the
time of the Civil War, when the locality is in constant agitation,
fearing that a battle will be fought in the immediate vicinity. During
this time there appears upon the scene a Confederate surgeon who, for
reasons of his own, claims Jack as his son. The youth has had trouble
with this man and despises him. He cannot make himself believe that the
surgeon is his parent and he refuses to leave his foster mother, who
thinks the world of him. Many complications arise, but in the end the
truth concerning the youth's identity is uncovered, and all ends happily
for the young son of a soldier.
In its original shape Mr. Alger intended this tale of a soldier's son
for a juvenile drama, and it is, therefore, full of dramatic situations.
But it was not used as a play, and when the gifted author of so many
boys' books had laid aside his pen forever the manuscript was placed in
the hands of the present writer, to be made over into such a book as
would evidently have met with the noted author's approval. The success
of other books by Mr. Alger, and finished by the present writer, has
been such that my one wish is that this story may meet with equal
commendation.
Arthur M. Winfield.
_February 16, 1901._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ENCOUNTER ON THE BRIDGE, 1
II. DARCY GILBERT'S STORY, 9
III. A MYSTERY OF THE PAST, 16
IV. ON BOARD THE WRECK, 23
V. OLD BEN HAS A VISITOR, 30
VI. MRS. RUTHVEN'S STORY, 38
VII. A SETBACK FOR ST. JOHN, 47
VIII. THE HOME GUARDS OF OLDVILLE, 54
IX. DR. MACKEY INVESTIGATES, 63
X. THE PAPERS ON THE WRECK, 71
XI. MRS. RUTHVEN SPEAKS HER MIND, 78
XII. THE BOAT RACE ON THE BAY, 86
XIII. DR. MACKEY TELLS HIS STORY, 95
XIV. JACK SPEAKS HIS MIND, 105
XV. CAPTAIN JACK AT THE FRONT, 114
XVI. COLONEL STANTON'S VISIT, 125
XVII. A SCENE IN THE SUMMERHOUSE, 134
XVIII. MEETING OF THE COUSINS, 143
XIX. A SUMMONS FROM THE FRONT, 154
XX. THE STORM OF BATTLE AGAIN, 163
XXI. A LIVELY FIRE, 172
XXII. AFTER THE BATTLE, 180
XXIII. DR. MACKEY'S BOLD MOVE, 188
XXIV. THE HUNT FOR JACK, 197
XXV. A REMARKABLE REVELATION, 204
XXVI. DR. MACKEY SHOWS HIS HAND, 212
XXVII. COLONEL STANTON'S TALE, 220
XXVIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE GUERRILLAS, 228
XXIX. THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE, 235
XXX. BROUGHT TO BAY, 243
XXXI. FATHER AND SON--CONCLUSION, 252
YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK.
CHAPTER I.
THE ENCOUNTER ON THE BRIDGE.
"Get out of the way, boy, or I'll ride over you!"
"Wait a second, please, until I haul in this fish. He's such a beauty I
don't wish to lose him."
"Do you suppose I'm going to bother with your fish? Get out of the way,
I say!" And the man, who sat astride of a coal-black horse, shook his
hand threateningly. He was dressed in the uniform of a surgeon in the
Confederate Army, and his face was dark and crafty.
The boy, who was but fourteen and rather slenderly built, looked up in
surprise. He was seated on the side of a narrow bridge spanning a
mountain stream flowing into the ocean, and near him rested a basket
half-filled with fish. He had been on the point of hauling in another
fish--of extra size--but now his prize gave a sudden flip and
disappeared from view.
"Gone! and you made me miss him!" he cried, much vexed.
"Shut up about your fish and get out of the way!" stormed the man on the
horse. "Am I to be held up here all day by a mere boy?"
"Excuse me, but I have as much right on this bridge as you," answered
the boy, looking the man straight in the eyes.
"Have you indeed?"
"I have."
"Perhaps you think yourself of just as much importance as a surgeon in
the army, on an important mission."
"I didn't say that. I said I had just as much right on this bridge as
you. It's a public bridge."
"Bah! get out of the way and let me pass. I've wasted time enough on
you." The man tugged nervously at his heavy mustache. "Which is the way
to Tanner's Mill?"
To this the youth made no reply. Gathering up his fishing rod and his
basket, he stepped to the river bank and prepared to make another cast
into the water.
"I say, tell me the way to Tanner's Mill," repeated the man.
"I reckon you had better go elsewhere for your information," returned
the boy quietly, but with a faint smile playing over his handsome,
sunburned face.
"What, you young rascal, you won't tell me?" stormed the man.
"No, I won't. And I beg to let you know I am no rascal."
"You are a rascal," was the snappy reply. "Answer my question, or it
will be the worse for you," and now the man leaped to the ground and
advanced with clenched fists. Possibly he thought the youth would
retreat; if so, he was mistaken.
"Don't you dare to touch me, sir. I am not your slave."
"You'll answer my question."
"I will not."
"Why not?"
"Because you haven't treated me decently; that's why."
"You hold a mighty big opinion of yourself."
"If I do, that's my own business."
"Perhaps you are a Northern mudsill."
"No, I am just as loyal to the South as you or anybody."
"I wouldn't care to take your word on that point, youngster. I am on an
important mission, and if you sympathize with our South in this great
war you'll direct me to the short way to Tanner's Mill."
"Do they expect a fight at Tanner's Mill?"
"Don't bother me with questions. Show me the road, and I'll be off."
"Keep to the right and you'll be right," answered the youth, after a
pause, and then he resumed his fishing.
The man scowled darkly as he leaped again into the saddle. "How I would
love to warm you--if I had time," he muttered, then put spurs to his
steed and galloped off.
"So he is going to Tanner's Mill," mused the boy, when left alone. "If
they have a fight there it will be getting pretty close to home. I don't
believe mother will like that."
As will be surmised from the scene just described, Jack Ruthven was a
manly, self-reliant boy, not easily intimidated by those who would
browbeat him.
He lived in a large mansion, set back some distance from the river, upon
what was considered at that time one of the richest plantations in South
Carolina.
Mrs. Ruthven was a widow, having lost her husband, Colonel Martin
Ruthven, at the bloody battle of Gettysburg. She had one daughter,
Marion, a beautiful young lady of seventeen. Marion and Jack thought the
world of each other and were all but inseparable.
The sudden taking-off of the colonel had proved a great shock both to
the children and to Mrs. Ruthven, and for a long time the lady of the
house had lain on a bed of sickness, in consequence.
She was now around, but still weak and pale. Her one consolation was the
children, and she clung to them closer than ever.
On several occasions Jack had spoken of enlisting as a drummer boy, but
Mrs. Ruthven would not listen to it.
"No, no, Jack! I cannot spare you!" had been her words. "One gone out of
the family is enough."
And Marion, too, had clung to him, so that going away became almost an
impossibility, although he longed for the glories of a soldier's life,
with never a thought of all the hardships and sufferings such a life
entails.
The meeting with the Confederate surgeon had filled Jack's head once
more with visions of army life, and as he continued to fish he forgot
all about the unpleasant encounter, although he remembered that
repulsive face well. He was destined to meet the surgeon again, and
under most disagreeable circumstances.
"I wish mother would let me join the army," he thought, after hauling in
another fish. "I am sure our regiments need all the men they can get.
Somehow, we seem to be getting the worst of the fighting lately. I
wonder what would happen if the South should be beaten in this
struggle?"
Ten minutes passed, when a merry whistle was heard on the road and
another boy appeared, of about Jack's age.
"Hullo, Darcy!" cried Jack. "Come to help me fish?"
"I didn't know you were fishing," answered Darcy Gilbert, a youth who
lived on the plantation next to Jack. "Are you having good luck?"
"First-rate. I was getting ready to go home, but now you have come I'll
stay a while longer."
"Do, Jack; I hate to fish alone. But I say, Jack----" And then Darcy
broke off short.
"What were you going to say?"
"Oh, nothing!"
There was a minute of silence, during which Darcy baited his hook and
threw it in.
"You look as if you had something on your mind. Darcy," went on Jack,
after his friend had brought in a fine haul apparently without
appreciating the sport. "Did you meet a Confederate surgeon on the
road?"
"No, I came across the plantation. What of him?"
"He came this way, and we got into a regular row because I wouldn't
clear right out and give him the whole of the bridge."
"He didn't hit you, did he?"
"Not much! If he had I would have pitched into him, I can tell you, big
as he was!" And Jack's eyes flashed in a way that proved he meant what
he said.
"No, I didn't meet him, but I met St. John Ruthven, your cousin. Jack,
do you know that that young man is a regular bully, even if he is a
dandy?"
"Yes, I know it, Darcy."
"And he is down on you."
"I know that too. But why he dislikes me I don't know, excepting that I
don't like to see him paying his addresses to my sister Marion. Marion
is too good for such a man."
"Is he paying his addresses to her?"
"Well, he is with her every chance he can get."
"Does Marion like him?"
"Oh! I reckon she does in a way. He is always so nice to her--much nicer
than he has ever been to me."
"Has he ever spoken to you about yourself?" went on Darcy Gilbert, with
a peculiar look at Jack.
"Oh, yes! often."
"I mean about--well, about your past?" went on Darcy, with some
confusion.
"My past, Darcy? What is wrong about my past?"
"Nothing, I hope. But I didn't like what St. John Ruthven said about
you."
"But what did he say?"
"I don't know as I ought to tell you. I didn't believe him."
"But I want to know what he did say?" demanded Jack, throwing down his
fishing pole and coming up close to his friend.
"Well, if you must know, Jack, he said you were a nobody, that you
didn't belong to the Ruthven family at all, and that you would have to
go away some day," was the answer, which filled Jack with consternation.
CHAPTER II.
DARCY GILBERT'S STORY.
"He said I didn't belong to the Ruthven family?" said Jack slowly, when
he felt able to speak.
"He did, and I told him I didn't believe him."
"But--but--I don't understand you, Darcy. Am I not Jack Ruthven, the son
of the late Colonel Martin Ruthven?"
"He says not."
"What! Does he mean to say that my mother isn't my mother at all?"
ejaculated Jack, with wide-open eyes.
"That's it exactly, and he added that Marion wasn't your sister."
"I'll--I'll punch his head for that!" was the quick return.
"I felt like doing that, too, Jack, even though he is so much older than
either of us. I told him he was a mean fellow and that I wouldn't
believe him under oath."
"But how did it all come about?"
"Oh, it started at the boathouse back of Old Ben's place. He wanted to
bully me, and I told him I wouldn't let him lord it over me any more
than you let him bully you. That got him started, for it seems he was
sore over the fact that you took Marion out for a boatride one afternoon
when he wanted her to go along with him on horseback. One word brought
on another, and at last he said he reckoned you would have to clear out
some day--that you were only a low upstart anyway, with no real claim on
the Ruthvens."
"He said that, did he?" Jack drew a long breath and set his teeth hard.
"Did he try to prove his words?"
"I didn't give him a chance. I was so upset I merely told him I didn't
believe him, and came away."
"And where did he go?"
"He started off toward town."
"When he comes back I'm going to find out the truth of this matter."
"I don't believe his story, Jack, and I wouldn't worry myself about it."
"But supposing it were true, Darcy--that I was a--a--nobody, as he
says?"
"I should think just as much of you," answered the other lad quickly.
"Thank you for that."
"St. John always talks too much--don't mind him."
"But I shall. If he tells the truth I want to know it--and, if not, I
shall take steps to make him take back the stories he is circulating."
"It's a wonder he hasn't gone to the war. Why doesn't he enlist, like
the rest of the young men in this neighborhood?"
"He says he must stay with his mother. But the real reason is, I think,
that he is a coward."
"Perhaps you are right. I remember once, when there was a cry of mad dog
in the town, he hid in a warehouse and was almost scared to death."
"Yes, I remember that, and I remember, too, when Big Bill, the slave,
ran away and threatened to kill the first white man he met, St. John hid
in the mansion and didn't come outside the door for a week."
"Such a coward wouldn't be above circulating falsehoods."
"I wish I knew just where to find him. I would have it out with him in
short order," concluded Jack.
The youth was in no humor for further fishing and soon wound up his line
and started for home.
As he passed along over the plantation road his thoughts were busy.
Could there be any truth in what St. John Ruthven had said? Was he
really a nobody, with no claim upon the lady he called mother and the
girl he looked upon as his sister? A chill passed down his backbone,
and, as he came in sight of the stately old mansion that he called home,
he paused to wipe the cold perspiration from his forehead.
"I will go to mother and ask her the truth," he told himself. "I can't
wait to find out in any other way." Yet the thought of facing that
kind-hearted lady was not a pleasant one. How should he begin to tell
her of what was in his mind?
"Is my mother in?" he asked of the maid whom he met in the hallway.
"No, Massah Jack, she dun went to town," was the answer of the colored
girl.
"Did she say when she would be back?"
"No, sah."
"Do you know if my sister is around?"
"She dun gone off not five minutes ago, Massah Jack."
"Where to?"
"I heard her say she was gwine down to Ole Ben's boathouse. I 'spect she
dun t'ought yo' was dar."
Jack said no more, but giving the colored girl the fish, to take around
to the cook, he ran upstairs, washed and brushed up, and sallied forth
to find Marion.
The boathouse which had been mentioned was an old affair, standing upon
the shore of a wide bay overlooking the Atlantic ocean. It belonged to a
colored man called "Old Ben," a fellow who had once been a slave on the
Ruthven plantation.
As Jack approached it he saw Marion sitting on a bench in the shade,
with a book in her lap. Instead of reading, however, the girl was gazing
out to sea in a meditative way.
"Marion, I was looking for you."
"Oh, Jack! is that you? I thought you had gone fishing for the day."
"I just got home, after catching a pretty good mess. Want to go rowing
with me?"
"Yes, I'd like that very much. I was wishing you or Old Ben would come."
"Or, perhaps, St. John?" said Jack inquiringly.
"No; I didn't wish for him, you tease."
"I am glad of it, Marion. I don't want you to give me up for St. John."
"I do not intend to, Jack. But why are you looking so serious. Have you
anything on your mind? I never saw you look so thoughtful before."
"Yes, I have a lot on my mind, Marion. Come, I'll tell you when we are
out on the bay."
A rowboat was handy and oars were in the rack in the boathouse, and soon
the pair were out on the water. Although but a boy, Jack took to the
water naturally and handled the oars as skillfully as the average
sailor.
When they were about halfway across the bay he ceased rowing and looked
earnestly at the girl before him.
"Marion, I want to find out--that is, I've got some questions to ask,"
he blurted out. "I don't know how to go at it."
"Why, what in the world is the matter, Jack? You were red a moment ago.
Now you are as pale as a sheet."
"I want to know about something awfully important."
"I'm sure I cannot imagine what it is."
"Marion, aren't we real sister and brother?"
The question was out at last, and as he asked it his eyes dropped, for
he had not the courage to look into her face. He felt her start and give
a shiver.
"Oh, Jack! what put that in your head," she said slowly.
"Never mind that. Tell me, are we real sister and brother or not?"
"Jack, we are not."
"Oh, Marion!" The words almost choked him, and for the moment he could
say no more.
"We are not real sister and brother, Jack, but to me you will always be
as a real brother," and Marion caught his hand and held it tightly.
"And--and mother isn't my--my real mother?" he faltered.
"No, Jack; she is only your foster mother. But she thinks just as much
of you as if you were her real son. She has told me that over and over
again."
"You are sure of this?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Sure I am a--a nobody." His voice sunk to a mere whisper.
"Yon are not a nobody, Jack. When you were a mere boy of three or four
my father and mother adopted you, and you are now John Ruthven, my own
brother," and she gave his brown hand another tight squeeze.
He was too confused and bewildered to answer at once. The dreadful news
was true, he was not really a Ruthven. He was a nobody--no, he must be
_somebody_. But who was he?
CHAPTER III.
A MYSTERY OF THE PAST.
"I do not know that I have done just right by telling you this," went on
Marion. "Mother may not approve of it."
"I am glad you told me. I was bound to find out about it, sooner or
later."
"That is true, Jack. But both mother and I dreaded that time. We were
afraid you might turn from us. And we both love you so much!"
"It is kind of you to say that, Marion." Jack's face flushed. "You
couldn't be nicer if you were my real sister."
"And mother loves you so much."
"I know that, too--otherwise she wouldn't have taken me in as she did."
"What put it in your head to ask me this to-day?"
"Something St. John Ruthven said to Darcy Gilbert. St. John said I was
an upstart, a nobody."
"St. John had better mind his own business! It was not cousinly for him
to interfere!" And Marion's face flushed.
"I suppose he doesn't look at me in the light of a cousin. He considers
me an intruder."
"Well, if he won't count you a cousin he need not count me one
either--so there!"
"But you must not hurt yourself by standing up for me," cried Jack
hastily.
"I will not hurt myself--in the eyes of those whose respect is worth
considering. In the eyes of the law you are my real brother, for my
parents adopted you. St. John must not forget that."
"But tell me of the past, Marion. Where did I come from, and how did I
get here?"
"It's a long story, Jack. Do you see yonder wreck, on Hemlock Bluff
rocks?"
"To be sure I do."
"Well, when that wreck came ashore, between ten and eleven years ago,
you had been one of the passengers on the boat."
"Me!"
"Yes. I have heard mother tell of it several times. It was a fearful
night and Old Ben, he was our slave then, was out on the bluff watching.
Presently there was the booming of a signal gun--showing the ship was in
distress--and soon the ship came in sight, rocking to and fro, with the
wild waves running over her deck. Not a soul was left on board, captain
and crew having all gone down in the ocean beyond."
"But where did they find me?"
"On the beach. Old Ben heard a cry of pain and ran in the direction of
the sound. Soon he made out the form of a woman, your mother. She had
been hurt by being hit with some wreckage. You were in her arms, and as
Old Ben came up you cried out: 'Jack is hungry. Give Jack some bread and
butter, please.'"
"Yes, yes! I remember something of a storm and of the awful waves. But
it's all dreamy-like."
"You were only three or four years old, and the exposure nearly cost you
your life. Old Ben took you and your mother to the boathouse and then
ran up to the plantation for help. Father went back with him, along with
half a dozen men, and they brought you and your mother to the house. I
remember that time well, for I was nearly seven years old."
"But my mother, what of her?" asked Jack impatiently.
"Poor dear! she died two days later. The physicians did all they could
for her, but the shock had been too great, and she passed away without
recovering consciousness."
"Then she told nothing about me--who I was?"
"No. All she did say while she lived was 'Save my husband! Save my
darling little Jack.'"
"Then my father must have been on the boat with her?"
"Yes."
"And they did not find his body?"
"No, the only bodies recovered were those of sailors."
"Didn't they try to find out who I was?"
"To be sure, but, although father did his best, he could learn nothing.
Your father and mother had taken passage on the ship at the last moment
and their names did not appear on the list at the shipping offices, and
none of the books belonging to the ship itself were ever recovered."
"Perhaps they are on the wreck!" cried Jack, struck by a sudden idea.
"No, the wreck was searched from end to end, and all of value taken
away."
"I'd like to row over and look around."
"You may do so, Jack. I presume the wreck will have more of an interest
than ever for you now."
The distance to Hemlock Bluff rocks was a good mile, but Jack soon
covered it and, bringing the boat to a safe corner, he assisted Marion
out and then leaped out himself.
"This news is enough to make a fellow's head whirl," he observed, as
they walked in the direction of the wreck, which lay high up on the
beach.
"I suppose that is true, Jack. But do not let it worry you. You are as
dear to mother and me as if you were one of the family."
"But I would like to know who I really am."
"Perhaps time will solve the mystery."
Soon the pair were at the wreck, which lay with its bow well up on the
rocks and its stern projecting over the sea.
It was no mean task to reach the deck of the wreck, but Jack was a good
climber and soon he was aboard. Then he gave Marion a hand up.
The deck of the wreck was much decayed, and they had to be careful how
they moved around.
"I am going below," said the youth, after a general look around.
"Be careful. Jack, or you may break a limb," cautioned Marion.
"I don't suppose you care to go down with me?"
"I think not--at least, I will wait until you have been down."
Soon Jack was crawling down the rotted companion way. At the bottom all
was dirty and dark. He pushed open the door, which hung upon one rusty
hinge, and peered into the cabin.
"I wish I had brought a lantern along," he murmured, as he stepped into
the compartment.
As Marion had said, the wreck had been cleared of everything of value.
All the furniture was gone and the pantries and staterooms were bare.
From the cabin he passed into several of the staterooms.
"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."
Scarcely had the words left his lips when Jack brought down the riding
whip across the young man's shoulders and neck, leaving a livid red mark
behind.
