The Penny Dreadfuls MEGAPACK™ (146 page)

“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.”

“Let us be sure that all are out of the house,” suggested one of the bystanders.

“Ay, ay,” shouted several; “give them all a chance. Search through the house and give them a warning.”

“Very well; give me the light, and then when I come back I will set light to the fire at once, and then I shall know all is empty, and so will you too.”

This was at once agreed to by all, with acclamations, and the light being handed to the man, he ascended the stairs, crying out in a loud voice—

“Come out—come out! the house is on fire!”

“Fire! fire! fire!” shouted the mob as a chorus, every now and then at intervals.

In about ten minutes more, there came a cry of “all right; the house is empty,” from up the stairs, and the man descended in haste to the hall.

“Make haste, lads, and fire away, for I see the red coats are leaving the town.”

“Hurra! hurra!” shouted the infuriated mob. “Fire—fire—fire the house! Burn out the vampire! Burn down the house—burn him out, and see if he can stand fire.”

Amidst all this tumult there came a sudden blaze upon all around, for the pile had been fired.

“Hurra!” shouted the mob—“hurra!” and they danced like maniacs round the fire; looking, in fact, like so many wild Indians, dancing round their roasting victims, or some demons at an infernal feast.

The torch had been put to twenty different places, and the flames united into one, and suddenly shot up with a velocity, and roared with a sound that caused many who were present to make a precipitate retreat from the hall.

This soon became a necessary measure of self-preservation, and it required no urging to induce them to quit a place that was burning rapidly and even furiously.

“Get the poles and firewood—get faggots,” shouted some of the mob, and, lo, it was done almost by magic. They brought the faggots and wood piled up for winter use, and laid them near all the doors, and especially the main entrance. Nay, every gate or door belonging to the outhouses was brought forward and placed upon the fire, which now began to reach the upper stories.

“Hurra—fire! Hurra—fire!”

And a loud shout of triumph came from the mob as they viewed the progress of the flames, as they came roaring and tearing through the house doors and the windows.

Each new victory of the element was a signal to the mob for a cheer; and a hearty cheer, too, came from them.

“Where is the vampire now?” exclaimed one.

“Ha! where is he?” said another.

“If he be there,” said the man, pointing to the flames, “I reckon he’s got a warm berth of it, and, at the same time, very little water to boil in his kettle.”

“Ha, ha! what a funny old man is Bob Mason; he’s always poking fun; he’d joke if his wife were dying.”

“There is many a true word spoken in jest,” suggested another; “and, to my mind, Bob Mason wouldn’t be very much grieved if his wife were to die.”

“Die?” said Bob; “she and I have lived and quarrelled daily a matter of five-and-thirty years, and, if that ain’t enough to make a man sick of being married, and of his wife, hand me, that’s all. I say I am tired.”

This was said with much apparent sincerity, and several laughed at the old man’s heartiness.

“It’s all very well,” said the old man; “it’s all very well to laugh about matters you don’t understand, but I know it isn’t a joke—not a bit on it. I tells you what it is, neighbour, I never made but one grand mistake in all my life.”

“And what was that?”

“To tie myself to a woman.”

“Why, you’d get married tomorrow if your wife were to die today,” said one.

“If I did, I hope I may marry a vampire. I should have something then to think about. I should know what’s o’clock. But, as for my old woman, lord, lord, I wish Sir Francis Varney had had her for life. I’ll warrant when the next natural term of his existence came round again, he wouldn’t be in no hurry to renew it; if he did, I should say that vampires had the happy lot of managing women, which I haven’t got.”

“No, nor anybody else.”

A loud shout now attracted their attention, and, upon looking in the quarter whence it came, they descried a large body of people coming towards them; from one end of the mob could be seen along string of red coats.

“The red coats!” shouted one.

“The military!” shouted another.

It was plain the military who had been placed in the town to quell disturbances, had been made acquainted with the proceedings at Sir Francis Varney’s house, and were now marching to relieve the place, and to save the property.

They were, as we have stated, accompanied by a vast concourse of people, who came out to see what they were going to see, and seeing the flames at Sir Francis Varney’s house, they determined to come all the way, and be present.

The military, seeing the disturbance in the distance, and the flames issuing from the windows, made the best of their way towards the scene of tumult with what speed they could make.

“Here they come,” said one.

“Yes, just in time to see what is done.”

“Yes, they can go back and say we have burned the vampire’s house down—hurra!”

“Hurra!” shouted the mob, in prolonged accents, and it reached the ears of the military.

The officer urged the men onwards, and they responded to his words, by exerting themselves to step out a little faster.

“Oh, they should have been here before this; it’s no use, now, they are too late.”

“Yes, they are too late.”

“I wonder if the vampire can breathe through the smoke, and live in fire,” said one.

“I should think he must be able to do so, if he can stand shooting, as we know he can—you can’t kill a vampire; but yet he must be consumed, if the fire actually touches him, but not unless he can bear almost anything.”

“So he can.”

“Hurra!” shouted the mob, as a tall flame shot through the top windows of the house.

The fire had got the ascendant now, and no hopes could be entertained, however extravagant, of saving the smallest article that had been left in the mansion.

“Hurra!” shouted the mob with the military, who came up with them.

“Hurra!” shouted the others in reply.

“Quick march!” said the officer; and then, in a loud, commanding tone, he shouted, “Clear the way, there! clear the way.”

“Ay, there’s room enough for you,” said old Mason; “what are you making so much noise about?”

There was a general laugh at the officer, who took no notice of the words, but ordered his men up before the burning pile, which was now an immense mass of flame.

The mob who had accompanied the military now mingled with the mob that had set the house of Sir Francis Varney on fire ere the military had come up with them.

“Halt!” cried out the officer; and the men, obedient to the word of command, halted, and drew up in a double line before the house.

There were then some words of command issued, and some more given to some of the subalterns, and a party of men, under the command of a sergeant, was sent off from the main body, to make a circuit of the house and grounds.

The officer gazed for some moments upon the burning pile without speaking; and then, turning to the next in command, he said in low tones, as he looked upon the mob—

“We have come too late.”

“Yes, much.”

“The house is now nearly gutted.”

“It is.”

“And those who came crowding along with us are inextricably mingled with the others who have been the cause of all this mischief: there’s no distinguishing them one from another.”

“And if you did, you could not say who had done it, and who had not; you could prove nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“I shall not attempt to take prisoners, unless any act is perpetrated beyond what has been done.”

“It is a singular affair.”

“Very.”

“This Sir Francis Varney is represented to be a courteous, gentlemanly man,” said the officer.

“No doubt about it, but he’s beset by a parcel of people who do not mind cutting a throat if they can get an opportunity of doing so.”

“And I expect they will.”

“Yes, when there is a popular excitement against any man, he had better leave this part at once and altogether. It is dangerous to tamper with popular prejudices; no man who has any value for his life ought to do so. It is a sheer act of suicide.”

CHAPTER LIV.

THE BURNING OF VARNEY’S HOUSE.—A NIGHT SCENE.—POPULAR SUPERSTITION.

The officer ceased
to speak, and then the party whom he had sent round the house and grounds returned, and gained the main body orderly enough, and the sergeant went forward to make his report to his superior officer.

After the usual salutation, he waited for the inquiry to be put to him as to what he had seen.

“Well, Scott, what have you done?”

“I went round the premises, sir, according to your instructions, but saw no one either in the vicinity of the house, or in the grounds around it.”

“No strangers, eh?”

“No, sir, none.”

“You saw nothing at all likely to lead to any knowledge as to who it was that has caused this catastrophe?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you learnt anything among the people who are the perpetrators of this fire?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, that will do, unless there is anything else that you can think of.”

“Nothing further, sir, unless it is that I heard some of them say that Sir Francis Varney has perished in the flames.”

“Good heavens!”

“So I heard, sir.”

“That must be impossible, and yet why should it be so? Go back, Scott, and bring me some person who can give me some information upon this point.”

The sergeant departed toward the people, who looked at him without any distrust, for he came single-handed, though they thought he came with the intention of learning what they knew of each other, and so stroll about with the intention of getting up accusations against them. But this was not the case, the officer didn’t like the work well enough; he’d rather have been elsewhere.

At length the sergeant came to one man, whom he accosted, and said to him—

“Do you know anything of yonder fire?”

“Yes: I do know it is a fire.”

“Yes, and so do I.”

“My friend,” said the sergeant, “when a soldier asks a question he does not expect an uncivil answer.”

“But a soldier may ask a question that may have an uncivil end to it.”

“He may; but it is easy to say so.”

“I do say so, then, now.”

“Then I’ll not trouble you any more.”

The sergeant moved on a pace or two more, and then, turning to the mob, he said—

“Is there any one among you who can tell me anything concerning the fate of Sir Francis Varney?”

“Burnt!”

“Did you see him burnt?”

“No; but I saw him.”

“In the flames?”

“No; before the house was on fire.”

“In the house?”

“Yes; and he has not been seen to leave it since, and we conclude he must have been burned.”

“Will you come and say as much to my commanding officer? It is all I want.”

“Shall I be detained?”

“No.”

“Then I will go,” said the man, and he hobbled out of the crowd towards the sergeant. “I will go and see the officer, and tell him what I know, and that is very little, and can prejudice no one.”

“Hurrah!” said the crowd, when they heard this latter assertion; for, at first, they began to be in some alarm lest there should be something wrong about this, and some of them get identified as being active in the fray.

The sergeant led the man back to the spot, where the officer stood a little way in advance of his men.

“Well, Scott,” he said, “what have we here?”

“A man who has volunteered a statement, sir.”

“Oh! Well, my man, can you say anything concerning all this disturbance that we have here?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what did you come here for?”

“I understood the sergeant to want some one who could speak of Sir Francis Varney.”

“Well?”

“I saw him.”

“Where?”

“In the house.”

“Exactly; but have you not seen him out of it?”

“Not since; nor any one else, I believe.”

“Where was he?”

“Upstairs, where he suddenly disappeared, and nobody can tell where he may have gone to. But he has not been seen out of the house since, and they say he could not have gone bodily out if they had not seen him.”

“He must have been burnt,” said the officer, musingly; “he could not escape, one would imagine, without being seen by some one out of such a mob.”

“Oh, dear no, for I am told they placed a watch at every hole, window, or door however high, and they saw nothing of him—not even fly out!”

“Fly out! I’m speaking of a man!”

“And I of a vampire!” said the man carelessly.

“A vampire! Pooh, pooh!”

“Oh no! Sir Francis Varney is a vampire! There can be no sort of doubt about it. You have only to look at him, and you will soon be satisfied of that. See his great sharp teeth in front, and ask yourself what they are for, and you will soon find the answer. They are to make holes with in the bodies of his victims, through which he can suck their blood!”