THE OLD ADMIRAL AND HIS SERVANT.—THE COMMUNICATION FROM THE LANDLORD
OF THE NELSON’S ARMS.
While those matters of most grave and serious import were going on
at the Hall, while each day, and almost each hour in each day, was
producing more and more conclusive evidence upon a matter which
at first had seemed too monstrous to be at all credited, it may
well be supposed what a wonderful sensation was produced among the
gossip-mongers of the neighbourhood by the exaggerated reports that had
reached them.
The servants, who had left the Hall on no other account, as they
declared, but sheer fright at the awful visits of the vampyre,
spread the news far and wide, so that in the adjoining villages and
market-towns the vampyre of Bannerworth Hall became quite a staple
article of conversation.
Such a positive godsend for the lovers of the marvellous had not
appeared in the country side within the memory of that sapient
individual—the oldest inhabitant.
And, moreover, there was one thing which staggered some people of
better education and maturer judgments, and that was, that the more
they took pains to inquire into the matter, in order, if possible, to
put an end to what they considered a gross lie from the commencement,
the more evidence they found to stagger their own senses upon the
subject.
Everywhere then, in every house, public as well as private, something
was being continually said of the vampyre. Nursery maids began to think
a vampyre vastly superior to “old scratch and old bogie” as a means of
terrifying their infant charges into quietness, if not to sleep, until
they themselves became too much afraid upon the subject to mention it.
But nowhere was gossiping carried on upon the subject with more
systematic fervour than at an inn called the Nelson’s Arms, which was
in the high street of the nearest market town to the Hall.
[Illustration: Outside the inn called the Nelson’s Arms.]
There, it seemed as if the lovers of the horrible made a point
of holding their head quarters, and so thirsty did the numerous
discussions make the guests, that the landlord was heard to declare
that he, from his heart, really considered a vampyre as very nearly
equal to a contested election.
It was towards evening of the same day that Marchdale and Henry made
their visit to Sir Francis Varney, that a postchaise drew up to the
inn we have mentioned. In the vehicle were two persons of exceedingly
dissimilar appearance and general aspect.
One of these people was a man who seemed fast verging upon seventy
years of age, although, from his still ruddy and embrowned complexion
and stentorian voice, it was quite evident he intended yet to keep time
at arm’s-length for many years to come.
He was attired in ample and expensive clothing, but every article had
a naval animus about it, if we may be allowed such an expression with
regard to clothing. On his buttons was an anchor, and the general
assortment and colour of the clothing as nearly assimilated as possible
to the undress naval uniform of an officer of high rank some fifty or
sixty years ago.
His companion was a younger man, and about his appearance there was no
secret at all. He was a genuine sailor, and he wore the shore costume
of one. He was hearty-looking, and well dressed, and evidently well fed.
As the chaise drove up to the door of the inn, this man made an
observation to the other to the following effect,—
“A-hoy!”
“Well, you lubber, what now?” cried the other.
“They call this the Nelson’s Arms; and you know, shiver me, that for
the best half of his life he had but one.”
“D—n you!” was the only rejoinder he got for this observation; but,
with that, he seemed very well satisfied.
“Heave to!” he then shouted to the postillion, who was about to drive
the chaise into the yard. “Heave to, you lubberly son of a gun! we
don’t want to go into dock.”
“Ah!” said the old man, “let’s get out, Jack. This is the port; and, do
you hear, and be cursed to you, let’s have no swearing, d—n you, nor
bad language, you lazy swab.”
“Aye, aye,” cried Jack; “I’ve not been ashore now a matter o’ ten
years, and not larnt a little shore-going politeness, admiral, I
ain’t been your _walley de sham_ without larning a little about land
reckonings. Nobody would take me for a sailor now, I’m thinking,
admiral.”
“Hold your noise!”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Jack, as he was called, bundled out of the chaise when the door was
opened, with a movement so closely resembling what would have ensued
had he been dragged out by the collar, that one was tempted almost to
believe that such a feat must have been accomplished all at once by
some invisible agency.
He then assisted the old gentleman to alight, and the landlord of the
inn commenced the usual profusion of bows with which a passenger by a
postchaise is usually welcomed in preference to one by a stage coach.
“Be quiet, will you!” shouted the admiral, for such indeed he was. “Be
quiet.”
“Best accommodation, sir—good wine—well-aired beds—good attendance—fine
air——”
“Belay there,” said Jack; and he gave the landlord what no doubt he
considered a gentle admonition, but which consisted of such a dig in
the ribs, that he made as many evolutions as the clown in a pantomime
when he vociferates hot codlings.
“Now, Jack, where’s the sailing instructions?” said his master.
“Here, sir, in the locker,” said Jack, as he took from his pocket a
letter, which he handed to the admiral.
“Won’t you step in, sir?” said the landlord, who had begun now to
recover a little from the dig in the ribs.
“What’s the use of coming into port and paying harbour dues, and all
that sort of thing, till we know if it’s the right, you lubber, eh?”
“No; oh, dear me, sir, of course—God bless me, what can the old
gentleman mean?”
The admiral opened the letter, and read:—
“If you stop at the Nelson’s Arms at Uxotter, you will hear of
me, and I can be sent for, when I will tell you more.
“Yours, very obediently and humbly,
“+Josiah Crinkles+.”
“Who the deuce is he?”
“This is Uxotter, sir,” said the landlord; “and here you are, sir, at
the Nelson’s Arms. Good beds—good wine—good——”
“Silence!”
“Yes, sir—oh, of course.”
“Who the devil is Josiah Crinkles?”
“Ha! ha! ha! ha! Makes me laugh, sir. Who the devil indeed! They do
say the devil and lawyers, sir, know something of each other—makes me
smile.”
“I’ll make you smile on the other side of that d——d great hatchway of a
mouth of yours in a minute. Who is Crinkles?”
“Oh, Mr. Crinkles, sir, everybody knows. A most respectable attorney,
sir, indeed, a highly respectable man, sir.”
“A lawyer?”
“Yes, sir, a lawyer.”
“Well, I’m d—d!”
Jack gave a long whistle, and both master and man looked at each other
aghast.
“Now, hang me!” cried the admiral, “if ever I was so taken in in all my
life.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Jack.
“To come a hundred and seventy miles see a d—d swab of a rascally
lawyer.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“I’ll smash him—Jack!”
“Yer honour?”
“Get into the chaise again.”
“Well, but where’s Master Charles? Lawyers, in course, sir, is all
blessed rogues; but, howsomedever, he may have for once in his life
this here one of ’em have told us of the right channel, and if so be as
he has, don’t be the Yankee to leave him among the pirates. I’m ashamed
on you.”
“You infernal scoundrel; how dare you preach to me in such a way, you
lubberly rascal?”
“Cos you desarves it.”
“Mutiny—mutiny—by Jove! Jack, I’ll have you put in irons—you’re a
scoundrel, and no seaman.”
“No seaman!—no seaman!”
“Not a bit of one.”
“Very good. It’s time, then, as I was off the purser’s books. Good bye
to you; I only hopes as you may get a better seaman to stick to you and
be your _walley de sham_ nor Jack Pringle, that’s all the harm I wish
you. You didn’t call me no seaman in the Bay of Corfu, when the bullets
were scuttling our nobs.”
“Jack, you rascal, give us your fin. Come here, you d—d villain. You’ll
leave me, will you?”
“Not if I know it.”
“Come in, then.”
“Don’t tell me I’m no seaman. Call me a wagabone if you like, but don’t
hurt my feelings. There I’m as tender as a baby, I am.—Don’t do it.”
“Confound you, who is doing it?”
“The devil.”
“Who is?”
“Don’t, then.”
Thus wrangling, they entered the inn, to the great amusement of several
bystanders, who had collected to hear the altercation between them.
“Would you like a private room, sir?” said the landlord.
“What’s that to you?” said Jack.
“Hold your noise, will you?” cried his master. “Yes, I should like a
private room, and some grog.”
“Strong as the devil!” put in Jack.
“Yes, sir—yes, sir. Good wines—good beds—good——”
“You said all that before, you know,” remarked Jack, as he bestowed
upon the landlord another terrific dig in the ribs.
“Hilloa!” cried the admiral, “you can send for that infernal lawyer,
Mister Landlord.”
“Mr. Crinkles, sir?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Who may I have the honour to say, sir, wants to see him?”
“Admiral Bell.”
“Certainly, admiral, certainly. You’ll find him a very conversible,
nice, gentlemanly little man, sir.”
“And tell him as Jack Pringle is here, too,” cried the seaman.
“Oh, yes, yes—of course,” said the landlord, who was in such a state of
confusion from the digs in the ribs he had received, and the noise his
guests had already made in his house, that, had he been suddenly put
upon his oath, he would scarcely have liked to say which was the master
and which was the man.
“The idea now, Jack,” said the admiral, “of coming all this way to see
a lawyer.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“If he’d said he was a lawyer, we would have known what to do. But it’s
a take in, Jack.”
“So I think. Howsomdever, we’ll serve him out when we catch him, you
know.”
“Good—so we will.”
“And, then, again, he may know something about Master Charles, sir, you
know. Lord love him, don’t you remember when he came aboard to see you
once at Portsmouth?”
“Ah! I do, indeed.”
“And how he said he hated the French, and quite a baby, too. What
perseverance and sense. ‘Uncle,’ says he to you, ‘when I’m a big man,
I’ll go in a ship, and fight all the French in a heap,’ says he. ‘And
beat ’em, my boy, too,’ says you; cos you thought he’d forgot that; and
then he says, ‘what’s the use of saying that, stupid?—don’t we always
beat ’em?’”
The admiral laughed and rubbed his hands, as he cried aloud,—
“I remember, Jack—I remember him. I was stupid to make such a remark.”
“I know you was—a d——d old fool I thought you.”
“Come, come. Hilloa, there!”
“Well, then, what do you call me no seaman for?”
“Why, Jack, you bear malice like a marine.”
“There you go again. Good bye. Do you remember when we were yard arm to
yard arm with those two Yankee frigates, and took ’em both? You didn’t
call me a marine then, when the scuppers were running with blood. Was I
a seaman then?”
“You were, Jack—you were; and you saved my life.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I say I didn’t—it was a marlin-spike.”
“But I say you did, you rascally scoundrel.—I say you did, and I won’t
be contradicted in my own ship.”
“Call this your ship?”
“No, d—n it—I——”
“Mr. Crinkles,” said the landlord, flinging the door wide open, and so
at once putting an end to the discussion which always apparently had a
tendency to wax exceedingly warm.
“The shark, by G—d!” said Jack.
A little, neatly dressed man made his appearance, and advanced rather
timidly into the room. Perhaps he had heard from the landlord that the
parties who had sent for him were of rather a violent sort.
“So you are Crinkles, are you?” cried the admiral. “Sit down, though
you are a lawyer.”
“Thank you, sir. I am an attorney, certainly, and my name as certainly
is Crinkles.”
“Look at that.”
The admiral placed the letter in the little lawyer’s hands, who said,—
“Am I to read it?”
“Yes, to be sure.”
“Aloud?”
“Read it to the devil, if you like, in a pig’s whisper, or a West India
hurricane.”
“Oh, very good, sir. I—I am willing to be agreeable, so I’ll read it
aloud, if it’s all the same to you.”
He then opened the letter, and read as follows:—
“To Admiral Bell.
“Admiral,—Being, from various circumstances, aware that you
take a warm and a praiseworthy interest in your nephew, Charles
Holland, I venture to write to you concerning a matter in which
your immediate and active co-operation with others may rescue
him from a condition which will prove, if allowed to continue,
very much to his detriment, and ultimate unhappiness.
“You are, then, hereby informed, that he, Charles Holland, has,
much earlier than he ought to have done, returned to England,
and that the object of his return is to contract a marriage
into a family in every way objectionable, and with a girl who
is highly objectionable.
“You, admiral, are his nearest and almost his only relative
in the world; you are the guardian of his property, and,
therefore, it becomes a duty on your part to interfere to save
him from the ruinous consequences of a marriage, which is sure
to bring ruin and distress upon himself and all who take an
interest in his welfare.
“The family he wishes to marry into is named Bannerworth, and
the young lady’s name is Flora Bannerworth. When, however, I
inform you that a _vampyre_ is in that family, and that if he
marries into it, he marries a vampyre, and will have vampyres
for children, I trust I have said enough to warn you upon the
subject, and to induce you to lose no time in repairing to the
spot.
“If you stop at the Nelson’s Arms at Uxotter, you will hear of
me. I can be sent for, when I will tell you more.
“Yours, very obediently and humbly,
“+Josiah Crinkles+.”
“P.S. I enclose you Dr. Johnson’s definition of a vampyre,
which is as follows:
“+Vampyre+ (a German blood-sucker)—by which you perceive
how many vampyres, from time immemorial, must have been well
entertained at the expense of John Bull, at the court of St.
James, where nothing hardly is to be met with but German
blood-suckers.”
• • • • •
[Illustration: Crinkles reads the letter to the admiral.]
The lawyer ceased to read, and the amazed look with which he glanced
at the face of Admiral Bell would, under any other circumstances, have
much amused him. His mind, however, was by far too much engrossed
with a consideration of the danger of Charles Holland, his nephew, to
be amused at anything; so, when he found that the little lawyer said
nothing, he bellowed out,—
“Well, sir?”
“We—we—well,” said the attorney.
“I’ve sent for you, and here you are, and here I am, and here’s Jack
Pringle. What have you got to say?”
“Just this much,” said Mr. Crinkles, recovering himself a little, “just
this much, sir, that I never saw that letter before in all my life.”
“You—never—saw—it?”
“Never.”
“Didn’t you write it?”
“On my solemn word of honour, sir, I did not.”
Jack Pringle whistled, and the admiral looked puzzled. Like the admiral
in the song, too, he “grew paler,” and then Mr. Crinkles added,—
“Who has forged my name to a letter such as this, I cannot imagine.
As for writing to you, sir, I never heard of your existence, except
publicly, as one of those gallant officers who have spent a long life
in nobly fighting their country’s battles, and who are entitled to the
admiration and the applause of every Englishman.”
Jack and the admiral looked at each other in amazement, and then the
latter exclaimed,—
“What! This from a lawyer?”
“A lawyer, sir,” said Crinkles, “may know how to appreciate the deeds
of gallant men, although he may not be able to imitate them. That
letter, sir, is a forgery, and I now leave you, only much gratified
at the incident which has procured me the honour of an interview with
a gentleman, whose name will live in the history of his country. Good
day, sir! Good day!”
“No! I’m d——d if you go like that,” said Jack, as he sprang to the
door, and put his back against it. “You shall take a glass with me in
honour of the wooden walls of Old England, d——e, if you was twenty
lawyers.”
“That’s right, Jack,” said the admiral. “Come, Mr. Crinkles, I’ll
think, for your sake, there may be two decent lawyers in the world, and
you one of them. We must have a bottle of the best wine the ship—I mean
the house—can afford together.”
“If it is your command, admiral, I obey with pleasure,” said the
attorney; “and although I assure you, on my honour, I did not write
that letter, yet some of the matters mentioned in it are so generally
notorious here, that I can afford you information concerning them.”
“Can you?”
“I regret to say I can, for I respect the parties.”
“Sit down, then—sit down. Jack, run to the steward’s room and get the
wine. We will go into it now starboard and larboard. Who the deuce
could have written that letter?”
“I have not the least idea, sir.”
“Well—well, never mind; it has brought me here, that’s something, so I
won’t grumble much at it. I didn’t know my nephew was in England, and I
dare say he didn’t know I was; but here we both are, and I won’t rest
till I’ve seen him, and ascertained how the what’s-its-name——”
“The vampyre.”
“Ah! the vampyre.”
“Shiver my timbers!” said Jack Pringle, who now brought in some wine
much against the remonstrances of the waiters of the establishment,
who considered that he was treading upon their vested interests by so
doing.—“Shiver my timbers, if I knows what a _wamphigher_ is, unless
he’s some distant relation to Davy Jones!”
“Hold your ignorant tongue,” said the admiral; “nobody wants you to
make a remark, you great lubber!”
“Very good,” said Jack, and he sat down the wine on the table, and
then retired to the other end of the room, remarking to himself that
he was not called a great lubber on a certain occasion, when bullets
were scuttling their nobs, and they were yard arm and yard arm with God
knows who.
“Now, mister lawyer,” said Admiral Bell, who had about him a large
share of the habits of a rough sailor. “Now, mister lawyer, here is a
glass first to our better acquaintance, for d——e, if I don’t like you!”
“You are very good, sir.”
“Not at all. There was a time, when I’d just as soon have thought of
asking a young shark to supper with me in my own cabin as a lawyer, but
I begin to see that there may be such a thing as a decent, good sort
of a fellow seen in the law; so here’s good luck to you, and you shall
never want a friend or a bottle while Admiral Bell has a shot in the
locker.”
“Gammon,” said Jack.
“D—n you, what do you mean by that?” roared the admiral, in a furious
tone.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” shouted Jack, about two octaves higher.
“It’s two boys in the street as is pretending they’re a going to fight,
and I know d—d well they won’t.”
“Hold your noise.”
“I’m going. I wasn’t told to hold my noise, when our nobs were being
scuttled off Beyrout.”
“Never mind him, mister lawyer,” added the admiral. “He don’t know what
he’s talking about. Never mind him. You go on and tell me all you know
about the—the——”
“The vampyre!”
“Ah! I always forget the names of strange fish. I suppose, after all,
it’s something of the mermaid order?”
“That I cannot say, sir; but certainly the story, in all its painful
particulars, has made a great sensation all over the country.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, sir. You shall hear how it occurred. It appears that one night
Miss Flora Bannerworth, a young lady of great beauty, and respected and
admired by all who knew her was visited by a strange being who came in
at the window.”
“My eye,” said Jack, “it waren’t me, I wish it had a been.”
“So petrified by fear was she, that she had only time to creep half out
of the bed, and to utter one cry of alarm, when the strange visitor
seized her in his grasp.”
“D—n my pig tail,” said Jack, “what a squall there must have been, to
be sure.”
“Do you see this bottle?” roared the admiral.
“To be sure, I does; I think as it’s time I seed another.”
“You scoundrel, I’ll make you feel it against that d——d stupid head of
yours, if you interrupt this gentleman again.”
“Don’t be violent.”
“Well, as I was saying,” continued the attorney, “she did, by great
good fortune, manage to scream, which had the effect of alarming the
whole house. The door of her chamber, which was fast, was broken open.”
“Yes, yes——”
“Ah,” cried Jack.
“You may imagine the horror and the consternation of those who entered
the room to find her in the grasp of a fiend-like figure, whose teeth
were fastened on her neck, and who was actually draining her veins of
blood.”
“The devil!”
“Before any one could lay hands sufficiently upon the figure to detain
it, it had fled precipitately from its dreadful repast. Shots were
fired after it in vain.”
“And they let it go?”
“They followed it, I understand, as well as they were able, and saw
it scale the garden wall of the premises; there it escaped, leaving,
as you may well imagine, on all their minds, a sensation of horror
difficult to describe.”
“Well, I never did hear anything the equal of that. Jack, what do you
think of it?”
“I haven’t begun to think, yet,” said Jack.
“But what about my nephew, Charles?” added the admiral.
“Of him I know nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a word, admiral. I was not aware you had a nephew, or that
any gentleman bearing that, or any other relationship to you, had
any sort of connexion with these mysterious and most unaccountable
circumstances. I tell you all I have gathered from common report about
this vampyre business. Further I know not, I assure you.”
“Well, a man can’t tell what he don’t know. It puzzles me to think who
could possibly have written me this letter.”
“That I am completely at a loss to imagine,” said Crinkles. “I assure
you, my gallant sir, that I am much hurt at the circumstance of any
one using my name in such a way. But, nevertheless, as you are here,
permit me to say, that it will be my pride, my pleasure, and the boast
of the remainder of my existence, to be of some service to so gallant
a defender of my country, and one whose name, along with the memory of
his deeds, is engraved upon the heart of every Briton.”
“Quite ekal to a book, he talks,” said Jack. “I never could read one
myself, on account o’ not knowing how, but I’ve heard ’em read, and
that’s just the sort o’ incomprehensible gammon.”
“We don’t want any of your ignorant remarks,” said the admiral, “so you
be quiet.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Now, Mister Lawyer, you are an honest fellow, and an honest fellow is
generally a sensible fellow.”
“Sir, I thank you.”
“If so be as what this letter says is true, my nephew Charles has got
a liking for this girl, who has had her neck bitten by a vampyre, you
see.”
“I perceive, sir.”
“Now what would you do?”
“One of the most difficult, as well, perhaps, as one of the most
ungracious of tasks,” said the attorney, “is to interfere with family
affairs. The cold and steady eye of reason generally sees things in
such very different lights to what they appear to those whose feelings
and whose affections are much compromised in their results.”
“Very true. Go on.”
“Taking, my dear sir, what in my humble judgment appears to be a
reasonable view of this subject, I should say it would be a dreadful
thing for your nephew to marry into a family any member of which was
liable to the visitations of a vampyre.”
“It wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“The young lady might have children.”
“Oh, lots,” cried Jack.
“Hold your noise, Jack.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“And she might herself actually, when after death she became a vampyre,
come and feed on her own children.”
“Become a vampyre! What, is she going to be a vampyre too?”
“My dear sir, don’t you know that it is a remarkable fact, as regards
the physiology of vampyres, that whoever is bitten by one of those
dreadful beings, becomes a vampyre?”
“The devil!”
“It is a fact, sir.”
“Whew!” whistled Jack; “she might bite us all, and we should be a whole
ship’s crew o’ _wamphighers_. There would be a confounded go!”
“It’s not pleasant,” said the admiral, as he rose from his chair, and
paced to and fro in the room, “it’s not pleasant. Hang me up at my own
yard-arm if it is.”
“Who said it was?” cried Jack.
“Who asked you, you brute?”
“Well, sir,” added Mr. Crinkles, “I have given you all the information
I can; and I can only repeat what I before had the honour of saying
more at large, namely, that I am your humble servant to command, and
that I shall be happy to attend upon you at any time.”
“Thank ye—thank ye, Mr.—a—a——”
“Crinkles.”
“Ah, Crinkles. You shall hear from me again, sir, shortly. Now that I
am down here, I will see to the very bottom of this affair, were it
deeper than fathom ever sounded. Charles Holland was my poor sister’s
son; he’s the only relative I have in the wide world, and his happiness
is dearer to my heart than my own.”
Crinkles turned aside, and, by the twinkle of his eyes, one might
premise that the honest little lawyer was much affected.
“God bless you, sir,” he said; “farewell.”
“Good day to you.”
“Good-bye, lawyer,” cried Jack. “Mind how you go. D—n me, if you don’t
seem a decent sort of fellow, and, after all, you may give the devil
a clear berth, and get into heaven’s straits with a flowing sheet,
provided as you don’t, towards the end of the voyage, make any lubberly
blunders.”
The old admiral threw himself into a chair with a deep sigh.
“Jack,” said he.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“What’s to be done now?”
Jack opened the window to discharge the superfluous moisture from an
enormous quid he had indulged himself with while the lawyer was telling
about the vampyre, and then again turning his face towards his master,
he said,—
“Do! What shall we do? Why, go at once and find out Charles, our
_nevy_, and ask him all about it, and see the young lady, too, and lay
hold o’ the _wamphigher_ if we can, as well, and go at the whole affair
broadside to broadside, till we make a prize of all the particulars,
after which we can turn it over in our minds agin, and see what’s to be
done.”
“Jack, you are right. Come along.”
“I knows I am. Do you know now which way to steer?”
“Of course not. I never was in this latitude before, and the channel
looks intricate. We will hail a pilot, Jack, and then we shall be all
right, and if we strike it will be his fault.”
“Which is a mighty great consolation,” said Jack. “Come along.”