THE DESTRUCTION OF SIR FRANCIS VARNEY’S HOUSE BY FIRE.—THE ARRIVAL OF
THE MILITARY, AND A SECOND MOB.
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.”