CHAPTER I.

So I, by vent’rous friendship led,

* * * * *

Wad fain thy dauntless valour sing, Resistless as the tempest’s wing That wave on wave does dashing fling Upon the shore, Yet mild thy soul as breath of spring When war is o’er.

_Unpublished Poems._

One evening in the winter of 182—, a large party of the officers of the —— dragoons were dining together in the best room of the Green Dragon, the principal inn of ——, on the southern coast of Ireland. The district around was under military law, but though occasional outrages marked the wild and turbulent spirit which reigned, since their arrival in their present quarters no disturbances had taken place of sufficient magnitude to cause them serious alarm; and it appeared probable that, notwithstanding the efforts of the agitators to excite tumult, men’s passions would subside, and affairs resume their wonted, if not happy, current. To men under such circumstances, without danger to animate, or occupations to interest them, dinner is a meal of much importance, and the young cornets or captains were busily employed in dispelling their _ennui_ according to the received rules of social indulgence.

Some two or three of the neighbouring gentry had been invited to join the mess; and as the generous wine passed quickly round, many a loud laugh and many a light jest told the gay and unconstrained merriment of the festive meeting. There was, however, one individual at the table, who, though he apparently shared in their mirth, and though no trace of uneasiness on his brow betrayed the working of the mind within, looked upon the proceedings of his young friends and their guests with feelings of an anxious nature. Their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Warenne, feared that he could perceive, amid the joyousness of their good-humoured revelry, impending discord and confusion.

Warenne, though young in years, was a gallant and very distinguished officer. He had entered the army a boy, at the commencement of the Peninsular war, and was entirely employed from that time till its close. Promotion came quickly to the survivors in those days of perilous glory, and he had successively risen step after step, until he found himself in the spring of 1814 first major of his old regiment, the —— dragoons. At Waterloo his lieutenant-colonel was killed, and Warenne obtained the high rank he held at the moment of which we are writing. Thus, after several years of peace, he was not quite thirty-four. Daring, cool, and firm, with quick perception, great knowledge of his profession, and much general information, he was looked upon by his seniors as one who, if opportunity should be given him, could not fail to raise himself to the highest honours of his profession; kind of heart, and gentle in manner, he was the idol of the soldiery. His form and his features coincided with the character of his mind. Tall and muscular, but spare and active, his broad chest and clean limbs showed at once strength, and capability of continued exertion. His dark and piercing eye bespoke quick comprehension; while his mouth, beautifully formed, and expressing, as its natural characteristics, benignity, and perhaps humour, when through agitation it became compressed, bore the stamp of decision.

On the night in question, a bystander might have detected somewhat of Warenne’s anxiety to keep up a tone of conversation throughout the party rather higher than that which usually graces a mess-table, but otherwise no outward signs denoted his anticipations. He had learnt by accident, in the course of the day, that one of the gentlemen, whom he had invited to dinner, was closely connected with the agitating party; and he every instant expected to hear him break out into some abuse of existing powers, which might not be brooked at a table of his majesty’s officers. He watched therefore the increasing effects of the wine upon his guests with a melancholy foreboding, and was on the alert to put a stop to any discussion that seemed likely to terminate angrily. He turned his keen eye round on all his young subalterns in succession, to see if the colour was yet mounting to their cheeks, or if their knit brows showed symptoms of provocation. More especially did he observe the bearing of two at the table. For the first he was interested by the tie of blood; the second had been committed to his care, a few months previously, by one whom he was strongly disposed to think the handsomest and most charming of her sex.

Frank Warenne was the lieutenant-colonel’s only brother, about six years the younger, a gay, dashing, intelligent puppy, very handsome, and a good deal spoilt, that is to say, as far as a disposition, by nature incorruptibly good, could be deteriorated by the admiration of women, and the good-nature of friends. The affectionate kindness of Colonel Warenne himself had perhaps contributed, as much as any other cause, to render Frank what he was.

Their father, a younger son of the noble house of Warenne, had died when his eldest boy Gerald was only thirteen years old, having, shortly before his death, vested his small property in land. His widow had hoped to be able, with the income arising from this, to educate her two children well, and she had placed Gerald at Eton. Before a year had passed, she too was gathered to the tomb. Mr. Warenne had bequeathed the estate in fee to his wife, trusting to her to divide it between her two sons as she might deem best for their future interests.

She died, however, without a will, and it devolved on Gerald as sole heir. From that moment, Gerald, with the decision and nobleness which formed so prominent a part of his after character, determined, not only to take charge of the instruction and support of Frank during his minority by making over for that purpose a portion of the allowance given him by Chancery, but, on his coming of age, to divide his inheritance equally with him; a resolution which he carried into practice, shortly after his return to England from the army of occupation, in the winter of 1815.

He obtained for Frank a commission in the same regiment with himself, as soon as he was old enough to hold it; and the young cornet fought his first battle at Waterloo under his auspices.

In this manner, under his brother’s fostering eye, Frank had grown up to his present age of manhood, in perfect freedom from care, in the enjoyment of as much money as he needed, with the advantages of birth, of friends (for his brother’s friends were his), and of personal beauty—a pleasant introduction into life; but not one to bring to maturity the seeds of good implanted by nature. The consequence of this was, that though Captain Warenne was an excellent officer, and a gay, agreeable companion, he wanted that vigour of mind and intellectual superiority which Colonel Warenne himself possessed.

The other object of anxiety to Warenne, on this evening, Henry Marston, was a wild, thoughtless, impetuous boy, with high and generous feelings, undisciplined by education. When he joined the regiment, only a few months before, he first quitted the paternal roof beneath which he had been brought up under a private tutor, who had consulted his own ease more than his pupil’s advancement, and had never attempted to teach him the necessity of self-command, or even of concession to the prejudices and opinions of others. From him, therefore, Warenne momentarily expected some burst of temper, or some passionate interruption of his Irish guests, which must lead to a quarrel. His fears were not without reason;—by degrees the little softening remarks which he from time to time threw in were less attended to, while the agitator grew more violent and seditious in his language, louder in tone, and more offensive in his gesticulations. By degrees Henry passed from a state of good-humoured amusement to a feeling of intense provocation, which hardly permitted him to observe the usual courtesies of society; and the former at last venturing to declare in a threatening manner, that “England, if she chose still to continue her galling oppression of Ireland, should remember that Irishmen had hearts and hands, and that she did it at her peril,” he angrily demanded,—

“Peril! of what?”

“Do you ask of what?” rejoined the indignant orator. “Of war, war to the knife. Ireland cannot—will not—longer be the slave of England. We bid her, and her bloodthirsty myrmidons defiance.”

In an instant more than one young officer started from his seat, and together with Henry, who was thoroughly exasperated, loudly took him to task for his ill-timed and ill-placed tirade against their country. At this moment the well-known voice of their lieutenant-colonel was heard.

“Mr. Marston, Mr. Kennedy, Captain Warenne; I beg of you to remain quiet.”

The clear stern tone in which these few simple words were uttered, permitted not any hesitation. The young soldiers reseated themselves, and a general silence ensued.

“Gentlemen,” continued he, speaking slowly and calmly, “this for the present is my table, these gentlemen my guests.” Then addressing himself to the unlucky cause of the disturbance. “Mr. O’Neil, as the countenances of my young friends do not seem to promise much more agreeable conversation, perhaps we had better retire.”

He rose from his chair as he concluded, and bowing, led the way to the door. The Irishman followed him, and they all left the room. Colonel Warenne quietly walked before them from the door to the court-yard of the inn, courteously showing the way; as soon, however, as he had reached a spot where he could not be overheard, he turned round and said,—

“After what has passed, Mr. O’Neil, you must be aware that you and I cannot again meet as friends without some explanation; I must therefore wish you good night. To-morrow morning, perhaps, your present feelings of excitement will be past away, and you will be sorry for the intemperate language you have used. I shall be happy to find that such is the case, when I send my friend Major Stuart to wait on you.”

O’Neil seemed struck by the collected and business-like tone of this address, but made no answer, and departed with his companions.

As soon as they were gone, Warenne sought Major Stuart’s apartment, and placed the matter in his hands. He then retraced his steps to the mess-room, revolving in his mind many various schemes for preventing all inquiry, on the part of his young friends, into the measures he had taken, or was about to take, when, fortunately for him, an orderly rode into the yard with orders from General Unwin, who commanded the district, to move the regiment the next day to ——. With the despatch in his hand, he re-entered the dining-room, where, during his absence, his conduct had been canvassed. The younger officers were strongly disposed to think that he had treated the impertinent stranger with too much consideration; and, as he returned, Henry Marston was in the act of saying to Frank, that he was inclined to quarrel with his brother for not allowing him to kick the rascal out. He quickly, however, silenced their incipient questionings, by occupying their attention with the change of station to be effected on the morrow, with the line of route, &c.: and soon afterwards, breaking up the party, dismissed them to their rooms in utter forgetfulness of the mischance which had thrown them into such disagreeable confusion.