"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."
"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.
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.
IT WAS HOT WORK ON THE LONG LADDER AND SOON JACK WAS ALL BUT EXHAUSTED.--Page 173.
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."
"If he was strong enough to do that, perhaps he took Jack with him to keep the boy from sounding an alarm."
"You may be right. We must find the boy if we can."
Slowly the day wore away, and no tidings came to the plantation. Toward evening St. John put in an appearance.
"The soldiers have cleared out," he said. "There isn't a regiment of any sort within a dozen miles."
"I am glad of it," answered Mrs. Ruthven, and then continued quickly, "Have you seen anything of Jack?"
"Do you mean to-day?"
"Yes."
"No, I haven't seen him since he made such a mess of it up at our house, putting out the fire," growled the spendthrift.
"It's a wonder you didn't put out the fire yourself," put in Marion sharply. She did not like talk against her brother.
"I—I was sick, sicker than anybody supposed," stammered St. John. "Had I been at all well, things would have gone on very differently, I can assure you."
"Then you haven't seen or heard of Jack," said Mrs. Ruthven. "He has been missing since last night."
"No, I haven't seen him—and I don't want to see him. He insulted me and made trouble between me and my mother."
"On account of the fire?"
"Yes. He thinks he is a regular lord of creation, he does," went on St. John hotly. "He wants dressing down, Aunt Alice."
"I cannot believe Jack has done anything very wrong."
"He is a nobody, and puts on altogether too many airs."
Mrs. Ruthven would not listen to this talk, and changed the subject by asking him what had brought him over from his home.
"I was asked to come over and see if you had any of the Yankee wounded here."
"Who sent you?"
"Colonel Bromley of our army."
"No, we have only Confederates here."
"How many?"
"Five. Four of them are doing very well, you can tell the colonel, but the fifth was hurt when our house was struck by a cannon ball, and he is now in a high fever."
"All right, I'll tell him."
"Have you joined the army at last?" questioned Marion curiously.
"Not exactly, but I told the colonel I would help him in any manner that I could," answered St. John, and hurried away for fear of being questioned further.
The truth of the matter was that the fire had brought on a bitter quarrel between St. John and his mother, and the parent had insisted that the son overcome his cowardice and do something for his country. St. John had demurred in vain, and had at last gone to the Confederate headquarters and offered his services; but as a civilian, not as a soldier.
When the young man was gone Mrs. Ruthven and Marion had Old Ben and the others make another search for Jack, and this hunt lasted far into the night.
But it was of no avail; our hero had disappeared as utterly as if the earth had opened and swallowed him.
"Mamma, do you think it possible that the Yankees captured him?" was the question Marion put.
"Not unless Jack left home during the night, Marion. And what would cause him to leave without telling us that he was going?"
"That is true. Jack wouldn't do anything to cause us anxiety."
"It is a great mystery," sighed Mrs. Ruthven.
Later a negro, living on the mountain side, came down to the plantation and asked to see the lady of the house.
"I was t'inkin' yo' would be wantin' ter know wot became o' Master Jack," said the colored man, who rejoiced in the name of Columbus Washington.
"What do you know of him?" asked Mrs. Ruthven quickly.
"I seed him early dis mornin', missus—away up in the mountains."
"The mountains? Alone?"
"No, missus—he was a prisoner."
"Of the Yankees?"
"De men wot had him was dressed as Confed'rates, missus."
"You did not know them?"
"No, missus."
"And you are certain that Jack was held a prisoner?"
"Oh. yes, missus, fo' one ob de men said he would shoot if de boy tried to git away from him."
Mrs. Ruthven clasped her hands in despair.
"A prisoner! Did you speak to him?"
"No, no! I was afraid to show myself. De men was armed an' I wasn't—an' I didn't want to git in no trouble."
"Where were they taking Jack?"
"I can't say as to dat. I met dem on the ole mill trail near de blasted tree."
"You saw nobody else around?"
"No, missus."
"It is very strange why Jack should be carried off in this fashion. I wish you had followed them and seen what became of my boy."
"Perhaps I kin follow dem by de trail, missus. Ise putty good at dat."
"Then do so by all means, and I will reward you for your work."
"T'ank yo,' missus; yo' was always de lady to remember poor niggers."
"If you wish, you can take Old Ben with you. He is good at trailing, too."
So it was arranged, and half an hour later Old Ben and Columbus Washington were on their way. Both knew the mountains thoroughly, and lost no time in getting to the spot where Jack had last been seen.
Then began a hunt for the trail, and this discovered, both went on once more, little dreaming of the surprise in store for them.
CHAPTER XXV.
A REMARKABLE REVELATION.
Alarming news reached the Ruthven plantation that night. A large force of Federal soldiers had loomed up in the vicinity, and the Confederate army had been compelled to fall back to the mountains and to the valley beyond.
"Our victory is swallowed up in defeat," said Marion, but even as she spoke a soft look came into her eyes. Perhaps, if the Yankees were coming again, she would see Harry Powell once more. Even though she did not wish to acknowledge it to herself, Marion thought much of her dashing cousin.
"What a man he is, compared with cowardly St. John!" she said to herself. And then she prayed to Heaven that Harry might come out of the war unharmed.
Marion's wish was gratified so far as seeing Harry Powell was concerned, for the young surgeon dashed up on horseback early in the morning.
"I could not keep away," he said, after shaking hands with Mrs. Ruthven and his cousin. "I heard that the fight was fierce in this neighborhood, and I wanted to learn if you had suffered."
"We had a cannon ball go through the sitting room," answered Mrs. Ruthven.
"And was anybody hurt?"
"One of the wounded soldiers was hit. He has now a high fever in consequence."
"Thank God the cannon ball did not hit you or Marion!" ejaculated Harry Powell, and gave Marion a look that made the girl blush deeply. "Somebody said the Ruthven place had been on fire."
"That was at St. John's place," answered Marion. "But the fire was put out before great damage was done."
"I am happy to see that you were not hurt, Harry," said Mrs. Ruthven. "You must have been in peril many times."
"I was in peril, aunt, and I did not escape wholly. I was wounded in the shoulder, although the hurt is of small consequence."
"I am glad that you escaped," cried Marion. And she gave him a look that meant a good deal.
"Poor Colonel Stanton was not so fortunate," went on the young surgeon. "He was shot through the breast, and now lies between life and death."
"Jack saw him shot, from a distance," said Mrs. Ruthven.
"Did he? And where is Jack now?"
"He has disappeared," and the lady of the plantation gave her nephew some of the particulars.
Harry was invited into the house, and he remained to lunch, in the meantime telling of the general progress of the war.
"Frankly, I wish it was at an end," he said. "I hate to see one section of our glorious country fighting the other. It is not right."
During the talk it developed that Colonel Stanton was lying at a house about half a mile distant, up the bay road.
"He acts very queerly," said Harry Powell, "just as if his wound had affected his mind."
"Can we do anything for him?" asked Mrs. Ruthven.
"I do not know of anything now. But perhaps I'll think of something later, aunt. I do not wish the colonel to suffer any more than is necessary. He is a thorough gentleman."
"I feel you are right, Harry. He has given me an entirely different idea of Yankees from what I had before," returned Mrs. Ruthven warmly.
The lady of the plantation became deeply interested in the wounded colonel's case, and when the young surgeon went away she had one of the negroes of the place hitch up a horse to the carriage and drive her over to where the wounded officer lay.
The colonel was in something of a fever, and hardly recognized her. For a long time he kept muttering to himself, but she could not catch his words.
"The ship is doomed!" he cried suddenly. "We are going to pieces on the rocks!" And then he began to speak of the army and of the terrible battle through which he had gone.
"What can he mean by saying the ship is doomed?" was the question which Mrs. Ruthven asked herself. "Can it be that he was once in a shipwreck?"
For a long while after this the colonel lay silent. Then he opened his eyes and stared around wildly.
"All drowned, you say?" he exclaimed. "No! no! Laura must be saved! Save my wife—never mind me! How high the waves are running! Where is the child? Captain, why don't you put out to sea? Don't you see the rebels? They are luring us to the coast! See, that rebel is stealing my child, my darling Jack! Ha! we have struck, and I am drifting. Laura, where are you? Save Jack! Look, look, they are retreating! The battle is won! Oh, what a storm—can nothing be saved?" And then the poor man sank back, completely exhausted.
Mrs. Ruthven drank in the spoken words like one in a dream. What was this the wounded officer was saying? Something about a storm, about a wife Laura, and a child named Jack!
"Can it be possible that he is speaking of our boy Jack?" she asked herself, and then looked at the colonel's face more closely than ever. The resemblance was more than striking, it was perfect. Give Jack that heavy mustache and those wrinkles, and the faces would be exactly alike.
"He must be Jack's father!" she went on. "How wonderful! But what does this mean? Why did he not claim Jack long ago?"
For over an hour she sat by the colonel's side, but he made no further efforts to speak. In the meantime a surgeon came in to attend to the officer's wound.
"If you can have him taken to my house, I will see to it that he has the best of care," said Mrs. Ruthven.
"Why, are you not a Southern woman, madam?" questioned the surgeon, in pardonable surprise.
"I am, but I know Colonel Stanton, and do not wish to see him suffer any more than is necessary."
"He is a friend?"
"Something of a friend, yes."
"And who are you, if I may ask?"
"I am Mrs. Alice Ruthven, owner of the plantation half a mile from here. Dr. Harry Powell, whom you may know, is my nephew."
"I know Dr. Powell well, and if he says it is all right, I'll have Colonel Stanton removed to your home without delay."
"When will you see Dr. Powell?"
"To-day. This is not a nice place, and I would like to see the colonel have better quarters."
A little later Mrs. Ruthven left and drove home with all speed.
"Marion, I have wonderful news!" she exclaimed, on entering the room where the girl sat making bandages for the wounded soldiers.
"What is it, mamma; is Jack found?"
"No, but I am almost sure that I have found Jack's father?"
"Oh, mamma! Of course you don't mean that horrid Dr. Mackey?"
"No, I mean Colonel Stanton."
"Mamma!" And Marion leaped up, scattering the bandages in all directions.
"Did you ever notice how much Jack and the colonel resembled each other?"
"I did."
"The colonel is in a fever, and while I was there he cried out about a shipwreck, and asked that his wife Laura and his son Jack be saved."