CHAPTER XVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 120, 19 September 1885, Page 6

CHAPTER XVII.

THE VETERAN— A WONDROUS STORY. On a chill and drizzly September evening an aged man, supporting his trembling steps by a long oaken staff, knocked at the door of a rear porch of Donald Owen's residence. He was a battle-scarred veteran ; his flowing hair white as snow ; beard, hanging low over his breast, of the same silvery hue; his face seamed and tanned, a black patch hanging over his left eye ; his left arm in a Blin? j nis garb of the sea well worn, with here and there a darn and a patch, yet clean and comfortable. A servant answered his summons, gruffly demanding who was there. " Ho ! you lubber ! Go tell your master 'at Ben Christie's here, and be blow'd to yerjl Come— stir yer stumps, or I'll help yer !" The oaken staff was raised threateningly, and the servant made a virtue of necessity, and backed away without further remark ; and ere long thereafter the host himself appeared. " Ben Christie ! Is it you ?" " It's what's left of me, Cap'n. 'GadJ'm cast on a lee shore at length ; timbers firm, and plarkin' tight, but lockers ' empty. You'll give me a bunk for a few days, old friend, till 1 can pick up a bit, and get this flipper- o' mine in workin' order. I got a fall the other day that give my shoulder a bit of a strain." "Why, certainly I'll give you a bunk. Come in. Bless me! I thought you were dead long ago." "No, no," said the veteran, as he hobbled along after his old commander. "It'll take more'n an ord'nary storm to swamp this old hulk. You hold yer own wonderfully, Cap'n." "Pretty well, considering. Let's see," as they entered the room where the servants eat their meals, " it's been— how long Bince I saw you before ?" " Not since you turned over the old Spitfire brig to yer mate, Obed Hawkes. That's goin' on thirty years ago." 11 Seven-and-twenty, Ben. I came here then, and married, and settled down, and haven't been to sea since." "So, so. Well, the years are slippin' away, Donald." "Yes. There, now; you sit down here and eat all you want ; and when you're done one of the boys will bring you to my office." An hour later the old sailor was sitting with the host in his private sanctum, and for a while they talked over the old times and the old adventures which, had another overheard, would hare led him to strongly suspect that the Spitfire had been a pirate, that Donald's father had been her first commander, taat Donald himself had been her second, and that Ben Christie himself had been boatswain under both of them. By-and-by Walter Tarbell came in, and went to his desk. The two went on talking, but were more guarded in their conversation than they had been when alone. Three days old Ben had spent beneath Donald Owen's roof, permitted to go and come as he pleased. The host treated him with seeming kindness, but did not con- . ceal his wish that he should make his visit brief. The old boatswain had become garrulous with the lapse of years, and there was no knowing what damaging utterances might fall from his tongue. He knew too much of his host's antecedents, and of his family record, to be trusted at large in the towD ; so Donald had looked to it that he did not wander far away. On the evening of the third day of the old man's viait Donald asked him, shortly after supper, what he meant to <io with himself until bedtime. "Are you going out?" Ben asked, sleepily. " Yes. I have a matter of business that calls me to Dunsport, and I may not be back till late." " Good !" the age r 3 waif cried, heartily. "I'm tired and sleepy. Let me have a tot o' grog, and I'll turn in." 1 • All right. Here you have it, old fellow. Take a good one, and you'll sleep the better for it." The old man swallowed a measure of rum — his favourite tipple — then took a candle, and bade his old-time pkipper goodnight. Half an hour later Rupert and Doris, sitting in the chamber which George had occupied, heard a rap upon the door communicating with the hall. The young man answered the summons, and found the white-haired old sailor outside, leaning heavily upon his staff. " Ah ! — you are hear." " Aye. You said you wanted to see me." "Yes, yes. Come in. This is Mrs Bertram." "Aye, aye ; I've met her afore. You call her Doris, don't you ?" "Yes, Uncle Ben, that is my name," the beauty said, rising, and giving him her hand. He took it, and looked upon her with an earnestness — an absorbing interest — that startled her. She thought it must mean more than appeared on the surface. "Mr Christie-" " Hold on ! Belay there ! I'm Ben, and nobody else — unless you choose to call me BoVn." " Well," said Rupert, with a light laugh, after the old man had found a comfortable seat, " Ben, I have been told by Walter Tarbell that you once knew Jack Clearstar," " That's true, sir." "Oh !" cried Doris, laying a trembling hand upon his arm, " did you know him truly? Was it our Jack?" " Yes, my pretty ; I know'd him well ; and I know'd yer papa, too. Oho ! I know lots o' things ; and I've come here to tell yer all about 'em." For a brief space Doris was so beside herself with excitement that she knew not what to say. Something in the old man's look caused Rupert to ask : "Ben, was it you who brought that note to Doris, informing her of her husband's safety?" " O-o-o ! Was that what 'twas ? Yes, I met a man — a sojer—and I told him I was goin' to see Donald Owen, at Owensville j and he asked me to bring that bit o' paper along, and give it to the lady private like. That's why I stuck it under her door." At this point the old man bent his head upon his wrists, his hands supported on his staff, and seemed for a time buried in thought. When he at length looked up a new light was in his single eye, and he nodded his head several time significantly. "What's the use," he exclaimed, "o' keepin' the truth from you ? I might as well tell you as not. That letter was put into my hand by the man himself—Hold on ! Don't break in on me. If you do you'll put me out. I happened into a hospital on the New River— a Federal hospital —and found him a prisoner there ; and, would you believe it— who should be with him but old Jack hieeelf— Jack Clearstar, large as life, and just as nateral, only growed a bit older." *

"O, Ben I. do you mean it? latt.tru«> Did you see them? , and speak with them? and were they both alive and we)}?| and did they know one another?" So oried Doris, inpotuouely, on her feet, and grasping old Ben by the arm. , " Hold onj Now just you 100k 1 Jiere, Miss Doria— Excuse me, Missus— eh— Bertram, 1 Now justjyou hold on, and let me tell my, story, in my' own way, for I've got a long one to tell ; and to speak the truth right nut, flat and plump, I come here for no other reason in the world but to Bee you two, and tell you what I've got to tell. It's what I promised old Jack, and the young 'un, both. So, now, will you listen, and let me spin away ?" Doris nodded a ready affirmative, and resumed her seat. Said Rupert : "Go on, Ben. Til listen with all the ears I've got." "Mind you, Rupert Owen— l'm goin 1 away back beyond your present knowledge of your own folks ; so don't be surprised, and don't interrupt me if you can help it." And then the old man went on, mildly and methodically, and in language less rough and uncouth than he had been using, with the story which he said he had promised Jack Clearstar he would tell to the two young people now before him. | " Rupert Owen, I'm goin 1 to open your eyes, so listen to me patiently. Mind you, the story I shall tell I know to be true, for I had it from one who knowed what he was talkin' about. " In seventeen-eighty-eight— that's three-and-seventy years ago— Alfred Owen came over from England, with two or three thousand pounds in his pocket, thinkin* to settle here, and found an estate like one of the big lordly estates in the mother country. He was then forty years old, and had a wife ten years younger than himself. Never mind his travels. In time he hit upon this spot. He liked it. There was plenty of ju&t the sort of land he wanted ; there was forest, and glade, and lake, and river ; and on the river was a chance for a magnificent water power. So here he bought— bought the whole township, and began to clear and to build. He let men come in ; let 'em help him build, and gave 'em long rents, or leases, in payment. Somo leases he gave for as long as thirty years. In this way he worked on till he had built up a village, with farms outlyin'; and, mind you, he never sold a foot of land, nor a stick in any of his houses. " At the end of fifty years, at the age o' ninety, he was surrounded by a flourishing village, and that surrounded by good farms, and every inch and stick and stone belonged to him. In these fifty years bis leases had paid his debts incurred, and all had run out, and the income was all his own. He calculated, on the day that he was ninety years old, that his income was equal to a little overa hundred thousand a year ; and, mind you, that was clear of the thousands he gave away. This was in eighteen-thirty-eight. " In seventeen-ninty-two a son waa born to Alfred by a second wife. He hadn't a child by the first wife. This son he named David. David married young, and in eighteen hundred and twelve a son was born to him. who was named Ralph." " My papa ?" '•Yes, my pretty, that was your father — Ralph Owen. His father, David, howsumever, died when he —Ralph— was but a boy — in eighteen-twenty. So, ye see, from that time — eighteen-twenty, to the time when old Alfred was ninety, his only living issue was his grandson, Ralph. And the old grandfather lived a year and a half beyond that." The old man stopped here and asked for a sip of wine. It was given to him ; a few questions were asked and answered ; and presently he went on : " Now, my friends, I come to another part of my story. Ten' years, or thereabouts, after Alfred Owen settled down here in his new town, his brother, Lanson, unexpec tedly turned up. He was four years younger than Alfred, and had been thought dead for a long time. It was known to a few that he had been chief of a crew of pirates in the Caribbean Sea, but his brother gave him a home, glad to wean him from his wicked course. Shortly after settling down— and be sure Alfred did nobly by him— Lanson married, though then almost fifty, It was in the first month of eighteen hundred that his first and only child was born— a son, named Donald — and Alfred settled upon this child a generous income. " Now mark : In eighteen-thirty-eight, at the age of ninety-one, Alfred Owen died. His son, David, had died eighteen years before, and his brother, Lanson, had been dead four years, having died in 'thirty-four. So the only living relatives left by the aged millionaire were bis grandson Ralph, his nephew Donald, and Donald's infant son, Rupert, which had been born the year before. He had settled upon Donald, at his birth, sufficient for his support, but he left him by will twenty thousand dollars more in cash. He had also settled upon little Rupert a generous sum, to which, in his will, he added the income from certain property, named, during his lifetime. Ralph had been married when his grandfather died, but he had no children. "Remember, to the day of his death Alfred Owen had never sold a single item of his real estate— not a foot of land, nor a stick, shingle, nor a brick of a building. The town of Owensville, with all its real estate of every kind, worth then not far from five million dollars — that included the outlying farms, mind you — he left to his grandson, Ralph ; to him and his heirs for ever ; and he made Ralph his executor, without bonds. "Within a year after the old grandfather's death coal was discovered in Chestnut Valley, and Ralph at once made arrangements for working it. On the very day of the discovery of the coal a daughter was born to him, but the little thing lived only a few weeks, and within a month after the death of her child the mother followed it to the tomb, Ralph had been for some time in feeble health, and this blow prostrated him. He turned the care of his property and his business over to II is cousin Donald, and took to his bed, The doctors got him up out of that, however, but they could not get him back to his work, and by-and-by they told him he must travel. They advised him to see the seashore, which he finally did, going to Norfolk. " One passage in the life of Donald Owen I have not given. I hesitated on your account, sir," "Let ushave the whole," said Rupert. " You pannot tell me more to my father's disoredit than is already known to me." "As I told you," the old man went on, " Donald Owen was born in January of eighteen hundred. In eighteen fourteen he ran away from home, and the next heard from him he had shipped on board an American privateer, the war with England being then going on. After the war was over word reached his father's ear that he had found the old piratical crew of the Antilles and had joined them ; and in time he became their chief. His father knew this, but nobody else in this region. Donald led that buccaneering life till 'thirty-four, when he gave it up and , came home. He was a rollicking, roystering, fellow, and his old uncle liked him and did for him all he could. ' A year after his return, at the age of thirty-five, he married, and you,' sir, were bond two years later. Of your mother I need not tell you. That

she was an angel of goodness you know ; and you know, too, that she was beautiful. , " And now, of Ralph : As I have said, he had givon his ptoperty and 1 his business into the care »f his cousin Donald, haying in him most; implicit) faith.. Donald Owen, had never sought, tQ hide hid isal ' oharaoter^ uriderarolbaicof piety, ''or s^n6tity, ( ,nor yet of extreme honour! The deeper heart) of the man, with its burden of , evil and treaoh-^ cry, had been hidden l by his jollity and good fellowship,' which, in his middle age, before dark plotting and a sense" of wrong and treason had chilled his being, were most attractive. Into Donald's hands Ralph, then, gave everything, bidding him care for it, and make the most of it; to pay himself for all time and trouble, and safely invest the rest, And then, acting ' 6n the earnest advice of his doctors, he went to Europe. "Now, my friends, comes t another charaoter. When Ralph was six years old a poor widow died in Owensville, leaving one child behind, alone, and uncared for. This child —a boy-— Alfred adopted. He was the same age as Ralph, and became Ralph's playmate. The boys grew up together, and were never to be separated except by death. That orphan boy was Jack Clearstar. He loved his young master — for he made himself Ralph's' servant in the outset —loved him with all his heart and ail his strength ; and after they grew to manhood, wherever one was found, be sure the other was not far away. " I need not tell you of Ralph Owen's adventures in England ; of his trip to Paris, of his marriage there ; of his voyage^ with his young wife to Calcutta, nor of his life in India. That is all known to you. I need only tell you Jack Clearstar's story in connection with it all. M They had been in Calcutta about three years when Jack discovered that . Jacob Wenzell had come over, and that he was dogging Ralph's steps. This Wonzell had been a member of Donald's piratical crew, and I may say here that Jonas Herter had been another. Both those men had found their old chieftain in Owensville, and had been by him provided for. The moment Jack set eyes on Wenzell he knew that Donald had sent him over j and the purpose for which he had been sent was not bard to guess. Between Wenzell and Jack it was for a time a tie game. "At length Ralph, in company with Major Ashton and two others — Jack, of course, going — went upon that fatal bunting expedition. You know how Ralph Owen was shot by the native Shikaree When he knew he must die he called his faithful enquire to his side. I can tell you the very words he spoke. Old Jack has given them to me so particularly that I cannot forget them. First, however, I will cay, Ralph had never told his wife of his vast wealth, nor of any wealth at all. She was younger than he, and he wanted that she should marry him for love alone ; and I know that she did bo. After she had become his wife he kept the story from her, thinking what a grand surprise he would give her when they should reach their American home, and he could install her as his queen; and but for that terrible accident it might have come to pass; for he was gaining strength and health continually " Yet, for all that, he went upon that expedition with dark forebodings. He told Jack po on the way, and the honest fellow tried to laugh him out of it, but without avail. "As I have said, Jack Clearstar was called to the bedside of bis dying master ; and there the latter gave into his hand the gold crucifix, with these words : ' Jack,' said he, ' you will give that into the hands of my darling Mary j and you will go with her to Thomas Lockwood, the goldsmith on the Strand, and tell him what to do with it. When he has done his work, you will explain to Mary all that she should know, and tell her to go with you to our old home in Virginia, and there assume her true place as queen of the realm. Be faithful, Jack, and don't let the bauble go from your hand till you place it in hers ; and even then you will watch over it, as you will care for and watch over her.' " At that moment Jack raised his head and saw a face at the window directly over the head of the bed. Jacob Wenzell's face. It was but a glance, for the face disappeared instantly ; but Jack could not be mistaken. As soon as he could go out he did po, but the wretch was not to be found. When he returned to the bungalow, his master had breathed his last in the arms of Sidney Ashton. "Now, Jack did not think the man Wenzell meditated harm against him personally ; but he must have heard what Ralph had said about the crucifix, and he would certainly try to steal it. And, knowing what dexterous thieves there were among the Hindoos, several of whom were in Wenzell's company, he feared, if he kept the precious thJng on bis person, it might be taken from him ; so he gave it privately to Ashton, simply charging him that he should give it into Mrs Owen's hands ; also to beware of Wenzell. He said he would himself give the widow all necessary instructions. And Sidney Ashton took the crucifix. " Ralph Owen died late in the day, and they could not set out for home with the body until the next morning. That night Jack Cleareter was attacked while asleep — struck a blow on the head that completely stunned him — and borne out from the bungalow. He heard the voice of Wenzell and the jabbering of two or three Thugs whom he had seen in the villain's company. So much he knew, and then his senses were locked in utter gloom. When he came to himself he was in the close ouddy of a small boat sailing swiftly down the Hoogly. When he was called out into the open air and the light, the long night had passed, and it wasjwell into another day. The boat, manned by ten Lascars and one white man, whom he did not know, was ten miles below Calcutta, just coming-to alongside a clipperbuilt brig. Jacob Wenzeli was not there. | but Jack well knew that he had been the author of the outrage. He knew, too, that Wenzell had come down as far as Calcutta in the boat, and that while he had been gagged and bound in the cuddy the ruffian Hal searched his person for the crucifix, even going so far as to rip open certain Earts of bis clothing. What little money c had had about him was gone, probably to the Lascars ; but they had gained nothing more. "The brig was the Spitfire, Captain Obed Hawes. Jack was sent below, and there confined until she had got to sea, when he was brought on deck and given his choice : Walk the plank, or sign the brig's articles. Naturally, he did the latter j and for twelve years he sailed in that brig leading a pirate's life, with never a chance to escape. You may think it strange that he dould have been held 10 long ; but the brig's only ports of entry were two settlements on one of the smallest of the windward islands of the Antilles, and there, of course, escape was impossible, as all the inhabitants were banded with the pirates. Two years ago the brig had put into the Congo River after a consignment of slaves. One day, while she lay there. Jack sighted a barque becalmed off shore outside. At' night he managed to steal a canoe and put off to the barque, whioh proved to be an Englishman,' from Liverpool, bound fbr Cape Town ' and Australia, New South* Wales. She proved to be short-handed, ani he was gladly welcomed,

•'MiiJtievmore than a^earjfrlm that tim« passed before J&ck again gaw^Oalqutta } but Be reaohed it at lengtl^ 1 jusl^en Hays after Doris and her liUßbariahtfd sailed, ;? Pethaps you oan imagine; his feelings.. If you can, you oan fanoy yourselves orying with a good :relishi , Howsumever* he'.gainea all the news he could find, and on the first .opportunity, jbook passage for America, larriving at New Orleans just as the war wks breaking out ; but he didn't mind that. Without a dollar, of money he started on foot { to make the best of his way to the 1 heart of Old Virginia. He got along very comfortably for a time, but Iby'm-by he oame to where things were .rather warm and feverish, and before) he could get further he found himself forced to take up arms. , "It was a curious affair, the way and manner in which a recruiting squad laid ihold on him ; but I won't tire you with it. Enough for now that he found * himself where he couldn't get off without running more risk than he thought advisable. He 'was in two engagements, and oame out all , right. In the third, he was wounded, and taken prisoner. The Yanks treated him kindly, as they did all the rest of their prisoners. He had a good bed in a snug barn, and there he came across a young confederate officer, also a prisoner, who wore on his watch-chain a seal which he at once knew for Ralph Owen's! In this way he discovered George Bertram, who had been known as Forsyth Amsden. ' "There, that's my story j and I think I've tired you enough. I have only to add —I promised 'em that I. would, come this, way, and let you know that all was well. Only one thing they were anxious about — was the gold cruoihx safe ?" "His safe," said Rupert. ' "Oh! Thank God I" The ejaoulation was so earnest that both Rupert and Doris stared. The former leaned forward, and laid his hand upon the old man's arm ; but it was quickly shaken off, and the veteran arose from his seat. " Hush I" he whispered, casting a furtive glance around. "No more now." " But— one question." " What is it ?— Not of myself ?" "No." The questions were of the old times in India. They were aßked and answered ; and the old man was suffered to depart, leaving the twain behind him filled with all sorts of wild and fanciful conjectures.