by Mrs. West
CHAP. XIX.
Teach all men how dangerous it is to step aside out of the path of innocence and virtue upon any presumption to get into it again; since such men usually satisfy themselves in doing any thing to mend the present exigent they are in, rather than think of returning to that condition of innocence from whence they departed.
Clarendon.
The public rebuke of Lord Hopton (in its most opprobrious charge whollyundeserved) and the subsequent interview with his father, produced amarked change in the character of Eustace. He saw that his misfortuneshad proceeded from rash impetuosity, extreme confidence in his owntalents, and a precipitate estimation of the merit of those he admittedto his friendship. From that period he became wary and circumspect; apensive gloom clouded his once fervent animation; he looked and feltlike one bound to life by an irresistible spell, for in that light heconsidered his father's command, to live and redeem his honour.
He was not without hope, that the cordial testimony of Governor Arundelin his favour at Pendennis-Castle might prove the means of restoring himto the presence of his friends; but a report at that time reaching himof the high estimation in which Monthault was held by the Beaumontfamily, added to an assurance that he was the accepted lover ofConstantia, determined him against returning to Oxford, to witness thearts by which that now-detected traitor had confirmed his ruin. He hadoften heard the love of women was not of that ardent nature, whichoutlives disgrace and misfortune. Perhaps he secretly commended thenoble principles which could prevail on a young woman to reject adishonoured lover, and deem infamy a sufficient plea to rescind the bondof a plighted attachment. He only lamented, that in this instanceConstantia had mistaken the dupe for the villain. Disdaining to disputethe point of character with Monthault, and bent on clearing his fidelityto his King, by some indisputable proofs before he claimed his love, hefelt as exiles frequently feel, who, liking nothing but that home fromwhich they are proscribed, suffer chance to decide their course. Jobsonhad attached himself to his fortunes, he had some relations in Wales,and he spoke much of the loyalty of the mountaineers.--Eustace crossedthe British channel and took up his abode in the principality,continuing to distinguish himself as long as any resistance was made tothe parliament.
During the cessation of hostilities, which resembled rather an armedtruce than peace, his yearning heart returned to his beloved family, andhis dearest Constantia, who, he now learned, had rejected Monthault. Butthey had left Oxford in the general dispersion of its sages and divines,and he knew not whither they had shaped their course, neither did he yetthink he had fulfilled the injunction of redeeming his shames. Continualtalk of risings for the King, made him hope he should again have anopportunity of using his sword, and while this suspence lasted, heaccepted the hospitality of a worthy surgeon of the name of Lloyd, whoresided in the town of Pembroke, and admired the virtues of this braveout-cast, as sincerely as he pitied his misfortunes.
Eustace left the arms of this foster-parent, at the breaking out of thesecond civil war, which took place during the King's confinement inCarisbroke-Castle. He was one of the first who appeared in arms, andafter many bold, but unsuccessful efforts, he and Jobson were among thenumber who sustained that memorable siege in Pembroke-Castle, where,after holding out to the last extremity, a selected number of the bravedefenders were sacrificed to republican revenge[1].
I have already stated that the command of the army, destined to subduethe Welsh Loyalists, had been given to Lord Bellingham as a test of hisfidelity, or rather a snare to expedite his ruin, and that his Countesswas privy to this design, being actually the person who had informedCromwell of his secret disaffection. The Usurper had recently suffered asevere disappointment; his favourite General Mytton had thrown up hiscommand in disgust, and refused again to subdue his countrymen, since heperceived his hopes of founding a republic, that was to combine everyUtopian idea of purity, had issued in the establishment of militarydespotism. Cromwell resolved henceforth to employ a more subtle policy,and to place a spy on every one whom he entrusted with an importantcommand, whose interest it should be to watch and report all theiractions. He had formed a determination not only to annihilate theancient nobility, but also to create a new house of peers, consisting ofmen raised by what he called personal merit, in reality a selection fromhis own creatures, which is often the true explanation of the wordmerit, when used for party-purposes. No expedient could better servesuch a purpose, than that of exhibiting birth and rank, self-degraded inthe person of one, who he knew would prove himself unworthy of the trustreposed in him.
When a system of _espionage_ and secret influence becomes the rulingprinciple of government, it follows that the governed must counteractits designs by a similar process, and thus venality and treachery becomelegalized by the acknowledged laws of self-defence. Lord Bellingham hadhis agents in the army, as well as Cromwell, and soon discovered thatthe sword of Damocles was suspended over his head. Though disaffected tothe cause he served, he had not courage to avow his sentiments, or evenprudence enough to throw up the command, and embrace the only chance ofsafety, by choosing a life of retirement. Wedded to the possessions andrank he had so dearly purchased, and full of ill-founded confidence thathe could play as successful a game with a close-penetrating tyrant, ashe had done with a generous inexperienced King, he thought an air ofinexorable cruelty to the royalists must remove, or at least lull thesuspicions of the serpent, who lay wrapped round in observant coil,ready to spring upon him. As to the feelings of those whom hepersecuted, for the sake of prolonging his own worthless life andpreserving his ill-acquired fortunes, he either entirely forgot thatthey had any, or considered that self-preservation rendered everyexpedient lawful.
After enduring a siege equalled in horror only by that of Colchester,Pembroke-Castle surrendered on the same terms; namely, that the commonsoldiers might depart unmolested, and the inhabitants be safe in personand property, while the officers and gentlemen who had borne arms shouldsurrender prisoners at mercy. The generous sentiments of theseself-devoted patriots sustained them in the agonizing trial of partingwith the bands they had led always to honour, sometimes to victory, bythe consideration that, by placing themselves in jeopardy, they hadpurchased the safety of those whom they could no otherwise protect, andwhose services were now useless as the cause was desperate. But fardifferent were the feelings of the soldiers, who were compelled to leavetheir beloved commanders in this state of peril. The regret of Jobsonwas peculiarly lively, he wrung the hand of Eustace, implored him toassist him in passing for a subaltern, that he might share his perils,and insisted he was as good a gentleman as many of Bellingham'sofficers. Eustace attempted to laugh at his apprehensions, assured himthat the rumour of the General's intention to decimate the prisoners wassuggested by some malicious person, who sported with the feelings ofunfortunate people. "The only difference in our fate," said he toJobson, "is that you are at large with your unhealed wounds to beg orstarve, whichever (being your own master) you shall think most eligible,while I shall be well taken care of as a prisoner, probably sent toLondon, and perhaps, by some fortunate occurrence, may be indulged witha sight of my honoured father. With what transport shall I throw myselfinto his arms, crave his blessing, tell him I have redeemed my shames,and proved by my sufferings and my blood that I am no traitor."
Jobson took a lingering leave; the commands of Bellingham wereperemptory. Every soldier of the King's found in the castle, the eveningafter its surrender, was ordered to be thrown over the rock into thesea. Cowardice was his motive for this command. He dreaded the fury ofeven a disarmed and unofficered army, and he resolved to disperse them,previous to his bringing on the premeditated catastrophe of his bloodytragedy.
On the succeeding morning a ghastly-looking figure, whose face spokesome abhorred errand, ordered the captives to attend the council ofofficers. Bellingham, surrounded with those, who secretly panted for hisdestruction, acted as their organ, and assuming the
consequence of ageneral, informed his prisoners[2], "That after so long and obstinate adefence, till they found it necessary to deliver up themselves to mercy,it was necessary that the peace of the kingdom might be no more disturbedin that manner, that some military justice should be executed, andtherefore the council had determined that three should be presentlyshot." The tallies were immediately produced, the victims blindfolded,and Eustace drew one of those marked with the fatal sentence of death.His partners in affliction had nothing remarkable in their appearance toengage peculiar sympathy; but the beautiful countenance of Eustace, fadedindeed by severe suffering, yet lighted by the splendor of eyes radiantwith intelligence, while all his features spoke sense and feeling, hadalready drawn the attention of the butchers who sat to see him exposed tothe chance of slaughter. With collected intrepidity he stretched hishand, and steadily drew the lot from the fatal urn. When the contentswere announced, he tore the bandage from his eyes, and, rolling them instern defiance of the rebel group, embraced his fellow-victims. A silentappeal to Heaven succeeded; and then, without one supplicatory addressfor mercy, in a manly tone, he inquired what time would be allowed themto prepare for death. His manner had so far softened their hearts, that arespite of three hours was granted; and Lord Bellingham offered them theassistance of one of his own chaplains to direct their devotions.
It would have been an inestimable consolation to Eustace had the worthyBarton officiated in that capacity; but he was now among the number ofrespectable characters who were thrown into prison for presuming tointercede in the King's behalf. The person who attended Eustace was anignorant desperate fanatic, in reality a spy of Cromwell's, whom thearbitrary will of Lady Bellingham compelled her lord to retain about hisperson. Such an assistant could afford no comfort to a condemned man; inreality he only served to disturb the composure which a long series ofsorrows and sufferings had enabled Eustace externally to assume--I sayexternally, for his soul secretly melted at the unusual misfortunes thathad clouded his short existence. He recollected at this trying momentthe precious delights and glorious visions of his boyhood. His minddwelt on the delusive opinion of his own powers, which had endangeredhis high expectations of renown, the fatal intimacy, and the numerouserrors that changed glory into disgrace; and now, when misfortune hadtaught him wisdom, by the cruel sentence of coward rebels he was doomed,in cold blood, not only to an early, but also to an ignominious grave.He should never more re-join his father! never behold his plightedConstantia! Death he would welcome almost with transport, could he buthear the former pronounce his forgiveness, or the latter vow that shewould cherish his memory. To die unknown, distant from all he loved, beignorant of their present state, and they of his miserable doom--such acombination of excruciating misfortunes required no common fortitude tosupport the trial, or to divest a soul (which clung to the future withgreater eagerness in proportion to the fallacy of past expectations) ofthose strong attachments to this life which impeded his journey toanother. The glow of heroism which animated his face, and warmed hisbosom before the council, was succeeded by the chill of despair. Theprecious moments of preparation for eternity were consumed in a whirl ofdistracting thought. He stood caressing a favourite spaniel whom he hadpreserved alive during the severe privations of the siege, watching theswift movements of the clock which numbered the remaining pulses of hisheart, wondering if it would thus throb at the moment when he plungedinto an unknown existence, endeavouring to recollect a recommendatoryprayer, but too amazed and petrified by the cruelty of man to meditateon the mercy of God.
Meanwhile, Henley the chaplain, with the stern austerity of unpityingfanaticism, asked Eustace if he was in a state of grace, or hadwitnessed the experience of a saving call. Receiving no answer to theseinquiries, he began the usual routine of vituperative prayer, andaffected to supplicate for mercy on what he styled a child of wrathdoomed to perdition, and, by his own consent, in the bondage of Satan.Eustace was roused by this mockery from his apparent stupor. "Call youthis," said he, "spiritual comfort for the afflicted, or a requiem for adeparting soul? I was educated in the principles of true piety. I knowmyself to be a frail, responsible being, and that my spirit is composedof those imperishable materials which will enable me to exist in a stateof retribution. I trust in the merits of Him who died to save me. I amsevered from my dearest connections. My days are terminated in themorning of my life. I am denied the fruition of those glorious hopeswhich prompted me to distinguish myself by deeds deserving virtuousrenown. So wills the Ruler of the universe. Blind and cruel instrumentsoften accomplish the inscrutable designs of Providence; but I have beentaught to consider all its purposes as issuing in mercy. I fought for avirtuous King; I die for his exiled son. My name shall live in honourwhen Bellingham and all the vile associates of Cromwell are consigned toinfamy. I am the son of Colonel Evellin, the nephew of Dr. EusebiusBeaumont, both renowned Loyalists. You, Sir, cannot instruct me; for theprinciples I imbibed from them will support me in my last moments."
The Chaplain listened with surprise to the account which Eustace gave ofhimself, and thought it expedient to return to his lord before hisexecution. Bellingham had been much struck with the aspect of the braveyouth. The unacknowledged yearnings of nature, excited by hisresemblance to his father, made him wish to save his life, while thecompunctious visitings of mercy were again repressed by terror for hisown. While he thus hesitated, Henley returned, and advised the Earl byno means to preserve such a determined profligate, who had rejected hisprayers with disdain, refused to give any account of the state of hissoul, persisted in a false exposition of the gospel, and gloried in hisrelationship to notorious malignants. "He is the son of that desperadoColonel Evellin," said Henley--Bellingham trembled as he uttered thatname--"and the nephew of Dr. Eusebius Beaumont," continued the Chaplain.The horrors and fears of Bellingham were wrought to a climax by thisinformation. Those apprehensions which the likeness of Eustace to hisinjured father, and the similitude of their names excited, were nowconfirmed beyond all doubt, by his claiming kindred with Dr. Beaumont.Allan Neville was therefore still alive, and no other than the famousColonel Evellin, at whose name he and many other rebels had often turnedpale. Bellingham had frequently revolved in his mind the possibilitythat the brave Loyalist might be his injured brother. He had lost sightof him before the commencement of the civil wars, and hoped he hadfallen a victim to insanity in his mountainous retreat. He now knew hewas still alive, perhaps preserved to reclaim his inheritance, at leasthe was the father of a brave interesting youth whom he had just doomedto slaughter, and dared not pardon. Practised as he was in guilt, hisheart revolted at the idea of shedding his blood. Hurried out of hisaccustomed caution, he faintly acknowledged the prisoner was his nephew;but suddenly re-assuming his wonted duplicity, he desired Henley tohurry back, and inquire if he had any more brothers, observing it was adesperate family, and perhaps sparing the life of one might be the meansof getting the rest into the power of Parliament.
Henley had caught the inadvertent acknowledgment of kindred, and wasprepared to use it to forward the views of Cromwell. Before he returnedto Eustace, he took care to inform the agitators that their General'snephew was one among the captive officers assigned by lot to expiate forthe loss of their comrades who had perished in the siege, and thatBellingham was now devising measures to save his life. An universalclamour was immediately raised; the soldiers assembled on the parade,and called for impartial justice. The agitators proceeded in a body tothe General's quarters, demanding that the prisoners should be instantlyexecuted, and, that no subterfuge or exchange might take place, theywould themselves examine their features, and ascertain that they werethose who drew the lots of death.
Meanwhile Henley was holding forth hopes of mercy to Eustace, and drewfrom him a description of the state of his family. He also inquired ifhe had any friends in Pembroke. A prudent recollection of the danger towhich he might expose Dr. Lloyd, prevented Eustace from requesting thecomfort of his attendance. The conference was interrupted by the loudclamours o
f the soldiers. Eustace knew their meaning, endeavoured tocompose his thoughts, and submitted to his fate. It was reported that,as he went to execution, he had the melancholy comfort of seeing hisfriend among those who came to witness his last moments. If so, hisperturbed spirit was soothed with the consciousness that there was onewho would record his magnanimity, and rescue his cold remains frombarbarous indignity or oblivious neglect.
"I know little more, please Your Reverence," said Jobson to Dr.Beaumont, "than that they were all cruelly shot to death. I have heardthat poor Fido sat howling on my young master's corpse, and would notlet any body touch it till Dr. Lloyd fetched it away to bury it; andthat the Doctor keeps the poor dog still, and will never part with it.Ah! the bloody-minded knaves so hated poor Eustace, that they neverwould have suffered him to have had Christian burial, had not theofficers and soldiers mutinied just at that moment. They said that theGeneral had betrayed them, and that the trouble they had to conquer uswas all owing to his favouring his friends in the Castle. There isnothing but lies among the Round-heads; for I'll take my life not a soulof us would have had any thing to do with them, and if starving us todeath was a way of shewing us favour, I hope never to meet with suchfriends any more. So, and please Your Reverence, as soon as poor Mr.Eustace fell, the Devil (whom they talk so much about) got among them,and they began quarrelling and fighting; and a pity it is he did notcome a little sooner and carry off that cowardly Lord who let hisprisoners be shot in cold blood, because he could not beat them whenthey had arms in their hands. Had it not been for him, the finest youngman Lancashire ever bred would have been alive and merry with his noblefather at this moment. I don't wonder Your Reverence weeps and wringsyour hands. I would have died a thousand times to save him; and if everI may shew my face in the open day-light again, I'll go to Pembroke andbeg Dr. Lloyd to let me take Fido to Mistress Constantia. Poor Fido! Mr.Eustace hid him all through the siege, or the garrison would have eathim. We gave him a morsel out of our own mess, and that was shortcommons enough. I fancy I see him walking after Mr. Eustace when he wentto be shot, and then sitting on his body. I warrant they found the lockof Mrs. Constantia's hair lying on his heart; for he looked at it everyday, and swore he never would part with it. O! that I had died insteadof him; there is nobody to grieve for Ralph Jobson!"
Thus imitating the artifice, while unable to catch the spirit of theGrecian painter, I describe sorrow as personified in a faithfulattendant, and leave the reader's imagination to picture the franticfather and the fainting mistress of Eustace--affliction wearing the formof a ministering angel in Isabel, and that of a mourning patriarch inDr. Beaumont--all tracing the ruin of their dearest hopes to the sameiniquitous source; yet all agreeing that it was better to die withvirtue than to live with guilt; to be immolated on the shrine of alarmedambition, rather than to be the bloody hierarch who dragged thesacrifice to the altar.
[1] In the account of what passed at Pembroke-Castle, the author has not adhered to history or chronology; but the similar barbarity and breach of contract, which took place at Colchester, justifies the narration.
[2] This is copied from what passed at Colchester.