Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"D——d
first," said the boy; "open the lid, Dick, let's have a look."
"Ah,
you're a rum un," said Dick, "arter my own heart. I sometimes thinks
as you must be a nevy, or some sort of relation of mine. Howsomdever, here
goes. Who'd a thought that I should ever had a look at old fat and thunder
again?—that's what I used to call him; and then he used to request me to go
down below, where I needn't turn round to light my blessed pipe."
"Hell—we
know," said the boy; "why don't you open the lid, Dick?"
"I'm
a going," said Dick; "kim up."
He
introduced the corner of a shovel between the lid and the coffin, and giving it
a sudden wrench, he loosened it all down one side.
A
shudder pervaded the multitude, and, popularly speaking, you might have heard a
pin drop in that crowded churchyard at that eventful moment.
Dick
then proceeded to the other side, and executed the same manoeuvre.
"Now
for it," he said; "we shall see him in a moment, and we'll think we
seed him still."
"What
a lark!" said the boy.
"You
hold yer jaw, will yer? Who axed you for a remark, blow yer? What do you mean
by squatting down there, like a cock-sparrow, with a pain in his tail, hanging
yer head, too, right over the coffin? Did you never hear of what they call a
fluvifium coming from the dead, yer ignorant beast, as is enough to send nobody
to blazes in a minute? Get out of the way of the cold meat, will yer?"
"A
what, do you say, Dick?"
"Request
information from the extreme point of my elbow."
Dick
threw down the spade, and laying hold of the coffin-lid with both hands, he
lifted it off, and flung it on one side.
There
was a visible movement and an exclamation among the multitude. Some were pushed
down, in the eager desire of those behind to obtain a sight of the ghastly
remains of the butcher; those at a distance were frantic, and the excitement
was momentarily increasing.
They
might all have spared themselves the trouble, for the coffin was empty—here was
no dead butcher, nor any evidence of one ever having been there, not even the
grave-clothes; the only thing at all in the receptacle of the dead was a brick.
Dick's
astonishment was so intense that his eyes and mouth kept opening together to
such an extent, that it seemed doubtful when they would reach their extreme
point of elongation. He then took up the brick and looked at it curiously, and
turned it over and over, examined the ends and the sides with a critical eye,
and at length he said,—
"Well,
I'm blowed, here's a transmogrification; he's consolidified himself into a
blessed brick—my eye, here's a curiosity."
"But
you don't mean to say that's the butcher, Dick?" said the boy.
Dick
reached over, and gave him a tap on the head with the brick.
"There!"
he said, "that's what I calls occular demonstration. Do you believe it
now, you blessed infidel? What's more natural? He was an out-and-out brick
while he was alive; and he's turned to a brick now he's dead."
"Give
it to me, Dick," said the boy; "I should like to have that brick,
just for the fun of the thing."
"I'll
see you turned into a pantile first. I sha'n't part with this here, it looks so
blessed sensible; it's a gaining on me every minute as a most remarkable
likeness, d——d if it ain't."
By
this time the bewilderment of the mob had subsided; now that there was no dead
butcher to look upon, they fancied themselves most grievously injured; and,
somehow or other, Dick, notwithstanding all his exertions in their service, was
looked upon in the light of a showman, who had promised some startling
exhibition and then had disappointed his auditors.
The
first intimation he had of popular vengeance was a stone thrown at him, but
Dick's eye happened to be upon the fellow who threw it, and collaring him in a
moment, he dealt him a cuff on the side of the head, which confused his
faculties for a week.
"Hark
ye," he then cried, with a loud voice, "don't interfere with me; you
know it won't go down. There's something wrong here; and, as one of yourselves,
I'm as much interested in finding out what it is as any of you can possibly be.
There seems to be some truth in this vampyre business; our old friend, the
butcher, you see, is not in his grave; where is he then?"
The
mob looked at each other, and none attempted to answer the question.
"Why,
of course, he's a vampyre," said Dick, "and you may all of you expect
to see him, in turn, come into your bed-room windows with a burst, and lay hold
of you like a million and a half of leeches rolled into one."
There
was a general expression of horror, and then Dick continued,—
"You'd
better all of you go home; I shall have no hand in pulling up any more of the
coffins—this is a dose for me. Of course you can do what you like."
"Pull
them all up!" cried a voice; "pull them all up! Let's see how many
vampyres there are in the churchyard."
"Well,
it's no business of mine," said Dick; "but I wouldn't, if I was
you."
"You
may depend," said one, "that Dick knows something about it, or he
wouldn't take it so easy."
"Ah!
down with him," said the man who had received the box on the ears;
"he's perhaps a vampyre himself."
The
mob made a demonstration towards him, but Dick stood his ground, and they
paused again.
"Now,
you're a cowardly set," he said; "cause you're disappointed, you want
to come upon me. Now, I'll just show what a little thing will frighten you all
again, and I warn beforehand it will, so you sha'n't say you didn't know it,
and were taken by surprise."
The
mob looked at him, wondering what he was going to do.
"Once!
twice! thrice!" he said, and then he flung the brick up into the air an
immense height, and shouted "heads," in a loud tone.
A
general dispersion of the crowd ensued, and the brick fell in the centre of a
very large circle indeed.
"There
you are again," said Dick; "why, what a nice act you are!"
"What
fun!" said the boy. "It's a famous coffin, this, Dick," and he
laid himself down in the butcher's last resting-place. "I never was in a
coffin before—it's snug enough."
"Ah,
you're a rum 'un," said Dick; "you're such a inquiring genius, you
is; you'll get your head into some hole one day, and not be able to get it out
again, and then I shall see you a kicking. Hush! lay still—don't say
anything."
"Good
again," said the boy; "what shall I do?"
"Give
a sort of a howl and a squeak, when they've all come back again."
"Won't
I!" said the boy; "pop on the lid."
"There
you are," said Dick; "d——d if I don't adopt you, and bring you up to
the science of nothing."
"Now,
listen to me, good people all," added Dick; "I have really got
something to say to you."
At
this intimation the people slowly gathered again round the grave.
"Listen,"
said Dick, solemnly; "it strikes me there's some tremendous do going
on."
"Yes,
there is," said several who were foremost.
"It
won't be long before you'll all of you be most d—nably astonished; but let me
beg of all you not to accuse me of having anything to do with it, provided I
tell you all I know."
"No,
Dick; we won't—we won't—we won't."
"Good;
then, listen. I don't know anything, but I'll tell you what I think, and that's
as good; I don't think that this brick is the butcher; but I think, that when
you least expect it—hush! come a little closer."
"Yes,
yes; we are closer."
"Well,
then, I say, when you all least expect it, and when you ain't dreaming of such
a thing, you'll hear something of my fat friend as is dead and gone, that will
astonish you all."
Dick
paused, and he gave the coffin a slight kick, as intimation to the boy that he
might as well be doing his part in the drama, upon which that ingenious young
gentleman set up such a howl, that even Dick jumped, so unearthly did it sound
within the confines of that receptacle of the dead.
But
if the effect upon him was great, what must it have been upon those whom it
took completely unawares? For a moment or two they seemed completely paralysed,
and then they frightened the boy, for the shout of terror that rose from so
many throats at once was positively alarming.
This
jest of Dick's was final, for, before three minutes had elapsed, the churchyard
was clear of all human occupants save himself and the boy, who had played his
part so well in the coffin.
"Get
out," said Dick, "it's all right—we've done 'em at last; and now you
may depend upon it they won't be in a hurry to come here again. You keep your
own counsel, or else somebody will serve you out for this. I don't think you're
altogether averse to a bit of fun, and if you keep yourself quiet, you'll have
the satisfaction of hearing what's said about this affair in every pot-house in
the village, and no mistake."
THE PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BANNERWORTH HALL, AND THE
MYSTERIOUS CONDUCT OF THE ADMIRAL AND MR. CHILLINGWORTH.
It
seemed now, that, by the concurrence of all parties, Bannerworth Hall was to be
abandoned; and, notwithstanding Henry was loth—as he had, indeed, from the
first shown himself—to leave the ancient abode of his race, yet, as not only
Flora, but the admiral and his friend Mr. Chillingworth seemed to be of opinion
that it would be a prudent course to adopt, he felt that it would not become
him to oppose the measure.
He,
however, now made his consent to depend wholly upon the full and free
acquiescence of every member of the family.
"If,"
he said, "there be any among us who will say to me 'Continue to keep open
the house in which we have passed so many happy hours, and let the ancient home
of our race still afford a shelter to us,' I shall feel myself bound to do so;
but if both my mother and my brother agree to a departure from it, and that its
hearth shall be left cold and desolate, be it so. I will not stand in the way
of any unanimous wish or arrangement."
"We
may consider that, then, as settled," said the admiral, "for I have
spoken to your brother, and he is of our opinion. Therefore, my boy, we may all
be off as soon as we can conveniently get under weigh."
"But
my mother?
"Oh,
there, I don't know. You must speak to her yourself. I never, if I can help it,
interfere with the women folks."
"If
she consent, then I am willing."
"Will
you ask her?"
"I
will not ask her to leave, because I know, then, what answer she would at once
give; but she shall hear the proposition, and I will leave her to decide upon
it, unbiased in her judgment by any stated opinion of mine upon the
matter."
"Good.
That'll do; and the proper way to put it, too. There's no mistake about that, I
can tell you."
Henry,
although he went through the ceremony of consulting his mother, had no sort of
doubt before he did so that she was sufficiently aware of the feelings and
wishes of Flora to be prepared to yield a ready assent to the proposition of
leaving the Hall.
Moreover,
Mr. Marchdale had, from the first, been an advocate of such a course of
proceeding, and Henry well knew how strong an influence he had over Mrs.
Bannerworth's mind, in consequence of the respect in which she held him as an
old and valued friend.
He
was, therefore, prepared for what his mother said, which was,—
"My
dear Henry, you know that the wishes of my children, since they have been grown
up and capable of coming to a judgment for themselves, have ever been laws to
me. If you, among you all, agree to leave this place, do so."
"But
will you leave it freely, mother?"
"Most
freely I go with you all; what is it that has made this house and all its
appurtenances pleasant in my eyes, but the presence in it of those who are so
dear to me? If you all leave it, you take with you the only charms it ever
possessed; so it becomes in itself as nothing. I am quite ready to accompany
you all anywhere, so that we do but keep together."
"Then,
mother, we may consider that as settled."
"As
you please."
"'It's
scarcely as I please. I must confess that I would fain have clung with a kind
of superstitious reverence to this ancient abiding-place of my race, but it may
not be so. Those, perchance, who are more practically able to come to correct
conclusions, in consequence of their feelings not being sufficiently interested
to lead them astray, have decided otherwise; and, therefore, I am content to
leave."
"Do
not grieve at it, Henry. There has hung a cloud of misfortune over us all since
the garden of this house became the scene of an event which we can none of us
remember but with terror and shuddering."
"Two
generations of our family must live and die before the remembrance of that
circumstance can be obliterated. But we will think of it no more."
There
can no doubt but that the dreadful circumstance to which both Mrs. Bannerworth
and Henry alluded, was the suicide of the father of the family in the gardens
which before has been hinted at in the course of this narration, as being a
circumstance which had created a great sensation at the time, and cast a great
gloom for many months over the family.
The
reader will, doubtless, too, recollect that, at his last moments, this unhappy
individual was said to have uttered some incoherent words about some hidden
money, and that the rapid hand of death alone seemed to prevent him from being
explicit upon that subject, and left it merely a matter of conjecture.
As
years had rolled on, this affair, even as a subject of speculation, had ceased
to occupy the minds of any of the Bannerworth family, and several of their
friends, among whom was Mr. Marchdale, were decidedly of opinion that the
apparently pointed and mysterious words uttered, were but the disordered
wanderings of an intellect already hovering on the confines of eternity.
Indeed,
far from any money, of any amount, being a disturbance to the last moments of
the dissolute man, whose vices and extravagances had brought his family, to
such ruin, it was pretty generally believed that he had committed suicide
simply from a conviction of the impossibility of raising any more supplies of
cash, to enable him to carry on the career which he had pursued for so long.
But
to resume.
Henry
at once communicated to the admiral what his mother had said, and then the
whole question regarding the removal being settled in the affirmative, nothing
remained to be done but to set about it as quickly as possible.
The
Bannerworths lived sufficiently distant from the town to be out of earshot of
the disturbances which were then taking place; and so completely isolated were
they from all sort of society, that they had no notion of the popular
disturbance which Varney the vampyre had given rise to.
It
was not until the following morning that Mr. Chillingworth, who had been home in
the meantime, brought word of what had taken place, and that great commotion
was still in the town, and that the civil authorities, finding themselves by
far too weak to contend against the popular will, had sent for assistance to a
garrison town, some twenty miles distant.
It
was a great grief to the Bannerworth family to hear these tidings, not that
they were in any way, except as victims, accessory to creating the disturbance
about the vampyre, but it seemed to promise a kind of notoriety which they might
well shrink from, and which they were just the people to view with dislike.
View
the matter how we like, however, it is not to be considered as at all probable
that the Bannerworth family would remain long in ignorance of what a great
sensation they had created unwittingly in the neighbourhood.
The
very reasons which had induced their servants to leave their establishment, and
prefer throwing themselves completely out of place, rather than remain in so
ill-omened a house, were sure to be bruited abroad far and wide.
And
that, perhaps, when they came to consider of it, would suffice to form another
good and substantial reason for leaving the Hall, and seeking a refuge in
obscurity from the extremely troublesome sort of popularity incidental to their
peculiar situation.
Mr.
Chillingworth felt uncommonly chary of telling them all that had taken place;
although he was well aware that the proceedings of the riotous mob had not
terminated with the little disappointment at the old ruin, to which they had so
effectually chased Varney the vampyre, but to lose him so singularly when he
got there.
No
doubt he possessed the admiral with the uproar that was going on in the town,
for the latter did hint a little of it to Henry Bannerworth.
"Hilloa!"
he said to Henry, as he saw him walking in the garden; "it strikes me if
you and your ship's crew continue in these latitudes, you'll get as notorious
as the Flying Dutchman in the southern ocean."
"How
do you mean?" said Henry.
"Why,
it's a sure going proverb to say, that a nod's as good as a wink; but, the fact
is, it's getting rather too well known to be pleasant, that a vampyre has
struck up rather a close acquaintance with your family. I understand there's a
precious row in the town."
"Indeed!"
"Yes;
bother the particulars, for I don't know them; but, hark ye, by to-morrow I'll
have found a place for you to go to, so pack up the sticks, get all your stores
ready to clear out, and make yourself scarce from this place."
"I
understand you," said Henry; "We have become the subject of popular
rumour; I've only to beg of you, admiral, that you'll say nothing of this to
Flora; she has already suffered enough, Heaven knows; do not let her have the
additional infliction of thinking that her name is made familiar in every
pothouse in the town."
"Leave
me alone for that," said the admiral. "Do you think I'm an ass?"
"Ay,
ay," said Jack Pringle, who came in at that moment, and thought the
question was addressed to him.
"Who
spoke to you, you bad-looking horse-marine?"
"Me
a horse-marine! didn't you ask a plain question of a fellow, and get a plain
answer?"
"Why,
you son of a bad looking gun, what do you mean by that? I tell you what it is,
Jack; I've let you come sneaking too often on the quarter-deck, and now you
come poking your fun at your officers, you rascal!"
"I
poking fun!" said Jack; "couldn't think of such a thing. I should
just as soon think of you making a joke as me."
"Now,
I tell you what it is, I shall just strike you off the ship's books, and you
shall just go and cruise by yourself; I've done with you."
"Go
and tell that to the marines, if you like," said Jack. "I ain't done
with you yet, for a jolly long watch. Why, what do you suppose would become of
you, you great babby, without me? Ain't I always a conveying you from place to
place, and steering you through all sorts of difficulties?"
"D—-n
your impudence!"
"Well,
then, d—-n yours."
"Shiver
my timbers!"
"Ay,
you may do what you like with your own timbers."
"And
you won't leave me?"
"Sartingly
not."
"Come
here, then?"
Jack
might have expected a gratuity, for he advanced with alacrity.
"There,"
said the admiral, as he laid his stick across his shoulders; "that's your
last month's wages; don't spend it all at once."
"Well,
I'm d——d!" said Jack; "who'd have thought of that?—he's a turning
rumgumtious, and no mistake. Howsomdever, I must turn it over in my mind, and
be even with him, somehow—I owes him one for that. I say, admiral."
"What
now, you lubber?"
"Nothing;
turn that over in your mind;" and away Jack walked, not quite satisfied,
but feeling, at least, that he had made a demonstration of attack.
As
for the admiral, he considered that the thump he had given Jack with the stick,
and it was no gentle one, was a decided balancing of accounts up to that
period, and as he remained likewise master of the field, he was upon the whole
very well satisfied.
These
last few words which had been spoken to Henry by Admiral Bell, more than any
others, induced him to hasten his departure from Bannerworth Hall; he had
walked away when the altercation between Jack Pringle and the admiral began,
for he had seen sufficient of those wordy conflicts between those originals to
be quite satisfied that neither of them meant what he said of a discouraging
character towards the other, and that far from there being any unfriendly
feeling contingent upon those little affairs, they were only a species of
friendly sparring, which both parties enjoyed extremely.
He
went direct to Flora, and he said to her,—
"Since
we are all agreed upon the necessity, or, at all events, upon the expediency of
a departure from the Hall, I think, sister, the sooner we carry out that
determination the better and the pleasanter for us all it will be. Do you think
you could remove so hastily as to-morrow?"
"To-morrow!
That is soon indeed."
"I
grant you that it is so; but Admiral Bell assures me that he will have
everything in readiness, and a place provided for us to go to by then."
"Would
it be possible to remove from a house like this so very quickly?"
"Yes,
sister. If you look around you, you will see that a great portion of the
comforts you enjoy in this mansion belong to it as a part of its very
structure, and are not removable at pleasure; what we really have to take away
is very little. The urgent want of money during our father's lifetime induced
him, as you may recollect even, at various times to part with much that was
ornamental, as well as useful, which was in the Hall. You will recollect that
we seldom returned from those little continental tours which to us were so delightful,
without finding some old familiar objects gone, which, upon inquiry, we found
had been turned into money, to meet some more than usually pressing
demand."