CHAPTER III.
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
The war ended. Napoleon fell. St. Helena received the imperial exile. Onthis lonely rock, far out in the Atlantic, the chained Prometheussuffered a punishment worse than death--Sir Hudson Lowe being thevulture which continually struck, to prey upon, his heart.
The conclusion of the war influenced the fortunes of others besides itsgreatest victim. The battalion in which Cussen had served was reduced,and, with many others, his occupation was gone. While yet uncertain whatcourse to pursue, he received an invitation from his late Colonel, veryurgently pressing him to visit the veteran at his country seat inHampshire; and thither he proceeded.
Cussen, it may here be stated, was what old crones (who are good judgesof such things, knowing "a hawk from a hernshaw") would simply andexpressively describe as "a very personable man." He was in the springof early manhood. He had the advantage, whatever _that_ might be, ofgentle blood; he had received a good education; he had distinguishedhimself in the greatest battle of the age; above all, he had saved thelife of the gallant officer whose guest he was. What wonder, therefore,if, before he had been quite a month at Walton Hall, the bright eyes ofMiss Walton beamed yet more brightly when they met his admiring glances.
The lady was young--not decidedly lovely, perhaps, but that mostcharming of all charming creatures, a thoroughly English beauty. Shemight not immediately dazzle, but she was sure always to delight. It wasimpossible to see and not admire her. Besides, she had been largelyendowed with intellect by bounteous nature, and had also been welleducated, carefully rather than brilliantly. With an undeniable dash ofromance in her character, she was so pure in heart and thought, that thevery novelty of _such_ purity threw such a spell of enchantment upon thefevered passion of John Cussen, that literally, for the first time inhis life, his soul was subdued into a tenderness which contrastedstrangely, but not unpleasantly, with the wild tumults--rather of sensethan soul--which, in former days, he had been wont to dignify with thename of Love.
When he ascertained such to be the state of his own feelings, he becamevery anxious to learn whether Alice Walton was affected in like manner.Her impressions appeared to be very much as he desired, for, kissingthat fair cheek, which
"Blushed at the praise of its own loveliness,"
and whispering hope to her anxious ear, he proceeded to explain to herfather all that he felt--to solicit his sanction for the love which, butjust confessed to each other, had suddenly been matured by thatconfession into a passion at once deep and ardent.
Alice Walton was an only child. What other result, then, can beanticipated than the usual one--the favorable reception of the avowalmade by Cussen? Affection raises few difficulties where the happiness ofthe beloved is felt to be deeply involved. It is questionable whether,on that evening, a happier group could have been found anywhere withinthe limits of "merry England." The old soldier, pleased with theopportunity of keeping his gallant preserver with him while alsosecuring the happiness of his daughter;--the young man exulting in hisconquest, proud of the personal and mental endowments of his lady-love,and firmly resolving never to give her any cause to repent havingyielded to the trusting affection which her guileless nature had formedfor him;--the maiden herself, with the daydream of love making an almostvisible atmosphere of joy around her heart, softly yielded to glad andgenial anticipations of a happy future. Well is it that Woman's heartcan thus luxuriate in imagination, for, in many cases, the romance oftheir love is far brighter than the reality ever proves to be.
Some arrangements which were to be made respecting his family property,and a natural desire personally to communicate his favorable prospectsto his father, required that Cussen, now an accepted suitor, shouldproceed to Ireland for a short time.
Imagine the parting. The endearing caresses--the gentle beseechings forfull and frequent letters--the soft promises as to faithfulremembrances--the whispers of that mutual affection upon which a fewbrief months would put the seal--and the "Farewell," which, though dewedwith tears, had not very much of real sorrow in it, so sweetly did itrealize the expressive lines of the poet, of the parting, though sad,which
"Brought the hope that the morrow Would bring back the blest hour of meeting again!"
Cussen arrived in Ireland just in time to see his father die, and tolearn that old involvements, and the early extravagance in which himselfhad rioted, had reduced their estate to a nominal income. The greaterpart of its produce had been swallowed up by interest payable to themortgagees, who, from time to time, had advanced money on the property.In this dilemma, Cussen did, from impulse, what, had he acted simply oncalculation only, would have been the very best thing for him. Withoutloss of time, he frankly communicated with Colonel Walton on thisunpromising condition and aspect of his affairs and prospects--assuredhim that, when he sued for his daughter's hand, he had not the leastidea that he was so near the condition of a ruined man--that his father,when discharging the liabilities in which his early extravagance hadinvolved him, had never breathed a syllable of the price at which theywere to be swept away--that, almost beggared as he now was, he felthimself, in a worldly point of view, anything but a match for Alice--andthat, while, with a breaking heart, he absolved her from the tender vowswhich she had made, he still cherished a hope that even yet, pass a fewyears, he might be able to achieve a position, by the exercise of histalents, which, once again, would permit him, on a more equal footingthan at present, to solicit a renewal of their betrothal. The Colonelwas brief and decisive. He thanked Cussen for his frank and honourableconduct, assuring him that Alice, as well as himself, fully appreciatedhis motives; declared that for his daughter's sake, as well as his own,he was unwilling to relinquish the intended alliance with his preserverand friend; and liberally gave the kindest promises of such full andimmediate assistance as would speedily relieve the estate from itsencumbrances--should it indeed be thought expedient to retain it, thereversion of the invaluable Walton Hall property inalienably belongingto Alice.
Before, by the fulfilment of this promise, Cussen's brighter prospectscould be realized, "the tenth wave of human misery swept" over hisheart. There came a sad reverse. I am acquainted with all the details,but they are too melancholy to be related here. Let it be sufficient tosay that Alice Walton and her father met with a sudden and tragic doom.By an accident, the origin of which was suspected, but neverascertained, their residence was consumed by fire--father and daughterperishing in the flames. The estate passed, in due course of law, to thenext of kin, with whom Cussen had no acquaintance, and upon whom he hadno claim. In due course of law, also, the mortgages on Cussen's ownproperty were foreclosed. He was a ruined man.
The cup of misery overflowed. Very bitter did Cussen find the draught.Hopes blighted--the golden promise of his young manhood whollydestroyed--station utterly lost--Poverty with her feet upon hishearthstone--all that made the value of life swept away at once. Amidthe maddening whirl of such contending emotions as this desolationcaused, no wonder if even his strong mind and large frame bowed beneaththe shock.
Months passed by, and bodily health was in a measure restored. But themind did not recover its elastic spring. Sunk in the torpor of despair,John Cussen was a broken man. Then came the reaction, after a time, andthen he awoke to the sad reality of life. Better far had he continuedunconscious or despairing. He might have been miserable, but he wouldhave been unstained by guilt. Gradually, he found a Lethe for his sadthoughts, by passing "the Rubicon of the cup." At first, while this wasbeing done in secret, the neighboring gentry made many efforts toarrange his affairs, liberate him from his more pressing pecuniaryinvolvements, and give him the opportunity of realizing an adequateincome by the practice of his profession. Each proffered kindness wasrejected. He sat, another Timon, with his household gods shivered aroundhim.
This could not long continue--for man cannot live without society. Bydegrees Cussen returned to the haunts and the companionship of man. Hadhe kept within the pale of his own class,
perhaps all might still havebeen well. But a change had passed over and darkened his mind. Hefancied that scorn sat upon the lip and glanced from the eye of everyone more wealthy than himself, and thus Pride guided the arrow whichPoverty barbed. He shunned the society of those to whom, in all savewealth, he had been equal, at the very least, and he found a consolationin the company of those who, remembering his birth (and in no place isthat memory so well retained as in Ireland), would have considered himas their superior, even if, like them, he had to till the earth for abare subsistence. Thus, by a slow but certain process of deterioration,John Cussen--once the pride of the order of fashion and wealth in hisnative country--gradually became the associate of the ignorant andexcitable peasantry.
Mixing with these poor people,--then, as ever, dissatisfied with theircondition, and eagerly anxious for any change which seemed to promisebetter days and brighter fortunes,--Cussen soon became thoroughlyidentified with their feelings. Hating oppression, believing that thepeasantry were greatly wronged by absentee landlords, oppressivemiddlemen, and an exacting "Church as by law established," he allowedhimself to be seduced into the secret and illegal association of theWhiteboys. The homage which they paid to his birth and education, gavehim more satisfaction than, at first, he ventured to own, even tohimself. His pride was soothed by finding himself yet looked up to byany class. The energy of his character returned (in part), and assumingstrong and unquestioned command over the disaffected peasantry, hebecame one of their most powerful leaders. Quick in mental resources,superior in physical strength, his influence over his followers was verygreat. Entire obedience was yielded to his commands, and (as in thepresent instance, when he undertook to lead the attack upon ChurchtownBarracks) his presence was deemed sufficient to insure the success ofany enterprise, however daring. In all this, however, it is scarcelydoubtful that John Cussen's actions were those of a man whose mind hadlost its balance. Sorrow and suffering had touched his brain, andperhaps _this_ was the vent which prevented actual insanity.
There was "method in his madness," however, for when he entered uponthis wild and secret career, he took care that the movements which hepersonally guided should be remote from that part of the country inwhich he was best known. He strictly forbade any of his troops toindulge in drink, whenever their co-operation was required, and on allexpeditions which he personally led (chiefly for the purpose ofobtaining fire-arms from the houses of country gentlemen) he suited hisattire to that of his companions, and so complete was the disguise, thatnone could recognize John Cussen as the dreaded Captain Rock, whoscattered terror wherever he moved.
The remarkable fidelity which the Irish peasantry make it at once amatter of duty and pride to pay to their leaders against the law, wasCussen's chief protection. His secret was well kept. None of the gentryof the county had the slightest suspicion that Cussen, in whom many ofthem still professed to take an interest, was in any way mixed up--farless as a leader--with the Whiteboy movements which caused them so muchalarm.
Such was John Cussen, whom we left leading a goodly company ofWhiteboys to the attack on Churchtown Barracks, a military position ofmuch strength and some importance.