The Weird Of The Wentworths Volume Ii Part 7

Before closing this chapter we must glance on the parting scene of one who has played a conspicuous part in this story. In a large well-furnished chamber of a house near the sea at Hamburgh, Juana Ferraras, or Antonia Stacy as we first knew her, lay on her death bed.

The shades of evening were falling, the close of a cold frosty day, the fog lay thick on the waters, and the room was fast darkening like her who lay dying within it. Near her bed sat old Stacy; he was sobered and silenced by the approach of death to one, who if he loved mortal being, was object of that love. Rough as his features were, they looked softened that night; hard as his heart was, it seemed flesh again that night! A rustle was heard in the bed, he looked to see if his patient wanted anything. The dying girl sat up, death had nigh done its work, her face was haggard, pale, and wan; her eyes alone survived the wreck of loveliness, and seemed brighter and more gloriously dark than ever.

"Bring me my child, let me look my last on that pledge of lost love."

Old Bill slided away up the stairs, or as he called them the companion ladder, and hailed a German girl, who soon appeared with an infant child perhaps two months old; she was a fine, bright little girl, with eyes like her mother's, whilst her other features bore some resemblance to those of the De Veres. She presented a strange contrast to her dying parent, as she stretched forth her little arms to her mother. A sad smile lit for a moment Juana's face as she received her in her arms, and pressed her to her bosom--"Farewell, my baby, who will take care of thee when thy mother is laid low? Will thy father ever see his child?

farewell, my babe, thou wilt never know a mother's care! She will soon be gone--her last thought was of him who gave thee thy existence! I am sinking--take her away, Stacy; be kind to my child for my sake."

"Cuss me if I won't, Tony. Never mind, old girl, you have had a short and rough cruise, you are nigh port now."

"I would I were near that haven of rest--may the blessed Virgin keep my soul--oh! my child, my child, it is hard to leave it. If you ever see my lord give him my child--tell him I died blessing him!"

"Why shiver my timbers, Tony, if my glimmers haint sprung a leak," said the old man, brushing away his tears with his rough pilot jacket sleeve; "I calculated I had done with tears, but the tanks ain't pumped dry yet."

"I am dying,--I feel the tooth of death at my heart. Oh! Santissima Maria! this pain--it tortures me, it gnaws my very vitals. Oh! that I could die."

"Cheer up, old gal, many a bark's ridden through a worser storm; ye'll come it yet may be."

"No, no--the room grows dark--oh, it is come at last, G.o.d bless my child--and Wentworth. G.o.d bless * *," with these words she sank back and expired.

"I'm blessed if she haint--ay, ay, she's gone sure enough now--weighed anchor and cleared off, and left old Bill alone. Split my wig if I b'aint sorry--she did peach once--but never heed, she loved him more than he deserved! She is gone now, rest her soul, and her faults. Gad, if old Don Ramond seed her now--it were hard lines for her. I guess she mout have sailed over broad lands t'other side o' the Atlantic, heir to many a league, but all's up now. Consarn me if I don't care for your bit child,--G.o.d rest you, Tony, you are in port now."

With these words the old smuggler and pirate walked off to see about her interment. "It is strange," he said to himself, "ever since she seed the Captain she has drooped; she was a fine creature, I'm blessed if she warn't! If I thought--but no, bad as he is he couldn't hardly! If he had though, he'd better see hisself well away--he'd better give a wide berth to old Bill Stacy--the world warn't sea room enough, but I'd overhaul the devil, wi' his black heart."

CHAPTER VI.

"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 pa.s.sions 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 pa.s.sion; 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 compa.s.sion. When as a boy John de Vere amused himself at his home, bird-nesting, cat-baiting, rat-hunting, even c.o.c.k fights, were a great pleasure. Many of the tenants and retainers at the Towers remembered how John began by glueing walnut sh.e.l.ls 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 c.o.c.kchafers on a pin, and turning birds plucked of their feathers alive into the woods, to the worse scenes of the c.o.c.kpit 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 s.e.x, 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 f.a.g, 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 sc.r.a.pes, 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 a.s.suredly 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 n.o.ble 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed between the Captain and Juana, who was also a pa.s.senger; however, ere they reached Germany, they appeared entirely to have made it up, though it was a matter not un.o.bserved 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 princ.i.p.al 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 a.s.sumed 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, G.o.d a' mercy, you look as if you were going to be hung; fire away with your evil reports!"

"'After the departure of the n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sociates 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 pa.s.s 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.

CHAPTER VII.

"'Tis long since I beheld that eye Which gave me bliss or misery; And I have striven, but in vain, Never to think of it again; For though I fly from Albion, I still can only love but one.

"And I will cross the whitening foam, And I will seek a foreign home; Till I forget a false fair face, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, But ever love, and love but one."--_Byron._

On a dark night in December--stormy as that eve on which Leander swam for the last time across the broad h.e.l.lespont--a small lugger manfully breasting the billows ran ash.o.r.e near Musselburgh. There was a high north-easter, driving sleet and snow before it, and raising a heavy surf, through which old Bill skilfully ran his craft ash.o.r.e on the sandy, seaweedy, mussel-beds, whence the burgh takes its name.

"Have a care, you scurvy old devil," cried the Captain, as a huge sea broke over the side of the boat, and christened him with its salt spray--"Easy there--where is your seamanship gone? Egad, I'm drenched like a water rat."

"When you've sailed as far as me--you won't swear at a bit dusting like that--you are but a land-lubber after all!"

"Stow your venom, you old dogfish, and give us a dram. Ah! here comes another sea over these accursed sands! Ho! well done, Bill; she wore off like a gull: jump out, Ned, never mind wetting your boots. Easy, ho!

down with the sail, here we go--ash.o.r.e at last."

So saying he leaped into the water up to his knees after L'Estrange, and these two on one side, with old Bill and a German boy on the other, shoved up the smack high and dry.

"Well, let those like the sea who do--terra firma for me," cried the Captain, shaking the sea-water off his waterproof cloak. "'The white waves heaving high' be d--d! such a pitching and lurching as we've had--I am right glad to stand on something solid, arn't you, old fellow?"

"I am indeed--and glad to stretch my limbs--so miserably cooped up this last five hours! what an age it is since I last trod these sands! Oh!

could I see how this will turn out!"