"He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too.
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt:
His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;
But they that feared him dared not to despise."
_The Corsair._
From his earliest years the Captain had given evidence of those evil
desires and bold licentious passions which his manlier years had fully
developed. "The child is father to the man," is one of the truest
proverbs, and in John de Vere's case its truth was wonderfully
exemplified. The petulance of childhood had strengthened into
ungovernable passion; the desire for self-gratification had swelled into
unrestrained pleasure-seeking, combined with great selfishness, which
cared not how it injured another, provided it gratified its own wishes.
Every other childish failing had grown into enormities of vice, even as
the letting out of water, small as the stream may at first seem,
increases into the turbulent and maddened torrent that carries
everything before its headlong current. From a child he had evinced that
cruelty of disposition which, though at first it only exercised itself
on the meaner creatures, whose tortures gave the young Domitian
pleasure, now that childish days were gone, the same increased to a
fearful extent on his fellow creatures. He who as a child shuddered not
at the sufferings of a fly, a bird, or even a cat baited by dogs, now
shuddered not at the death of a man by sword or bullet, or the
sufferings of a woman carried off to gratify his friend, and perhaps got
rid of with the same amount of feeling with which he would kick a dog
from his door, or slaughter the hound that had ceased to earn his
compassion. When as a boy John de Vere amused himself at his home,
bird-nesting, cat-baiting, rat-hunting, even cock fights, were a great
pleasure. Many of the tenants and retainers at the Towers remembered how
John began by glueing walnut shells filled with pitch on the paws of the
housekeeper's favourite Tomcat, and ended by tying him on a goose's back
and setting them off together on the lake, enjoying the sight of the cat
tearing the bird's back with his long claws, and the bird diving to
drown her rapacious enemy. Every kind of cruelty, from spinning
cockchafers on a pin, and turning birds plucked of their feathers alive
into the woods, to the worse scenes of the cockpit and badger baiting,
amused him till he became ten years old, or thereabout, when he was sent
to Harrow. Naturally of a depraved character, it was his own bad heart
that suggested these crimes, and not bad example, for his elder brother,
the Earl, had none of these tastes but spent his time shooting or
riding, and gained the character of a famous sportsman in all the
neighbourhood. The old Earl, who lived till John was thirteen or
fourteen, was often told of these early signs of depravity, but would
only call him a "sad fellow," a "naughty, cruel boy," and "he would grow
wiser when he got older." Augusta too used to speak often to him, but he
was of that age when boys generally despise the other sex, and not only
turned a deaf ear to her admonitions, but called her a silly,
chicken-hearted girl, and said that men never thought of such things. If
his father went fox-hunting, why should he not hunt cats? When John went
to Harrow, he soon became the leader and chieftain of a set of boys as
bad as himself. He was, however, obliged to fag, and his master happened
to be the Marquis of Arranmore, then Earl of Claremont, who was an
easy-going, good-natured sort of fellow, and though he once or twice
gave him a hiding, was on the whole a very merciful lord. Young Musgrave
was also a boy at Harrow; and these two, equally bad, Musgrave in the
scheming and John in the acting part of their juvenile scrapes, were the
chosen leaders in every row. If there was an orchard robbed, windows
broken, farmers' fields trampled over--the head offender was John de
Vere; the planner of the action, Musgrave. From Harrow, Musgrave and
John de Vere went to a military college to prepare for the army, and
here they set out on a bolder line. The theatre and saloon were their
nightly rendezvous, and men of wicked character their companions in idle
hours. Occasionally they took excursions to town, and flew with avidity
to every kind of vicious pleasure. They then entered the 7th Hussars
together, into which regiment L'Estrange exchanged; and the three young
men soon became prime leaders in every folly and dissipation, then more
common than now. Their colonel, Sir Harry Maynard, overlooked many a
breach of military discipline in consideration of youth and
inexperience; possibly the well-filled purse of the young officer De
Vere, his excellent champagne suppers, &c., made a balance in favour of
him and his friend with the regiment, or assuredly their names would
have been erased. Owing to the 7th being quartered at Brighton some
time, the Prince Regent became acquainted with young De Vere, and
finding him suited to his mind in every way, he made strides in Royal
favour, as well from the fact of his brother, the Earl, holding a high
position at Court, as from his qualities corresponding with alas! the
known character of the Prince. It was in a row at Brighton, in which
both Musgrave and De Vere played a notable part, that the latter first
became known to Bill Stacy, and this strange, dark character appeared to
take peculiar pleasure in his new acquaintance, as well as to evince
such a knowledge of the noble family of which he was a scion, as often
to make the Captain open his eyes with astonishment, and wonder who upon
earth old Bill could be, and where he had gleaned his information. The
old desperado, however, showed himself fully capable of holding his own
secrets, and after trying by threats and entreaties, and plying Bill
drunk and sober to get at the bottom, he gave it up as a bad job, but
continued the acquaintance, as Bill was a fit instrument for many of his
designs. The foregoing chapters have fully proved the service Bill
afforded to this bad young man, over whose early life we have glanced
merely to show the reader that he was naturally demoralized, and had
grown in _dis_favour with God and man from his youth up. It only now
remains to resume the thread of the Captain's history at the point where
we last lost sight of him, and bring it on to the next point, where his
fortunes mingle with others connected with our tale.
When Captain De Vere and Scroop left the Towers, on the fatal evening of
the duel, they proceeded straight to Leith, whence Archy was sent back
with the horses, while our two friends proceeded to embark, having first
routed out old Stacy, who had returned from Germany, after leaving
L'Estrange at Hamburgh. Bill was right glad to see the Captain again,
and he soon found a bark ready to convey them to Hamburgh also. In this
ship high words passed between the Captain and Juana, who was also a
passenger; however, ere they reached Germany, they appeared entirely to
have made it up, though it was a matter not unobserved by several that
from that day Juana gradually drooped, until she ended her life as we
have seen in the last chapter. At Hamburgh the Captain soon discovered
his old friend L'Estrange, and so close did their intimacy again become
that Scroop, who was entirely ignorant of the true facts of the
abduction, expressed his surprise at the Captain's having any doings
with him. This was the first seed of dislike betwixt the two, and ended
in an encounter between the late principal and second, in which the
latter was so badly cut by his antagonist--for they fought with
rapiers--that his life was despaired of.
The Captain and L'Estrange, who assumed the name of Count Czinsky, were
fain to leave for St. Petersburgh, not however before the former wrung a
promise from the wounded man he would never mention the fact of his
meeting L'Estrange again, should he survive and return home. At St.
Petersburgh our duo kept up the greatest style, and created quite a
sensation amongst the fair Russian ladies.
One day L'Estrange opened an English newspaper, in which was a full
account of the Earl's marriage.
"She is married," he cried, "she is married!" dropping the paper from
his hands.
"Of course you didn't think the Earl was fool enough to wait till you
played the part of young Lochinvar again, and ran off with his Ellen.
Why, Ned, you are a greater fool than I took you for! Egad, it sits sore
does it, Ned? Take my advice and snap your fingers at a girl who won't
take you.--I'll read the account for you--give me the paper, old
Spooniana! Why, pest, after all it is as bad for me as you. I lose my
coronet--and you your lady love!" so saying he took the papers and read
the article aloud, laughing--then tossed it to L'Estrange again. The
latter began to read over the sad paragraph, with that earnestness with
which we often read again and again what is the most painful to our
feelings. At last he cried out, "Here's something for you--let's see how
you bear ill news, who are so ready to read them to others."
"Read away, read away--it's not a little will make my face as long as
yours is, Ned! Why, God a' mercy, you look as if you were going to be
hung; fire away with your evil reports!"
"'After the departure of the noble Earl and his lovely partner,' (oh!
that I should read it)," read L'Estrange--"'the Marquis of Arranmore
kept open house at the Castle, and was to end the festivities of the
week by a grand flare up, which festive event was suddenly prevented by
a melancholy and fatal accident, by which the young and elegant
Marchioness lost her life.'"
"Heavens!" muttered the Captain.
"'It may be remembered that only a year ago this lady, eldest sister of
the Earl of Wentworth, was married to the noble Marquis--'"
"Read ahead!" cried the Captain.
"'A few moments before the ball commenced the attention of the Marquis
and Mr. Lennox, then staying at the Towers, was drawn to the lady's room
by screams of a most harrowing nature, and the unhappy young lady
appeared enveloped in flames, which were, however, speedily
extinguished, but not before the unfortunate Marchioness had sustained
such injuries as proved fatal. A short time before midnight death ended
her sufferings.'"
"Egad, that was a _flare up_! The Marquis never dreamed of that, I'll
warrant!" said the heartless man.
"De Vere," said L'Estrange, horrified at this unfeeling jest, "your
cold-blooded ferocity makes my blood curdle. What have you come to when
you joke on your sister's lamentable death?"
"By Jove! you take me up sharply. On my soul I am sorry, d--d
sorry--poor Edith! I am awfully cut up about her. As I live I meant not
what I said. Come, Ned, don't look so savage! Come, and we'll have a
bottle of wine, and drown this horrid remembrance. Egad! I am awfully
sorry, I am sure I would it had been any one else! Come, Ned, I didn't
mean anything, only it came so pat!"
And with these words he actually dismissed his sister's death, and to
drown his sorrow plunged into every kind of dissipation for the next
three months, until he made St. Petersburgh too hot for himself by
shooting Count Strogonoff in an affair of honour, and probably saved
ending his days in Siberian mines by a speedy escape in sleighs through
Poland to Germany, where he and L'Estrange spent the summer at
Baden-Baden, which was even then notorious as a gambling-place. Here the
Captain had a run of luck at the roulette-tables, and pocketed an almost
incredible amount. Many a hapless gambler was ruined by him, and on one
occasion when he had won every farthing from a luckless Baron, the
unfortunate loser blew his brains out over the table!
"Kelner, wipe up that mess," said the Captain, with a sneer. "I wish to
G-- people would blow out their brains in their own houses, and not
choose the saloons for such purposes!"[B]
These two associates in evil soon made Baden too hot for them also, and
travelled about till they again reached Hamburgh, where Bill met them
with important news from England. After a long conversation with
L'Estrange, whose conscience was getting more and more seared from his
intercourse with such a reprobate, they both set sail for Scotland,
taking Stacy with them. It was then about the middle of December, a time
when Christmas festivities are in preparation--those at the Towers would
be of the most private character--and the Captain spoke of showing his
face again at home, thinking the duel would be pretty well blown over;
however, the large debts he had incurred both in Scotland and England
would not so easily be forgotten, and he determined he would not risk
incarceration in Fleet Street Prison again, for he had once tasted its
joys, until released by the Earl's paying off his liabilities. These,
however, had now reached a pass which the Earl would probably be unable,
even if willing to defray. The coming of these birds of ill omen so near
the home of the Countess seems to bode no good, but we must leave the
result to another chapter.