Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
It is
truly astonishing the effect which one weak or vicious-minded person can
produce upon a multitude.
Here
was a woman whose opinion would have been accounted valueless upon the most
common-place subject, and whose word would not have passed for twopence,
setting a whole town by the ears by force of nothing but her sheer brutal
ignorance.
It is
a notorious physiological fact, that after four or five days, or even a week,
the bodies of many persons assume an appearance of freshness, such as might
have been looked for in vain immediately after death.
It is
one of the most insidious processes of that decay which appears to regret with
its
"—————
offensive fingers, To mar the lines where beauty lingers."
But
what did the chamber-maid know of physiology? Probably, she would have asked if
it was anything good to eat; and so, of course, having her head full of
vampyres, she must needs produce so lamentable a scene of confusion, the
results of which we almost sicken at detailing.
THE STAKE AND THE DEAD BODY.
The
mob seemed from the first to have an impression that, as regarded the military
force, no very serious results would arise from that quarter, for it was not to
be supposed that, on an occasion which could not possibly arouse any ill blood
on the part of the soldiery, or on which they could have the least personal
feeling, they would like to get a bad name, which would stick to them for years
to come.
It
was no political riot, on which men might be supposed, in consequence of
differing in opinion, to have their passions inflamed; so that, although the
call of the civil authorities for military aid had been acceded to, yet it was
hoped, and, indeed, almost understood by the officers, that their operations
would lie confined more to a demonstration of power, than anything else.
Besides,
some of the men had got talking to the townspeople, and had heard all about the
vampyre story, and not being of the most refined or educated class themselves,
they felt rather interested than otherwise in the affair.
Under
these circumstances, then, we are inclined to think, that the disorderly mob of
that inn had not so wholesome a fear as it was most certainly intended they
should have of the redcoats. Then, again, they were not attacking the
churchyard, which, in the first case, was the main point in dispute, and about
which the authorities had felt so very sore, inasmuch as they felt that, if
once the common people found out that the sanctity of such places could be
outraged with impunity, they would lose their reverence for the church; that is
to say, for the host of persons who live well and get fat in this country by
the trade of religion.
Consequently,
this churchyard was the main point of defence, and it was zealously looked to
when it need not have been done so, while the public-house where there really
reigned mischief was half unguarded.
There
are always in all communities, whether large or small, a number of persons who
really have, or fancy they have, something to gain by disturbance. These
people, of course, care not for what pretext the public peace is violated; so
long as there is a row, and something like an excuse for running into other
people's houses, they are satisfied.
To
get into a public-house under such circumstances is an unexpected treat; and
thus, when the mob rushed into the inn with such symptoms of fury and
excitement, there went with the leaders of the disturbance a number of persons
who never thought of getting further than the bar, where they attacked the
spirit-taps with an alacrity which showed how great was their love for ardent
compounds.
Leaving
these persons behind, however, we will follow those who, with a real
superstition, and a furious interest in the affair of the vampyre, made their
way towards the upper chamber, determining to satisfy themselves if there were
truth in the statement so alarmingly made by the woman who had created such an
emotion.
It is
astonishing what people will do in crowds, in comparison with the acts that
they would be able to commit individually. There is usually a calmness, a
sanctity, a sublimity about death, which irresistibly induces a respect for its
presence, alike from the educated or from the illiterate; and let the object of
the fell-destroyer's presence be whom it may, the very consciousness that death
has claimed it for its own, invests it with a halo of respect, that, in life,
the individual could never aspire to probably.
Let
us precede these furious rioters for a few moments, and look upon the chamber
of the dead—that chamber, which for a whole week, had been looked upon with a kind
of shuddering terror—that chamber which had been darkened by having its sources
of light closed, as if it were a kind of disrespect to the dead to allow the
pleasant sunshine to fall upon the faded form.
And
every inhabitant of that house, upon ascending and descending its intricate and
ancient staircases, had walked with a quiet and subdued step past that one
particular door.
Even
the tones of voice in which they spoke to each other, while they knew that that
sad remnant of mortality was in the house, was quiet and subdued, as if the
repose of death was but a mortal sleep, and could be broken by rude sounds.
Ay,
even some of these very persons, who now with loud and boisterous clamour, had
rushed into the place, had visited the house and talked in whispers; but then
they were alone, and men will do in throngs acts which, individually, they
would shrink from with compunction or cowardice, call it which we will.
The
chamber of death is upon the second story of the house. It is a back room, the
windows of which command a view of that half garden, half farm-yard, which we
find generally belonging to country inns.
But
now the shutters were closed, with the exception of one small opening, that, in
daylight, would have admitted a straggling ray of light to fall upon the
corpse. Now, however, that the sombre shades of evening had wrapped everything
in gloom, the room appeared in total darkness, so that the most of those
adventurers who had ventured into the place shrunk back until lights were
procured from the lower part of the house, with which to enter the room.
A dim
oil lamp in a niche sufficiently lighted the staircase, and, by the friendly
aid of its glimmering beams, they had found their way up to the landing
tolerably well, and had not thought of the necessity of having lights with
which to enter the apartments, until they found them in utter darkness.
These
requisites, however, were speedily procured from the kitchen of the inn.
Indeed, anything that was wanted was laid hold of without the least word of remark
to the people of the place, as if might, from that evening forthwith, was
understood to constitute right, in that town.
Up to
this point no one had taken a very prominent part in the attack upon the inn if
attack it could be called; but now the man whom chance, or his own nimbleness,
made the first of the throng, assumed to himself a sort of control over his
companions and, turning to them, he said,—
"Hark
ye, my friends; we'll do everything quietly and properly; so I think we'd
better three or four of us go in at once, arm-in-arm."
"Psha!"
cried one who had just arrived with a light; "it's your cowardice that
speaks. I'll go in first; let those follow me who like, and those who are
afraid may remain where they are."
He at
once dashed into the room, and this immediately broke the spell of fear which
was beginning to creep over the others in consequence of the timid suggestion
of the man who, up to that moment, had been first and foremost in the
enterprise.
In an
instant the chamber was half filled with persons, four or five of whom carried
lights; so that, as it was not of very large dimensions, it was sufficiently
illuminated for every object in it to be clearly visible.
There
was the bed, smooth and unruffled, as if waiting for some expected guest; while
close by its side a coffin, supported upon tressles, over which a sheet was
partially thrown, contained the sad remains of him who little expected in life
that, after death, he should be stigmatised as an example of one of the
ghastliest superstitions that ever found a home in the human imagination.
It
was evident that some one had been in the room; and that this was the woman
whose excited fancy had led her to look upon the face of the corpse there could
be no doubt, for the sheet was drawn aside just sufficiently to discover the
countenance.
The
fact was that the stranger was unknown at the inn, or probably ere this the
coffin lid would have been screwed on; but it was hoped, up to the last moment,
as advertisements had been put into the county papers, that some one would come
forward to identify and claim him.
Such,
however, had not been the case, and so his funeral had been determined upon.
The
presence of so many persons at once effectually prevented any individual from
exhibiting, even if he felt any superstitious fears about approaching the
coffin; and so, with one accord, they surrounded it, and looked upon the face
of the dead.
There
was nothing repulsive in that countenance. The fact was that decomposition had
sufficiently advanced to induce a relaxation of the muscles, and a softening of
the fibres, so that an appearance of calmness and repose had crept over the
face which it did not wear immediately after death.
It
happened, too, that the face was full of flesh—for the death had been sudden,
and there had not been that wasting away of the muscles and integuments which
makes the skin cling, as it were, to the bone, when the ravages of long disease
have exhausted the physical frame.
There
was, unquestionably, a plumpness, a freshness, and a sort of vitality about the
countenance that was remarkable.
For a
few moments there was a death-like stillness in the apartment, and then one
voice broke the silence by exclaiming,—
"He's
a vampyre, and has come here to die. Well he knows he'd be taken up by Sir Francis
Varney, and become one of the crew."
"Yes,
yes," cried several voices at once; "a vampyre! a vampyre!"
"Hold
a moment," cried one; "let us find somebody in the house who has seen
him some days ago, and then we can ascertain if there's any difference in his
looks."
This
suggestion was agreed to, and a couple of stout men ran down stairs, and
returned in a few moments with a trembling waiter, whom they had caught in the
passage, and forced to accompany them.
This
man seemed to think that he was to be made a dreadful example of in some sort
of way; and, as he was dragged into the room, he trembled, and looked as pale
as death.
"What
have I done, gentlemen?" he said; "I ain't a vampyre. Don't be
driving a stake through me. I assure you, gentlemen, I'm only a waiter, and
have been for a matter of five-and-twenty years."
"You'll
be done no harm to," said one of his captors; "you've only got to
answer a question that will be put to you."
"Oh,
well, certainly, gentlemen; anything you please. Coming—coming, as I always
say; give your orders, the waiter's in the room."
"Look
upon the fare of that corpse."
"Certainly,
certainly—directly."
"Have
you ever seen it before?"
"Seen
it before! Lord bless you! yes, a dozen of times. I seed him afore he died, and
I seed him arter; and when the undertaker's men came, I came up with them and I
seed 'em put him in his coffin. You see I kept an eye on 'em, gentlemen, 'cos
knows well enough what they is. A cousin of mine was in the trade, and he
assures me as one of 'em always brings a tooth-drawing concern in his pocket,
and looks in the mouth of the blessed corpse to see if there's a blessed tooth
worth pulling out."
"Hold
your tongue," said one; "we want none of your nonsense. Do you see
any difference now in the face of the corpse to what it was some days
since?"
"Well,
I don't know; somehow, it don't look so rum."
"Does
it look fresher?"
"Well,
somehow or another, now you mention it, it's very odd, but it does."
"Enough,"
cried the man who had questioned him, with considerable excitement of manner.
"Neighbours, are we to have our wives and our children scared to death by
vampyres?"
"No—no!"
cried everybody.
"Is
not this, then, one of that dreadful order of beings?"
"Yes—yes;
what's to be done?"
"Drive
a stake through the body, and so prevent the possibility of anything in the
shape of a restoration."
This
was a terrific proposition; and even those who felt most strongly upon the
subject, and had their fears most awakened, shrank from carrying it into
effect. Others, again, applauded it, although they determined, in their own
minds, to keep far enough off from the execution of the job, which they hoped
would devolve upon others, so that they might have all the security of feeling
that such a process had been gone through with the supposed vampyre, without
being in any way committed by the dreadful act.
Nothing
was easier than to procure a stake from the garden in the rear of the premises;
but it was one thing to have the means at hand of carrying into effect so
dreadful a proposition, and another actually to do it.
For
the credit of human nature, we regret that even then, when civilisation and
popular education had by no means made such rapid strides as in our times they
have, such a proposition should be entertained for a moment: but so it was; and
just as an alarm was given that a party of the soldiers had reached the inn and
had taken possession of the doorway with a determination to arrest the rioters,
a strong hedge-stake had been procured, and everything was in readiness for the
perpetration of the horrible deed.
Even
then those in the room, for they were tolerably sober, would have revolted,
probably, from the execution of so fearful an act; but the entrance of a party
of the military into the lower portion of the tavern, induced those who had
been making free with the strong liquors below, to make a rush up-stairs to
their companions with the hope of escaping detection of the petty larceny, if
they got into trouble on account of the riot.