Varney the Vampyre 104The Preparations for the Baron’s Marriage.—the Young Lover, and the Remonstrance
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 104
The Preparations for the Baron’s Marriage.—the Young Lover, and the Remonstrance
RymerEnglish
So it appeared that the baron was right, and that with all his disqualifications he had succeeded in obtaining the promise of a wife, because he had the one great qualification which outshone everything to his disadvantage, namely, wealth.
And he was not so blind, or so foolish, as not fully to understand, and to know, that it was to the relatives of the bride, and not to the bride herself, that he was indebted for an answer in the affirmative to his proposition.
Well he knew that although he had dazzled their eyes and awakened their cupidity, he had produced no such an effect upon the young and beautiful being who was about thus to be sacrificed upon the altar of Mammon; and probably if anything could have added to his earnest desire to make her his, it was that he saw she was untouched by the power of his gold, and therefore he could not but respect, as well as admire her; and he much preferred taking to his arms one for whom he entertained a supreme and sovereign contempt.
She felt that she was a victim, and that if she consented to become his, she must look upon herself as blighted and sacrificed for ever.
But he was too selfish to hesitate on such a ground as that. His feelings were far from being so human as to stop short, because he knew the alliance was viewed by her with hatred and horror. And that she did view it with those feelings, spared him, at all events, as he told himself, some trouble, for it took away from the necessity of keeping up the constant shew and glitter of wealth, for that shew and glitter affected her not, and therefore would have been presented to her imagination in vain.
But far different was it regarded her friends and connections, who had arrogated to themselves the power of deciding upon this matter of life and death to her.
To them he felt that he must shew all the glitter of display that belonged to his extensive means, or they would be disappointed, for they not only wanted riches themselves, but they wanted the worldly reputation contingent upon having so rich a relative.
Therefore was it that he determined that nothing should be wanting at his approaching nuptials to make them most magnificent, and he racked his imagination to discover a mode by which he could spend a large sum of money, so as to get for it the greatest amount of display. This was a matter which a man such as he was eminently calculated to achieve; and, as he succeeded in fixing his nuptials to take place in a fortnight from that time, he had ample time to make all such preparations as he might consider requisite.
It so happened that on the following evening to that on which he had obtained so strange a consent, through another party, to his matrimonial speculation, that the sun sunk upon the coast with every appearance of approaching stormy weather.
Scarcely had its disc sunk below the western horizon, when a furious gale arose, and, for the first time since his residence at Anderbury Hall, he felt what it was to hold an estate so near to the sea-coast.
The sea rose tempestuously, appearing to shake the mansion to its very foundation, and more than one half of the excavation leading from the grounds to the sea-coast was filled with water. The gale blew off the sea, and one or two trees upon the Anderbury estate were torn up by their roots, spreading destruction around them among the numerous shrubs and flowers.
Some of the windows of the mansion were dashed in, and the wind came roaring into the house, whistling up the staircases, opening and shutting doors, and altogether producing a scene of devastation and uproar which would have terrified most persons.
The baron, however, on the contrary, notwithstanding whatever damage was done was of course done to his property, took the matter with the greatest ease and composure in the world; and, in fact, rather seemed to enjoy the fury of the elements than to be awed by them.
He remained out of doors the whole time and although the rain now and then fell in torrents, and drenched him to the skin, he seemed scarcely conscious of that circumstance, or, if he were, he evidently thought it too trivial to take any notice of.
The servants looked at him in amazement, scarcely believing it possible that any one in his senses could be so indifferent to the rage of the elements that was proceeding; but they little knew the real character of the man whom they had for a master, or they would have wondered at nothing, and been surprised at nothing that they saw of him or heard of him.
The storm continued until the night completely set in, and still it showed no signs whatever of anything in the shape of an end; and it seemed but too evident that it was likely to continue in all its wild and ungovernable fury for many an hour to come.
He got as close as he could to the beach, so as not to leave his own estate, and from there he listened attentively to the howling of the blast, seeming rather pleased with the idea than otherwise, that much mischief was being done by that most terrific storm.
A servant brought him a telescope, so that he could look out upon the waste of waters, and see some of the struggling vessels that, with might and main, were endeavouring to keep off the shore, but which, despite all their efforts, were being hurried to destruction—a destruction which they could not avoid, and which must present itself in the most serious aspect, because it appears inevitable, and is invested with all the misery of a protracted execution.
And in particular he remarked one vessel which was drifting onward to certain and inevitable destruction.
He could see the rockets and the blue lights that they burnt now and then through the storm; while, ever and anon, with a booming strange sound over the waste of waters there would come the signal gun of distress, with its awful reverberations, awakening feelings of sympathy in the breast of every one but the baron, and he seemed impenetrable to all human feeling, for he looked on with a strange calmness, a calmness that one might suppose would set upon some man who had nothing to do with human hopes, human thoughts, or human feelings, but not by any means that calmness of a pure spirit looking upon things which it would aid, if it could, but which are beyond its power of action.
He saw the anxious throng of persons on the beach precisely below his own estate.
He saw them launch a boat, and, with a grim smile, he saw it swamped in the surge, and the brave bold men, who had made the gallant endeavour to save their fellows, met themselves, with but one exception, a watery grave.
And then even the baron smiled, and muttered to himself,—
“What is all this to me? what have I to do with human hopes and feelings? What is it to me whether they live or die, or whether yon ship, that I now see struggling through the waste of waters, reaches its destination, or is engulfed for ever in the foaming surge? What is it to me, I repeat, whether these bold brave men live or die? Will they not be the very persons to hunt me from the face of society? Will they not be the very persons who would declare that I was unfit to live? And shall I trouble myself with one thought as to whether they live or die? Ah! they come nearer, nearer, nearer still, and I shall see such a sight as may not often be observed by one such as I am, and on such a coast as this.”
There was a strange, wild, wailing cry, and the ship, which was a large one, struck heavily upon a rock about a mile distant from the shore, and very close, indeed, to where the Anderbury estates commenced.
Now, as if seized with a sudden impulse, although we cannot and do not think it was one of humanity, the baron descended by a large fissure in the rock to the beach. This took him some time to accomplish, for he had to walk completely through the grounds of Anderbury Hall, and half-a-mile beyond, before he reached it, and then it took him some time to walk down, because he had to do so with extreme caution, inasmuch as the heavy rain that had fallen had made the ground so slippery that it was with great difficulty he could at all keep his feet.
When he arrived in sight of the beach, the ship was gone, but a life-boat was being launched, amid the hurras of the multitude, for the purpose of picking up some of the survivors of the wreck who were noticed drifting upon portions of its hulk.
The baron had brought his telescope with him, and he placed it to his eye, and took a long and steady look at the boat.
A muttered malediction came from his lips, and, having shut the telescope, he turned, and hastily pursued his path again to Anderbury House.
After the wedding, Jack Pringle really felt himself so upset by the quantity of healths he had drunk, and the general manner in which he had disposed of a quantity of rum, that he told the admiral he found himself not quite so well as he ought to be, and that he thought it was all owing to having been out of sight of water for so many months.
This was a plea which sounded very reasonable to the admiral, and when Jack said,—
“You know it ain’t possible to live very long without a glimpse, at least, of an arm of the sea, or something of that sort.”
The old man assented to the proposition at once, and replied,—
“Why, that’s true enough, Jack, and I shall have to go somewhere myself soon, or else get musty; for, you may depend, it never was intended that human beings should live all their lives on land.”
“I should think not,” said Jack, “and I what I was going to say was, that you must try and take care of yourself, you old baby, for a day or two, while I take a run to the coast. It ain’t above twenty-five miles; and mind you don’t get into any mischief till I come back.”
“Confound your impudence! It’s a very odd thing that you can’t come into my presence without a lie in your mouth. You know you have been as much trouble to me as a cargo of monkeys in a storm. Be off with ye, and if I never see your face again, it will be a good job.”
Jack considered that he had quite sufficiently announced his departure, so he set off at once, and made his way towards the coast, not a little pleased, as he neared it, to fancy that, every now and then, he kept snuffing the sea air; and when the coach in which he went put him down within about four miles of a little village inhabited by fishermen, he walked that distance, although, sailor-like, it was an exercise he was by no means fond of, and, to his great joy, once more stood upon a sandy beach, and heard the murmur of the ocean, and saw the waves curling at his feet.
He was quite delighted, and really felt, or fancied that he felt, which was the same thing, wonderfully invigorated by the change, and quite another thing to what he had been.
Under such circumstances, Jack was sure not to be long in picking up a companion, so, in one of the cottages into which, with all the free and easy manner of a sailor, he strolled, he found an old man-of-war’s man, retired there to spend the remainder of his days along with his son and daughter.
We feel that it would be quite impossible for us to do justice to the meeting between those two worthies, for they soon found out the capabilities of each.
Some grog, which Jack thought the sweetest he had tasted for a long time, because it was drunk within sight of the ocean, was produced, and then the tales they set to telling each other of their adventures afloat, would have been enough to stun any one.
We have rather a fear, likewise, that in some cases, they were not so strictly particular as they might have been had they been upon their oaths, as regards truth; but they seemed to be upon the principle of mutual forbearance, and the implied understanding of “You believe me, and I’ll believe you.”
Whenever this kind of rivalry, however, commences between inveterate story-tellers, there is no saying to what length they will go, and Jack certainly related some extraordinary things.
They happened both to have been to the same latitude, but, of course, they had not both seen the same sights exactly, or enjoyed the same adventures; so what one did not know or could not invent, the other pretty soon did; so that between them they made up a most entertaining conversation, and one which really would, to any one who was willing to be amused and not very particular about veracity, have had great charms.
“Ah,” said the old sailor, “when I was on the coast of Ingee, the hair melted off my head.”
“Did it,” said Jack. “Oh! that’s nothing at all; we had a couple of men roasted at the wheel with the heat, and they didn’t know it, till they were both done brown.”
“You don’t say so?”
“Yes, I does, and, what’s more, we always had our meat cooked over again upon one of the gun slides; and, after that, when we were a long way southward, it was so cold not one of the crew shut his eyes for a week.”
“Indeed! But you spoke of a man as you called Safety Jack; who was he? I should like all for to know.”
“When I was on board the Fame, our captain was a know-nothing sort of shore-going lubber, who had been guved a pair of swabs over better men’s heads, and uncommon afeared he was of getting into any danger. He’d always come on deck on a morning, and guving a kind of a hurry-skurry skeared look all round him, he’d say, if so be as he seed no land,—
“‘Where are we? Is there any danger?’
“Then our first luff he’d say,—
“‘No danger, sir; only a little fear.’
“Then the captain he’d say, all the while looking as skeared as a marine in a squall,—
“‘Let us be safe—let us be safe, that’s all.’
“So we called him Safety Jack, in consekense o’ that peculiarity. Well, you must know as we were running for the Cape, and Safety Jack he wouldn’t be persuaded, but insisted upon hugging the coast of Africa all the way, cos, as he said, it looked safer to see the land. So, as it happened, when we neared the Cape, we got into a regular north-westerly current, that set clear away south-east, or it might be a few points more southerly. The wind, too, blew in the same direction, and it seemed a bad job altogether. Our luff then says, says he to the captain—that’s Safety Jack, you must understand,—
“‘It will take us some time to work into the bay with this wind and current, but we can do it.’
“‘Is it safe?’ said Safety Jack.
“‘Oh, yes,’ said t’other; ‘though I have known a vessel of small draught to be capsized hereaway.’
“Safety Jack at this turns very pale, and he says,—
“‘Well, run before the wind a few leagues to the south; it’s safer—and—and the gale may go down, and we may get out of the current—and—and—besides, it’s safer.’
“Well, everybody grumbled, but Safety Jack would have his own way, and we went spanking along with the wind and current nearly due south.
“But instead of getting out of the current we got further into it, and the gale increased to a hurricane. We went through the water at such a rate that the men who stood facing the wind could not button their jackets, or shut their eyes, and there was the mate and five able-bodied men holding the captain’s hair on his head. The men’s teeth, too, were all blown out of their mouths, and kept rattling among the rigging like half-a-dozen old shot in a locker. On we went, faster and faster, till all of a sudden we saw the sails flapping against the masts, and the ship was evidently turning round in spite of the helm.
“‘We’re out of it now,’ mumbles Safety Jack.
“‘I think we’re in for it,’ cried the mate. ‘This is a whirlpool!’
“And so it was; round and round we flew like lightning, coming nearer to one point at each turn. The men all fell down on the deck as giddy as geese, and Safety Jack he begins screaming. Just to give you an idea of how we went round, there was two of the crew as had a squabble about a bottle of rum, and one on ’em says—‘If I can’t have it you sha’n’t, and there it goes,’ shieing it behind him. Well, you’ll hardly believe it—but the ship was going round so fast in a circle of about a mile, that afore the bottle could drop the man as threw it was brought round to it again, and it knocked his eye out. Well, presently the ship gives a kind of shivering and stops for half a moment, and Safety Jack he screams again. Then the water opened like a well-hole, and just for a moment we could see it bubbling and lashing like a boiling cauldron. Then down we went into the foaming surge like a lump of lead.”
“You don’t mean to swear to that?”
“Yes, I do; at any time and any day; I should think so, and rather think I ought to know, as I was there.”
“And how did you get saved? That’s the question, my boy.”
“You ought to be satisfied about that, I should think,” said Jack, “by seeing me here. If I had not escaped, I rather suppose I shouldn’t have been here to have told you about it.”
“That’s all very well; but I ask you how you escaped?”
“Oh, that’s quite another thing. I floated about for eight weeks upon an empty tar barrel.”
“Eight weeks, did you say?”
“Yes; eight weeks, two days, four hours, and three-quarters.”
“The deuce you did! How came you to be so mighty particular as to the three-quarters?”
“Because I thought some fool would be sure to ask me.”
“Oh, that indeed; but the most odd thing that happened to me, I will say, was when I was once wrecked on an island that we called Flee Island.”
“Flee Island; what a rum name! What made you call it that, I should like to know?”
“Oh, a trifling circumstance—there was nothing in it but flees, and they were as big as elephants.”
“Very good,” said Jack; “I can believe that, because there is nothing outrageous about it. I don’t consider myself at all difficult to please, and so long as you stick to such things as that nobody can doubt you will find it all right with me.”
“I am very much obliged—but should you happen ever to come across that captain of yours again——”
“Yes, but it were a good while afterwards I was on board a whaler, and I saw something floating that looked like a great lump of chalk, and when we picked it up, who should it turn out to be but Safety Jack, what they call putrefied, and turned to something like white coral.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do; we keep him out of curiosity for about a week lashed up to the mainmast, but the men of the night watch were scared at him, and threw him overboard, because they said, when the moonlight fell upon him, he for all the world looked like a ghost, and they couldn’t keep their eyes off him, which I dare say was somewhere about the truth.”
“You certainly have seen a little service; but mix yourself another glass of grog, and I shall do the same, for I don’t mean to turn into hammock to-night.”
“What for?”
“Because there is going to be a storm. I have not been looking at the weather for so many years without being able to tell that before it comes. There will be a storm before twenty-four hours are over, and I think it will blow off the sea, so that there will be no end of mischief.”
Jack Pringle went to the door of the fisherman’s hut, and, although the evening had set in, he cast a scrutinizing glance at the heavens, looked earnestly in the direction from whence the wind proceeded, and when he came back again and sat down by the side of the old sailor, he said,—
“You are right; there will not only be a storm, but such a one too as they hav’n’t seen for some time; so I shall no more think of turning in than you do. Who knows but that some vessel may be drifted in shore, and then we who are seamen will be able to do more good than a score of your shore-going fellows, who are afraid if the saltwater gets above their ankles.”
“That’s true enough; when the wind does rise in this way, and blows a strong gale, it is pretty clear that there will be something in the shape of wreck to look at.”
The prognostications of Jack and the old sailor turned out, as we know, to be tolerably correct, for the storm which they anticipated was precisely that severe one which roused the Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh from his lethargy, and induced him to go down to the beach, to see what was likely to be the fate of the vessel from which the signals of distress had proceeded.
So soon as the wind began to howl, and the waves to dash upon the shore, Jack Pringle and the old sailor left the cottage, and stood with great anxiety upon the beach, anxious to render what assistance they could to those who were suffering from the fury of the storm.
We have before mentioned that a boat that the Baron Stolmuyer saw swamped, had ventured out to the assistance of the crew.
In that boat had been Jack Pringle; and he had refused to allow the old sailor to accompany him, on account of his age.
“No, no,” said Jack; “this is a work for youngsters, and they and they only ought to set about it. You remain where you are. We know well enough that your will is good, and let that be sufficient; and now, my lads, who will go with me?”
Jack soon got a few good volunteers, and started out on his chivalrous expedition, to see what could be done towards rescuing some of the crew of the distressed ship.
But, alas! what the baron had said about the fate of that boat was true, although he was incorrect as regarded the consequences of its swamping to all on board; for Jack Pringle, in consequence of being a first-rate swimmer, and possessed likewise as he was of great coolness and presence of mind, contrived to reach shore again, although he was the only one of the ill-fated crew who really did so.
But, as Jack himself said, they died in a noble cause, and as everybody must die some time in some sort of way, he didn’t see that they had anything very particular to complain of in that respect.
It was on the second occasion, however, that Jack was going out with a life-boat, that the baron reached the beach, and then, as if indignant that such daring attempts should be made to save what he evidently thought so little of, namely, human life, he retired in indignation again to his home.
But not all the barons in the world would have stopped Jack in his chivalrous enterprise, and so he proceeded at once to carry it out to the best of his ability; and he did pick up a man who was nearly exhausted, and clinging, with but a faint hope of deliverance, to a portion of wreck.
