Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

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This feat accomplished, no further attention was paid to Mr. Leigh, who,
finding that his exhortations were quite unheeded, retired into the
church with an appearance of deep affliction about him, and locked
himself in the vestry.

The crowd now had entire possession--without even the sort of control
that an exhortation assumed over them--of the burying-ground, and soon
in a dense mass were these desperate and excited people collected round
the well-known spot where lay the mortal remains of Miles, the butcher.

"Silence!" cried a loud voice, and every one obeyed the mandate, looking
towards the speaker, who was a tall, gaunt-looking man, attired in a
suit of faded black, and who now pressed forward to the front of the
throng.

"Oh!" cried one, "it's Fletcher, the ranter. What does he do here?"

"Hear him! hear him!" cried others; "he won't stop us."

"Yes, hear him," cried the tall man, waving his arms about like the
sails of a windmill. "Yes, hear him. Sons of darkness, you're all
vampyres, and are continually sucking the life-blood from each other. No
wonder that the evil one has power over you all. You're as men who walk
in the darkness when the sunlight invites you, and you listen to the
words of humanity when those of a diviner origin are offered to your
acceptance. But there shall be miracles in the land, and even in this
place, set apart with a pretended piety that is in itself most damnable,
you shall find an evidence of the true light; and the proof that those
who will follow me the true path to glory shall be found here within
this grave. Dig up Miles, the butcher!"

"Hear, hear, hear, hurra!" said every body. "Mr. Fletcher's not such a
fool, after all. He means well."

"Yes, you sinners," said the ranter, "and if you find Miles, the
butcher, decaying--even as men are expected to decay whose mortal
tabernacles are placed within the bowels of the earth--you shall gather
from that a great omen, and a sign that if you follow me you seek the
Lord; but I you find him looking fresh and healthy, as if the warm blood
was still within his veins, you shall take that likewise as a
signification that what I say to you shall be as the Gospel, and that by
coming to the chapel of the Little Boozlehum, ye shall achieve a great
salvation."

"Very good," said a brawny fellow, advancing with a spade in his hand;
"you get out of the way, and I'll soon have him up. Here goes, like blue
blazes!"

The first shovelful of earth he took up, he cast over his head into the
air, so that it fell in a shower among the mob, which of course raised a
shout of indignation; and, as he continued so to dispose of the
superfluous earth, a general row seemed likely to ensue. Mr. Fletcher
opened his mouth to make a remark, and, as that feature of his face was
rather a capacious one, a descending lump of mould, of a clayey
consistency, fell into it, and got so wedged among his teeth, that in
the process of extracting it he nearly brought some of those essential
portions of his anatomy with it.

This was a state of things that could not last long, and he who had been
so liberal with his spadesful of mould was speedily disarmed, and yet he
was a popular favourite, and had done the thing so good-humouredly, that
nobody touched him. Six or eight others, who had brought spades and
pickaxes, now pushed forward to the work, and in an incredibly short
space of time the grave of Miles, the butcher, seemed to be very nearly
excavated.

Work of any kind or nature whatever, is speedily executed when done with
a wish to get through it; and never, perhaps, within the memory of man,
was a grave opened in that churchyard with such a wonderful celerity.
The excitement of the crowd grew intense--every available spot from
which a view of the grave could be got, was occupied; for the last few
minutes scarcely a remark had been uttered, and when, at last, the spade
of one of those who were digging struck upon something that sounded like
wood, you might have heard a pin drop, and each one there present drew
his breath more shortly than before.

"There he is," said the man, whose spade struck upon the coffin.

Those few words broke the spell, and there was a general murmur, while
every individual present seemed to shift his position in his anxiety to
obtain a better view of what was about to ensue.

The coffin now having been once found, there seemed to be an increased
impetus given to the work; the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that
seemed almost the quick result of the working of some machine; and those
closest to the grave's brink crouched down, and, intent as they were
upon the progress of events, heeded not the damp earth that fell upon
them, nor the frail brittle and humid remains of humanity that
occasionally rolled to their feet.

It was, indeed, a scene of intense excitement--a scene which only wanted
a few prominent features in its foreground of a more intellectual and
higher cast than composed the mob, to make it a fit theme for a painter
of the highest talent.

And now the last few shovelfuls of earth that hid the top of the coffin
were cast from the grave, and that narrow house which contained the
mortal remains of him who was so well known, while in life, to almost
every one then present, was brought to the gaze of eyes which never had
seemed likely to have looked upon him again.

The cry was now for ropes, with which to raise the cumbrous mass; but
these were not to be had, no one thought of providing himself with such
appliances, so that by main strength, only, could the coffin be raised
to the brink.

The difficulty of doing this was immense, for there was nothing tangible
to stand upon; and even when the mould from the sides was sufficiently
cleared away, that the handles of the coffin could be laid hold of, they
came away immediately in the grasp of those who did so.

But the more trouble that presented itself to the accomplishment of the
designs of the mob, the more intent that body seemed upon carrying out
to the full extent their original designs.

Finding it quite impossible by bodily strength to raise the coffin of
the butcher from the position in which it had got imbedded by excessive
rains, a boy was hastily despatched to the village for ropes, and never
did boy run with such speed before, for all his own curiosity was
excited in the issue of an adventure, that to his young imagination was
appallingly interesting.

As impatient as mobs usually are, they had not time, in this case, for
the exercise of that quality of mind before the boy came back with the
necessary means of exerting quite a different species of power against
the butcher's coffin.

Strong ropes were slid under the inert mass, and twenty hands at once
plied the task of raising that receptacle of the dead from what had been
presumed to be its last resting-place. The ropes strained and creaked,
and many thought that they would burst asunder sooner than raise the
heavy coffin of the defunct butcher.

It is singular what reasons people find for backing their opinion.

"You may depend he's a vampyre," said one, "or it wouldn't be so
difficult to get him out of the grave."

"Oh, there can be no mistake about that," said one; "when did a natural
Christian's coffin stick in the mud in that way?"

"Ah, to be sure," said another; "I knew no good would come of his goings
on; he never was a decent sort of man like his neighbours, and many
queer things have been said of him that I have no doubt are true enough,
if we did but know the rights of them."

"Ah, but," said a young lad, thrusting his head between the two who were
talking, "if he is a vampyre, how does he get out of his coffin of a
night with all that weight of mould a top of him?"

One of the men considered for a moment, and then finding no rational
answer occur to him, he gave the boy a box on the ear, saying,--

"I should like to know what business that is of yours? Boys, now-a-days,
ain't like the boys in my time; they think nothing now of putting their
spokes in grown-up people's wheels, just as if their opinions were of
any consequence."

Now, by a vigorous effort, those who were tugging at the ropes succeeded
in moving the coffin a little, and that first step was all the
difficulty, for it was loosened from the adhesive soil in which it lay,
and now came up with considerable facility.

There was a half shout of satisfaction at this result, while some of the
congregation turned pale, and trembled at the prospect of the sight
which was about to present itself; the coffin was dragged from the
grave's brink fairly among the long rank grass that flourished in the
churchyard, and then they all looked at it for a time, and the men who
had been most earnest in raising it wiped the perspiration from their
brows, and seemed to shrink from the task of opening that receptacle of
the dead now that it was fairly in their power so to do.

Each man looked anxiously in his neighbour's face, and several audibly
wondered why somebody else didn't open the coffin.

"There's no harm in it," said one; "if he's a vampyre, we ought to know
it; and, if he ain't, we can't do any hurt to a dead man."

"Oughtn't we to have the service for the dead?" said one.

"Yes," said the impertinent boy who had before received the knock on the
head, "I think we ought to have that read backwards."

This ingenious idea was recompensed by a great many kicks and cuffs,
which ought to have been sufficient to have warned him of the great
danger of being a little before his age in wit.

"Where's the use of shirking the job?" cried he who had been so active
in shoveling the mud upon the multitude; "why, you cowardly sneaking set
of humbugs, you're half afraid, now."

"Afraid--afraid!" cried everybody: "who's afraid."

"Ah, who's afraid?" said a little man, advancing, and assuming an heroic
attitude; "I always notice, if anybody's afraid, it's some big fellow,
with more bones than brains."

At this moment, the man to whom this reproach was more particularly
levelled, raised a horrible shout of terror, and cried out, in frantic
accents,--

"He's a-coming--he's a-coming!"

The little man fell at once into the grave, while the mob, with one
accord, turned tail, and fled in all directions, leaving him alone with
the coffin. Such a fighting, and kicking, and scrambling ensued to get
over the wall of the grave-yard, that this great fellow, who had caused
all the mischief, burst into such peals of laughter that the majority of
the people became aware that it was a joke, and came creeping back,
looking as sheepish as possible.

Some got up very faint sorts of laugh, and said "very good," and swore
they saw what big Dick meant from the first, and only ran to make the
others run.

"Very good," said Dick, "I'm glad you enjoyed it, that's all. My eye,
what a scampering there was among you. Where's my little friend, who was
so infernally cunning about bones and brains?"

With some difficulty the little man was extricated from the grave, and
then, oh, for the consistency of a mob! they all laughed at him; those
very people who, heedless of all the amenities of existence, had been
trampling upon each other, and roaring with terror, actually had the
impudence to laugh at him, and call him a cowardly little rascal, and
say it served him right.

But such is popularity!

"Well, if nobody won't open the coffin," said big Dick, "I will, so here
goes. I knowed the old fellow when he was alive, and many a time he's
d----d me and I've d----d him, so I ain't a-going to be afraid of him
now he's dead. We was very intimate, you see, 'cos we was the two
heaviest men in the parish; there's a reason for everything."

"Ah, Dick's the fellow to do it," cried a number of persons; "there's
nobody like Dick for opening a coffin; he's the man as don't care for
nothing."

"Ah, you snivelling curs," said Dick, "I hate you. If it warn't for my
own satisfaction, and all for to prove that my old friend, the butcher,
as weighed seventeen stone, and stood six feet two and-a-half on his own
sole, I'd see you all jolly well--"

"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."

[Illustration]

"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."

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BANNERWORTH HALL, AND THE MYSTERIOUS
CONDUCT OF THE ADMIRAL AND MR. CHILLINGWORTH.

[Illustration]

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.