Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

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"How so?"

"Why, see the numbers, of things that will be spoiled, coats torn, hats
crushed, heads broken, and shoes burst. Oh, it's an ill-wind that blows
nobody any good."

"So it is, but you may benefit anybody you like, so you don't do it at
my expence."

In one part of a field where there were some stiles and gates, a big
countryman caught a fat shopkeeper with the arms of the stile a terrible
poke in the stomach; while the breath was knocked out of the poor man's
stomach, and he was gasping with agony, the fellow set to laughing, and
said to his companions, who were of the same class--

"I say, Jim, look at the grocer, he hasn't got any wind to spare, I'd
run him for a wager, see how he gapes like a fish out of water."

The poor shopkeeper felt indeed like a fish out of water, and as he
afterwards declared he felt just as if he had had a red hot clock weight
thrust into the midst of his stomach and there left to cool.

However, the grocer would be revenged upon his tormentor, who had now
lost sight of him, but the fat man, after a time, recovering his wind,
and the pain in his stomach becoming less intense, he gathered himself
up.

"My name ain't Jones," he muttered, "if I don't be one to his one for
that; I'll do something that shall make him remember what it is to
insult a respectable tradesman. I'll never forgive such an insult. It is
dark, and that's why it is he has dared to do this."

Filled with dire thoughts and a spirit of revenge, he looked from side
to side to see with what he could effect his object, but could espy
nothing.

"It's shameful," he muttered; "what would I give for a little retort.
I'd plaster his ugly countenance."

As he spoke, he placed his hands on some pales to rest himself, when he
found that they stuck to them, the pales had that day been newly
pitched.

A bright idea now struck him.

"If I could only get a handful of this stuff," he thought, "I should be
able to serve him out for serving me out. I will, cost what it may; I'm
resolved upon that. I'll not have my wind knocked out, and my inside set
on fire for nothing. No, no; I'll be revenged on him."

With this view he felt over the pales, and found that he could scrape
off a little only, but not with his hands; indeed, it only plastered
them; he, therefore, marched about for something to scrape it off with.

"Ah; I have a knife, a large pocket knife, that will do, that is the
sort of thing I want."

He immediately commenced feeling for it, but had scarcely got his hand
into his pocket when he found there would be a great difficulty in
either pushing it in further or withdrawing it altogether, for the pitch
made it difficult to do either, and his pocket stuck to his hands like a
glove.

"D--n it," said the grocer, "who would have thought of that? here's a
pretty go, curse that fellow, he is the cause of all this; I'll be
revenged upon him, if it's a year hence."

The enraged grocer drew his hand out, but was unable to effect his
object in withdrawing the knife also; but he saw something shining, he
stooped to pick it up, exclaiming as he did so, in a gratified tone of
voice,

"Ah, here's something that will do better."

As he made a grasp at it, he found he had inserted his hand into
something soft.

"God bless me! what now?"

He pulled his hand hastily away, and found that it stuck slightly, and
then he saw what it was.

"Ay, ay, the very thing. Surely it must have been placed here on purpose
by the people."

The fact was, he had placed his hand into a pot of pitch that had been
left by the people who had been at work at pitching the pales, but had
been attracted by the fire at Sir Francis Varney's, and to see which
they had left their work, and the pitch was left on a smouldering peat
fire, so that when Mr. Jones, the grocer, accidentally put his hand into
it he found it just warm.

When he made this discovery he dabbed his hand again into the pitch-pot,
exclaiming,--

"In for a penny, in for a pound."

And he endeavoured to secure as large a handful of the slippery and
sticky stuff as he could, and this done he set off to come up with the
big countryman who had done him so much indignity and made his stomach
uncomfortable.

He soon came up with him, for the man had stopped rather behind, and was
larking, as it is called, with some men, to whom he was a companion.

He had slipped down a bank, and was partially sitting down on the soft
mud. In his bustle, the little grocer came down with a slide, close to
the big countryman.

"Ah--ah! my little grocer," said the countryman, holding out his hand to
catch him, and drawing him towards himself. "You will come and sit down
by the side of your old friend."

As he spoke, he endeavoured to pull Mr. Jones down, too; but that
individual only replied by fetching the countryman a swinging smack
across the face with the handful of pitch.

"There, take that; and now we are quits; we shall be old friends after
this, eh? Are you satisfied? You'll remember me, I'll warrant."

As the grocer spoke, he rubbed his hands over the face of the fallen
man, and then rushed from the spot with all the haste he could make.

The countryman sat a moment or two confounded, cursing, and swearing,
and spluttering, vowing vengeance, believing that it was mud only that
had been plastered over his face; but when he put his hands up, and
found out what it was, he roared and bellowed like a town-bull.

He cried out to his companions that his eyes were pitched: but they only
laughed at him, thinking he was having some foolish lark with them.

It was next day before he got home, for he wandered about all night: and
it took him a week to wash the pitch off by means of grease; and ever
afterwards he recollected the pitching of his face; nor did he ever
forget the grocer.

Thus it was the whole party returned a long while after dark across the
fields, with all the various accidents that were likely to befal such an
assemblage of people.

The vampyre hunting cost many of them dear, for clothes were injured on
all sides: hats lost, and shoes missing in a manner that put some of the
rioters to much inconvenience. Soon afterwards, the military retired to
their quarters; and the townspeople at length became tranquil and
nothing more was heard or done that night.

CHAPTER LVI.

THE DEPARTURE OF THE BANNERWORTHS FROM THE HALL.--THE NEW ABODE.--JACK
PRINGLE, PILOT.

[Illustration]

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."

CHAPTER LVII.

THE LONELY WATCH, AND THE ADVENTURE IN THE DESERTED HOUSE.

[Illustration]

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.

[Illustration]

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 way 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!"