Varney the Vampire by Thomas Preskett Prest

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But, however, he could not but tell himself that if his object was to
make a general disturbance through the whole place, he had certainly
succeeded in doing so.

He slunk home perhaps with a feeling that he might be called upon to
take part in something that might ensue, and at all events be compelled
to become a guide to the place of Sir Francis Varney's retreat, in which
case, for all he knew, the vampyre might, by some more than mortal
means, discover what a hand he had had in the matter, and punish him
accordingly.

The moment he hid left the saddler's Mrs. Philpots, after using some
bitter reproaches to her husband for not at once sacrificing the boy
upon the spot for the disrespectful manner in which he had spoken of
her, hastily put on her bonnet and shawl, and the saddler, although it
was a full hour before the usual time, began putting up the shutters of
his shop.

"Why, my dear," he said to Mrs. Philpots, when she came down stairs
equipped for the streets, "why, my dear, where are you going?"

"And pray, sir, what are you shutting up the shop for at this time of
the evening!"

"Oh! why, the fact is, I thought I'd just go to the Rose and Crown, and
mention that the vampyre was so near at hand."

"Well, Mr. Philpots, and in that case there can be no harm in my calling
upon some of my acquaintance and mentioning it likewise."

"Why, I don't suppose there would be much harm; only remember, Mrs.
Philpots, remember if you please---"

"Remember what?"

"To tell everybody to keep it secret."

"Oh, of course I will; and mind you do it likewise."

"Most decidedly."

The shop was closed, Mr. Philpots ran off to the Rose and Crown, and
Mrs, Philpots, with as much expedition as she could, purposed making the
grand tour of all her female acquaintance in the town, just to tell
them, as a great secret, that the vampyre, Sir Francis Varney, as he
called himself, had taken refuge at the house that was to let down the
lane leading to Higgs's farm.

"But by no means," she said, "let it go no further, because it is a very
wrong thing to make any disturbance, and you will understand that it's
quite a secret."

She was listened to with breathless attention, as may well be supposed,
and it was a singular circumstance that at every house she left some
other lady put on her bonnet and shawl, and ran out to make the circle
of her acquaintance, with precisely the same story, and precisely the
same injunctions to secrecy.

And, as Mr. Philpots pursued an extremely similar course, we are not
surprised that in the short space of one hour the news should have
spread through all the town, and that there was scarcely a child old
enough to understand what was being talked about, who was ignorant of
the fact, that Sir Francis Varney was to be found at the empty house
down the lane.

It was an unlucky time, too, for the night was creeping on, a period at
which people's apprehension of the supernatural becomes each moment
stronger and more vivid--a period at which a number of idlers are let
loose for different employments, and when anything in the shape of a row
or a riot presents itself in pleasant colours to those who have nothing
to lose and who expect, under the cover of darkness, to be able to
commit outrages they would be afraid to think of in the daytime, when
recognition would be more easy.

Thus was it that Sir Francis Varney's position, although he knew it not,
became momentarily one of extreme peril, and the danger he was about to
run, was certainly greater than any he had as yet experienced. Had
Charles Holland but known what was going on, he would undoubtedly have
done something to preserve the supposed vampyre from the mischief that
threatened him, but the time had not arrived when he had promised to pay
him a second visit, so he had no idea of anything serious having
occurred.

Perhaps, too, Mr. and Mrs. Philpots scarcely anticipated creating so
much confusion, but when they found that the whole place was in an
uproar, and that a tumultuous assemblage of persons called aloud for
vengeance upon Varney, the vampyre, they made their way home again in no
small fright.

And, now, what was the result of all these proceedings will be best
known by our introducing the reader to the interior of the house in
which Varney had found a temporary refuge, and following in detail his
proceedings as he waited for the arrival of Charles Holland.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

THE HUNT FOR VARNEY.--THE HOUSE-TOPS.--THE MIRACULOUS ESCAPE.--THE LAST
PLACE OF REFUGE.--THE COTTAGE.

[Illustration]

On the tree tops the moon shines brightly, and the long shadows are
shooting its rays down upon the waters, and the green fields appear
clothed in a flood of silver light; the little town was quiet and
tranquil--nature seemed at rest.

The old mansion in which Sir Francis Varney had taken refuge, stood
empty and solitary; it seemed as though it were not associated with the
others by which it was surrounded. It was gloomy, and in the moonlight
it reminded one of things long gone by, existences that had once been,
but now no longer of this present time--a mere memento of the past.

Sir Francis Varney reclined upon the house-top; he gazed upon the sky,
and upon the earth; he saw the calm tranquillity that reigned around,
and could not but admire what he saw; he sighed, he seemed to sigh, from
a pleasure he felt in the fact of his security; he could repose there
without fear, and breathe the balmy air that fanned his cheek.

"Certainly," he muttered, "things might have been worse, but not much
worse; however, they might have been much better; the ignorant are
away--the most to be feared, because they have no guide and no control,
save what can be exerted over them by their fears and their passions."

He paused to look again over the scene, and, as far as the eye could
reach, and that, moonlight as it was, was many miles, the country was
diversified with hill and dale, meadow and ploughed land; the open
fields, and the darker woods, and the silvery stream that ran at no
great distance, all presented a scene that was well calculated to warm
the imagination, and to give the mind that charm which a cultivated
understanding is capable of receiving.

There was but one thing wanted to make such a scene one of pure
happiness, and that was all absence of care of fears for the future and
the wants of life.

Suddenly there was a slight sound that came from the town. It was very
slight, but the ears of Sir Francis Varney were painfully acute of late;
the least sound that came across him was heard in a moment, and his
whole visage was changed to one of listening interest.

The sound was hushed; but his attention was not lulled, for he had been
placed in circumstances that made all his vigilance necessary for his
own preservation. Hence it was, what another would have passed over, or
not heard at all, he both heard and noticed. He was not sure of the
nature of the sound, it was so slight and so indistinct.

There it was again! Some persons were moving about in the town. The
sounds that came upon the night air seemed to say that there was an
unusual bustle in the town, which was, to Sir Francis Varney, ominous in
the extreme.

What could people in such a quiet, retired place require out at such an
hour at night? It must be something very unusual--something that must
excite them to a great degree; and Sir Francis began to feel very
uneasy.

"They surely," he muttered to himself--"they surely cannot have found
out my hiding place, and intend to hunt me from it, the blood-thirsty
hounds! they are never satisfied. The mischief they are permitted to do
on one occasion is but the precursor to another. The taste has caused
the appetite for more, and nothing short of his blood can satisfy it."

The sounds increased, and the noise came nearer and nearer, and it
appeared as though a number of men had collected together and were
coming towards him. Yes, they were coming down the lane towards the
deserted mansion where he was.

For once in his life, Sir Francis Varney trembled; he felt sick at
heart, though no man was less likely to give up hope and to despair than
he; yet this sign of unrelenting hatred and persecution was too
unequivocal and too stern not to produce its effect upon even his mind;
for he had no doubt but that they were coming with the express purpose
of seeking him.

How they could have found him out was a matter he could not imagine. The
Bannerworths could not have betrayed him--he was sure of that; and yet
who could have seen him, so cautious and so careful as he had been, and
so very sparing had he lived, because he would not give the slightest
cause for all that was about to follow. He hoped to have hidden himself;
but now he could hear the tramp of men distinctly, and their voices came
now on the night air, though it was in a subdued tone, as if they were
desirous of approaching unheard and unseen by their victim.

Sir Francis Varney stirred not from his position. He remained silent and
motionless. He appeared not to heed what was going on; perhaps he hoped
to see them go by--to be upon some false scent; or, if they saw no signs
of life, they might leave the place, and go elsewhere.

Hark! they stop at the house--they go not by; they seem to pause, and
then a thundering knock came at the door, which echoed and re-echoed
through the empty and deserted house, on the top of which sat, in silent
expectation, the almost motionless Sir Francis Varney, the redoubted
vampyre.

The knock which came so loud and so hard upon the door caused Sir

Francis to start visibly, for it seemed his own knell. Then, as if the
mob were satisfied with their knowledge of his presence, and of their
victory, and of his inability to escape them, they sent up a loud shout
that filled the whole neighbourhood with its sound.

It seemed to come from below and around the house; it rose from all
sides, and that told Sir Francis Varney that the house was surrounded
and all escape was cut off; there was no chance of his being able to
rush through such a multitude of men as that which now encircled him.

With the calmest despair, Sir Francis Varney lay still and motionless on
the house-top, and listened to the sounds that proceeded from below.
Shout after shout arose on the still, calm air of the night; knock after
knock came upon the stout old door, which awakened responsive echoes
throughout the house that had for many years lain dormant, and which now
seemed disturbed, and resounded in hollow murmurs to the voices from
without.

Then a loud voice shouted from below, as if to be heard by any one who
might be within,--

"Sir Francis Varney, the vampyre, come out and give yourself up at
discretion! If we have to search for you, you may depend it will be to
punish you; you will suffer by burning. Come out and give yourself up."

There was a pause, and then a loud shout.

Sir Francis Varney paid no attention to this summons, but sat,
motionless, on the house-top, where he could hear all that passed below
in the crowd.

"He will not come out," said one.

"Ah! he's much too cunning to be caught in such a trap. Why, he knows
what you would do with him; he knows you would stake him, and make a
bonfire about him."

"So he has no taste for roasting," remarked another; "but still, it's no
use hiding; we have too many hands, and know the house too well to be
easily baffled."

"That may be; and, although he don't like burning, yet we will unearth
the old fox, somehow or other; we have discovered his haunt at last, and
certainly we'll have him out."

"How shall we get in?"

"Knock in the door--break open the door! the front door--that is the
best, because it leads to all parts of the house, and we can secure any
one who attempts to move from one to the other, as they come down."

"Hurrah!" shouted several men in the crowd.

"Hurrah!" echoed the mob, with one accord, and the shout rent the air,
and disturbed the quietude and serenity that scarce five minutes before
reigned through the place.

Then, as if actuated by one spirit, they all set to work to force the
door in. It was strong, and capable of great defence, and employed them,
with some labour, for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then, with a loud
crash, the door fell in.

"Hurrah!" again shouted the crowd.

These shouts announced the fall of the door, and then, and not until
then, did Sir Francis Varney stir.

"They have broken in the door," he muttered, "well, if die I must, I
will sell my life dearly. However, all is not yet lost, and, in the
struggle for life, the loss is not so much felt."

He got up, and crept towards the trap that led into the house, or out of
it, as the occasion might require.

"The vampyre! the vampyre!" shouted a man who stood on a garden wall,
holding on by the arm of an apple-tree.

"Varney, the vampyre!" shouted a second.

"Hurrah! boys, we are on the right scent; now for a hunt; hurrah! we
shall have him now."

They rushed in a tumultuous riot up the stone steps, and into the hall.
It was a large, spacious place, with a grand staircase that led up to
the upper floor, but it had two ends, and then terminated in a gallery.

It could not be defended by one man, save at the top, where it could not
long be held, because the assailants could unite, and throw their whole
weight against the entrance, and thus storm it. This actually happened.

They looked up, and, seeing nobody, they rushed up, some by one stair,
and some by the other; but it was dark; there were but few of the moon's
rays that pierced the gloom of that place, and those who first reached
the place which we have named, were seized with astonishment, staggered,
and fell.

Sir Francis Varney had met them; he stood there with a staff--something
he had found about the house--not quite so long as a broom-handle, but
somewhat thicker and heavier, being made of stout ash.

This formidable weapon, Sir Francis Varney wielded with strength and
resolution; he was a tall man, and one of no mean activity and personal
strength, and such a weapon, in his hands, was one of a most fearful
character, and, for the occasion, much better than his sword.

Man after man fell beneath the fearful brace of these blows, for though
they could not see Sir Francis, yet he could see them, or the
hall-lights were behind them at the time, while he stood in the dark,
and took advantage of this to deal murderous blows upon his assailants.

This continued for some minutes, till they gave way before such a
vigorous defence, and paused.

"On, neighbours, on," cried one; "will you be beaten off by one man?
Rush in at once and you must force him from his position--push him hard,
and he must give way."

"Ay," said one fellow who sat upon the ground rubbing his head; "it's
all very well to say push him hard, but if you felt the weight of that
d----d pole on your head, you wouldn't be in such a blessed hurry."

However true that might be, there was but little attention paid to it,
and a determined rush was made at the entrance to the gallery, and they
found that it was unoccupied; and that was explained by the slamming of
a door, and its being immediately locked upon them; and when the mob
came to the door, they found they had to break their way through another
door.

This did not take long in effecting; and in less than five minutes they
had broken through that door which led into another room; but the first
man who entered it fell from a crashing blow on the head from the ashen
staff of Sir Francis Varney, who hurried and fled, closely pursued,
until he came to another door, through which he dashed.

Here he endeavoured to make a stand and close it, but was immediately
struck and grappled with; but he threw his assailant, and turned and
fled again.

His object had been to defend each inch of the ground as long as he was
able; but he found they came too close upon his steps, and prevented his
turning in time to try the strength of his staff upon the foremost.

He dashed up the first staircase with surprising rapidity, leaving his
pursuers behind; and when he had gained the first landing, he turned
upon those who pursued him, who could hardly follow him two abreast.

"Down with the vampyre!" shouted the first, who rushed up heedless of
the staff.

"Down with a fool!" thundered Varney, as he struck the fellow a terrific
blow, which covered his face with blood, and he fell back into the arms
of his companions.

A bitter groan and execration arose from them below, and again they
shouted, and rushed up headlong.

"Down with the vampyre!" was again shouted, and met by a corresponding,
but deep guttural sound of--

"Down with a fool!"

And sure enough the first again came to the earth without any
preparation, save the application of an ashen stick to his skull, which,
by-the-bye, no means aided the operation of thinking.

Several more shared a similar fate; but they pressed hard, and Sir
Francis was compelled to give ground to keep them at the necessary
length from him, as they rushed on regardless of his blows, and if he
had not he would soon have been engaged in a personal struggle, for they
were getting too close for him to use the staff.

"Down with the vampyre!" was the renewed cry, as they drove him from
spot to spot until he reached the roof of the house, and then he ran up
the steps to the loft, which he had just reached when they came up to
the bottom.

Varney attempted to draw the ladder up but four or five stout men held
that down; then by a sudden turn, as they were getting up, he turned it
over, threw those on it down, and the ladder too, upon the heads of
those who were below.

"Down with the vampyre!" shouted the mob, as they, with the most
untiring energy, set the ladder, or steps, against the loft, and as many
as could held it, while others rushed up to attack Varney with all the
ferocity and courage of so many bull dogs.

It was strange, but the more they were baffled the more enraged and
determined they rushed on to a new attack, with greater resolution than
ever.

On this occasion, however, they were met with a new kind of missile, for
Sir Francis had either collected and placed there for the occasion, or
they had been left there for years, a number of old bricks, which lay
close at hand. These he took, one by one, and deliberately took aim at
them, and flung them with great force, striking down every one they hit.

This caused them to recoil; the bricks caused fearful gashes in their
heads, and the wounds were serious, the flesh being, in many places,
torn completely off. They however, only paused, for one man said,--

"Be of good heart, comrades, we can do as he does; he has furnished us
with weapons, and we can thus attack him in two ways, and he must give
way in the end."

"Hurrah! down with the vampyre!" sounded from all sides, and the shout
was answered by a corresponding rush.

It was true; Sir Francis had furnished them with weapons to attack
himself, for they could throw them back at him, which they did, and
struck him a severe blow on the head, and it covered his face with blood
in a moment.

"Hurrah!" shouted the assailants; "another such a blow, and all will be
over with the vampyre."

"He's got--"

"Press him sharp, now," cried another man, as he aimed another blow with
a brick, which struck Varney on the arm, causing him to drop the brick
he held in his hand. He staggered back, apparently in great pain.

"Up! up! we have him now; he cannot get away; he's hurt; we have him--we
have him."

And up they went with all the rapidity they could scramble up the steps;
but this had given Varney time to recover himself; and though his right
arm was almost useless, yet he contrived, with his left, to pitch the
bricks so as to knock over the first three or four, when, seeing that he
could not maintain his position to advantage, he rushed to the outside
of the house, the last place he had capable of defence.

There was a great shout by those outside, when they saw him come out and
stand with his staff, and those who came first got first served, for the
blows resounded, while he struck them, and sent them over below.

Then came a great shout from within and without, and then a desperate
rush was made at the door, and, in the next instant, Varney was seen
flying, followed by his pursuers, one after the other, some tumbling
over the tiles, to the imminent hazard of their necks.

Sir Francis Varney rushed along with a speed that appeared by far too
great to admit of being safely followed, and yet those who followed
appeared infected by his example, and appeared heedless of all
consequences by which their pursuit might be attended to themselves.

"Hurrah!" shouted the mob below.

"Hurrah!" answered the mob on the tiles.

Then, over several housetops might be seen the flying figure of Sir
Francis Varney, pursued by different men at a pace almost equal to his
own.

They, however, could keep up the same speed, and not improve upon it,
while he kept the advantage he first obtained in the start.

Then suddenly he disappeared.

It seemed to the spectators below that he had dropped through a house,
and they immediately surrounded the house, as well as they could, and
then set up another shout.

This took place several times, and as often was the miserable man hunted
from his place of refuge only to seek another, from which he was in like
manner hunted by those who thirsted for his blood.

On one occasion, they drove him into a house which was surrounded, save
at one point, which had a long room, or building in it, that ran some
distance out, and about twenty feet high.

At the entrance to the roof of this place, or leads, he stood and
defended himself for some moments with success; but having received a
blow himself, he was compelled to retire, while the mob behind forced
those in front forward faster than he could by any exertion wield the
staff that had so much befriended him on this occasion.

He was, therefore, on the point of being overwhelmed by numbers, when he
fled; but, alas! there was no escape; a bare coping stone and rails ran
round the top of that.

There was not much time for hesitation, but he jumped over the rails and
looked below. It was a great height, but if he fell and hurt himself, he
knew he was at the mercy of the bloodhounds behind him, who would do
anything but show him any mercy, or spare him a single pang.

He looked round and beheld his pursuers close upon him, and one was so
close to him that he seized upon his arm, saying, as he shouted to his
companions,--

"Hurrah, boys! I have him."

With an execration, Sir Francis wielded his staff with such force, that
he struck the fellow on the head, crushing in his hat as if it had been
only so much paper. The man fell, but a blow followed from some one else
which caused Varney to relax his hold, and finding himself falling, he,
to save himself, sprang away.

The rails, at that moment, were crowded with men who leaned over to
ascertain the effect of the leap.

"He'll be killed," said one.

"He's sure to be smashed," said another.

"I'll lay any wager he'll break a limb!" said a third.

Varney came to the earth--for a moment he lay stunned, and not able to
move hand or foot.

"Hurrah!" shouted the mob.

Their triumph was short, for just as they shouted Varney arose, and
after a moment or two's stagger he set off at full speed, which produced
another shout from the mob; and just at that moment, a body of his
pursuers were seen scaling the walls after him.

There was now a hunt through all the adjoining fields--from cover after
cover they pursued him until he found no rest from the hungry wolves
that beset him with cries, resembling beasts of prey rather than any
human multitude.

Sir Francis heard them, at the same time, with the despair of a man who
is struggling for life, and yet knows he is struggling in vain; he knew
his strength was decaying--his immense exertions and the blows he had
received, all weakened him, while the number and strength of his foes
seemed rather to increase than to diminish.

Once more he sought the houses, and for a moment he believed himself
safe, but that was only a momentary deception, for they had traced him.

He arrived at a garden wall, over which he bounded, and then he rushed
into the house, the door of which stood open, for the noise and
disturbance had awakened most of the inhabitants, who were out in all
directions.

He took refuge in a small closet on the stairs, but was seen to do so by
a girl, who screamed out with fear and fright,

"Murder! murder!--the wampyre!--the wampyre!" with all her strength, and
in the way of screaming that was no little, and then she went off into a
fit.

This was signal enough, and the house was at once entered, and beset on
all sides by the mob, who came impatient of obtaining their victim who
had so often baffled them.

"There he is--there he is," said the girl, who came to as soon as other
people came up.

"Where?--where?"

"In that closet," she said, pointing to it with her finger. "I see'd him
go in the way above."