VARNEY GIVES SOME PERSONAL ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.
Never had Mr. Bevan in all his recollection been in such a state of
hesitation as now.
He was a man usually of rapid resolves, and very energetic action;
but the circumstances that had recently taken place were of so very
remarkable a nature, that he was not able to bring to bear upon them
any portion of his past experience.
He felt that he could come to no determination, but was compelled by
the irresistible force of events to be a spectator instead of an actor
in what might ensue.
“I shall hear,” he thought, “if any such event happens at Naples as
that to which Varney has adverted, and until I do so, or until a
sufficient length of time has elapsed to make me feel certain that he
will not plunge into that burning abyss, I shall be a prey to every
kind of fear; and then again as regards Sir George Crofton. What am I
to say to him? Shall I show him this note or not?”
Even that was a question which he could not absolutely decide in his
own mind, although he was strongly inclined to think that it would be
highly desirable to do so, and while he was considering the point, and
holding the note in his hand, his eye fell upon the other papers which
had been enclosed with it, and addressed to him.
Hoping and expecting that there he should find something that would
better qualify him to come to an accurate conclusion, he took up
the packet, and found that the topmost paper bore the following
endorsement:—
“SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING MY OWN LIFE.”
“There, then,” said Mr. Bevan, “is what he has promised me.”
It was to be expected that Mr. Bevan should take up those papers with a
very considerable amount of curiosity, and as he could not think what
course immediately to pursue that would do good to Varney or anybody
else, he thought he had better turn his attention at once to the
documents that the vampyre had left to his perusal.
Telling his servant, then, not to allow him to be disturbed unless the
affair was a very urgent one indeed, he closed the door of his study,
and commenced reading one of the most singular statements that ever
created being placed upon paper. It was as follows:—
• • • • •
During my brief intercourse—and it has always been brief when of a
confidential nature with various persons—I have created surprise by
talking of individuals and events long since swallowed up in the almost
forgotten past. In these few pages I declare myself more fully.
In the reign of the First Charles, I resided in a narrow street, in the
immediate neighbourhood of Whitehall. It was a straggling, tortuous
thoroughfare, going down to the Thames; it matters little what were
my means of livelihood, but I have no hesitation in saying that I was
a well-paid agent in some of the political movements which graced and
disgraced that period.
London was then a mass of mean-looking houses; with here and there
one that looked like a palace, compared with its humbler neighbours.
Almost every street appeared to be under the protection of some great
house situated somewhere in its extent, but such of those houses as
have survived the wreck of time rank now with their neighbours, and are
so strangely altered, that I, who knew many of them well, could now
scarcely point to the place where they used to stand.
I took no prominent part in the commotions of that period, but I saw
the head of a king held up in its gore at Whitehall as a spectacle for
the multitude.
There were thousands of persons in England who had aided to bring about
that result, but who were very far from expecting it, and who were the
first to fall under the ban of the gigantic power they had themselves
raised.
Among these were many of my employers; men, who had been quite willing
to shake the stability of a throne so far as the individual occupying
it was concerned; but who certainly never contemplated the destruction
of monarchy; so the death of the First Charles, and the dictatorship of
Cromwell, made royalists in abundance.
They had raised a spirit they could not quell again, and this was
a fact which the stern, harsh man, Cromwell, with whom I had many
interviews, was aware of.
My house was admirably adapted for the purposes of secrecy and
seclusion, and I became a thriving man from the large sums I received
for aiding the escape of distinguished loyalists, some of whom lay for
a considerable time _perdu_ at my house, before an eligible opportunity
arrived of dropping down the river quietly to some vessel which would
take them to Holland.
It was to offer me so much per head for these royalists that Cromwell
sent for me, and there was one in particular who had been private
secretary to the Duke of Cleveland, a young man merely, of neither
family nor rank, but of great ability, whom Cromwell was exceedingly
anxious to capture.
I think there likewise must have been some private reasons which
induced the dictator of the Commonwealth to be so anxious concerning
this Master Francis Latham, which was the name of the person alluded to.
It was late one evening when a stranger came to my house, and having
desired to see me, was shown into a private apartment, when I
immediately waited upon him.
“I am aware,” he said, “that you have been confidentially employed by
the Duke of Cleveland, and I am aware that you have been very useful to
distressed loyalists, but in aiding Master Francis Latham, the duke’s
secretary, you will be permitted almost to name your own terms.”
I named a hundred pounds, which at that time was a much larger sum than
now, taking into consideration the relative value. One half of it was
paid to me at once, and the other promised within four-and-twenty hours
after Latham had effected his escape.
I was told that at half-past twelve o’clock that night, a man dressed
in common working apparel, and with a broom over his shoulder would
knock at my door and ask if he could be recommended to a lodging, and
that by those tokens I should know him to be Francis Latham. A Dutch
lugger, I was further told, was lying near Gravesend, on board of
which, to earn my money, I was expected to place the fugitive.
All this was duly agreed upon; I had a boat in readiness, with a couple
of watermen upon whom I could depend, and I was far from anticipating
any extraordinary difficulties in carrying out the enterprise.
I had a son about twelve years of age, who being a sharp acute lad, I
found very useful upon several occasions, and I never scrupled to make
him acquainted with any such affair as this that I am recounting.
Half past twelve o’clock came, and in a very few minutes after that
period of time there came a knock at my door, which my son answered,
and according to arrangement, there was the person with a broom, who
asked to be recommended to a lodging, and who was immediately requested
to walk in.
He seemed rather nervous, and asked me if I thought there was much risk.
“No,” said I, “no more than ordinary risk in all these cases, but we
must wait half an hour ’till the tide turns. For just now to struggle
against it down the river would really be nothing else but courting
observation.”
To this he perfectly agreed, and sat down by my fireside.
I was as anxious as he to get the affair over, for it was a ticklish
job, and Oliver Cromwell, if he had brought anything of the kind
exactly home to me, would as life order me to be shot as he would have
taken his luncheon in the name of the Lord.
I accordingly went down to the water-side to speak to the men who were
lying there with the boat, and had ascertained from them that in about
twenty minutes the tide would begin to ebb in the centre of the stream,
when two men confronted me.
Practised as I was in the habits and appearances of the times, I
guessed at once who they were. In fact, a couple of Oliver Cromwell’s
dismounted dragoons were always well known.
“You are wanted,” said one of them to me.
“Yes, you are particularly wanted,” said the other.
“But, gentlemen, I am rather busy,” said I. “In an hour’s time I will
do myself the pleasure, if you please, of waiting upon you anywhere you
wish to name.”
The only reply they made to this was the practical one, of getting on
each side of me, and then hurrying me on, past my own door.
I was taken right away to St. James’s at a rapid pace, being hurried
through one of the court yards; we paused at a small door, at which was
a sentinel.
My two guides communicated something to him, and he allowed us to pass.
There was a narrow passage without any light, and through another door,
at which was likewise a sentinel, who turned the glare of a lantern
upon me and my conductors. Some short explanation was given to him
likewise, during which I heard the words His Highness, which was the
title which Cromwell had lately assumed.
They pushed me through this doorway, closed it behind me, and left me
alone in the dark.