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Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

T >> Thomas Preskett Prest >> Varney the Vampire




"You did you swab."

"I should think so."

"It's a lie, and you know it."

"Very good," said Jack, "don't you recollect when that ere iron bullet
walked over your head, leaving a nice little nick, all the way off
Bergen-ap-Zoom, that was the time--blessed if you didn't give just such
a grin as that."

"I didn't, you rascal."

"And I say you did."

"Mutiny, by God!"

"Go to blazes!"

How far this contention might nave gone, having now reached its
culminating point, had the admiral and Jack been alone, it is hard to
say; but as it was, Henry and Marchdale interfered, and so the quarrel
was patched up for the moment, in order to give place to more important
affairs.

Varney seemed to think, that after the smiling welcome he had given to
his second, he had done quite enough; for there he stood, tall, and
gaunt, and motionless, if we may except an occasional singular movement
of the mouth, and a clap together of his teeth, at times, which was
enough to make anybody jump to hear.

"For Heaven's sake," said Marchdale, "do not let us trifle at such a
moment as this. Mr. Pringle, you really had no business here."

"Mr. who?" said Jack.

"Pringle, I believe, is your name?" returned Marchdale.

"It were; but blowed if ever I was called mister before."

The admiral walked up to Sir Francis Varney, and gave him a nod that
looked much more like one of defiance than of salutation, to which the
vampyre replied by a low, courtly bow.

"Oh, bother!" muttered the old admiral. "If I was to double up my
backbone like that, I should never get it down straight again. Well,
all's right; you've come; that's all you could do, I suppose."

"I am here," said Varney, "and therefore it becomes a work of
supererogation to remark that I've come."

"Oh! does it? I never bolted a dictionary, and, therefore, I don't know
exactly what you mean."

"Step aside with me a moment, Admiral Bell, and I will tell you what you
are to do with me after I am shot, if such should be my fate."

"Do with you! D----d if I'll do anything with you."

"I don't expect you will regret me; you will eat."

"Eat!"

"Yes, and drink as usual, no doubt, notwithstanding being witness to the
decease of a fellow-creature."

"Belay there; don't call yourself a fellow-creature of mine; I ain't a
vampyre."

"But there's no knowing what you may be; and now listen to my
instructions; for as you're my second, you cannot very well refuse to me
a few friendly offices. Rain is falling. Step beneath this ancient tree,
and I will talk to you."




CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE STORM AND THE FIGHT.-THE ADMIRAL'S REPUDIATION OF HIS PRINCIPAL.


[Illustration]

"Well," said the admiral, when they were fairly under the tree, upon the
leaves of which the pattering rain might be heard falling: "well--what
is it?"

"If your young friend, Mr. Bannerworth, should chance to send a
pistol-bullet through any portion of my anatomy, prejudicial to the
prolongation of my existence, you will be so good as not to interfere
with anything I may have about me, or to make any disturbance whatever."

"You may depend I sha'n't."

"Just take the matter perfectly easy--as a thing of course."

"Oh! I mean d----d easy."

"Ha! what a delightful thing is friendship! There is a little knoll or
mound of earth midway between here and the Hall. Do you happen to know
it? There is one solitary tree glowing near its summit--an oriental
looking tree, of the fir tribe, which, fan-like, spreads its deep green
leaves; across the azure sky."

"Oh! bother it; it's a d----d old tree, growing upon a little bit of a
hill, I suppose you mean?"

"Precisely; only much more poetically expressed. The moon rises at a
quarter past four to-night, or rather to-morrow, morning."

"Does it?"

"Yes; and if I should happen to be killed, you will have me removed
gently to this mound of earth, and there laid beneath this tree, with my
face upwards; and take care that it is done before the moon rises. You
can watch that no one interferes."

"A likely job. What the deuce do you take me for? I tell you what it is,
Mr. Vampyre, or Varney, or whatever's your name, if you should chance to
be hit, where-ever you chance to fall, there you'll lie."

"How very unkind."

"Uncommon, ain't it?"

"Well, well, since that is your determination, I must take care of
myself in another way. I can do so, and I will."

"Take care of yourself how you like, for all I care; I've come here to
second you, and to see that, on the honour of a seaman, if you are put
out of the world, it's done in a proper manner, that's all I have to do
with you--now you know."

Sir Francis Varney looked after him with a strange kind of smile, as he
walked away to make the necessary preparation with Marchdale for the
immediate commencement of the contest.

These were simple and brief. It was agreed that twelve paces should be
measured out, six each way, from a fixed point; one six to be paced by
the admiral, and the other by Marchdale; then they were to draw lots, to
see at which end of this imaginary line Varney was to be placed; after
this the signal for firing was to be one, two, three--fire!

A few minutes sufficed to complete these arrangements; the ground was
measured in the manner we have stated, and the combatants placed in
their respective positions, Sir Francis Varney occupying the same spot
where he had at first stood, namely, that nearest to the little wood,
and to his own residence.

It is impossible that under such circumstances the bravest and the
calmest of mankind could fail to feel some slight degree of tremour or
uneasiness; and, although we can fairly claim for Henry Bannerworth that
he was as truly courageous as any right feeling Christian man could wish
to be, yet when it was possible that he stood within, as it were, a
hair's breadth of eternity, a strange world of sensation and emotions
found a home in his heart, and he could not look altogether undaunted on
that future which might, for all he knew to the contrary, be so close at
hand, as far as he was concerned.

It was not that he feared death, but that he looked with a decent
gravity upon so grave a change as that from this world to the next, and
hence was it that his face was pale, and that he looked all the emotion
which he really felt.

This was the aspect and the bearing of a brave but not a reckless man;
while Sir Francis Varney, on the other hand, seemed, now that he had
fairly engaged in the duel, to look upon it and its attendant
circumstances with a kind of smirking satisfaction, as if he were far
more amused than personally interested.

This was certainly the more extraordinary after the manner in which he
had tried to evade the fight, and, at all events, was quite a sufficient
proof that cowardice had not been his actuating motive in so doing.

The admiral, who stood on a level with him, could not see the sort of
expression he wore, or, probably, he would have been far from well
pleased; but the others did, and they found something inexpressibly
disagreeable in the smirking kind of satisfaction with which the vampyre
seemed to regard now the proceedings.

"Confound him," whispered Marchdale to Henry, "one would think he was
quite delighted, instead, as we had imagined him, not well pleased, at
these proceedings; look how he grins."

"It is no matter," said Henry; "let him wear what aspect he may, if is
the same to me; and, as Heaven is my judge, I here declare, if I did not
think myself justified in so doing, I would not raise my hand against
this man."

"There can be no shadow of a doubt regarding your justification. Have at
him, and Heaven protect you."

"Amen!"

The admiral was to give the word to fire, and now he and Marshal having
stepped sufficiently on one side to be out of all possible danger from
any stray shot, he commenced repeating the signal,--

"Are you ready, gentlemen?--once."

They looked sternly at each other, and each grasped his pistol.

"Twice!"

Sir Francis Varney smiled and looked around him, as if the affair were
one of the most common-place description.

"Thrice!"

Varney seemed to be studying the sky rather than attending to the duel.

"Fire!" said the admiral, and one report only struck upon the ear. It
was that from Henry's pistol.

All eyes were turned upon Sir Francis Varney, who had evidently reserved
his fire, for what purpose could not be devised, except a murderous one,
the taking of a more steady aim at Henry.

Sir Francis, however, seemed in no hurry, but smiled significantly, and
gradually raised the point of his weapon.

"Did you hear the word, Sir Francis? I gave it loud enough, I am sure. I
never spoke plainer in my life; did I ever, Jack?"

"Yes, often," said Jack Pringle; "what's the use of your asking such
yarns as them? you know you have done so often enough when you wanted
grog."

"You d----d rascal, I'll--I'll have your back scored, I will."

"So you will, when you are afloat again, which you never will be--you're
paid off, that's certain."

"You lubberly lout, you ain't a seaman; a seaman would never mutiny
against his admiral; howsomever, do you hear, Sir Francis, I'll give the
matter up, if you don't pay some attention to me."

Henry looked steadily at Varney, expecting every moment to feel his
bullet. Mr. Marchdale hastily exclaimed that this was not according to
usage.

Sir Francis Varney took no notice, but went on elevating his weapon;
when it was perpendicular to the earth he fired in the air.

"I had not anticipated this," said Marchdale, as he walked to Henry. "I
thought he was taking a more deadly aim."

"And I," said Henry.

"Ay, you have escaped, Henry; let me congratulate you."

"Not so fast; we may fire again."

"I can afford to do that," he said, with a smile.

"You should have fired, sir, according to custom," said the admiral;
"this is not the proper thing."

"What, fire at your friend?"

"Oh, that's all very well! You are my friend for a time, vampyre as you
are, and I intend you shall fire."

"If Mr. Henry Bannerworth demands another fire, I have no objection to
it, and will fire at him; but as it is I shall not do so, indeed, it
would be quite useless for him to do so--to point mortal weapons at me
is mere child's play, they will not hurt me."

"The devil they won't," said the admiral.

"Why, look you here," said Sir Francis Varney, stepping forward and
placing his hand to his neckerchief; "look you here; if Mr. Henry
Bannerworth should demand another fire, he may do so with the same
bullet."

"The same bullet!" said Marchdale, stepping forward--"the same bullet!
How is this?"

"My eyes," said Jack; "who'd a thought it; there's a go! Wouldn't he do
for a dummy--to lead a forlorn hope, or to put among the boarders?"

"Here," said Sir Francis, handing a bullet to Henry Bannerworth--"here
is the bullet you shot at me."

Henry looked at it--it was blackened by powder; and then Marchdale
seized it and tried it in the pistol, but found the bullet fitted
Henry's weapon.

"By heavens, it is so!" he exclaimed, stepping back and looking at
Varney from top to toe in horror and amazement.

"D----e," said the admiral, "if I understand this. Why Jack Pringle, you
dog, here's a strange fish."

"On, no! there's plenty on 'um in some countries."

"Will you insist upon another fire, or may I consider you satisfied?"

"I shall object," said Marchdale. "Henry, this affair must go no
further; it would be madness--worse than madness, to fight upon such
terms."

"So say I," said the admiral. "I will not have anything to do with you,
Sir Francis. I'll not be your second any longer. I didn't bargain for
such a game as this. You might as well fight with the man in brass
armour, at the Lord Mayor's show, or the champion at a coronation."

"Oh!" said Jack Pringle; "a man may as well fire at the back of a
halligator as a wamphigher."

"This must be considered as having been concluded," said Mr. Marchdale.

"No!" said Henry.

"And wherefore not?"

"Because I have not received his fire."

"Heaven forbid you should."

"I may not with honour quit the ground without another fire."

"Under ordinary circumstances there might be some shadow of an excuse
for your demand; but as it is there is none. You have neither honour nor
credit to gain by such an encounter, and, certainly, you can gain no
object."

"How are we to decide this affair? Am I considered absolved from the
accusation under which I lay, of cowardice?" inquired Sir Francis
Varney, with a cold smile.

"Why, as for that," said the admiral, "I should as soon expect credit
for fighting behind a wall, as with a man that I couldn't hit any more
than the moon."

"Henry; let me implore you to quit this scene; it can do no good."

At this moment, a noise, as of human voices, was heard at a distance;
this caused a momentary pause, and, the whole party stood still and
listened.

The murmurs and shouts that now arose in the distance were indistinct
and confused.

"What can all this mean?" said Marchdale; "there is something very
strange about it. I cannot imagine a cause for so unusual an
occurrence."

"Nor I," said Sir Francis Varney, looking suspiciously at Henry
Bannerworth.

"Upon my honour I know neither what is the cause nor the nature of the
sounds themselves."

"Then we can easily see what is the matter from yonder hillock," said
the admiral; "and there's Jack Pringle, he's up there already. What's he
telegraphing about in that manner, I wonder?"

The fact was, Jack Pringle, hearing the riot, had thought that if he got
to the neighbouring eminence he might possibly ascertain what it was
that was the cause of what he termed the "row," and had succeeded in
some degree.

There were a number of people of all kinds coming out from the village,
apparently armed, and shouting. Jack Pringle hitched up his trousers and
swore, then took off his hat and began to shout to the admiral, as he
said,--

"D----e, they are too late to spoil the sport. Hilloa! hurrah!"

"What's all that about, Jack?" inquired the admiral, as he came puffing
along. "What's the squall about?"

"Only a few horse-marines and bumboat-women, that have been startled
like a company of penguins."

"Oh! my eyes! wouldn't a whole broadside set 'em flying, Jack?"

"Ay; just as them Frenchmen that you murdered on board the Big
Thunderer, as you called it."

"I murder them, you rascal?"

"Yes; there was about five hundred of them killed."

"They were only shot."

"They were killed, only your conscience tells you it's uncomfortable."

"You rascal--you villain! You ought to be keel-hauled and well payed."

"Ay; you're payed, and paid off as an old hulk."

"D----e--you--you--oh! I wish I had you on board ship, I'd make your
lubberly carcass like a union jack, full of red and blue stripes."

"Oh! it's all very well; but if you don't take to your heels, you'll
have all the old women in the village a whacking on you, that's all I
have to say about it. You'd better port your helm and about ship, or
you'll be keel-hauled."

"D--n your--"

"What's the matter?" inquired Marchdale, as he arrived.

"What's the cause of all the noise we have heard?" said Sir Francis;
"has some village festival spontaneously burst forth among the rustics
of this place?"

"I cannot tell the cause of it," said Henry Bannerworth; "but they seem
to me to be coming towards this place."

"Indeed!"

"I think so too," said Marchdale.

"With what object?" inquired Sir Francis Varney.

"No peaceable one," observed Henry; "for, as far I can observe, they
struck across the country, as though they would enclose something, or
intercept somebody."

"Indeed! but why come here?"

"If I knew that I could have at once told the cause."

"And they appear armed with a variety of odd weapons," observed Sir
Francis; "they mean an attack upon some one! Who is that man with them?
he seems to be deprecating their coming."

"That appears to be Mr. Chillingworth," said Henry; "I think that is
he."

"Yes," observed the admiral; "I think I know the build of that craft;
he's been in our society before. I always know a ship as soon as I see
it."

"Does you, though?" said Jack.

"Yea; what do you mean, eh? let me hear what you've got to say against
your captain and your admiral, you mutinous dog; you tell me, I say."

"So I will; you thought you were fighting a big ship in a fog, and fired
a dozen broadsides or so, and it was only the Flying Dutchman, or the
devil."

"You infernal dog--"

"Well, you know it was; it might a been our own shadow for all I can
tell. Indeed, I think it was."

"You think!"

"Yes."

"That's mutiny; I'll have no more to do with you, Jack Pringle; you're
no seaman, and have no respect for your officer. Now sheer off, or I'll
cut your yards."

"Why, as for my yards, I'll square 'em presently if I like, you old
swab; but as for leaving you, very well; you have said so, and you shall
be accommodated, d----e; however, it was not so when your nob was nearly
rove through with a boarding pike; it wasn't 'I'll have no more to do
with Jack Pringle' then, it was more t'other."

"Well, then, why be so mutinous?"

"Because you aggrawates me."

The cries of the mob became more distinct as they drew nearer to the
party, who began to evince some uneasiness as to their object.

"Surely," said Marchdale, "Mr. Chillingworth has not named anything
respecting the duel that has taken place."

"No, no."

"But he was to have been here this morning," said the admiral. "I
understood he was to be here in his own character of a surgeon, and yet
I have not seen him; have any of you?"

"No," said Henry.

"Then here he comes in the character of conservator of the public
peace," said Varney, coldly; "however, I believe that his errand will be
useless since the affair is, I presume, concluded."

"Down with the vampyre!"

"Eh!" said the admiral, "eh, what's that, eh? What did they say?"

"If you'll listen they'll tell you soon enough, I'll warrant."

"May be they will, and yet I'd like to know now."

Sir Francis Varney looked significantly at Marchdale, and then waited
with downcast eyes for the repetition of the words.

"Down with the vampyre!" resounded on all sides from the people who came
rapidly towards them, and converging towards a centre. "Burn, destroy,
and kill the vampyre! No vampyre; burn him out; down with him; kill
him!"

[Illustration]

Then came Mr. Chillingworth's voice, who, with much earnestness,
endeavoured to exhort them to moderation, and to refrain from violence.

Sir Francis Varney became very pale agitated; he immediately turned, and
taking the least notice, he made for the wood, which lay between him and
his own house, leaving the people in the greatest agitation.

Mr. Marchdale was not unmoved at this occurrence, but stood his ground
with Henry Bannerworth, the admiral, and Jack Pringle, until the mob
came very near to them, shouting, and uttering cries of vengeance, and
death of all imaginable kinds that it was possible to conceive, against
the unpopular vampyre.

Pending the arrival of these infuriated persons, we will, in a few
words, state how it was that so suddenly a set of circumstances arose
productive of an amount of personal danger to Varney, such as, up to
that time, had seemed not at all likely to occur.

We have before stated there was but one person out of the family of the
Bannerworths who was able to say anything of a positive character
concerning the singular and inexplicable proceedings at the Hall; and
that that person was Mr. Chillingworth, an individual not at all likely
to become garrulous upon the subject.

But, alas! the best of men have their weaknesses, and we much regret to
say that Mr. Chillingworth so far in this instance forgot that admirable
discretion which commonly belonged to him, as to be the cause of the
popular tumult which had now readied such a height.

In a moment of thoughtlessness and confidence, he told his wife. Yes,
this really clever man, from whom one would not have expected such a
piece of horrible indiscretion, actually told his wife all about the
vampyre. But such is human nature; combined with an amount of firmness
and reasoning power, that one would have thought to be invulnerable
safeguards, we find some weakness which astonishes all calculation.

Such was this of Mr. Chillingworth's. It is true, he cautioned the lady
to be secret, and pointed to her the danger of making Varney the vampyre
a theme for gossip; but he might as well have whispered to a hurricane
to be so good as not to go on blowing so, as request Mrs. Chillingworth
to keep a secret.

Of course she burst into the usual fervent declarations of "Who was she
to tell? Was she a person who went about telling things? When did she
see anybody? Not she, once in a blue moon;" and then, when Mr.
Chillingworth went out, like the King of Otaheite, she invited the
neighbours round about to come to take some tea.

Under solemn promises of secrecy, sixteen ladies that evening were made
acquainted with the full and interesting particulars of the attack of
the vampyre on Flora Bannerworth, and all the evidence inculpating Sir
Francis Varney as the blood-thirsty individual.

When the mind comes to consider that these sixteen ladies multiplied
their information by about four-and-twenty each, we become quite lost in
a sea of arithmetic, and feel compelled to sum up the whole by a candid
assumption that in four-and-twenty hours not an individual in the whole
town was ignorant of the circumstances.

On the morning before the projected duel, there was an unusual commotion
in the streets. People were conversing together in little knots, and
using rather violent gesticulations. Poor Mr. Chillingworth! he alone
was ignorant of the causes of the popular commotion, and so he went to
bed wondering that an unusual bustle pervaded the little market town,
but not at all guessing its origin.

Somehow or another, however, the populace, who had determined to make a
demonstration on the following morning against the vampyre, thought it
highly necessary first to pay some sort of compliment to Mr.
Chillingworth, and, accordingly, at an early hour, a great mob assembled
outside his house, and gave three terrific applauding shouts, which
roused him most unpleasantly from his sleep; and induced the greatest
astonishment at the cause of such a tumult.

Oh, that artful Mrs. Chillingworth! too well she knew what was the
matter; yet she pretended to be so oblivious upon the subject.

"Good God!" cried Mr. Chillingworth, as he started up in bed, "what's
all that?"

"All what?" said his wife.

"All what! Do you mean to say you heard nothing?"

"Well, I think I did hear a little sort of something."

"A little sort of something? It shook the house."

"Well, well; never mind. Go to sleep again; it's no business of ours."

"Yes; but it may be, though. It's all very well to say 'go to sleep.'
That happens to be a thing I can't do. There's something amiss."

"Well, what's that to you?"

"Perhaps nothing; but, perhaps, everything."

Mr. Chillingworth sprang from his bed, and began dressing, a process
which he executed with considerable rapidity, and in which he was much
accelerated by two or three supplementary shouts from the people below.

Then, in a temporary lull, a loud voice shouted,--

"Down with the vampyre--down with the vampyre!"

The truth in an instant burst over the mind of Mr. Chillingworth; and,
turning to his wife, he exclaimed,--

"I understand it now. You've been gossipping about Sir Francis Varney,
and have caused all this tumult."

"I gossip! Well, I never! Lay it on me; it's sure to be my fault. I
might have known that beforehand. I always am."

"But you must have spoken of it."

"Who have I got to speak to about it?"

"Did you, or did you not?"

"Who should I tell?"

Mr. Chillingworth was dressed, and he hastened down and entered the
street with great desperation. He had a hope that he might be enabled to
disperse the crowd, and yet be in time to keep his appointment at the
duel.

His appearance was hailed with another shout, for it was considered, of
course, that he had come to join in the attack upon Sir Francis Varney.
He found assembled a much more considerable mob than he had imagined,
and to his alarm he found many armed with all sorts of weapons of
offence.

"Hurrah!" cried a great lumpy-looking fellow, who seemed half mad with
the prospect of a disturbance. "Hurrah! here's the doctor, he'll tell us
all about it as we go along. Come on."

"For Heaven's sake," said Mr. Chillingworth, "stop; What are you about
to do all of you?"

"Burn the vampyre--burn the vampyre!"

"Hold--hold! this is folly. Let me implore you all to return to your
homes, or you will get into serious trouble on this subject."

This was a piece of advice not at all likely to be adopted; and when the
mob found that Mr. Chillingworth was not disposed to encourage and
countenance it in its violence, it gave another loud shout of defiance,
and moved off through the long straggling streets of the town in a
direction towards Sir Francis Varney's house.

It is true that what were called the authorities of the town had become
alarmed, and were stirring, but they found themselves in such a
frightful minority, that it became out of the question for them to
interfere with any effect to stop the lawless proceedings of the
rioters, so that the infuriated populace had it all their own way, and
in a straggling, disorderly-looking kind of procession they moved off,
vowing vengeance as they went against Varney the vampyre.

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