Complete Works of Bram Stoker (610 page)

So loud and shrill were the cries, that they all started up, terrified and bewildered beyond measure, unable to apply their faculties to any one object.

“Help  —  help, father!  —  help!” shrieked the voice of the young girl whom we have before noticed.

The ferryman jumped up, and rushed to the spot where his daughter lay.

“Fanny,” he said  —  ”Fanny, what ails thee  —  what ails thee? Tell me, my dear child.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, almost choked  —  ”oh, father! are we all alone? I am terrified.”

“What ails thee  —  what ails thee? Tell me what caused you to scream out in such a manner?”

“I  —  I  —  that is I, father, thought  —  but no, I am sure it was reality. Where is the stranger?”

“A light  —  a light!” shouted the fisherman.

In another moment a light was brought him, and he discovered the stranger reclining in his bed, but awake, and looking around him, as if in the utmost amazement.

“What has happened?” he said  —  ”what has happened?”

“That is more than I know as yet,” the man replied. “Come, Fanny,” he added, “tell me what it is you fear. What caused you to scream out in that dreadful manner?”

“Oh, father  —  the vampyre!”

“Great God! what do you mean, Fanny, by that?”

“I hardly know, father. I was fast asleep, when I thought I felt something at my threat; but being very sound asleep, I did not immediately awake. Presently I felt the sharp pang of teeth being driven into the flesh of my neck  —  I awoke, and found the vampyre at his repast. Oh, God! oh, God! what shall I do?”

“Stay, my child, let us examine the wound,” said the fisherman, and he held the candle to the spot where the vampyre’s teeth had been applied. There, sure enough, were teeth marks, such as a human being’s would make were they applied, but no blood had been drawn therefrom.

“Come, come, Fanny; so far, by divine Providence, you are not injured; another moment, and the mischief would have been done entire and complete, and you would have been his victim.”

Then turning to the stranger, he said,  — 

“You have had some hand in this. No human being but you could come into this place. The cottage door is secured. You must be the vampyre.”

“I!”

“Yes; who else could?”

“I!  —  As Heaven’s my judge  —  but there, it’s useless to speak of it; I have not been out of my bed. In this place, dark as it is, and less used to darkness than you, I could not even find my way about.  —  It is impossible.”

“Get out of your bed, and let me feel,” said the ferryman, peremptorily  —  ”get out, and I will soon tell.”

The stranger arose, and began to dress himself, and the ferryman immediately felt the bed on which he had been lying; but it was ice cold  —  so cold that he started upon his legs in an instant, exclaiming with vehemence,  — 

“It is you, vile wretch! that has attempted to steal into the cottage of the poor man, and then to rob him of his only child, and that child of her heart’s blood, base ingrate!”

“My friend, you are wrong, entirely wrong. I am not the creature you believe me. I have slept, and slept soundly, and awoke not until your daughter screamed.”

“Scoundrel!  —  liar!  —  base wretch! you shall not remain alive to injure those who have but one life to lose.”

As he spoke, the ferryman made a desperate rush at the vampyre, and seized him by the throat, and a violent struggle ensued, in which the superior strength of the ferryman prevailed, and he brought his antagonist to the earth, at the same time bestowing upon him some desperate blows.

“Thou shall go to the same element from which I took thee,” said the ferryman, “and there swim or sink as thou wilt until some one shall drag thee ashore, and when they do, may they have a better return than I.”

As he spoke, he dragged along the stranger by main force until they came to the bank of the river, and then pausing, to observe the deepest part, he said,  — 

“Here, then, you shall go.”

The vampyre struggled, and endeavoured to speak, but he could not; the grasp at his throat prevented all attempts at speech; and then, with a sudden exertion of his strength, the ferryman lifted the stranger up, and heaved him some distance into the river.

Then in deep water sank the body.

The ferryman watched for some moments, and farther down the stream he saw the body again rise upon the current and struggling slightly, as for life  —  now whirled around and around, and then carried forward with the utmost velocity.

This continued as far as the moonlight enabled the ferryman to see, and then, with a slow step and clouded brow, he returned to his cottage, which he entered, and closed the door.

CHAPTER XC.

DR. CHILLINGWORTH AT THE HALL.  —  THE ENCOUNTER OF MYSTERY.  —  THE CONFLICT.  —  THE RESCUE, AND THE PICTURE.

There have been many events that have passed rapidly in this our narrative; but more have yet to come before we can arrive at that point which will clear up much that appears to be most mysterious and unaccountable.

Doctor Chillingworth, but ill satisfied with the events that had yet taken place, determined once more upon visiting the Hall, and there to attempt a discovery of something respecting the mysterious apartment in which so much has already taken place.

He communicated his design to no one; he resolved to prosecute the inquiry alone. He determined to go there and await whatever might turn up in the shape of events. He would not for once take any companion; such adventures were often best prosecuted alone  —  they were most easily brought to something like an explanatory position, one person can often consider matters more coolly than more. At all events, there is more secrecy than under any other circumstances.

Perhaps this often is of greater consequence than many others; and, moreover, when there is more than one, something is usually overdone. Where one adventurous individual will rather draw back in a pursuit, more than one would induce them to urge each other on.

In fact, one in such a case could act the part of a spy  —  a secret observer; and in that case can catch people at times when they could not under any other circumstances be caught or observed at all.

“I will go,” he muttered; “and should I be compelled to run away again, why, nobody knows anything about it and nobody will laugh at me.”

This was all very well; but Mr. Chillingworth was not the man to run away without sufficient cause. But there was so much mystery in all this that he felt much interested in the issue of the affair. But this issue he could not command; at the same time he was determined to sit and watch, and thus become certain that either something or nothing was to take place.

Even the knowledge of that much  —  that some inexplicable action was still going on  —  was far preferable to the uncertainty of not knowing whether what had once been going on was still so or not, because, if it had ceased, it was probable that nothing more would ever be known concerning it, and the mystery would still be a mystery to the end of time.

“It shall be fathomed if there be any possibility of its being discovered,” muttered Chillingworth. “Who would have thought that so quiet and orderly a spot as this, our quiet village, would have suffered so much commotion and disturbance? Far from every cause of noise and strife, it is quite as great a matter of mystery as the vampyre business itself.

“I have been so mixed up in this business that I must go through with it. By the way, of the mysteries, the greatest that I have met with is the fact of the vampyre having anything to do with so quiet a family as the Bannerworths.”

Mr. Chillingworth pondered over the thought; but yet he could make nothing of it. It in no way tended to elucidate anything connected with the affair, and it was much too strange and singular in all its parts to be submitted to any process of thought, with any hope of coming to anything like a conclusion upon the subject  —  that must remain until some facts were ascertained, and to obtain them Mr. Chillingworth now determined to try.

This was precisely what was most desirable in the present state of affairs; while things remained in the present state of uncertainty, there would be much more of mystery than could ever be brought to light.

One or two circumstances cleared up, the minor ones would follow in the same train, and they would be explained by the others; and if ever that happy state of things were to come about, why, then there would be a perfect calm in the town.

As Mr. Chillingworth was going along, he thought he observed two men sitting inside a hedge, close to a hay-rick, and thinking neither of them had any business there, he determined to listen to their conversation, and ascertain if it had any evil tendency, or whether it concerned the late event.

Having approached near the gate, and they being on the other side, he got over without any noise, and, unperceived by either of them, crept close up to them.

“So you haven’t long come from sea?”

“No; I have just landed.”

“How is it you have thrown aside your seaman’s clothes and taken to these?”

“Just to escape being found out.”

“Found out! what do you mean by that? Have you been up to anything?”

“Yes, I have, Jack. I have been up to something, worse luck to me; but I’m not to be blamed either.”

“What is it all about?” inquired his companion. “I always thought you were such a steady-going old file that there was no going out of the even path with you.”

“Nor would there have been, but for one simple circumstance.”

“What was that?”

“I will tell you, Jack  —  I will tell you; you will never betray me, I am sure.”

“Never, by heavens!”

“Well, then, listen  —  it was this. I had been some time aboard our vessel. I had sailed before, but the captain never showed any signs of being a bad man, and I was willing enough to sail with him again.

“He knew I was engaged to a young woman in this country, and that I was willing to work hard to save money to make up a comfortable home for us both, and that I would not sail again, but that I intended to remain ashore, and make up my mind to a shore life.”

“Well, you would have a house then?”

“Exactly; and that’s what I wished to do. Well, I made a small venture in the cargo, and thought, by so doing, that I should have a chance of realising a sum of money that would put us both in a comfortable line of business.

“Well, we went on very smoothly until we were coming back. We had disposed of the cargo, and I had received some money, and this seemed to cause our captain to hate me, because I had been successful; but I thought there was something else in it than that, but I could not tell what it was that made him so intolerably cross and tyrannous.

“Well, I found out, at length, he knew my intended wife. He knew her very well, and at the same time he made every effort he could to induce me to commit some act of disobedience and insubordination; but I would not, for it seemed to me he was trying all he could to prevent my doing my duty with anything like comfort.

“However, I learned the cause of all this afterwards. It was told me by one of the crew.

“‘Bill,’ said my mate, ‘look out for yourself.’

“‘What’s in the wind?’ said I.

“‘Only the captain has made a dead set at you, and you’ll be a lucky man if you escape.’

“‘What’s it all about?’ said I. ‘I cannot understand what he means. I have done nothing wrong. I don’t see why I should suddenly be treated in this way.’

“‘It’s all about your girl, Bill.’

“‘Indeed!’ said I. ‘What can that have to do with the captain? he knows nothing of her.’

“‘Oh, yes, he does,’ he said. ‘If it were not for you he would have the girl himself.’

“‘I see now,’ said I.

“‘Ay, and so can a blind man if you open his eyes; but he wants to make you do wrong  —  to goad you on to do something that will give him the power of disgracing you, and, perhaps, of punishing you.’

“‘He won’t do that,’ said I.

“‘I am glad to hear you say so, Bill; for, to my mind, he has made up his mind to go the whole length against you. I can’t make it out, unless he wishes you were dead.’

“‘I dare say he does,’ said I; ‘but I will take care I will live to exact a reckoning when he comes ashore.’

“‘That is the best; and when we are paid off, Bill, if you will take it out of him, and pay him off, why, I don’t care if I lend you a hand.’

“‘We’ll say more about that, Dick,’ said I, ‘when we get ashore and are paid off. If we are overheard now, it will be said that we are conspiring, or committing mutiny, or something of that sort.’

“‘You are right, Bill,’ he said  —  ’you are right. We’ll say no more about this now, but you may reckon upon me when we are no longer under his orders.’

“‘Then there’s no danger, you know.’

“Well, we said nothing about this, but I thought of it, and I had cause enough, too, to think of it; for each day the captain grew more and more tyrannous and brutal. I knew not what to do, but kept my resolution of doing my duty in spite of all he could do, though I don’t mind admitting I had more than one mind to kill him and myself afterwards.

“However, I contrived to hold out for another week or two, and then we came into port, and were released from his tyranny. I got paid off, and then I met my messmate, and we had some talk about the matter.

“‘The worst of it is,’ said I, ‘we shall have some difficulty to catch him; and, if we can, I’ll be sworn we shall give him enough to last him for at least a voyage or two.’

“‘He ought to have it smart,’ said my messmate; ‘and I know where he is to be found.’

“‘Do you?  —  at what hour?’

“‘Late at night, when he may be met with as he comes from a house where he spends his evenings.”

“‘That will be the best time in the world, when we shall have less interference than at any other time in the day. But we’ll have a turn to-night if you will be with me, as he will be able to make too good a defence to one. It will be a fight, and not a chastisement.’

“‘It will. I will be with you; you know where to meet me. I shall be at the old spot at the usual time, and then we will go.’