Young Captain Jack; Or, The Son of a Soldier, Alger and Stratemeyer [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

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