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) (116 page)

Some,
too, went so far as to declare that they had been awakened out of their sleep
by noises incidental to an effort made to enter their chambers; and others had
seen dusky forms of gigantic proportions outside their windows, tampering with
their fastenings, and only disappearing when the light of day mocked all
attempts at concealment.

These
tales flew from mouth to mouth, and all listened to them with such an eager
interest, that none thought it worth while to challenge their inconsistencies,
or to express a doubt of their truth, because they had not been mentioned
before.

The
only individual, and he was a remarkably clever man, who made the slightest
remark upon the subject of a practical character, hazarded a suggestion that
made confusion worse confounded.

He
knew something of vampyres. He had travelled abroad, and had heard of them in
Germany, as well as in the east, and, to a crowd of wondering and aghast
listeners, he said,—

"You
may depend upon it, my friends, this has been going on for some time; there
have been several mysterious and sudden deaths in the town lately; people have
wasted away and died nobody knew how or wherefore."

"Yes—yes,"
said everybody.

"There
was Miles, the butcher; you know how fat he was, and then how fat he
wasn't."

A
general assent was given to the proposition; and then, elevating one arm in an
oratorical manner, the clever fellow continued,—

"I
have not a doubt that Miles, the butcher, and every one else who has died
suddenly lately, have been victims of the vampyre; and what's more, they'll all
be vampyres, and come and suck other people's blood, till at last the whole
town will be a town of vampyres."

"But
what's to be done?" cried one, who trembled so excessively that he could
scarcely stand under his apprehension.

"There
is but one plan—Sir Francis Varney must be found, and put out of the world in
such a manner that he can't come back to it again; and all those who are dead
that we have any suspicion of, should be taken up out of their graves and
looked at, to see if they're rotting or not; if they are it's all right; but,
if they look fresh and much, as usual, you may depend they're vampyres, and no
mistake."

This
was a terrific suggestion thrown amongst a mob. To have caught Sir Francis
Varney and immolated him at the shrine of popular fury, they would not have
shrunk from; but a desecration of the graves of those whom they had known in
life was a matter which, however much it had to recommend it, even the boldest
stood aghast at, and felt some qualms of irresolution.

There
are many ideas, however, which, like the first plunge into a cold bath, are
rather uncomfortable for the moment; but which, in a little time, we become so
familiarized with, that they become stripped of their disagreeable
concomitants, and appear quite pleasing and natural.

So it
was with this notion of exhuming the dead bodies of those townspeople who had
recently died from what was called a decay of nature, and such other failures
of vitality as bore not the tangible name of any understood disease.

From
mouth to mouth the awful suggestion spread like wildfire, until at last it grew
into such a shape that it almost seemed to become a duty, at all events, to
have up Miles the butcher, and see how he looked.

There
is, too, about human nature a natural craving curiosity concerning everything
connected with the dead. There is not a man of education or of intellectual
endowment who would not travel many miles to look upon the exhumation of the
remains of some one famous in his time, whether for his vices, his virtues, his
knowledge, his talents, or his heroism; and, if this feeling exist in the minds
of the educated and refined in a sublimated shape, which lends to it grace and
dignity, we may look for it among the vulgar and the ignorant, taking only a
grosser and meaner form, in accordance with their habits of thought. The rude
materials, of which the highest and noblest feelings of educated minds are
formed, will be found amongst the most grovelling and base; and so this vulgar
curiosity, which, combined with other feelings, prompted an ignorant and
illiterate mob to exhume Miles, the once fat butcher, in a different form
tempted the philosophic Hamlet to moralise upon the skull of Yorick.

And
it was wonderful to see how, when these people had made up their minds to carry
out the singularly interesting, but, at the same, fearful, suggestion, they
assumed to themselves a great virtue in so doing—told each other what an
absolute necessity there was, for the public good, that it should be done; and
then, with loud shouts and cries concerning the vampyre, they proceeded in a
body to the village churchyard, where had been lain, with a hope of reposing in
peace, the bones of their ancestors.

A
species of savage ferocity now appeared to have seized upon the crowd, and the
people, in making up their minds to do something which was strikingly at
variance with all their preconceived notions of right and wrong, appeared to
feel that it was necessary, in order that they might be consistent, to cast off
many of the decencies of life, and to become riotous and reckless.

As
they proceeded towards the graveyard, they amused themselves by breaking the
windows of the tax-gatherers, and doing what passing mischief they could to the
habitations of all who held any official situation or authority.

This
was something like a proclamation of war against those who might think it their
duty to interfere with the lawless proceedings of an ignorant multitude. A
public-house or two, likewise,
 
en
route
, was sacked of some of its inebriating contents, so that, what with
the madness of intoxication, and the general excitement consequent upon the
very nature of the business which took them to the churchyard, a more wild and
infuriated multitude than that which paused at two iron gates which led into the
sanctuary of that church could not be imagined.

Those
who have never seen a mob placed in such a situation as to have cast off all
moral restraint whatever, at the same time that it feels there is no physical
power to cope with it, can form no notion of the mass of terrible passions
which lie slumbering under what, in ordinary cases, have appeared harmless
bosoms, but which now run riot, and overcame every principle of restraint. It
is a melancholy fact, but, nevertheless, a fact, despite its melancholy, that,
even in a civilised country like this, with a generally well-educated
population, nothing but a well-organised physical force keeps down, from the
commission of the most outrageous offences, hundreds and thousands of persons.

We
have said that the mob paused at the iron gates of the churchyard, but it was
more a pause of surprise than one of vacillation, because they saw that those
iron gates were closed, which had not been the case within the memory of the
oldest among them.

At
the first building of the church, and the enclosure of its graveyard, two pairs
of these massive gates had been presented by some munificent patron; but, after
a time, they hung idly upon their hinges, ornamental certainly, but useless,
while a couple of turnstiles, to keep cattle from straying within the sacred
precincts, did duty instead, and established, without trouble, the regular
thoroughfare, which long habit had dictated as necessary, through the place of
sepulture.

But
now those gates were closed, and for once were doing duty. Heaven only knows
how they had been moved upon their rusty and time-worn hinges. The mob,
however, was checked for the moment, and it was clear that the ecclesiastical
authorities were resolved to attempt something to prevent the desecration of the
tombs.

Those
gates were sufficiently strong to resist the first vigorous shake which was
given to them by some of the foremost among the crowd, and then one fellow
started the idea that they might be opened from the inside, and volunteered to
clamber over the wall to do so.

Hoisted
up upon the shoulders of several, he grasped the top of the wall, and raised
his head above its level, and then something of a mysterious nature rose up
from the inside, and dealt him such a whack between the eyes, that down he went
sprawling among his coadjutors.

Now,
nobody had seen how this injury had been inflicted, and the policy of those in
the garrison should have been certainly to keep up the mystery, and leave the
invaders in ignorance of what sort of person it was that had so foiled them.
Man, however, is prone to indulge in vain glorification, and the secret was
exploded by the triumphant waving of the long staff of the beadle, with the
gilt knob at the end of it, just over the parapet of the wall, in token of
victory.

"It's
Waggles! it's Waggles!" cried everybody "it's Waggles, the
beadle!"

"Yes,"
said a voice from within, "it's Waggles, the beadle; and he thinks as he
had yer there rather; try it again. The church isn't in danger; oh, no. What do
you think of this?"

The
staff was flourished more vigorously than ever, and in the secure position that
Waggles occupied it seemed not only impossible to attack him, but that he
possessed wonderful powers of resistance, for the staff was long and the knob
was heavy.

It
was a boy who hit upon the ingenious expedient of throwing up a great stone, so
that it just fell inside the wall, and hit Waggles a great blow on the head.

The
staff was flourished more vigorously than ever, and the mob, in the ecstasy at
the fun which was going on, almost forgot the errand which had brought them.

Perhaps
after all the affair might have passed off jestingly, had not there been some
really mischievous persons among the throng who were determined that such
should not be the case, and they incited the multitude to commence an attack
upon the gates, which in a few moments must have produced their entire
demolition.

Suddenly,
however, the boldest drew back, and there was a pause, as the well-known form
of the clergyman appeared advancing from the church door, attired in full
canonicals.

"There's
Mr. Leigh," said several; "how unlucky he should be here."

"What
is this?" said the clergyman, approaching the gates. "Can I believe
my eyes when I see before me those who compose the worshippers at this church armed,
and attempting to enter for the purpose of violence to this sacred place! Oh!
let me beseech you, lose not a moment, but return to your homes, and repent of
that which you have already done. It is not yet too late; listen, I pray you,
to the voice of one with whom you have so often joined in prayer to the throne
of the Almighty, who is now looking upon your actions."

This
appeal was heard respectfully, but it was evidently very far from suiting the
feelings and the wishes of those to whom it was addressed; the presence of the
clergyman was evidently an unexpected circumstance, and the more especially too
as he appeared in that costume which they had been accustomed to regard with a
reverence almost amounting to veneration. He saw the favourable effect he had
produced, and anxious to follow it up, he added,—

"Let
this little ebullition of feeling pass away, my friends; and, believe me, when
I assure you upon my sacred word, that whatever ground there may be for
complaint or subject for inquiry, shall be fully and fairly met; and that the
greatest exertions shall be made to restore peace and tranquillity to all of
you."

"It's
all about the vampyre!" cried one fellow—"Mr. Leigh, how should you
like a vampyre in the pulpit?"

"Hush,
hush! can it be possible that you know so little of the works of that great
Being whom you all pretend to adore, as to believe that he would create any
class of beings of a nature such as those you ascribe to that terrific word!
Oh, let me pray of you to get rid of these superstitions—alike disgraceful to
yourselves and afflicting to me."

The
clergyman had the satisfaction of seeing the crowd rapidly thinning from before
the gates, and he believed his exhortations were having all the effect he
wished. It was not until he heard a loud shout behind him, and, upon hastily
turning, saw that the churchyard had been scaled at another place by some fifty
or sixty persons, that his heart sunk within him, and he began to feel that
what he had dreaded would surely come to pass.

Even
then he might have done something in the way of pacific exertion, but for the
interference of Waggles, the beadle, who spoilt everything.

THE OPEN GRAVES.—THE DEAD BODIES.—A SCENE OF TERROR.

We
have said Waggles spoilt everything, and so he did, for before Mr. Leigh could
utter a word more, or advance two steps towards the rioters, Waggles charged
them staff in hand, and there soon ensued a riot of a most formidable
description.

A
kind of desperation seemed to have seized the beadle, and certainly, by his
sudden and unexpected attack, he achieved wonders. When, however, a dozen hands
got hold of the staff, and it was wrenched from him, and he was knocked down,
and half-a-dozen people rolled over him, Waggles was not near the man he had
been, and he would have been very well content to have lain quiet where he was;
this, however, he was not permitted to do, for two or three, who had felt what
a weighty instrument of warfare the parochial staff was, lifted him bodily from
the ground, and canted him over the wall, without much regard to whether he
fell on a hard or a soft place on the other side.

This
feat accomplished, no further attention was paid to Mr. Leigh, who, finding
that his exhortations were quite unheeded, retired into the church with an
appearance of deep affliction about him, and locked himself in the vestry.

The
crowd now had entire possession—without even the sort of control that an
exhortation assumed over them—of the burying-ground, and soon in a dense mass
were these desperate and excited people collected round the well-known spot
where lay the mortal remains of Miles, the butcher.

"Silence!"
cried a loud voice, and every one obeyed the mandate, looking towards the
speaker, who was a tall, gaunt-looking man, attired in a suit of faded black,
and who now pressed forward to the front of the throng.

"Oh!"
cried one, "it's Fletcher, the ranter. What does he do here?"

"Hear
him! hear him!" cried others; "he won't stop us."

"Yes,
hear him," cried the tall man, waving his arms about like the sails of a
windmill. "Yes, hear him. Sons of darkness, you're all vampyres, and are
continually sucking the life-blood from each other. No wonder that the evil one
has power over you all. You're as men who walk in the darkness when the
sunlight invites you, and you listen to the words of humanity when those of a
diviner origin are offered to your acceptance. But there shall be miracles in
the land, and even in this place, set apart with a pretended piety that is in
itself most damnable, you shall find an evidence of the true light; and the
proof that those who will follow me the true path to glory shall be found here
within this grave. Dig up Miles, the butcher!"

"Hear,
hear, hear, hurra!" said every body. "Mr. Fletcher's not such a fool,
after all. He means well."

"Yes,
you sinners," said the ranter, "and if you find Miles, the butcher,
decaying—even as men are expected to decay whose mortal tabernacles are placed
within the bowels of the earth—you shall gather from that a great omen, and a
sign that if you follow me you seek the Lord; but I you find him looking fresh
and healthy, as if the warm blood was still within his veins, you shall take
that likewise as a signification that what I say to you shall be as the Gospel,
and that by coming to the chapel of the Little Boozlehum, ye shall achieve a
great salvation."

"Very
good," said a brawny fellow, advancing with a spade in his hand; "you
get out of the way, and I'll soon have him up. Here goes, like blue
blazes!"

The
first shovelful of earth he took up, he cast over his head into the air, so
that it fell in a shower among the mob, which of course raised a shout of
indignation; and, as he continued so to dispose of the superfluous earth, a
general row seemed likely to ensue. Mr. Fletcher opened his mouth to make a remark,
and, as that feature of his face was rather a capacious one, a descending lump
of mould, of a clayey consistency, fell into it, and got so wedged among his
teeth, that in the process of extracting it he nearly brought some of those
essential portions of his anatomy with it.

This
was a state of things that could not last long, and he who had been so liberal
with his spadesful of mould was speedily disarmed, and yet he was a popular
favourite, and had done the thing so good-humouredly, that nobody touched him.
Six or eight others, who had brought spades and pickaxes, now pushed forward to
the work, and in an incredibly short space of time the grave of Miles, the
butcher, seemed to be very nearly excavated.

Work
of any kind or nature whatever, is speedily executed when done with a wish to
get through it; and never, perhaps, within the memory of man, was a grave
opened in that churchyard with such a wonderful celerity. The excitement of the
crowd grew intense—every available spot from which a view of the grave could be
got, was occupied; for the last few minutes scarcely a remark had been uttered,
and when, at last, the spade of one of those who were digging struck upon
something that sounded like wood, you might have heard a pin drop, and each one
there present drew his breath more shortly than before.

"There
he is," said the man, whose spade struck upon the coffin.

Those
few words broke the spell, and there was a general murmur, while every
individual present seemed to shift his position in his anxiety to obtain a
better view of what was about to ensue.

The
coffin now having been once found, there seemed to be an increased impetus
given to the work; the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that seemed almost
the quick result of the working of some machine; and those closest to the
grave's brink crouched down, and, intent as they were upon the progress of
events, heeded not the damp earth that fell upon them, nor the frail brittle
and humid remains of humanity that occasionally rolled to their feet.

It
was, indeed, a scene of intense excitement—a scene which only wanted a few
prominent features in its foreground of a more intellectual and higher cast
than composed the mob, to make it a fit theme for a painter of the highest
talent.

And
now the last few shovelfuls of earth that hid the top of the coffin were cast
from the grave, and that narrow house which contained the mortal remains of him
who was so well known, while in life, to almost every one then present, was
brought to the gaze of eyes which never had seemed likely to have looked upon
him again.

The
cry was now for ropes, with which to raise the cumbrous mass; but these were
not to be had, no one thought of providing himself with such appliances, so
that by main strength, only, could the coffin be raised to the brink.

The
difficulty of doing this was immense, for there was nothing tangible to stand
upon; and even when the mould from the sides was sufficiently cleared away,
that the handles of the coffin could be laid hold of, they came away
immediately in the grasp of those who did so.

But
the more trouble that presented itself to the accomplishment of the designs of
the mob, the more intent that body seemed upon carrying out to the full extent
their original designs.

Finding
it quite impossible by bodily strength to raise the coffin of the butcher from
the position in which it had got imbedded by excessive rains, a boy was hastily
despatched to the village for ropes, and never did boy run with such speed
before, for all his own curiosity was excited in the issue of an adventure,
that to his young imagination was appallingly interesting.

As
impatient as mobs usually are, they had not time, in this case, for the
exercise of that quality of mind before the boy came back with the necessary
means of exerting quite a different species of power against the butcher's
coffin.

Strong
ropes were slid under the inert mass, and twenty hands at once plied the task
of raising that receptacle of the dead from what had been presumed to be its
last resting-place. The ropes strained and creaked, and many thought that they
would burst asunder sooner than raise the heavy coffin of the defunct butcher.

It is
singular what reasons people find for backing their opinion.

"You
may depend he's a vampyre," said one, "or it wouldn't be so difficult
to get him out of the grave."

"Oh,
there can be no mistake about that," said one; "when did a natural
Christian's coffin stick in the mud in that way?"

"Ah,
to be sure," said another; "I knew no good would come of his goings
on; he never was a decent sort of man like his neighbours, and many queer
things have been said of him that I have no doubt are true enough, if we did
but know the rights of them."

"Ah,
but," said a young lad, thrusting his head between the two who were
talking, "if he is a vampyre, how does he get out of his coffin of a night
with all that weight of mould a top of him?"

One
of the men considered for a moment, and then finding no rational answer occur
to him, he gave the boy a box on the ear, saying,—

"I
should like to know what business that is of yours? Boys, now-a-days, ain't
like the boys in my time; they think nothing now of putting their spokes in
grown-up people's wheels, just as if their opinions were of any
consequence."

Now,
by a vigorous effort, those who were tugging at the ropes succeeded in moving
the coffin a little, and that first step was all the difficulty, for it was
loosened from the adhesive soil in which it lay, and now came up with
considerable facility.

There
was a half shout of satisfaction at this result, while some of the congregation
turned pale, and trembled at the prospect of the sight which was about to
present itself; the coffin was dragged from the grave's brink fairly among the
long rank grass that flourished in the churchyard, and then they all looked at
it for a time, and the men who had been most earnest in raising it wiped the
perspiration from their brows, and seemed to shrink from the task of opening
that receptacle of the dead now that it was fairly in their power so to do.

Each
man looked anxiously in his neighbour's face, and several audibly wondered why
somebody else didn't open the coffin.

"There's
no harm in it," said one; "if he's a vampyre, we ought to know it;
and, if he ain't, we can't do any hurt to a dead man."

"Oughtn't
we to have the service for the dead?" said one.

"Yes,"
said the impertinent boy who had before received the knock on the head, "I
think we ought to have that read backwards."

This
ingenious idea was recompensed by a great many kicks and cuffs, which ought to
have been sufficient to have warned him of the great danger of being a little
before his age in wit.

"Where's
the use of shirking the job?" cried he who had been so active in shoveling
the mud upon the multitude; "why, you cowardly sneaking set of humbugs,
you're half afraid, now."

"Afraid—afraid!"
cried everybody: "who's afraid."

"Ah,
who's afraid?" said a little man, advancing, and assuming an heroic
attitude; "I always notice, if anybody's afraid, it's some big fellow,
with more bones than brains."

At
this moment, the man to whom this reproach was more particularly levelled,
raised a horrible shout of terror, and cried out, in frantic accents,—

"He's
a-coming—he's a-coming!"

The
little man fell at once into the grave, while the mob, with one accord, turned
tail, and fled in all directions, leaving him alone with the coffin. Such a
fighting, and kicking, and scrambling ensued to get over the wall of the
grave-yard, that this great fellow, who had caused all the mischief, burst into
such peals of laughter that the majority of the people became aware that it was
a joke, and came creeping back, looking as sheepish as possible.

Some
got up very faint sorts of laugh, and said "very good," and swore
they saw what big Dick meant from the first, and only ran to make the others
run.

"Very
good," said Dick, "I'm glad you enjoyed it, that's all. My eye, what
a scampering there was among you. Where's my little friend, who was so
infernally cunning about bones and brains?"

With
some difficulty the little man was extricated from the grave, and then, oh, for
the consistency of a mob! they all laughed at him; those very people who,
heedless of all the amenities of existence, had been trampling upon each other,
and roaring with terror, actually had the impudence to laugh at him, and call
him a cowardly little rascal, and say it served him right.

But
such is popularity!

"Well,
if nobody won't open the coffin," said big Dick, "I will, so here
goes. I knowed the old fellow when he was alive, and many a time he's d——d me
and I've d——d him, so I ain't a-going to be afraid of him now he's dead. We was
very intimate, you see, 'cos we was the two heaviest men in the parish; there's
a reason for everything."

"Ah,
Dick's the fellow to do it," cried a number of persons; "there's
nobody like Dick for opening a coffin; he's the man as don't care for
nothing."

"Ah,
you snivelling curs," said Dick, "I hate you. If it warn't for my own
satisfaction, and all for to prove that my old friend, the butcher, as weighed
seventeen stone, and stood six feet two and-a-half on his own sole, I'd see you
all jolly well—"