The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (168 page)

“There is no time now for explanation,” said Varney, “if explanations were my full and free intent. You wished to know what noise was that you heard?”

“I did; can you inform me?”

“I can. The wild and lawless mob which you and your friends first induced to interfere in affairs far beyond their or your control, are now flushed with the desire of riot and of plunder. The noise you hear is that of their advancing footsteps; they come to destroy Bannerworth Hall.”

“Can that be possible? The Bannerworth family are the sufferers from all that has happened, and not the inflictors of suffering.”

“Ay, be it so; but he who once raises a mob has raised an evil spirit, which, in the majority of cases, it requires a far more potent spell than he is master of to quell again.”

“It is so. That is a melancholy truth; but you address me, Sir Francis Varney, as if I led on the mob, when in reality I have done all that lay in my power, from the very first moment of their rising on account of this affair, which, in the first instance, was your work, to prevent them from proceeding to acts of violence.”

“It may be so; but if you have now any regard for your own safety you will quit this place. It will too soon become the scene of a bloody contention. A large party of dragoons are even now by another route coming towards it, and it will be their duty to resist the aggressions of the mob; then should the rioters persevere, you can guess the result.”

“I can, indeed.”

“Retire then while you may, and against the bad deeds of Sir Francis Varney at all events place some of his good ones, that he may not seem wholly without one redeeming trait.”

“I am not accustomed,” said the doctor, “to paint the devil blacker than he really is; but yet the cruel persecutions that the Bannerworth family have endured call aloud for justice. You still, with a perseverance which shows you regardless of what others suffer so that you compass your own ends, hover round a spot which you have rendered desolate.”

“Hark, sir; do you not hear the tramp of horses’ feet?”

“I do.”

The noise made by the feet of the insurgents was now almost drowned in the louder and more rapid tramp of the horses’ feet of the advancing dragoons, and, in a few moments more, Sir Francis Varney waved his arm, exclaiming—

“They are here. Will you not consult your safety by flight?”

“No,” said Mr. Chillingworth’s companion; “we prefer remaining here at the risk even of whatever danger may accrue to us.”

“Fools, would you die in a chance
melee
between an infuriated populace and soldiery?”

“Do not leave,” whispered the ex-hangman to Mr. Chillingworth; “do not leave, I pray you. He only wants to have the Hall to himself.”

There could be no doubt now of the immediate appearance of the cavalry, and, before Sir Francis Varney could utter another word, a couple of the foremost of the soldiers cleared the garden fence at a part where it was low, and alighted not many feet from the summer-house in which this short colloquy was taking place. Sir Francis Varney uttered a bitter oath, and immediately disappeared in the gloom.

“What shall we do?” said the hangman.—“You can do what you like, but I shall avow my presence to the military, and claim to be on their side in the approaching contest, if it should come to one, which I sincerely hope it will not.”

The military detachment consisted of about twenty-five dragoons, who now were all in the gardens. An order was given by the officer in command for them to dismount, which was at once obeyed, and the horses were fastened by their bridles to the various trees with which the place abounded.

“They are going to oppose the mob on foot, with their carbines,” said the hangman; “there will be sad work here I am afraid.”

“Well, at all events,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I shall decline acting the part of a spy here any longer; so here goes.”

“Hilloa! a friend—a friend here, in the summer-house!”

“Make it two friends,” cried the hangman, “if you please, while you are about it.”

A couple of the dragoons immediately appeared, and the doctor, with his companion, were marched, as prisoners, before the officer in command.

“What do you do here?” he said; “I was informed that the Hall was deserted. Here, orderly, where is Mr. Adamson, the magistrate, who came with me?”

“Close at hand sir, and he says he’s not well.”

“Well, or ill, he must come here, and do something with these people.”

A magistrate of the district who had accompanied the troops, and been accommodated with a seat behind one of the dragoons, which seemed very much to have disagreed with him, for he was as pale as death, now stepped forward.

“You know me, Mr. Adamson?” said the doctor; “I am Mr. Chillingworth.”

“Oh! yes; Lord bless you! how came you here?”

“Never mind that just now; you can vouch for my having no connection with the rioters.”

“Oh! dear, yes; certainly. This is a respectable gentleman, Captain Richardson, and a personal friend of mine.”

“Oh! very good.”

“And I,” said the doctor’s companion, “am likewise a respectable and useful member of society, and a great friend of Mr. Chillingworth.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said the captain in command, “you may remain here, if you like, and take the chances, or you may leave.”

They intimated that they preferred remaining, and, almost at the moment that they did so, a loud shout from many throats announced the near approach of the mob.—“Now, Mr. Magistrate, if you please,” said the officer; “you will be so good as to tell the mob that I am here with my troop, under your orders, and strongly advise them to be off while they can, with whole skins, for if they persevere in attacking the place, we must persevere in defending it; and, if they have half a grain of sense among them, they can surely guess what the result of that will be.”

“I will do the best I can, as Heaven is, my judge,” said the magistrate, “to produce a peaceable recall—more no man can do.”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the mob, “down with the Vampire! down with the Hall!” and then one, more candid than his fellows, shouted—“Down with everything and everybody!”

“Ah!” remarked the officer; “that fellow now knows what he came about.”

A great number of torches and links were lighted by the mob, but the moment the glare of light fell upon the helmets and accoutrements of the military, there was a pause of consternation on the part of the multitude, and Mr. Adamson, urged on by the officer, who, it was evident, by no means liked the service he was on, took advantage of the opportunity, and, stepping forward, he said—

“My good people, and fellow townsmen, let me implore you to listen to reason, and go to your homes in peace. If you do not, but, on the contrary, in defiance of law and good order, persist in attacking this house, it will become my painful duty to read the riot act, and then the military and you will have to fight it out together, which I beg you will avoid, for you know that some of you will be killed, and a lot more of you receive painful wounds. Now disperse, let me beg of you, at once.”

There seemed for a moment a disposition among the mob to give up the contest, but there were others among them who were infuriated with drink, and so regardless of all consequences. Those set up a shout of “Down with the red coats; we are Englishmen, and will do what we like.” Some one then threw a heavy stone, which struck one of the soldiers, and brought blood from his cheek. The officer saw it, but he said at once—

“Stand firm, now, stand firm. No anger—steady.”

“Twenty pounds for the man who threw that stone,” said the magistrate.—“Twenty pound ten for old Adamson, the magistrate,” cried a voice in the crowd, which, no doubt came from him who had cast the missile.

Then, at least fifty stones were thrown, some of which hit the magistrate, and the remainder came rattling upon the helmets of the dragoons, like a hail shower.

“I warn you, and beg of you to go,” said Mr. Adamson; “for the sake of your wives and families, I beg of you not to pursue this desperate game.”

Loud cries now arose of “Down with the soldiers; down with the vampire. He’s in Bannerworth Hall. Smoke him out.” And then one or two links were hurled among the dismounted dragoons. All this was put up with patiently; and then again the mob were implored to leave, which being answered by fresh taunts, the magistrate proceeded to read the riot act, not one word of which was audible amid the tumult that prevailed.

“Put out all the lights,” cried a voice among the mob. The order was obeyed, and the same voice added; “they dare not fire on us. Come on:” and a rush was made at the garden wall.

“Make ready—present,” cried the officer. And then he added, in an under tone, “above their heads, now—fire.”

There was a blaze of light for a moment, a stunning noise, a shout of dismay from the mob, and in another moment all was still.

“There,” said Dr. Chillingworth, “that this is, at all events, a bloodless victory.”

“You may depend upon that,” said his companion; “but is not there some one yet remaining? Look there, do you not see a figure clambering over the fence?”

“Yes, I do, indeed. Ah, they have him a prisoner, at all events. Those two dragoons have him, fast enough; we shall now, perhaps, hear from this fellow who is the actual ringleader in such an affair, which, but for the pusillanimity of the mob, might have turned out to be really most disastrous.”

It was strange how one man should think it expedient to attack the military post after the mob had been so completely routed at the first discharge of fire-arms, but so it was. One man did make an attempt to enter the garden, and it was so rapid and so desperate an one, that he rather seemed to throw himself bodily at the fence, which separated it from the meadows without, than to clamber over it, as any one under ordinary circumstances, who might wish to effect an entrance by that means, would have done.

He was no sooner, however, perceived, than a couple of the dismounted soldiers stepped forward and made a prisoner of him.

“Good God!” exclaimed Mr. Chillingworth, as they approached nearer with him. “Good God! what is the meaning of that? Do my eyes deceive me, or are they, indeed, so blessed?”

“Blessed by what?” exclaimed the hangman.

“By a sight of the long lost, deeply regretted Charles Holland. Charles—Charles, is that indeed you, or some unsubstantial form in your likeness?”

Charles Holland, for it was, indeed, himself, heard the friendly voice of the doctor, and he called out to him.

“Speak to me of Flora. Oh, speak to me of Flora, if you would not have me die at once of suspense, and all the torture of apprehension.”

“She lives and is well.”

“Thank Heaven. Do with me what you please.”

Dr. Chillingworth sprang forward, and addressing the magistrate, he said—

“Sir, I know this gentleman. He is no one of the rioters, but a dear friend of the family of the Bannerworths. Charles Holland, what in the name of Heaven had become of you so long, and what brought you here at such a juncture as this?”

“I am faint,” said Charles; “I—I only arrived as the crowd did. I had not strength to fight my way through them, and was compelled to pause until they had dispersed Can—can you give me water?”

“Here’s something better,” said one of the soldiers, as he handed a flask to Charles, who partook of some of the contents, which greatly revived him, indeed.

“I am better now,” he said. “Thank you kindly. Take me into the house. Good God! why is it made a point of attack? Where are Flora and Henry? Are they all well? And my uncle? Oh! what must you all have thought of my absence! But you cannot have endured a hundredth part of what I have suffered. Let me look once again upon the face of Flora. Take me into the house.”

“Release him,” said the officer, as he pointed to his head, and looked significantly, as much as to say, “Some mad patient of yours, I suppose.”

“You are much mistaken, sir,” said Dr. Chillingworth; “this gentleman has been cruelly used, I have no doubt. He has, I am inclined to believe, been made the victim, for a time, of the intrigues of that very Sir Francis Varney, whose conduct has been the real cause of all the serious disturbances that have taken place in the country.”

“Confound Sir Francis Varney,” muttered the officer; “he is enough to set a whole nation by the ears. However, Mr. Magistrate, if you are satisfied that this young man is not one of the rioters, I have, of course, no wish to hold him a prisoner.”

“I can take Mr. Chillingworth’s word for more than that,” said the magistrate.

Charles Holland was accordingly released, and then the doctor, in hurried accents, told him the principal outlines of what had occurred.

“Oh! take me to Flora,” he said; “let me not delay another moment in seeking her, and convincing her that I could not have been guilty of the baseness of deserting her.”

“Hark you, Mr. Holland, I have quite made up my mind that I will not leave Bannerworth Hall yet; but you can go alone, and easily find them by the directions which I will give you; only let me beg of you not to go abruptly into the presence of Flora. She is in an extremely delicate state of health, and although I do not take upon myself to say that a shock of a pleasurable nature would prove of any paramount bad consequence to her, yet it is as well not to risk it.”

“I will be most careful, you may depend.”

At this moment there was a loud ringing at the garden bell, and, when it was answered by one of the dragoons, who was ordered to do so by his officer, he came back, escorting no other than Jack Pringle, who had been sent by the admiral to the Hall, but who had solaced himself so much on the road with divers potations, that he did not reach it till now, which was a full hour after the reasonable time in which he ought to have gone the distance.

Jack was not to say dumb, but he had had enough to give him a very jolly sort of feeling of independence, and so he came along quarrelling with the soldier all the way, the latter only laughing and keeping his temper admirably well, under a great deal of provocation.

“Why, you land lubbers,” cried Jack, “what do you do here, all of you, I wonder! You are all wamphighers, I’ll be bound, every one of you. You mind me of marines, you do, and that’s quite enough to turn a proper seaman’s stomach, any day in the week.”