Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
THE DEPARTURE OF THE BANNERWORTHS FROM THE HALL.—THE NEW
ABODE.—JACK PRINGLE, PILOT.
During
that very evening, on which the house of Sir Francis Varney was fired by the
mob, another scene, and one of different character, was enacted at Bannerworth
Hall, where the owners of that ancient place were departing from it.
It
was towards the latter part of the day, that Flora Bannerworth, Mrs.
Bannerworth, and Henry Bannerworth, were preparing themselves to depart from
the house of their ancestors. The intended proprietor was, as we have already
been made acquainted with, the old admiral, who had taken the place somewhat
mysteriously, considering the way in which he usually did business.
The
admiral was walking up and down the lawn before the house, and looking up at
the windows every now and then; and turning to Jack Pringle, he said,—
"Jack,
you dog."
"Ay—ay,
sir."
"Mind
you convoy these women into the right port; do you hear? and no mistaking the
bearings; do you hear?"
"Ay,
ay, sir."
"These
crafts want care; and you are pilot, commander, and all; so mind and keep your
weather eye open."
"Ay,
ay, sir. I knows the craft well enough, and I knows the roads, too; there'll be
no end of foundering against the breakers to find where they lie."
"No,
no, Jack; you needn't do that; but mind your bearings. Jack, mind your
bearings."
"Never
fear; I know 'em, well enough; my eyes ain't laid up in ordinary yet."
"Eh?
What do you mean by that, you dog, eh?"
"Nothing;
only I can see without helps to read, or glasses either; so I know one place
from another."
There
was now some one moving within; and the admiral, followed by Jack Pringle,
entered the Hall. Henry Bannerworth was there. They were all ready to go when
the coach came for them, which the admiral had ordered for them.
"Jack,
you lubber; where are you?"
"Ay,
ay, sir, here am I."
"Go,
and station yourself up in some place where you can keep a good look-out for
the coach, and come and report when you see it."
"Ay—ay,
sir," said Jack, and away he went from the room, and stationed himself up
in one of the trees, that commanded a good view of the main road for some
distance.
"Admiral
Bell," said Henry, "here we are, trusting implicitly to you; and in
doing so, I am sure I am doing right."
"You
will see that," said the admiral. "All's fair and honest as yet; and
what is to come, will speak for itself."
"I
hope you won't suffer from any of these nocturnal visits," said Henry.
"I
don't much care about them; but old Admiral Bell don't strike his colours to an
enemy, however ugly he may look. No, no; it must be a better craft than his own
that'll take him; and one who won't run away, but that will grapple yard-arm
and yard-arm, you know."
"Why,
admiral, you must have seen many dangers in your time, and be used to all kinds
of disturbances and conflicts. You have had a life of experience."
"Yes;
and experience has come pretty thick sometimes, I can tell you, when it comes
in the shape of Frenchmen's broadsides."
"I
dare say, then, it must be rather awkward."
"Death
by the law," said the admiral, "to stop one of them with your head, I
assure you. I dare not make the attempt myself, though I have often seen it
done."
"I
dare say; but here are Flora and my mother."
As he
spoke, Flora and her mother entered the apartment.
"Well,
admiral, we are all ready; and, though I may feel somewhat sorry at leaving the
old Hall, yet it arises from attachment to the place, and not any
disinclination to be beyond the reach of these dreadful alarms."
"And
I, too, shall be by no means sorry," said Flora; "I am sure it is
some gratification to know we leave a friend here, rather than some others, who
would have had the place, if they could have got it, by any means."
"Ah,
that's true enough, Miss Flora," said the admiral; "but we'll run the
enemy down yet, depend upon it. But once away, you will be free from these
terrors; and now, as you have promised, do not let yourselves be seen any where
at all."
"You
have our promises, admiral; and they shall be religiously kept, I can assure
you."
"Boat,
ahoy—ahoy!" shouted Jack.
"What
boat?" said the admiral, surprised; and then he muttered, "Confound
you for a lubber! Didn't I tell you to mind your bearings, you dog-fish
you?"
"Ay,
ay, sir—and so I did."
"You
did."
"Yes,
here they are. Squint over the larboard bulk-heads, as they call walls, and
then atween the two trees on the starboard side of the course, then straight
ahead for a few hundred fathoms, when you come to a funnel as is smoking like
the crater of Mount Vesuvius, and then in a line with that on the top of the
hill, comes our boat."
"Well,"
said the admiral, "that'll do. Now go open the gates, and keep a bright
look out, and if you see anybody near your watch, why douse their glim."
"Ay—ay,
sir," said Jack, and he disappeared.
"Rather
a lucid description," said Henry, as he thought of Jack's report to the admiral.
"Oh,
it's a seaman's report. I know what he means; it's quicker and plainer than the
land lingo, to my ears, and Jack can't talk any other, you see."
By
this time the coach came into the yard, and the whole party descended into the
court-yard, where they came to take leave of the old place.
"Farewell,
admiral."
"Good
bye," said the admiral. "I hope the place you are going to will be
such as please you—I hope it will."
"I
am sure we shall endeavour to be pleased with it, and I am pretty sure we shall."
"Good
bye."
"Farewell,
Admiral Bell," said Henry.
"You
remember your promises?"
"I
do. Good bye, Mr. Chillingworth."
"Good
bye," said Mr. Chillingworth, who came up to bid them farewell; "a
pleasant journey, and may you all be the happier for it."
"You
do not come with us?"
"No;
I have some business of importance to attend to, else I should have the
greatest pleasure in doing so. But good bye; we shall not be long apart, I dare
say."
"I
hope not," said Henry.
The
door of the carriage was shut by the admiral, who looked round, saying,—
"Jack—Jack
Pringle, where are you, you dog?"
"Here
am I," said Jack.
"Where
have you been to?"
"Only
been for pigtail," said Jack. "I forgot it, and couldn't set sail
without it."
"You
dog you; didn't I tell you to mind your bearings?"
"So
I will," said Jack, "fore and aft—fore and aft, admiral."
"You
had better," said the admiral, who, however, relaxed into a broad grin,
which he concealed from Jack Pringle.
Jack
mounted the coach-box, and away it went, just as it was getting dark. The old
admiral had locked up all the rooms in the presence of Henry Bannerworth; and
when the coach had gone out of sight, Mr. Chillingworth came back to the Hall,
where he joined the admiral.
"Well,"
he said, "they are gone, Admiral Bell, and we are alone; we have a clear
stage and no favour."
"The
two things of all others I most desire. Now, they will be strangers where they
are going to, and that will be something gained. I will endeavour to do some
thing if I get yard-arm and yard-arm with these pirates. I'll make 'em feel the
weight of true metal; I'll board 'em—d——e, I'll do everything."
"Everything
that can be done."
"Ay—ay."
The
coach in which the family of the Bannerworths were carried away continued its
course without any let or hindrance, and they met no one on their road during
the whole drive. The fact was, nearly everybody was at the conflagration at Sir
Francis Varney's house.
Flora
knew not which way they were going, and, after a time, all trace of the road
was lost. Darkness set in, and they all sat in silence in the coach.
At
length, after some time had been spent thus, Flora Bannerworth turned to Jack
Pringle, and said,—
"Are
we near, or have we much further to go?"
"Not
very much, ma'am," said Jack. "All's right, however—ship in the
direct course, and no breakers ahead—no lookout necessary; however there's a
land-lubber aloft to keep a look out."
As
this was not very intelligible, and Jack seemed to have his own reasons for
silence, they asked him no further questions; but in about three-quarters of an
hour, during which time the coach had been driving through the trees, they came
to a standstill by a sudden pull of the check-string from Jack, who said,—
"Hilloa!—take
in sails, and drop anchor."
"Is
this the place?"
"Yes,
here we are," said Jack; "we're in port now, at all events;" and
he began to sing,—
"The trials
and the dangers of the voyage is past,"
when
the coach door opened, and they all got out and looked about them where they
were.
"Up
the garden if you please, ma'am—as quick as you can; the night air is very
cold."
Flora
and her mother and brother took the hint, which was meant by Jack to mean that
they were not to be seen outside. They at once entered a pretty garden, and
then they came to a very neat and picturesque cottage. They had no time to look
up at it, as the door was immediately opened by an elderly female, who was
intended to wait upon them.
Soon
after, Jack Pringle and the coachman entered the passage with the small amount
of luggage which they had brought with them. This was deposited in the passage,
and then Jack went out again, and, after a few minutes, there was the sound of
wheels, which intimated that the coach had driven off.
Jack,
however, returned in a few minutes afterwards, having secured the wicket-gate
at the end of the garden, and then entered the house, shutting the door
carefully after him.
Flora
and her mother looked over the apartments in which they were shown with some
surprise. It was, in everything, such as they could wish; indeed, though it could
not be termed handsomely or extravagantly furnished, or that the things were
new, yet, there was all that convenience and comfort could require, and some
little of the luxuries.
"Well,"
said Flora, "this is very thoughtful of the admiral. The place will really
be charming, and the garden, too, delightful."
"Mustn't
be made use of just now," said Jack, "if you please, ma'am; them's
the orders at present."
"Very
well," said Flora, smiling. "I suppose, Mr. Pringle, we must obey
them."
"Jack
Pringle, if you please," said Jack. "My commands only temporary. I
ain't got a commission."
THE LONELY WATCH, AND THE ADVENTURE IN THE DESERTED HOUSE.
It is
now quite night, and so peculiar and solemn a stillness reigns in and about
Bannerworth Hall and its surrounding grounds, that one might have supposed it a
place of the dead, deserted completely after sunset by all who would still hold
kindred with the living. There was not a breath of air stirring, and this
circumstance added greatly to the impression of profound repose which the whole
scene exhibited.
The
wind during the day had been rather of a squally character, but towards
nightfall, as is often usual after a day of such a character, it had completely
lulled, and the serenity of the scene was unbroken even by the faintest sigh
from a wandering zephyr.
The
moon rose late at that period, and as is always the case at that interval
between sunset and the rising of that luminary which makes the night so
beautiful, the darkness was of the most profound character.
It
was one of those nights to produce melancholy reflections—a night on which a
man would be apt to review his past life, and to look into the hidden recesses
of his soul to see if conscience could make a coward of him in the loneliness
and stillness that breathed around.
It
was one of those nights in which wanderers in the solitude of nature feel that
the eye of Heaven is upon them, and on which there seems to be a more visible
connection between the world and its great Creator than upon ordinary
occasions.
The
solemn and melancholy appear places once instinct with life, when deserted by
those familiar forms and faces that have long inhabited them. There is no
desert, no uninhabited isle in the far ocean, no wild, barren, pathless tract
of unmitigated sterility, which could for one moment compare in point of
loneliness and desolation to a deserted city.
Strip
London, mighty and majestic as it is, of the busy swarm of humanity that throng
its streets, its suburbs, its temples, its public edifices, and its private
dwellings, and how awful would be the walk of one solitary man throughout its
noiseless thoroughfares.
If
madness seized not upon him ere he had been long the sole survivor of a race,
it would need be cast in no common mould.
And
to descend from great things to smaller—from the huge leviathan city to one
mansion far removed from the noise and bustle of conventional life, we may
imagine the sort of desolation that reigned through Bannerworth Hall, when, for
the first time, after nearly a hundred and fifty years of occupation, it was
deserted by the representatives of that family, so many members of which had
lived and died beneath its roof. The house, and everything within, without, and
around it, seemed actually to sympathize with its own desolation and desertion.
It
seemed as if twenty years of continued occupation could not have produced such
an effect upon the ancient edifice as had those few hours of neglect and
desertion.
And
yet it was not as if it had been stripped of those time-worn and ancient relics
of ornament and furnishing that so long had appertained to it. No, nothing but
the absence of those forms which had been accustomed quietly to move from room
to room, and to be met here upon a staircase, there upon a corridor, and even in
some of the ancient panelled apartments, which give it an air of dreary repose
and listlessness.
The
shutters, too, were all closed, and that circumstance contributed largely to
the production of that gloomy effect which otherwise could not have ensued.
In
fact, what could be done without attracting very special observation was done
to prove to any casual observer that the house was untenanted.
But
such was not really the case. In that very room where the much dreaded Varney
the vampyre had made one of his dreaded appearances to Flora Bannerworth and
her mother, sat two men.
It
was from that apartment that Flora had discharged the pistol, which had been
left to her by her brother, and the shot from which it was believed by the
whole family had most certainly taken effect upon the person of the vampyre.
It
was a room peculiarly accessible from the gardens, for it had long French
windows opening to the very ground, and but a stone step intervened between the
flooring of the apartment and a broad gravel walk which wound round that entire
portion of the house.
It
was in this room, then, that two men sat in silence, and nearly in darkness.
Before
them, and on a table, were several articles of refreshment, as well of defence
and offence, according as their intentions might be.
There
were a bottle and three glasses, and lying near the elbow of one of the men was
a large pair of pistols, such as might have adorned the belt of some desperate
character, who wished to instil an opinion of his prowess into his foes by the
magnitude of his weapons.
Close
at hand, by the same party, lay some more modern fire arms, as well as a long
dirk, with a silver mounted handle.
The
light they had consisted of a large lantern, so constructed with a slide, that
it could be completely obscured at a moment's notice; but now as it was placed,
the rays that were allowed to come from it were directed as much from the
window of the apartment, as possible, and fell upon the faces of the two men,
revealing them to be Admiral Bell and Dr. Chillingworth.
It
might have been the effect of the particular light in which he sat, but the
doctor looked extremely pale, and did not appear at all at his ease.
The
admiral, on the contrary, appeared in as placable a state of mind as possible
and had his arms folded across his breast, and his head shrunk down between his
shoulders as if he had made up his mind to something that was to last a long
time, and, therefore he was making the best of it.
"I
do hope," said Mr. Chillingworth, after a long pause, "that our
efforts will be crowned with success—you know, my dear sir, that I have always
been of your opinion, that there was a great deal more in this matter than met
the eye."
"To
be sure," said the admiral, "and as to our efforts being crowned with
success, why, I'll give you a toast, doctor, 'may the morning's reflection
provide for the evening's amusement.'"
"Ha!
ha!" said Chillingworth, faintly; "I'd rather not drink any more, and
you seem, admiral, to have transposed the toast in some way. I believe it runs,
'may the evening's amusement bear the morning's reflection.'"
"Transpose
the devil!" said the admiral; "what do I care how it runs? I gave you
my toast, and as to that you mention, it's another one altogether, and a
sneaking, shore-going one too: but why don't you drink?"
"Why,
my dear sir, medically speaking, I am strongly of opinion that, when the human
stomach is made to contain a large quantity of alcohol, it produces bad effects
upon the system. Now, I've certainly taken one glass of this infernally strong
Hollands, and it is now lying in my stomach like the red-hot heater of a
tea-urn."
"Is
it? put it out with another, then."
"Ay,
I'm afraid that would not answer, but do you really think, admiral, that we
shall effect anything by waiting here, and keeping watch and ward, not under
the most comfortable circumstances, this first night of the Hall being
empty."
"Well,
I don't know that we shall," said the admiral; "but when you really
want to steal a march upon the enemy, there is nothing like beginning betimes.
We are both of opinion that Varney's great object throughout has been, by some
means or another, to get possession of the house."
"Yes;
true, true."
"We
know that he has been unceasing in his endeavours to get the Bannerworth family
out of it; that he has offered them their own price to become its tenant, and
that the whole gist of his quiet and placid interview with Flora in the garden,
was to supply her with a new set of reasons for urging her mother and brother
to leave Bannerworth Hall, because the old ones were certainly not found
sufficient."
"True,
true, most true," said Mr. Chillingworth, emphatically. "You know,
sir, that from the first time you broached that view of the subject to me, how
entirely I coincided with you."
"Of
course you did, for you are a honest fellow, and a right-thinking fellow,
though you are a doctor, and I don't know that I like doctors much better than
I like lawyers—they're only humbugs in a different sort of way. But I wish to
be liberal; there is such a thing as an honest lawyer, and, d——e, you're an
honest doctor!"
"Of
course I'm much obliged, admiral, for your good opinion. I only wish it had
struck me to bring something of a solid nature in the shape of food, to sustain
the waste of the animal economy during the hours we shall have to wait
here."
"Don't
trouble yourself about that," said the admiral. "Do you think I'm a
donkey, and would set out on a cruise without victualling my ship? I should
think not. Jack Pringle will be here soon, and he has my orders to bring in
something to eat."
"Well,"
said the doctor, "that's very provident of you, admiral, and I feel
personally obliged; but tell me, how do you intend to conduct the watch?"
"What
do you mean?"
"Why,
I mean, if we sit here with the window fastened so as to prevent our light from
being seen, and the door closed, how are we by any possibility to know if the
house is attacked or not?"
"Hark'ee,
my friend," said the admiral; "I've left a weak point for the
enemy."
"A
what, admiral?"
"A
weak point. I've taken good care to secure everything but one of the windows on
the ground floor, and that I've left open, or so nearly open, that it will look
like the most natural place in the world to get in at. Now, just inside that
window, I've placed a lot of the family crockery. I'll warrant, if anybody so
much as puts his foot in, you'll hear the smash;—and, d——e, there it is!"
There
was a loud crash at this moment, followed by a succession of similar sounds,
but of a lesser degree; and both the admiral and Mr. Chillingworth sprung to
their feet.
"Come
on," cried the former; "here'll be a precious row—take the
lantern."
Mr.
Chillingworth did so, but he did not seem possessed of a great deal of presence
of mind; for, before they got out of the room, he twice accidentally put on the
dark slide, and produced a total darkness.
"D—n!"
said the admiral; "don't make it wink and wink in that way; hold it up,
and run after me as hard as you can."
"I'm
coming, I'm coming," said Mr. Chillingworth.
It
was one of the windows of a long room, containing five, fronting the garden,
which the admiral had left purposely unguarded; and it was not far from the
apartment in which they had been sitting, so that, probably, not half a
minute's time elapsed between the moment of the first alarm, and their reaching
the spot from whence it was presumed to arise.
The
admiral had armed himself with one of the huge pistols, and he dashed forward,
with all the vehemence of his character, towards the window, where he knew he
had placed the family crockery, and where he fully expected to meet the reward
of his exertion by discovering some one lying amid its fragments.
In
this, however, he was disappointed; for, although there was evidently a great
smash amongst the plates and dishes, the window remained closed, and there was
no indication whatever of the presence of any one.
"Well,
that's odd," said the admiral; "I balanced them up amazingly careful,
and two of 'em edgeways—d—e, a fly would have knocked them down."
"Mew,"
said a great cat, emerging from under a chair.
"Curse
you, there you are," said the admiral. "Put out the light, put out
the light; here we're illuminating the whole house for nothing."
With,
a click went the darkening slide over the lantern, and all was obscurity.
At
that instant a shrill, clear whistle came from the garden.