Young Captain Jack; Or, The Son of a Soldier — John Shaqi
Young Captain Jack; Or, The Son of a SoldierAlger, Horatio, Jr.
History
Young Captain Jack; Or, The Son of a Soldier
Alger, Horatio, Jr.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
"Truly a nice place to come to," said the man to himself. "Now,
supposing this thing turns out a wild-goose chase, after all? Let me
see, the stateroom was No. 15. I wonder if I can still locate it?"
With caution he descended the companion way and entered the main cabin
of the stranded vessel. Here he drew from his pocket a candle and lit
it.
He walked slowly toward the side of the cabin until he reached a
stateroom bearing the number 7 upon the door.
"Seven," he murmured. "And the second from this is eleven. That shows
the numbers on this side are all odd. The next must be thirteen, and the
next fifteen."
He held the candle to the door, but the number plate was gone. Without
hesitation he pushed upon the door, which was already partly open. It
fell back, exposing the interior of the stateroom, now bare of all
things movable, and covered with dust and cobwebs.
"A dirty job this," he murmured, and set the candle down upon a beam
running along the side of a wall. He gazed around the stateroom
curiously, as if hardly knowing what to do next.
"The little closet was set in the wall at the foot of the bed. Now which
was the foot of the bed? I'll try both ends." He did so, tapping on the
woodwork with his knuckles. Presently he found a hole where there had
once been a small knob.
"The closet, sure enough!" he cried, and his face took on a new
interest. "Now where is that door-knob?"
He hunted on the floor, but no knob came to view. But a bent nail was
handy, and this he inserted into the hole sideways, and pulled with all
his force. There was a slight creak, and a small door came open,
revealing a dark closet about a foot square and equally deep.
If the room was dirty the closet was more so, for a crack at the top had
let in both dirt and water, and at first he could see nothing but a
solid cake of dirt before him. Digging into this, he presently uncovered
a heavy tin box, painted black.
"Eureka! the box at last!" he cried, in a tone full of pleasure. "I am
the lucky one, after all!"
He brought the tin box forth and brushed it off. There was a little
padlock in front, and this was locked. Bringing a bunch of keys from his
pocket, he began to try them, one after another. At last he found one to
fit, and opened the box.
"The papers at last!" he murmured, and his eyes gleamed with
expectation. "Let me see what there is." He turned them over. "The
marriage certificate for one, and letters from his father about that
property. And other letters from her folks--all here, and just what I
wanted." He shoved the documents back into the box. "The fortune is
mine!"
Returning to the closet he cleaned it out thoroughly, to learn if it
contained anything more of value. But there was nothing more there, and
presently he blew out the candle, hid the tin box under his coat, and
returned to the deck.
Ben was rowing not far away and saw the doctor wave his hand.
"Is yo' ready, massah?" he called out.
"Yes, Ben."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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