Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (111 page)

"D——e—you—you—oh!
I wish I had you on board ship, I'd make your lubberly carcass like a union
jack, full of red and blue stripes."

"Oh!
it's all very well; but if you don't take to your heels, you'll have all the
old women in the village a whacking on you, that's all I have to say about it.
You'd better port your helm and about ship, or you'll be keel-hauled."

"D—n
your—"

"What's
the matter?" inquired Marchdale, as he arrived.

"What's
the cause of all the noise we have heard?" said Sir Francis; "has
some village festival spontaneously burst forth among the rustics of this
place?"

"I
cannot tell the cause of it," said Henry Bannerworth; "but they seem
to me to be coming towards this place."

"Indeed!"

"I
think so too," said Marchdale.

"With
what object?" inquired Sir Francis Varney.

"No
peaceable one," observed Henry; "for, as far I can observe, they
struck across the country, as though they would enclose something, or intercept
somebody."

"Indeed!
but why come here?"

"If
I knew that I could have at once told the cause."

"And
they appear armed with a variety of odd weapons," observed Sir Francis;
"they mean an attack upon some one! Who is that man with them? he seems to
be deprecating their coming."

"That
appears to be Mr. Chillingworth," said Henry; "I think that is
he."

"Yes,"
observed the admiral; "I think I know the build of that craft; he's been
in our society before. I always know a ship as soon as I see it."

"Does
you, though?" said Jack.

"Yea;
what do you mean, eh? let me hear what you've got to say against your captain
and your admiral, you mutinous dog; you tell me, I say."

"So
I will; you thought you were fighting a big ship in a fog, and fired a dozen
broadsides or so, and it was only the Flying Dutchman, or the devil."

"You
infernal dog—"

"Well,
you know it was; it might a been our own shadow for all I can tell. Indeed, I
think it was."

"You
think!"

"Yes."

"That's
mutiny; I'll have no more to do with you, Jack Pringle; you're no seaman, and
have no respect for your officer. Now sheer off, or I'll cut your yards."

"Why,
as for my yards, I'll square 'em presently if I like, you old swab; but as for
leaving you, very well; you have said so, and you shall be accommodated, d——e;
however, it was not so when your nob was nearly rove through with a boarding
pike; it wasn't 'I'll have no more to do with Jack Pringle' then, it was more
t'other."

"Well,
then, why be so mutinous?"

"Because
you aggrawates me."

The
cries of the mob became more distinct as they drew nearer to the party, who
began to evince some uneasiness as to their object.

"Surely,"
said Marchdale, "Mr. Chillingworth has not named anything respecting the
duel that has taken place."

"No,
no."

"But
he was to have been here this morning," said the admiral. "I
understood he was to be here in his own character of a surgeon, and yet I have
not seen him; have any of you?"

"No,"
said Henry.

"Then
here he comes in the character of conservator of the public peace," said
Varney, coldly; "however, I believe that his errand will be useless since
the affair is, I presume, concluded."

"Down
with the vampyre!"

"Eh!"
said the admiral, "eh, what's that, eh? What did they say?"

"If
you'll listen they'll tell you soon enough, I'll warrant."

"May
be they will, and yet I'd like to know now."

Sir
Francis Varney looked significantly at Marchdale, and then waited with downcast
eyes for the repetition of the words.

"Down
with the vampyre!" resounded on all sides from the people who came rapidly
towards them, and converging towards a centre. "Burn, destroy, and kill
the vampyre! No vampyre; burn him out; down with him; kill him!"

Then
came Mr. Chillingworth's voice, who, with much earnestness, endeavoured to
exhort them to moderation, and to refrain from violence.

Sir
Francis Varney became very pale agitated; he immediately turned, and taking the
least notice, he made for the wood, which lay between him and his own house,
leaving the people in the greatest agitation.

Mr.
Marchdale was not unmoved at this occurrence, but stood his ground with Henry
Bannerworth, the admiral, and Jack Pringle, until the mob came very near to
them, shouting, and uttering cries of vengeance, and death of all imaginable
kinds that it was possible to conceive, against the unpopular vampyre.

Pending
the arrival of these infuriated persons, we will, in a few words, state how it
was that so suddenly a set of circumstances arose productive of an amount of
personal danger to Varney, such as, up to that time, had seemed not at all
likely to occur.

We
have before stated there was but one person out of the family of the
Bannerworths who was able to say anything of a positive character concerning
the singular and inexplicable proceedings at the Hall; and that that person was
Mr. Chillingworth, an individual not at all likely to become garrulous upon the
subject.

But,
alas! the best of men have their weaknesses, and we much regret to say that Mr.
Chillingworth so far in this instance forgot that admirable discretion which
commonly belonged to him, as to be the cause of the popular tumult which had
now readied such a height.

In a
moment of thoughtlessness and confidence, he told his wife. Yes, this really
clever man, from whom one would not have expected such a piece of horrible
indiscretion, actually told his wife all about the vampyre. But such is human
nature; combined with an amount of firmness and reasoning power, that one would
have thought to be invulnerable safeguards, we find some weakness which
astonishes all calculation.

Such
was this of Mr. Chillingworth's. It is true, he cautioned the lady to be secret,
and pointed to her the danger of making Varney the vampyre a theme for gossip;
but he might as well have whispered to a hurricane to be so good as not to go
on blowing so, as request Mrs. Chillingworth to keep a secret.

Of
course she burst into the usual fervent declarations of "Who was she to
tell? Was she a person who went about telling things? When did she see anybody?
Not she, once in a blue moon;" and then, when Mr. Chillingworth went out,
like the King of Otaheite, she invited the neighbours round about to come to
take some tea.

Under
solemn promises of secrecy, sixteen ladies that evening were made acquainted
with the full and interesting particulars of the attack of the vampyre on Flora
Bannerworth, and all the evidence inculpating Sir Francis Varney as the
blood-thirsty individual.

When
the mind comes to consider that these sixteen ladies multiplied their
information by about four-and-twenty each, we become quite lost in a sea of
arithmetic, and feel compelled to sum up the whole by a candid assumption that
in four-and-twenty hours not an individual in the whole town was ignorant of
the circumstances.

On
the morning before the projected duel, there was an unusual commotion in the
streets. People were conversing together in little knots, and using rather
violent gesticulations. Poor Mr. Chillingworth! he alone was ignorant of the
causes of the popular commotion, and so he went to bed wondering that an
unusual bustle pervaded the little market town, but not at all guessing its
origin.

Somehow
or another, however, the populace, who had determined to make a demonstration
on the following morning against the vampyre, thought it highly necessary first
to pay some sort of compliment to Mr. Chillingworth, and, accordingly, at an
early hour, a great mob assembled outside his house, and gave three terrific
applauding shouts, which roused him most unpleasantly from his sleep; and
induced the greatest astonishment at the cause of such a tumult.

Oh,
that artful Mrs. Chillingworth! too well she knew what was the matter; yet she
pretended to be so oblivious upon the subject.

"Good
God!" cried Mr. Chillingworth, as he started up in bed, "what's all
that?"

"All
what?" said his wife.

"All
what! Do you mean to say you heard nothing?"

"Well,
I think I did hear a little sort of something."

"A
little sort of something? It shook the house."

"Well,
well; never mind. Go to sleep again; it's no business of ours."

"Yes;
but it may be, though. It's all very well to say 'go to sleep.' That happens to
be a thing I can't do. There's something amiss."

"Well,
what's that to you?"

"Perhaps
nothing; but, perhaps, everything."

Mr.
Chillingworth sprang from his bed, and began dressing, a process which he
executed with considerable rapidity, and in which he was much accelerated by
two or three supplementary shouts from the people below.

Then,
in a temporary lull, a loud voice shouted,—

"Down
with the vampyre—down with the vampyre!"

The
truth in an instant burst over the mind of Mr. Chillingworth; and, turning to
his wife, he exclaimed,—

"I
understand it now. You've been gossipping about Sir Francis Varney, and have
caused all this tumult."

"I
gossip! Well, I never! Lay it on me; it's sure to be my fault. I might have
known that beforehand. I always am."

"But
you must have spoken of it."

"Who
have I got to speak to about it?"

"Did
you, or did you not?"

"Who
should I tell?"

Mr.
Chillingworth was dressed, and he hastened down and entered the street with
great desperation. He had a hope that he might be enabled to disperse the
crowd, and yet be in time to keep his appointment at the duel.

His
appearance was hailed with another shout, for it was considered, of course,
that he had come to join in the attack upon Sir Francis Varney. He found
assembled a much more considerable mob than he had imagined, and to his alarm
he found many armed with all sorts of weapons of offence.

"Hurrah!"
cried a great lumpy-looking fellow, who seemed half mad with the prospect of a
disturbance. "Hurrah! here's the doctor, he'll tell us all about it as we
go along. Come on."

"For
Heaven's sake," said Mr. Chillingworth, "stop; What are you about to
do all of you?"

"Burn
the vampyre—burn the vampyre!"

"Hold—hold!
this is folly. Let me implore you all to return to your homes, or you will get
into serious trouble on this subject."

This
was a piece of advice not at all likely to be adopted; and when the mob found
that Mr. Chillingworth was not disposed to encourage and countenance it in its
violence, it gave another loud shout of defiance, and moved off through the
long straggling streets of the town in a direction towards Sir Francis Varney's
house.

It is
true that what were called the authorities of the town had become alarmed, and
were stirring, but they found themselves in such a frightful minority, that it
became out of the question for them to interfere with any effect to stop the
lawless proceedings of the rioters, so that the infuriated populace had it all
their own way, and in a straggling, disorderly-looking kind of procession they
moved off, vowing vengeance as they went against Varney the vampyre.

Hopeless
as Mr. Chillingworth thought it was to interfere with any degree of effect in
the proceedings of the mob, he still could not reconcile it to himself to be
absent from a scene which he now felt certain had been produced by his own
imprudence, so he went on with the crowd, endeavouring, as he did so, by every
argument that could be suggested to him to induce them to abstain from the acts
of violence they contemplated. He had a hope, too, that when they reached Sir
Francis Varney's, finding him not within, as probably would be the case, as by
that time he would have started to meet Henry Bannerworth on the ground, to
fight the duel, he might induce the mob to return and forego their meditated
violence.

And
thus was it that, urged on by a multitude of persons, the unhappy surgeon was
expiating, both in mind and person, the serious mistakes he had committed in
trusting a secret to his wife.

Let
it not be supposed that we for one moment wish to lay down a general principle
as regards the confiding secrets to ladies, because from the beginning of the
world it has become notorious how well they keep them, and with what admirable
discretion, tact, and forethought this fairest portion of humanity conduct
themselves.

We
know how few Mrs. Chillingworths there are in the world, and have but to regret
that our friend the doctor should, in his matrimonial adventure, have met with
such a specimen.