Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
"The
same thing has come to my ears."
"Indeed!
Then it must be so; we cannot both of us have merely imagined such a thing. You
may depend that this place is beleaguered in some way, and that to-night will
be productive of events which will throw a great light upon the affairs
connected with this vampyre that have hitherto baffled conjecture."
"Hush!"
said Charles; "there, again; I am quite confident I heard a sound as of a
broken twig outside the garden-wall. The doctor and the admiral are in deep
discussion about something,—shall we tell them?"
"No;
let us listen, as yet."
They
bent all their attention to listening, inclining their ears towards the ground,
and, after a few moments, they felt confident that more than one footstep was
creeping along, as cautiously as possible, under the garden wall. After a few
moments' consultation, Henry made up his mind—he being the best acquainted with
the localities of the place—to go and reconnoitre, so he, without saying
anything to the doctor or the admiral, glided from where he was, in the
direction of a part of the fence which he knew he could easily scale.
THE VAMPYRE'S DANGER.—THE LAST REFUGE.—THE RUSE OF HENRY
BANNERWORTH.
Yet
knowing to what deeds of violence the passions of a lawless mob will sometimes lead
them, and having the experience of what had been attempted by the alarmed and
infuriated populace on a former occasion, against the Hall, Henry Bannerworth
was, reasonably enough, not without his fears that something might occur of a
nature yet highly dangerous to the stability of his ancient house.
He
did not actually surmount the fence, but he crept so close to it, that he could
get over in a moment, if he wished; and, if any one should move or speak on the
other side, he should be quite certain to hear them.
For a
few moments all was still, and then suddenly he heard some one say, in a low
voice,
"Hist!
hist! did you hear nothing?"
"I
thought I did," said another; "but I now am doubtful."
"Listen
again."
"What,"
thought Henry, "can be the motives of these men lying secreted here? It is
most extraordinary what they can possibly want, unless they are brewing danger
for the Hall."
Most
cautiously now he raised himself, so that his eyes could just look over the
fence, and then, indeed, he was astonished.
He
had expected to see two or three persons, at the utmost; what was his surprise!
to find a compact mass of men crouching down under the garden wall, as far as
his eye could reach.
For a
few moments, he was so surprised, that he continued to gaze on, heedless of the
danger there might be from a discovery that he was playing the part of a spy
upon them.
When,
however, his first sensations of surprise were over, he cautiously removed to
his former position, and, just as he did, so, he heard those who had before
spoken, again, in low tones, breaking the stillness of the night.
"I
am resolved upon it," said one; "I am quite determined. I will,
please God, rid the country of that dreadful man."
"Don't
call him a man," said the oilier.
"Well,
well; it is a wrong name to apply to a vampyre."
"It
is Varney, after all, then," said Henry. Bannerworth, to himself;—"it
is his life that they seek. What can be done to save him?—for saved he shall be
if I can compass such an object. I feel that there is yet a something in his
character which is entitled to consideration, and he shall not be savagely
murdered while I have an arm to raise in his defence. But if anything is now to
be done, it must be done by stratagem, for the enemy are, by far, in too great
force to be personally combatted with."
Henry
resolved to take the advice of his friends, and with that view he went silently
and quietly back to where they were, and communicated to them the news that he
had so unexpectedly discovered.
They
were all much surprised, and then the doctor said,
"You
may depend, that since the disappointment of the mob in the destruction of this
place, they have had their eye upon Varney. He has been dogged here by some
one, and then by degrees that assemblage has sought the spot."
"He's
a doomed man, then," remarked the admiral; "for what can save him
from a determined number of persons, who, by main force, will overcome us, let
us make what stand we may in his defence."
"Is
there no hiding-place in the house," said Charles, "where you might,
after warning him of his danger, conceal him?"
"There
are plenty, but of what avail would that be, if they burn down the Hall, which
in all probability they will!"
"None,
certainly."
"There
is but one chance," said Henry, "and that is to throw them off the scent,
and induce them to think that he whom they seek is not here; I think that may
possibly be done by boldness."
"But
how!"
"I
will go among them and make the effort."
He at
once left the friends, for he felt that there might be no time to lose, and
hastening to the same part of the wall, over which he had looked so short a
time before, he clambered over it, and cried, in a loud voice,
"Stop
the vampyre! stop the vampyre!"
"Where,
where?" shouted a number of persons at once, turning their eyes eagerly
towards the spot where Henry stood.
"There,
across the fields," cried Henry. "I have lain in wait for him long;
but he has eluded me, and is making his way again towards the old ruins, where
I am sure he has some hiding-place that he thinks will elude all search. There,
I see his dusky form speeding onwards."
"Come
on," cried several; "to the ruins! to the ruins! We'll smoke him out
if he will not come by fair means: we must have him, dead or alive."
"Yes,
to the ruins!" shouted the throng of persons, who up to this time had
preserved so cautious a silence, and, in a few moments more, Henry Bannerworth
had the satisfaction of finding that his ruse had been perfectly successful,
for Bannerworth Hall and its vicinity were completely deserted, and the mob, in
a straggling mass, went over hedge and ditch towards those ruins in which there
was nothing to reward the exertions they might choose to make in the way of an
exploration of them, but the dead body of the villain Marchdale, who had come
there to so dreadful, but so deserved a death.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE BODY OF MARCHDALE IN THE RUINS BY THE
MOB.—THE BURNING OF THE CORPSE.—THE MURDER OF THE HANGMAN.
The
mob reached the ruins of Bannerworth Hall, and crowded round it on all sides,
with the view of ascertaining if a human creature, dead or alive, were there;
various surmises were afloat, and some were for considering that everybody but
themselves, or their friends, must be nothing less than vampyres. Indeed, a
strange man, suddenly appearing among them, would have caused a sensation, and
a ring would no doubt have been formed round him, and then a hasty council
held, or, what was more probable, some shout, or word uttered by some one
behind, who could not understand what was going on in front, would have
determined them to commit some desperate outrage, and the sacrifice of life
would have been the inevitable result of such an unfortunate concurrence of
circumstances.
There
was a pause before anyone ventured among the ruins; the walls were carefully
looked to, and in more than one instance, but they were found dangerous, what
were remaining; some parts had been so completely destroyed, that there were
nothing but heaps of rubbish.
However,
curiosity was exerted to such an extraordinary pitch that it overcame the fear
of danger, in search of the horrible; for they believed that if there were any
one in the ruins he must be a vampyre, of course, and they were somewhat
cautious in going near such a creature, lest in so doing they should meet with
some accident, and become vampyres too.
This
was a dreadful reflection, and one that every now and then impressed itself
upon the individuals composing the mob; but at the same time any new impulse,
or a shout, and they immediately became insensible to all fear; the mere
impulse is the dominant one, and then all is forgotten.
The
scene was an impressive one; the beautiful house and grounds looked desolate
and drear; many of the trees were stripped and broken down, and many scorched
and burned, while the gardens and flower beds, the delight of the Bannerworth
family, were rudely trodden under foot by the rabble, and all those little
beauties so much admired and tended by the inhabitants, were now utterly
destroyed, and in such a state that their site could not even be detected by
the former owners.
It
was a sad sight to see such a sacrilege committed,—such violence done to
private feelings, as to have all these places thrown open to the scrutiny of
the brutal and vulgar, who are incapable of appreciating or understanding the
pleasures of a refined taste.
The
ruins presented a remarkable contrast to what the place had been but a very
short time before; and now the scene of desolation was complete, there was no
one spot in which the most wretched could find shelter.
To be
sure, under the lee of some broken and crumbling wall, that tottered, rather
than stood, a huddled wretch might have found shelter from the wind, but it
would have been at the risk of his life, and not there complete.
The
mob became quiet for some moments, but was not so long; indeed, a mob of
people,—which is, in fact, always composed of the most disorderly characters to
be found in a place, is not exactly the assembly that is most calculated for
quietness; somebody gave a shout, and then somebody else shouted, and the one
wide throat of the whole concourse was opened, and sent forth a mighty yell.
After
this exhibition of power, they began to run about like mad,—traverse the
grounds from one end to the other, and then the ruins were in progress of being
explored.
This
was a tender affair, and had to be done with some care and caution by those who
were so engaged; and they walked over crumbling and decayed masses.
In
one or two places, they saw what appeared to be large holes, into which the
building materials had been sunk, by their own weight, through the flooring,
that seemed as roofs to some cellars or dungeons.
Seeing
this, they knew not how soon some other part might sink in, and carry their
precious bodies down with the mass of rubbish; this gave an interest to the
scene,—a little danger is a sort of salt to an adventure, and enables those who
have taken part in it to talk of their exploits, and of their dangers, which is
pleasant to do, and to hear in the ale-house, and by the inglenook in the winter.
However,
when a few had gone some distance, others followed, when they saw them enter
the place in safety: and at length the whole ruins were covered with living
men, and not a few women, who seemed necessary to make up the elements of
mischief in this case.
There
were some shouting and hallooing from one to the other as they hurried about
the ruins.
At
length they had explored the ruins nearly all over, when one man, who had stood
a few minutes upon a spot, gazing intently upon something, suddenly exclaimed,—
"Hilloa!
hurrah! here we are, altogether,—come on,—I've found him,—I've found—recollect
it's me, and nobody else has found,—hurrah!"
Then,
with a wild kind of frenzy, he threw his hat up into the air, as if to attract
attention, and call others round him, to see what it was he had found.
"What's
the matter, Bill?" exclaimed one who came up to him, and who had been
close at hand.
"The
matter? why, I've found him; that's the matter, old man," replied the
first.
"What,
a whale?
"No,
a wampyre; the blessed wampyre! there he is,—don't you see him under them ere
bricks?"
"Oh,
that's not him; he got away."
"I
don't care," replied the other, "who got away, or who didn't; I know
this much, that he's a wampyre,—he wouldn't be there if he warn't."
This
was an unanswerable argument, and nobody could deny it; consequently, there was
a cessation of talk, and the people then came up, as the two first were looking
at the body.
"Whose
is it?" inquired a dozen voices.
"Not
Sir Francis Varney's!" said the second speaker; "the clothes are not
his—"
"No,
no; not Sir Francis's"
"But
I tell you what, mates," said the first speaker; "that if it isn't
Sir Francis Varney's, it is somebody else's as bad. I dare say, now, he's a
wictim."
"A
what!"
"A
wictim to the wampyre; and, if he sees the blessed moonlight, he will be a
wampyre hisself, and so shall we be, too, if he puts his teeth into us."
"So
we shall,—so we shall," said the mob, and their flesh begin to run cold,
and there was a feeling of horror creeping over the whole body of persons
within hearing.
"I
tell you what it is; our only plan will be to get him out of the ruins, then,
remarked another.
"What!"
said one; "who's going to handle such cattle? if you've a sore about you,
and his blood touches you, who's to say you won't be a vampyre, too!"
"No,
no you won't," said an old woman.
"I
won't try," was the happy rejoinder; "I ain't a-going to carry a
wampyre on my two legs home to my wife and small family of seven children, and
another a-coming."
There
was a pause for a few moments, and then one man more adventurous than the rest,
exclaimed,—
"Well,
vampyre, or no vampyre, his dead body can harm no one; so here goes to get it
out, help me who will; once have it out, and then we can prevent any evil, by
burning it, and thus destroying the whole body.
"Hurrah!"
shouted three or four more, as they jumped down into the hole formed by the
falling in of the materials which had crushed Marchdale to death, for it was
his body they had discovered.
They
immediately set to work to displace such of the materials as lay on the body,
and then, having cleared it of all superincumbent rubbish, they proceeded to
lift it up, but found that it had got entangled, as they called it, with some
chains: with some trouble they got them off, and the body was lifted out to a
higher spot.
"Now,
what's to be done?" inquired one.
"Burn
it," said another.
"Hurrah!"
shouted a female voice; "we've got the wampyre! run a stake through his
body, and then place him upon some dry wood,—there's plenty to be had about
here, I am sure,—and then burn him to a cinder."
"That's
right, old woman,—that's right," said a man; "nothing better: the
devil must be in him if he come to life after that, I should say."
There
might be something in that, and the mob shouted its approbation, as it was sure
to do as anything stupid or senseless, and the proposal might be said to have
been carried by acclamation, and it required only the execution.
This
was soon done. There were plenty of laths and rafters, and the adjoining wood
furnished an abundant supply of dry sticks, so there was no want of fuel.
There
was a loud shout as each accession of sticks took place, and, as each
individual threw his bundle into the heap, each man felt all the self-devotion
to the task as the Scottish chieftain who sacrificed himself and seven sons in
the battle for his superior; and, when one son was cut down, the man filled up
his place with the exclamation,—"Another for Hector," until he
himself fell as the last of his race.
Soon
now the heap became prodigious, and it required an effort to get the mangled
corpse upon this funeral bier; but it was then a shout from the mob that rent
the air announced, both the fact and their satisfaction.
The
next thing to be done was to light the pile—this was no easy task; but like all
others, it was accomplished, and the dead body of the vampyre's victim was
thrown on to prevent that becoming a vampyre too, in its turn.
"There,
boys," said one, "he'll not see the moonlight, that's certain, and
the sooner we put a light to this the better; for it may be, the soldiers will
be down upon us before we know anything of it; so now, who's got a light?"
This
was a question that required a deal of searching; but, at length one was found
by one of the mob coming forward, and after drawing his pipe vigorously for
some moments, he collected some scraps of paper upon which he emptied the
contents of the pipe, with the hope they would take fire.
In
this, however, he was doomed to disappointment; for it produced nothing but a
deal of smoke, and the paper burned without producing any flame.
This
act of disinterestedness, however was not without its due consequences, for
there were several who had pipes, and, fired with the hope of emulating the
first projector of the scheme for raising the flame, they joined together, and
potting the contents of their pipes together on some paper, straw, and chips,
they produced, after some little trouble, a flame.
Then
there was a shout, and the burning mass was then placed in a favourable
position nearer the pile of materials collected for burning, and then, in a few
moments, it began to take light; one piece communicated the fire to another,
until the whole was in a blaze.
When
the first flame fairly reached the top, a loud and tremendous shout arose from
the mob, and the very welkin re-echoed with its fulness.
Then
the forked flames rushed through the wood, and hissed and crackled as they
flew, throwing up huge masses of black smoke, and casting a peculiar reflection
around. Not a sound was heard save the hissing and roaring of the flames, which
seemed like the approaching of a furious whirlwind.
At
length there was nothing to be seen but the blackened mass; it was enveloped in
one huge flame, that threw out a great heat, so much so, that those nearest to
it felt induced to retire from before it.
"I
reckon," said one, "that he's pretty well done by this time—he's had
a warm berth of it up there."
"Yes,"
said another, "farmer Walkings's sheep he roasted whole at last
harvest-home hadn't such a fire as this, I'll warrant; there's no such fire in
the county—why, it would prevent a frost, I do believe it would."
"So
it would, neighbour," answered another.
"Yes,"
replied a third, "but you'd want such a one corner of each field
though."
There
was much talk and joking going on among the men who stood around, in the midst
of which, however, they were disturbed by a loud shout, and upon looking in the
quarter whence it came, they saw stealing from among the ruins, the form of a
man.
He
was a strange, odd looking man, and at the time it was very doubtful among the
mob as to whom it was—nobody could tell, and more than one looked at the
burning pile, and then at the man who seemed to be so mysteriously present, as
if they almost imagined that the body had got away.
"Who
is it?" exclaimed one.
"Danged
if I knows," said another, looking very hard, and very white at the same
time;—"I hope it ain't the chap what we've burned here jist now."
"No,"
said the female, "that you may be sure of, for he's had a stake through
his body, and as you said, he can never get over that, for as the stake is
consumed, so are his vitals, and that's a sure sign he's done for."