Bits of Blarney

  CHAPTER II.

  THE LEADER.

  Stealthily and in silence the Whiteboys proceeded to the scene ofintended operation. Not a word was spoken--not a sound heard, except thenoise of their footsteps whenever they got on the high road. As much aspossible they avoided the highway, the course which would the soonestbring them to the appointed place. It would seem as if their leader hadbound them together, by some spell peculiarly their own, to yieldimplicit and unquestioned obedience to his imperious will. It stronglyillustrated the aphorism--

  "Those who think must govern those who toil."

  Whoever knows how lively and mercurial is the natural temperament ofthe peasantry in the South of Ireland, must be aware of the difficultyof restraining them from loud-voiced talking in the open air; but nownot one of that large and excited gathering spoke above his breath.Their leader commanded them to be silent, and to them his will was law.

  Who was that leader? The question involves some mystery which it may beas well to unveil before proceeding with the action of this narrative.

  Who, and whence was that leader? His birth would have secured him a"respectable" station in society, if his wild passions, and the strongpressure of Circumstance (that unspiritual god), had not so far

  "Profaned his spirit, sank his brow,"

  that the ambition which, under better auspices, might have soared to thehighest aims, was now directed no farther than to establish an unstabledominion over a few wild, uncultivated peasants, who, like fire andwater, might be excellent servants, but with any opportunity ofdomination would probably prove tyrannic masters. He who would rule therude peasantry of Ireland, must make up his mind to be governed by themin turn, whenever _his_ wishes and aims and actions fall short of_theirs_. They will go with him while his desires and designs runtogether with their own, but they will speedily leave him behind, orforce him with them, if they find him less eager than themselves. Evenunder the regular discipline of the army the same may be observed. Inbattle an Irish regiment cannot, or rather will not, understand anyorder to retreat. They repudiate all strategy which even _appears_ towithdraw them from

  "The triumph and the vanity, The rapture of the strife,"

  and show, by the gallant impetuosity with which they plunge into theattack, that their proper action is assault. If so under the harshrestrictions of military discipline, what must it be when freed fromthat coercion?

  The leader of the Whiteboys in 1822--the veritable CAPTAIN ROCK, whom Ihave introduced at the Wake of the slain John Sheehan--was no commonman. His birth had been respectable, his education good, his fortune hadbeen ample, his mind was affluent in varied and vigorous resources; hehad formerly won favor and fame from the world's opinion, and few men inany country could compete with him in the personal advantages whichspring from manly beauty of form and feature, activity of body, and astrength of frame which literally defied fatigue and over-exertion.

  The father of John Cussen was "a gentleman of independent fortune," inIrish parlance; that is, had succeeded to a pretty good estate, andwould have been in easy, if not affluent circumstances, could he haverealized any thing like the nominal amount of his rent-roll. But therewere two difficulties, at least. Irish estates have had a fatal facilityin becoming subjected to such things as mortgages, which relentlesslyabsorb certain annual amounts in the shape of interest, and Irishtenants have been apt to cherish the idea that they perform their dutytowards society in general, and themselves in particular, by paying aslittle rent as possible. Still, though Mr. Cussen's property hadgradually come under the pressure of these two causes, it yielded anincome sufficient for his moderate wants. His children had died, one byone, in the very bloom and promise of their youth, until, out of anumerous family, only one son survived.

  This youth, possessing a mind more active and aspirations more ambitiousthan most of his class, disdained the ordinary routine of every-daylife. It was not difficult to persuade his father to permit him to gointo the world--the military and naval service, from its danger, beingthe only profession which that doting parent positively forbade him tothink of. The lad, after wavering for some time, determined to become asurgeon, and proceeded to pursue his studies in Dublin.

  It would be tedious to narrate into what a circle of extravagance, whilethus engaged, the young man became gradually involved; it would bepainful to trace his downward lapse from folly to vice. Sufficientto say that, by the time he received his diploma as a surgeon (havingpassed his examinations with unexpected and even distinguished success),he had contrived to involve himself so deeply that his paternal propertyhad to be additionally mortgaged to relieve him from heavy involvements.His father, who might have repudiated the creditors' claims, admittedthem, without a murmur. Eager to snatch him from the haunts and thesociety by which he had embarrassed his means and injured his health,and looking on the military service as a good school of discipline, evenif it were not free from peril, his father overcame all personalscruples, forgave the past, and looking hopefully at the future,successfully employed his influence to obtain for him an appointment assurgeon to one of the regiments which, just then, had been ordered toBelgium, as the re-appearance of Napoleon, and his triumphant progressfrom Elba to Paris--his eagle "flying from steeple to steeple until italighted on the tower of Notre Dame"--had awakened the fears and enmityof Europe, bringing once more into action

  "All quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war."

  It was John Cussen's fortune to reach the scene of warfare in time towitness the deadly struggle at Waterloo. But it was his hap, also, to domore than witness it. He performed an act of heroism on the field,which not only gained him high and merited praise, but had powerfulinfluence upon his future prospects.

  Military discipline very properly provides that the surgeons of aregiment shall not take part in any engagement on the field. The livesof so many may depend upon the skill of even a single surgeon that itwould be inconvenient, to say the best of it, if, when his aid werepromptly required, during an encounter, it were found that he hadallowed his ardor to carry him into the actual peril of the strife.

  Cussen was sufficiently near to witness the greater part of the conteston the day of Waterloo. It was not without difficulty that his quickIrish spirit could control the almost overwhelming desire to plunge intothe middle of the contest--which, on that day, had more singleencounters than any since Poictiers and Agincourt. As he stood outside atent which had been placed for the use of the medical staff, in the rearof the British position, he observed an English officer, on anunmanageable charger (bearing him along with an impetuous speed, which,having received a severe wound in the bridle-arm, he could neithercontrol nor check), followed by a French cuirassier, who had nearlyovertaken him. Another moment and the uplifted sabre would have struckthe helpless man to the ground. Cussen rushed forward, literally torethe Frenchman from his saddle, by main strength, and, wresting thesword from his hand, gave him a death-wound. Quick as thought, turningfrom the fallen foe and bounding forward with an agility which he hadacquired on his native hills, Cussen followed the swift horse, andsucceeded, by a strong and overmastering grasp, in checking its speed.In its rider, he recognized his own Colonel, whose life he had thusdoubly saved, and received a grateful assurance that his service shouldnot be forgotten.

  Having dressed the Colonel's wounds, Cussen resumed his position in therear.--But inaction was terrible to one whose spirit had been awakenedto the excitement before him--for "quiet to quick bosoms is a bane."Nearer and nearer became his involuntary approach to that part of theplace in which the contest was hotly proceeding. At last, unable anylonger to resist the passionate impulse, he mounted on one of the manywar-steeds which were wildly galloping over the battle-field, caught theeye of the officer whom he had rescued, rushed forward to join the_melee_, and bravely fought side by side with him, when the "Up, Guards,and at them!" of Wellington urged on the soldiers to that last terrificcharge which shook the imperial di
adem from the brow of the firstNapoleon.

  A gallant deed, even though it violate the strict rules of militarydiscipline, is not considered a very heinous offence by any commander.So, while his Colonel hailed John Cussen as preserver, the brief lapseof duty as a surgeon was forgiven, in consideration of his chivalry as asoldier.