Varney the Vampyre 51The Destruction of Sir Francis Varney’s House by Fire.—the Arrival of the Military, and a Second Mob
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Literature · Horror
Varney the Vampyre 51
The Destruction of Sir Francis Varney’s House by Fire.—the Arrival of the Military, and a Second Mob
RymerEnglish
Thus many moments had not elapsed ere the feelings of the rioters became directed into a different channel from that in which it had so lately flowed. When urged about the house and grounds for the vampyre, they became impatient and angry at not finding him. Many believed that he was yet about the house, while many were of opinion that he had flown away by some mysterious means only possessed by vampyres and such like people.
“Fire the house, and burn him out,” said one.
“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 wild-fire, 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 vampyre! 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 vampyre 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, hang 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 to-morrow if your wife were to die to-day,” said one.
“If I did, I hope I may marry a vampyre. 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 vampyres 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 a long 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 vampyre’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 vampyre 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 vampyre; 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.”
