"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 disfavour 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.