by Bram Stoker
“Give it up,” said another.
“No, no; have him out. I’ll never give in while I can use a stick. They are in earnest, and so are we. Don’t let us be frightened because they have a gun or two — they can’t have many; and besides, if they have, we are too many for them. Besides, we shall all die in our beds.”
“Hurrah! down with the vampyre!”
“So say I, lads. I don’t want to be sucked to death when I’m a-bed. Better die like a man than such a dog’s death as that, and you have no revenge then.”
“No, no; he has the better of us then. We’ll have him out — we’ll burn him — that’s the way we’ll do it.”
“Ay, so we will; only let us get in.”
At that moment a chosen party returned who had been round the house to make a reconnaissance.
“Well, well,” inquired the mob, “what can be done now — where can we get in?”
“In several places.”
“All right; come along then; the place is our own.”
“Stop a minute; they are armed at all points, and we must make an attack on all points, else we may fail. A party must go round to the front-door, and attempt to beat it in; there are plenty of poles and things that could be used for such a purpose.”
“There is, besides, a garden-door, that opens into the house — a kind of parlour; a kitchen-door; a window in the flower-garden, and an entrance into a store-room; this place appears strong, and is therefore unguarded.”
“The very point to make an attack.”
“Not quite.”
“Why not?”
“Because it can easily be defended, and rendered useless to us. We must make an attack upon all places but that, and, while they are being at those points, we can then enter at that place, and then you will find them desert the other places when they see us inside.”
“Hurrah! down with the vampyre!” said the mob, as they listened to this advice, and appreciated the plan.
“Down with the vampyre!”
“Now, then, lads, divide, and make the attack; never mind their guns, they have but very few, and if you rush in upon them, you will soon have the guns yourselves.”
“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the mob.
The mob now moved away in different bodies, each strong enough to carry the house. They seized upon a variety of poles and stones, and then made for the various doors and windows that were pointed out by those who had made the discovery. Each one of those who had formed the party of observation, formed a leader to the others, and at once proceeded to the post assigned him.
The attack was so sudden and so simultaneous that the servants were unprepared; and though they ran to the doors, and fired away, still they did but little good, for the doors were soon forced open by the enraged rioters, who proceeded in a much more systematic operation, using long heavy pieces of timber which were carried on the shoulders of several men, and driven with the force of battering-rams — which, in fact, they were — against the door.
Bang went the battering-ram, crash went the door, and the whole party rushed headlong in, carried forward by their own momentum and fell prostrate, engine and all, into the passage.
“Now, then, we have them,” exclaimed the servants, who began to belabour the whole party with blows, with every weapon they could secure.
Loudly did the fallen men shout for assistance, and but for their fellows who came rushing in behind, they would have had but a sorry time of it.
“Hurrah!” shouted the mob; “the house is our own.”
“Not yet,” shouted the servants.
“We’ll try,” said the mob; and they rushed forward to drive the servants back, but they met with a stout resistance, and as some of them had choppers and swords, there were a few wounds given, and presently bang went the blunderbuss.
Two or three of the mob reeled and fell.
This produced a momentary panic, and the servants then had the whole of the victory to themselves, and were about to charge, and clear the passage of their enemies, when a shout behind attracted their attention.
That shout was caused by an entrance being gained in another quarter, whence the servants were flying, and all was disorder.
“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the mob.
The servants retreated to the stairs, and here united, they made a stand, and resolved to resist the whole force of the rioters, and they succeeded in doing so, too, for some minutes. Blows were given and taken of a desperate character.
Somehow, there were no deadly blows received by the servants; they were being forced and beaten, but they lost no life; this may be accounted for by the fact that the mob used no more deadly weapons than sticks.
The servants of Sir Francis Varney, on the contrary, were mostly armed with deadly weapons, which, however, they did not use unnecessarily. They stood upon the hall steps — the grand staircase, with long poles or sticks, about the size of quarter-staves, and with these they belaboured those below most unmercifully.
Certainly, the mob were by no means cowards, for the struggle to close with their enemies was as great as ever, and as firm as could well be. Indeed, they rushed on with a desperation truly characteristic of John Bull, and defied the heaviest blows; for as fast as one was stricken down another occupied his place, and they insensibly pressed their close and compact front upon the servants, who were becoming fatigued and harassed.
“Fire, again,” exclaimed a voice from among the servants.
The mob made no retrogade movement, but still continued to press onwards, and in another moment a loud report rang through the house, and a smoke hung over the heads of the mob.
A long groan or two escaped some of the men who had been wounded, and a still louder from those who had not been wounded, and a cry arose of, —
“Down with the vampyre — pull down — destroy and burn the whole place — down with them all.”
A rush succeeded, and a few more discharges took place, when a shout above attracted the attention of both parties engaged in this fierce struggle. They paused by mutual consent, to look and see what was the cause of that shout.
CHAPTER LII.
THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE MOB AND SIR FRANCIS VARNEY. — THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. — THE WINE CELLARS.
The shout that had so discomposed the parties who were thus engaged in a terrific struggle came from a party above.
“Hurrah! hurrah!” they shouted a number of times, in a wild strain of delight. “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
The fact was, a party of the mob had clambered up a verandah, and entered some of the rooms upstairs, whence they emerged just above the landing near the spot where the servants were resisting in a mass the efforts of the mob.
“Hurrah!” shouted the mob below.
“Hurrah!” shouted the mob above.
There was a momentary pause, and the servants divided themselves into two bodies, and one turned to face those above, and the other those who were below.
A simultaneous shout was given by both parties of the mob, and a sudden rush was made by both bodies, and the servants of Sir Francis Varney were broken in an instant. They were instantly separated, and knocked about a good bit, but they were left to shift for themselves, the mob had a more important object in view.
“Down with the vampyre!” they shouted.
“Down with the vampyre!” shouted they, and they rushed helter skelter through the rooms, until they came to one where the door was partially open, and they could see some person very leisurely seated.
“Here he is,” they cried.
“Who? who?”
“The vampire.”
“Down with him! kill him! burn him!”
“Hurrah! down with the vampire!”
These sounds were shouted out by a score of voices, and they rushed headlong into the room.
But here their violence and headlong precipitancy were suddenly restrained by the imposing and quiet appearance of the individual who was there seated.
The m
ob entered the room, and there was a sight, that if it did not astonish them, at least, it caused them to pause before the individual who was seated there.
The room was well filled with furniture, and there was a curtain drawn across the room, and about the middle of it there was a table, behind which sat Sir Francis Varney himself, looking all smiles and courtesy.
“Well, dang my smock-frock!” said one, “who’d ha’ thought of this? He don’t seem to care much about it.”
“Well, I’m d — — d!” said another; “he seems pretty easy, at all events. What is he going to do?”
“Gentlemen,” said Sir Francis Varney, rising, with the blandest smiles, “pray, gentlemen, permit me to inquire the cause of this condescension on your part. The visit is kind.”
The mob looked at Sir Francis, and then at each other, and then at Sir Francis again; but nobody spoke. They were awed by this gentlemanly and collected behaviour.
“If you honour me with this visit from pure affection and neighbourly good-will, I thank you.”
“Down with the vampyre!” said one, who was concealed behind the rest, and not so much overawed, as he had not seen Sir Francis.
Sir Francis Varney rose to his full height; a light gleamed across his features; they were strongly defined then. His long front teeth, too, showed most strongly when he smiled, as he did now, and said, in a bland voice, —
“Gentlemen, I am at your service. Permit me to say you are welcome to all I can do for you. I fear the interview will be somewhat inconvenient and unpleasant to you. As for myself, I am entirely at your service.”
As Sir Francis spoke, he bowed, and folded his hands together, and stepped forwards; but, instead of coming onwards to them, he walked behind the curtain, and was immediately hid from their view.
“Down with the vampyre!” shouted one.
“Down with the vampyre!” rang through the apartment; and the mob now, not awed by the coolness and courtesy of Sir Francis, rushed forward, and, overturning the table, tore down the curtain to the floor; but, to their amazement, there was no Sir Francis Varney present.
“Where is he?”
“Where is the vampyre?”
“Where has he gone?”
These were cries that escaped every one’s lips; and yet no one could give an answer to them.
There Sir Francis Varney was not. They were completely thunderstricken. They could not find out where he had gone to. There was no possible means of escape, that they could perceive. There was not an odd corner, or even anything that could, by any possibility, give even a suspicion that even a temporary concealment could take place.
They looked over every inch of flooring and of wainscoting; not the remotest trace could be discovered.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” said one — ”I can’t see where he could have gone. There ain’t a hole as big as a keyhole.”
“My eye!” said one; “I shouldn’t be at all surprised, if he were to blow up the whole house.”
“You don’t say go!”
“I never heard as how vampyres could do so much as that. They ain’t the sort of people,” said another.
“But if they can do one thing, they can do another.”
“That’s very true.”
“And what’s more, I never heard as how a vampyre could make himself into nothing before; yet he has done so.”
“He may be in this room now.”
“He may.”
“My eyes! what precious long teeth he had!”
“Yes; and had he fixed one on ‘em in to your arm, he would have drawn every drop of blood out of your body; you may depend upon that,” said an old man.
“He was very tall.”
“Yes; too tall to be any good.”
“I shouldn’t like him to have laid hold of me, though, tall as he is; and then he would have lifted me up high enough to break my neck, when he let me fall.”
The mob routed about the room, tore everything out of its place, and as the object of their search seemed to be far enough beyond their reach, their courage rose in proportion, and they shouted and screamed with a proportionate increase of noise and bustle; and at length they ran about mad with rage and vexation, doing all the mischief that was in their power to inflict.
Then they became mischievous, and tore he furniture from its place, and broke it in pieces, and then amused themselves with breaking it up, throwing pieces at the pier-glasses, in which they made dreadful holes; and when that was gone, they broke up the frames.
Every hole and corner of the house was searched, but there was no Sir Francis Varney to be found.
“The cellars, the cellars!” shouted a voice.
“The cellars, the cellars!” re-echoed nearly every pair of lips in the whole place; in another moment, there was crushing an crowding to get down into the cellars.
“Hurray!” said one, as he knocked off the neck of the bottle that first came to hand.
“Here’s luck to vampyre-hunting! Success to our chase!”
“So say I, neighbour; but is that your manners to drink before your betters?”
So saying, the speaker knocked the other’s elbow, while he was in the act of lifting the wine to his mouth; and thus he upset it over his face and eyes.
“D — n it!” cried the man; “how it makes my eyes smart! Dang thee! if I could see, I’d ring thy neck!”
“Success to vampyre-hunting!” said one.
“May we be lucky yet!” said another.
“I wouldn’t be luckier than this,” said another, as he, too, emptied a bottle. “We couldn’t desire better entertainment, where the reckoning is all paid.”
“Excellent!”
“Very good!”
“Capital wine this!”
“I say, Huggins!”
“Well,” said Huggins.
“What are you drinking?”
“Wine.”
“What wine?”
“Danged if I know,” was the reply. “It’s wine, I suppose; for I know it ain’t beer nor spirits; so it must be wine.”
“Are you sure it ain’t bottled men’s blood?”
“Eh?”
“Bottled blood, man! Who knows what a vampyre drinks? It may be his wine. He may feast upon that before he goes to bed of a night, drink anybody’s health, and make himself cheerful on bottled blood!”
“Oh, danged! I’m so sick; I wish I hadn’t taken the stuff. It may be as you say, neighbour, and then we be cannibals.”
“Or vampyres.”
“There’s a pretty thing to think of.”
By this time some were drunk, some were partially so, and the remainder were crowding into the cellars to get their share of the wine.
The servants had now slunk away; they were no longer noticed by the rioters, who, having nobody to oppose them, no longer thought of anything, save the searching after the vampyre, and the destruction of the property. Several hours had been spent in this manner, and yet they could not find the object of their search.
There was not a room, or cupboard, or a cellar, that was capable of containing a cat, that they did not search, besides a part of the rioters keeping a very strict watch on the outside of the house and all about the grounds, to prevent the possibility of the escape of the vampyre.
There was a general cessation of active hostilities at that moment; a reaction after the violent excitement and exertion they had made to get in. Then the escape of their victim, and the mysterious manner in which he got away, was also a cause of the reaction, and the rioters looked in each others’ countenances inquiringly.
Above all, the discovery of the wine-cellar tended to withdraw them from violent measures; but this could not last long, there must be an end to such a scene, for there never was a large body of men assembled for an evil purpose, who ever were, for any length of time, peaceable.
To prevent the more alarming effects of drunkenness, some few of the rioters, after having taken some small portion of the win
e, became, from the peculiar flavour it possessed, imbued with the idea that it was really blood, and forthwith commenced an instant attack upon the wine and liquors, and they were soon mingling in one stream throughout the cellars.
This destruction was loudly declaimed against by a large portion of the rioters, who were drinking; but before they could make any efforts to save the liquor, the work of destruction had not only been begun, but was ended, and the consequence was, the cellars were very soon evacuated by the mob.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S HOUSE BY FIRE. — THE ARRIVAL OF THE MILITARY, AND A SECOND MOB.
Thus many moments had not elapsed ere the feelings of the rioters became directed into a different channel from that in which it had so lately flowed. When urged about the house and grounds for the vampyre, they became impatient and angry at not finding him. Many believed that he was yet about the house, while many were of opinion that he had flown away by some mysterious means only possessed by vampyres and such like people.
“Fire the house, and burn him out,” said one.
“Fire the house!”
“Burn the den!” now arose in shouts from all present, and then the mob were again animated by the love of mischief that seemed to be the strongest feelings that animated them.
“Burn him out — burn him out!” were the only words that could be heard from any of the mob. The words ran through the house like wildfire, nobody thought of anything else, and all were seen running about in confusion.
There was no want of good will on the part of the mob to the undertaking; far from it, and they proceeded in the work con amore. They worked together with right good will, and the result was soon seen by the heaps of combustible materials that were collected in a short time from all parts of the house.
All the old dry wood furniture that could be found was piled up in a heap, and to these were added a number of faggots, and also some shavings that were found in the cellar.
“All right!” exclaimed one man, in exultation.
“Yes,” replied a second; “all right — all right! Set light to it, and he will be smoked out if not burned.”