Stories of Waterloo;
and Other Tales.
by William Hamilton Maxwell
London: Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley
1829
Vol. 1.
———
—Chapter 9—
Frank Kennedy,
Continued.
AFTER
an affectionate parting with Captain Rattigan, on the second evening I marched into the metropolis at the head of my "charge of foot!" I made my grand entrée in full regimentals, and recalled, with no small vanity, the difference of my present appearance in the redoubted capital of the Emerald Isle, with the unassuming manner in which I first sought the residence of my uncle Davidson, when bent on studying jurisprudence at the feet of that gifted Gamaliel. Who, indeed, could have recognised the staring rustic bestriding a trunk upon the roof of the Galway mail, in the spruce and jaunty commander, who was now leaving, Theseus like, the Ariadne of Ballybunnion?
I found my uncle perched on his well-known stool. He made a most formal bow when I entered, and when, in a most dutiful strain, I inquired after his, and my aunt's health, and he discovered that the smart soldier before him was no other than his quondam disciple, myself, I never witnessed such a display of astonishment, excepting that occasioned by the abstraction of the Kilgobbin title-deeds. There would have been a demur touching my re-entry of the premises, I verily suspect; but, then my aunt, what would she say if her nephew should be rejected like hearsay evidence? The little lawyer summoned up all his civility, and taking my protruded hand between a couple of his fingers, as gingerly as my mutilated friend Kit Clinch would have done, assured me he was glad to see me, that he had a room at my service, provided I did not outstay the end of term—an event, by-the-by, of some three or four days; and telling me my aunt was paying a sick visit, and that his niece was in the drawing-room, warned me from entertaining the latter lady with any love or nonsense, and pointing to the door, signaled me to retire.
I mounted the drawing-room stairs, leisurely communing with myself. I had heard that Duncan had an only niece, to whose education he had been most attentive, and that moreover she was young and lively; and my aunt Macan delighted in prognosticating that she would inherit "every sixpence." But I rather looked down upon the little solicitor in his proper person; the blood was clearly on our side of the house, and my mother a thousand times averred that my aunt's marriage with Duncan was the first introduction of an attorney into the house of Killnacoppall.
"But, God help him, poor man!" said I; "little does he imagine what a heart-scald love and sentiment have given me. I'll insure Miss Davidson against similar consequences as far as I am concerned." As I soliloquized, I opened the drawing-room door; there she sat with her back to me, playing with might and main Tom Cooke's overture to Mother Goose, which was at that time addling and distracting man, woman, and child. I nearly levanted without a further cultivation of our relationship; for, object of my aversion—not Tom Cooke's overture—there she was, literally and absolutely invested in blue bombazine! "Oh! for one speck of coffee," thought I, "and I'm off for ever." But the frock bore my scrutiny, and I set down the colour as a lamentable instance of false taste, and determined the first moment of our intimacy to supplicate a total abandonment of blue for the term of her natural life.
Whether she really had not heard me, or pretended it, I know not; but I was obliged to approach close to her elbow before she would exhibit any symptoms of acknowledgment. I bowed—she bowed—and both were silent. I mustered courage—I, a soldier, and be afraid of attacking a cousin, and that too on Duncan's side of the house!—"Madam, I presume—my fair cousin, Miss Lucy Davidson?"
"Exactly, sir."
"I have the honour—a-hem!—to be Mr. Kennedy of the 88th."
"So I supposed," said she, with perfect unconcern.
"Is this ease or stupidity," thought I.
"You have heard of me before, then?"
"O Lord, yes! repeatedly: my uncle spoke of nothing else for a year;—you're the man that lost the bag!"
"Lost the devil, madam! has not that infernal mistake been yet forgotten?"
"Don't call is a mistake; it was a cause of great service to the community. Lady Splashboard tired of her lover before a new deed could be engrossed, and is now living with her noble spouse in the greatest connubial felicity; and Sir Phelim O'Boyl popped off suddenly in a passion before half his mortgages could be resatisfied, and thereby discharged his debts, and concluded a chancery suit; two events which would otherwise have been left incomplete till the day of judgment."
I stared at her during the singular dialogue. I had made a wrong estimate of my cousin: of us two, it was clear that she was the stouter vessel; and I at once determined to give in. At this moment my aunt's knock was heard at the door. Lucy turned to me with arch good nature, "Come, cousin Frank, here's my hand—we are friends; and excepting when tête-à-tête, we will never allude to the title-deeds;" and sitting down to the piano, she recommenced Mother Goose.
I had been an inmate of my uncle's house but a few days when I discovered that I was absolutely in love with Lucy. She was a clever, warm-hearted girl; a compound of wildness and good-nature—teasing me this moment, and softening me the next. We strolled arm-in-arm through the city; and as the time for my departure drew on, I found that Lucy had, as Duncan would have said, ejected former occupants, and taken undisputed possession of my heart. Full of the idea of my fair cousin, we were returning home through Capel Street, when, on coming abruptly round the corner of Mary's Abbey—blessed apostle of Ireland! whom should we meet, full front, but Christopher Clinch, with one arm in a sling, and the other supporting Jemima O'Brien. I thought I should have died on the spot; and, indeed Kit was not apparently on a bed of roses; and Jemima, notwithstanding her brass, had rather what we call in Ireland "a bothered look about her."
We passed hastily on, none of the party having any inclination for salutations in the market-place. Lucy was too clever not to remark, that some more than common understanding existed between this amiable pair and myself; and when we reached home, finding we were alone, she pressed her inquiries with such tact and pertinacity, that no alternative but a full confession was left. Accordingly, amid roars of laughter, I made a clean breast, and only brought my unhappy story to a close when Duncan's peculiar cough was heard in the hall. "Why, Frank, this far exceeds the title-deeds: ah! my poor cousin, two such scrapes in one short twelvemonth!" and tapping my cheek with her glove, she ran out of the room before our gracious uncle entered.
While congratulating myself on the rapid advance in my cousin's estimation, which no doubt my character had just acquired, by her being more particularly acquainted with my private memoirs, my sergeant arrived with written orders for our embarkation the next morning. Any chance I might have had of gradually removing Lucy's impression of my idiotcy was now over, and I should leave Ireland, satisfied that my mistress considered me the veriest ass that was permitted to go at large through the world. No wonder, when I joined her after dinner, my spirits were any thing but buoyant.
I approached her at the piano. "What is the matter with you, Frank? You are sorry that you admitted me farther into your confidence than you first purposed. Come, I won't play with your feelings—indeed I won't; don't be depressed."
"How can I be otherwise, Lucy? here is the order for my embarkation; and I leave you in the full persuasion that I must appear a weak and contemptible imbecile in your eyes—a fit subject for being fooled by flirts and bullies."
"No, no—not by bullies. You have enough of your country's pugnacious properties to prevent your being dragooned;—but when do you go? and when do you probably return?"
"I go to-morrow; and I return probably never. Oh! Lucy; on this, our last evening, forgive me if I tell my secret: I never felt I loved a woman till I met you."
She turned her eyes quickly upon mine: she read there the sincerity of my declarations, and coloured deeply, as I continued:—"Lucy, how shall I woo you? how shall I win you? Be mine—mine own. Love!—boundless eternal love!—"
"Hush! for Heaven's sake! some one is on the stairs;" and turning hastily some leaves of music, she continued with apparent unconcern, "it is composed by my master. I'll sing it for you, and of its merits you will then be a better judge."
Love, wilt though build a cot for me
Where roses red shall blush around it?
And there shall bloom Love's sacred tree,
And many a myrtle wreath surround it.
Love, wilt thou twine for me a bower
To shade me from the summer's glow?
And there the jasmine white shall flower,
And there the purple hare-bell blow.
Love, wilt thou come when day is over,
And softly lay thee down to rest?
My arms shall clasp my faithful lover,
My head be pillowed on his breast.
Before her song was finished my aunt had again left us to ourselves, and I pressed wild suit with all the ardent arguments of first love. Lucy was not unmoved: she listened, and then calmly turning to me, replied. "And would you have me, Frank, leave home and kindred to join my destinies to yours? Now, Frank, hear me—calmly hear me. We should have to eat and drink, and be clothed as other mortals are, and that, all on five shillings and sixpence per day, and you be shot at for that sum into the bargain! As to private property, I have some fifty pounds, being the bequest of an affectionate aunt, who left double that sum for the maintenance of her poodle; and you have probably not so much to carry you over the Peninsula. Now, dear Frank, where would be the wisdom in our marriage? No, no—wait five years, and when I have five thousand pounds in the funds, who knows but I may become Mrs. Kennedy?—there's my hand on it." She smiled—"Come, you are dull: my uncle will be coming up to supper, and in the interim I'll sing you my favourite ballad."
Fair Jessie, when the moon was new,
Stole out to meet her highland lover:
The glistening leaf was bathed in dew,
And soundly slept her watchful mother.
The moon grew round, still Jessie hied
Each night to hear young Donald's story;
And oft the gentle maiden sighed
O'er tales of love, and fields of glory.
Behind her clouds the wan moon sleeps;
But Jessie loves no more the gloaming:
Alone she sighs—alone she weeps—
For far from her false Donald's roaming.
Sweet smiles the moon upon the lea,
While on her snow-wreathed throne she's sleeping;
But, ah! that fickle smile will flee;
And, like false love, may end in weeping.
As Lucy sang, she cast a look of arch application to me—"Ladies have been loved, and ladies have been left before now, Frank."
Again I commenced rhapsodizing—"What! leave you, Lucy, were you once mine! Never, by Heaven! I would live for you—labour for you—die for you—but never——" and my cursed voice was pitched so loud as to prevent me hearing the opening of the door—"I will never leave you—never leave this house till—"
"There's a writ of ne exeat regno served on you, at the suit of Jemima O'Brien, spinster, for breach of promise;" and, to our unutterable dismay, Duncan Davison was standing at the back of my chair. "Oh! Frank, Frank Kennedy, what will be your end? By you, Lord Splashboard lost his divorce: I lost my costs: Sir Phelim lost his life: Jemima O'Brien lost her character; and Mr. Clinch, as I am instructed, lost the use of his hand."
I felt hurt and mortified at these multifarious allegations; and with some heat, told him I should remove myself forthwith from the house of a relation, who seemed to extend a scanty share of hospitality to one who had never been a trespasser on it.
"No, no—don't be in a passion: Poucett, my scrivener, heard of the intended proceedings by chance, and gave me the earliest information—but, you sail in the morning; be on board before the court sits; avoid the ne exeat—and God speed you!—To your bed, Lucy!—what keeps the girl up?" With a significant look, my mistress rose and left the room.
As I was to be off very early in the morning, my uncle availed himself of this opportunity of bidding me farewell. Having calculated that the odds were against my ever troubling him again, he made me a parting present of a five-pound note.
I retired to my chamber, but not to sleep—and was gazing listlessly from the window, hearing the sleepy watchman tell the droning hours, when a gentle tap called me to the door, and, on tiptoe, my fair cousin glided into the apartment.
She placed her finger on her lip, and producing a small parcel, carefully sealed, spoke to me in a cautious whisper—"I have brought you, Frank, a trifle—a bauble—it is for a recollection of your cousin, when you are far away; but give me one promise, or I take my present with me. Can you patiently wait a given time before you open this enclosure?"
I had thrown my arm around her, but an emphatic gesture prevented me from catching her to my breast;—I murmured a hasty promise.
"Will you swear it?"
"By your own sweet self," I whispered.
"Enough!"—she smiled—"the oath is certainly an awful one!—Have you nothing to give me in return?"
I looked confounded.—"Nothing," I ejaculated, "but this poor hand."
"Nothing!" she repeated. "Has woman never had an offered of your hair?"
"Never," I exclaimed solemnly.
"Stoop."
I did so, and she removed a ringlet hastily—then turning her lips to mine, she bade me a found adieu. I would have followed, but a menace from her finger, and an expressive look, forbade me.
I never saw her since!
Well—my tale is near its close. The little packet was carefully secured, and a written order prohibited its being opened until we landed in Portugal. Vain were my conjectures as to what might be Lucy's present; the time came—I broke the seals eagerly. The packet contained a picture of herself, and a purse of fifty guineas, being the legacy of her aunt, the poodle fancier.
Five years have nearly passed, and I have been since in many a stirring scene; I have shared the pleasures of a military life, and like my comrades, I have bent to woman, and, urged the "lightly-won" suit of a soldier, but never has my heart been disengaged, from that generous high-spirited girl. I have dreamed of her in the bivouac; I have thought of her in the battle; I returned, ardent to catch my gentle cousin to my heart, and renew upon her lips my vows of eternal constancy.
But when did love's course run smooth?—My father and Duncan had quarreled beyond the possibility of being reconciled; for my aunt Macan had, as usual, interfered, and to evince what she calls "proper spirit," favoured my uncle Davison with a letter, in which she satisfactorily proved that all good luck had abandoned the house of Killnacoppal since one of its daughters had degraded her name, by "intermarrying with a low-born quill-driver."
No wonder Duncan's door was closed against me; no wonder Lucy was commanded, under the heaviest denunciation of being disinherited, to avoid me. Poor girl!—she wrote to me. It was a letter worthy of her: she pointed out the delicacy of her situation, and showed me the necessity of a farther separation;—yet, I know I hold a place in her heart, and if woman was ever true—"
Mac Carthy coloured deeply—"Never!" he muttered, as he left the room. There was a momentary silence; Hilson broke it. "Poor Maurice, there is some hidden mystery gnaws that bold heart, and which even his desperate resolution cannot subdue; but he wrongs the sex—woman can, and has, and will be true:—yes, I have witness faith to the tomb!"
His eyes filled with tears as he traversed the apartments. "Kennedy, you and I will bear record of woman's truth, and woman's constancy, did you but know my early history."
Anxiously Kennedy entreated him to tell it; and Mac Carthy having returned, Colonel Hilson related his youthful adventures.
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