THE EXCITED POPULACE.—VARNEY HUNTED.—THE PLACE OF REFUGE.
There seemed now a complete lull in the proceedings as connected with
Varney, the vampyre. We have reason to believe that the executioner
who had been as solicitous as Varney to obtain undisputed possession
of Bannerworth Hall, has fallen a victim to the indiscriminating
rage of the mob. Varney himself is a fugitive, and bound by the most
solemn ties to Charles Holland, not only to communicate to him such
particulars of the past, as will bring satisfaction to his mind, but to
abstain from any act which, for the future, shall exercise a disastrous
influence upon the happiness of Flora.
The doctor and the admiral, with Henry, had betaken themselves from the
Hall as we had recorded, and, in due time, reached the cottage where
Flora and her mother had found a temporary refuge.
Mrs. Bannerworth was up; but Flora was sleeping, and, although the
tidings they had to tell were of a curious and mixed nature, they would
not have her disturbed to listen to them.
And, likewise, they were rather pleased than otherwise, since they knew
not exactly what had become of Charles Holland, to think that they
would probably be spared the necessity of saying they could not account
for his absence.
That he had gone upon some expedition, probably dangerous, and so one
which he did not wish to communicate the particulars of to his friends,
lest they should make a strong attempt to dissuade him from it, they
were induced to believe.
But yet they had that confidence in his courage and active intellectual
resources, to believe that he would come through it unscathed, and,
probably, shortly show himself at the cottage.
In this hope they were not disappointed, for in about two hours Charles
made his appearance; but, until he began to be questioned concerning
his absence by the admiral, he scarcely considered the kind of dilemma
he had put himself into by the promise of secrecy he had given to
Varney, and was a little puzzled to think how much he might tell, and
how much he was bound in honour to conceal.
“Avast there!” cried the admiral; “what’s become of your tongue,
Charles? You’ve been on some cruize, I’ll be bound. Haul over the
ship’s books, and tell us what’s happened.”
“I have been upon an adventure,” said Charles, “which I hope will be
productive of beneficial results to us all; but, the fact is, I have
made a promise, perhaps incautiously, that I will not communicate what
I know.”
“Whew!” said the admiral, “that’s awkward; but, however, if a man sails
under sealed instructions, there’s an end of it. I remember when I was
off Candia once——”
“Ha!” interposed Jack, “that was the time you tumbled over the blessed
binnacle, all in consequence of taking too much Madeira. I remember
it, too—it’s an out and out good story, that ’ere. You took a rope’s
end, you know, and laid into the bowsprit; and, says you, ‘Get up, you
lubber,’ says you, all the while a thinking, I supposes, as it was long
Jack Ingram, the carpenter’s mate, laying asleep. What a lark!”
“This scoundrel will be the death of me,” said the admiral; “there
isn’t one word of truth in what he says. I never got drunk in all my
life, as everybody knows. Jack, affairs are getting serious between
you and I—we must part, and for good. It’s a good many times that I’ve
told you you’ve forgot the difference between the quarter-deck and the
caboose. Now, I’m serious—you’re off the ship’s books, and there’s an
end of you.”
“Very good,” said Jack; “I’m willing. I’ll leave you. Do you think I
want to keep you any longer? Good bye, old bloak—I’ll leave you to
repent, and when old grim death comes yard-arm and yard-arm with you,
and you can’t shake off his boarding-tackle, you’ll say, ‘Where’s Jack
Pringle?’ says you; and then what’s his name—oh ah! echo you call
it—echo’ll say, it’s d—d if it knows.”
Jack turned upon his heel, and, before the admiral could make any reply
he left the place.
“What’s the rascal up to now?” said the admiral. “I really didn’t think
he’d have taken me at my word.”
“Oh, then, after all, you didn’t mean it, uncle?” said Charles.
“What’s that to you, you lubber, whether I mean it, or not, you
shore-going squab? Of course I expect everybody to desert an old hulk,
rats and all—and now Jack Pringle’s gone; the vagabond, couldn’t he
stay, and get drunk as long as he liked! Didn’t he say what he pleased,
and do what he pleased, the mutinous thief? Didn’t he say I run away
from a Frenchman off Cape Ushant, and didn’t I put up with that?”
“But, my dear uncle, you sent him away yourself.”
“I didn’t, and you know I didn’t; but I see how it is, you’ve disgusted
Jack among you. A better seaman never trod the deck of a man-of-war.”
“But his drunkenness, uncle?”
“It’s a lie. I don’t believe he ever got drunk. I believe you all
invented it, and Jack’s so good-natured, he tumbled about just to keep
you in countenance.”
“But his insolence, uncle; his gross insolence towards you—his
inventions, his exaggerations of the truth?”
“Avast, there—avast, there—none of that, Master Charlie; Jack couldn’t
do anything of the sort; and I means to say this, that if Jack was here
now, I’d stick up for him, and say he was a good seaman.”
“Tip us your fin, then,” said Jack, darting into the room; “do you
think I’d leave you, you d—d old fool? What would become of you, I
wonder, if I wasn’t to take you in to dry nurse? Why, you blessed old
babby, what do you mean by it?”
“Jack, you villain!”
“Ah! go on and call me a villain as much as you like. Don’t you
remember when the bullets were scuttling our nobs?”
“I do, I do, Jack; tip us your fin, old fellow. You’ve saved my life
more than once.”
“It’s a lie.”
“It ain’t. You did, I say.”
“You be d—d!”
And thus was the most serious misunderstanding that these two worthies
ever had together made up. The real fact is, that the admiral could as
little do without Jack, as he could have done without food; and as for
Pringle, he no more thought of leaving the old commodore, than of—what
shall we say? forswearing rum. Jack himself could not have taken a
stronger oath.
But the old admiral had suffered so much from the idea that Jack had
actually left him, that although he abused him as usual often enough,
he never again talked of taking him off the ship’s books; and, to the
credit of Jack be it spoken, he took no advantage of the circumstance,
and only got drunk just as usual, and called his master an old fool
whenever it suited him.