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) (159 page)

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."

Sir
Francis, finding himself betrayed, immediately came out of the closet, just as
two or three were advancing to open it, and dealt so hard a blow on the head of
the first that came near him that he fell without a groan, and a second shared
the same fate; and then Sir Francis found himself grappled with, but with a
violent effort he relieved himself and rushed up stairs.

"Oh!
murder—the wampyre! what shall I do—fire—fire!"

These
exclamations were uttered in consequence of Varney in his haste to get up
stairs, having inadvertently stepped into the girl's lap with one foot, while
he kicked her in the chin with the other, besides scratching her nose till it
bled.

"After
him—stick to him," shouted the mob, but the girl kicked and sprawled so
much they were impeded, till, regardless of her cries, they ran over her and
pursued Varney, who was much distressed with the exertions he had made.

After
about a minute's race he turned upon the head of the stair, not so much with
the hope of defending it as of taking some breathing time: but seeing his
enemies so close, he drew his sword, and stood panting, but prepared.

"Never
mind his toasting-fork," said one bulky fellow, and, as he spoke, he
rushed on, but the point of the weapon entered his heart and he fell dead.

There
was a dreadful execration uttered by those who came up after him, and there was
a momentary pause, for none liked to rush on to the bloody sword of Sir Francis
Varney, who stood so willing and so capable of using it with the most deadly
effect. They paused, as well they might, and this pause was the most welcome
thing next to life to the unfortunate fugitive, for he was dreadfully
distressed and bleeding.

"On
to him boys! He can hardly stand. See how he pants. On to him, I say—push him
hard."

"He
pushes hard, I tell you," said another. "I felt the point of his
sword, as it came through Giles's back.".

"I'll
try my luck, then," said another, and he rushed up; but he was met by the
sword of Sir Francis, who pierced it through his side, and he fell back with a
groan.

Sir
Francis, fearful of stopping any longer to defend that point, appeared desirous
of making good his retreat with some little advantage, and he rushed up stairs
before they had recovered from the momentary consternation into which they had
been thrown by the sudden disaster they had received.

But
they were quickly after him, and before he, wearied as he was, could gain the
roof, they were up the ladder after him.

The
first man who came through the trap was again set upon by Varney, who made a
desperate thrust at him, and it took effect; but the sword snapped by the
handle.

With
an execration, Sir Francis threw the hilt at the head of the next man he saw;
then rushing, with headlong speed, he distanced his pursuers for some house
tops.

But
the row of houses ended at the one he was then at, and he could go no further.
What was to be done? The height was by far too great to be jumped; death was
certain. A hideous heap of crushed and mangled bones would be the extent of
what would remain of him, and then, perhaps, life not extinct for some hours
afterwards.

He
turned round; he saw them coming hallooing over the house tops, like a pack of
hounds. Sir Francis struck his hands together, and groaned. He looked round,
and perceived some ivy peeping over the coping-stone. A thought struck him, and
he instantly ran to the spot and leaned over.

"Saved—saved!"
he exclaimed.

Then,
placing his hand over, he felt for the ivy; then he got over, and hung by the
coping-stone, in a perilous position, till he found a spot on which he could
rest his foot, and then he grasped the ivy as low down as he could, and thus he
lowered himself a short way, till he came to where the ivy was stronger and
more secure to the wall, as the upper part was very dangerous with his weight
attached to it.

The
mob came on, very sure of having Sir Francis Varney in their power, and they
did not hurry on so violently, as their position was dangerous at that hour of
the night.

"Easy,
boys, easy," was the cry. "The bird is our own; he can't get away,
that's very certain."

They,
however, came on, and took no time about it hardly; but what was their
amazement and rage at finding he had disappeared.

"Where
is he?" was the universal inquiry, and "I don't know," an almost
universal answer.

There
was a long pause, while they searched around; but they saw no vestige of the
object of their search.

"There's
no trap door open," remarked one; "and I don't think he could have
got in at any one."

"Perhaps,
finding he could not get away, he has taken the desperate expedient of jumping
over, and committing suicide, and so escape the doom he ought to be subjected
to."

"Probably
he has; but then we can run a stake through him and burn him all the
same."

They
now approached the extreme verge of the houses, and looked over the sides, but
they could see nothing. The moon was up, and there was light enough to have
seen him if he had fallen to the earth, and they were quite sure that he could
not have got up after such a fall as he must have received.